Confessions of a Serial Kisser

  I looked down and shrugged again. "I'm just trying to have some fun, okay? I'm trying to live a fantasy." I looked at her through my lashes. "You said you'd help me. You said 'Anything.'"

  She bit her lip as she studied me, so I gave her a puppy-dog look and said, "Please?"

  "Okay, okay," she laughed. "I'll help you. So what's the plan?"

  I smiled, happy to have her in my corner. "I really do need a new look."

  She eyed my clothes and nodded. "Have any idea what?"

  "Something to match my new attitude."

  "You're talking about clothes? Makeup? Hair?"

  "The works. What are you doing after school today?"

  Her forehead crinkled. "Today? I've got choir practice until five."

  "Can you come over after?"

  She hesitated, then said, "Sure. Why not?"

  I hugged her. "You're the best!"

  6

  Ch-ch-ch-changes

  AFTER I GOT HOME, I couldn't seem to concentrate on my schoolwork. I'd picked up a hair-highlighting kit at the pharmacy on my way home, so instead of studying math, I studied the directions. Then I studied myself in the mirror, trying to decide how much highlighting I really wanted to do. The old me would have gone subtle. The new me was saying, "Take chances! Make a real change!"

  I moved on to studying my mom's wardrobe (which is way cooler than mine), trying to find something that spoke to me from her boxes of still-packed clothes.

  Then I studied the clock. It was already five-thirty.

  What was taking Adrienne so long?

  The phone rang five minutes later, and when I picked up, Adrienne said, "I'm so sorry! Mom made lasagna and she insisted I come home. Can we do it tomorrow?"

  I told her, "Sure," but after I hung up, I decided to dive in on my own. I'd been waiting all afternoon to make a change, and I didn't want to put it off any longer!

  So I took out the scissors, cranked up some classic David Bowie, and started snipping.

  I'm actually good at cutting hair, because I've butchered Adrienne's locks enough times to figure it out. I've also cut her brother Brody's hair, and now that I've got skills, my mom lets me trim hers, too. Cutting hair is just basically applied geometry...which can get a little tricky when you're facing the mirror image of yourself, trying to get the scissors to go the right way.

  I always do my own hair dry, which isn't the best, but I seem to be able to see what I'm doing better that way. And I usually just trim little bits, but now after a few timid snips, I let the spirit of Bowie's "Changes" take charge of the scissors.

  I took a deep breath and started cutting.

  All through "Suffragette City," "Ziggy Stardust," "The Jean Genie," and "Rebel Rebel" I cut in layers. I cut off length. I gave myself long side-swept bangs and a cute shaggy flip at the nape of the neck. It was a style that cried out for oversized hoop earrings, eyeliner, and go-go boots!

  Ch-ch-ch-changes!

  I felt good!

  Mom called as I was mixing up the highlighter. "Evangeline, honey. Would you mind vacuuming the carpets tonight? I didn't get to it this morning, and they really need it." She sounded tired, like she always does, but this time I was feeling so good that it didn't bring me down.

  "Sure," I said brightly. "Anything else?"

  She hesitated, then said, "Thank you. I needed that. But no. Unless you want to wipe up that old orange juice spill in the fridge."

  "Will do!"

  I hung up and got busy streaking my hair.

  Bowie sang "Ashes to Ashes," "Fashion," and "Under Pressure."

  I shouted along.

  And while the highlights timer ticked and radical chemicals bleached streaks into my hair, I vacuumed crumbs and fuzz and a month's worth of dust out of the carpet, singing along when "Let's Dance" came on.

  My dad called as I was putting the vacuum cleaner away.

  "How are you?" he asked.

  And just like that I was back under the cloud.

  I wanted to say, "Better than I've been in ages! I'm moving on, Dad. Moving on!" But what came out of my mouth is what always comes out of my mouth when my dad tries to engage me in conversation. "We're sorry, you've reached a number that has been disconnected. Please hang up and don't try again."

  My highlights timer dinged as I hung up the phone.

  So I cranked up "Dancing in the Street," then went to the sink to wash out my hair.

  7

  Emergence

  ADRIENNE ABOUT FELL OVER when she saw me the next day. "Who did your hair? Whose jeans are those? I love the eyeliner! Wow, you look gorgeous!"

  "I did it myself." I turned around for her. "How's the back?"

  She fluffed my hair with her fingertips. "The back is fantastic! How did you do that?"

  "I just went for it."

  "No kidding!"

  "You want me to do yours?"

  "Wow." She pulled a scared little face. "Maybe...?"

  Resident jock Stu Dillard--also known as Studly--walked by, giving me a double take and an exaggerated once-over. "Evangeline!" He held a finger out toward me. "Tssss!"

  I tried to be cool as I nodded an acknowledgment, but broke into giggles after he was gone.

  "Stu Dillard just called you hot!" Adrienne whispered, her eyes enormous. She shook her head a little. "Wow. Wow, wow, wow."

  "Well!" I said, trying to contain the complete bubble-up I was feeling inside. "We are off to a promising start!"

  Unfortunately, during first-period math that promising start came to a grinding halt.

  Robbie Marshall didn't notice anything different about me.

  Correction.

  He didn't notice me at all.

  That might have been because he wasn't in the habit of noticing me, or, more likely, because it was Thursday.

  Every girl on campus knows (as do the boys, but they wouldn't be caught dead admitting it) that on Tuesday and Thursday mornings Robbie Marshall's arms are glorious works of sculpted art.

  It's not that they're not impressive during the rest of the week; it's just that every Tuesday and Thursday he does an insane morning workout that leaves his biceps bulging, his triceps ripped, and his forearms looking like superhero sledgehammers.

  And since he hasn't cooled down from his workout yet, first-period math is the place to be if you want to admire Robbie Marshall's arms. Tank tops, muscle shirts, tight T's...he wears as little as he can get away with.

  So maybe he didn't notice my new look because everyone was busy noticing him. Or maybe it was because he did his usual last-minute slide into his seat and Sandra Herrera (who sits between the two of us) was blocking his view.

  Whatever the case, when Mrs. Fieldman commanded, "Pass your papers left!" I took Kenny Altemore's homework, handed mine to Sandra Herrera (which took a little patience, as Sandra was recovering from her near-physical contact with Robbie when she passed her homework to him), then got down to the business of math-class mechanics. By the time Mrs. Fieldman was through calling out answers, reviewing missed problems, and explaining the new section, I'd almost forgotten that there was anything different about me.

  When the bell rang, Robbie was out of his seat and through the door before I'd even put away my binder.

  "I like your new look," Lacey Egbert said as she passed by my desk.

  "Thanks!" I said, sliding my binder inside my book bag.

  Then all of a sudden Robbie was back. The cool air, it seemed, had alerted him to the fact that he'd forgotten his letterman jacket.

  After years of ignoring him, I was now paying attention to nothing but him. He snatched his jacket off the back of his seat and was in the middle of putting it on when he noticed me.

  He hesitated for maybe half a second, one arm in, one arm out. Then he smiled that gorgeous diamond-dusted smile at me as he swept his other arm through the sleeve of his jacket.

  On cue, I smiled back.

  Then I looped my book bag over my arm upside down, spilling everything inside it onto the flo
or.

  8

  Conquest

  FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS Adrienne helped me arrange "chance encounters" with Robbie Marshall. She'd scout him out in the Snack Shack line during break, slyly cut in a few people back, then call out, "Evangeline! Over here!" and wave for me to join her.

  She interviewed him for the Larkmont Times (our illustrious school newspaper), and when I "happened" to saunter by, she pointed me out and casually mentioned that every guy in school seemed to be falling over me and my smashing new look.

  She dragged me along as she boldly infiltrated his corner of the quad, delivering an early copy of the Larkmont Times for his perusal.

  "Hey, Evangeline," he said to me, flashing diamond dust my way.

  "Hey," I said back, then somehow stumbled on a dandelion.

  Klutzy or not, I was definitely being noticed. But it all seemed to be taking so long! I was seeing my fantasy, and he was seeing me, but that was it for two long weeks. What was it going to take to go from seeing to living?

  So Wednesday night I rummaged through my mother's boxes of clothes and discovered an outstanding Rolling Stones T-shirt. It was creamy pink with the trademark lips and tongue. It was soft and stretchy, with a scoop neck and cap sleeves--my favorite style.

  Next, I raided her jewelry box and found a pair of oversized hoop earrings and half a dozen bangle bracelets.

  On to her perfume! (Which was still packed in an old shoe box under the bathroom sink.) I sampled everything from Happy to White Diamonds and settled on a subtle, musky fragrance.

  The last detail was makeup. I'd been wearing it pretty subtle, but it was time to go for a redder lipstick. Adarker mascara. A wider, more dramatic flare of eyeliner.

  I stashed everything in my closet, and the next morning I got decked out and slipped through the condo door ready to live my fantasy!

  Robbie did his usual at-the-bell slide into his seat, and, it being a Thursday, girls all around ogled his bulging arms.

  I, on the other hand, sharpened my pencil and took my time walking back to my seat, consciously avoiding Robbie (and any potential tripping hazards).

  Mrs. Fieldman took roll, then commanded us to pass our homework to the person on our left. I accepted Kenny Altemore's homework, then turned to find Robbie Marshall staring at me.

  Sandra Herrera was absent, leaving no human obstruction between me and Robbie. Fate, it seemed, was all for me living my fantasy.

  For a moment we both held on to my homework and gazed into each other's eyes. He breathed out a heavy "Whoa," which made me blush and turn away. But I kept glancing over at him throughout the period, and I couldn't help noticing that he spent a lot more time stealing looks at me than watching Mrs. Fieldman work problems on the whiteboard.

  When the bell rang, I made sure my book bag was right side up before looping it over my shoulder, then timed my exit to coincide with his. I smiled at him as we walked outside together, trying to look cool and confident, as my knees quivered me along.

  "You look good," he whispered.

  "You think?" I countered, my heart racing. "How good?"

  "Real good," he said.

  We were a safe distance from the classroom, so I edged closer to him and smiled. "Kissably good?"

  Before I could fully process that those words had really come out of my mouth, Robbie Marshall glanced around quickly, then swept a bionic arm around me and pulled me toward him.

  The scene where Delilah is consumed by the magic of her first kiss with Grayson flashed through my mind. I watched Robbie's lips, willing them to meet mine.

  My chin tipped up.

  This was it!

  My eyes eased closed.

  I was living my fantasy!

  My mouth pursed ever so slightly.

  I was quivering all over--this was unbelievable!

  And then Robbie attacked. I swear that brute almost chipped my tooth with his diamond-dusted teeth! And while I was reeling from the shock of that, he shoved his tongue halfway down my throat and nearly gagged me!

  "Oh, yeah," he said, panting hard as he pulled away. "Oh, yeah." Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rushed off.

  9

  Aftermath

  ON MY WAY OVER TO SECOND PERIOD, I swished out my mouth at the water fountain. I felt slimed. Disgusted.

  That kiss wasn't crimson!

  It wasn't even pink!

  I'm not sure it even qualified as a kiss.

  It was more like mouth-to-mouth with a mackerel!

  I was still reeling when I slipped into my second-period seat. Even on a good day it would have been hard to focus on Mr. Anderson's lecture on ancient Chinese dynasties (he's very much not one of those teachers who make history come alive). But after the mackerel-mouth incident it was impossible. My focus was on kissing.

  Is that how Robbie had kissed Sunshine Holden?

  And if it was, how did he...do other stuff?

  I shuddered and actually tried to focus on Mr. Anderson's droning. "...but in the year 960 a new power, Song, reunified most of China proper. The Song period divides into two phases due to the forced abandonment of north China in 1127 by the Song court, which was unable to push back the nomadic invaders...."

  My mind wandered off.

  Did all guys kiss like that?

  Were Delilah and Grayson purely fictional?

  Was I swimming in a sea of mackerels?

  Sharks?

  Barracudas?

  What did I want?

  Guppies?

  "Miss Logan?"

  I snapped to. "Huh?"

  "Your attention should be directed up here."

  So I directed my attention up there, but focusing on his lecture was hopeless. Instead, I started thinking that Mr. Anderson's having five children was an absolute miracle. The man has no lips (to speak of), no hair (worth mentioning), and no level of hotness (whatsoever)! How'd he ever get close enough to a woman to spawn five children?

  When second period was finally over, I escaped the classroom, desperate to find Adrienne. I was dying to tell her about Robbie Marshall!

  But in the high seas of secondary education, the undertow of gossip is incredibly fast and strong. Adrienne already knew.

  "Is it true?" she gasped when she saw me. "Did he really kiss you?"

  I nodded and pulled a face. "Yes, and it was disgusting!"

  "What? Disgusting? How can that be?" She squinted at me. "I demand details!"

  But over her shoulder I could see that the details would have to wait.

  Sunshine Holden was storming across the quad.

  Straight for me.

  10

  Sunshine on My Shoulder

  "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Sunshine demanded.

  "Uh...having break?"

  She shoved my shoulder. "Bitch."

  "Hey!" Adrienne shouted, dumping her backpack and stepping forward.

  "Take it easy, Sunshine," I said. "Everything's cool."

  "No, it's not! How dare you kiss my boyfriend?"

  "Your boyfriend?" Adrienne asked, holding her ground. "What are you talking about? You guys broke up weeks ago!"

  "Yeah? Well, as of last night we're back together!"

  Adrienne and I both eyed each other with little Oooohs. Then Adrienne said, "Uh...maybe you should take this up with Robbie?" She cocked her head in my direction. "Obviously she didn't know."

  Sunshine ignored Adrienne and shoved me again. "What made you think you could just go up and kiss him? You have a reputation for being smart, but that was really dumb."

  I opted not to comment on her reputation. "Uh...it didn't exactly happen that way, Sunshine." I took a step back. "But I'm not after Robbie, okay?"

  "Oh, right! Like I haven't noticed the way you've been circulating him?"

  Circulating him?

  I let it slide. "Look. I have no intention of coming between you guys. He's all yours."

  "Damn straight!" she said. "And if I ever catch you anywhere near him, you
'll be so dead!"

  The warning bell put an end to our jolly conversation. Sunshine stormed off, and Adrienne let out a low whistle. "Wow! That was intense!"

  It had been. Sunshine had always acted so aloof. So superior. I hadn't thought of her as the catfight type, but she had certainly shown some claw. I shook my head. "That was one dangerous kiss. And I don't mean that in a good way!"

  Adrienne grabbed her things and started backpedaling away from me. "I can't be late to class, and I've got a choir meeting at lunch. But I'm actually free after school. Can you come over? You just have to! I don't even know what happened!"

  "Sure."

  "Meet me at Brody's truck!" she called.

  "See you there!" I called back, then waved and ran off to third period.

  11

  Willow Talk

  ADRIENNE AND I BOTH HAVE OUR LICENSE, we just don't get to drive much. My mom and I have opposite schedules and she always has the car, which makes sense because it's her car. My dad promised to buy me my own car when I turned sixteen, but as it turns out, he's a pathological liar. And Adrienne's parents rely on Adrienne's brother, Brody (who has his own truck), to do the shuttling.

  Brody's one of those work-hard-and-save-your-money kind of guys who won't buy a Coke out of a machine because he thinks it's a rip-off. Then he goes broke dropping his whole wad on something big like a truck and has to start saving all over again.

  My philosophy is spend-as-you-go. Buy the Coke. Enjoy every day.

  Of course, I don't have a car.

  Adrienne and I call Brody's truck the Chevy, because it's wide and slightly lowered and ripe-tomato red. It's a vintage GMC, but we still call it the Chevy, which drives him crazy, and I do so love driving Brody Willow crazy! He's like the big brother my parents forgot to provide. In addition to being a responsible saver, he's the quintessential student, and unlike me, he seems to find getting A's easy. He thinks physics is fascinating and has never had a B.

  He's also never had a girlfriend; has never gone on a date (even though Adrienne and I have tried like mad to set him up). I don't think he's gay, but I wouldn't care if he was.

  "Hey, Bro!" I said when I spotted him in the parking lot. "Wassup!"