Chapter 18
By the end of last class, my stomach is in knots. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I had food poisoning. I race to the bathroom to offload an anxiety poop, then make my way to my locker. Down the hall, Forrest is cackling about something, probably goofing off with Stef or Alexander.
RUN, my brain says. I push the thought away, shut my locker, and head down the hall.
“Sidney!” Stef waves as I approach.
“Aren’t you about to miss your bus?” Forrest says to her, and flashes me a smile. “Hey.” The sound of his voice makes me grin automatically.
Stef sucks her teeth. “Trying to get rid of me?”
“Yes,” Forrest says. “Yes, I am.”
She eyes us both, first him, then me. “What are you up to tonight, Sidney?”
“Um. Hanging out with Forrest.” My voice comes out way higher than I intend.
“Oh!” She looks between us again. Forrest must not have told her. Why didn’t he tell her? “Have fuuuuu-uuuunnn,” she singsongs, backing away slowly.
“Shut up!” Forrest yells.
“Never!” she hollers in reply, and turns on the toe of her platform boots, racing away down the hall.
“I don’t know how she runs in those things,” Forrest says, shutting his locker.
“My feet hurt just looking at them,” I say.
“She says they’re the most comfortable shoes she owns,” he says as we fall into step beside each other.
I laugh. “She’s such a goth.”
“How was the rest of your day?” he asks.
“It was . . . a day,” I say as we push out of the doors and into the chilly November air. Watery sunlight breaks through the clouds, warming my face just a little.
“That’s real,” he says.
“What about you?” I ask, glancing at him. “You know about my tragic family life. What’s going on in yours?”
“Ugh,” he says, making a face. “Don’t even get me started.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t want to bring you down even more,” he says. We turn the corner onto the main street and head toward the train station. It’s louder here, the street busy with cars and businesses.
“You won’t,” I say. “Seriously, I need to think about someone else’s problems for once.”
“Fair enough,” he says with a laugh. We pass a tree and he reaches up, plucking one of the few bright red leaves still hanging on to its almost-empty branches.
“They’ve just been fighting a lot. My dad makes way more money than my mom, but he’s trying to nickel and dime her for everything.
She wants to split custody, but he thinks we should stay with him.
And I don’t want to. Like, I love my dad, don’t get me wrong, but if we’re gonna stay with one of them, I’d rather be with Mom. ”
“I know what you mean,” I say quietly.
“Yeah?” He glances over, twirling the leaf in his fingers.
“My parents fought over me too, but it wasn’t really much of a fight. My mom won custody and Dad has visitation rights.” I scuff my feet through the leaves piled on the sidewalk.
“I’m hoping my mom wins custody of us too,” Forrest says.
“They ask you,” I say. “During the court proceedings. You get a chance to say what you want.”
“Really?” He looks over at me. “Did you . . . ?”
I nod. “They had a therapist interview me. They usually wait ’til you’re twelve, I think, and I was eleven, but it was almost my birthday so I guess that was close enough.”
“So you didn’t have to say it in front of your parents?”
“No.” I grimace. “God, that would have been so awkward.”
“For real.”
We enter the station, tapping our fare cards on the card reader, and ride the escalator down to the platform.
As we near the bottom, lights flash in the tunnel, and the train emerges just as we step off.
The seats are full, so we stand, clinging to the overhead railings as the train zooms away to the next station.
I can see us in the dark glass of the window, reflected back like a parallel universe.
The night before the therapist was supposed to interview me, Dad took me out to the arcade and won me a stuffed animal.
Afterward, in the car, he cried, asking me to pick him, saying he loved me, that it wasn’t fair, that he was trying to get sober and having me around would help.
But even then, I knew it was bullshit. I’d seen him try over and over, and I just wanted it to end.
In the therapist’s office, staring at her soft blue carpet, after I’d answered her questions about life at home, about my relationship with my parents, I’d said it. “I want to stay with Mom.” She nodded, and noted something on her pad.
“So the new season of my show just dropped,” Forrest says, bringing me back to the present. “I binged the entire thing this weekend. Do you want to hear about it?”
I nod and he’s off, catching me up on everything that’s happened in the past few episodes, and the sound of his voice anchors me in the present again.
At my house, I feed the cats while Forrest uses the bathroom.
I think of the last time he was here, holding his hand as I pulled the cactus needle out of his finger.
The look in his eyes. I think he likes me back, and I think that’s what he wants to talk about.
The thought floods me with jittering energy.
“Are you hungry?” I ask when he comes back into the kitchen. “We have snacks.”
“I’m good,” he says, leaning on the counter across from me.
He looks so effortlessly cool and confident, the way the hoodie falls open across his chest, the way his jeans hug his hips, the sliver of his boxer’s waistband visible above the belt.
My cheeks get hot and I look away quickly.
I’m thinking about his underwear and he’s standing. Right. There.
“So, um,” I say. “You wanted to talk to me about something?”
“Yeah.”
The kitchen is silent, and after a moment I chance a look at him. He’s staring at the floor, chipping away at the polish on his thumbnail. His scalp is bright red through his curls.
“I . . .” he says, and goes quiet again. Brekky wanders into the kitchen, his lunch finished, and winds around my legs. I pick him up, just to do something but he squirms and I let him go.
“So.” Forrest is still chipping at his polish. “I know we started meeting because of the alliance. But it’s been really fun, getting to know you. I think you’re really cool, and smart, and funny.”
I hug myself, to keep from jumping up and down.
“Hanging out with you last week was really great. And at the competition. I really like being around you, and I just wanted to tell you . . .”
From the other room, the cats’ feet patter as they chase each other, but my eyes are fixed on Forrest. He looks up finally, his face the most serious I’ve ever seen it, hands clasped in front of his chest.
“I like you, Sidney.”
My whole body goes still. The house fades away, and all I see is him.
“You like me, like . . . as a person? Or . . . ?” My voice is squeaky, like I sucked up a bunch of helium.
“Well, yeah, but also, I have a crush on you,” he says, and the Jenga tower in my mind scatters everywhere.
“I like you too,” I say, and his eyes widen.
“For real? Like—like I like you?”
“Yes. Um. Like a crush.” My brain-to-mouth connection is fried by his words. “I have a crush. On you. And I like you as a person. But also as a crush. Oh my god.” I cover my face with my hands.
“Sidney.” I hear footsteps, and gentle fingers wrap around my wrists, pulling them down. Forrest is inches away, staring into my eyes. “You don’t have to hide.”
I stare at him, heart pounding. His hands are still holding mine, and I curl my fingers so we’re squeezing each other’s. He peers down at our grasp and rubs his thumb over the back of my hand. Sparks jolt through my skin.
“Thanks,” I say, because it’s the only word that comes to mind. He’s gazing at me, his eyes a vast meadow, a place where I can finally rest. I look at his mouth, his lips a soft pink, slightly parted.
He speaks. “Can I kiss y—”
“Yes,” I say, nodding vigorously.
He smiles and leans forward, and I watch as his eyes close, dark lashes brushing his cheek, and then his lips are on mine and my eyes close and all I do is feel.
His lip balm tastes like vanilla, our mouths fitting together like they’ve been waiting to do so, all soft pressure and warmth.
He presses me back against the counter and my whole body wakes up, those sparks zooming all through me now.
I don’t even care that the edge of the counter is digging into my spine, or that Brekky is meowing at us from the floor.
I’ve kissed people before. In seventh grade, at a friend’s birthday party, giggling our way through spin the bottle.
At the homecoming dance last year with a girl I had a crush on.
For a few months, we’d go to her house and make out—sometimes more than make out—until the day she came to school hand in hand with a girl the grade ahead of us.
I’ve kissed people before, and it was awkward, or fun, or even hot. But this is something different. Forrest likes me back. He’s kissing me because he really wants to.
I hope my breath smells OK. Oh my god, what if it doesn’t?
He pulls back, cheeks red, and I can feel mine are too. I stare at him, blinking. I need to say something, but my thoughts are fuzzy, from the kiss or the sudden anxiety that my breath is actually terrible.
“Sidney?” He tilts his head. “What is it, did my breath stink?”
“No, no!” I shake my head. “Does mine?”
“Not at all,” he says.
“Cool.”
“Cool.”
We look at each other, and a giggle bubbles up inside me. He starts to smile, and then we’re both laughing, still looking at each other.
“I like you,” I say.
“I like you too,” he says, and I pull him back in.
We make out for what feels like hours, but when we come up for air, it’s been only ten minutes. At some point, we moved to the couch, and I’m sitting on top of him, his hands gripping my waist.
“I can’t believe I’m kissing you,” Forrest says, his eyes sparkling.
I touch my lips and grin at him like a circus clown. “Freshman year me is in shock right now.”
He laughs. “I know what you mean.”