Kiss Me Again by Rachel Vail Read Free Book Online Page B

about twenty steps and grinned his lopsided grin at me. “Is it bad that I’m feeling happy you paid for the ice cream?”
    I smiled back. “No,” I answered. “Not at all.”

eleven
    A CAR PULLED into the driveway. I froze at the window in Samantha’s room, where I was hiding while watching Kevin and his friends throw a football around our yard. The car door slammed. By the time Samantha’s light footsteps approached the second floor, I was in my room, pretending to read, casually, on my bed.
    That lasted about a minute before I peeked out into the hallway. Samantha was flopped against the wall like an abandoned stuffed animal.
    “You okay?”
    “Mmmm,” she said, her eyes closed but fluttering under her eyelids.
    “Long day?” I asked. “Playdate?”
    She reluctantly opened her eyes to slits. “I get worn out by people sometimes.”
    “Me too,” I admitted.
    Her eyes closed again.
    “Maybe you should drink some water.”
    “I’m watching the colors,” she said slowly.
    “The colors.”
    “Funny, huh?”
    Kind of funny, I thought. Funny weird. “Uh …”
    “I have too many and Kevin has too few.”
    “Too few … what?” I asked.
    “Colors.”
    “Colors?”
    She didn’t respond. So I had nothing to echo.
    I went to the bathroom and got us each a paper cup of cool water to drink, and sat down next to her. The dispenser of Dixie cups was yet another new addition in my house—but kind of a fun one. Little bitty cups for water, any time you wanted some. I downed my shot of water and considered whether I should leave Sam alone, or call her dad to come upstairs to deal with this.
    After a few minutes, Sam took a tiny sip, then stood up. “Do you mind if I go read now?” she asked me.
    “Not at all.”
    “Thank you for the water.” She took another microsip.
    I watched her wander to her room and close her door. I stayed there in the hall until my butt fell asleep, then headed down to the kitchen in search of a snack. I hadn’t finished my ice cream, I internally negotiated.
    I was eating another hard pear in front of the open fridge when the gang of boys came in. They all said stuff to me like Hey and How’s it going . They joked about how clumsy Brad was, how he couldn’t catch a cold, never mind a ball, not seeming weirded out at all to have me there, added to the mix, as they chugged water out of glasses Mom and I had bought three years ago. They all nodded a lot, bobbleheadishly. I know girls are the ones who supposedly like to get along, and boys fight—but, it turns out, not so much.
    “Hot out,” Kevin said.
    “Practically a heat wave,” Tariq joked.
    “Hot enough to cook a chicken,” Brad added.
    Then they all cracked up, so I did, too, and then they were shuffling out, saying good-bye and See ya and Take it easy and Cook-a-chicken hot .
    As he passed me, Kevin’s hand traced a line across my back, about five inches north of the top of my jeans.
    It felt like lightning.
    He walked out with his friends, but his touch stayed there, with me.
    For dinner, Mom made refrigerator salad with the dregs of the wedding leftovers. It was good, one of my favorite kinds of dinner, in fact, but it was hard to fully enjoy with Joe practically moaning about how delicious it all was. Dude, it’s leftovers chopped up. I actually liked the guy a little when he and Mom were dating, but it’s like perfume—a bit is fine, nice, even; too much and your eyes water.
    “We have a ton of homework,” Kevin said in an oddly chipper voice as we cleared the table. “We should …”
    “Oh, okay,” Joe said. “Hit the books. I’ll do the scrub-up tonight.”
    “Um, okay,” I said. On the stairs, going up to our rooms, Kevin bumped me with his shoulder.
    “Cool dishwashing dodge,” I said.
    “I’m awesome.”
    “If you do say so yourself.” I turned my face away because I could feel myself staring at his red, red lips, and also feeling tempted to tell him I’d broken up with George. Which was