26 Kisses (9 page)

I spin around, heat rushing to my face. “I don’t— I wasn’t—” My voice catches in my throat as I take Carson in. He’s changed out of his swim trunks and T-shirt and into a pair of nice flat-front shorts and a short-sleeved button-down, the tail of his tattoo trailing out from underneath one sleeve. His hair is gelled, and he’s wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. With the hint of a sunburn spreading across his cheeks, making his smile flash extra-white, he looks absolutely perfect.

“Hey, chill.” Carson smiles and reaches out briefly to touch my elbow. “I’m just saying these games are rigged, and I’m not smart enough to figure out how to beat the carnies.”

“Oh.” I look down at my sandals, mentally willing Mel to get back over here and help move the conversation along.

Two of Carson’s friends from the canoe trip come up behind him, also looking considerably more well groomed than they did a few hours ago, and Mel appears at my side.

“I’m Mel,” she says, holding out her hand to shake.

Cody and Nick introduce themselves, and Mel flashes me a quick look.
You want to trade Carson for Cody?
I respond with a quick shake of my head that will just look like a hair toss to the guys. Carson looks—I have to say it—unexpectedly hot. And if everything goes well, I am going to kiss him tonight. My stomach flips.

The evening starts, as all the best evenings do, with cotton candy. Mel shudders as I pinch off a blue piece of Carson’s sugary cloud and pop it in my mouth.

“I’m going into a diabetic coma just watching you,” she says, shaking her head.

“But it’s sooo good,” I say, the sugar zapping straight to my bloodstream and shocking my system.

Carson hands the mostly full cotton candy wand to me. “I’m going to need both my hands,” he says. Cody and Nick are looking around the picnic area, deep in discussion. “I probably should have warned you—we’re kind of carnival connoisseurs. We go to basically every festival we can and buy a bunch of the most ridiculous fair food and pig out before we go on the rides.”

“
Before
you go on the rides?” I say.

“Yeah.” Carson shrugs. “I don’t know why we do it in that order, but it usually turns out okay.”

I look at Mel, and she raises her eyebrows.

Nick pulls out his phone and types furiously, tipping the screen so Carson can see. “So we’ve got cheese curds, mini doughnuts, fried cherry pie, chocolate-covered bacon, and Fat Elvis on a Stick. Everyone okay with that line-up?”

“Oh God.” Mel closes her eyes, her mascaraed lashes dark against her cheeks. “Mini doughnuts. I totally forgot about mini doughnuts.”

Cody raises his hands in the air and bows his head. “All hail the Mini Doughnut God, the high deity of carnivals, festivals, and state fairs everywhere.”

I have to say, despite the jittery feeling in my stomach, a mini doughnut (or four) does sound pretty good right now.

We divvy up the list, each of us responsible for buying one of the things on the menu. I’m assigned Fat Elvis on a Stick, and Carson gets fried cherry pie. As we split up to join the lines at our respective booths, Carson grabs my arm.

“Come with me,” he says. “The line for cherry pie is so short, we can hit both booths by the time everyone gets back.”

The sugary smell of pie filling is overpowering, and I’m starting to feel a little sick from too much cotton candy. “You know, I don’t even know what Fat Elvis on a Stick is,” I say to Carson. “I haven’t been to a carnival in, like, five years, and I don’t think they had it back then.”

Carson gives an exaggerated gasp. “You live in Butterfield, and you don’t go to the Dune Days carnival? What’s wrong with you?”

“When you live somewhere that’s basically a tourist trap and has a million different festivals each year, it gets kind of old hanging out with carnies and tourists.” I cringe and mentally backtrack, reworking my argument. “Not that you’re a tourist. You’re a college kid, so it’s different.”

Carson leans in close and plucks a shred of cotton candy off the end of my nose. “And you’re an adorable townie,” he says, his lips curling into a half smile.

I drop my head and look down at my feet, which, after just a few days of working at the Float & Boat, already sport a tan line at ankle level. How many other “townies” has Carson picked up with that line as he and his friends sample fried food at festivals across Michigan?

Doesn’t matter,
I tell myself as Carson asks the guy in the booth for an extra piece of foil to cover the fried pie.
Tonight is just about the kiss.

“I also can’t believe you don’t know what Fat Elvis on a Stick is,” Carson says as we walk across the grass. “But I think your life is about to change.”

Peanut butter, chocolate, and bacon wrapped in banana-flavored batter and fried until it’s crispy: that is Fat Elvis on a Stick. We’ve laid out all the food on a picnic table, and Cody insists on documenting each item with a photo before we’re allowed to dig in.

“Oh my God,” I gasp after the first bite.

“We have another convert,” Nick says.

“It’s just . . . exactly what you want food to taste like,” I say. “All food should taste like this. Try it.” I hold the stick out to Mel.

“No way,” she says, batting the fried concoction away. “I’m sticking to cheese curds.” But I see her gazing longingly at the mini doughnuts, even though she’s too committed to her recent anti-sugar crusade to take even one bite.

After the food come the rides. The guys are buzzing on sugar, darting through the crowd, punching one another, fake-wrestling on the grass. And they want to ride
everything
—the Scrambler, Zero Gravity, the Tilt-a-Whirl, and every other bouncing, spinning, vibrating contraption that makes me dizzy just thinking about getting on it.

While the guys are swinging forty feet above the ground on the Fire Ball, Mel and I buy a couple of bottles of water and collapse onto a bench. I glance at my phone—it’s nearly ten o’clock.

“Vee, this is seriously one of the best nights ever,” Mel says, holding her water bottle against her forehead. “This is a night we’re going to reminisce about when we’re old and can’t stay awake past nine o’clock. And,” she says with a wicked smile, “I have a feeling you’re going to end the evening with a bang.”

I tip my head back, squinting into the dark sky, but it’s impossible to see any stars past the blazing carnival lights. “We’ll see.”

She turns to me, pouting a little. “Aren’t you having fun?”

“Yes,” I admit. “Although if you had told me this morning I would be having a great time at the carnival with a bunch of guys I’d never met before, I would have sent you to the crazy house.”

“You can’t plan a night like this,” Mel says solemnly. “It just has to happen.”

We watch the crowd go by—families, couples, groups of friends, and some adorable grandparents who are even more excited about playing Skee-Ball and Bozo Buckets than their grandkids are.

The Fire Ball does one last gut-wrenching revolution and returns to the ground. Carson, Cody, and Nick are the first ones off the ride, shoving one another good-naturedly and laughing as they come down the ramp.

“That. Was. Amazing,” Nick says, leaning over to catch his breath. “Are you sure you guys don’t want to go? We all have enough ride tickets for one more.”

“Oh no,” I say, pulling my own tickets out of my pocket. “I’ve been saving these for the Ferris wheel, and I think it’s time to cash in.”

Cody groans. “I can’t even remember the last time I went on a Ferris wheel. Maybe when I was three.”

“Oh, come on.” Mel hops up and tosses her water bottle into a recycling bin. “It’ll be good for you. You’re probably getting brain damage from bouncing around on all those fast rides.”

Carson holds out his hand and tugs me up from the bench. I try to pull away as soon as I’m on my feet, but he tightens his grip and laces his fingers through mine, flashing a smile that sends unexpected butterflies swirling through my stomach. “Tell Mel I owe her one. I don’t think I could handle another ride that goes more than five miles an hour,” he whispers.

“Too much Fat Elvis?” After a second of hesitation I squeeze his hand and he squeezes back, our fingers engaged in a complex conversation that has nothing to do with what we’re actually talking about. I had forgotten this—the thrill of touching someone new, trying to decipher the meaning of each tiny movement. And with no alcohol involved, I’m even more hyperaware of how strange it feels to be with someone who isn’t Mark.

Carson groans. “Way too much.” His thumb traces slow circles in my palm.

The Ferris wheel is nearly deserted, the ride operator watching a video on his phone as we walk up. He waves our tickets away as he opens the gate and lets us board the first two cars. “Save ’em for something better, guys.”

Mel squishes between Cody and Nick while Carson and I sit in the car behind them.

“Behave yourselves back there,” Mel calls, turning and giving me a quick thumbs-up. The Ferris wheel lurches to life, and she squeals, their car swinging as Cody and Nick rock it from side to side.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, pulling away from Carson, my face burning. “She doesn’t have a filter.”

“Hey.” He drapes his arm loosely over my shoulders. “It’s cool. This is fun. Right?” He tilts my face toward him, fingers light on my chin.

“Right,” I whisper. We climb higher and higher, the swirling lights falling away. Carson’s hand is warm against my skin, and my shoulder fits perfectly in the space under his arm.
C
is going to be a good kiss. No gross, watery beer; no Seth watching me with judge-y eyes; no strings attached. Just a fun night, a nice guy, a Ferris wheel ride to the stars. All I have to do is close my eyes.

The next day, I take down all my pictures of Mark and put them away. I fish the Twenty-Six Kisses rules out from under my bed and tack them to the middle of my bulletin board. And I accept Killian’s Facebook friend request.
It’s not much,
I think as I shove the cardboard box full of two and a half years’ worth of memories with my ex-boyfriend onto the top shelf of my closet, but at least it’s something. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and can’t stop a smile from spreading over my face, wondering what Carson is thinking about right now on his drive back to Ann Arbor.

Jeffrey walks by my room and sticks his head in. “Why are you cleaning?” he asks, his face scrunched up in confusion.

I sigh. We’ve never been the kind of family that does the dishes immediately after dinner—much to my dad’s chagrin—but it’s sad that my twelve-year-old brother literally doesn’t understand the concept of cleaning or why it might be necessary.

“I’m turning over a new leaf,” I tell him.

“Okay, whatever.” He taps his fingers on the doorjamb. “Don’t forget Dad and Lila’s party is this weekend.”

“Ugh.” I had forgotten. “You don’t want to go, right? We can make up an excuse and skip together.”

Jeffrey shrugs. “I have to babysit Kaylee. They’re going to pay me forty bucks.”

“Forty bucks to watch your own sister?” I raise my eyebrows.

He rolls his eyes and pushes away from the doorframe, backing into the hallway. “Just saying, Dad will be pissed if you don’t show up.”

I swing my door shut without pointing out the obvious: that I don’t really care if Dad gets mad at me. My room looks better than it has in months—maybe years—although there are still dirty clothes on the floor and books and papers I’ll have to deal with later heaped on top of the desk. I open the curtains to let more sunlight in and I take a quick picture to send to Mel with the text
new start.

My phone rings a few seconds later.

“So this means you’re officially in, right? I saw the Twenty-Six Kisses rules on your bulletin board.”

At that moment, with a half-cleaned room, no Mark pictures in sight, and
A
through
C
crossed off the alphabet, anything seems possible. I grin. “I guess I’m in.”

Once she has gotten her earsplitting shriek of delight out of the way, Mel launches into a detailed analysis of which guys from Butterfield would be the best candidates for each letter. She has obviously put some thought into the matter.

“But wait!” She interrupts her own monologue. “You should write down everyone you kiss, and, like, details about what happened so we can remember.”

It seems ridiculous to think I might ever forget the circumstances around kissing someone, but I can see how once you get past the fifteen mark or so, some of the less memorable ones could start to blend together.

“Okay, hang on.” I put the phone on speaker and rifle through my desk drawers, looking for a notebook that isn’t already filled with scribbly class notes. I find one with a few blank pages near the end and grab a pen. “What should I write?”

“Name,” Mel says. “Duh. And where you kissed him.”

Adam.

“What’s Adam’s last name?”

Mel sighs. “Wow, Vee, you really are oblivious. It’s Cook.”

Adam Cook

On the dock at Flaherty’s Float & Boat

“Okay, what else?”

“I don’t know. What else do you want to remember?”

I tap my pen on the paper. “This might be too mean, but we could, like, rank the kisses?”

“Yes!” The phone crackles. “That’s perfect. Score them out of ten, and then at the end of the summer you’ll have to pick which one wins Best Overall Kiss.”

“Adam gets a six,” I say, writing it down with a flourish.

“Ouch, only six out of ten?”

“It probably would have been a seven if he had called me like he said he would,” I admit. I wrinkle my nose, trying to figure out how to score Dad’s kiss. It barely even counts.

Barry (Dad)

An awkward dad kiss
—
duh! At his house.

l/l0

“My dad gets a one. Just . . . because.”

“Fair enough. And Carson?”

Carson from Ann Arbor

Dune Days carnival Ferris wheel

8.5/l0

I lean back, letting myself relive a little bit of last night—the taste of cotton candy on my tongue, the feeling of Carson’s warm hand closing around mine, the last revolution of the Ferris wheel, and the feeling of being suspended in space at the top. “Eight and a half.”