How I Fall (34 page)

ellen

*Wonders: Is this what kissing is?*

Cam’s lips are soft. Warm.

So very gentle against mine. I decide to press farther into the kiss—into
him.

As our lips move, I get this sensation that I can suddenly count every wave off the lake hitting the shore behind us. I can make a note of every single leaf that’s hit my head. I can feel the tag from my shirt at the back of my neck tickling my skin. And strangest—most crazy of all—is this idea that I’ve pulled in every caramel-candy flavored breath coming off him. I could swear he’s somehow breathing for me, and I’m somehow breathing for him.

*Wonders again: Is this what kissing is? Frozen heartbeats? Peeking through lashes? Sunset’s last purples flickering on the planes of his face. Wind in my hair. Butterflies weakening my spine, goose bumps and shivers in the spot where his thumb traces over and over my wrist. Is this what kissing is? Trembling. Him. Trembling. Me.*

I’ve let him pull me up so now we’re both kneeling and I’m close—very close—against his chest because there’s no way I can keep my balance with the sky spinning overhead like it is right now all while the ground is going the other direction.

Before I can topple or gather any conscious thoughts, he’s broken the kiss and gathered me up. Suddenly he’s seated criss-cross and I’m sitting sideways on his lap. He’s also done it all without letting go of my bad hand.

At first I was kind of annoyed because his move took my good hand away from its perfect resting spot against his face. But it’s only a half-second complaint, because now he’s kissing me again and I realize how perfectly my body fits in under his chin like we’re matched puzzle pieces. As much as I miss my thumb against his high, solid cheekbone, I’m now able to reach my good arm around his neck and touch the soft edges of his hair. I love how, up close like this, I’m catching whiffs of soap mixed in with the windblown leaves that are all over both of us again.

*Is this what kissing is? Smells, and sounds, warm spots at the back of necks and sighs?*

I close my eyes when he slides my long bangs away from the side of my cheek and moves away from my mouth to place a kiss along my cheekbone and down toward my neck. I know when I open them again—this will surely all be over. I’m also avoiding his scrutiny. Where he’s kissed me—and every where he hasn’t—is now burning, melting.

He might have
asked
to kiss me first, but it’s pretty obvious I’m the one who started all this by pulling his face one inch from mine so I could stare at his eyes. Did he catch on that I went from staring at his eyes to wishing for his lips to hit mine in about three seconds flat? Can he tell—feel—just how much I don’t want this to stop right now?

He’s tangled his fingers underneath my braid and I turn up my face, searching…thinking the unthinkable…wishing for impossible things. Wishing at least for just one more real, long kiss.

As if he can read my mind, he says, “Ellen…” Then his lips, warm and sure, find mine again. Relieved, I finally let myself breathe and my mind spins on an opposite axis, recording facts and taking notes for later.

This is our third kiss, and yes…I am counting them. This one floats me somewhere between the center of the Earth and all of Jupiter’s sixty-seven moons.

*Is this what kissing is? Elation at the sound of my name on his lips? Regret for the minutes I wasted not kissing this guy? Longing…longing…longing for more? Breathing. Him. Breathing. Me.*

I already know I will never forget the sound of his heart beating along with mine like it is now. I’ve made a permanent record of the unfamiliar sandpaper-feel of his face that’s scraping against my chin and cheeks and recorded forever the way his lips are dry, but wet and soft and curved—yet somehow perfectly gentle—as they move against mine. It’s like we both know what to do even though I’ve never kissed anyone before. Like this is familiar and right instead of insane and totally wrong!

It takes every ounce of what’s left of the person I used to be only moments before to tamp down the butterflies and deny the strange rush of tears threatening to flood in as he pulls away from me.

I open my eyes and our gazes lock.

His eyes seem over-bright and he’s looking way too deeply into mine which makes me feel half like running, half like punching him hard and for no good reason.

*Wonders: Is this what kissing is? Waiting and hoping for another? Wanting to kill someone because you’re pretty sure it’s not going to happen again?*

I glare slightly at him now because it’s his fault my mind has melted. Instead of glaring back he’s just looking at me all soft and friendly and bewildered. Which of course he should be, because I did just throw myself at him and I think made out with him—kind of like a pro! But of course I can’t bring that up now can I? Because thanks to him and the fact that my lips feel all funny right now, it’s not a surprise that I can’t really move at all.

That’s because even though I’m pretty sure this first kiss has changed me forever—because aren’t first kisses supposed to do that—I’m still the girl who’s CP spikes when she’s nervous as heck. The girl who’s a champion at not moving when she really wants to.

Because my eyes still work, I tear my gaze away from his face, knowing I should say
something
or at least try to explain why I sort of…jumped him. But this whole time, I’ve been scouring my brain for something rational in my head and nothing rational is left.

I’m stuck on ridiculous phrases that will not work at all like:
Did you know you are the most amazing kisser in the world—not that I have a comparison.
Then there was the fleeting idea that I should shout something. Do something. And now I’m picturing a mini-mind movie of me, leaning out of a window, holding lit sparklers and screaming,
I first-kissed with Cam Campbell-wheeeeeeeeeeeee!

I finally go with my standard, “Sorry.” And a little shrug.

He pulls in a fast breath and tightens his arms around me. “Don’t! Ellen Foster, if you ever say the word ‘sorry’ to me again, especially after we’ve kissed, I will honestly lose my mind.”

He moves the hair away from my eyes and tilts my face up so I’m forced to look at him. “I’m the one who’s sorry. Okay? I’m a mess. I shouldn’t have kissed you—and I did—and it was—so perfect I won’t regret it and I hope you don’t either.”

He pulls in a long shaky breath which makes me really jealous because his words have made it so I can’t seem to breathe at all as he goes on, “Here’s the deal. I’ve promised myself like two hundred times that I wasn’t going to approach you. At all. Ever. And now I’ve gone way over that idea, haven’t I?”

“Why? Didn’t you want to, or am I not your type or…never mind. Don’t answer that.” I blink, confused.

“No, it’s because my life is a mess and because I promised Patrick I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“You—spoke about me—with Patrick?” I shout out.

“He and I talked when the project started. I promised him and promised myself that I wouldn’t hurt you. And me, kissing you is probably eventually going to hurt you.”

“Not if I don’t let it. You guys are so stupid. I can take care of myself, you know?” I look back up at him, and I feel the color firing in my cheeks so hot with anger I’m surprised parts of my eyes haven’t turned into flame throwers. “Well, Patrick will be the one hurt when I rip his head off for thinking he had any right to discuss me with
you
.” I shake my head. “And FYI, the kisses didn’t hurt, and look—wow—we are both completely fine!”

“Speak for yourself. My heart kills right now.” He shakes his head, staring away from me and muttering up into the sky. “I shouldn’t have kissed you—just shouldn’t have kept kissing you but I couldn’t—didn’t want to stop,” he says in this whisper-raspy voice that sends a new wave of shivers down my spine when he finally looks at me again. “See…I’m so busy. Honestly. My life is in this constant turmoil because my schedule is terrible. And my parents—well they have this habit of being insane and they are even more insane about stalking and micro-managing my every move.” He rolls his eyes. “You have no idea how much they suck out my soul. So, because of the fact that they exist at all as part of my life, you should not be near me let alone have kissed me . This is all what I already told Patrick. That, along with football and homework and SAT’s and AP tests looming and I—crap—I’m saying this all wrong, aren’t I?”

“Okay. Okay. Yes. All wrong.” I hold up a hand to stop him from making more excuses that will just humiliate both of us even more. I’m sure, despite the part where he kindly called the kissing stuff perfect, that I did it all wrong. He’s trying to get out of doing it again or—hanging out with me more, or whatever! What was great for me was obviously terrible for him. At least he’s trying to be polite.

I can tell by the flushed look on his face that he’s heading in to the part where he’s feeling sorry for me and even sorrier for himself that one of his guy-testosterone surges that we all learned about in human sexuality class accidentally brought him to hitting on the school’s disabled girl. I quickly speak, before he can say more. “If you must know, I’m relieved you said all that. That’s why I am the one who is
sorry
. I sort of vowed I wasn’t ever going to kiss you also. And I’m not going to ever again, that’s for sure, so you can stop worrying.”

He glances back down. “Oh…you didn’t want to? Then, why did you?”

“Call it curiosity?” I fib. No need to bring up my own insanity-induced-estrogen explosions. “When you asked if you could, I just…was like…yeah…and heck yeah, and why not?” I shrug. “I’m an impulsive person about kissing, and who isn’t? Conditions were perfect. Boy and girl watching the sunset by the lake. All half hidden under trees and no one around to see? A—a—anyone would have gone for that, right? And so—we did.”

“Uh…” He’s now biting his lower lip and blinking down at me as if he’s struggling for words as much as I am. Worse, I get the sensation he’s covering a choke—or is it a
laugh
?

Damn him,
if that’s the case he can suck it! If he’s going to laugh at me, if he’s going to tell anyone about this so they can laugh about it?
Oh no. No. No. No.

I manage to roll my eyes a little and execute a nice little bored-sounding snort before leaning against him and patting his shoulder like we’re buds, and that I’m the one feeling really sorry for him, not the other way around.

“I know I probably took advantage of you going on and on like I did. But you’re pretty good at what you do with that bottom lip and tongue—thing. I got a little caught up when I should have ended it. But it doesn’t
mean
anything. Of course not.” I blink up at him as though I’m about to add him to some sort of list of ‘who kisses best’ that I’m keeping. “I’m on your same page so no hard feelings? My life is also a mess and so busy. Thankfully our lives will never intersect again after this project. We never have to bring it up again. And I think we shouldn’t. To
anyone
.” I force a laugh, praying he’s going to agree to this. “Let’s not be sorry or make it strange and chalk it up to one of those huge and terrible high school mistakes.”

He sighs, lowering his lashes so I can’t look into his eyes. “’Mistake’ seems like a harsh enough word, without the words ‘huge’ and ‘terrible’ added on—don’t you think?”

“Oh…I don’t know…if you’ve got better words for it I’m open.” I say, watching him through my lashes and wondering where he’s going to take things next.

He captures my eyes with his, and adjusts his arms around me as though he’s trying to pull me closer. “I’ve never ‘gone on and on’ and kissed anyone like I just kissed you. I’ve also never felt like that
after
a kiss—or like
this
—which I need to explain to you that I feel like I’m going to die or fly or both right now. I’ve also never felt how I felt
before
that kiss, either. Are you telling me that you think what we just shared was normal? That you don’t feel all wild and really mixed up inside like there is suddenly so much to discuss between us right now?” he whispers, scanning my face.

My heart twists and races, fluttering up the back of my throat as I lock on my poker face even tighter. No way am I going to admit how I feel right now. It’s not safe. He’s just gone mental and needs to realize who he’s kissed. Who is sitting in his lap right now.

To buy time, I shrug again and blurt out a string of huge lies, “Well. I—I’ve kissed—this—guy. A couple of guys actually. Guys who I used to—sort of—almost date but I didn’t.” I blink, hoping my face looks sincere. “I met them at—physical therapy. They go to other schools and stuff and their kisses, compared to yours…hmm.” I scrunch my face like I’m really analyzing his kiss against others. “Ours was amazing-good. Truly. But I’m pretty sure it’s because you’ve got extra…amazing…” I glance at his whole face. “Lips and tricks you learned off other girls and all that. So it does rate really high, but that rating is not because you have a whole bunch of weird
feelings
going on. We’re teenagers. We get—surges of—you know—desire and all that. So…between us, we’re great kissers and it was nice, but it’s not rocket science what we did, right? It was more just…biology.” I shrug, looking away.

He shakes his head. “No…come on. Just no—this is more than,” he chuckles again, “extra amazing
lips and surges
.” He turns my face up gently so he and I are looking at each other again. “I know this came on way too fast. And I’m sure I was sending out mixed messages because of what I promised. But I think you’re fronting. I think the feelings really exist and I’m hoping they exist for both of us. Which is why the words we’re supposed to be saying to each other right now are coming out all mixed up and out of order. I say I’m going to trust the feelings. Go out with me. For real.”

I shake my head. “No. You said it yourself. Not a good idea.”

“Let’s at least start over, then. Consider going out with me, let me—I don’t know—let me go slower, take you on some dates? And consider not going out with anyone else in the meantime.”

My heart twists into a ball of panic. This guy is thinking he should back-track after our make-out and ask me out on dates? 

*Tickets go on sale tomorrow for the: I Accidentally Kissed Ellen Foster Pity Party. All proceeds going to the: I Will Break-up With Her Slowly Therapy Fund.*

“Who goes on dates and talks about feelings? Not me. No way. No thanks. As for our kiss?” I work really hard to keep my eyes on his. “This isn’t medieval times. You don’t owe me anything. No one’s caught us making out, so you don’t have to protect my reputation or anything like that or…anything. As long as no one finds out or mocks me for what just went down here, I’m good.” I run my fingers against my mouth like I’m tugging a zipper. “My lips go zip-zip, yours go zip-zip and we’re done. We both know that we can’t afford to make this project—
make us
—awkward. Right?”

He smiles down at me like I’m really adorable or something. “But it is awkward, isn’t it? Worse, now that you’ve said the zip-zip-thing my brain has scrambled. I’m staring at your lips and I really want to kiss you again.” He moves his head closer and I actually feel my own body starting to draw up in the direction of his face like it’s got a mind of its own!!

I push against his brick-solid chest. “Snap out of it. Everything’s all strange and awkward because I’m sitting on your lap, duh? And here we are blabbing to each other like it’s normal to have a conversation about my lips and your lips and us
dating
!”

“Yeah. We are.” He moves his index finger along the edge of my mouth. “Because maybe it is normal for us. Maybe you and I have somehow just passed up all the formalities people expect to happen and we’ve made it to a very comfortable spot without much work. And maybe we should entertain the idea that it’s easy and fun and funny, and we should keep it? Keep
us
as a couple.”