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“And what kind of girl are you?” He keeps the shirt in his hand and put his elbows on the tailgate on either side of me. My stomach does a somersault.
“Whatever kind of girl you want me to be,” I say. It’s lame and cliché, but it feels like something a guy like Ryan would want to hear.
He’s close to me. Really close. Closer than a guy has ever been to me. He is still shirtless. Does he want me to feel this uncomfortable and intimidated? Do I want him to? My heart is no longer dead; it is, in fact, beating faster and louder than it has in that whole semester I took of cross country running.
He curls out his bottom lip and peers into my eyes. We are so close now I’m afraid to breathe. My heart thumps and my brain is a blurred frenzy trying to make coherent thoughts from the electrical currents shooting through my veins.
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” He leans closer to me. “I really like your little good girl image.”
His lips hover inches from mine. I brace for him to kiss me. He backs away and puts on the shirt. I sigh with force of the breath I had been holding. Ryan notices. How freaking mortifying. At least it’s dusk and the sun is setting in on us because my cheeks burn with the fury of a thousand suns. What if he wasn’t about to kiss me and I just thought he was and now he thinks I’m a loser?
He straightens the shirt over his abs and reaches up to help me jump down. My feet hit the ground and a little poof of dirt covers my shoes. His arms slip around my waist and pulls me straight into him. We kiss. Right on the lips.
And we’re still kissing.
; KISSING.
His hands let go of me and his lips tear away from mine. I think he says something but I don’t know. All I know is I just got my second ever kiss and this time, it wasn’t from a lanky kid with braces.
As the sun sets on my wonderful day, the track continues to thrive with life. Kids under six are given free rein to ride on the big track now that practice is over. Bugs crowd together under the glow of the lights and generators roar to life. The campers cook dinner or have pizza delivered. Many of them have small fires in their pit. Anticipation for tomorrow’s race hangs in the air, and it is one of the most positive vibes imaginable. I have the feeling at this very moment no one is worrying about work or school or that funny-shaped mole on their back. All everyone cares about is tomorrow.
I leave my walkie-talkie in the tower and since no one is in there, I change out of my Chucks and put on sandals. Then I run my fingers through the braids in my hair, leaving my head a wavy mess. Since Ryan isn’t camping out tonight, I can relax and not have to focus on making my every move perfect. I go find Shelby to see if she wants to sleep at my house tonight instead of in their tent.
The Carters’ pit is larger than usual, since their cousins are staying a few extra days, so I can’t see Shelby at first. I search for her face in the crowd of people sitting around the campfire.
Someone plays the guitar and the song is familiar – an oldie maybe. Her cousins roast marshmallows, and her parents cuddle in a two-seater lawn chair. When I spot Shelby, she’s holding a little boy’s hand, dancing by the fire.
As I get closer, I realize the bluesy guitar rhythm comes from Ash, sitting on an old tractor tire. He looks different when he’s not wearing riding gear. Almost like a normal guy and not a motocross fanatic. He is so laid back and relaxed all the time, I can’t picture the boy wearing any emotion other than serenity. The hair, of course, makes him look like one of the guitar-playing hipsters who collect change in a guitar case on the bench outside of the mall. At least he sings better than those guys.
I sit next to him and return the smile he flashes me. Shelby dances with her eyes closed and still hasn’t noticed my arrival. She is barefoot and shimmying to the music like a child, innocent and free.
My clothes are radiant on her. It’s as if the clothes themselves bring out confidence Shelby never knew she had. She isn’t the same shy girl from the sidelines who freaked out this morning; she’s brighter. She’s happy. She’s dancing her heart out like no one is watching. I think I’ll let her keep that outfit.
The song ends and Ash asks if anyone has a song request.
“Wonderwall!” Shelby spins around, noticing me. “When did you get here?”
“Just now,” I lie. She runs over and sits next to me on Ash’s log. I scoot over an inch, knocking my arm into Ash’s guitar. The strings aren’t cut off at the ends and a sharp one stabs in my arm. I eep like a mouse, and jump back. A thick drop of blood pours out of the tiny stab wound. It all happens so fast, me jumping, and Shelby falling, and before I know it, I’m about to crash into the ground. Ash throws out his hand and catches me. He rubs my arm with his thumb.
“Aw, it’s bleeding a little bit.” He wipes off the blood, then tries to curl the wild guitar strings into themselves. “Sorry about that.”
Shelby’s eyes catch his, and she gives him a look. And that’s all it is to me: a look. I don’t understand twin language, but from the look on Ash’s face, it must have had a negative connotation to it. Maybe she was telling him he was gross for touching the blood of a stranger and oh my God, now he’s probably reeking with diseases. Well, probably not, but I don’t know why she’d give him a look like that.
“So…Wonderwall,” she says again. Ash strums the first chords to the classic Oasis song, and Shelby and I sing along. Malissa and Christine join in and together we sing the first verse, all out of pitch and off-key. The Carters laugh at our performance, and for that moment, my arm doesn’t hurt. No one is competing. Ryan totally kissed me tonight and everything is perfect.
“Thanks so much for letting me stay with you,” Shelby says as we make our way through the thick grass to my backyard. I want to say, “Are you kidding? I’m so happy I have a friend now, you can stay with me every single night if you want.” But I choose to go the less creepy route and say something funny instead. “It’s the least I can do. I’d hate to see you sharing a tent with your horrible cousins.”
It’s almost midnight when we get home, so everyone in the house is asleep. I dread the thought of waking up so early tomorrow morning. Though I’m sort of used to it by now, I haven’t tested my waking abilities after only five hours of sleep. At least Shelby is here to shove me out of bed if it comes to that.
I shower and let Shelby borrow some new pajamas. I have to tell her three times to stop thanking me because loaning out my clothing isn’t nearly as big of a deal as she makes it out to be. When I turn off the light, she kneels to pray. Guilt sweeps over me again.
My eyelids are heavy as I set my phone on the nightstand and feel around for the power cord. And then my phone makes a sound much like that of an incoming text message. Only this time, it isn’t my imagination. A chill goes from my chest and down through my fingertips as I reach for it and hope against all odds that it is him.
And it is.
For the second time ever, Ryan’s name is in my inbox. I open it and read the two most perfect words to have ever been typed on mobile keypad:
