Authors: Janet Gurtler
And then, behind us, the patio door slides open.
Sounds from the house fill the air, laughter and music. The door closes. My back stiffens as a gorgeous creature steps into our space. She’s Tyra Banks tall, with the kind of hair I covet—curly ringlets, long and sexy, cascade down her back. She’s slim with a tiny waist and great boobs that she’s clearly proud to show off in a low-cut dress. Her face is the kind of pretty that turns boys’ heads.
“There you are,” she says to Zee and steps forward, crunching my toe with a high heel and wrapping her arm around Zee, forcing me to step backward.
“Ouch.” I say it low and keep my eyes down, mortified.
She pushes Zee back, away from me. A breeze blows over my skin and I shiver.
“Well, that’s got to be a little awkward,” a voice says. I turn my head to see a boy sitting in a patio chair behind us in the darkness. He stands and steps closer, and as he comes into focus I recognize him. It’s the boy from the pool earlier today. He’s staring at me again, with those same piercing eyes, as if he’s listening again to the chatter inside my head. Although what I’m thinking now is not very nice. He’s holding a beer bottle and he tilts it back, then grins the playful smile of a little boy. He stumbles a little. Am I the only person at this party who’s not drunk?
“Who’s that?” I hear the curly-haired girl hiss to Zee. As if she doesn’t know we’re in a couple of the same classes at school. I don’t know her name, but I recognize her. I glance back, and she’s standing so close to Zee, my cheeks flame.
“Samantha Waxman,” the boy beside me calls to her. “She swims with Zee, Kaitlin,” he calls. “So put your claws back in.”
I glance at him, surprised he knows my name.
“Sammy’s my girl,” Zee says with a laugh. “She’s the best female swimmer on our team.”
Kaitlin looks me up and down. “Oh, another swimmer,” she says, and her tone implies I’m not a threat. “You people and your gills.” She turns her back to me, her implication clear. Kaitlin drags him farther away. “It’s cold, Zee. Warm me up.” She slides her hands around his waist. Zee lifts his hands in the air as if he’s trying to get away, but she keeps at him. I die a little inside.
“I’m Alex.” The other boy thrusts his hand out at me. “Sorry I was spying. I came out to get some air. Some guys are smoking in the basement.”
Smells like they were smoking something other than cigarettes. I stare at his hand and then laugh a little nervously and put mine inside it. His palm is big and warm and nice against my skin, but I pull away quickly.
“We’ve never officially met,” he says. “But we go to school together.”
“You were at the pool today,” I blurt out.
His smile widens. “Yeah. I had to drop off Zee’s iPod. I stuck around to watch you swim. I heard you were pretty good.”
I lift my water bottle and unscrew the top, thankful for something to do. My body is off balance with conflicting emotions. Lust. And then rejection. Now, embarrassment.
“I used to swim,” he says. “But I gave it up for baseball. My coach didn’t want me doing two sports. Well, I do Parkour too. Like Zee. But that’s for fun.” He exhales loudly and then sucks in a big breath.
“Parkour?” I say and take a sip of water.
“Jumping off things. Like James Bond.”
I nod, even though I knew what Parkour is. I was more asking why. Anyhow, I’m relieved to hear he’d been watching my swimming technique at the pool and not so much me. Unexpectedly, I giggle, a release of nervous tension.
“Parkour is funny?” he asks. “I thought chicks dug it.” He inhales deeply and blows out again.
“Like how you leapt off the bleachers?”
His cute nose wrinkles up and makes me laugh again. “Exactly. Why is that funny?”
“I was kind of worried you were a perv. Hanging out at the pool. Watching strange girls swim.”
He grabs at his heart. “Ouch,” he says. “But I didn’t hear that you were that strange.”
“Good. I’ve kept it quiet, then.” I quickly peek over my shoulder at Zee and the Amazon. My heart thunks to my toes as she leans in and kisses him. I’m suddenly feeling nauseated, but I turn back and smile at Alex. Zee can flirt with me and then make out with another girl right behind my back a few seconds later? Well. Two can play at that game.
I can do this. I can flirt with the best of them. In my head a tiny voice of reason nags at me, but the sting of rejection is louder. I place my water bottle on the patio table.
“A perv?” he says. “You really thought I was a perv?”
I lean closer to Alex. “You’re too cute to be a perv,” I say, trying to ignore my own embarrassment. If he hadn’t been drinking, he’d probably guess I got my moves watching teen movies.
“You think I’m cute?” The wonder in his voice softens my mortification a little. “I thought you were into Zee.”
I can feel the blush, and my head automatically shakes back and forth even as I’m picturing Zee behind me with the Amazon. “No.” I cross my arms in front of me. “I’m not.”
“Good.” Alex brushes my arm with his fingers. I glance back as Zee is coming up for air with Kaitlin. Alex looks over too. “Zee’s an idiot,” he whispers in my ear.
My cheeks heat up again, and I lower my gaze.
“We’re alphabetically linked,” he mumbles and coughs.
I frown. “What?”
He tugs at his ear. “Sorry. I mean you’re Waxman. I’m Waverly. And a major dork.”
“Hey,” Zee calls. “No moves on Sammy, Waverly. I thought we discussed that.” He tries to walk toward us, but Kaitlin tugs him back.
“Forget your stupid swim team,” she says, reattaches her mouth to his, and slides her long fingers into his hair.
“Screw him,” Alex says. I nod, wholeheartedly agreeing. Screw Zee and his stupid jelly beans. Screw Zee and the stupid girl.
I look up at Alex, trying to be seductive and not furious that Zee thinks he can tell Alex not to make a move on me at the same time he’s making out with another girl. I’m consumed by a quiet rage that doesn’t quite mask my sadness. Fighting a sudden urge to cry, I step closer to Alex and reach up to touch the collar of his T-shirt. “I’ve definitely noticed you around,” I lie.
“Really?” He leans in, and his breath smells like booze and smoke. He stumbles again. His eyes are red. His condition takes the edge off my guilt. He’s drunk. He doesn’t know I’m using him to teach Zee a lesson. Maybe he won’t even remember.
My frown turns up.
“You’re sure you’re not interested in Zee?”
“Of course not.” I press my lips tight and lean closer to Alex.
He tilts his head forward, so close that our noses actually touch, and he winds my braid around his finger. I hold my breath and try to turn off the part of my brain that insists on analyzing every situation and running it through different scenarios and outcomes before taking action. Instead I press on, determined to worry about the consequences later. It’s the least I can do for Zee.
Alex unweaves my braid from his finger, then moves forward, and his lips touch mine. I close my eyes and push away the thought that I’m only doing this so Zee will see me make out with his friend. I’m way too sober to be in this situation, but it doesn’t mean Alex is. That has to make it all right. This impulsive thing I’m doing.
Yeah. I’m wild and spontaneous, Zee. How bad do you want me now?
Alex opens his mouth slightly. His lips are soft, and even though he’s kind of smelly, it’s surprisingly nice. Kissing him. I open my eyes, afraid I’ll see another boy’s face if I close them. Alex’s hand slips around my waist, pulling me tighter. This boy knows what he’s doing. His kiss is soft and sweet, with a hint of more just beneath.
I have a horrible thought that I’m turning into a slut. Maybe I’ve been storing up lust for so long because people thought I was gay. Because even though I barely know this boy, kissing him feels pretty darn good.
His hand travels up my side. I gasp a little. Alex pulls me in a little tighter, his lips push harder, and it becomes a little too intense. Alex, my mind reminds me. Not Zee.
The realization breaks my trance. Zee’s face flickers in my brain, and my blood pumps hot shame through my veins. I pull away and place my hands on Alex’s chest, pushing him and taking a step back.
“I’m sorry. This is crazy. I barely know you. I’m sorry.”
Alex looks slightly alarmed, and then he sneezes.
“Shit,” he says.
He begins to cough. He puts his hand up as if to say
just
a
moment
and then bends at the waist. He takes deep breaths, as if he’s struggling to bring air in and out of his lungs.
“Uh. Are you okay?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer, but it’s clear this is more than dealing with my sudden rejection.
I glance around in a panic, wanting to call to Zee, but he and Kaitlin are still going at it hard, and interrupting them is too embarrassing to contemplate.
I put my hand on Alex’s back and repeat, “Are you okay?”
He shakes his head and my heartbeat accelerates. I bend down to look into his face, and what I see makes me break out in a sweat.
“My puffer,” he gasps.
“Zee!” I call, no longer concerned about etiquette. “There’s something wrong with Alex.”
“You’re telling me,” he murmurs. “Leave her alone.” But then he looks over and spots Alex and almost comically pushes the Amazon girl away.
“What the hell?” she says, but Zee is already at Alex’s side.
She glares at me and then storms back inside the house.
At this point, Alex has sunk to his knees and is making awful wheezing sounds. His face looks almost gray, and his lips are getting kind of bluish. My heart is racing, and I’m actually wringing my hands together, knowing something is wrong, but not sure what, or what to do about it.
“What the hell, Sam?” Zee yells. He grabs Alex and shakes his shoulders. “What the hell, dude? Breathe.”
Alex doesn’t respond.
“What’s wrong?” My voice comes out shrieky and panicked.
“He’s having an asthma attack,” Zee says without looking at me. “Alex. Alex, you okay, buddy? Where’s your damn inhaler?”
I look around the deck as if someone new will leap from the shadows and tell me what to do. I don’t know anyone with asthma. I have no idea what to do. Should I pound on his back? Give him mouth to mouth?
“Go see if someone knows where his inhaler is,” Zee yells at me. “Look for his sister, Chloe.”
Like I even know who Chloe is. I scramble to open the patio door and pitch myself inside the kitchen. The heat and music hit me immediately. I tap the first person I see on the shoulder. “Alex is having an asthma attack,” I say loud enough to be heard over the music. “Inhaler.” I gesture like I’m pressing the pump on an inhaler. “Do you know where there’s an inhaler?”
The boy stares blankly at me. He shrugs, continues to the fridge, opens it, and takes out a beer.
“Oh my God,” I say, looking around in a panic. I loathe the thought of having to make a scene, but I glance outside and see Zee standing over Alex, who is now sitting on the ground.
“Help!” I yell. “Does anyone know where Alex’s inhaler is?” Hardly anyone looks at me for longer than a curious second.
Self-consciousness no longer a luxury, I race to the attached living room and jump on the couch, almost stepping on a boy’s hand. I hold up my hands like a megaphone. “Alex is having an asthma attack,” I scream as loud as I can. “We need to find his inhaler.” No one responds, other than a few concerned stares. “Chloe?” I yell, and people stare at me now, like I’m a novelty at the zoo. Someone yells for Chloe, and the name spreads along the crowd, and then the pretty girl in the black dress is running toward me, her face intense with concern.
“What’s wrong?” she says. “Is he okay? Is he still outside?”
I point toward the patio door.
“Shit,” she says, kicking off her heels and running for the deck. A couple of people follow her. Seconds later, she leans back inside. “Someone call 911,” she yells. Her voice is hysterical and penetrates the party atmosphere. “Call 911 right now. Does anyone have an inhaler?”
Someone turns down the music, and people scurry in circles. Taylor rushes into the living room looking confused and upset. Justin has his arm around her. They hurry outside with some others, and from the deck I hear Chloe screech louder. “Help! Someone help Alex. Oh my God!”
There’s silence, and then she yells again. Her voice is hysterical now. “EpiPen,” she yells. “Does anyone have an EpiPen?”
My blood, moments ago so hot, turns to ice. EpiPen?
“Get out of the way!” Zee yells from the deck, screaming at people to step back. A crowd’s gathered around Alex, blocking him. I’m frozen in place, afraid to go outside. The atmosphere inside the house transforms. No one looks sophisticated anymore. Everyone looks like kids. Scared little kids.
Outside, the noise continues and builds momentum. Girls are crying. Chloe is screaming over and over again. I’m still standing on the couch, and the boy sitting beside me shakes his head. “This is not going to turn out well,” he mumbles to no one in particular. “Someone said he left his backpack at Zee’s.”
“What do you mean?” I ask the boy. “What’s happening?”
“Oh my god,” someone yells. “He’s not breathing.”
Chloe runs in the house then, her eyes wide and hysterical. “Did anyone give him anything that might have peanuts in it? Did he eat anything?” Her voice screeches. Tears chase each other down her cheeks. “Where the hell is the ambulance?”
I concentrate on breathing in and out. It’s difficult for me, but not impossible. Like it is for Alex. I step off the couch. I want to lie down and close my eyes.
I want to pretend it’s all a very, very bad dream. I want to be back in the kitchen at home with my dad. I want him to order me not to go to the party.
I don’t want to be so hungry all the time. I don’t want to act totally out of character and kiss a boy minutes after meeting him.
A boy who is allergic to peanuts and is apparently having an anaphylactic reaction on the deck. I don’t want to have snacked before the party even though I ate a full dinner. I don’t want the snack to be a peanut butter sandwich.
I consider bolting out the back door but plop down on a nearby chair, too shocked to do much of anything else. People run in circles around me. No one talks to me. No one asks me what I ate before I kissed him. My lips press tightly together.