The Rites and Wrongs of Janice Wills by Joanna Pearson Read Free Book Online

winked at us before we’d started the movie. But I have to admit, at least that particular night, the hint of whatever in the air, the tension between us — well, it was exciting. I’d felt trembly in my throat the whole night. When our hands had accidentally brushed over the salsa, Paul had blushed and recoiled as if burned. And when the movie had finally ended, we’d both sat there silently, watching the blank screen and listening to only a faint electronic whirring. The lights were out, and we were motionless, neither daring to turn on the light nor to face the other.
    Finally Paul had said, a little too loudly, “Janice.” I’d turned in the darkness to face him. As if drawn by a force unseen, our faces had moved closer together. The tips of our noses were almost touching. In the movies, I knew that the kissers always closed their eyes, but mine were wide-open. I was so close toPaul’s face that if it hadn’t been dark, I could have seen his pores. Then, suddenly and startlingly, Paul jumped up.
    “Shoot! I forgot to feed Barker. I haven’t fed him at all today!”
    Barker was the Hansen family’s ancient golden retriever. I liked Barker. I didn’t want him to starve to death. But as I watched Paul flip on the lights and slip out of the room, I felt a growing horror. The guy I’d been about to kiss had leapt to his feet to feed his dog. This could only mean a couple things, both of them bad: Either he realized that he desperately did NOT want to kiss me and could figure no other way out of the situation, or he actually DID realize that he needed to feed Barker, meaning that he’d been thinking of his pet dog just as he was about to kiss me. I didn’t know which possibility was worse.
    When Paul had come back from feeding Barker, he was whistling. He bent down to the DVD player and pressed EJECT, removing the disc and popping it back into the case.
    “Boy, Barker’s never been so happy to see me. Poor old guy, he was starving.”
    Still seated on the floor, I’d nodded, looked at my watch, then said I needed to get going. And that night, lying in bed, my whole face had burned in humiliation — so hot that I thought the pillow would ignite. I’d then avoided Paul for a while, and he started dating The Girlfriend, and the whole incident of the Almost-Kiss had never come up.
    Maybe, I thought now, he hadn’t been planning to kiss me at all — maybe he’d actually just been practicing meditation. Maybe he was a narcoleptic. Maybe the whole Almost-ness ofthe Almost-Kiss was a figment of my idiot imagination. Maybe I had no insight into patterns of adolescent male behavior at all.
    A knocking at the front door broke my reverie. I looked at my watch. It was almost 9 p.m., a strange time for anyone to show up at our front door. I rose to go see who it was and met my mom in the hallway.
    “Are you expecting someone?” she asked. I shook my head.
    On opening the door, there stood Margo — or the person formerly known as Margo. I stared at her, and she stared back at me. We said nothing. This new person had hair that had been carefully straightened and highlighted, unlike Margo’s hair, which was normally a mass of wild curls. She wore tasteful makeup — mascara, just a hint of blush, lip gloss. Her fingernails were impeccably manicured — true, in a color that I’d most often seen on loudmouthed girls named Misti Krystal or Gennyfer Tammi-Ann — but still! And her shirt, it was soft and formfitting and —
    “Ralph Lauren?!” my mom exhaled, unable to help herself. You had to drive to Charlotte to get clothes like that, and my mom, I knew, secretly imagined herself to be a fancier person — the sort of person who drove to Charlotte regularly for Ralph Lauren — although she would never fully admit to this vanity. She salivated over brand names and couldn’t help invoking them whenever possible. In this way, my mom was not unlike a rap video.
    “You like?” Margo asked, giving us a twirl. She was