What You Always Wanted (10 page)

“If you've kissed before, kissing me right here, right now, shouldn't be that big a deal.” He moves closer. I want to choke him.

I exhale, weighing my options. I want to be in this play.
Need
to be. I'm not going to kiss him for the sake of practicing, but I need him on my side. To commit one hundred percent.

“Brian, you help me land this part, and I'll show you kissing that will change the color of your sneakers.”

By the time I get to English class the next day, my name has been whispered to me in the hallway followed by puckering sounds, and I've found notes in my locker from two guys on the theatre tech team asking me to homecoming—one was a check “yes” or “no” type, the other gave a link to a website for me to select my answer.

Preoccupied by the puzzle of my sudden popularity with the male masses, I drop into my seat without immediately noticing a book slide across my desk.

“Helloooo?” Jesse says, waving a hand in front of my face.

Blinking, I realize he gave me my literature book. “Oh, no! Why didn't you tell me you had this last night? I was supposed to read an entire chapter for today!”

“I only saw it in my truck this morning,” he says with hands raised in surrender. “If it was so important, why didn't you ask for it back? I don't remember getting any texts from you.”

My heart skitters at the thought of sending Jesse a text. He may be my neighbor and carpool driver, but I've been at this school long enough now to see the way everyone acts around him. Like he's a god. And the way the girls look at me when I'm near him, like I'm a stray dog that needs a bath. I couldn't possibly be the instigator of our text conversation, no way. That has to come from him.

“Well, I think it's your responsibility to give me the condensed version of what the reading was about. It's only fair.”

He scrunches his eyebrows together and curls up a corner of his mouth. “Like I read it.”

Red rushes into the room, and before his butt even touches the chair, he asks, “Have you seriously never been kissed, Maddie?”

“What?” My head snaps up at him, eyes wide, pulse racing. “Who told you that?”

Red clears his throat but Jesse answers, “I heard it from Mike.”

I keep my eyes fixed on Red, unable to face Jesse, and try my best to keep my voice down to avoid a scene, though I can't imagine anyone within earshot is missing any of this.

Brian. The little . . .

My jaw clenches as I try to find a way out of this. Denial will only make me look guilty. And I
am
guilty because the rumor's totally true. Owning it is probably the best way to go, even though all the decent guys might think there's something wrong with me, that I'm undesirable.

“Can you believe this hot little thing hasn't been kissed?” Red says to Jesse. “Someone needs to do something about that.”

Or maybe someone will want to do something about it. . . . That would explain the notes in my locker this morning. Brian and I are going to have words later. Many words.

I collect my cool, counting to three and filling my lungs with a long, steady breath.

“So, it's true, then?” Red asks, and I can see Jesse direct his gaze toward me. “You're not exactly denying it.”

There's nothing wrong with saving my first kiss. I refuse to be teased about it.

Mysterious. Be mysterious. Be attractive, alluring. Desirable.

“Wouldn't you like to know?” I finally say.

Red grunts, facing forward as the teacher walks in. “Such a tease.”

“Is it true, what they're saying?” Tiffany asks as she squirts mustard on her cheeseburger.

I groan. Not them too.

“Have you really not kissed anyone before?” Angela fluffs rice and some kind of meat with her fork. Her mom actually attempted a home-cooked meal last night and these are the unfortunate-smelling leftovers.

“Listen to you guys, helping spread rumors.” I cluck my tongue and change the subject. “Why don't you help me figure out where I should work instead? My future car isn't going to pay for itself.”

Angela leans in and speaks low. “Hey, we're trying to get to the bottom of this thing so we can help put a stop to it. Where did this even come from, anyway?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Brian from theatre.” They wait for me to elaborate, so I give them a quick play-by-play of last night's failed attempt at an audition practice.

“So, basically you're saying you've never kissed anyone except in shows?” Tiffany raises her bottle of pop and says, “To the saddest thing I've ever heard,” then takes a swig.

Angela ignores her. “What's the holdup, exactly? You like boys, right? Why don't you want to kiss them?”

Can I tell them? Would they understand? Do
I
even understand why I'm still holding on to the dream of perfection? Does it exist anywhere?

I swallow hard. “I just haven't found the right guy yet.”

“Well, buy yourself some new lip gloss because you can have your pick of the crop now,” Tiffany says. “I overheard a few guys in the lunch line talking about whether you had a date to homecoming yet.”

“What guys?” I ask, ears perked.

“I have no idea. I think they're juniors.”

I take a bite of my ham sandwich. “Brian asked me.”

“What?” they ask at the same time.

“He must have been the one Mrs. M. was talking about,” Tiffany finishes. “Did he ask before or after he tried to plant one on you?”

“After. Right before he left.” I exhale and toss the remains of my sandwich in my lunch box. “But it was so lame. He just . . . asked me. Red's self-obsessed offer was somehow more
appealing. I said I'd think about it, but obviously I'm going to say no.”

Silence. Blank stares.

“What
should
he have done?” Angela asks.

Tiffany snorts. “Don't even get her started.”

“Ladies,” I say, snapping a slice of pear in two, “I think it's time I introduced you to the love of my life.”

CHAPTER TEN

After ten minutes at the homecoming game Friday night, one thing is clear: I don't belong in Texas. I've never seen so many cowboy boots and hats outside of the movies in my life. Grown men spit, actually
spit
, anywhere and everywhere. En masse they're a Southern bunch, some with the drawl I expected to hear when I moved down here, all boasting about how their kid is the best. And the moms . . . I can't even.

Every high school girl seems to be here to cheer on the football guys. And their bodies are practically covered in these gigantic, fake white flowers with ribbons and bells and who knows what else hanging from them. They call them mums. I guess it was a Texas tradition back in the day for the boys to give their homecoming date a chrysanthemum flower, and over time it's evolved into a social-status competition. The bigger, the better. Some of the senior girls' mums are so big, they have
to wear this special thing over their shoulders to pin them to so their shirts don't rip off. I can't believe the administration allows those noisy things to be worn at school. Between every class today, it was like walking among a herd of dairy cows.

Angela and Tiffany agreed to marathon my choice of movies tonight, with the condition that I attend the homecoming game with them. Well, I'm here, but it doesn't mean I have to sit on these uncomfortable metal benches and watch the whole game.

I talk the girls into a snack just before halftime—I'm in the mood for something cheesy and wonderfully disgusting. We head for the concession stand, but I lose my appetite when I see who's working the register. Brian is not touching anything that goes in my mouth.

“Y'all go ahead,” I tell them. “I'll just wait out here.”

As I turn around, Brian calls out, “Nachos are only five bucks, Maddie. You know you want some.”

Greasy, gooey cheese. I really do. “Only? Five bucks seems a little steep for a bowl of corn chips and neon cheese.”

“Worth it,” Angela says, digging cash out of her purse.

“Money goes to the drama department tonight. Did you forget?” Brian removes his school-colored hat and scratches his head with the same hand. He's definitely not touching my food. “And we get extra credit working the stand.”

I motion to his customers. “Well, carry on, Chef Boyardee.”

He fills Angela's nacho order, then disappears behind the wall. We start the walk back toward the bleachers, when suddenly Brian's standing in front of me with a constipated look on his face. Then he drops to one knee. A few nearby kids and a teacher slow to see what's going on.

“Whaaa . . . ?” Angela draws out as Tiffany leans toward me and whispers, “Holy whoa, girl. What's happening?”

“Go to homecoming with me, Maddie,” he says, taking my hands in his.

Because I'm in shock, and not because a boy is holding my hands and my brain doesn't know what to do with that information, I don't pull away. But I do have enough wits about me to understand this is still Brian.

“After what you did? You can't be serious.”

“I'm sorry about that.” His smile fades into regret. “I swear I only told
one
person that you might not have been kissed. You were just so cryptic about it.”

My lips curl into a snarl. “You caught me off guard. How was I supposed to know you wanted to jump right into the kissing? Seriously, Brian, you're such a—” I swallow back all the words I'm too classy to say and make a noise of revulsion instead.

“I didn't mean for it to turn into a thing. I really didn't. I
will
make it up to you, I pro—”

A chirp from his pocket prompts him to pull out his phone and glance at it. The smile returns. “Just”—he stands and brushes off his knee—“stay right there. Don't move.”

He takes off but I don't turn to look. I'm too busy processing that he was down on one knee, proposing to be my homecoming date. It was almost a full-fledged romantic gesture.

“That was weird,” Angela says. “Does he think you're going to change your mind by the time he comes back or something?”

“He may not be the smartest in the bunch,” Tiffany says, stealing Angela's food, “but his nachos have an excellent cheese-to-chip ratio.”

A country song blasts from somewhere to my right, and I quickly locate the source, as it's heading straight for me. It's Ryan, carrying an iPod in one hand wired to a portable speaker in the other, both of which he sets on the ground at my feet before stepping back and joining hands with Sarah, who has appeared out of nowhere. About ten other girls I don't recognize run to fill the empty space around them, everyone facing me.

What. Is. Going. On?

When the chorus of the song starts, everyone in the group moves their feet simultaneously. They grapevine one way, kick out their heels and clap, then go the other way, kick, clap, more kicking, hopping and twisting, some of them twirling an arm like they've got a lasso or something. When they turn to change direction, a few of the people standing around to watch join in, and soon everyone around me is clapping the beat. It's like a flash-mob line dance.

If I knew the complicated-looking dance, I'd probably join them, but Brian told me not to move, so I have a sinking feeling this all has something to do with me. Thankfully, Angela and Tiffany are still at my side.

When the people turn again and have their backs to me, Brian weaves between them, holding out a gigantor mum in front of him, a sly grin on his face. Suddenly I wish I hadn't so audibly made fun of them with Sarah today in class. But really, I can hear the teeny cowbells ringing over the Grand Ole Opry blasting at my feet.

Moo.

Brian grabs at the blue-and-silver ribbons hanging from the fake white flowers, and there in sparkly silver letters are our names.

“Please, Maddie?” is all he says, his brown eyes watching me expectantly.

“It's like he read your mind,” Tiffany says in awe.