What We Saw(17)

But then it happens.

Right here in the hallway at Coral Sands High School, next to the senior staircase, in front of my locker. He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me into him like it’s the most natural, least preposterous thing ever.

Then he’s kissing me. And I’m kissing him back.

I forget to be concerned about being good at it, or what I should do with my hands—or my lips. It all seems to happen on its own. I don’t worry for an instant that there aren’t fireworks over our heads or waves crashing across our feet. The where doesn’t really matter at all. Turns out any ordinary place can be made extraordinary by the presence of the right person.

We’re still kissing when that god-awful tone sounds, only this time I don’t jump out of my skin. It doesn’t faze me at all. In fact, neither one of us seems to hear it. With that blaring of the concert B-flat, a wave of students crashes down the hall. At some point, a gasp from Rachel filters through and a shouted laugh from Christy. I become aware of male voices across the hallway chanting bros before hoes but we keep right on kissing.

All of the games and pretense, all of the manners and posturing are swept away. The truth of Ben and me is out there for everyone to see, laid bare in front of a bunch of hooting Neanderthals.

And we don’t care, because we have each other.

Greg and Randy start chanting along with Dooney and Deacon. It reaches a fevered pitch and makes Ben and me start to laugh. We’re both blushing as we take a step back.

He squeezes my hand.

He promises to call me later, even though he doesn’t need to.

I already know he will.

Lindsey lets out a tiny squeal and four italicized rapid-fire questions. “Where did that come from? What is happening? Are you official? Tell me everything.” Christy is making gagging noises as she digs around in her locker for her books. Lindsey punches her in the shoulder. “I thought it was sweet.”

Rachel slowly shakes her head and stares at me. “You know how to pick ’em, Weston. Hashtag: total package.”





UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE


HarperCollins Publishers

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ten


ON TUESDAY MORNING, I forget it’s St. Patrick’s day, and spend the walk to geology dodging pinches from Rachel and Christy because I wore my green yesterday.

For the second day in a row, there is no reply when Mr. Johnston calls “Stallard, Stacey.”

For the second day in a row, there is also a six-foot-four guy leaning against my locker at lunchtime.

For the first time, however, John Doone is there, too, waiting with Ben as the hall empties in the general direction of the cafeteria.

Dooney is looking at Ben’s phone as I walk up. “You sure it’s gone?”

Ben says, “Yep,” and flicks his thumb across the screen. “See?”


“Thanks, man.” Dooney glances up at me, appraising me—as if he’d never seen me before; as if we hadn’t been in the same class at school since fifth grade. He’s looking at me through the new girl-Ben-thinks-is-hot glasses he got yesterday. He’s smiling in a way that isn’t a dare. This isn’t the leering challenge he fixes on the cheerleaders or the taunting smirk he reserves for girls he’d never give a second thought. It’s as close as John Doone gets to kindness. Still, something about it makes my skin crawl.

“Hey,” he says. “Come eat with us.”

I’ve anticipated this. Last night on the phone, Ben mentioned maybe we could eat together today. I am prepared.

“Can’t ditch my girls,” I say. “I’d never hear the end of it.”

Dooney nods slowly without smiling, as if I’ve passed a test. “Loyal. I like that.” He pauses, weighing the evidence, then gives a quick nod. “Bring ’em. Rachel and Lindsey are hot, and that Christy chick is funny as hell. Besides, we’re all Buccs.” He walks toward the cafeteria. “I’ll save you some seats.”

Ben watches as Dooney turns the corner. “Congratulations, Kate Weston,” he deadpans. “You’ve been granted special access to eat lunch in the promised land.”

“And to bring guests.”

“Oh yes,” Ben says. “Dooney the Merciful is gracious to all who wear the uniform of blue and gold.”

I laugh and push him out of the way so I can dump my calculus book.

“Dang, you soccer girls are rough.”

“Only when we need to be.”

As I close my locker, Ben gently flips me around and presses me against it with a kiss I am not quite expecting. The very best things surprise you in all the right ways. How long do we kiss like this at the end of the deserted hallway?

Ten seconds?

Ten minutes?

I only realize I’ve lost track of time when the police arrive.

The thing about living in a town of roughly sixteen thousand residents is that you tend to know everybody. I don’t mean that you know their name, exactly, or have had a conversation with them. I mean that you see the same people at Target a lot. You “know” the woman who slices up a pound of smoked turkey for your mother at the deli counter every week. You “know” who Barry Jennings is because your dad used to work at the glove compartment lightbulb factory with him. His son, Wyatt, is in your class at school and has the lead in the spring musical. Now your dad runs a construction crew for a developer, and Mr. Jennings is a deputy for the county sheriff’s department.