The Next Day Is Labor Day
And Rose texts me,
begging me to come over
to save her from her relatives.
But I tell her I’ve got
my own relatives to contend with.
We’re throwing a big family barbecue.
Dad’s firing up the grill.
Mom and Luke are chopping veggies
for the salad.
And I’m shucking corn with Alice,
the two of us giggling
as we fold the husks halfway down—
turning the ears
into little yellow ballerina dolls
wearing corn-silk tutus.
I’m sneaking peeks at Luke.
But he’s so busy goofing around with Mom
he doesn’t even notice me.
Though when she asks me to bring
the folding chairs up from the cellar,
he volunteers to help me.
Suddenly every atom in my body is on high alert.
He Opens the Cellar Door
And when
he rests his palm
on the small of my back
to guide me down
into the dark,
it feels
like a spark
igniting a flame
that’s singeing me
right through my tee.
When We Get to the Bottom Step
I reach for the light switch.
But Luke covers it with his hand.
Then he turns me around
to face him,
tips my head back,
and leans in to kiss me.
Only he doesn’t kiss me.
He just bring his lips close to mine—
so close
I can feel him breathing.
“Are you sure about this?” he whispers.
“Positive,” I whisper back.
Then he finally
lets his lips touch mine,
and his kiss ripples
all through me,
like perfect circles
on the surface of a secret pond.
Each Time
We climb back up the stairs
with another two chairs,
I’m a little
more flushed,
a little
more hushed,
a little
more dazed,
a little
more crazed,
a little
more more
than the time
before.
Then Uncle Mike and Aunt Pat Arrive
And we spend the afternoon playing ping-pong
and badminton and H-O-R-S-E with all our cousins,
while gorging on hot dogs and corn and s’mores.
As the party winds down, my cousin Heather
tries to teach me how to do the splits.
But I’m hopeless at it.
I glance over and notice
that Luke’s watching me,
grinning at my lame efforts.
He winks at me and starts gathering up
a pile of used paper plates.
“I’ll just toss these in the bin,” he says.
As he heads down the driveway
and disappears behind the garage,
I tell Heather I’ll be right back.
Then I grab some crumpled napkins
and empty soda cans, and follow after him.
Behind me, I hear Mom laughing with my aunt.
“Looks like our Lilybelle has a little crush on Luke,”
Mom says. “Isn’t that adorable?”
And as I slip behind the garage, I’m thinking,
Not as “adorable” as it seems, Mom.
I’m Lying in Bed
With one hand on my necklace,
the other pressed to Luke’s wall,
the first time I hear them:
three quiet little taps.
They’re so faint,
I think maybe I’ve imagined them.
But then they come again:
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I hesitate for a second,
then tap the wall three times.
Luke answers right away
with three more taps.
A little zing
shoots up my spine.
We’re sending messages
in a secret code!
Me: Tap. Tap. Tap.
Luke: Tap. Tap. Tap.
Me: Tap. Tap. Tap.
Luke: Tap. Tap. Tap.
I don’t know
what Luke’s three taps mean.
But I know what mine mean:
I. Love. You.
The First Day of High School
Isn’t nearly
as scary as I thought
it would be.
Probably because
my cousin Heather filled me in
on all the important stuff.
She’s in college now,
but she went to the same
high school.
So she told me how to find the cafeteria,
and what’s too gross to eat
(everything).
She told me where all the bathrooms are,
and which ones to stay out of
(all of them).
What she didn’t tell me
is how I’m going to survive
being away from Luke,
all day long,
five days a week,
week after week after week.
But Then I Walk into French Class
And there’s Taylor and Rose,
grinning at me and waving,
shouting, “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Liliette!”
as they pat the empty seat between them.
This is how
I am going to survive.
When I sit down, Taylor studies my face
and says, “You look . . . different.”
“Yeah,” Rose says. “It’s weird.
Like you’re glowing or something.”
Oh my God—are Luke’s kisses
written all over my face?
I swallow hard and say, “We were
at the beach this weekend. I got a tan.”
“No . . . ,” Taylor says.
“It’s more than a tan . . .”
But then the bell rings—
and I’m saved by it.
In Creative Writing Class
Mr. Bennett said we all had to write a concrete poem—
a poem whose shape is as meaningful as its words.
So I wrote this:
But I’m not going to turn it in.
I’m Plowing Through the Multitudes
Trying to get to geometry before the bell,
when I glance down the hall and notice Jason,
that guy who kissed me after the dance last year,
heading in my direction.
Suddenly
I’m a little nauseous—
remembering how it felt when he poked
his slimy tongue into my mouth.
Jason’s eyes meet mine for a second.
Then both of us look away.
And as he passes by,
our shoulders almost touch.
I shrink away from him,
thinking back to that awful night
when I told myself that there had to be
more to kissing than that.
And I can’t help smiling to myself.
Because now I know I was right—
there’s whole worlds more to it.
Whole galaxies.
At Lunch with the Triatomics in the Quad
Rose is devouring my chips, telling us
about this guy, Presley, in her math class.
“He’s not my type,” she says.
“But I think you might like him, Lil.”
“Wait a minute,” Taylor says. “Back up.
Since when do you have a type?”
Rose pops a chip into
her mouth and says,
“I’ve developed a thing for redheads.”
“What color is Presley’s hair?” he asks.
“Blond,” she says, “with a little streak of blue.”
“Darn,” I say. “I’ve developed a thing
for guys with brown hair.”
Taylor narrows his eyes at me.
“Does your ‘older guy’ have brown hair?”
“Is that why you look so glowy?” Rose says.
“I told you,” I mumble. “It’s a tan.”
“Good,” Taylor says. “Then why not
let Rose introduce you to Presley?”
“Because . . . ,” I say.
“His name is too annoying.”
“Well,” Rose says, “when you see him,
you might change your mind.”
But I just shrug, and think to myself,
Not gonna happen.
Photography Class
As the students filter into the room,
Mr. Lewis meanders between our desks,
snapping pictures of us and asking us our names.
His long dreadlocks, his goatee,
and his purple high-tops officially make him
the coolest-looking teacher ever.
Just before the bell rings, a guy dashes in
and hands a slip to him—he’s cute,
but not in an I-know-I’m-cute kind of way.
Mr. Lewis snaps a picture of him
and says, “Welcome, Presley.
Take a seat right over there next to Lily.”
Whoa . . . This is the guy we were just talking about.
I can’t help noticing his walk—so relaxed and
confident, like how a cowboy might walk.
He eases down onto his chair,
wipes his too-long bangs out of his eyes,
and flashes me a smile.
Rose was right. I might have been
interested in someone like Presley.
If I weren’t already in love
with someone like Luke.
In Chemistry
Some wiseass asks Ms. Peyser
why we should be interested.
She tells him that chemistry helps us
understand the world around us.
That everything you can smell
or touch or taste is a chemical.
That fireworks
are based on chemistry.
Taylor nudges me and whispers,
“All this talk about touching and tasting
and fireworks. It’s making me miss Evan.”
I smile at him and roll my eyes.
But I know
exactly how he feels.
And I wish I could tell him that—
tell him all about Luke and me.
Though he almost had a heart attack
at the thought of me dating
someone old enough
to drink.
If I told him
I’ve been kissing
a twenty-nine-year-old man,
what would he think?
After School
Taylor dashes off to FaceTime with Evan.
Our moms won’t be picking us up till four,
so Rose and I head straight
to Bella’s Bookshop.
The sign in the window says:
50% USED. 50% NEW. 100% AWESOME.
And it really is—I mean, there’s even
a special section just called “LOVE.”
I don’t have a godmother.
But if I did,
I’d want her to be exactly like Bella—
funny, wise, and totally un-judgey.
Plus, she’s got this exotic fortune-teller vibe.
She wears all these rings and colorful scarves,
and long skirts with tiny tinkly bells
sewn right into the fabric.
Once,
she even closed up shop a little early
so she could give us a belly dancing lesson.
(She called it Bella dancing.)
But the thing we like best about her
is that she seems to know things about us.
Deep things. Sometimes even before we do.
Bella is 100% awesome.
I Tug Open the Heavy Oak Door
And take
a whiff of that comforting
dust-and-books-and-cookies smell.
“Darlings!” Bella cries, her big red smile
turning her face into a wild party.
“How I’ve missed my two love-story addicts.”
She hugs me, then pulls back to study my face.
“Look at you,” she says. “You’re positively radiant.
Are you in love? Or merely pregnant?”
“Only if the Lord knocked her up,” Rose says,
giving me a nudge. “Or some other older man.”
Bella narrows her eyes at me.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “It’s an unrequited crush.”
My ears burn. I’ve never lied to her before.
I get the feeling she senses something’s up.
But she doesn’t press me, she just raises an eyebrow,
then turns to hug Rose and says,
“What about you? Any unrequited crushes?”
“Nope,” Rose says. “Mine was requited.”
“Hmmm,” Bella says, “I can see that . . . But this guy . . .
He wasn’t Mr. Right. He was Mr. Right Now.”
“God, Bella,” Rose says. “How do you do that?”
“It’s a gift,” she says with a shrug. “My granny cast
a spell over me the day I was born. I guess it took.”
And I’m pretty sure she’s dead serious.
Bella Goes Behind the Cash Register
Then she slides a stack
of love stories across the counter,
beaming like she wrote them herself.
“These arrived last week,” she says.
“But I didn’t even put them on the shelf.
I was saving them for you two.”
“Wuthering Heights! Rebecca!” Rose cries.
“A signed copy of The Fault in Our Stars!”
“These are amazing,” I say. “You’re amazing.”
“I am, aren’t I?” Bella says with a grin.
“And when your love affair with love ends,
I’ll turn you kids on to Beat poetry.”
“Oh, it’ll never end,” I say.
“Love stories like these
keep our hearts pounding.”
“Yeah,” Rose sighs, clutching
If I Stay to her chest. “Nothing even close
to this romantic will ever happen to us.”
All of a sudden, I’m biting my lip,
fighting an overwhelming urge
to tell them that my life is a love story.
Better than a love story, even.
And then the door swings open—
and in walks Luke!
When the Guy
Who you’ve been trying
not to tell your friends about
suddenly shows up
in the very same room with them,
and walks straight over to you,
right in front of them,
saying, “There you are, Lily.
Your mom told me I’d find you here,”
you have to command your face
not to give you away,
you have to
take a deep breath,
you have to turn to your friends,
as calm as anything,
and say, “This is Luke.
He’s a friend of the family.”
And you have to say this
like that’s all he is.
You’d Think Rose Would Realize
That Luke is my “older guy.”
You’d think Bella,
with all her intuition and stuff,
would pick up on us right away.
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But Luke’s flashing his smile,
turning it on like the beam from a lighthouse.
And now he’s hypnotizing them
with that devastating English accent of his.
He’s asking Bella
if she chose that blouse
because it matches her eyes,
or if it’s just a happy accident.
He’s telling Rose
he’s heard she fancies love stories,
asking her to tell him what it is about them
that intrigues her so.
In other words,
they’re both way too busy
having their pants charmed off
to see what’s staring them right in the face.
Finally
Luke buys me Rebecca,
then blinds Bella and Rose
with one last smile,
and whisks me out the door.
A few minutes later, we’re sitting in his car
on the rooftop level of the parking lot
at the mall where no one really goes anymore.
Luke switches off the motor.
Then he lays out what he calls the “ground rules.”
I don’t really like the idea of him giving me rules.
He’s acting like he’s my dad or something.
But I guess they make sense.
He says we can’t call each other on the phone.
Someone might overhear us.
He says we can’t send emails or texts either.
Someone might read them.
And handwritten notes
are out of the question.
“How about telepathy?” I ask.
“Is telepathy okay?”
He laughs and says, “Absolutely not.”
“Then how will we communicate?” I ask.
“Here’s how,” he says.
And he leans in for a kiss.
But Then My Phone Rings
And it’s Mom,
checking to make sure
Luke picked me up.
She says she’s sorry
she couldn’t be there herself,
but they’re hanging a new show at the gallery.
She says she’ll have to work till six all week.
But Wanda’s mom has agreed to take Alice
home after school with her every day.
And she says Luke is such a sweetheart,
he’s offered to pick me up.
Every afternoon for a whole week!