#Kissing (Rock and Romance #1) (13 page)

Chapter 35

I reluctantly drive through the familiar streets to my job interview. While my mother is concerned with a particular kind of failure, the one that scares me is being stuck here and noticed. Achievement unlocked. At least being a nanny is confined to a private home so I can retain a certain amount of disconnect, if I get the position.

The house is in a newer part of town with the kinds of McMansions that gains my mother a hefty commission.

My car is the only one in the driveway. Maybe they're not home. The Toyota is good on gas. It could get me to New York, although the Halos have probably moved on.

The doorbell chimes pleasantly, echoing through the house. Footsteps approach behind a mahogany door with ornate beveled glass. I know this detail only because I had to tag along on countless go-sees with my mother when I was younger.

A harried woman with dark eyes answers the door. "Good. You came. Please come in," she says in accented English. "My name is Esmerelda."

"Hi. Nice to meet you. I'm Josie."

She spares me further formalities as I follow her deeper into the tidy house toward the recorded sounds of laughter on a television show. My mother would definitely approve of the décor and extreme cleanliness. I can't imagine that children actual live here, well, more than one. My mother managed to keep our house immaculate all through my childhood.

"The children are in the family room. They're Mackenzie, Madison, and Mason. Ten, seven, and four. You'll start on Monday. Any questions?"

Yeah, only about a dozen. "Um, so, I uh, got the job?"

She nods.

"Should I meet the parents? The kids?"

"The parents are out of town. The kids need a new nanny. The Costas will be back over the weekend. They told me to hire someone nice."

"And I seem qualified?" I seem nice? I can't help but laugh.

A squeaky voice calls from the other room.

Esmerelda's shoulders slacken. She gestures that I follow.

Three kids with straight brown hair and big brown eyes sit in a row on the couch with their attention glued the TV. The middle child, in stature and in the seating position, holds a cup up, presumably for a refill.

Esmeralda knows what to do without being asked and disappears to the kitchen. I zone out to the TV with the three kids until Esmerelda returns.

She hastens out of the room presumably to fulfill some other request.

"So that's it?" I ask, following her.

She nods.

"Ok. Uh, the pay?"

"I get fifteen an hour."

"Good enough for me. I'll see you on Monday."

"No, not me. Mrs. Costa."

"Mrs. Costa. Got it."

This gig might be easier than I thought. Watch TV, retrieve snacks, and be paid to do it. I wheel back through town hoping that if I save and don't spend, I'll put this familiar scenery, the quaint stores, and this little nightmare behind me before long.

The doctor's office is as sterile and unpleasant as I expect, but after being honest about my lapse in testing my glucose and taking my medicine, the doctor gives me a new dosage of insulin that is longer lasting.

She closes the laptop where she reviewed my file. Like the nanny, she asks, "Any questions?" Before I answer she adds, "Your mother is concerned about you. This isn't my place exactly, but it is my responsibility to administer drugs properly and take care of my patients. I have to ask if you are currently on intravenous drugs that might interfere with the administration of your insulin." Her features are sharp.

My jaw hangs open before I have a chance to close it. "No. Having to prick myself multiple times a day going on nearly two decades is a lifetime of too many needles for me."

"Your mother expressed concern."

I shake my head.

Before starting the car, I knock my head against the steering wheel to jar my thoughts away from the
I have to get out of this town and away from my mother as soon as possible
rut.

In the parking lot, I call my dad after seeing a notice about patient responsibility and copays. It goes to voicemail.

Chapter 36

I make myself scarce until it's time to pick up Penny. I consider asking her if she wants to join me in New York, or really anywhere else, but I don't think a chai and a smile quite qualifies us as road trip buddies.

Niko texts.
Going to Argentina next week. Please meet me there. Miss you babe
.

He's singing the same old song.

In my haste to leave the hotel that night, I left behind some of the rock chick clothing I collected and designer donations from photo shoots and events, making my available wardrobe a combination of preppy and dirty laundry. I root through my closet. Frost covers the dead grass outside, but I crop a striped boat-neck T-shirt, tug on the jeans that could practically walk on their own, my leather moto jacket, and lacking the right pair of shoes, I browse the internet, landing on a pair of platform boots, which I can't afford. It's time to go anyway so I lace up an old pair of Converse.

My breath puffs in clouds on my way out to the car as though I'm smoking a cigarette. Argentina doesn't sound half-bad, despite the company.

"Thanks for picking me up." A gust of smoky, autumn air clings to Penny as she gets in the car.

"No problem."

"So are you back for—"

"Personal reasons." It's the lamest answer ever. "I mean, things got a bit heavy on tour with the Halos so—"

"Yeah. I deleted their albums from my phone. Team Josie all the way."

This makes me smile in a completely ironic way, but her smile in response doesn’t suggest she's joking.

I clear my throat. "Is there a team Niko?"

"Mhmm. And a team Niksie, of course."

"I didn't expect sides to be taken."

"The fans are pissed. You were, like, the glue. I take it you aren't following the stories."

"Should I be?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"How much you hate him."

"I do. I don't. I don't know. Maybe a few beers will help me make the decision."

Boy racers already "drag Main"—a favorite and perennial pastime of the local high school and apparently post-high school set. Modified Ford Fiestas and Honda Civics cruise up and down the street, sometimes revving their engines, a promise for races after hours. There are also jacked up trucks and SUVs. I park off Highland and Penny and I swap a couple of stories about a technology teacher, Mr. Yuen, we shared.

"I only took that class for the film class prerequisites."

"Is that what you want to do?"

"Yeah, I'm picking away at classes at Community, hoping to transfer to a legit film school." She animates her dream of creating emotionally compelling movies about music. "Because that's what it does for me. Music takes me places and seeing it conveyed in moving pictures keeps me there. You know when you look at old photos and get all nostalgic? Kind of like that."

"That's cool." Her passion crushes my voice to a barely audible hush. I wish I knew what I wanted to do with my life. My perception of Penny shifts toward friendliness as she continues to describe some of her favorite bands, avoiding mention of the Halos until we're both shivering from the cold.

The apartment is smoky and half filled with familiar faces. The rest look like they're still at CHS.

"So this is where the graduates of our class go to seed." Penny either doesn't hear me or is thrilled to be at one of the storied parties JQ and I generally avoided. I should tell her what a real party is like. She sticks to my side. It’s not our appearance together that has eyes following us, but rather mine at all.

I want to slap the assuming smirk off everyone’s faces. I admonish their amusement that I, the top student in their class, pulled a senior escape. But technically, I graduated. My mother appealed to the principal and the district or whatever, but no one knows that. Instead, I'm a joke or a cautionary tale.

Braden or Jaden—I can never keep them straight—claps me on the shoulder and pulls me in for a big hug. "Babe, glad you made it. My brother said he ran into you."

"My name is Josie, not babe," I grind out through clenched teeth.

"Hey, hey, apologies. You're looking good. Need a drink?" It's Jaden for sure. He had the reputation for being a player. Braden, the one who invited me, was the sweet stoner of the pair.

"Definitely," I say.

"Then we do speak the same language."

"And that's all." I intend for my flat tone to shut up any further discussion or desire to speak any language.

"Maybe I can change that."

"Doubtful."

I follow him, and Penny follows me, to the kitchen where a wildflower garden of cans and bottles line the counter. "Help yourself. Mi casa is your casa," Jaden says.

I studied French, so we definitely don't speak the same language, but I take a beer anyway. He interrogates me about the last few years while Penny fidgets as though she'd rather be behind the counter at the coffee shop, or behind a video camera. I put a beer in her hand. She holds it as though it's hot and not cold.

"This is my friend, Penny," I say, introducing them, hoping that will diffuse her discomfort.

"Oh yeah. You work at the new coffee shop. Glad you came," Jaden says.

Braden appears, putting his arm sloppily around Jaden's and my shoulders. "I meant to ask you, where's my man JQ these days?"

I shake my head and shrug. Manhattan. Rescuing me from falling out of trees. Not here.

"You two were inseparable," Braden says. "High school sweethearts. I didn't think—"

"That was before," Jaden raises an eyebrow, "Before Josie got wild." He hoots and lifts his bottle of beer overhead in the universal sign of saluting crazy shit. "It's a party," Jaden says.

I roll my eyes.

Penny shrinks.

I lean close to her. "Is this your first party?"

She nods.

"Believe it or not it's only my second with this crowd." The only thing I've been doing is partying, but on a grander scale. "I have no idea what to say or what to do with my arms either. But," I glance at Braden, "I think he's happy to see you. His eyes haven't left her since he came over."

I make sure there's less than six inches between them in the tiny kitchen and move away to brood over my beer.

The scent of clove cigarettes makes me want to gag as I shoulder my way through the crowd. Braden and Jaden made quick work of securing their position as the local party shack. I should tell my mother that I'm not the biggest loser in Cranville.

What Braden said about JQ and I being high school sweethearts, a couple, filters through my recap of the brief conversation. Did people think we were together? We were just friends—except that night under the stars. I wanted more then, but having feelings like that for anyone, except for the fantasy posters plastered on my walls, had been put far from my mind courtesy of my mother.

I perch on the back of a couch, my tight jeans and fuck off attitude out of place in this room full of flannels, baseball caps, and pop princess outfits. It's depressing. I somehow eclipsed this scene in high school and then afterward sped into rocker-girlfriend status, but ended up back here anyway. I get up to tell Penny I'm going when someone hums the
K-i-s-s-i-n-g
song in my ear.

"JQ and Josie sitting in a tree, K-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes love. Then comes marriage, and then comes the baby in the baby carriage. Where's your other half? Oh, wait, you left him for a rock star? Where is he these days, Josie?"

Chapter 37

My mother and Kat tie place for my nemesis, but I forgot about Lizzy Taft—she's a baby Kat in training. I turn slowly, fixing my murder face in place.

If I thought being around my mother was bad, this is the suckiness of reality amplified.

Lizzy sits in the center of a loveseat, her arms spread across the back in a T-shape, and her long legs crossed. Her short dress is skintight with long lace sleeves. When she speaks, I half expect Kat's accent to purr from her lips.

"Well, well, Josie. My favorite pussycat. I didn't expect to see you here."

"I didn't expect to be here."

"Why are you here? Come back to see what we all look like, smooshed under your high class heels?" She laughs at her cleverness.

I glance at my feet. "I'm wearing sneakers."

Lizzy Taft will never forgive me for a variety of reasons, most recently for kissing Casper Babcock—who, apparently, she had a crush on, but that was the first I'd heard about it. It was the other CHS party I went to; I got drunk for the first time, and it just happened.

But mostly she hates me for slithering out of trouble when her mother found out she started working at a strip club—she was never around anyway. It wasn't my fault so I refused to take responsibility. I did buy the pole dancing fitness video during my first stage of rebellion. It was for my abs, I swear, but she got the pole and then took it out of her bedroom and onto the stage.

She glowers at me.

"Why are you here? Don't you have a pole to climb?"

Her gaze cuts to Jaden. If Braden is dopey stoner-sweet, Jaden is high roller wanna-be cokehead. I recognize the set of his jaw.

"I've had a few days off from the Gentleman's club in Manhattan. I did hear that Richie's is hiring if you need a job. You weren't half-bad on the pole, and you took ballet, right? You'd be right at home, Josie. From what I've seen online, our lifestyles aren't much different. I'd put in a good word, but I'm going back to New York City tomorrow. Business and pleasure, of course."

I roll my eyes, hard.

"If you came here looking for Casper, you'll probably find him at Richie's too, along with a nose full of cocaine, but I imagine you might like that kind of thing."

"I'm sure you love that kind of thing."

She snorts. "I'm an exotic dancer, not a strung out drug addict." Her eyes rake my heroin chic appearance. "See, the thing is, before the fitness video and the exercise pole," she flashes air quotes around the words, "I had plenty of experience with boys. I broke you from your prudish academic rut with music and dancing and how did you thank me? Kissing the one boy you knew I actually liked. That's not what friends do so," her eyes narrow, "so I've been patient, while making it my mission to make sure you know exactly how it feels." Her laugh is shrill. "I heard you were back in town. You should check my Facebook page."

Her words spike bitterness in me, turning me darker and darker. "Check your Facebook page? That means we'd have to be friends, and I'd say we're the opposite. Two months of hanging out? Stripping in your room in front of each other? Going to a couple of parties and concerts?" I gravitated toward her when I started to break away from my so-called life, but we weren't what I'd call besties, not by a long shot.

She reorganizes her face to hide dismay and then starts humming the K-i-s-s-i-n-g song again, trying to get under my skin. "I bet you never actually kissed JQ. His lips are like velvet, sweet and strong—"

My blood boils.

"We know all about you, Josie. I'm no stranger to Halos news. I know what it looks like for a girl's heart to be somewhere besides on her lips—an empty kiss. Every time your lips were on Niko's I bet it was JQ you saw behind your closed eyes." She tilts her head when I don't answer.

I finish my beer, letting its golden screen hide my inner truths. "That's where you're wrong, Lizzy. You talk about pleasure? If you've really been watching me closely, as you said, you'd see my heart isn't anywhere. It's all about desire and lust and rock and roll. That's it. I could kiss every guy in this room, in this town, and put everything into it or nothing at all. It's about getting what I want."

"You are a bitch," she says, shaking her head. "I should take notes."

My laugh is sinister. "And I don't even have to try." I grab the sleeve of the guy closest to me, grip his face between my cold hands, and plant my lips on his.

A few people in the room hoot, but I push him away, showing Lizzy that it means nothing.

She smirks. "Really, you should check my Facebook page to see what a real kiss looks like. I dare you."

When I don't move to take my phone out of my pocket, she reaches for hers. As I walk away, the giant television screen shifts from a psychedelic light show screen saver to the flashing lights of a club. The song
Show us your Tits
echoes from the speakers and a mixture of anger and sadness pulses through me, but I can't rip my gaze from the image.

A lumbering guy from my class walks past, blocking my view, and when he clears the space, the image shifts from the stage where the band starts the notes to
I Kissed you Once
. Niko would sometimes change the lyrics to and
I'll kiss you again and forever
, his eyes landing on me in the crowd. At least I thought so.

JQ's profile fills the screen. There's a hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer and then Lizzy's lips land on his. His posture relaxes and He. Kisses. Her. Back.

She hums the K-i-s-s-i-n-g song again.

I swallow hard. Shivers run across my skin and an ache plummets from my chest to my stomach. I gave up any claim to kissing him three years ago, but it stings just as she intended.

Lizzy hollers across the room, "Josie, now you know how it feels."

She rivals me with bitchiness, but I shrug it off, pulling Jaden to me and giving him a long, wet kiss. The room dissolves in a round of hoots and clapping.

If I'm going to tolerate being here, at least I should make it worth my time and shove Lizzy's belief that I ever had a crush on JQ—and that her stupid video stung at all—, in her face. I fight to keep my thoughts away from questions about JQ. Did he kiss her more than once? Did he like it?

I kick myself back into the present. Jaden's not a bad kisser, actually. A little wet, but I'm contributing to that. When I pull away, his Adam's apple bobs as he says, "Wow."

"Shut it."

Lizzy leads a crowd in the K-i-s-s-i-n-g song like we're children again. Someone else, eyes glued to the screen, as I pull mine away, says, "I thought Josie and JQ were together."

Then a chorus of voices rehashes the slanderous rumors that I got Lizzy in trouble, snuck around with Casper, solidifying her life as a stripper. It's all speculation and rumors lost in translation. Yes, I regret kissing Casper and wouldn't have if I knew she really like him, but JQ? Was he getting revenge too?

I slide onto the love seat Lizzy recently vacated. If JQ goes online or passes the gossip rags in the checkout line at the grocery store, he's seen dozens of images of Niko and me kissing on film and in print. There are so many Penny could make a movie.

Guilt, regret, panic, and something else swims around in my stomach.

Eyes are on me, Lizzy's mostly. I could wallow, but I suddenly have a better idea to show everyone how little this matters.

I erase kindness and reason with a shot of tequila, and I turn to Penny. "You should get this on film. We'll call it #Kissing, and it'll go viral."

If I were sober I'd take her expression of trepidation as a clue that what I'm doing is stupid, but Cranville is boring and Lizzy is awful. I don't do boring, but I'm skilled at being awful and apparently, stupid.

I take another shot, apply my red lipstick, and a line forms as Jaden sings my lip-smacking praises. Lizzy stands by the television. Her and JQ's kiss, streaming on repeat, fuels my undertaking.

"Free kisses from Josie," I slur with laughter that doesn't sound quite like my own.

If Niko can kiss Kat, and she can kiss JQ, I can kiss the whole graduating class of two-thousand whatever, maybe the entire town, and it doesn't mean a thing.

My phone vibrates. As if karma or fate or destiny finally catches up with me, Kat texts me a photo of Niko kissing someone that isn't me. I use the middle finger emoji. I'll be sure to send the #Kissing footage to them both.

I'll show everyone how little a kiss means. This is what I tell myself all night as I swap kisses and shots while Penny captures it all on film.