26 Kisses (28 page)

“But if I were into girls, I would totally go out with you,” he offers, laying a consoling hand on my arm. “I hope we can still be friends.”

“Absolutely,” I say, trying to fight off the wild laughter that threatens to consume me as Zane pats my arm. “Thanks, Zane.”

He gives me a knowing look and slides out of the car, and I pull away practically before the passenger door slams shut, only making it around the corner before I park the car at the curb and lay my head on the steering wheel again. I have no idea what I’m doing.

Zane Haywood

In my car. But turns out he’s gay!

5/l0 (the kiss was a 2. But he gets 3 extra points for being honest
—
and brave)

“So Killian is okay with you finishing Twenty-Six Kisses?” Mel leans over and pulls a weed from between two tomato plants, tossing it onto the pile of greenery slowly turning brown in the sun.

“Ha. No.
Okay
is not the word I would use.”

“But you’re doing it anyway.”

I nod.

“Why?”

I look up at her. “I started it. I feel like I should finish.”

She sighs and turns her attention back to the garden, obviously baffled by my commitment to what she sees as just a tool to get over a breakup. But it’s become more than that to me.

“And the kiss with Zane was . . . ?”

“Fine.” I reach down to retie my shoelace, careful not to meet Mel’s gaze. I know Mel wouldn’t spread Zane’s secret around, but he asked me to keep it to myself, so that’s what I’m going to do.

“Hmmm.” She eyes me suspiciously. “I feel like you’re not telling me something. But you’ve gotten a lot of kisses. You’re doing so good, Vee.”

I shrug. “Thirteen if you count both
E
s.”

“And you also have
Z
?”

“And
P
.”

Mel shakes her head. “It’s a lot more complicated when you go out of order. Are you going to be able to finish before school starts?”

“I’m only halfway. What do we have, three weeks left?”

“Ugh.” Mel yanks a weed out of the ground and shakes it viciously, sending a shower of dirt onto my legs. “Don’t remind me.”

I rest my chin on my knee. “I could just keep going through the school year.” My voice is light, but my heart sinks at the thought of walking through the halls at school on the prowl for more kisses.

“You know,” Mel says, eyeing me. “I never actually thought you would finish.”

I raise one eyebrow. “Why?”

“Finishing was never the point,” she says, stuffing the pile of weeds she has collected into a brown paper yard bag. “
Starting
was.”

“We’re hanging out tonight,” Killian informs me when I get to work the next morning. He looks younger, somehow, and more vulnerable than usual. “I don’t care if you have other plans or feel awkward, or even if you just plain don’t want to. We’re hanging out anyway.”

“Okay.” I search his face for a clue to what he’s feeling, but he has me completely closed off. “But you’re being really bossy.” Honestly, I’m so relieved to see Killian back at work and acting like his normal self, I would agree to pretty much anything.

“I think I have to be if I want to get anywhere with you,” Killian says, a sharp edge in his voice. “Do you disagree?”

I shrug and pretend to study the clipboard holding today’s reservation list, letting a few seconds of silence hang between us.

“You’re right.” Killian nods seriously and clears his throat. “This is not a very professional conversation we’re having. Let’s stick to work-related topics, and then we can get into the personal stuff later tonight when we’re off the clock.”

Killian chatters on for the rest of the day, posing questions and theories about the intricacies of the canoe-manufacturing industry, river ecosystems, and why
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
is the best example of the great American novel (only tangentially related to work, but still interesting). He only shuts up during our brief lunch break with Mel—who takes over for him and dominates the conversation with speculation about how awesome our senior year is going to be—and when we’re driving up and down the river in the bus, where he cranks up the radio and lets the music do the talking.

After we finish cleaning up at the end of the day, Killian grabs my hand and pulls me to the Jeep. “I don’t want you to try to sneak off,” he says, opening the passenger-side door and helping me up. Mel appears in the door of the office, hands on her hips, and I mime putting a phone to my ear—
I’ll call you later
.

“Where are we going?” I ask, helping Killian clear the tarp off the dashboard. I suck in my breath as the sunlight hits the song lyrics, making them shine.

“This is a strategy session,” Killian says. “So we’re going to get food, because I can’t think when I’m hungry, and then we’re going to go to my house and talk through our plan of attack.”

“Our plan of attack for . . . ?”

“Finishing out your summer kissing challenge as quickly as possible,” Killian says matter-of-factly.

I look at him, stunned, but he just starts the Jeep and pulls out of the parking lot, one hand casually gripping the steering wheel, the other resting on the driver’s-side door.

We drive all the way to Trawley without speaking. I read the dashboard lyrics over and over. There’s a new one, written in big block letters right in front of my seat:
Maybe you would have been something I’d be good at

I wonder if it means that Killian has given up on me.

Killian’s house is disappointingly normal, in a neighborhood that looks a lot like mine. He swings open the front door and leads me inside, slipping his shoes off as he goes. To the left is the living room, filled with comfortable-looking furniture, and to the right is a formal dining room that looks like it is probably only used twice a year.

I follow him past a wall of family photos, and down the hallway to a closed door. Then he turns around, hand on the doorknob, and looks at me very seriously. “Are you ready for this?”

I glance around, wondering if I’ve missed some giant clue about what is about to happen. But the hallway is totally normal—gray carpet, off-white walls. “Sure.”

I follow Killian into a large room that, at first glance, looks like a conference room you might find in an office. There’s a table with four chairs gathered around it, a whiteboard taking up half of one wall, and shelves packed with hundreds of books. Then I spot the unmade bed in the corner and realize this is Killian’s room.

“Have a seat,” he says, ushering me over to the table and pulling out a chair. “I should have asked while we were downstairs. Are you thirsty? Can I get you some water?”

I shake my head, my eyes roaming around the room, taking it all in. Now that I’m taking a closer look, the room seems slightly less corporate. Band posters cover the walls, and there’s a mountain of dirty laundry spilling out of the closet. In fact, overall the room is pretty messy, just like you’d expect for a teenage boy. But the corner housing the table and whiteboard is spotless, everything in its place.

“This is not what I was expecting your room to look like,” I say. “Well, I expected the posters. But not the office furniture.” I point at the whiteboard. “Was Office Depot having a clearance sale or something?”

“Our school library kicks everybody out at six o’clock,” Killian says. “The public library, which is barely bigger than this room anyway, closes at eight. Sometimes when we’re preparing for a competition, we’re up until midnight. This keeps us focused a lot better than trying to work while sitting on the couch in someone’s living room with the TV blaring in the background.” He pulls out a yellow notepad and sits down across me. “So,” he says. “Let’s strategize.”

“Um,” I say, tapping my fingers nervously on the table. “Let me just make sure I understand what’s happening here. You want to strategize with me about how I can finish my summer kissing challenge?”

He nods and twirls a pen in his fingers.

“The summer kissing challenge you’re pissed off that I’m doing?”

He nods again.

“Why?”

Killian sits back in his chair and crosses his legs. He thinks for a moment and then takes a deep, theatrical breath. “Because I like you, Vee. You’re smart and funny and exactly the type of girl I’ve been hoping to meet but never thought I actually would. Because you let me talk to you about things that don’t matter, and you understand it’s not
what
we’re talking about that’s important, but
how
we’re talking about it, and
why
. Because you can be sweaty and covered in river mud, and I still think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Wow. I sit there, stunned into silence. He clearly prepared a speech, ran through it in front of the bathroom mirror, rehearsed the pauses and the emphasis. As if he thought I wouldn’t see right through all that. This is the first time Killian hasn’t been totally real with me. He’s putting on a show, trying to make me go along with
his
plan. But he’s not in charge here. I am.

I roll my eyes. “Right. And so you want to help me figure out how to kiss other guys. That makes total sense. Thanks for clearing it up for me, Killian.” I cross my arms over my chest. “You think you can compliment me and use emphasis through repetition to make what you’re saying sound more powerful than it actually is, and I’ll just fall over and go along with it?” I shake my head. “News flash: I won’t.”

We stare at each other for a few moments, tension strung like a wire between us. I can practically see his brain whirring behind his eyes, trying to come up with a counterargument that will convince me everything he just said wasn’t a total load of bullshit.

Finally he sighs. “Okay. I’m sorry.” He tosses the notepad onto the floor, and his pen bounces across the carpet. “No more rhetoric crap.” He pauses, and I nod for him to continue. “Look, I do like you, Vee. That should be obvious.”

He looks at me questioningly, and after a moment I nod, a sharp jerk of my head.

“Everything I said a minute ago was true. Honestly, I just thought if you could hurry up and finish this Twenty-Six Kisses thing, then there might be a chance of us getting together.” He drops his head and stares down at his lap.

I sit there, stunned. “You know, the point of Twenty-Six Kisses was to get over a guy,” I say. “Not to find a new one.”

“I know.” Killian runs his hand over the stubble on his chin, his eyes lowered.

“I feel like you just put on a show. You show up at work and act like nothing has happened, take me up to your house for the first time, and blindside me with a plan that’s supposedly about me but is really all about you.” My knuckles are white, my fists clenched. I don’t realize how angry I am until the words come flying out. For the first time ever, I feel like Killian hasn’t been honest with me. “You want to get together, so I’m supposed to hurry up and get over myself so we can make it happen.”

“You’re right,” he says, and the pain in his voice almost breaks me. “You’re totally right.”

Killian looks up at me, ready to take any more abuse I throw at him. I’d love to keep going—I want to hurt Killian. I’m dying to throw all my lingering frustration about Mark and the stupid Twenty-Six Kisses game and Seth and Mel and my screwed-up family right in his face. But I don’t. Instead I stand up and walk to the door, fighting with all my might not to cry. “Could you just take me home now, please?”

“Jeffrey, come out of there. Let’s just talk about it a little bit.” My mom is sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of Jeffrey’s bedroom door. Dad called yesterday to give Mom some details about the moving date, and since then Jeffrey hasn’t come out of his room—not even for food or to go to the bathroom.

I stick my head out of my room.
Anything?
I mouth.

Mom shrugs and heaves herself off the floor. “I’m not going anywhere!” she calls, tapping lightly on the door. “I’ll just be in Vee’s room. I’d still love it if you came out, sweetie.”

She comes in and sits down on my bed, lifting Fat Snacks and settling him in her lap. I shut the door and flop down next to her, the beginning of a headache starting to pound at my temples. Killian and I didn’t say a word to each other on the half-hour drive back from Trawley, and the tension between us was nearly unbearable.