The A-Word (9 page)

“Leave the door open,” Mom hollered after us.

Which I had to hand it to her was decent motherly advice.

Once we were in my room and I had thrown my comforter over my bed and kicked some dirty clothes into the closet, Ryan carefully opened his backpack. Out came a box with
five pink-frosted cupcakes, each one with a letter of my name.
J E N N A
. The frosting was a tad squashed, but they looked otherwise quite tasty. My eyes bulged, a big stupid smile on my face. It felt very quiet all of a sudden.

“I baked them,” he said, looking proud. He dug in the backpack again and pulled out an envelope. I set the cupcake box on my bed so I could open it. I tried to will my fingers to stop trembling. This was more than my already overloaded system could handle. “Morris jumped on me while I was packing them up,” he added.

My words rushed out in an awkward jumble. “You bake? Who’s Morris?”

He laughed. “Pit bull/lab mix. And yeah, I do. Bake, I mean. Mostly homemade pizza. These are my first cupcakes.”

I was still clutching the note. My heart was beating fast but not crazy. Subtly, I gave him the once over, noting his jeans and Spring Creek Mustang T-shirt. Also he was wearing multi-colored Vans, probably because he had biked here. I knew he favored boots like I did. The shirt fit him well and the jeans were a straight, slim cut that made him look super hot, including his butt which I’d sneaked a peek at while we were climbing the stairs. He smelled like cologne—Axe maybe—but not too much of it, and the cupcake smell was under there, too.

I fumbled with the envelope and pulled out a birthday card with a picture of a cupcake and
Happy Birthday
inside. Pretty generic and safe, which relieved me. But inside, in neat and tidy handwriting that was part cursive and part print and sort of manly-looking, he had written:
I’m bringing the party to you. Hope you like the cupcakes! Ryan S
.

I smiled to myself. Like I wouldn’t know which Ryan!

“It’s a Tony Stark quote,” he said, to the question I was
working up to ask. “You know—Iron Man. From
The Avengers
?”

Did he like those Avenger movies? And how much? Just in general or full-on Comic Con like? Not that it was a deal breaker or anything, but suddenly my brain whirred into overdrive, wanting to know EVERYTHING about him.

My mouth said, “You write nicely.”

I wanted to slap myself. I could be clever around Bo Shivers, but I sounded like a ditz in front of Ryan Sloboda. No wonder angels didn’t know squat about the universe. It was a freaking mystery.

He shrugged. “I want to be a writer. After college. I’m going out to California to write for TV. I’ve researched it and do you know some TV studios offer a writer’s workshop? You get to apprentice with them. Learn the ropes on how to write for shows. You have to do what they call a spec script to get in. So I’ve been taking notes when I watch TV—about how all the shows are set up.”

“California?” I said. I had been only once. We’d done one of those studio tours when we were in LA. Hadn’t thought about it since our family’s implosion and downward mobility. Now I was thinking that my life could be a TV show and Ryan could write it, only who would believe it? Mostly I was thinking,
Don’t move to California
.

“My parents—well, they love Texas. And I love it, too. But I want—”

“More,” I said, not meaning to finish his sentence but out it popped, and I was nervous until he grinned real wide.

“Exactly!” he said.

After I figured we had done enough talking and I decided to eat one of the cupcakes, specifically the
J
. The frosting might have been squashed because of Morris—which was a
great name for a dog—but the chocolate cupcake part tasted good and the frosting was this cream-cheesy stuff that I love. I offered the
E
to Ryan.

“Happy birthday, Jenna,” Ryan said, his mouth half full.

“You played well last night,” I told him. “Real well.”

“Wasn’t out there that much. But God, that Sneed. Did you see that miracle play at the end? That was too much, right?”

I choked a little on my last bit of cupcake. He patted me on the back until I stopped coughing. Then there I was, going from nervous to tingly because he looked me in the eyes and said, “I’m glad you were there.”

I am not a girl who is easily dazzled. But here was what danced in my brain:
I have a boy in my room! I have Ryan Sloboda in my room! He brought me birthday cupcakes and wrote me a note with an Avengers quote! He has PLANS and a dog
. I could stand here like this, with him, forever.

Of course Mom chose that moment to pay attention to my life and call up the stairs that we would be leaving for the sushi restaurant in a bit and did Ryan want to join us? Which he did but couldn’t, so he said. This was fine with me. After the whole afternoon with Bo, I was not sure I had the fortitude for a night with Ryan.

Still, I took another risk. I told Ryan I would meet him downstairs, and could he take the rest of the cupcakes to the kitchen, but if he didn’t mind, I was sweaty and needed to change for dinner first so that we could take our time talking some more before he left.

Then I raced into the bathroom and threw on my new signature jeans and white button-down that Amber had given me, and slipped the silver mustang #76 charm from Maggie into my pocket—and after I swiped more purple eye shadow
from the Sephora kit on my lids, I studied myself in the mirror. Not bad.

I sashayed downstairs, all casual-like.

Ryan’s eyes popped nicely at the outfit. Good to go.

I did not ask what Ryan and Mom had talked about while I was gone, but both the
N
cupcakes were missing, so I figured there’d been more eating than talking. I did not ask where Casey had disappeared to. Nor did I particularly care. I’d had enough of my brother’s angel shenanigans for one day.

Ryan said he needed to pedal back home.

And then it was the best part of my day. Actually it was the best part of any day I’ve had EVER.

IT’S FUNNY THAT I remember the conversation so clearly, considering how dumb it was. We stood at the curb, backlit by the Gilroys’ Halloween lights.

“Thank you for my cupcakes,” I told him.

“Sorry they were squashed,” he said.

“They were awesome,” I said. “You’re like those cupcake bakers on that show.”

He shrugged, and then we stood eyeballing each other awkwardly until I blurted, “Why the Avengers?” maybe because I was the teensiest bit concerned about the comic book thing and mostly because I LOVED that he had taken the time to quote something that he had picked JUST FOR ME.

Ryan blushed again, just a little, and my stomach clenched, also just a little. Was it too personal a question? I was new to the whole potential boyfriend thing.

“It’s funny—the movie with all of them, I mean. The dialogue—like with Hulk and Loki. It cracks me up, and … they’re superheroes. See, that’s the thing I like about Tony Stark. He isn’t supernatural. He’s just a guy in a suit who’s
totally smart. But he’s committed to saving the world. He hangs on no matter what. You don’t get to have that in the real world, you know. You don’t just wake up the next day and have powers. I mean the closest I ever come to feeling like that is in football.”

This is what came rushing out of Ryan like a river of words. It could have flummoxed me because I could certainly tell him stories about someone who had woken up with powers, but instead it made me feel happier than I had in a very long time.

“Or this one time when I was little,” he went on. “My Grandpa Dale in Fort Worth entered me in Mutton Busting at the rodeo. I hung on to that damn sheep for my life. I didn’t let go even after the buzzer rang. And they were picking me up and parading me around, and I know it’s just a stupid kid’s thing, but that feeling … I was just five but I knew I wanted to grow up and have things that I just didn’t let go of, you know? Important things. I guess it reminds me of that.”

I was fumbling for something to say when Ryan leaned in, closing the space between us. “Jenna,” he said. “Can I kiss you?”

My heart thrashed like a fish on a line. I nodded. “Yeah. I mean yes.”

A million thoughts had been dancing in my brain:
Did he like me? Was my breath fresh? Was that really Axe he’d spritzed on himself?

Now there was only one. He was going to kiss me. He had
asked
to kiss me.

He dipped his head and our foreheads bumped. My pulse was doing NASCAR laps. Ryan reached out and rested his hands on my shoulders.
Had he done this before? How many girls had he kissed?
I knew he’d made out with that Mia Ross
at Cammie Northrup’s party in 8th grade, but it’s not like I’d paid attention back then.

His face hovered over me. I had never thought there was any amount of Axe cologne that was good, but now I did. It was the perfect amount. My nostrils filled with boy. With Ryan Sloboda who was about to kiss me, his hands warm and firm on my shoulders. Then his lips touched mine. The lightest of kisses at first, like he wasn’t quite sure it was okay even though he knew it was because he HAD ASKED and I had said YES. Then his hands moved, trailing down my back, setting electrical fires on my skin, pulling me closer.

Holy hell.

His lips were soft and solid at the same time, which was a wonderful thing. He tasted like cupcake frosting, or maybe he always tasted sweet—only I hadn’t known until now. He opened his lips a little and I did the same. It was like warm butterflies everywhere. I moved my hands up to cup the back of his neck, felt the stubble of his haircut with my fingertips while his hands rested, warmed and pressure-y, at the small of my back.

I’d never been kissed at all. I used to feel backward about that, like I wasn’t keeping up with the pack. But now my brain announced:
you were just waiting for the boy who would kiss you the right way
. I thought I would die of nerves and pleasure right there on our driveway in the orange light from the Gilroys’ fake Halloween graveyard.

I opened my eyes, and he backed away enough that I could pay attention. He swallowed. I watched, dizzy. Did he know it was my first real kiss? Could he tell? My general impression was that once I kissed him back, I could have had a third eyeball in the middle of my head and he might not have noticed.

“Will you go out with me?” he asked. His voice was firm
about it, which I liked. “And I’ll take you to Homecoming, too, okay—?”

“Jesus Christ!”

That one wasn’t me. It wasn’t Ryan, either.

“What do you think you’re doing, Jenna?” My brother advanced across our lawn at a fast clip, eyes on me, like Ryan wasn’t even standing there. “We’re going to dinner soon,” he said. He looked me up and down. My lips were still in full tingle from the kissing, and my signature shirt had come untucked from my signature jeans. I contemplated all the ways I could kill him. Unfortunately, he was already dead.

Ryan just smiled. “I’ll call you later,” he said. “Keep your phone on. Okay? Happy birthday.” And waited until I mumbled some agreeing sound before he swaggered off, all Tony Stark quippy-like, tossing a “See you later, Samuels” to my brother as he went.

I swear I heard him whistle.

“Jesus Christ,” my brother said again. It seemed to be his go-to response.

I wondered vaguely if he was getting angel demerits. Then I figured Management had enough on its hands with Bo Shivers and all his damn balcony leaping. Bo Shivers probably kissed a bunch of girls in his day and didn’t care if he left them wondering.

A
fter that, we drove to Sake City and ate California rolls and Mexico rolls (which had jalapeño) and something called a torpedo roll, which had pretty much everything including avocado. My lips tingled from the kissing and the wasabi.

The waiters got together and sang “Happy Birthday” and put a candle in a bowl of edamame. Nice touch, Mom.

Ryan texted while we were eating. I had my phone on silent on my lap. He wanted to meet me at break time Monday in the Commons area.

Hope you like the last cupcake. ~R

I did let slip that Ryan was taking me to Homecoming. Mom allowed that maybe we should buy me a dress, and did Forever 21 have something that would work since that’s where my gift card was from? I said I would look into it. Casey was texting through this discussion. I wondered if it was to Lanie.

After that we went home. Or rather, Casey dropped us
off and said he had something to do. He did not elaborate. If it was angel business he couldn’t say it in front of Mom. Of course, Mom didn’t blink about this, which pissed me off even though I should have just let it go. So I stood on the driveway after she’d gone inside, thinking that my birthday was almost over and that all told it had been a good one. Also, my lips were remembering Ryan’s.

Mrs. Gilroy was out front, perusing her fake graveyard. Her paint cans and brushes were stacked against a pine tree.

“Looking spooky,” I told her.

“Having trouble finishing,” she said. “MJ’s been under the weather, and my arthritis is acting up. The rest of those gravestones will have to wait till tomorrow.”