Free If We Kiss by Rachel Vail Page A

metaphor, as my English teacher, Ms. Lendzion, would say, for how bad it was that Kevin liked me for such a short time I hardly got to enjoy it. Not that I was about to explain that to George, my boyfriend. Boys don’t get metaphors.
    “Oh,” he said, and kept standing there, with his face turned away.
    Then I felt guilty for acting that rude, so I reluctantly asked, “Why did you want to know about the weather?”
    “I saw it,” George said. “The weather report.”
    “Yeah?” I said, thinking nastily, And your point is?
    “Yeah,” he said. “Right up there on the top corner of the newspaper.”
    I so did not want to talk about the weather. “Oh,” I said. “Is there anything we should know about tomorrow’s weather, then? Because I guess it’s too late for today.”
    “Nope,” he said. “Nothing at all. Just . . .” But he didn’t say anything else and after a minute he walked away.
    “Ouch,” Jennifer whispered.
    I let out my breath. “I hate parties,” I whispered.
    “Let’s get drinks,” Tess whispered to me.
    She grabbed my belt loop but I hung back.
    “Lighten up, drama queen,” she whispered. “Come on.”
    “I’ll go,” Darlene said.
    “Okay.” Tess shot me a look and crossed the room with her. Jennifer and I leaned our backs against the wall for a few minutes, watching the girls who had the guts to talk to the boys. I couldn’t hear what Tess was saying or see her face, so I just stared at Kevin’s, and watched a slow, sexy smile spread across his mouth to reveal plastic white fang teeth.
    A little sound escaped from somewhere in my throat.
    I watched him looking at Tess. It was all I could do to stay upright.
    “Yeah,” Jennifer said. “Want to find the bathroom?”
    I nodded and pushed off from the wall. But what I should’ve known by then, after what happened at my own party, was that you never know what you might find around a corner at a party.

fourteen
    WE WANDERED AROUND for a few minutes, but there wasn’t an obvious bathroom. Kevin’s house is all on one level, very modern-looking. We were about to head down a hallway when Kevin’s best friend, Brad, rounded the corner. He is a nut. He was dressed as a pregnant cheerleader. “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.
    “Where’s the bathroom?” Jennifer asked him.
    “Next to the front door,” he said. “Have fun!”
    “Shut up,” Jennifer said. She started chewing her cuticles. It occurred to me that even Jen might have dramas of her own going on. We headed toward the front door.
    “Hey,” I said to her, leaning close. “Do you like . . .”
    “No,” she answered quickly. I decided not to push it.
    Jennifer knocked on the slim door beside the massive double front door. A voice from inside said, “One sec,” sounding surprised and embarrassed.
    “Was that Kevin?” I whispered.
    Jennifer nodded.
    We took a few steps away, not wanting to embarrass him when he came out, not wanting him to think we were listening. I remember in kindergarten there was a bathroom in our classroom, and it was so incredibly hard to do what you desperately needed to do because you knew there were other kids right outside the door hearing you.
    But when the door opened, it was not Kevin who emerged. It was Kevin’s dad.
    AND: my mother.
    With no lip gloss, only F.K.G.
    And behind them was not the bathroom, I couldn’t help noticing. It was a coat closet.
    Nobody said anything. What was there to say? What the hell were you two doing in the coat closet? That is not exactly a question you want to be asking your mother.
    “What the hell were you two doing in the coat closet?” I asked.
    “Charlie,” said Mom, properly identifying the asker.
    “We, um, hanging . . . coats,” said Kevin’s father. “Up.”
    “I . . .” I didn’t know what else to say. I felt Jennifer tugging my sleeve.
    “Did you need to, um, hang a coat?” Kevin’s dad asked. “Up?” His face was red and I noticed he was