The ABC's of Kissing Boys (15 page)

“What's up?” I asked Dayle, stepping in behind her.

“Handwriting samples. Apparently, an anonymous note was slipped under Coach's door, and we're all under suspicion.”

Something jammed in my throat, and I suddenly really, really wished I'd called Chrissandra back. “When?”

“During varsity practice yesterday.”

“What did the note say?”

She shook her head. “I don't know, but it couldn't have been good.”

Well, duh!

My heart now pounding in every pulse point, I tried to reason through what might have happened. Clearly, Chrissandra had decided not to wait, to take matters into her own hands. But had she gotten someone from outside to do it? Or had she done it herself?

All that mattered was that it hadn't been me. I needed to figure out how to swallow normally again, and cruise on in there showing just a casual amount of curiosity.

Eventually, I was ushered into a conference room and told to take the chair facing the principal, Hartley and the lady I was pretty sure was the school psychologist. The principal explained that a player was on suspension pending an investigation, and Hartley added that this had been the result of an anonymous note. Then the shrink set off on ethics and how information sharing and coming clean on the tipster would benefit everyone.

Sure, everyone but whoever wrote the note.

But even if I'd wanted to be a rat, any information I had was secondhand. So I just shrugged a lot then, when they asked me to copy some sample sentences, happily agreed. I knew I was innocent.

On my way out, I saw that the varsity players had tagged on to the back of the line. Chrissandra's face jumped out at me like a beacon.

If there was something I needed to know, I wasn't missing my chance. “Chrissandra,” I said, waving her out of line, “sorry I didn't call you back.”

She just stared at me.

Oh, God.
Mistake.
What had I been thinking?

Finally, her lip curled up like she smelled something rotten. “Don't you have a boyfriend to go push on a park swing?”

Mandy joined the party. “Yeah, along with Bert and Ernie?”

Elaine opened her mouth, too, but her voice was washed out by the sudden rush of blood to my head. I could describe this only as rage. I knew I couldn't lose it with them, like I had with the froshies yesterday—not if I wanted my life back. But it took every single ounce of my willpower not to respond.

Besides, this was just an act, right?

I exhaled loudly, like their barbs had hit home. (Which they had—dang, double- agent stuff again. This was getting confusing.) Then I tossed my hair and called out “What
ever
!” and marched off.

I kept telling myself I was fine; but what was with the pressure behind my eyeballs, the feeling like I might burst into tears? Crying wouldn't exactly have been a bad thing for my cover, but it would have felt like bare- naked humiliation. Because I knew the tears would be one hundred percent real.

I was royally confused. I mean, the end of all this nonsense was finally here, right? Hartley would kick AJ off the team, and either she would move me up or the team members would revolt until she did. Chrissandra's Plan was in motion and actually working. And I wouldn't even have to deal with the sports fair.

So
what
was my problem?

Señora Trujillo took my hall pass and let me go to my seat without any questions or comments, And, although I usually found Spanish a nuisance, for once I was glad to conjugate verbs.

•

My peace was short- lived. When I cruised up to my locker just before lunch, two people were waiting for me: Becca and Rachael. And there was no way I could go off with Rachael in Becca's face—Becca had to be number one now—but Rachael's eyes were wide and insistent.

“We
have
to talk,” Rachael told me.

I gave Becca a desperate look. “Can I catch up with you in a few minutes? Please? By the grill truck?”

Irritation flashed on her face (what, was today Emo Day at DHS?), but I think she could tell it was important, because she nodded and said, “I'll get in the line and order, but then you have ten minutes tops to get there before the cheeseburgers go cold.”

“Thanks,” I said, and hugged her, grateful for her trust and friendship again.

Then I threw my books into my locker and followed Rachael outside to an empty spot on the bleachers.

“You don't have to tell me if you're the one who wrote the note or not,” Rachel began, crossing, then uncrossing her legs.

“I wasn't—”

“I don't care who did it. AJ shouldn't have been playing on painkillers, and I hope they give her the boot for good. But you need to know that Hartley thinks it was you.”

“But it
wasn't.
”

“Who was it?”

“I don't know.”

“Chrissandra?”

Probably, but I didn't know for sure. I mean, if Rachael knew about AJ's knee, how many other people did? I couldn't afford to get myself in any deeper, so I shrugged and shook my head.

“Look, Parker, there's something else you need to know. I didn't just come back to soccer. Hartley came after me. She told me I'd go straight to captain, no questions asked, no cocaptain, if I'd play again.”

I felt my eyes bug. “Great. But why?”

“To keep Chrissandra from taking over varsity, like she did JV. She said Chrissandra had bullied the other players, had argued with her coaching methods and had been a general pain in the ass.”

Sure. But Hartley was an adult. And one with tough skin, at that. I'd had no idea how Chrissandra's antics had gotten to her.

“She's good on the field, but Hartley wanted to bury her,” she went on, “make her powerless. And to be perfectly honest, I have major issues with Chrissandra myself. So I was more than happy to come back and put her in her place. And believe me, next year, when I'm gone and there's no cocaptain to move up, you'll be the top runner for varsity captain.”

“Hartley told you that?”

“She didn't have to. JV captains always move up—at least, the ones she likes. Just play your cards right now.” She leaned in closer. “So if you wrote that note, fess up. If you didn't, be prepared to defend yourself.”

“But I don't understand. Why does she think it was me?”

“Because someone—I don't know who—told her it was.” Rachael stood and brushed off the seat of her pants. “Keep your guard up, Parker. Someone's out to destroy you.”

I tried to nod, but the muscles in my neck had gone rock hard.

Soothing
:
Is your partner
frazzled? Smooching is a medically recognized
stress reliever.

M
oving through the courtyard crowds to find Becca, I spotted Tristan leaning against a wall. Anxiety must have been leaking from my pores, because he took one look at me, said something to his buddies and beelined my way.

“Parker, you upset?” He fell into step with me.

“You could say that.”

“Anything I can do?”

I glanced up into his dark blue eyes and considered blurting out all that had happened in the past few hours. Then my gaze zeroed in on his lips, and I realized that the last thing I wanted to use our mouths for was talking….

“ Uh- huh,” I said, then grabbed his hand and pulled him into the building. I didn't care who saw.

I dragged him to Chrissandra's favorite alcove, under the stairs, which I figured would be empty at this hour. “What I could really use right now,” I told him, “is that See-You-Later Kiss.”

A smile sparked in his eyes. Then, no questions asked, his hand went to the back of my tensed- up neck, and he pulled me close. Closer. Closest. Until our lips were together, then our tongues, and our breath—even, I think, our heartbeats.

It was heaven not to talk, not to think. Not to be JV captain or the girl Chrissandra was supposed to hate or even Tristan's make- believe girlfriend. Inside that moment in time and space, I was just me, Parker Elizabeth Stanhope, throwing caution to the wind and losing myself in the arms of one heck of a guy.

“Omigod, you two,” said a voice, cutting into my stream of consciousness. “Get a room!”

Tristan and I pulled back to see CeeCee Stevens making a fourth-grade gross-out face.

It was as good a time as any to part, so I broke free, only to feel oddly cool and empty.

“See you later,” I told Tristan, then winked as I walked away.

He returned a goodbye that I didn't entirely catch, but I couldn't miss his tone, all deep and throaty.

I was no longer a walking bundle of nerves when I caught up to Becca. I gratefully accepted my cheeseburger, and in between bites, I unloaded all the dirt.

“Chrissandra,” she responded with certainty when I was done. “She's the one who's trying to take you down.”

I didn't argue but didn't agree, either. It just seemed too easy. She'd come to me privately about AJ and the pills. Why wouldn't she have come back for my answer?

When I got to my locker after lunch, a Baby Bottle Pop hung on a pink ribbon from my locker vent. I calmly untied it and threw it into my backpack. As long as the girls were still hassling me, they were still on my side. Weird as
that
sounded.

And who didn't like Baby Bottle Pops?

At practice, it was business as usual. We suited up and raced onto the field, with Heartless charging around, shouting out pointers and blowing her annoying whistle. I desperately wanted to talk to her—about the note, Chrissandra, my odds of moving up to varsity now that AJ was on suspension—but knew putting my head down and working hard was my best play.

I took my Smurfs over to a patch of grass to work on footwork again. I wanted Hartley to notice. And, well, I actually sort of liked working with them. I also couldn't help but wonder, if some older player had given
me
this kind of time and consideration when I'd started out, would I be a junior on JV?

My good intentions died a quick death when I cast eyes on Emma (whose paw prints I still imagined all over Tristan). I cheerfully designated her our water girl of the day so that every time somebody's bottle got low, she had the honor of refilling it, necessitating a couple of long runs across the field to top off the cooler.

When she glared at me, with sweat beading along her hairline, I simply smiled. “Don't worry. I know how you like to go all out to please your teachers, and I'll make sure Coach Hartley gives you
extra credit.”

The resentment in her eyes deepened, to which I turned a Chrissandra- worthy cold shoulder. Then I charged off to set up a defense drill, secretly pleased that I'd learned a thing or two from my years at the feet of the Ice Queen.

•

Becca and I wandered over to the DQ after the movie. We ordered a hot fudge–brownie sundae, then dug in with two spoons, talking and joking around. No agenda, no talk of cals or carbs or fat or farts, no one to trash or kiss up to.

Later, a few players from the boys’ varsity soccer team came over, and despite one of them asking me why I wasn't home babysitting my boyfriend, we had a good time.

Eventually, Becca and I decided to call it a night and hightailed it to my mom's SUV. As I headed for the exit, a car came in fast, straddling the line. I had to veer to keep from sideswiping it, and I turned to try to see who'd almost hit me. I wasn't surprised to see Kyle behind the wheel, his queen in her position of royal prominence beside him. They pretended not to see me, and I pretended it was because his inadequacy behind the wheel embarrassed him and not because they were too cool for us.

I dropped Becca off, then headed home. Turning into my street, I saw Tristan's long legs stretched out from the curb to the circle of streetlight. I wondered if he'd just gotten home from a night with friends, or had maybe shot hoops until he dropped with exhaustion.

I pulled into the garage and made the split- second decision to go say hi. I figured at this hour we'd be safe from prying parental eyes. But when I got to the bottom of the drive, he was standing, his head bobbing, suggesting that he was talking to someone. A five- alarm fire bell suddenly clanged in my head.

I skulked to a dark space on our lawn and waited with a bunch of chirping crickets. Until he took a step and a body appeared from behind him. A short blond body. Emma.

Crap, I should have killed her with push- ups and laps instead of just water duty!

I wanted to march over there. I wanted to run into my house, slam the door and pretend I'd never seen a thing. But most of all, I wanted to go grab my dad's cell phone to call the city to report the most heinous property eyesore of all: Tristan with another girl.

Thymely Kiss
:
Greek cooks
sometimes use the herb thyme to electrify
their meals—and their diners’ kissing lips.

I
crouched down in the dark on my front lawn, figuring I might as well get comfortable. But soon, Emma appeared in the glow of the streetlamp, pedaling a bike. Tristan stepped into the light as well, and watched her fade into the night.

I stood, needing no invitation to make my move.
“Nice,
Tristan!” I said when I got within shouting range. “Really nice!”

He looked my way, his brow furrowed.

“You
promised
me you'd wait.”

He continued studying my face, then glanced in the direction of Emma's retreat. “Oh, no, you've got it wrong. We talked mostly about our parents—hers don't exactly speak to each other, either—and then about you. How you play favorites on the team, and how she wants you to like her, too.”