What You Always Wanted (27 page)

The hand clasping mine tightens. For the first time, I notice that his hand is cold, and there's a slight tremble. I tug my sleeve down to cover us both before it registers that he might be just as nervous as I am. That jittery, shaky nervous I've maybe experienced a handful of times in my life when I've had too much caffeine or when I met two Tony Award winners at a benefit. Is this what it feels like . . . when you
like
someone . . . in real life?

“I think about you all the time,” I finally admit, allowing myself to smile when I see a grin take over his pretty face.

Jesse's phone sings out from his pocket.

“Aagh,” he grunts, digging it out.

He squints in the brightness from the screen, and my heart does a little flip watching the corner of his mouth hitch up. How is he so gorgeous, sitting here with me, in the dark, talking about kissing?

“Who is it?” I ask. “Are they wondering where we went?” I almost pull out my phone to check, but I want to live on this perfect, peaceful stage just a bit longer.

“No one.”

And my stomach drops. “This isn't a very good start to . . . whatever this is”—I wave my hands between us—“if you're already lying to me.”

Jesse rolls his eyes and turns the phone toward me. “Not lying. Alarm. I set it so we'd know when it's midnight.”

“Oh,” I say, looking up to the sky as if I might be able to see the New Year. “It's already here? I don't feel any different.”

“That's because it's eleven fifty-nine.” He laughs and rummages through the bag again. I can't quite make out what he's
doing until the flame from a lighter appears and he touches something to it to catch.

“Sparklers!” I exclaim as they spit out bright white streaks of light.

We stand, each holding a sparkler out over the creek, hand in hand. I wave it through the air and watch the fire travel down the stick, then meet Jesse's gaze just before the flames fizzle out. He checks his phone before pocketing it again and takes a step toward me, our hips just brushing against each other.

“Five,” he says. “Four.”

“Three,” I join in.

“Two,” we whisper.

Fireworks and firecrackers
pop
and
boom
, near and far. Jesse tosses our burned-out sparklers to the ground and sneaks a hand around to my back, pulling me even closer. He touches his forehead to mine and I swallow, my chin slowly tugging itself up until our noses slide past each other. Until my lips find the pair they've been dreaming about.

Until a New Year has begun and I feel completely different.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

It's one thirty in the morning by the time I'm tired enough to try falling asleep. I planned on spending the night with Angela, but it wasn't really an option anymore after Jesse and I resurfaced from our adventure in the woods with dry, red lips long after the rest of the party guests had gone home, including Rider. Angela took one look at us and stalked upstairs. Jesse brought me home on the four-wheeler, and we may or may not have made out on the porch for ten more minutes before my dad flicked on the front light.

I curl up in my hot-pink flannel pj's under my comforter and an extra blanket, colder than usual from the nervous excitement still coursing through me. I've completely lost my mind. I didn't even brush my teeth. Didn't want to lose the taste of him, not while I'm still convincing myself it's real. That he might be
my Jesse
after all.

Cradling my phone in my hands, I stare at the black screen, waiting for a text, a call, something. Some sign I'm more than just a mouth to kiss.

My eyes are begging me to close them, and I nearly break down and text him myself, when the phone vibrates.

Jesse:
Happy New Year.

Me:
Yes it is.

Jesse:
Feel different now?

Me:
How did you know?

Jesse:
Because I do.

My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.

Me:
I guess we should talk about what happened.

My phone buzzes with an incoming call.

“I didn't mean right now.” I pull the comforter over my head for one more sound barrier.

“You want me to hang up?” Jesse says, matching my near whisper.

“No!”

“Good.” He laughs, his breath sounding like wind through the phone, and I imagine he's hiding under his covers, too. “So what do you want to talk about?”

I swallow hard, hoping I'm not about to jinx anything. “You kissed me.”

“I remember.”

“So . . . what's that mean? Like, for tomorrow?”

“Today is tomorrow.”

“Oh. Yeah. So what does it mean for us today? Right now?”

“Right now I know that you're adorable and funny and all I want to do is walk back across the street and kiss you again.”

I sit up, the blankets tenting around me. “Really?”

“You have no idea.”

I keep myself from babbling about how inexperienced I am in the kissing department, and from secretly fishing for compliments and reassurance that I caught on quickly. He wants to kiss me again, so I must have done something right. Jesse Morales found my kissing ability worthy of seconds.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks through a yawn.

“You mean today.”

“Yes, today.” I can tell he's smiling now too. “What do you want to do?”

I don't even have to think about it. “I want to dance. With you.”

The rest of the holiday break is filled with overeating, overdancing, and overkissing. Well, I doubt there's such a thing as overkissing. I hope I never get used to the floaty, dreamy way Jesse's kisses make me feel. I usually dread the first day back to school every January, but this year I'm coming back with a boyfriend I can hold hands with in the hallways, steal glances at in class, and slip notes to through the little vent in his locker. And it's winter so I can wear his letterman jacket and he can carry my books and it will be like that
Happy Days
show all over again.

Angela's been moody since the awkward conversation the other day when I finally told her about my feelings, so she's not much help when I face the onslaught of girls I offend just by walking through the school entrance. Apparently, the kiss at the Halloween party didn't warrant much backlash since nothing came of it—I'm a little suspicious of how often Jesse made out with girls, not that I really want to know—but now that he's officially off the market, I'm not exactly getting voted “Most Liked” girl in school. I mean, I knew he was popular, but girls I don't remember ever seeing before go out of their way to glare at me as I pass by, or to comment to each other on my state of unfortunate normalness, plenty loud enough for me to hear.

It's so ridiculous I can't even be annoyed. Jesse likes
me
. So. I win.

I haven't talked to Brian since the failed double date that pushed our relationship into the friend zone for all time, so I'm surprised when he takes the seat next to me in theatre class.

“How was the break?” he asks, no hint of negativity in his voice.

I kick my backpack under my chair for a distraction, mentally processing how in the span of just a couple weeks I could go from kissing him in the back of a movie theatre to having a legit boyfriend.

“Um. Good. It was good. Yours?” Oh, if I were a blusher, I'd be in so much trouble right now.

“Mine rocked,” he says, fidgeting like he's anxious about something. “Get anything cool for Christmas?”

Maybe he's beating around the bush? Afraid to ask about Jesse?

“Well, I didn't get a car.” I huff and he makes a sympathetic grunt. “Let's see. Got some classic DVDs I've been wanting. And some shoe money.” I peek at his highlighter-yellow sneakers. “Though I doubt I'll be shopping where you go.”

“You have to order these puppies,” he says through a laugh. He clears his throat and his tone suddenly shifts. “I hear you had a boyfriend under your tree. You and Jesse, huh?”

I swallow and nod, powerless to stop the smile that takes over my face.

“Never saw that coming,” he says with pure sarcasm.

I cross my arms. “I don't know why you and Sarah both seem to thi—”

He holds up his hand to stop me, smiling softly. “You don't have to defend yourself to me.” His smile grows. “And actually . . . I wanted to talk to you about something. I—I sort of met someone.”

I straighten and turn to fully face him. “What? Where? Who?”

“Her name's Kristi.” He slides a hand through his coppery hair, long overdue for a trim. “I went to Colorado to visit my aunt and uncle with my family, you know, for Christmas, and me and my cousin drove up to Winter Park to go skiing for a couple days.”

I'm simultaneously thrilled for him and worried. I don't see how meeting someone in another state has a good outcome. After I moved down here from Illinois, I couldn't even hang on to the friends I'd seen every day.

“We took a half-day class,” he continues, “for people who haven't skied in a while and need a refresher, and there she was. She literally fell into my arms.”

“And you gazed into each other's eyes and it was love at first sight,” I tease in a dreamy voice.

He looks to the ground with a sheepish grin. “Anyway, we've talked every day since. She lives outside Dallas, so it shouldn't be too hard to see her on weekends.”

Sarah and Ryan take the empty seats on the other side of Brian.

“So what are we talking about?” Sarah asks with a sly little wink directed to me.

“Brian was just telling me about . . . Kristi, was it?”

“Oh, blargh. Heard this story twice already,” Sarah teases before abandoning us for a conversation with Ryan instead.

“So,” I say, looking back at Brian. “You're serious about this? The long-distance thing?”

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, we really hit it off. She's so cool too. She's not into theatre or anything, but she's really good at art. She even drew the tattoo she's going to get on her eighteenth birthday. And she's some kind of lacrosse star. Have you ever seen a lacrosse game?” He peers at me out of the corner of his eye, and I shake my head. “It's hot.”

Ryan calls over his shoulder, “It's hot.” He turns back to Sarah, who punches him in the arm.

I don't like Brian like that, I don't, but I can't help feeling this protective thing grow between us. Like I don't have enough on my mind already.

He must see the skepticism on my face, because he says, “This isn't weird, is it? I mean, we're friends.”

“We're definitely friends. Sealed with a kiss even.”

We both laugh at that, and Mrs. Morales cuts us off by welcoming the class to a new semester. She looks energetic and ready for the New Year, sporting a classy ensemble of brown dress slacks and a fitted blouse, accented with the same chunky turquoise necklace she wore when I first met her in the street between our houses. Who knew back then that I'd be making out with her son a few short months later?

I fight my smile and force myself to pay attention to what she's saying.

“This spring, we're going to do a variety show,” she announces. “A talent show of sorts, complete with prizes.”

Excitement races through me, but most of the class groans and Rica's hand shoots straight up, the tips of her fingers wiggling. Mrs. Morales sighs but motions for her to speak.

“But we always do a big spring musical,” Rica whines.

“Well, we're changing it up this year. Opening it to more students whose talents might not be within the world of musical theatre,” she explains.

“That's a fabulous idea,” I offer, and she winks at me.

Of course Rica doesn't want anyone's talent in the spotlight but her own. “Why can't we do the talent show separately?”

“For starters, there's a budget issue. Resources are—”