Free The Dead of Summer by Heather Balog Page B

leg close to his body, like a pitcher winding up. He was laughing hysterically while I pretended to pummel him with my angry fists.
    “Please, please, please don’t hurt me, you beast,” he laughed.
    “You’re a jerk,” I sputtered, unable to hide my own nervous laughter. It felt natural, but I was uncertain. Was this okay? Is this what boys and girls who liked each other did? I never saw Lindy fooling around like this with a boy.
    “Harsh words for a little girl,” Carson said with a raised eyebrow.
    I puffed out my chest unintentionally, a visceral reaction to Carson’s accusation. “I’m not a little girl, I’ll have you know,” I said. And I instantly blushed when I realized how sexual that might sound. I tried to somehow deflate my chest…all thirty-eight inches of it.
    Carson’s eyes grew wide as they grazed over my chest. Then, he quickly looked away, his own face flushing. “No, no, I guess you’re not.”
    I stared down at the ground, cheeks getting hotter, eager to change the subject. “Where’s Colt? Don’t tell me you’ve lost him again,” I said in what I hoped sounded like a teasing tone.
    “Oh, Colt is home. I thought it might be a little too hot out for him. I figured I would just go for a walk by myself today.” Then that darn infectious grin spread on his lips. “Besides, I just use Colt to pick up cute girls. Now that I’ve met a cute girl, I don’t need him anymore.”
    My heart literally skipped a beat. Or maybe even two. Did he just call me a cute girl? Nobody has called me cute before. He likes me! He likes me? How is that possible? A boy actually feels the same chemistry that I feel for him?
    He stepped closer. “Cute, and smart, and funny…”
    Who is he describing? He can’t be talking about me. He left out short and chubby…with crooked teeth. I glanced up at him shyly. He seemed really sincere. Either he was a great actor or he didn’t see all those crappy features. How did he not see me the way every other boy did? Was he blind?
    “I think you have me confused with someone else,” I said. But please don’t have me confused with someone else. Nervous giggling once again escaped from my own lips as I lowered my gaze, digging a hole in Lindy’s daddy’s grass with my toe. He was going to be mighty ticked off when he saw this one. The end of my tennis shoe was a mixture of crumbly wet dirt and chunks of grass. As much as I had wanted to see Carson and be alone with him, now that he had acknowledged the chemistry between us, I didn’t know what to say. Everything I thought of sounded lame and cheesy in my head. I almost wished Lindy would come home and tell me exactly what to say.
    She wouldn’t tell you what to say, Kennedy, I reminded myself. What she would do is jump on Carson and flirt with him herself and leave you standing there holding her dripping wet umbrella or something even though she has zero interest in him.
    I was remembering the incident at the spring dance where two of our classmates approached us to dance and Lindy ended up waltzing away (literally) with both of them as I stood there, mouth agape, her umbrella crocked over my arm, water droplets plopping all over my brand new pumps.
    “Um, er,” I stammered, my mouth apparently not attached to my brain. Say something, Kennedy!
    But I couldn’t because Carson was reaching out, Carson was taking my hand ( oh damn, is my hand sweaty?) , Carson was holding my hand. Not Lindy’s. Mine .
    We were in Lindy’s backyard however. . .
    Stop thinking about Lindy, Kennedy! You can do this without her!
    My body began shaking uncontrollably, I emitted a nervous titter to cover up my unease. I didn’t want to look at Carson, I didn’t want him to see me shake and have him to realize I had never held a boy’s hand before and I had no idea what to do with it. And what if he tried to kiss me? He would know for sure that I had never been kissed.
    Carson’s hand was warm in mine; he was tugging me