Page 56 of Jacob Michaels is Dead

“You could go to the ‘bowling alley or the movies,’” He teased.

Again, I was shrugging.

“Why do you keep coming?”

How to respond to the question evaded me as we walked along the shore, the perfectly still water and lack of breeze making the silence palpable. Initially, I started going to football games because that’s just what high school kids did. They went to football games and socialized and flirted and hung out. Sometimes they actually even cheered for the team. Over time, I realized that football was no more exciting than any other sport I despised. I enjoyed socializing with my friends…mostly…but I was also incredibly bored at the games, too. In sophomore year, when Lucas started playing, though, things changed.

The blonde, good-looking guy—though I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about that at the time—that I vaguely knew from classes and the hallways, caught my eye. It made the games more tolerable. After the very first game, I made sure to say “hello” to him in the hallways anytime I saw him. I’d smile at him in classes if I didn’t actually talk to him. A friendship slowly began to form. And then Mr. Barkley had brought Lucas out to hang out that one day…and we became…friend? Lucas glanced at me as though he would add a follow-up question, so I knew that answering his first question was important; otherwise, he’d think of ten more.

“Well,” I said, “I have to support you, don’t I?”

“I guess.”

“I guess?” I feigned a chuckle. “I don’t have to come, do I?”

“No.”

“Then show some gratitude, damnit.” I genuinely laughed.

But the laugh was cut off when Lucas turned to me, took my face in his hands and pulled my face into his. My eyes opened wide in shock as his lips connected with mine. Lucas’ eyes were closed firmly with concentration and determination. The kiss itself was too wet, too firm, too…perfect. After a moment, I let my eyes close as Lucas held his mouth to mine, though that was all the kiss really consisted of—two pairs of lips pressed together firmly and wetly. When Lucas finally pulled away, I let my eyes flutter open to find him staring fearfully at me. His hands didn’t leave my face.

“You didn’t pull away.”

I shook my head.

“Oh, shit.” He swallowed as his hands slid from my face, obviously concerned at my lack of verbal response. “I didn’t…look, let’s just…Rob, I didn’t mean to—”

I ignored his sputtering and reached up to lay my hand against his cheek, letting my thumb jerkily brush over his cheek. His words, fortunately, ceased, which gave me the perfect opportunity to lean in and kiss him back. Lucas shut his eyes forcefully, eagerly, as I eased my face to his. The corner of my mouth turned up in amusement as I closed my eyes and gently pressed my lips to his. Lucas seemed to melt into me as I kissed him, my thumb learning to slide along his cheek more expertly as I did so. The kiss didn’t last long—I didn’t want to attempt more than a simple kiss. When I pulled away, Lucas’ eyes stayed closed several moments longer than mine, as though he had lost himself in the moment, but when they finally opened, they looked greener than ever.

“You like me, too?”

I nodded.

“Was the kiss…okay?” He looked away but made no effort to pull his face away from my hand.

“The first one or the second one?”

“Either.”

“They were both perfect.”

Then Lucas was amateurishly pulling my face to his again right there on the shore of Lake Erie, pressing his lips against mine. It was perfect, too.

“Is that what you think?” I spun on my heels to growl at Oma.

“Of course, I do.” She snapped back. “I think you’re not thinkin’ with your head. You’re usin’ another organ.”

In case I was confused, she tapped a finger against her chest. At least she hadn’t tapped her crotch. I rolled my eyes and turned back around, headed for the living room. Oma would never let me storm out on her, especially during an argument, but I was sixteen. What sixteen-year-old hasn’t jumped on a huff and rode it away when the mood struck them? I hadn’t even stepped from the kitchen into the living room when Oma snapped at me.

“Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”

“To my room!” I screamed over my shoulder.

“The day pigs fly!” She bellowed.

Chair legs scraping against linoleum sounded, and I picked up my pace slightly as I made my way to the stairs and started up them in a sturdy march. If I could only get up the stairs, down the hall, and to my room, maybe I could lock the door and avoid Oma. Of course, if I thought a locked door would keep Oma from continuing the argument, I was dumber than dirt.

“You swivel your ass and get back down here!” Oma shouted at me from the bottom of the stairs.