Free Wicked Sweet by Mar'ce Merrell Page B

else.”
    “That’s it?” He could say anything and I’d melt.
    He nods. He leans in again.
    I am so ready for this kiss. Except. “I promised Chantal I’d stay with her …”
    “She’s with Will.”
    And she’ll be okay. She doesn’t need me right now.

Chantal
    The Cake .
    T he cake is dry and the frosting hard. I try to swallow but it coats my teeth and tongue. I don’t notice, until it’s too late, that Will has slid his hand up to my face. And now he’s getting closer and, now, his face is in front of me.
    His lips touch mine and I want to pull away, but I don’t because I promised to be normal. And a kiss is no reason to freak out. I try to imagine it’s someone else’s lips against mine, and that works. Mitch, my crush from the ninth grade. My lips tingle and I’m okay with the right hand settling on my waist. But then, he’s pressing his mouth hard on mine and his tongue is pushing into my mouth and his tongue has leftover chocolate goo on it and my stomach lurches. I try to twist away and it seems Will thinks this is some kind of great technique because he twists his head back and forth, his tongue goes wild in my mouth. And then he’s got his full weight against me, grinding into me. Ugh.
    I open my eyes and see that he’s looking up at something else while he’s kissing me.
    And now the taste of beer and cupcakes and possibly nacho chips with hot salsa comes through Will’s tongue and my nausea rises. I push my hands against his chest and press, hard. He grips tighter. More tongue. My stomach begins its revolt. I can taste vomit in the back of my mouth.
    A flash goes off. He’s taking a picture! I bring my knee through his legs and he groans. Until I lift it and slam it into his crotch. I let the vomit in my mouth go. In Will’s mouth. I run for the back door, but I don’t make it. I stop and finish barfing where I’m standing. I hate vomiting. I hate how my eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of the sockets and my stomach convulses so hard it burns. In between retches, I yell for help.
    “Jillian!”

Jillian
    Rescue .
    A s soon as the screaming starts I know; it’s Chantal. Parker hovers.
    “I have to go help.”
    “Those are cries of joy.”
    “Sorry!”
    He slips his right hand under my hair, cups the back of my neck, and pulls me close. “Will can help her.”
    “I can’t.” I pull away but I don’t want to.
    “Okay. I’ll help.” Parker slides his hands under my arms, lifts me from the washing machine, and sets me down. His arms wrap around me again and I wonder if maybe Chantal has solved her own emergency. If staying here isn’t the better idea.
    “I really have to go.” I push back from Parker and leave the laundry room, cross through the kitchen.
    I’m at the back door when I hear Chantal again. “Get away from me,” she hisses.
    She’s on her knees, piling paper napkins on top of a circle of puke. She hasn’t noticed a few bits clinging to her hair. When I say her name, she doesn’t even look up.
    Parker helps me drag her to one of the deck chairs. He goes off to talk to Will.
    “We have to leave,” she says after we clean her up.
    “I don’t want to go yet.”
    “Jillian. I have publicly barfed.” When I don’t rush to sweep her away, she adds, “I put up with Will. And I even let him kiss me.”
    I didn’t kiss Parker because I was worried about you.
    “I came here for you.”
    “I know. I know.” It’s that moment that shifts your world, where you decide that despite your best friend’s dire need for help, you want what you want. Annelise is in that house and if I leave, she’ll be the one in the laundry room with Parker. I pull out my finest debating skills. I tell Chantal I’m not ready to leave. How we have to salvage our first double date so it will be memorable in a good way. I explain how running away feeds the nerd girl stereotype. I offer a suggestion, “You could laugh it off, joke about it. They’ll think it’s