I was nearly twenty-one years old and a college graduate, but my mind could still summon every precious second of a kiss that had happened when I was fourteen. I couldn’t decide if that was sweet or pathetic.
Adam Yates had been my first (unsolicited and revolting) kiss, not ten minutes prior. When he’d nuzzled the back of my neck, it was almost pleasant until he’d wrecked it with a slavering onslaught seconds later—all tongue and alcohol breath and drool. Blech.
I’d seen Boyce making out with girls on the beach or pushing them up against lockers to steal a kiss at school. Girls like Brittney Loper, who was dumb as a stick but stacked and sort of pretty. Hooking up whenever it suited her with whatever guy was interesting and interested, Brit was a carefree, perpetually cheerful pothead. Hating her felt mean-spirited, and honestly I wouldn’t have cared what she did, except Boyce. Watching him with her made me spitting mad. And restless. And aroused. Which made me more furious.
I was appalled to realize that I was jealous. Not just of Brittney, but all of them. Boyce had been mine for years, or so my heart had—unbeknownst to me—decided, and now suddenly he was touching and kissing and who knows what with all those girls and I didn’t want to see it or think about it stop stop stop.
I couldn’t tell my best friend, who would think I’d lost my mind or needed to schedule an exorcism. I couldn’t tell my mother, who still considered me her nerdy, quiet, undersized bookworm who hadn’t hit puberty and who certainly hadn’t dreamed and fantasized and hungered for Boyce Wynn’s lips on hers.
So when I found myself in his arms that night, practically alone (passed-out Adam hardly counted) for the first time ever, when he said I could kiss you now, there was no way I was saying no. I wasn’t capable.
He stared, eyes hard on mine, as if he’d misheard my whispered, “Okay.” He pulled me tighter and leaned so close that we were exchanging breaths, but hesitated for a long, silent moment as if I might revoke my consent. I returned his stare, afraid he would say something funny or smartass or indifferent.
“Pearl,” he said against my mouth. The subtle brush of his lips when he spoke my name spiked down my body and curled my bare toes and shot to my fingertips where they twisted into his T-shirt. “I’m gonna kiss you. Unless you tell me not to good and loud right now, I’m gonna kiss you, and I’m not gonna be sorry.”
I didn’t move a muscle, except for the tremors I was afraid he would feel. I couldn’t distinguish that fear from desire, though perhaps those two emotions—where Boyce was concerned—had entwined until they were indistinguishable. His fingers grazed my shoulder, triggering a flood of goose bumps, and my thigh, triggering a flood of something altogether different. I mewled, a sound I had never made in my entire life, and he closed the microscopic gap between us firmly, his lips soft, warm, decisive. He claimed my mouth as if he was tasting me, coaxing me to taste him in return—minty, spicy-sweet—sucking my lower lip with a hungry growl, licking and teasing the upper, all slow, deep, unrelenting persuasion. He lifted me higher, closer, his tongue thrusting deeper, and my head swam.
And then I gave him mono. Or more accurately, Adam Yates gave both of us mono.
Me: Thank your stupid BF for me - Adam Yates gave me MONO.
Melody: That’s what you have? SHIT. I got that in 7th grade. It totally sucked. ?
Melody: Wait. You hooked up with Adam? I thought you kneed him in the balls and left him there?
Me: I DID. But not before he shoved his tongue down my throat.
Melody: What an assmunch.
Me: You think??
Melody: I said I was sorry! I didn’t know Clark was going to do that!!! He’s such a dumb boy.
Me: More like an aiding-and-abetting-an-attempted-rapist boy.
Melody: Adam wouldn’t have gone that far!
Me: How do you KNOW?
Melody: You’re right and I’m sorry and I told Clark if he ever did anything like that again I’d cut him off for a month.
Me: So can you bring me assignments in the classes we have together?
Melody: Sure. You’re lucky on one thing, btw – we’re dissecting a FROG tomorrow in bio. GROSS.
Me: What?!? crying
Melody: OMG. I know you want to be a doctor but I can’t believe you WANT to cut open a disgusting dead reptile!
Me: Amphibian
Melody: Whatever!! I’m going to make Landon do ALL OF IT because Boyce is out sick too weirdly enough. Hey he didn’t get mono from you did he?? Haha! JK!!!
While we were out sick, our best friends each lost their only remaining grandparent, and neither of us could attend the funerals. By the time we returned to school, there was a different vibe between the two of them. I liked Landon well enough, but Mel had a boyfriend, and though we had escalating evidence of Clark’s douchebaggery, neither of us yet knew just how big of a tool he really was.
“Clark keeps asking me about Landon—like, suspiciously,” Mel said. “As if I’d cheat on him! I’m not a cheater. If anyone should be mistrustful, it should be me after some of the rumors I’ve heard.”
I’d heard them too—but Melody was the most beautiful girl in our school, they’d been together over a year, and gossip in a small town was often just chin-wagging jealousy.
“You believe me, right?”
“Of course,” I said, meaning it. “Cheating in a town this size would make no sense. Everyone would know by yesterday.”
What she was or wasn’t doing with Landon didn’t matter, though, because that was when Clark was filmed screwing the spring-breaking college girl. I arrived to find Melody ripping the teddy bear he’d given her into fluff-filled smithereens.
I picked up a severed arm. “Aww, poor Beauregard.”
“Fuck Beauregard!” She snatched an empty box from the floor and began loading bear fragments into it. Next in—jewelry he’d given her, accumulated homecoming mums, dried flowers and printed photos, all torn into tiny pieces. “Let’s go.”
I drove to the public beach where she marched up to Clark, who had a girl on his lap. From the box I held, she showered him with armfuls of petals and photo bits and bear parts. She threw a bracelet at him and called him a cheating bastard.
Feet away, on the other side of the fire pit, Landon watched her, eyes blazing, tense and ready for Clark to do something stupid, and Boyce watched me, a lit cigarette in one hand and a koozied beer in the other. We hadn’t spoken since that kiss, other than his usual juvenile quips during biology—the ones that drove Mel and Mr. Quinn insane and made Landon smirk and shake his head and had me biting the inside of my cheek to suppress my smile.
At first I’d been confused, then disappointed, and then angry. I’d worked my way to acceptance, like when I’d known I was drowning and there was nothing I could do. He’d merely gone back to being Boyce Wynn, who did what he wanted and who he wanted. And I’d gone back to being Pearl Frank—star student, social royalty, good girl.
But I couldn’t forget that kiss. The fixed glint of his eyes across the fire said that neither could he.
chapter
Eight