Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit (13 page)

She is adorable in her confidence. But crap, I am not
supposed to be going here. She wraps her fingers in mine and pulls me closer and I forget reason and my promise. I will follow Mary Carlson anywhere she wants to take me.

Which turns out to be a hidden alcove at the back of Paradise Gardens.

B.T.B., in typical fashion, strikes up an energetic conversation with another Finster fan, and when we tell him we are going to keep looking around, he simply waves us on. The last word we hear is
elephant
as we disappear around a bend in the path.

The tiny building Mary Carlson finds is embedded with colored glass and Coke bottles and is the perfect size to hide two people. Tucked into its barely hidden alcove, we stand front to front. My heart is about to jump out of my chest.

“Joanna,” she says.

“Yes?”

“I'm going to kiss you now.” She pushes her glasses up on top of her head and leans into me, holding tight to my arms. Mine hang awkwardly until she hesitates. I quickly place my hands on her hips and she eases forward again, our lips meeting in the softest hello. It's an entire conversation.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

“Hello, again.”

“Hello to you.”

And then talking stops as our lips decide they can do away with the pleasantries.

Here's what I know. Kissing Mary Carlson is spooning homemade peach ice cream into your mouth on the hottest Georgia day. It is shooting stars and hot lava. It is every goose bump you ever had in your entire life built up and exploding all at once. It is going to be the end of me, but I don't care.

Mary Carlson grins, letting her fingers trail the side of my neck. “This is more amazing than I'd dreamed.”

“Yeah.” My fingers are hooked into the belt loops of her jeans and I stand on tiptoes, my mouth pressing against her, quieting her with my tongue. When she starts making little moaning sounds, I pull back. I don't want to come across as too experienced.

She pulls me back. “Don't you dare stop.”

“Someone might see us,” I whisper.

She hooks her leg around mine and pulls me close. Mary Carlson is kind of a tiger. “I don't care.”

“You don't?” Panic slips into my voice as reason sneaks in.

She kisses the side of my chin and brushes her fingertips against my neck, then pulls back, staring straight into
my eyes with the sweetest expression I've ever seen. “Of course I care. We'll need to be careful. But we can make it work? Can't we?”

Against everything I know I've promised, I answer her with a quiet “Yes.”

B.T.B.'s voice carries over the garden. “Mary Carlson? Jo . . . anna? They're closing. I'm hungry.”

We break apart. Mary Carlson glances over at me. “I know you were adamant about not wanting a boyfriend, but does this mean that maybe . . .
we're
starting a thing?”

I kiss her again as her answer.

“I'M REALLY PROUD OF YOU,
Joanna.” Dad forks up another big bite of food.

Three's made this amazing wild rice and sausage casserole, and stopping to talk takes real effort, so I'm suspicious. My dad is the master of the raise-you-up-when-you've-done-wrong technique—it's a surefire way to get you to repent—and I have a sinking feeling that somehow, through a secret pastor crystal ball or direct line to Jesus, he knows I broke my promise.

“For what?” Maybe if I act all no big deal, it can become a non-topic.

“For toeing this hard line I gave you. For stepping back from the path you were on.”

He knows.

But that's impossible.

“Elizabeth said it looked like you had a bit of a row with your friend Dana the other day.”

I glance at her. What did she say to him to keep him from jumping on my case about skipping school?

He waits while I chew.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” I mumble through the remains of my rice.

“Why don't you invite her up for a weekend?”

I look up. “Really?” On the one hand I'm excited about the possibility of a Dana weekend. But on the other is Mary Carlson. She is my girlfriend, I guess. Girlfriends meet best friends. I'm not sure sooner is better than later when it comes to meeting Dana. There'll be no hiding my truth when she's around.

“My intention wasn't to kill your friendship.” Dad puts his hand on Elizabeth's and squeezes. So they talked about this together, I'm guessing. Score for the stepmom.

I feel extra guilty. Dad's being all nice and loving, while I'm completely breaking the rules with Mary Carlson. Kissing one of Rome's finest females is not at all part of our deal. But then, another part of me rises up. One that is slightly pissed. At him for coming up with this. At me for going along with it. But I'm not going to
miss a chance for Dana time.

“I'll see when she can come.”

Dad nods. “Just let us know so we can load the freezer with ice cream.” He winks. Polishing off a pint each of Cherry Garcia is nothing for us. “Now, shouldn't you be off for your study date? Don't want to make you hang out with us old people any longer than necessary.”

Three swats him with her napkin. “Speak for yourself, Grandpa.”

I don't know what's worse, watching your father bite onto your deception, hook, line, and sinker or watching him flirt with his new wife.

“Yeah.” I scoot my chair back from the table and pick up my plate. “I'll just leave y'all to it.”

Three blushes beet red as I disappear into the kitchen.

It's been two days since Mary Carlson came out to me . . . and we kissed. Two days when we haven't had a minute to ourselves to explore whatever this thing is. Two days of secret smiles and secret looks and acting as normal as we can in front of the other girls. Now it's Thursday and Mary Carlson managed to throw off the scent and invite me, only me, over to her house. I am a bundle of anticipation and nerves.

B.T.B. hears my car and is waiting in the open doorway. “Jo . . . anna! You came to my house again.”

“Yeah, buddy, your sister and I have to study for a big test.” Does he know we're not in any classes together? I'm an asshole for thinking I can even try to slide that by him. “We each have a test. In our own classes. That's what I meant.” Where is this awkward coming from?

Mary Carlson bullies her way past him in the doorway and skips over, skidding to a stop in front of me, a crazy smile on her face. “Hey.”

“Hey.” That's where it's from. I run my hand over my mouth, trying to tame the stupor. But I can't; my own huge smile breaks through.

“Come on.” She grabs my arm and drags me past a surprised B.T.B., past her parents, and straight to her room, where she closes the door. “I thought you'd never get here.” She walks me backward to her bed.

I barely have time to drop my backpack on the floor before she takes her hand and lightly pushes me. I plop backward onto her comforter. She straddles my lap and her hair falls around her face. “Do you know how hard it's been not to kiss you every single time I see you?”

“How hard?” I ask. My heart flips between sprints and feeling like it's stopped working.

She leans in closer. “So, so difficult.” She bites at my lips, my neck, my ears. I curl my hands against her hips trying to get her closer. She pushes my arms flat against the bed so they're stretched out above my head and traces her tongue along the underside of one, all the way up to the sensitive flesh near my underarm. I giggle and squirm away from her. “Are you sure you've never done this before?”

She moves back to my mouth, nipping at the corners of my lips. “It's like I've been set free. I've thought about nothing but you, and this, since Tuesday.”

I reach up and twine my hands in her thick hair. Talking stops as we scoot farther onto the bed, rolling to face each other. Mary Carlson pushes the length of her body against me. It's hard to know what to do. One part of me wants to press harder in return, the other wants to slow down and marvel at the down of her skin. I want to see how she connects. The way each curve meets the next. Then there's the part of me that screams stop, “Girl, you are breaking the promise you made to your father and Elizabeth.”

The thud of footsteps in the hall spins her off me.

I sit up quickly, adjusting my shirt and smoothing the bed.

B.T.B. opens the door.

“Shouldn't you knock first?” Mary Carlson actually snaps at him.

B.T.B.'s expression falters from full-on Bailey smile to hesitation. It's a snapshot of heartbroken.

Mary Carlson's hands fly to her face, pressing her cheeks. “I'm sorry, buddy. I didn't mean to be sharp.”

“Jo . . . anna is my friend, too.” He looks like he might cry.

I jump up. “Of course I am, B.T.B. Do you want to study with us?” I glance at Mary Carlson. She nods.

“I came to see if you wanted banana splits. I'm making them.” His voice is still tender.

“I would love a B.T.B. banana split.” I wrap my arms around his middle and press my face against his chest in a hug.

He hugs me back. “Okay then.” And then to his sister, “You should not stress about homework, Mary Carlson. It makes you ugly.”

“You're right. No stress. The ice cream will help.”

“Okay.” His smile is back. “I'll bring them up in five minutes.” He shuts the door on his way out.

“That was close,” Mary Carlson says.

“Yeah.”

She steps across the room and pulls me toward her.
“But we have five minutes.”

“Mary Carlson, we're going to get caught.”

She traces my lips with her finger and I tilt my head back to look at her. It's amazing the difference six inches can make. “Would it be so bad?” she asks.

I step away from her. “What?”

She shrugs. “Forget it. You're right. We can't come out. This is Rome.”

“What about waiting till you went off to college?” I can't believe I'm even suggesting this. Dana would hard-core lecture me. But then I think about what George said about the crap his moms get and I remember how the pastor preached that first Sunday I went to church with Elizabeth. Mary Carlson may be right. Which could work out entirely in my favor.

“You mean until we go to college?” She grins and corrects me.

“Right. We.”

Mary Carlson leans her head forward till our foreheads are touching. If I weren't panicking inside I'd try to memorize her freckles, count her eyelashes, lock her lips into my imagination. Her next words are a whisper. “I said I'd never met anyone worth coming out for, but I really like you. I think we could be special. This”—she kisses me,
teasing my lips into her own—“could be worth it.”

What
this
is, is the mother lode of rock and a hard place. Here I am. Experienced. Out. This is my moment for a talk on positivity and bravery and how you've got to be true to yourself and we should shout to the rooftops about our relationship status, but what do I do? I kiss Mary Carlson on the cheek and take her hand. “Maybe we should actually do some homework?” I pull her down on the floor next to my backpack.

“Fine then. Avoid the subject. But eventually, Jo. Do you mind if I call you that? Like between us. I like you as Jo.” She leans over and nuzzles near my ear.

I am a bitch. A total and complete bitch. “Jo. I like it,” I say, like no one has ever thought to call me Jo before in my entire lifetime. I'm sinking so deep into a spiral here, there's going to be no good way out. I know this. I know this to my toes. But I can't help it. Her mouth is hungry on my neck, and her hand is getting bolder in the places it goes, and it feels wild to be the one who's the innocent. My legs straighten as Mary Carlson's fingers brush the top of my bra, igniting the sensitive part of my breast. The pattern of my breath changes and I'm about to grab her wrist and push her hand harder against me, when B.T.B's feet thud on the carpet down the hall.

Mary Carlson pulls away, but the look on her face is pure power. Me, I'm hanging in the wind, hungry for more than ice cream.

Shit.

This is worse than any kind of trouble Dana could ever get me in.

“I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY WE
can't all ride together?” Gemma is hands-on-hips mad and Mary Carlson is doing a terrible job of explaining why it's necessary to take two cars to the school's performance of
Steel Magnolias
where Betsy's playing Annelle.

Because there is no good explanation.

Mary Carlson wants to be able to hold my hand on the ride over and find some place to snog between here and there. Chances will be slim once we crash the cast party and pile in for another spend-the-night at her house. And who am I to argue. Except Gemma's mind is sharp and she's ticking through possibilities and if we keep up our cloak-and-dagger disappearing acts she's going to put it all
together until the word
lesbians
is lit in Hollywood light bulbs.

“Mary Carlson,” I say. “We can all ride together.”

“Thank you,” Gemma exclaims. “Someone is finally making some sense around here.”

“Come on, I don't want to miss curtain call.” Jessica climbs into the back behind the driver's seat. Gemma and I reach the passenger door at the same time. She glares at me, sort of a
girl, I been here long before you arrived
look, and I acquiesce. I slide into the back behind her.

Mary Carlson catches my eye in her rearview mirror and my stomach jumps. She's not what I expected. Not that I expected to get involved with her, but when I maybe daydreamed just a little about it, I imagined this sweet girl who was shy and uncertain and wanted to be wrapped gently into her closet whenever we were in public. But Mary Carlson is not that. She's into this. Big time. And I can tell, even after just two weeks, she's antsy to let the world know about her moment of self-discovery. And right now she's stealing my breath with the way she's looking at me. I look down. Gemma and Jessica will figure things out pronto if they see those bedroom eyes.

George is working the door at the auditorium. Because he and I still have our own weird charade going, I sidle around the table and give him a lukewarm hug.

“A
www.”
Jessica beams. “Y'all are the cutest.”

He puts his arm around my waist and I put mine over his shoulder and Mary Carlson looks like she wants to spit nails. “So you'll be at the cast party?” He looks at me first, then at Gemma.

Gemma answers, “We will. Not going to miss an opportunity to celebrate our girl Betsy in her big theatrical debut.”

It was a surprise to everyone when Betsy auditioned
and
got a major part.

“Is Marcus coming?” I ask.

This prompts Gemma's hands across Gemma's chest and a “hmmmph.” “He was my
last
pretty jock. Didn't care about nothing but football plays of the week and texting with his boys. That lasted all of three weekends. I need a smart man.”

George takes his arm off my waist.

Right. I step away from him as well.

“Joanna, come with me to the bathroom.” Mary Carlson pulls my hand. “Y'all go get us seats.”

Gemma's eyes do the Gemma thing again.

“I'll get the seats.” I motion for Gemma to go with her.

“Lip gloss,” Mary Carlson says.

Gemma looks at my lips. “She's right. You need some fixing. But be prepared to crawl over people, we are
planting ourselves center stage right smack in the middle.”

“We won't be long,” I say over my shoulder as Mary Carlson hauls me away.

She marches me past the bathrooms into a dark corner near the drink machines and pulls me into an alcove, before turning to look at me. “That's got to stop.”

“What?”

“George.”

“Mary Carlson, I've told you. It's not like that. It's a ploy, for him to get Gemma's attention.”

She twists her fingers in mine and pulls me toward her. “But I don't like his hands on you. How do you know it's not his ploy to get closer to you?”

Because he knows I'm gay, I think. “You're jealous,” I say.

“I know. It's not pretty.”

I grin. “It's cute.”

She winds her fingers in mine and pulls me toward her so we're only inches apart. “I have never, ever, ever felt like this.”

I lean in and lift up, kissing her gently. “I'm pretty into you, too.”

“You are?”

I nod.

“But what about George?”

“I'll handle George. Will you trust me when I tell you I'm not interested in him?”

“But what if he kisses you?”

“George?”

This gets a laugh. “Yeah, I guess he's not the first-move kind of guy. Let me help work on Gemma from the sidelines.”

“That might speed things along.” The lights flicker in the lobby. “We better get inside.”

Mary Carlson puts her hands on the sides of my face and draws me into an intense kiss. “Or we could stay out here.”

I break away. “Or we could have all of Rome talking about us online later.”

“You're no fun.” She pouts. “What's wrong with a little drama?” Then she realizes her pun and looks toward the direction of the auditorium doors. “Get it? Drama?”

“Come on,” I groan.

“Wait.” Mary Carlson whips out her lip gloss. “Lest Gemma notice.”

The purr of her voice melts my insides. There's one thing we definitely have in common. I have never, ever, ever, felt this way before either. It's thrilling and terrifying.

After the performance, when we've all finished wiping the tears from our eyes and hugging Betsy in the lobby, we head to the cast party. It's in an older part of town at the assistant director's house.

“Wow, look how pretty this is.” Jessica peers out from the car window. “It's like something from
The Hobbit
.”

We follow solar lights in muted blues up the front walk through the crazy garden statuary and swing the door open. The drama crowd is a different mix of people than the group at the football party.

Betsy bounces over and squeezes our hands in a girl circle. “Well, what'd you think?”

“You were born to be onstage, girl.” Even Gemma is glowing for Betsy tonight.

Mary Carlson nudges me. I look in the direction she's looking. The girls who played Shelby and Ouiser are holding hands. Laughing and looking at each other while talking to the assistant director and another man about his age. I realize they're the alt girls from the movie theater. She whispers, “Maybe we should be friends with them.”

My eyes grow saucer wide.

She backpedals. “I mean, you know, eventually.”

I step away from her. And immediately feel like shit. Who have I become? But then I talk myself down. I haven't changed, and she was the one who made the first move. I
was doing fine lying low, prepping for
Keep It Real
and planning my summer trip. The trip is definitely not worth living a lie for in the face of a real girlfriend, but the radio show? It's so much bigger than me. And in the long run, it might be so much bigger for so many more people. She can't make me do this. Not yet.

Jessica squawks. “Oh wow, look at that, Shelby and Ouiser are kissing. Like for real. That is disgusting. Who would want to do that?” Her face morphs into bitter and she grabs hard onto the cross around her neck. Even though I absolutely hate her in this moment, it's unsettling because I could also hug her. Bigotry like hers will for sure cool Mary Carlson's jets.

Gemma looks in the direction we're all looking now. “I don't understand. I mean, I've never had the penis. But I sure do want it one day. What do they even
do
?”

“It's a sin,” Jessica adds.

Mary Carlson stiffens.

I keep my mouth shut.

George saves us.

“Hey, y'all came!” He grabs my hand. “Come on, there's food in the back.”

I can imagine what Mary Carlson is feeling. Confusion. Nervousness. Jealousy. I remember feeling the way she does when I came out. Even though Atlanta was a
way cooler place than here, and I knew I could talk to my dad—once I knew what I wanted to say to him—there were still assholes. It wasn't cake but I also had Dana ballsing her way into every situation. She'd never let me feel worry or shame or fear. And I never had to worry about best friends being squicky or dating a girl who had a pretend boyfriend. That part, at least, I can take care of.

I glance over my shoulder and get Mary Carlson's attention. With my head I motion toward Gemma, then swing George's hand, and mouth the words
save me
.

She smiles, does a subtle thumbs-up, and damn. She is gorgeous. Definitely my if-you-could-only-take-one-thing, deserted-island pick. I know it's too early to be in love. But this feeling. It's something.

The backyard off the kitchen is amazing. Twinkle lights have been strung across a brick patio and there are little heaters taking off the bit of fall chill in the air. There's even a guy spinning. It's not the horrible gangster rap they play at school dances, but a cool mix. Show tunes, eighties, nineties, stuff that makes you want to actually move. The best part is the dance floor itself. It's not some big coupled-off occasion. Everyone is dancing with everyone, moving around, laughing, shaking things up.

“Come on.” Jessica bounces and plunges into the small crowd. We follow her, Mary Carlson working her way
between me and George, so George and Gemma are next to each other as we start moving.

“Look at you, Harry Potter.” Gemma rotates her hips and her shoulders in synch. “You've actually got the moves.”

Mary Carlson winks at me as we dance in a four-girl circle with Betsy and Jessica. George robots every move Gemma makes. Shelby and Ouiser are bouncing around with the other actors and stagehands. There are a couple of other girls with them I suspect might play for our team. Mary Carlson and I both watch them without watching. They seem accepted here . . . for the most part. But I can't shake the things Jessica and Gemma said.

Betsy leans in. “I know. It took some getting used to for me at first. But they really like each other and it means less competition for us. Speaking of . . .” She squeals away from us as Jake walks through the door. She leaps and wraps her legs around him as he hoists her up with his hands on her rear.

Jessica sighs. “It's like all they ever think about.”

I cut a sideways glance at Mary Carlson, who's doing the same to me. “Got to pee,” I say.

“I'll come with.” Mary Carlson follows me.

Jessica shrugs and hops back onto the dance floor with Gemma and George.

We can't get to the bathroom fast enough.

Mary Carlson shuts the door and locks it. I mimic Betsy, throwing myself at her so her back hits the towel rack with a thud. “Ouch,” she laughs.

“Sorry, not sorry.” I kiss up her neck, biting at the ends of her ears, the part about me acting innocent gone. I let my hand trail up the side of her soft sweater, then bring my thumb over the top of her bra. When she gasps, I push up her sweater and let my fingers trail along her stomach, marveling in the fine hairs along the surface of her golden left-over tan skin, and the gold ring in her belly button. She's breathing super heavy, so when someone knocks on the door, I bark, “What?” like I've forgotten where I am or something.

Mary Carlson pushes me back with a smirk on her face.

I start laughing.

We do a quick mirror check, then fling open the door.

It's the girl who played Shelby and another girl who's part of their group. Deirdre, I think. She sits at the front in my Latin class.

“Um? Hi.” They glance between us with a huge question mark on their faces.

“Hi.” Mary Carlson giggles and fuck, is she about to say something about us?

I push past them and chatter. “You were really great in the play, oh and hi, you're in my class. But I need to get
back to my boyfriend. George. You know him, right?”

Deirdre twists up one side of her mouth. “Of course I know him.” Then she looks back and forth between us again, then at the actress girl, before laughing and saying to Mary Carlson, “Better hurry up and get her back to her
boyfriend
.” Then she smiles at her. And I recognize the solidarity in that smile. With Mary Carlson. I open my mouth, then shut it. I promised. I promised. I promised.

That night, I can't sleep. Gemma is between me and Mary Carlson. We both knew if she hadn't been, it'd be hard to keep our hands to ourselves. I hear four separate soft snores, everyone asleep but me.

I slip out of bed and take my phone. In the Baileys' den I curl up on their leather sofa and turn it on. I have texts. From a number I don't know.

You there? It's D. I screwed up. Mom won't bail me out.

Look I know you're busy, but please.

God, there's a prostitute in here with crack stuck into her dreads.

Fuck. They saw this bitch's phone. Damnit.

Then nothing. I stare at the screen for a minute, then text her back.

Don't know if you'll see this, but I'm going to get you
help. Text me when you're out.

I think about those cop shows. A bail bondsman is what she needs. I do a quick search online and find one in Atlanta. I call, keeping my voice low. “Hello, I need to see about getting a friend out of jail.”

It takes a few minutes of back-and-forth to figure out where she is and my credit card number, which was tucked in my phone case, but I feel pretty certain help is on its way to Dana.

“What are you doing?”

I jump at the sound of the voice.

“Hi, B.T.B.” I'm relieved it's not Mary Carlson. I'm not sure how I'd explain sitting on her sofa staring at my phone like I'm waiting for the Second Coming. “I couldn't sleep and then I had some texts from an old friend in Atlanta.”

“They have elephants at the Atlanta Zoo.”

“They do. We should go sometime.”

He sits next to me on the couch. “Do you want to watch a movie?”