On the fourth ring there’s the sound of fumbling. Then Kent’s voice, warm and reassuring: “Hunky Heroes, rescuing distressed women, captive princesses, and girls without wheels since 1684. How can I help you?”
“How did you know it was me?” I say.
There’s a surge in the music and the swelling of voices. Then I hear Kent cup his hand over the phone and yell, “Out!” A door shuts and the background noise is suddenly muffled.
“Who else would it be?” he says, his voice sarcastic.
“Everyone else is here.” He readjusts something and his voice becomes louder. He must be pressing right up to the phone. The thought of his lips is distracting. “So what’s up?”
“I hope your car’s not blocked in,” I say. “Because I’m in desperate need of a ride.”
On the way back to Kent’s, we’re mostly quiet. He doesn’t ask me why I was standing in the middle of Lindsay’s driveway, and he doesn’t press the issue of why I’ve chosen him to be my ride. I’m grateful for that, and happy just to sit in silence next to him, watching the rain and the dark brushstrokes of the trees against the sky. As we turn into his driveway, which by this point is almost completely packed with cars, I’m trying to decide exactly what the rain dancing in the headlights looks like. Not glitter, exactly.
Kent puts the car in park but leaves the engine on. “I still haven’t forgotten that you promised me a secret, by the way.” He turns to look at me. “Don’t think you’re getting off so easy.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I unbuckle my seat belt and inch closer to him, still watching the rain out of the corner of my eye. Like dust, kind of, but only if dust were made of solid white light.
Kent folds his hands in his lap, staring at me expectantly, his mouth just curved into a smile. “So let’s hear it.”
I reach across Kent and pull the keys out of the ignition, cutting the lights. In the resulting darkness the sound of the rain seems much louder, washing all around us.
“Hey,” Kent says softly, his voice making my heart soar again, making my whole body light. “Now I can’t see you.”
His face and body are all shadow, darkness on darkness. I can just make out the lines of him, and, of course, feel the warmth from his skin. I lean forward, catching my chin on the roughness of his corduroy jacket, finding his ear, accidentally bumping it with my mouth. He inhales sharply and his whole body tenses. My heart is fluid, soaring. There’s no longer any space between heartbeats.
“The secret is,” I say, whispering right into his ear, “that yours was the best kiss I’ve ever had in my life.”
He pulls back a little so that he can look at me, but our lips are still just inches away. I can’t make out his expression in the dark, but I can tell that his eyes are searching my face again.
“But I’ve never kissed you,” he whispers back. Around us the rain sounds like falling glass. “Not since third grade, anyway.”
I smile, but I’m not sure if he can see it. “Better get started, then,” I say, “because I don’t have much time.”
He pauses for only a fraction of a second. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to mine, and the whole world powers off, the moon and the rain and the sky and the streets, and it’s just the two of us in the dark, alive, alive, alive.
I don’t know how long we’re kissing. It seems like hours, but somehow when he pulls away, breathing hard, both hands holding my face, the clock glowing dully on the dashboard has only inched forward a few minutes.
“Wow,” he says. I can feel his chest rising and falling quickly. We’re both out of breath. “What was that for?”
I force myself to pull away, find the handle in the dark and pop the door open. The cold air and the rain
Even in the dark I can see his eyes sparkling like a cat’s. I can hardly bring myself to look away. “You really saved my life tonight,” I say, my little joke, and then before he can stop me, and even though he calls my name, I jump out of the car and jog along the driveway toward the house, for the very last party of my life.
“You made it!” Lindsay squeals when I find her in the back room. As always the music and heat and smoke is impassable, a wall of people, perfume, and sound. “I totally thought you would flake.”
“I knew you’d show,” Ally says, reaching out and squeezing one of my hands. She drops her voice, which at this volume means she screams a little quieter. “Did you see Rob?”
“I think he’s avoiding me,” I say, which is true. Thank God.
Lindsay twists around, calling for Elody—“Look who decided to grace us with her presence!” she screams, and Elody scans our faces before registering that I haven’t been at the party the whole time—and then turns to me, slipping her arm around my shoulders. “Now it’s officially a party. Al, give Sam a shot.”
“No, thanks.” I wave away the bottle she offers me. I flip open my cell phone. Eleven thirty. “Actually, um, I think I’m going to go downstairs for a bit. Maybe outside. It’s really hot up here.”
Lindsay and Ally exchange a glance.
“You just came from outside,” Lindsay says. “You just
“I was looking around for you guys for a while.” I know I sound lame, but I also know that I can’t explain.
Lindsay crosses her arms. “Uh-uh, no way. Something’s going on with you, and you’re going to tell us what it is.”
“You’ve been acting weird all day.” Ally bobbles her head.
“Did Lindsay tell you to say that?” I ask.
“Who’s been acting weird?” Elody’s just made her way over to us.
“Me, apparently,” I say.
“Oh, yeah.” Elody nods. “Definitely.”
“Lindsay didn’t tell me to say
“We’re your best friends,” Lindsay says. “We
I press my fingers against my temples, trying to block out the throbbing sounds of the music, and close my eyes. When I open them again, Elody, Ally, and Lindsay are all staring at me suspiciously.
“I’m fine, okay?” I’m desperate to prevent a long conversation—or worse, a fight. “Trust me. It’s just been a weird week.”
“We’re worried about you, Sam,” Lindsay says. “You’re not acting like yourself.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” I say, and when they stare at me blankly, I sigh, leaning forward to wrestle them all into a group hug.
Elody squeals and giggles, “PDA much?” and Lindsay and Ally seem to relax too.
“I promise nothing’s the matter,” I say, which isn’t exactly true, but I figure it’s the best thing to say. “Best friends forever, right?”
“And no secrets.” Lindsay stares pointedly at me.
“And no bullshit,” Elody trumpets, which isn’t part of our little routine, but whatever. She’s supposed to say, “and no lies,” but I guess one works as well as the other.
“Forever,” Ally finishes, “and till death do us part.”
The last part falls on me to say, “And even then.”
“And even then,” the three of them echo.
“All right, enough mushy crap.” Lindsay breaks away. “I, for one, came to get drunk.”
“I thought you didn’t get drunk,” Ally says.
“Figure of speech.”
Ally and Lindsay start going back and forth, Ally dancing away with the vodka bottle (“If you don’t get drunk, I don’t see the point of drinking and wasting it”) as Elody wanders back over to Muffin. At least the attention is off me.
“See you later,” I say loudly to all of them in general, and Elody glances over her shoulder at me, but she may
