Free Who I Kissed by Janet Gurtler Page A

it. A private number. I pick it up.
    “Hello?”
    “Samantha?” I recognize the voice right away.
    “Casper?”
    Dad looks over, his eyebrows rising. I catch his eye and he looks away, but I can tell by his straight back and unblinking gaze that his full attention is on me and the caller on the other end of the phone. Boys call me, like, never.
    “You recognize my voice? I’m flattered. So. How’s things?”
    With my dad watching, making small talk with Casper is just about the last thing I want to be doing. “Fine. Um. It’s not really a good time for me to talk.” Nothing like me getting right to the point, then.
    Dad clears his throat and picks up his wine. I turn my back to him.
    “Okay. Straight to it. I’ll have to tell you how beautiful your eyes are another time.”
    My cheeks burn, and I’m glad my face is hidden from Dad.
    “So? My place or yours?” he says.
    “What?”
    “We need to start working on our English project. Remember. An A-plus-plus.”
    “Yeah. Um. Yours.” I don’t want to invite anyone into my house. It’s too embarrassing to think of anyone seeing what I used to be.
    “Good choice, Sam. You’re off to great places! You’re off and away!”
    I wish he could see me rolling my eyes. “Dr. Seuss again?”
    He laughs. “See, that’s what I love about you. You totally got that. So how about Friday night?”
    “Friday night?”
    “You got a date?” he asks. There’s a bit of a nasty edge to his voice.
    “Friday’s fine.”
    “Great. Give me your cell number, and I’ll text you my address.” The friendliness is back. Casper the friendly ghost.
    He says good-bye, and the phone clicks in my ear before I say the same. I hold the dead air to my ear, thinking about how much it bothers Dad when people hang up without waiting for him to say good-bye first.
    “Good-bye,” I say to no one and put the phone back on the cradle.
    “That was a boy?” Dad says.
    I turn to look at him. “An English project.”
    “Hmm. That’s not what we called it in my day.”
    “Not funny, Dad. We’re doing a report on 1984 and it’s going to be a big part of my grade. Casper is smart, and he wants to work with me because I’m smart too.”
    His lips turn up, and he sits up straight and tries to look contrite by scrunching up his eyebrows. “Sorry,” he says “Smart is right. Especially in English. My worst subject. I was a math guy.”
    “I never would have guessed that.” Except I’ve heard it, like, a hundred times before. I walk to the table, take his dishes to the garbage, clear them, and load them into the dishwasher. I come back to put the condiments away, and he’s still staring at me. “What?” I ask.
    He tilts his head, and his eyes crinkle in the corners. Concerned. “Are the kids at school being…you know, okay?”
    I frown, lift my shoulder, grab the salt and pepper shakers from the table, and stick them in the cupboard.
    “Did they…” He pauses and I spin around, frowning at him as I grab the milk carton from the table.
    “What?” I demand when he stops.
    “Your swim team didn’t start rumors, like they did in Orlie?”
    “Dad!” My mouth drops open. I hurry to the fridge, shove the milk inside, and then stare at him, shocked. My face is hotter than the sunburn I got in California at an outdoor swim meet last year. He knew about the rumors?
    He looks around the room, as if he’d rather be somewhere else than having a convo with me about my sexual orientation. “I knew it wasn’t true. I mean. It isn’t. Right?”
    “I’m sure if the dead could speak, Alex would back me up on this one.”
    “Oh, butterfly.” He stands and takes a step toward me but I step back and press my back against the refrigerator.
    “No, that rumor is gone. Now I’m just a murderer. A straight one.”
    He takes a step toward me and then stops. “Are the kids bullying you?”
    “No. They fucking love me, Dad. Why wouldn’t they?”
    I wait for him to yell at me for saying