Confessions of a Serial Kisser

  "Wassup?" Justin said, acting a little too cool. He laughed. "Why're you so jumpy?"

  I almost snapped, "Why are you so late?" but in my head it sounded (eeew) desperate. So I leaned against a post of the gazebo and tried for something relaxed and witty. "Jumpy? Maybe I'm a rabbit?"

  The second it left my lips, my brain screamed, A rabbit? What kind of insane thing is that to say? What do you think he's going to read into that? He sure won't think you mean fuzzy and cute!

  He laughed and moved toward me.

  "I didn't mean it like that," I said, taking a step away.

  "Then why're we here?"

  My thumb was oozing and it was distracting me. So I put my thumbnail up to my mouth, trying to look casual as I licked it. The taste of blood mixed with micro specks of Colgate. Oh, no! I thought. It's seriously bleeding!

  Justin's nose started twitching like a rabbit's, and at first I thought he was making fun of me, but then his eyes squeezed together and he let out a loud, splattering sneeze.

  A horn beeped from the parking lot behind me as Justin blasted another splattery sneeze into his sleeve. I glanced over my shoulder, then did a double take as two guys dived for cover inside an old Nissan. "You brought Blaine and Travis?"

  "Aaaa-chooooo!" He wiped his face. "Your perfume...the flowers...something's killin' me!" He twitched and sniffed. "Aaaa-chooooo!"

  "Why'd you bring Blaine and Travis?"

  "Aaaa-chooooo! Why'd you wear that stupid perfume? Aaaa-chooooo! Why'd you pick this stupid place? Aaaa-chooooo!"

  I stared at him. So much for the perfect setting. Obviously there'd be no kissing tonight!

  22

  Morning Madness

  WHEN ADRIENNE AND I WERE EIGHTH GRADERS, we had four out of six classes together. When we moved up to high school, we had only two classes the same, and we thought it was torture. But as sophomores we were down to one class (P.E.), and now we have none. We do have the same teachers for American literature and world history, but they're at different times, so that's only useful for comparing homework answers.

  We used to walk to school together, too, but that was before the separation. Now, instead of living a block away from the Willows, I'm at the condo, over a mile away. And this year, while I had my nose in a book (either text or romance) or was killing time at Groove Records, Adrienne was getting more and more involved in school. Newspaper production, which she has first period (and, it seems, at lunch and after school), and choir now ruled her life. If she wasn't rushing off to meet some deadline for the Larkmont Times, she was catering to the demanding whims of Mr. and Mrs. Vogel, her choir teachers.

  So not seeing her in the quad the morning following the gazebo disaster was nothing unusual.

  Her not having called me back the night before was.

  Where was she?

  I was in the middle of a kissing crisis!

  I needed my best friend!

  I tried the newspaper production classroom and asked the advisor, Ms. Pickney, if she'd seen her.

  "Not this morning, no." As I turned to go, she called, "But when you find her, tell her she should be here! Her page is still half empty! Our deadline is Thursday!"

  I waved an acknowledgment, then walked over to the Performance Pavilion, trying to ignore all the couples sucking face in alcoves along the way.

  One of the back entrances to the theater was unlocked, and I entered to the sound of angelic voices and a tinkling piano. I found a seat in the shadows and watched as Adrienne and about twenty other singers did vocal gymnastics while Mr. Vogel waved a baton around like he was fending off a swarm of bees and Mrs. Vogel played with exaggerated drama at the baby grand. (They both always dress and act like they're giving the performance of a lifetime. Swooping bows, flowing scarves, polished dress shoes...even their hallway "good mornings" are overly theatrical. It's really quite exhausting being around them.)

  After a while I found myself watching a tall blond who was standing in the row behind Adrienne. His name was Patrick or Patton or Peyton or...some other P name...and he was obviously very serious about his singing. Big oooos, wide eeeees...He was handsome in a choirboy sort of way and had, I decided, a very expressive mouth.

  The warning bell rang, and after a brief pep talk from Mr. Vogel about the "fast-approaching spring choral performance," the choir dispersed.

  "Adrienne!" I called, hurrying up to the stage.

  "Evangeline!" she called back, her cheeks glowing from her early-morning vocalizing. She scampered down the side steps and said, "I'm so sorry I didn't get back to you last night. I fell asleep at eight o'clock, if you can believe that! I was just exhausted." She grabbed my arm and whispered, "So what happened? Did you meet Justin? Did you get your crimson kiss?"

  I scowled. "I was so wrong about him. It was a disaster."

  "See ya, Adrienne," the blond choirboy said as he went by. "Hey, Evangeline."

  "Hey," I said back, racking my brains for his name.

  "See ya, Paxton," Adrienne said, her cheeks still glowing.

  I did a mental snap of the fingers. Paxton.

  Adrienne called, "You sounded great today!" after him, then latched on to me again and whispered, "Why was it a disaster? Tell me! Tell me everything!"

  "He's allergic to perfume. Or flowers. Or both! He was late, he sneezed all over the place, and get this--he brought Blaine and Travis!"

  "No!"

  "Seriously. How mature is that? They were spying from his car!"

  "Get out!" She gave me a friendly shove, then started making a beeline toward her first-period class. "So...no kiss?"

  "Not even close." I cut away from her, saying, "I gotta go. Fieldman's the tardy Nazi."

  "Are you giving him a second chance?"

  I pulled a horrified face. "No!"

  She laughed and called, "I'll meet you in the quad at break, okay?" She stopped short. "No, wait! Meet me in Ms. Pickney's room! My page is only half done and the deadline's Thursday! I need every second I can get!"

  I called, "Right!" and hurried off with a smile and a wave.

  23

  Hippity-Hop!

  THE BIG SURPRISE DURING MATH was having to avoid eye contact with Robbie Marshall. After the fish kiss he'd totally ignored me, which was more than fine with me. But now suddenly he was watching me, grinning slyly at me, casually flexing his biceps.

  What was up with that?

  After class I got my question answered.

  "You want to go out?" he asked, catching my arm as he whispered it in my ear.

  I pulled away. "Uh...no."

  "Aw, c'mon. We'd be good together."

  I stopped and turned to face him. "What about Sunshine?"

  He shrugged. "We're kinda broken up."

  "Kinda broken up?"

  "Look," he whispered, "we could just try it out.... She doesn't have to know!"

  I gave him an Adriennesque squint. "You're disgusting, you know that?" Then I huffed off.

  Stu Dillard was the one who provided some clarity to Robbie's sudden renewed interest in me. "Hippity-hop, Evangeline!" he called as I approached Mr. Anderson's world history boredom tomb. Then he put his index fingers up like devil's horns and wiggled them.

  At first I didn't get it, but as I slid into my seat, a wave of nausea knocked me flat.

  It couldn't be!

  I hadn't even done anything!

  But what else could the wiggly ears and hippity-hop comment be about?

  Justin Rodriguez had been talking rabbits!

  24

  Shack Attack

  THERE WAS NO WAY I COULD CONCENTRATE in world history. If Stu knew, so did half the school.

  Talk about rabbits--I wanted to crawl into a hole and die!

  I couldn't believe it. How could this have happened? Overnight I'd gotten a reputation?

  I hadn't even done anything!

  And there was no way I was going to let some sneezy twerp and his pint-sized posse talk trash about me! At break I stormed around until I
found Justin on his way to the Snack Shack.

  "What's the big idea?" I asked, and I actually pushed his chest with both my hands.

  He stumbled back a step and grinned. "Whoa!"

  "Stop that!" I snapped, because I hated the smug way he was looking at me. "I can't believe you told people what I said. You know I didn't mean it that way! You startled me and it just popped out of my mouth!"

  He gave a little twitch of the shoulder. "I didn't broadcast it. I just told Blaine and Travis."

  "Yeah? Well Stu Dillard called out 'Hippity-hop' to me this morning, so someone somewhere's broadcasting!"

  He said, "Sorry," like he couldn't care less. Then he shook his head and said, "I still don't really get why you wanted to meet me--"

  I was so exasperated and so mad that I just blurted out, "I wanted a kiss. That's all! Just one perfect kiss. And for some insane reason I thought you could deliver it! But instead, you delivered your obnoxious little friends and disgusting sneezes. And now I have to--"

  Before I could finish my rant, he grabbed me, pulled me toward him, and planted a kiss.

  Only he kind of missed.

  His lips were half on my lips and half off, which was really awkward. And he tried to adjust, but it was just...wrong.

  Besides, I didn't want him to kiss me on the outskirts of the Snack Shack! I'd wanted him to kiss me in a gazebo in the moonlight. I'd wanted tender, melting lips. A fantasy kiss.

  This kiss wasn't crimson!

  It was a murky, muddled gray!

  I tried to pull away from him, but he had his hands clamped on my upper arms and bent forward to stay connected.

  I felt a surge of panic.

  I was trapped!

  Held hostage by a crooked kiss!

  When pulling back only made him bend farther forward, I twisted my head to the side and jerked free. But in the process I lost my balance, staggered backward, and fell against an overflowing trash can.

  I went down with a crash, knocking garbage everywhere.

  One look at me sprawled across trash and Justin took off.

  That crummy crooked kisser just ditched me!

  And the whole Snack Shack line was now staring at me!

  I tried to make a graceful return to an upright position, but that wasn't easy with nacho sauce smeared everywhere.

  Then someone grabbed my arm to help me up, and I found myself face to face with...a Boy Scout?

  He wasn't exactly in uniform, but his white polo shirt was tucked into his tan pants, and his whole demeanor was squeaky-clean. His hair was actually parted and plastered across his head like he was preparing for a midlife comb-over.

  "Thanks," I said, standing up. I was a good six inches taller than he was.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  I nodded and brushed myself off, then watched while he righted the can and scooped the trash back inside. "There," he said when he was done. He looked at his hands and smiled. "I guess I'd better go wash up!"

  "Uh, thanks," I said again, giving a lame wave as he hurried off. "Me too."

  People in the Snack Shack line were still staring.

  I slunk away, thinking that at least now they had something besides rabbits to gossip about.

  25

  Faulty Analysis

  I WAS TARDY TO SPANISH. I'm never tardy to anything, but I was way tardy to Spanish. I'd been looking for Adrienne. It was the only thing I could think to do after escaping the Snack Shack. I looked in Ms. Pickney's room but was told she'd already left for her third-period class. So I hurried over to Room 814, the choir classroom.

  The first person I ran into was Paxton.

  "Where's Adrienne?" I panted.

  "She's running an errand for Mr. Vogel." He cocked his head a bit. "You okay? What happened to your clothes? Is that nacho sauce?"

  Clarinets were squeaking in the band room next door. Someone was pounding on a bass drum. "I'm late," I said, and ran to class.

  Spanish was a blur. So was American lit. I couldn't stop thinking about Justin's cockeyed kiss. And thrashing in trash. And Robbie Marshall asking me out. And Studly doing devilish bunny ears.

  I was living a nightmare, not a fantasy!

  What did a girl have to do to get a decent kiss?

  Could it possibly be worth this?

  When the lunch bell rang, I was dying to track down Adrienne, but Miss Ryder held me back. "Evangeline! Can I see you a minute?"

  Miss Ryder had told us on the first day of school that she was twenty-three and that it was only her second year teaching. "That's why I'm going to be unfailingly strict--I will take no bull from any of you. I am also unfailingly passionate about literature--it's my life, and I'm looking forward to sharing it with you."

  True to her word, she's in love with books. Her cheeks flush when she talks about them, and she goes off on these amazingly eloquent jags about the significance of books. Sometimes, though, I think she sees things because she's in love, not because it's really there. Case in point: According to her analysis, The Last of the Mohicans is a vehicle for conveying great courage, great treachery, and great love.

  According to my analysis, it's a story about war.

  Anyway, when the rest of the class had stampeded out, she analyzed me through her narrow, black-framed, rectangular glasses and said, "You've seemed distracted in class lately. Especially today. Are you doing all right?"

  What was I? An open book? "I'm fine," I told her, slamming down the cover.

  She held my gaze. "You don't seem fine." There was a moment of awkward silence before she looked away and said, "People talk, Evangeline. It's wrong, but that's what they do."

  My jaw hit the floor. My teacher had heard?

  But...exactly what had she heard?

  "The gossip is really not what's important," she said, looking at me again through those mind-reading lenses. "Just don't do anything you're ashamed of--that's my rule of thumb."

  "I haven't!" I said, picking my jaw off the floor. "I have done absolutely nothing wrong, or scandalous, or...or even remotely nasty!"

  Her hands swept upward. "Well, there you go. So just hold your head high, and get on with your life."

  I headed for the door.

  "But if you ever need someone to talk to..."

  "Thanks," I said, then scrambled out of there to find Adrienne.

  I had to find Adrienne.

  26

  Plenty of Mouth to Go Around

  I WENT DIRECTLY TO THE NEWSPAPER PRODUCTION CLASSROOM, but Adrienne wasn't there. I checked the choir room (it was locked); then I full-on ran back toward Ms. Pickney's room. I never run through the halls. It's so un cool. But I had to find Adrienne!

  In my hurry, I plowed right into Brody, who was emerging from a room in the science wing.

  "Have you seen your sister?" I panted as I untangled myself from him.

  He shook his head. "Choir? Newspaper? Quad?"

  "No, no, and I don't think so...but I'll check!" I waved and called, "Thanks, Bro!" and hurried toward the quad.

  It didn't make sense that she'd be there, because she had so much else going on, but when I rounded the corner and looked at "our" place, there she was.

  "Finally!" she said when I approached. "Where have you been?"

  "Looking all over for you!"

  "What happened with Justin and the trash can? It can't possibly be as bad as people are making it sound!"

  "Oh my God, this school," I cried. I zeroed in on her. "How about rabbits? Are they also talking about rabbits?"

  "What? No! What happened?"

  "I went off on Justin for spreading rumors, and he grabbed me and kissed me. Right by the Snack Shack! But he missed, and then he wouldn't let go! So I jerked away from him and wound up falling and knocking over a trash can."

  She gasped. "Oh, how embarrassing!" Then she squinted at me and said, "He missed? How could he miss? He's got plenty of mouth to go around!"

  "You can say that again! Him and Travis and Blaine all do!"

&nb
sp; "Wait...you kissed them, too?"

  "No! I meant that Travis and Blaine have been mouthing off about last night, too!"

  "But..." She squinted harder and shook her head. "Where do rabbits come in?"

  I put a hand to my forehead. "Last night Justin was late, he startled me, and when he asked why I was so jumpy, out of my brilliant mouth came 'Maybe I'm a rabbit?'"

  Adrienne laughed, then put both hands in front of her face and peeked at me over the tops of her fingertips. "No!"

  "Yes! And somehow Stu found out and he's been 'hippity-hopping' when he sees me! Which is why I went off on Justin!"

  She shook her head, then grabbed me by the arm and said, "I've got a deadline, and you're coming with me. I don't think it's safe to leave you alone anymore."

  So I let her lead me toward Ms. Pickney's room. I already felt a lot better, but mostly I felt grateful that Adrienne Willow was my friend.

  27

  Surrealistic Pillow

  AFTER SCHOOL I HOLED UP AT GROOVE RECORDS. For me, walking through that door is like opening A Crimson Kiss. I enter and escape.

  Usually I just meander around the store. I read the backs of ancient LPs, listen to some obscure band Izzy's got pumping into every nook of the store, or relax on a thrasher couch reading tattered back issues of Rolling Stone.

  And usually there are at least a couple other people in the store doing the same thing I am, or trying out used guitars in the guitar room, but this time the place seemed deserted. There wasn't even any music playing.

  Izzy was near the register, changing the strings of his guitar. "Hey, Bubbles!" he called.

  "Hey, Izzy," I called back, then cupped my hand behind my ear and scanned the air. "I can't believe what I'm not hearing!"

  He laughed and put down his string-winding tool. "Guess I was preoccupied, sorry! I'll get some music spinnin'."

  So I was walking down the corridor between crates of LPs when suddenly it was like someone pushed me from behind.

  It wasn't a push.

  It wasn't even a person.

  It was a voice.

  When the truth is found to be lies...and all the joy...within you...dies...don't you want somebody to love? Don't you need somebody to love? Wouldn't you love somebody to love? You better find somebody to love...love.