Confessions of a Serial Kisser (16 page)

54

The Pitfalls of Avoidance

N
EVER SURPRISE-KISS A BOY
who's listening to an iPod. (Unfortunately, in my rush to get away from Eddie, I hadn't noticed the ear buds.)

Trevor's lips were a confused knot as he yanked the buds out of his ears. "What are you doing?" he mumbled into my mouth.

"Just kiss me!" I demanded.

So he did. Or, at least, he tried to.

Let's just say he's better at PowerPoint.

But still, to my great relief Eddie Pasco and his soccer ball did move on, leaving me with a very awkward Trevor Dansa. "Thank you for saving me," I said. "He was stalking me."

"Eddie was?" he asked.

I nodded. "He had some dream about me and honey. I didn't want to hear it."

Trevor blinked at me, then blushed.

"So thanks," I said, backing away from him. "You're a lifesaver."

"Sure," he kind of stammered.

I continued my search for Adrienne but never did find her. She wasn't in the Performance Pavilion like she said she would be, and the choir classroom was locked up tight. So I sat on the walkway in an isolated corner of the 400 block and picked at my cold burrito, vowing to start packing my own lunches. I was craving lettuce and tomatoes. Sliced turkey. Whole wheat bread!

"Evangeline?"

It was the literature lover herself, carrying an armful of library books. "Hi, Miss Ryder."

"What are you doing here...all by yourself...on cement...?" she asked, peering at me through her black rectangular glasses. It struck me that even her regular speech was stylized. She seemed to dance with words, waltzing with them through the unexpected twists and turns of life.

"Eating a sucky burrito," I so eloquently replied.

She smiled at me. "Sounds appetizing...in a school cafeteria kind of way."

I gave a wry nod. "Exactly."

Having exhausted the subject of my delectable lunch, you'd think Miss Ryder would have moved on. Instead, she asked, "So what are you reading?"

I didn't have a book in my hands. I had a burrito.

She smiled when she saw my expression. "For pleasure! What book are you reading for pleasure?"

I grimaced. "Not
The Last of the Mohicans,
that's for sure."

She laughed. "Perhaps you'd like some recommendations?" She started fingering the spines of her books, reading the titles aloud.

I stopped her with a gentle "That's okay, Miss Ryder."

"Are you sure?" She smiled demurely. "Sucky burritos taste a lot better with a good book."

"Actually, I do have one." I opened my book bag and showed her the tattered pages of
A Crimson Kiss,
being careful not to reveal the cover.

"Oh, very good!" she said, then moved away, saying, "Friends may fail you, but books never do."

I watched her go, thinking about what she'd said.

Then I put my burrito aside and opened my book. Didn't matter what page. Anywhere was good. I just dived in and escaped.

55

Page 143

"W
AIT
!"
SHE CRIED
, then immediately softened the command with a plaintive plea. "Don't go."

Silence fell in the wake of her words. At every turn this maddening woman rebuffed him. Why should he stay?

But Grayson found himself drawn in again by her haunted eyes. He longed to help her surface from the depths of her agony, not just for gasps of air but for full, deep breaths of life's sweetness. Time and time again he'd pulled her up, only to watch her submerge once more into her dark sea of unnavigable despair.

Silently he cursed himself. How could he liberate her from the past when she held so tightly to it? Was it not wiser to walk through the door now than endure another inevitable round of defeat?

With a determined air, Grayson turned his back and strode toward the door.

"Please" came her hoarse, desperate whisper.

He turned to face her.

"Please," she whispered again.

It was all he needed.

56

Tutoring

T
O MY GREAT RELIEF
, Eddie Pasco ignored me in psychology.

If only Andrew Prescott had done the same.

Instead, I had to endure his dejected puppy-dog look and quivery smile. Even though I only saw it for the fleeting moment I dared a look in his direction, it was seared into my brain for the rest of the class period. It reminded me of a ripped-out hangnail (which, for some reason, I had a few of).

When the dismissal bell rang, I bolted out of the classroom, wondering how my quest for a kiss had gone so terribly wrong. I felt uncomfortable everywhere, and in my hurry to get away from Eddie and Andrew, I was actually
early
to tutoring.

Now I felt dweeby, too!

So I sauntered around a little, then returned to the infamous Room 212.

A girl with short, bleached hair, Paxton, and Mrs. Huffington were the only ones there.

"Reporting for duty," I said with a salute as the door squeaked closed behind me.

"Come in, come in!" Mrs. Huffington gushed.

So I did.

"Paxton, Lisa, this is Evangeline," Mrs. Huffington said.

"Hey," we all said with a nod.

A few minutes later we were still the only ones in the classroom. "So where are the droves of students desperate for help?" I asked.

"Oh, they're on their way!" Mrs. Huffington assured me.

As if on cue, the door whooshed open, but it was Adrienne who whooshed in.

"Hey!" I said, jumping up.

"Yay! You signed up!" she said. "Hey, Paxton," she called with a wave, then slid a desk next to mine, keeping a watchful eye on the others as she whispered, "I looked all over for you at lunch today! Miss Ryder told me you were sitting by yourself on the sidewalk eating a cold burrito!"

"Only after I looked all over for
you,
" I whispered back.

She rolled her eyes. "Mr. Vogel was a no-show at our choir practice, if you can believe that! But why weren't you in the quad?"

I shrugged. And not wanting to say too much in the presence of undeniably perked ears, I simply said, "I ran into Tatiana."

She gave me an empathetic "Oh."

"Actually, it went okay." I glanced over my shoulder, then whispered, "But I have so much to tell you!"

A handful of what appeared to be freshmen came through the door, so she stood and said, "Call me tonight, okay? Or come over. Can you come over?"

I nodded. "I'll call you when I get home."

She moved toward the door, saying, "You know what? Just come over for dinner."

I hesitated. Dinner at the Willows' with all the familial bantering was always so much fun.

"Six o'clock--be there!" Adrienne said, then waved goodbye to Paxton and pushed through the door, letting herself out and Roper Harding in.

I cringed. Roper Harding? Was this why they desperately needed chemistry tutors?

No wonder!

"Roper! Come in, come in!" Mrs. Huffington said. "You got my message?"

His oversized glasses seemed to lead his head in a bob up and down.

"Well, here she is!" she said, swooping a hand in my direction.

For the next forty-five minutes I tried to ignore oily zits, flecks of dust (or whatever that was clinging to his greasy hair), and insanely potent B.O. It was an exercise in extreme self-control, but the maddening thing was that Roper acted like
he
was the one tolerating
me.

When it was over, he barely grumbled a thanks before jetting off to catch the late bus, leaving an almost visible stream of body odor behind him.

After he was gone, Paxton propped open the door, and Lisa said, "Mrs. Huffington, someone's really got to talk to him about his personal hygiene."

"I know," she said with a tisk.

"I'm not doing that again," I said flatly. "He's rude and he stinks."

"I know," Mrs. Huffington said again, with another tisk and a shake of the head.

It was obvious that Mrs. Huffington didn't know what to do about the situation. And as we filed out to her friendly "See you Thursday!" I muttered, "Not if Roper's back!"

Paxton, who was right behind me, chuckled and said, "Well, as of today, I don't have to deal with any of this anymore." He slipped the second strap of his backpack on. "I'm done!"

"You've completed twenty hours?" I asked, instantly jealous.

He grinned and nodded as we walked along. "And I'm not doing it again next year, that's for sure."

"Why didn't you do the Elf Extravaganza with the rest of the choir?" I asked.

He looked at me with a slight cock of the head. "I transferred here at semester?"

"Oh," I said in a big, stupid, stretchy-faced way. "Sorry."

He laughed. "Not a problem."

We were still walking along together. "So where'd you transfer from?"

"Missoula, Montana," he said, drawing out the vowels. I was reminded of the way I'd seen him sing during choirpractice in the Performance Pavilion. Big O's, dropped-jaw A's.

He had a very expressive mouth.

"Tell me about Missoula, Montana," I said, mimicking the way he'd pronounced it.

We were approaching the parking lot now. "I don't know if we have time for that," he said. "Where'd you park?"

"Oh, I'm walking home."

He seemed surprised. Like walking was not something one did in Missoula, Montana. Or maybe not something one should do as a Larkmont High upperclassman. "You want a ride?" he asked.

I smiled at him. "Why not?"

We got into a sharp white Lexus (of all things), and by the time we reached the second intersection, I'd already heard a lot about Missoula, Montana. Not that I was absorbing it. I was too fascinated with the curls in his blond hair. With the curve of his sideburn as it swept back toward his earlobe. With the strong lines of his nose and cheekbones. With his lips. His lovely, expressive lips as they popped and pushed and projected words into space.

He reminded me of something...David of David and Goliath? A Greek warrior without the armor? He was different from other guys at school. He had a different
way
about him. He was more storybook...more
noble.

Suddenly it struck me that maybe
that
was what I'd been doing wrong! Maybe I'd been looking for a fantasy kiss from ordinary guys! Bad boys, even. Maybe what I needed was a guy with an air of nobility! Some classic chivalry and charm!

By the time Paxton had pulled up to the condo, I was frenzied; consumed by the need to know! Did those noble lips hold a crimson kiss? Would they transport me to that world between worlds, where beating hearts and tender lips were all that existed? Where the dizzying spin of passion vanquished all else?

I had to know!

And so...I kissed him!

57

Cataclysmic Kissing

A
PPARENTLY
P
AXTON HAD NOT BEEN ADMIRING
my expressive lips or anything else about me. Apparently he was just giving me a ride home.

My luscious lips were met with a single-handed push back and bugging eyes. "What was
that
?" he gasped.

"A kiss...?"

"But I barely know you!"

According to my rapidly accumulating knowledge of the teenage male, this was not a standard complaint. But here he was, quite literally freaking out.

I was suddenly mortified. What had I been thinking? That I was so hot that any guy in the world would be happy to kiss me? This was sure one ice-cold bucket of reality!

"Why'd you do that?" he was asking.

I just shook my head and opened the door, desperate to escape.

"Do you have a
crush
on me?"

I looked back at him. "No!"

"Then why'd you kiss me?"

I got out of the car, frantically building a protective barrier around my badly bruised ego. This guy wasn't noble. He wasn't even
normal.
"Sorry if I offended you," I said. "It won't happen again."

And I was about to slam the door when he said, "I wouldn't tell Adrienne if I were you!"

I hesitated,
then
slammed the door. But as I let myself into the condo, I kept thinking, Adrienne? What's Adrienne got to do with this?

For someone who's supposed to be smart, I couldn't seem to wrap my head around this. In the back of my mind, there
was
a theory developing, but I didn't want to hear from the back of my mind. I wanted the back of my mind to leave me alone.

My father actually came in handy as a distraction. It wasn't just the memory of that morning's clash in the intersection, either. On the kitchen table I discovered that he'd left me a letter and a vase of hibiscus flowers.

"Who let him in?" I grumbled. "We moved here to get
away
from him." I turned on the kitchen faucet and shoved the flowers bloom-first down the garbage disposal. And as they were mincing up and getting gobbled down the drain, I ripped up his letter. His five-page mini book of justifications, rationalizations, explanations, and lies made lovely confetti. (At least I assumed that was what was in the five pages. I stopped reading after "Dearest Evangeline.")

The confetti, then, too, went down the garbage disposal.

I cranked up Velvet Revolver and ate a massive bowl of double-fudge ice cream through "Sucker Train Blues," "Do It for the Kids," and "Big Machine." During the next few tracks I faced off with a mountain of clothes that I'd tried on and tossed aside, skipping over "Fall to Pieces" when it started wailing. I shouted along during "Set Me Free" and "You Got No Right" and reveled in my favorite cut, "Slither."

Then, in the short interval before the next song started, I heard the telephone ringing, so I turned down the music and picked up the phone.

It was Adrienne. "Can you come over at five-thirty instead of six?" she asked. "Mom's got a class to go to at seven."

Thanks to my dad (and Velvet Revolver), I'd successfully forgotten what I'd been trying not to think about. But there it was again, louder than ever.

I desperately wanted to bail on going to the Willows', but the back of my mind was tired of being ignored. The back of my mind wanted to know if it was right.

"Sure," I said, like I hadn't a care in the world. "I'm on my way."