The Last Boy and Girl in the World (3 page)

He doubled over laughing at how I spazzed, and I felt queasy as I stepped back into line. But then, when Jesse looked up at me, he winked. I realized he wasn't making fun of me, he was teasing me.

There is a difference.

“Hardy har har” was the first thing I thought to say. I groaned the words like an annoyed older sister, but really, inside I was all fireworks.

I let the next few sandbags come down the line, still sort of stunned that Jesse and I'd even had that much of an interaction. At some point, Morgan gave me a raised eyebrow and mouthed,
Talk to him!

I ran through a hundred flirty conversation starters I'd overheard Elise coach Morgan to say to Wes or the boys before Wes, but imagining them coming from me, out of my dumb mouth, each one sounded like a nauseatingly transparent cover for
Hello, Jesse Ford, please talk to me, boy I've loved forever.

But a few minutes later, as Jesse turned to pass another bag into my arms, I had an idea. I pulled out my phone from my hoodie pocket and pretended to text someone. “Sorry,” I singsonged, holding up a hand to Jesse. “This'll just take a sec.” This forced Jesse to hold on to his sandbag until I finished. He knew I was joking, of course, and he played right along without missing a beat. He grunted like it was killing him to keep holding the sandbag, but I think he liked showing off how strong he was.

The other guys on the soccer team were freakishly skinny. Like, skinnier than most girls. Not Jesse. I knew for a fact that he had actual six-pack muscles because he had this terrific habit of peeling off his sweaty soccer jersey after games and slinging it over one shoulder. For that reason, I never, ever, ever missed a home game.

Our little comedy routine got the attention of Levi Hamrick, son of Sheriff Hamrick and president of Key Club. He walked by us, glaring over the megaphone he'd taken from his dad, and said, “Pick up the pace.”

I took great offense at this, because, okay, sure I was joking and probably slowing things up a little bit, but I was also working extremely hard, and if not for the adrenaline that my proximity to Jesse Ford afforded me, my arms would have functioned about as well as cooked spaghetti.

Jesse leaned in close. Close enough that I smelled the pancakes he'd had for breakfast on his breath. Close enough that I spotted three freckles in a perfectly straight line across his earlobe. “I think Levi Hamrick has a crush on you.”

“Gross.”

“No, seriously. This is like the third time he's walked over here to check on you. You should go for it. He's a catch. He's . . .” Jesse cleared his throat and switched into a corny announcer's voice. “
A Guy Who's Going Places! 
”

A Guy Who's Going Places!
was the headline of the local newspaper article that had run the week before, along with a picture of Levi holding up two handfuls of thick envelopes spread out like an oversize deck of cards. He'd received acceptances from every single college he'd applied to, which surprised a grand total of no one. Levi ate his lunch in the library. He won the science fair four years straight. His name always topped the honor roll. He scored the highest on the SATs out of the entire senior class. He clearly did nothing but study. He didn't seem to have any real friends, just nerdy acquaintances, because I never saw him at the movie theater on the weekend, or in the stands for home games. The one place he'd hang out was outside the police station with the officers, folding metal chairs circled up around an open garage bay while they waited for a call or a shift change. He was like a little cop-in-training.

The article was only interesting because of a dumb thing Levi said. The reporter asked him which of the schools he was leaning toward, and he answered, “Probably the one that's farthest away.”

Obviously, that kind of snobbery rubbed a lot of kids the wrong way. Aberdeen was not a town of privilege, where people regularly got opportunities to seek bigger and better things. I heard someone giving Levi hell for it in the hall, and he looked baffled as to why. I bet he thought that because he was being honest, no one could be offended. Actually, I don't think anyone
was
offended. More like they had proof of what they'd secretly suspected, Levi Hamrick was a pompous jerk. I, on the other hand, already knew that for a fact, because Levi Hamrick was the reason I'd quit Mock Congress my freshman year. The only black mark on my high school transcripts.

I leaned in to Jesse and cupped my hands around my mouth. “Levi Hamrick isn't hot for me.” I was already second-guessing the joke that popped into my head, but it came tumbling out of my mouth anyway. “He has such a hard-on for rules, I bet he jerks off to the school handbook.”

Jesse backed away, a shocked-yet-delighted look lighting up his face. Like even though we'd been chatting for the last few minutes, he actually saw me now for the first time, like I'd materialized before his eyes.

It sent a surge through me.

A pop of thunder cracked just as the last sandbag came off the dump truck. Everyone scattered. I wondered if Jesse might say good-bye to me, but I couldn't find him in the melee and I didn't want to linger like a stalker. Well, I did, but Elise and Morgan were hungry, so the three of us hustled, sore and limp, back up the river toward Morgan's car.

•  •  •

I had her passenger door handle half-open when a pair of hands squeezed my hips. I buckled because I'm super-ticklish and also because of the sheer surprise of Jesse Ford touching me. He snatched my phone away. I tried wrestling it back from him . . . but not with enough force to actually take it, because even though I'd only ever kissed two boys in my lifetime, I wasn't a total dummy.

Fending me off with one hand, Jesse plugged in his phone number with the other and then sent himself a text from my phone so he'd have mine. Then he returned my phone with a wink and shuffled off to catch up with his friends.

I checked my sent messages. He'd written,
Jesse, you are hands down the hottest senior guy. Also charming, funny, and kind to small animals. Can I pretty pretty please have all of your babies?

I steadied myself against Morgan's car and tried to catch my breath.

“What was that about?” Elise asked, one eyebrow curiously raised, as she climbed in.

“Nothing,” I said, playing it cool. “Jesse just wanted to ask me something.”

Morgan flipped down her visor and adjusted it so she could see into the backseat. “Hey, Elise, did I ever tell you how”—and this was where I started trying to cover Morgan's mouth with my hand, because I knew what she was about to say—“Keeley would make me pretend to be Jesse when we were in middle school? She had a whole scene worked out—dialogue, costumes, and everything.”

Elise leaned forward so her head was in the front seat with us. “Umm, why am I only hearing this now?”

Morgan looked at me, her lips pressed together like she was about to burst. Though she wanted to, she wouldn't tell Elise unless I gave her permission. She was that good of a friend.

I wasn't embarrassed for Elise to know. My crush on Jesse Ford wasn't something burning and constant and tortured. Okay, maybe it had been when I was in middle school, but I blame that on the introduction of hormones into my bloodstream. Once I got to high school, it turned into something much quieter, something I hardly thought about beyond silently acknowledging how hot Jesse looked on whatever day, or momentarily wishing I was whichever pretty girl he'd be kissing in the hallway as I walked past them. Because by that time, I had matured enough to understand that Jesse and I would never happen.

As soon as I gave Morgan a nod, she couldn't get the words out fast enough. “Keeley would make me draw on a moustache and get down on one knee with a Ring Pop and beg her to marry me!”

I quickly clarified, “Just remember, Elise, this was middle school. Like, long before either of us had boobs.” Because Elise sometimes made little comments about how
fun-loving
or
free-spirited
I was, which were all polite versions of
immature.
Part of me could actually imagine her thinking I still acted this way.

Then I swatted Morgan. “You kind of sucked at it.”

“How could you say that?”

Turning to Elise, I explained, “There was no artistry to her performance. I'd have to keep reminding her to talk in a deep voice and—”

“Sorry I'm not as big of a ham as you are!”

“Whatever. I made the best of it. My love of Jesse transcended your awful acting.”

Morgan was laughing so hard she could barely get the next question out. “Wait a second! What were the names of your three kids again?”

“Jesse Jr., Jamie, and”—the last name we said together—“baby Juliette.”

Elise settled back in her seat and pinned the swoop of her hair with a bobby pin. She'd been growing out her bangs since Christmas. She laughed too, but more out of politeness, respect for a friendship that predated her.

Elise grew up in Hillsdale, where Saint Ann's Church was. Morgan knew her from Sunday school and then teen youth group.

I remember the first time I met her at a church picnic Morgan had dragged me to when we were in seventh grade. Morgan kept telling me how alike Elise and I were, how much we had in common. I took this as a compliment about our friendship, that if Morgan had to make a new friend, she'd pick the most Keeley person she could find. I pictured Elise as a sweeter, churchier version of me.

And she was, at first glance. Elise was thin and delicate with a brown bob that fell just past her chin and a silver cross pendant that hung in the hollow of her collarbone. I'm not sure if she was surprised that I was coming with Morgan to the picnic, because she'd only saved one extra chair. She stood up and offered both chairs to Morgan and me, and sat in the grass by our feet. I appreciated the show of respect.

But it might have been because Elise was afraid of me. I remember saying all kinds of borderline inappropriate things to her to be funny, like stringing together a bunch of curse words or making dirty jokes or whatever. Morgan kept laughing nervously and telling Elise, “She's kidding, she's kidding,” to which Elise quickly forced a smile and replied lightly, “Oh, totally, I knew that.”

We were in line for hot dogs when Elise pointed out a boy with flippy hair and mirrored sunglasses playing his guitar to accompany a pastor singing a Jesus song. She leaned in and said to me, “I used to be so hot for that guy, but it turns out he's the absolute worst kisser on the planet.” And she stuck out her tongue and rolled it around like someone having a seizure, and then made a gag face. “I can't even see his cuteness anymore. He's, like, tainted.”

Neither Morgan nor I had ever French-kissed anyone. We were still playing those pretend games at her house.

“She's not boy crazy or anything,” Morgan whispered to me later on the ride home, as if she could read my mind. “She's just . . . uh . . . not shy.” And then she threw in, “Like you!” to put me at ease.

Of course, after Elise's dad lost his job and they moved to Aberdeen, I saw plenty of Elise's sweet and churchy side, and I think that's ultimately what I liked best about her, those two identities mashed up together. She was super-sweet with her little brothers, and if we came over when she was babysitting, she'd be playing with them just as much as hanging out with us. And she never talked shit about anyone, even people who completely deserved it, like Wes. Meanwhile, her phone was full of numbers, boys we'd meet at the mall or the movie theater or who went to her church. Elise wasn't so much interested in having a boyfriend as she was in having someone to crush on.

I think, at first anyway, having a boy to obsess about kept Elise from feeling jealous of what Morgan and I had together. Because as close as the three of us were, every so often there were moments where our threesome was eclipsed by the previous twosome. I say this with no offense to Elise, of course. But you can only have one best friend. My friendship with Morgan went all the way to the cradle, because our moms were best friends too. She couldn't compete with that.

Later on, though, when it was both Morgan and Elise getting that kind of attention together, I became the odd girl out.

“Anyway, Jesse and I weren't flirting,” I corrected her. “We were joking around.”

Again, there is a difference. One I knew all too well.

Morgan cleared her throat. “Keeley, he checked out your butt as you grabbed us bottles of water from the cooler.”

I couldn't play off my shock. I spun toward her. “He did not. Shut up.”

“He totally did! He watched you walk the entire way!”

I wanted so badly to believe her. And maybe it was the truth. But we'd both heard what her ex-boyfriend Wes had said about me, the kind of girl I was, and I knew Morgan wanted to undo that damage. It was why she broke up with him in the first place. So there was that possibility too. And for me, it was the possibility that seemed more likely.

Because like I said before, I had only kissed two boys in my lifetime. Neither one was from Aberdeen. They were both friends of boys that Elise and Morgan were interested in.

We'd get dressed up cute and make the drive to Hillsdale, or some other town, to meet them. At first, it was more Elise's thing, but then boys started asking Morgan for her number.

Over the past year, I lost count of how many times Morgan or Elise would stand off a little ways with the boys they liked, whispering to them or showing them something on their phones, leaving me with whoever else had tagged along. Unlike my friends, I never knew how to act. I'd either completely clam up, afraid I'd say something dumb, or I'd swing too far the other way and say, like, many many many dumb things.

In the last three years, I'd met lots of boys, obviously. But I'd only ever kissed two.