I’m about to tell her no, and that it sounds like the last thing I want to do, when my phone beeps, announcing there’s a text message waiting.
Kayden: Did you know that Mrs. McGregor is having an affair with Tom Pelonie?
Me: Um… what?
Kayden: Or that Tina Millison is getting a new Mercedes for Christmas?
Me: Should I know this? Because I’m really confused.
Kayden: I think my mother needs a friend. She’s been following me all over the house, telling me the latest gossip. She even wanted me to take her to get her nails done.
I snort a laugh, but quickly erase it when my mom looks at me questioningly.
Me: I guess she misses you.
Kayden: No, she’s bored and needs to lay off the wine. I think my dad’s been on a lot of trips while I was gone and the empty house has made her lose her sanity more than she already had before I left.
Me: Mine wants me to go get my hair done with her.
Kayden: Yeah, but you’re a girl.
Me: Oh, I forgot for a sec. Thanx for reminding me.
Kayden: I haven’t forgotten at all. In fact, it’s all I think about all the time.
Me: That I’m a girl???
Kayden: That ur a girl I very badly want to touch right now.
I press my lips together, uncertain how to respond. We’ve barely kissed once since I dropped my secret on him and suddenly he’s talking dirty to me.
“Callie, what’s wrong?” My mother asks with concern. “You look flushed.”
I glance up from the message at her worried eyes. “I’m fine.”
She reaches for my phone. “Who are you texting?”
I turn my back on her and walk to the table, so she can’t see my face.
Kayden: Did I scare u off?
Me: No, I was just thinking about something.
Kayden: About me touching you?
“Callie, the pans are boiling over,” my mom says. “Can you turn the temperature down?”
Me: I have to go. My mom’s having a cooking crisis
Kayden: Okay, I’ll text u later. Be prepared to give me an answer ;)
My skin is hot as I run over to the stove and turn the knobs to low. Steam fills the air as I take a lid off one of the pots and stir the noodles in the water.
“So, about getting our hair done.” My mom picks the conversation up right where we left off. “What do you think?”
“I think I’m going to go up to my room,” I evade her question, wiping my hands on a paper towel. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do.”
“But it’s break time,” she says. “We’re supposed to be spending time together. What are you going to do up there besides be bored?”
My mother has always wanted me to be things I’m not, even before I changed. When I was six she wanted me to be a ballerina and I wanted to be a football player. When I was ten she thought it would be neat if we bought me a whole wardrobe of dresses for school and all I wanted was to pierce my ears. When I was eleven I decided I wanted to learn how to play the guitar. She signed me up for beauty pageant lessons.
“Being bored isn’t all that bad.” I put the knife in the sink and walk toward the back door. “I’ll come back in a little bit.”
It’s cold outside as I head for the garage, a light frost glazing the windows and railing. While I was away at college, my mom and dad put a ton of boxes in my room, along with my dad’s football memorabilia. I could either sleep on the couch in the living room or stay in the apartment above the garage. I chose the garage for privacy reasons. Plus I like that I don’t have to stay in my room, haunted by memories that will keep me awake all night. Up here it’s peaceful and quiet—my mind is somewhat clear from the storm.
I climb the stairs and shut the door behind me, cranking up the two space heaters before grabbing my journal out of my bag. I take out my iPod and put my ear buds in, scrolling to “Seth’s Awesome Playlist.” Seth has a very broad taste in music and I wonder what’s going to turn on when I click on the first song. “Work” by Jimmy Eat World flows into my ears as I flop down onto the mattress and kick my feet up on the metal headboard.
I open my journal and put the pen to the paper, my heart and mind racing wildly.
I’ve been wondering over the last few days what it would be like to be with Kayden. Like really, really be with him. The more I explore the idea, the more I wonder about it. Sometimes, it feels wrong thinking about this stuff, but other times, I enjoy my thoughts and very vivid images. It’s like I’m not me anymore, like he’s changed me into a girl who thinks about the possibilities of life and love.
I was daydreaming the other day in the living room, picturing his mouth on my breast, like it was that night before I flipped out, when my mom came into the room.
“You look so happy,” she said, sitting on the couch beside me. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you smile like this.”
I looked at her, and I mean really looked at her for a moment. Did it ever once cross her mind, even for just a split second, that maybe something terrible happened to me? Did she wonder, but the idea was so dark that her mind couldn’t grasp it?
A warm hand touches my shoulder, startling me, and I wrench my arm away as I bolt upright, dropping my pen and notebook on the bed.
Kayden takes a step back, putting his hands up in front of him as I breathe profusely, kneeling up in the bed. He’s wearing a pair of cargo shorts, a black hoodie, and sneakers. His hair is tucked under a beanie and his mouth moves as he says something.
I consider it, but only for a moment and then shake my head. “No.”
“Are you sure?” He checks and I nod way too enthusiastically.
Sliding his hands to my sides, he spins me around to face him. I stand on my tiptoes, hooking my arms around his neck, and he pushes on my lower back so my body arches against him. When our lips connect I feel a spark that tickles down my body and I moan ridiculously loud, my knees buckling. My cheeks start to heat, but he lets out a groan, cupping my face between his hands as he steps forward, leading us somewhere. My feet tangle with his as I back up and seconds later, we’re falling onto the mattress.
I pray to God that this time the moment will last; that nothing from that day will catch up with me.
His body conforms to mine as one of his hands knots through my hair, his other hand kneading my thigh. I slip my hands underneath his shirt and feel the lines of his muscles and the bumps of his scars. His stomach tightens under my touch, but he continues to explore my mouth with his tongue, the tip running along the roof and then his teeth bite softly at my lip. His fingers begin to drift along the top of my jeans and my insides quiver. I rub my feet together, tightening my legs, trying to figure out how to relieve the tingling between my legs.