The Opposite of Innocent

  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!