Too soon, Mrs. O’Reilly pulled up in front of my house. Pete walked me to the door, as was becoming our tradition.
“Kiss her, you loser!” Reese shouted out the window.
Pete ignored him, smiling at me instead. “Call you tomorrow.”
I touched his arm. “Thanks again for the concert. I enjoyed it.”
“I could tell. Like I said, there’s hope for you yet.”
“Kiss her!” Reese again.
I rolled my eyes, but wished for his lips on mine, too.
“Bye,” he said, walking toward the car.
“Pussy!” Reese muttered, then rapidly apologized to Mrs. O’Reilly.
After the inquisition from my parents subsided, and I was comfortably ensconced in my bedroom, I pulled out my trusty journal.
Captain’s Log (ha ha)
Topic: Kissing (or maybe Not Kissing)
Why won’t Pete kiss me? Am I defective? Weird? Do I have bad breath? I want him to kiss me soooooooooo bad, I’m almost ready to attack him myself! I loved the concert tonight. Rush rocks!!! Those drums: amazing. Their sound: amazing. The light show: you got it, amazing. And Pete holding me? I loved every second. Except him not kissing me. But I have to admit, it freaked me out when they brought out the M. Not sure what to do about that...even though I tried it, and the hand of God didn’t strike me down or anything. It felt trippy. Not that I want to make a habit of it.
Monday at school, I sought out Reese during nut break. I scanned the crowded smoking area, a large rectangle outlined in white paint designating where students could smoke tobacco. His shoulder-length, strawberry blonde hair atop his almost six-foot frame stood out in a sea of foggy heads.
“Reese?” I tapped him on the shoulder.
“Hey, Anna.”
“Could I talk to you for a minute…in private?”
“Sure.” He followed me a few feet away from his friends. “What’s up?”
“Well,” I started, unsure how to begin. “You seem to know Pete pretty good, and we’ve been seeing each other about a month now, but he…”
Reese stared, expectant. “Yeah?”
“He still hasn’t kissed me.” Thank God I managed to spit it out. “I am wondering why. Is it me?”
Reese gazed heavenward. “It’s him, the shy loser bastard. He’s a jackass, that’s all.”
I laughed, relieved. “He’s just shy?”
He nodded. “You’re his first girlfriend. He’s never kissed anyone but his mother.”
That explained it. I had a handful of heavy make-out sessions under my belt and a few trips to second base, but not much else so far. “I’m sorry for asking. I wasn’t sure what else to do. Don’t say anything to him though, okay?”
Reese dug out a cigarette and set it ablaze with the flick of his lighter. “I could give him a little pep talk.”
“No! Really. I’m sure will work it out.”
“You might have to make the first move.”
I nodded, thinking of Reese kissing his girlfriend at the concert. “How long have you and Jaime been an item?”
He blew four perfect smoke rings. “About two months.”
“You guys seem happy.”
“She’s a great girl. A keeper, that one. But if I talk to you much longer, she’s going to eat us both for lunch.”
“What? Why?”
“She’s a little on the jealous side.” Reese nodded her direction. I glanced her way and sure enough, she was frowning and shooting hateful looks our way.
I waved at her and smiled to illustrate my friend-only intentions. “Don’t get yourself in trouble.”
“Nah.”
“Please don’t say anything to Pete.”
He smirked. “Yeah, okay.”
§§
My parents asked about my relationship with Pete during our Saturday breakfast. Was it getting serious? Was he my boyfriend? Were his friends nice, good kids? Was I staying out of trouble? And right there at the table in front of my jerk brother, the parental units tried to give me the grown-up version of the Sex Talk.
First, they outlined the consequences (pregnancy, God forbid), abstinence (what good Catholic girls do) and even a concession to being careful (using birth control), rather than reckless—although still not a choice they condoned. My virginity remained fully intact. I planned to take precautions when the time came. I was not going to wind up pregnant! And I definitely didn’t want to talk to my parents about it. Jeez, Louise.
I spent the day doing house chores and homework, necessary evils to attend a planned sleepover at Michelle’s. My mom dropped me off, the relief palpable. Free at last.
After dinner, we told Mr. and Mrs. Homely we were going for a walk. We headed to Hansom Drive, strolling down the hill into the ritzy neighborhood. Once out of sight, we lit our smuggled cigarettes and started gabbing in earnest. I told them about the impromptu sex lecture. They empathized with my pain and launched into their own embarrassing parental unit stories.
“I’ll bet Pete’s going to ask you to go steady,” Katy said.
“I would say yes in a heartbeat.”
“I’m still pining after Steve,” Michelle said.
“I’ll put in a good word for you, but it’s not like we’ve spent much time together yet. What about you, Katy…who is it this week?”
She huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m in love with Jake Miller.”
“God, who isn’t? He is a total fox!” I said.
Michelle nodded in agreement. “Fo sho.”
Jake was one of the most popular guys at Skyline. He seemed to have it all: a handsome face with a smile sure to have broken hearts, vivid blue eyes, and feathered, honey-blonde hair. Always friendly (even to unpopular girls), he doled out a never-ending supply of feel-good winks. The message he sent with every head nod, listening ear and wonderful phrase uttered was, You are the most important person in the world to me,
