What You Always Wanted (18 page)

“Why?”

“Her parents are close friends with mine. Especially my father,” he says with a little bite. “We have nothing in common. She's a spoiled brat, and she thinks she's better than everyone else. I hang out with her sometimes as a favor to my dad. That's all. I'm sorry I didn't think to introduce you, but don't be offended.”

“I'm not offended.” As it comes out, I realize it's a lie. If I weren't offended, I wouldn't have brought it up in the first place. Wouldn't have let the wound fester for so long. I pick the oddest things to be sensitive about.

“You're totally offended, and you shouldn't be.” He rolls up onto his elbow again. “New subject.”

“Okay . . .” The sharp ends of the dead grass poke into my skin, but I tough it out to look him in the eye. “Why are you—”

“No, no, no.” Jesse lifts a finger toward me as if he might press it against my lips, then lets his hand fall. “It's my turn.”

“That's fair,” I concede, even though I really want to know why he and his friends are dressed as sailors.

A chain saw revs up just next to the trailer, and Tiffany lets out a bone-chilling scream, which becomes muffled as if she slapped a hand over her mouth. I twitch and instinctively lean closer to Jesse, our faces only inches apart.

“Is it true that you haven't kissed anyone, like, for real?” he asks. “Offstage.”

I move back so I don't end up on top of him if we hit a bump. “That's really your lead-in?”

“Why not? I feel like I don't know much about you besides the theatre stuff and your lack of transportation.”

“Hey,” I say, stabbing at him with a twig I pulled from the hay. “Are you trying to get out of bringing me home from school?”

He swats it away and laughs. “Not yet, but here's your official notice that once baseball season starts, you're gonna need an alternative. You'll have to come to my games if you want to see me at all.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I might come to one or two. If you're lucky.”

“If
you're
lucky,
mi reina
.” He covers his mouth with the back of his hand and yawns. “Now, answer my question.”

I think back to what he asked, a little too flattered that he cares enough to get to know me better. Besides the few times he's accidentally revealed too much about himself, our interactions have typically been surface-only. Maybe it's time to come clean.

I swallow, then confess, “Yes, it's true.”

Thankfully he doesn't dwell on this, or make fun of me, and he jumps to the next question as if he didn't even register the answer to the last one.

“Do you still talk to your friends from your old school?”

I wish I could get away with lying to him. How much more pathetic can I sound to the hottest guy in school? “Not really.” I stay propped up on my side, but my eyes focus on the insignia stitched onto the chest of his uniform.

“Why not?”

I suck in a deep breath. “After my dad lost his job, the girls I'd been hanging out with sort of . . . let me go.”

“Let you go?” he asks, genuine curiosity in his tone.

“Well, money got tight, so that was strike one to them.” Even though I'm proud I slipped in a baseball reference, I still can't look at his face. I don't want to witness the pity. “And we were moving to another state, so . . . they just stopped talking to me. Phased me out.”

And it fully hits me just how wrong those girls were for me. I'm still getting to know Angela, Tiffany, and Sarah, but even in this short amount of time, I know they're different. They wouldn't drop me over differences of money and address.

“But it's fine,” I continue. “I actually don't really miss them anymore. I just don't get how I never saw it coming. How I spent years of my life developing false relationships.” As the rest of the words come out, I feel a mix of embarrassment and relief.

But he doesn't respond. The hayride's been quiet for a few minutes, the chain saw bit seemingly the grand finale. We
should be back at home base soon. I finally risk a glance at Jesse and find him looking at me, his expression blank.

“Regret wanting to know more about me yet?” I ask, not quite a whisper, anxious for his reply.

The corner of his mouth pulls up. “Want to know what I think?” I nod. “I think you're better off here. Angela's happier with you around, Elise really likes you.” He pauses. “You fit here with us.”

I smile at his unexpected and extremely kind words, and I have to look away from him again. “Thank you for that,” I manage, throat tight.

“Even if you do plan on brainwashing everyone with your out-of-date movies.”

We both laugh and relax onto our backs, me reveling in the acceptance I've found here. New friends. Real ones. I still have plenty more questions itching to be answered, but there's time. I can't push him too far too fast.

Here on a pile of hay under the soft lights, the gentle swaying of the squeaky trailer underneath us, me dressed as a farm girl and Jesse as a member of the US Navy, I could almost believe I'm back in time. He's about to be shipped out, and this is our last night together for months. We're taking a romantic ride through the park on an autumn evening.

I lace my fingers through his and hum a made-up melody. He joins in, harmonizing, and we just lie next to each other, gazing at the stars and the sliver of a moon between the tree branches.

The ride comes to a stop and the other passengers disappear. It's only the two of us.

I sit up, taking my time to pick the grass out of my hair as he climbs down before me. I don't want to say good-bye. Not yet.

Something clicks and the back gate falls open. My sailor jumps to get out of the way. The pile beneath me gives, and my body starts to slide with it. He rushes to help and grabs my waist, pressing himself against me to slow my momentum, hay falling all around and over me. Over us. I clutch his arms, and my feet stop just short of the ground.

His eyes, a brilliant green with a ring of amber, stare intensely into mine. Slowly, slowly, he tilts his head in close, his breath sweet and warm.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” he whispers.

I lean closer and closer until our lips touch, and a spark races to my toes. A small, perfect kiss to end a perfect night.

But when we separate, I look back into his eyes and find them mirroring everything I'm feeling.

Warmth. Curiosity. Longing.

Suddenly, his lips crush mine. His body pins me against the hay, one hand still at my waist, the other tracing up my side all the way to my face. His fingers tangle in one of my braids, thumb resting along my jawline. My hands continue to grip his sleeves, tugging him closer and closer until—

“Holy. Whoa.”

My eyes fly open at the sound of Tiffany's voice, and my heart skitters.

Jesse. Lips half an inch from mine. Hand in my hair. Hand on my waist. Body pressed against body. Hay absolutely everywhere.

Jesse kissed me.

Jesse
kissed
me?

I push him away to get a better look. He cocks his head, jaw slack, eyes unreadable.

A few people nearby holler their approval.

And some idiot says, “Looks like Jesse just won. Everybody pay up.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

All of that . . . was real? My pulse pounds in my ears as my brain catches up. I shove Jesse even farther so no part of him is touching me, and my feet finally connect with the ground.

“This was about the bet?” Anger fizzes through me.

His “getting to know me” was all a setup. The sweet words to make me feel accepted. Like I actually belong here.

Lies.

“Maddie, it wasn't—”

“You
stole
my first kiss?” I yell, not caring who hears.

“I didn't steal anything.” Jesse looks me dead in the eye and whispers, “You kissed me back,
mi reina
.”

I slap him right across the cheek. Someone who sounds like Red curses through a laugh and a few girls let out high-pitched gasps. My fingers tingle. Sting. I just hit a boy. I just
kissed
a boy. Like, for
real
.

Too many firsts.

I need to get out of here. Too bad I can't move. Too bad my eyes keep darting back to his mouth.

His jaw drops and he touches where I hit him. “You grabbed my hand!” Jesse says, raising his voice to my volume. “What did you want me to think?”

“I . . . I thought—”

I thought it was all in my head.

“What's going on?” Rider breaks through the gathering crowd and is at my side in an instant. “Madison? You okay?”

I nod and he turns to Jesse. “Did you touch her?”

Jesse raises his hands, taking a step back. “Look, man. I didn't do anything wrong.”

Red moves to stand next to Jesse, both of them looking at me with eyes that say
You need your big brother for this? Really?

“I can handle it, Rider. Let's just go.”

But I can't move, not yet. I scan the faces around me for Angela, both terrified she saw what just happened and desperate to talk to my friend. But . . . it's her brother and this just got even more awkward. The look on her face is telling me too many conflicting things, while Tiffany's grin says this is the most excitement she's seen all day.

And then there's Brian, inching forward, eyes hidden underneath the sunglasses of his hippie costume. I should slap him too. He's the reason I'm in this mess. Him and his big, punchable mouth. I shoot him a warning glare and he stops. I just need to make an exit before I do or say something I'm going to regret come Monday at school.

Jesse takes another step back and straightens, brushing loose hay off his uniform. That's when I spot her approaching from the direction of the house. Gabby. Something in my chest cracks. After what Jesse said about her, it didn't occur to me that she'd be here. Especially not wearing a super figure-flattering corset thing.

She stops just behind him like she wants to come to his aid but isn't quite sure if it's her place. Then she puts her hand on his shoulder. The claim has been staked.

I situate my braids to rest in front and straighten my checkered dress—my last-ditch effort to regain a bit of dignity, at least by appearance. My irritation froths into anger that overflows from my mouth, and I have no control.

“And look who's here, Jesse. Your
not-my-girlfriend
girlfriend.” I let my shoulder slam against his as I pass by. “Happy Halloween.”

On the way to school Monday morning, Angela doesn't mention my kissing scene, but I feel sure she's thinking about it. She's a more reserved version of herself today—darker clothing, hair in a messy bun, no lipstick, uninterested in conversation—and I wish I knew if it has to do with me or if there's something else on her mind. I'm too chicken to ask her. Which probably makes me a terrible friend, but I'm not in the mood to share the gory details of her brother's tongue in my mouth.

Not that it was gory. At all.

That's
what makes me a terrible friend.

I hover outside the door to English until the bell goes off, then sneak in. Red winks at me as I pass, repeatedly tapping the
eraser of a pencil against the top of his desk. When I sit, Jesse leans toward me and I hear him inhale as if he's preparing to speak. I don't look at him. I refuse.

He says my name at the same time Mr. McCaffey announces a pop quiz on the reading assignment. The good student in me panics when she can't remember touching her lit book over the weekend. She can't remember doing
any
homework over the weekend.

Quiz papers are passed out and the timer is set for ten minutes. Mr. McCaffey is one of those teachers who likes to make us work under pressure. Good practice for the SAT, he says. Usually, I have no objections to this method, and these pop quizzes are all simple, observational-type questions that anyone who actually read the material should know how to answer. It's only a problem when you spend precious hours of your life staring at the ceiling fan, reliving your first real kiss and trying to decide how you actually feel about it.