I Kissed Shara Wheeler(65)
Scrapped first draft of a journaling assignment, eventually replaced with one that had more precise wording Hidden in the pocket of one of Shara’s five-subject notebooks
I don’t really believe in journaling. Having my private thoughts written down somewhere seems like a liability.
If I have to, though, the main thing on my mind today is the way they made us memorize the parts of the tabernacle in seventh grade. It all seemed a little showy for me, but I could still draw you a picture: the Altar of Burnt Offerings, the Golden Lampstand, the Altar of Incense. I think a lot about the phrase “Most Holy Place.” There’s something I love about the idea of somewhere only one person is ever allowed to go.
Maybe they had the right idea, as far as secrecy goes. The loudest Christians I’ve ever met were the worst ones. I don’t believe doing something in front of everybody makes it more meaningful, anyway. If anything, it makes it stop belonging to you.
Sometimes, when I walk into a church, I’m not sure I’m supposed to be there, even though it feels like home. Home hasn’t always been a good place for me to be.
17
DAYS UNTIL GRADUATION: 15
Chloe wakes up late the next morning to a text from Smith that says, hey, do you like MarioKart? Which, (a) why and (b) now she feels guilty for yelling at him the other day and (c) yikes, she has to tell Smith she kissed his girlfriend again. Double guilty.
She should be happy. She won. After all this time rearranging her life around Shara’s game like a Saw knockoff, she finally has the power. She has Shara’s secrets and Shara’s heart. She can expose Shara’s big fat Harvard lie to the whole school if she wants to. Shara’s probably mildewing on her boat right now, looking soggily, tragically beautiful and wondering if she’ll ever have a chance to kiss Chloe again, and Chloe should be satisfied knowing the answer is no.
Needs time to sink in. That’s all.
The house is empty and smells like butter and syrup, which means her moms have had an early morning and are outside doing their little weekend projects. She slips on her mama’s Birkenstocks and heads out to the garage.
“Morning, coconut,” her mama calls out from a lawn chair. The garage door is open to the boiling morning, and her mama is sipping sweet tea in bikini bottoms and Chloe’s T-shirt from a fourth-grade field trip to the San Diego Zoo, cropped under the boobs. “You missed breakfast. We made pancakes.”
Chloe nods at the Bluetooth speaker at her feet, which is playing Pavarotti. “Rigoletto, act two?”
“Act one,” she replies with a wink. Pavarotti always reminds Chloe of being a kid, swanning around the apartment in one of her mom’s performance gowns like a contessa. “You feeling better? After last night?”
At first, she wonders how on earth her mama knows about Shara, before she remembers her meltdown in the kitchen. It’s been a long twenty-four hours. A long month, really.
“Yeah,” Chloe says. “I’m fine. Right now everything is … a lot.”
Her mom, who has been banging around the undercarriage of her truck with a wrench, rolls out and looks up at Chloe from her creeper.
“Yeah,” she says, wiping sweat off her brow and leaving behind a streak of grease. “Willowgrove gets to you sometimes.”
Chloe frowns, shoulders tensing automatically. “That’s not what it is.”
“You sure? I got all morning if you wanna talk,” her mom says, sitting up. “I lived through it, remember?”
“I’m fine,” she says again, looking for an out. “I—I gotta go study though. Gonna meet up with some people from bio. Okay?”
“Okay, but come home for dinner!” her mama calls as she heads for her car. “I finally figured out fried green tomatoes! Finals-week feast!”
“Okay,” Chloe agrees, avoiding her mom’s eyes before she asks any more questions. Thank God she left her backpack in her car last night. Clean getaway.
She’s restless all the way to Smith’s house, jiggling her toes on the gas pedal and speeding through the yellows. She has to make this quick—she really does have to study—but she’s also wired on seven hundred different emotions, none of which she’s particularly eager to express to anyone.
When the front door opens, the person behind it is a tall girl Chloe hasn’t seen before. She’s holding a Switch and appears to be in the middle of a heated Smash battle.
“Hi, is Smith home?” Chloe asks, peering past the girl’s shoulder at the small living room with crosses on the wall and a floral sofa set. This must be Smith’s sister, Jas.
“Who are you?” she says without looking up.
“I’m Chloe. From school.”
Jas’s Mewtwo Final Smashes someone’s Piranha Plant. “Okay, Chloe From School. Smith didn’t say anything about a girl coming over.”
“Mind your business, Jas,” says a laughing voice, and then Smith is behind her, looking surprised in a sleeveless shirt and soft-looking gray shorts. She hasn’t noticed until now that his hair’s gotten a little longer.
He shoves the side of Jas’s head with one palm and says, “Go away. And don’t forget to plug that shit in when you’re done. I got MarioKart with Rory tonight.”
“You’re such an asshole,” she says back.