My body thumps with a roar of adrenaline. My heart twists in two as it lances open from the sheer pain of it all. The urge to cry, to blubber like a baby comes, and it takes every ounce of strength to fight it. My lips quiver like mad as I hop in on the passenger’s side.
“Melissa, wait!” Joel jams himself in the car so Jen can’t shut the door. “It’s not like that.”
“You didn’t deny it.” My voice cracks. The tears fall hot and fat onto my lap.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds, I promise.” His forehead wrinkles with worry like maybe it is.
In one Herculean move, Jennifer hoists him out of the car and slams the door. I lock it, she jumps inside, and we take off.
It’s as bad as it sounds, Joel—you fucking asshole.
Actually, it’s worse.
I drop my head into my hands, and my body shakes I cry so damn hard.
Joel
I knew she wouldn’t go home. She went to Jennifer Barkly’s house—her best friend, her real friend. I also knew that Stacey was playing her this entire time. I could feel it in my creaky bones.
I followed the Suzuki Samurai at a distance and watched as they pulled into the garage—the door shutting behind them felt final as the closing of a casket. Everything about tonight suddenly feels final, and I’m already grieving the fact that Mel and I might actually be over.
I park outside of Jen’s two-story bungalow covered with miles of thorny bougainvillea. There’s a single light on upstairs in the back, the bedroom walls look pink from this vantage point, and sure enough, I spot Jennifer gesticulating wildly like she’s good and pissed. I toss a few small pebbles at her bedroom window, but all I get in return is a hand flashing me the bird, then the violent closing of the curtain. About three in the morning, the cops pull up behind my truck, and I hightail it home. And that’s when I lose it—fucking cry myself to sleep because I finally found someone so great, so damn sweet and beautiful that it felt better than any touchdown victory I’ve ever been a part of, and now she’s gone—out of my life, vanished like smoke. I shouldn’t have hesitated when she asked if it was true. I should have shouted a hell no! right there and then—saved the gory details for later, but those conversations my mother had with me played back like a tape.
After a restless, mostly sleepless night, I haul ass out of bed around noon, take a shower, and wrap Mel’s present with the comics section of today’s newspaper. Maybe after she opens it, she’ll know I’m sincere—that everything we shared, those words I said to her meant something. Just as I’m about to head out, I pause for a second and think about attaching a note. I don’t have a card, so I run upstairs. Mom has an entire Hallmark store in one of the spare closets. I’m sure she’ll have something that can work.
I head on into the living room—box in hand—to find Mom sprawled out on the sofa looking as if someone sucked the air out of her sails.
“Rough night?” Ironic that I’m the one asking.
“Actually, it was a rough night. Your dad came in late and woke me up.” She rubs the sleep out of her eye, and her false eyelash twists right off. “You have a fun time?” She picks the eyelash off her hand and lands it onto the coffee table like a dead caterpillar. “Get any good candy you want to share with your dear old mom?” She winks before taking a sip of her coffee.
“Nope, not a single fun-sized anything.” I take a seat next to her and sigh. “Not even a Tootsie Roll. But if I did, you know I’d share it all.”
“I know.” She smooths my hair back. “You’re my boy.”
Mom used to call me that all the time when I was a kid. I press my lips tight because it feels as if I’m about to vomit up tears.
“What’s that in your hand?” She touches the lousy wrap job I just put together.
“It’s a gift for my girlfriend.” I wish Melissa could have heard me call her that. I feel like an ass because I might not be able to save what we had. “It’s her birthday. I think we sort of broke up last night, but I wanted to give it to her anyway. I worked hard on it. I’m hoping she’ll like it.”
“Aren’t you a sweet prince? But if I’m not mistaken, Kelly’s birthday isn’t until January.”
“Actually, it’s not for her. I haven’t been with Kelly since last summer. Things sort of just fizzled out.”
Her mouth contorts. “Then who?” She sucks in a breath. “Oh my goodness! Is it that girl I caught you with the other night? The one from the accident?”
“Her name is Melissa.” I nod. “And in a way, that accident is the exact reason we broke up.” I spill it, letting it all out, to my mom of all people. “So there you have it. We were sort of short-lived.” I grind my palm into my forehead.
“Oh, hon, come here.” Mom pulls me in, and I take in the thick scent of her perfume, familiar and aggressive just like her. “If this is meant to be, if she cares for you as much as you care for her, nothing and no one can stand in the way.” She pulls back with tears in her eyes. “Give me that gift. I think I can work a little magic to make it look alive.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have a card, would you? Or maybe some nicer paper?”
“Oh, honey, I’ve got both.”
True to her word, my mother re-packages that gift and turns it into a multicolored paper spectacular. She even adds a crazy looking hot pink bow to the top that reminds me of a porcupine. It’s so sharp; Melissa can use it as a weapon if she wants. And, I’m fairly certain she wants.
While my mother initiated her ninja wrapping skills, I penned a letter to Mel, pouring my heart out, letting her know exactly how I feel. It won’t be enough. Nothing will ever be enough until I can wrap my arms around her again. I take the card and tear it into two pieces. These aren’t words I want her to read. These are words I want—I need her to hear me say.
* * *
I head over to her house, my nerves jumping as I ring the doorbell. There’s a station wagon in the driveway, so I figure someone has to be home.
The door swings open, and it’s a Goth chick, clad in black from head to toe, purple hair with bright blue lipstick.
“What do you want?” she grunts.
“Hi, um—is Melissa home?” The TV is on in the background, and I see bodies sitting on the couch, a man in slacks and a younger boy.
“She’s sick.” This must be the sister—the one I owe Mel’s Ozzy affinity to.
“Can I see her? I brought a gift. I just want to wish her a happy birthday.”
“No.” She lifts a cigarette to her lips and blows a puff of smoke in my face.
An older woman runs up from behind and pushes the cigarette-smoking girl right out the door.
“It’s a boy!” she says as if she’s never seen one before. “What can I do for you, hon?” Something about the way she says the moniker sounds just like my mother, and it warms me to her.
“I just wanted to wish Mel—Melissa a happy birthday. I have a gift for her, and I’d really love to see her open it.” I also need to talk to her, like really fucking bad, but I leave that part out.
Her mom blinks at the gift before plucking it out of my hands. “She’s been so sick today. A terrible way to spend her seventeenth birthday.” She shakes her head at my mother’s punk rock wrap job. “Would you like me to give this to her? I’m afraid she’s resting at the moment.”
“Yes. Please. I would very much appreciate that.”
She blushes just the same way Mel does, and it makes me miss her that much more. “You’re a true gentleman, you know that? They don’t make them like you anymore.”
A sheepish smile washes over me as the screen closes, entombing Melissa’s family in a sea of murkiness. The cigarette-smoking sister is halfway to the park—that park—the exact one where Mel and I shared our first kiss. In all honesty, I don’t remember a lot of firsts, but for some reason, I remember them all with Melissa. I start heading back to my truck, but my feet carry me toward the side of the house and over to her bedroom window.
Perfect. Not only did I
rip her heart out, but I’m a stalker now, too. A shadow moves inside the room, that foiled wrapping catches the light as she sinks it to Mel’s bed. Her mother leaves, the door closes, and a loud thunk lands against the window, rattling the glass. I don’t need to be a rocket scientist to realize it’s the gift I gave her. Nope. She’s not opening it. She may never get to see what I worked so hard to give her.
I wish she would.
I wish I could be there to see her do it.
* * *
Monday comes and goes, and Melissa is a no-show. I drove to her house this morning, but her sister informed me that she’s not accepting rides from French artifact linguistics assholes anymore—whatever that means, but I get the gist. I guess it’s safe to say that Melissa finally confided in her sister. I’m glad in a way. I want her to be able to talk about this because for one, I happen to know how much it sucks.
Tuesday rolls by, so do Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday—all without her smiling face. I’ve left four or five calls each night for her when I get home. I’m pretty sure her mother doesn’t think I’m such a gentleman anymore.
Tonight is going to be the last game of the season, the last game of my high school career. I would do anything to have her show up and be a part of it.
After school, I plant myself on the hood of Jennifer Barkly’s Samurai and wait patiently until she shows up.
“What the hell do you want, douchebag?” Her friendly demeanor turns on a dime once she spots me. “Haven’t you done enough damage for a lifetime? Go ahead and graduate already and take that skank and her friends along with you.” She tosses her backpack into the car and hops into the driver’s seat.
“I need to talk to Melissa.” I jump down to try to reason with her.
“That’s funny because she doesn’t need to talk to you.”
“Look, I made some mistakes, but I didn’t do what she thinks I did.”
She starts up the engine with a vengeance. I realize the irony of me getting run over in the very same lot would be rich, but I’m in no mood to go there. She starts to take off, and I dive into the backseat.
“You idiot!” she shouts, cackling wildly, taking the turn with hairpin precision.
I army crawl to the front. “Jennifer—pull over. If you just give me five minutes—I’ll get out of the car.”
The Samurai lurches to a stop as she slams on the brakes, and my face kisses the dash. “You have one minute, and then I’m screaming bloody murder. Go.” She stares down at her pink and purple Swatch as I right myself.
“Yes—it’s true—my mother was afraid Mel might sue. No, I never used that as an excuse to date her. I wanted to help her.” My hand pounds over my chest in an effort to plead my case. “I felt horrible about what happened. Driving her to school, walking her to class, that was all me. And, soon thereafter, I saw that she was someone really special. I fell in love with her. I’m still in love with her.”
“Five seconds.” She hasn’t taken her eyes off that watch.
“Bring her to the game. I just”—my voice cracks—“I just want to see her. If I look back and she’s in the stands, it’ll mean more to me than a win.”
“Time is up, lover boy!” She reaches across and opens the door, kicking me out with her boot. I tumble onto the side of the road and eat her dust as she barrels down the street.
Time is up all right.
I lie back in the dirt and watch the sky spin above me.
I wish I had more time with Mel.
* * *
It rains during the game. It pours fucking buckets. But since it’s the last game of the season, both coaches agree to go ahead with it until the bitter end. During all four quarters, I keep a close eye on the spot where Melissa usually sits, front row, near the cheerleaders, but her seat is notably vacant. Despite the rain, the stands somehow manage to stay filled as umbrellas dot the grandstands in a sea of black—a few colorful rebels sit interspersed.
We win the game. It’s close, fourteen to twelve, nothing earth-shattering to write home about, but we still get the title of an undefeated season. And yet, there’s something different about this win. As soon as the final whistle goes off, the players all make a beeline for the gym—the stands empty as the fans bleed through the gate instead of storming the field. I know this mass exodus has to do with the weather, but I’d like to think it has something more to do with the fact the world just isn’t right without Melissa in my life.
I take off my helmet as the rain finally lets up to a weak drizzle. It’s as if it were punishing us during the game, and now that it’s over, so is its torment.
“Nice job,” a girl’s voice plumes from behind. I turn slightly, expecting to find Kelly or one of my sisters, but it’s neither.
I squint into the dark at the girl whose face looks too good to be true. She’s holding an umbrella, glowing beneath it like an angel, and she just might be one—that or I’m experiencing one heck of a grand hallucination. I’ve been dying to see her, so freaking bad that it wouldn’t surprise me if I had somehow managed to conjure her up. Her honey brown hair is slicked from the rain, but there’s a tiny smile on her face—dammit, I’ll take it.
“Melissa?” I run over and wrap my arms around her, jarring the umbrella right out of her hands. She feels good, solid, real. “Shit,” I hiss, holding her tight, panting as I touch my lips over her ear. I plant a dozen wild kisses over her face before pulling back just enough. If she felt the need to slap me, I’d take it. I’d take just about any affection she’s willing to dole out at the moment.
“You were great.” She offers a solemn nod, her bright green eyes swelling with tears. “I’m glad I got to see it.”
I swallow hard, and, for the first time, I notice she’s without her crutches. Her legs are both neatly tucked into a pair of knee-high brown leather boots, soaking wet from the rain.
“What happened? Where’s your cast?”
She gives a coy shrug while clicking her heels together. “It was all just a part of my evil plan to get you to pay attention to me. I never broke my leg.”
“Yeah, right.” I pull her in again, and she doesn’t fight it, so I take it as a good sign. “God, I missed you.” My hungry eyes drink her in, trying to soak up every moment I get to spend with this beautiful girl.
Her arms cinch around my back as she buries her face in my neck. “I missed you, too, Joel.”
“Can we go somewhere and talk?”
She nods, blinking muddied tears away. “But in the event I don’t like what you have to say—do you think it’d be okay if I kissed you first?” She tugs at her lips with those milky white teeth. “I mean, you are Joel Effing Miller.”
I inch back and laugh. “Is that what they call me?”
She hikes her shoulders. “Only the smart ones.”
“Come here,” I whisper as I bow into her. My eyes stay trained on hers until the last possible moment. Melissa’s mouth crashes to mine, and we explode in a kiss that tastes like everything good and right in this world. It tastes like a victory. It tastes like relief.
Melissa jumps up and hikes her legs around my waist, and I hold her like that. The rain comes down again, heavy and fast as I gently spin her, enjoying the hell out of her tongue gliding over mine. We spin faster, kiss harder, as the rain washes us anew.
Melissa and I belong together.
This is right.
This is heaven.
9
Things Can Only Get Better
Melissa
Joel drives us down to the marina where his parents’ boat, The Great Flight, bobs happily in its slip.
“So, this is the infamous boat, huh?” I try to take it all in with just one glance, but that’s not possible. It’s that enormous. “Are you sure it’s not a cruise ship?” I’ve only ever been on one boat, and that was up at Big Bear Lake where my parents rented a cabin for a weekend when I was nine. That boat was hardly large enough to hold the five of us, and I knew we were in trouble when Dad handed me a large foam
cup from the 7-Eleven to siphon the water out from the bottom.
“It might be—but I like the idea of it just being a boat. It keeps both it and me humble.” He climbs on and carefully extends his hand to me. Joel has a death grip on me as I hurdle over the water. I don’t doubt for a second that he would risk life and limb to make sure nothing happened to me.
Joel pulls a key out of his pocket and unlocks a door leading into the cabin. He flicks on the lights, and there’s a ladder that leads to what looks like something bigger than my living room.
“Oh my God, this is so rad!” He helps me down the ladder, and I can’t get over how beautiful and expansive everything is—glossy wood trim curves throughout the luxurious living space, and brass accents add an extra touch of opulence. The floors gleam with black granite, and the ceilings are mirrored with a smoky wash over them. “This is so freaking cool.”
“There are two staterooms, fully furnished, TVs in both. My parents spared no expense.” He doesn’t seem too impressed by their aquatic spending habits.
“Can I ask if you talked to your dad about, you know, the incident?” I could tell that first night when Joel confided in me that his dad might be stepping out on his mom that the idea of it being a reality weighed heavy on him. Of course, it would. I don’t know what I would do if that happened in my family. I’d probably beat my dad senseless with a rolling pin.
He takes a deep breath, pulling me by the fingertips over to the large J-shaped couch that is as fat and round as a bed at the base.
“No, I haven’t talked to him. I’m not sure what I’m going to do about that just yet. I’m just happy you’re here.” He lands on the blue velour sofa, and I tumble in next to him.
“So tell me, Joely”—I invoke the utmost sarcasm I can muster—“is this the love den you drag all of your victims to?”
“They’re not victims, sweetie.” His dimples dig in deep with pride. “They are ready and willing, standing in a line just to get through the door.” He makes a face. “I’ve never brought a girl here before.”