his hand on the small of my back. Ben’s touch was electrifying. It did funny, funny things to my heart. And so far, no lips had been involved. Our first date had ended with a lingering hug. The kind that was so wonderful it made me ache, giving new meaning to the song “Hurts So Good.”
“You know how I know we’ll make it?”
“How?”
“Your aunt loves me.” He grinned then—a devilishly delicious, cocky grin.
“You think you’re so—”
Ben didn’t let me finish. So suddenly I couldn’t have anticipated it, he pressed my body against his and kissed me. The kind of kiss that had me gripping tightly to the cotton of his T-shirt, so certain was I that I’d float off the ground if I let go. Our very first kiss. In my favorite room, in front of my favorite wall at The Treasure Chest Motel.
Now, standing in the empty space, my fingers moved to my lips, and the memory slid away, replaced by a haunting thought. Most days, Aunt Ingrid didn’t even remember Ben, let alone love him. So what did that mean for us?
G RACIE
The town whizzed past at a very steady thirty miles per hour. Carmen held the steering wheel at ten and two, making driving instructors everywhere proud. I sat in the passenger seat picking a cuticle, my mind fast-forwarding to lunch in the cafeteria and the utter awkwardness that would be finding a table. I hated high school. I hated that Carmen insisted on dropping me off like I was a little kid. And I hated the fact that I tried so hard to look like I wasn’t trying so hard. I went through all three of my outfits this morning before settling on my favorite pair of skinny jeans—black and frayed—my go-to boots, and an Orange Crush T-shirt. Carmen took one look at me and said she would take me shopping later in the week. I took one look at her and scoffed. Something told me her taste and my taste were about as far apart as Santa Claus and penguins.
My cuticle burned. A pinprick of blood oozed from the tear. I stuck my finger in my mouth and sucked away the stinging, trying to ignore the insecurity swelling in my gut.
Carmen gave the steering wheel a couple taps with her thumb. “Are you nervous?”
I found another cuticle and got to work.
“Because it’s okay if you are.”
I could feel her peeking at me. She did that a lot. Like I was some sort of wild animal that might, at any moment, go ballistic and cause injury to myself or the people around me.
“When I had to change schools in sixth grade, I was so nervous on the first day.”
A couple of teenagers in a Honda CR-V sped past us. Carmen flipped on her blinker and turned onto a street called De La Cruz Boulevard, lined mostly with residential houses and a few scattered businesses.
“Bay Breeze is a great high school, though. The teachers are really nice. I’m sure they’ll make you feel welcome. And Ben’s there if you need someone to talk to.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“Oh, okay. That’s good.”
I blinked at her through my bangs. This morning, when Ben had asked if I was coming, Carmen stepped in and insisted she was going to drive me. It was one of the few times I’d heard them talking to each other, and I’d been sleeping under their roof for four nights now. Something was definitely afoot. I had a strong suspicion that something was me—the perpetual irritant. “Is this going to be a morning ritual—you driving me to school like I’m five?”
“It’s your first day.” Carmen turned onto Breeze Street, which came to a T, at the center of which was Bay Breeze High School in all its glory—a sprawling brick building with a crowded parking lot and a large blue-and-gold sign in front that said Bay Breeze High School, Home of the Sting Rays.
“I’ve been getting to school without your help for years.” On my first day of kindergarten, I walked myself to class and watched as all the mommies and daddies hugged my classmates good-bye. Carmen hadn’t been there then, and I didn’t need her here now.
“You know how I know we’ll make it?”
“How?”
“Your aunt loves me.” He grinned then—a devilishly delicious, cocky grin.
“You think you’re so—”
Ben didn’t let me finish. So suddenly I couldn’t have anticipated it, he pressed my body against his and kissed me. The kind of kiss that had me gripping tightly to the cotton of his T-shirt, so certain was I that I’d float off the ground if I let go. Our very first kiss. In my favorite room, in front of my favorite wall at The Treasure Chest Motel.
Now, standing in the empty space, my fingers moved to my lips, and the memory slid away, replaced by a haunting thought. Most days, Aunt Ingrid didn’t even remember Ben, let alone love him. So what did that mean for us?
G RACIE
The town whizzed past at a very steady thirty miles per hour. Carmen held the steering wheel at ten and two, making driving instructors everywhere proud. I sat in the passenger seat picking a cuticle, my mind fast-forwarding to lunch in the cafeteria and the utter awkwardness that would be finding a table. I hated high school. I hated that Carmen insisted on dropping me off like I was a little kid. And I hated the fact that I tried so hard to look like I wasn’t trying so hard. I went through all three of my outfits this morning before settling on my favorite pair of skinny jeans—black and frayed—my go-to boots, and an Orange Crush T-shirt. Carmen took one look at me and said she would take me shopping later in the week. I took one look at her and scoffed. Something told me her taste and my taste were about as far apart as Santa Claus and penguins.
My cuticle burned. A pinprick of blood oozed from the tear. I stuck my finger in my mouth and sucked away the stinging, trying to ignore the insecurity swelling in my gut.
Carmen gave the steering wheel a couple taps with her thumb. “Are you nervous?”
I found another cuticle and got to work.
“Because it’s okay if you are.”
I could feel her peeking at me. She did that a lot. Like I was some sort of wild animal that might, at any moment, go ballistic and cause injury to myself or the people around me.
“When I had to change schools in sixth grade, I was so nervous on the first day.”
A couple of teenagers in a Honda CR-V sped past us. Carmen flipped on her blinker and turned onto a street called De La Cruz Boulevard, lined mostly with residential houses and a few scattered businesses.
“Bay Breeze is a great high school, though. The teachers are really nice. I’m sure they’ll make you feel welcome. And Ben’s there if you need someone to talk to.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“Oh, okay. That’s good.”
I blinked at her through my bangs. This morning, when Ben had asked if I was coming, Carmen stepped in and insisted she was going to drive me. It was one of the few times I’d heard them talking to each other, and I’d been sleeping under their roof for four nights now. Something was definitely afoot. I had a strong suspicion that something was me—the perpetual irritant. “Is this going to be a morning ritual—you driving me to school like I’m five?”
“It’s your first day.” Carmen turned onto Breeze Street, which came to a T, at the center of which was Bay Breeze High School in all its glory—a sprawling brick building with a crowded parking lot and a large blue-and-gold sign in front that said Bay Breeze High School, Home of the Sting Rays.
“I’ve been getting to school without your help for years.” On my first day of kindergarten, I walked myself to class and watched as all the mommies and daddies hugged my classmates good-bye. Carmen hadn’t been there then, and I didn’t need her here now.
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