What Happens Next (25 page)

“Oh, that should be fun.”

The knot is growing bigger, tighter. My throat aches.

Longer pause.

“You wanna go with me?” he says, and I jerk a little.

The knot breaks into pieces and slides down into my stomach. The butterflies gulp, gulp, gulp the pieces up. I think I’m flying.

“Sure!” I say, then internally wince at my overeager tone. I rein it in a bit. “I mean, I could meet you there if you want.”

“I could just pick you up,” he says. “Parking is kind of a bitch if you don’t have a pass.”

“Oh, okay, sure. Whatever’s easiest.”

“I have some lawns to do, but I should be done by six or seven. Say eight thirty?”

“I’ll be ready.”

And my heart goes:
Wheeeeee!

Holy crap, what do I wear?

I try on sixty-five million outfits and end up calling in the reserves. Kirsten’s car screams into my driveway. I look out my window; she and Paige are running from the car with armfuls of clothes. I can hear my mom opening the door for them and the three of them bouncing through the house, Liam and Ronan in tow—the whole revved-up gang is heading toward my room.

“Man, your hair rocks!” Paige tells my mom.

My mom crows shamelessly, “I know, doesn’t it?”

My mom hated the soccer-mom bob and went back to the salon the next day and got this choppy, short-banged, frame-the-face deal with funky highlights. It looks killer. Her sales have picked up some.

“Sid has a date! With a total
stuh-uhhd
!” my mom sings as she comes into my room.

“Yippee!” Kirsten squeals.

I may have to knock all their heads together.

“What’s a stud?” Liam asks as they all pile onto my bed.

“Stud is a word that old people use when they mean hot,” I say, my head stuck in my closet.

My mom sticks her tongue out at me. I can see them all in my full-length mirror on the inside of the closet door. Kirsten and Paige are lying across the bed on their stomachs, their heads propped in their hands, kicking their feet back and forth like five-year-olds. My mom is sitting Indian-style with a pillow in her lap. Ronan is sitting on the floor letting Liam use his back as a long, hairy sliding board; over and over Liam slides down Ronan’s back on his stomach.

Kirsten says to my mom, “At first I thought he was like this degenerate because of the whole juvie thing, but then I met him and—”

I freeze.

Kirsten and Paige freeze.

They both look at me through the mirror. Kirsten’s head picks up from her hands, her jaw dropping.

Oops.

I busy myself hanging up clothes and hope my mom missed it. Nope—my mom’s face blanches. She looks at me through the mirror, hangdog.

“Juvie?”

“He got caught doing graffiti when he was like twelve,” I say, turning around quickly and waving my hand. “Stupid kid stuff. Ages ago.”

My mom looks at Kirsten.

Her head goes back into her hands.

“Graffiti. For real,” Paige says.

“O-kayyyy,” my mom says.

Liam interrupts. “I’m hungry. Can we make popcorn?”

He is standing up and pulling at my mom’s shirt now. She turns her attention to him. I whip around and mouth to Kirsten:
WTF?
She makes this nail-biter
Sorry!
face at me.

“In a little bit, hon,” she answers Liam. “When Sid leaves, we’ll watch the new SpongeBob and I’ll make popcorn.”

I close my closet door and turn around. I fish around in the clothes that Kirsten and Paige brought. I hold some tops up to myself. We all wince in unison. I may be smaller than I was six months ago, but still, these will never fit. I turn back to my own clothes and narrow it down to three long tops. I hold them all up.

“Which one?”

“Pink,” Kirsten calls. “It shows off your phenom’ rack.”

Paige nods in agreement.

I pitch it behind me. My mom glares at them both and says, “Green. It shows off her beautiful eyes.”

Kirsten sighs.

“Green it is,” she says.

The blouse is long-sleeved and kind of a loose, billowy, tunic style, so that’s good.

“Out,” I say, jerking my head toward the door, pulling the shirt from its hanger.

“Liam, hide your eyes,” my mom says, and neither she, Kirsten, nor Paige budge.

“I mean all of you,” I say, waving toward the door.

“It’s just us,” my mom says.

I shoot her a look and she gets up from my bed, taking the girls with her.

“Fine, sheesh,” she says.

I don’t want my mom or the girls seeing me naked. They’ll comment on my figure and then my mom will make me eat something. All the time she’s watching, ambushing me with these big meals and telling me it’s “family night” three and four times a week. Saying things like,
What did you eat today? Didn’t you already run this morning?
I’m down quite a bit in weight, but for my height, I’m still at a number that’s considered normal. So no worries. I still have more to lose before I’d be considered underweight. I’ll stop before then. I just need to lose a bit more. My goal is to be a C cup. I know that’s quite a drop from a double D, but I don’t care. C cups are nice, normal-sized boobs. So it’s all a nice, healthy goal.

When I put the top on, I spy a pair of leggings in Kirsten’s pile of clothes. I look at the jeans I’m wearing. They look decent enough, so I probably shouldn’t push it. Still, I want to see what the leggings look like. I pull them on and look in the mirror. I’ve never worn leggings in my life. I turn around and around, examining everything from various angles. The tunic-style blouse is really long and covers my butt thoroughly, and the leggings, well, I think they look pretty good.

And they’ll look even better when I lose five more pounds.

I put on some makeup and a little perfume and look at the clock: eight fifteen. I emerge from my room to the nauseating smell of microwave popcorn.

When Corey’s truck pulls in at twenty-five after, all of them are sitting on the couch, including Liam, squeezed in, shoulder-to-shoulder, one, two, three, four, with a big bowl of popcorn in the middle. Wide-eyed, looking at the door, they shove it in, crunching away. I scream at them in a whisper.

“Please don’t act like you’re at the damn movies watching the Sid and Corey show!”

“Oh, right,” Kirsten says and gets up fast, turning on the TV and draping herself across the floor. Ronan sidles in beside her. My mom jumps onto the recliner and picks up one of her bodice rippers upside down.

“Mom!”

She looks at the front of it and flips it around. A sinewy, oiled-up guy in an unbuttoned pirate shirt is grasping the waist of a moaning pirate wench.
The Forbidden Sea
. She throws the book behind the chair and picks up a
Homes
magazine. Paige doesn’t know what to do, so she just panics and runs to the kitchen. Liam stays right where he is, sitting up straighter, staring at me, and shoving popcorn in his mouth. I shoot him the stink-eye.

I open the door and Corey is standing in front of me, his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing multiple layers, wrinkled, and I like it. I was hoping he wouldn’t go all preppy on our first date or, god forbid, be holding out a bouquet of flowers.

Wait a minute. Did I just say date? Is this a date? Or is it just friends?

I think it’s a date.

Christ, I’m sweating again. Fack.

Man, he’s tanner than he was earlier today, rosy under the eyes. I think his hair is picking up summer highlights. The landscaping is paying off. I feel very white. White and sweaty.

“Hi?” he says, looking at me funny, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on with me.

It occurs to me that I’ve been standing here staring at him, sizing him up and down, like a starry-eyed assface, like he’s some kind of Abercrombie & Fitch mannequin set down in my doorway for endless inspection. I haven’t even greeted him. Jesus, I’m jacking this all up and he just got here. I snap out of myself.

“Hey,” I say, waving him in. “I just have to get my bag.”

I smile, turn around, and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to pull it together.

Corey steps inside. I walk over and get my purse from the end table. Yes, I’m carrying a purse tonight, which I never do. But as of right now, Sid Murphy is an official purse-carrier. Because no decent guy wants to date a pocket-stuffer. Plus, I have no pockets now that I’m a leggings-wearer.

“Hello, all,” Corey says.

More awkwardness. Him nodding around the room, rocking on his heels, hands in his pockets, while the spectator idiots stare back at him, all smiling ear-to-ear.

“Hi, Corey!” Liam bellows. Then he jumps up from the couch, runs over, and hugs Corey’s waist. Corey puts a hand on Liam’s head.

“Hey, little man.”

Liam looks up at Corey and asks, “Are you and Sid gonna get married?”

Every drop of blood in my body rushes to my face. My mom barks out a laugh and Kirsten’s face goes horror-stricken. I hear a faint whimper drift out from the kitchen.

“Jesus, Liam!” I say, peeling him off Corey’s legs and pushing his smiling, gap-toothed face backward.

He laughs his evil little butt off and runs away, skipping and singing. “Sid and Corey, sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g…”

He used to be sweet, and I have no one to blame but myself. I feel like dying. I grab Corey by the arm and pull him out the door.

“ ’Bye,” I say, to no one in particular.

I stalk us down the steps and around the side of the house, where Corey is parked in the driveway. How can I recover from this? There is no way. Liam is a dead brat walking. I let go of Corey’s arm and press my back against the house. My hand is over my eyes and I seriously can’t breathe.

“That little shit. How red is my face? Is it bad?”

“It’s starting to get dark out, but if I had to guess, I’d say you’ve passed red completely and moved on to a more purple hue.”

“Great,” I whisper, mortified, still holding my breath.

“Breathe, Sid. In. Out. In. Out.” He’s trying not to laugh.

He’s standing right in front of me. I let out the air. I breathe some air in. I still can’t look yet.

“Okay. Just give me a sec,” I say, shaking out my hands and knees, my eyes still closed. “I just need all the blood to drain back into my legs before I can walk.”

“Take your time,” he says. Then he adds, “I mean, a bride needs her legs if she’s gonna walk down the aisle without falling.”

I burst out laughing and cover my face with both hands and turn away, pressing my face against the house.

“What?” he asks, laughing. “It’s already all planned. A marina wedding. Everyone’s waiting for us, and that little shit’s ruined my surprise.”

I laugh even harder, my shoulders shaking.

“Don’t make me laugh. Can’t you see I’m trying to die of embarrassment here?”

After a few seconds, I calm down and turn around to look up at him. Corey is right in front of me, smelling of Irish Spring and looking into my face.

“You have the most amazing laugh,” he says, grinning.

“Don’t you mean the loudest and most obnoxious?” I say, crossing my arms and looking around, still slightly embarrassed.

“No.”

And more thoughtfully, he adds, “I mean… amazing.”

He pauses to choose his words.

“It’s like this light coming out of you. I could be in a crowd of thousands and know right where to find you.”

I don’t know how to respond. I think it’s the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me. I look up at him, stunned. Everything slows down. He reaches out and brushes my cheek with his knuckles.

“I know it’s before the date has even started, but can I just do this now?”

My heart is beating so fast. My arms drop slowly to my sides. Oh, god, I think he means to kiss me. Yes. Yes, he does. But am I ready for this? I look at him standing in front of me, waiting for my answer. I’ve seen this boy almost every day for nearly six months now, but he doesn’t just assume. He doesn’t just take it. He has asked permission first.

He has asked
first
.

My eyes start to burn. I blink hard and nod yes.

Because, yes.

I am ready for this.

He cups the back of my neck with his hand and holds the other against my face, rubbing my cheek with his thumb. Slowly, he leans down and kisses me.

Soft, then deep.

I ooze against the house. I can feel his kiss in my whole body, like warm liquid pouring through me—gold, rich, and melting. After about a minute of what can only be described as sheer ecstasy, Corey rests his forehead against mine so we can both catch our breath. Then he takes my head into his hands and looks at me hard, like his heart is breaking.

“I have wanted to do that for so, so long.”

I cannot speak. I can only nod yes and hope he knows what I mean. He kisses me more…

“… for months and months…”

“… when you sprayed me with Dr Pepper…”

“… at the bakery when you were holding that corned beef…”