Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“It’s not?” I ask, confused. I grab my own chair and pull it closer to Derek’s, careful to keep a respectable distance between us.
The last thing I need is for anyone here to think I’ve got the hots for Derek Reiner. If I wasn’t a loser before, this would certainly make me one. A man like Derek, edgy and experienced, would never be interested in a girl like me.
In fact, he’s lecturing me right now.
“Nah.” Derek tips his head back, looks up at the night sky. “Your friends are losers.”
I sit up straighter, my mouth dropping open. A bubble of anger bursts through me. “You don’t even know them.”
“Don’t need to.”
“What? How, why do you—”
“They’re liquoring you up.”
“So?” I retort, even though I had the same thought a little while ago. “It’s my birthday.”
“Yeah.” His sharp gaze cuts to mine. “And how many times have you drunk before?”
I shrug, not wanting to voice never. I’ve never been drunk, or tipsy, or anything until right now. This second.
Derek scoffs. “Exactly.” His eyes slide, lazy like, over the crowd.
A few people shoot looks in our direction, but no one advances and it’s strange, given Derek’s reputation, the lead singer of The Burnt Clovers, that girls aren’t flocking around him, begging for his attention.
The way they are, the way everyone is, with Levi. “Who’s the dude?”
I try to decipher his words, follow his line of vision. Frown. “Grant?”
Derek snorts. “He would be named Grant.”
“Huh?” I try to follow the conversation.
“Nothing.” Derek shifts in his chair. “You into him?”
I choke on my own saliva. My cheeks burn and I hope it looks like a glow in the firelight instead of a burn from extreme embarrassment.
“Yeah, you’re into him,” Derek decides, shaking his head.
I don’t say anything and for a few minutes, we sit in silence.
I pull my eyes from Derek, an incredibly hard feat, especially as a heaviness grows through my body, pulls me under.
I relax, my mind slows, and tiredness creeps up on me.
But I turn my attention to the night sky, the stars, the entire unknown of the universe.
I’m going to be a senior in high school. In one year, I’ll be eighteen. Legal. An adult. Will I stay here? Attend the local college and become a kindergarten teacher like Mom and Dad want?
Or will I spread my wings and move to California? Travel abroad? See what interests me—what really interests me—before deciding a career path?
I heave out a sigh, watch the smoke of my breath trail upward until it disappears into the dark.
I look at Grant. Will he stay? Attend the local college and become the baseball coach like his dad says? Will they work together at his dad’s garage, fixing cars and towing neighbors out of tough situations?
Or will he go?
And Cynthia? She’s set on a fashion career in New York City, but will she really pursue it?
The thought of us all leaving, saying goodbye to the barn and bonfire and brightly colored leaves, fills me with sadness. But the thought of all of us staying, right here, forever, erodes the lining of my stomach like acid. It hangs over me with the weight of depression.
“You’re not gonna get him sitting over here,” Derek’s voice breaks through my thoughts.
I turn my head toward his. “What?”
“Grant.”
“What about him?”
The side of Derek’s mouth pulls up, casual yet intentional. Scoffing with an undercurrent of sinister. “You’re not going to win him over sitting here.”
“Who says I’m trying to win him over?”
Derek holds my eyes, hard and unyielding. “Aren’t you?”
I snort, a burst of laughter. My hand cuts through the air before I drop it to my side, defeated. “Is it so awful?” I ask, Derek’s eyes more hypnotizing than the fire.
He juts out his chin. “To want a guy like that?”
“To want to be normal? Seen.” My voice rises, giving in to a flare of frustration, of desperation. “To want to have a drink. To finally be kissed. On my seventeenth birthday?”
At this declaration, Derek loses his scowl and a strange expression flits over his face. He straightens in his chair, leans forward. Drops his voice. “You’ve never been kissed.”
I screw my eyes closed, squeeze tight. Why did I admit that? It’s the alcohol talking. I mash my lips together, keep my mouth closed.
Silence ticks by. The cool breeze of the night, the whisper of the flames.
“It’s not awful,” Derek says finally.
I open my eyes, draw back from the emotion swimming in his. All those feelings—all that raw energy—directed right at me. It’s overwhelming. It’s confusing. It’s…liberating.
Derek looks away for a beat and when he finds my eyes again, his expression is different. Carefully controlled. Painfully placid. “But you’re not going to get him sitting over here, talking to me.”
His words cause something in me to deflate, a little tremor of defeat that is more confusing than the emotional hot and cold he’s giving me.
Derek leans back in his chair again, his gaze turning to Grant. He squints, his eyes hardening. “You’ve talked to me long enough.”
My back snaps ramrod straight. Am I boring him? Annoying him? Shame burns through me, brighter than the stupid bonfire I thought would be much more exciting than this. I lied to my mom for…this.
“He’s looked over several times,” Derek continues and some of my discomfort, hurt, eases. “If you want to make your move, now’s your chance.”
I peer at Derek and try to read between the lines. “Make my move?”
He stares at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling with laughter, but his mouth doesn’t twist. And then, “Yeah,” softly. “You want to be kissed by Grant? Now’s your window, babe.”
Babe. Again.
Butterflies flutter against my rib cage. Why does it feel better when Derek says that word than Grant?
Why does it feel good at all?
It’s the most generic, unoriginal pet name, the kind a guy uses when he can’t remember a girl’s name, and…I want Derek to say it again.
“There you guys are,” my brother announces, walking over to us. He grins at me, pulls me from my chair, and takes my seat. “Go mingle with your friends, A. It’s your birthday; you don’t want to be chilling with this broody motherfucker.”
I gasp at the swear word. Levi’s grin grows and he chuckles. Our parents don’t swear at all. I once said hell and got my ear twisted so hard, I ended up going to confession. Twice. Once for swearing and once for disappointing my parents.
I look between Derek and Levi. Dark and light. Scowling and smiling.
“Have fun,” Levi encourages me.
“Go,” Derek demands.
I take a deep, fortifying breath, and set off in Grant’s direction. Except as I round the bonfire, I no longer see him. Maybe he went to grab another drink? I glance down at my empty hands. Should I get another drink? The water helped clear my thoughts and now, I don’t want to sit with them.
I don’t want to sift through all the confusing things coursing through my veins, strumming through my chest.
Cynthia’s laughter rings out and I follow the sound, curious to see what my friend is up to.
I round the side of the barn, her laughter my guide. I stumble slightly, hear someone snicker, and lean against the entrance to the barn. Make out the back of Grant’s hoodie, the red bear. His muscular, strong back moving, stretching our mascot until it looks distorted.
I open my mouth and freeze.
Because Grant’s body is shielding Cynthia’s. His hand is holding the side of her face, his long fingers threading through her hair. She’s on her tippy toes, gripping his biceps. His mouth is fused to hers, her face upturned to his. And they’re…kissing.
Deeply. Passionately. Sloppily.
My oldest friend and my biggest crush kissing right in front of me on my birthday.
Why did she encourage me to pursue him when she wanted to kiss him this badly?
Why did he bring me a drink? Call me babe? Put his arm around me?
Embarrassment and hurt rock through me, keeping me rooted to the spot, unable to look away from the scene, the nightmare, playing out before me.
Cynthia moans and Grant deepens the kiss and I snap out of it.
Shuffling out of the barn, I blink back the tears burning the backs of my eyelids.
Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.
I’m mortified, burning from the inside out for an entirely different reason. Does Grant know I like him? Do he and Cynthia laugh at me? Does she bring him up to pacify me, since she knows a guy like him could never be interested in a girl like me when he’s already hooked on a girl like her?
Will I ever be like that? Enough, wanted, desired?
I climb a rickety set of steps that lead to a flat patch of rooftop along the side of the barn. Plopping down, my hands grip handfuls of leaves. I’m relieved I’m alone.
I crunch the leaves in my hands, feel them crumble. Let the wind scatter them, like dust. Meaningless specks of nothing. My chest aches, my stomach knots, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.
Pulling in mouthfuls of cold air, I brace my arms behind me. I lean back and look up at the stars. At the unknown. Of the possibilities that are bigger, brighter than this night.
You’re too big for this.
Am I? Could I be?
The stars swim in my vision as the tears I try to fight back win, and leak out. They drip down my cheeks in silent streams of agony. Of pain. Of failure.
Never enough, unwanted, undesirable.
My throat tightens, a sob wrenching from the depths of my belly, hurt and desperate.
I close my eyes, let the tears dry on my cheeks, and make a birthday wish.
Please let my first kiss be worth it.
Please let my first kiss mean something.
Please let me be enough for someone.
For anyone.