Page 75 of Kiss Collector
“Did you meet with Mrs. Crowley today?” he asks.
His complete change of subject makes me blink. “Uh, yeah.”
“Okay.” And that’s all he says.
I glance down at my pass. “I guess I should go.”
We stare a few seconds longer before I turn, feeling way warmer than the moment warrants. Before I walk out, I go on my tiptoes to peek out the glass pane of the door. Joel comes up behind me to look, too. I’m suddenly very, very aware of him against my back, his breath warm on my neck as he peers out beside me. My whole body stiffens and my breath hitches as Iturn my head to catch his eye, so close. He freezes, too. Then, I swear, he moves forward an inch more, and I feel the front of him brush against my backside. It takes every bit of willpower not to press against him.
And just like that, I’m on fire. Practically panting from a boy’s breath on my skin and the whisper of a touch through our clothes. Oh, my damn, I really want him to touch me and kiss me and—
He abruptly pulls back from me and juts his chin at the door, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“All clear. See you ’round.”
I can’t even talk. All I can do is force a stiff nod as I pull the door open. I rush down the hall to Spanish, using the pass to fan my heated face. Joel is a hard guy to read, but I find myself wanting to read him more and more each time we meet.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ishow up at Zeb’s bus stop after school with a giant Slurpee in hand. Bribery. It’s impossible not to notice that he’s now as tall as me, but skinny like a string bean. I hope he’s up for the challenge I’m about to propose.
“I need your help today,” I say, pulling into a parking spot at our apartment building. “I need you to keep me from breaking my neck as I try to learn a roundoff back handspring.”
“A what-a-what?” He takes a long pull on his red straw as he climbs out of the van and follows me to a grassy area between our building and the next.
“Gymnastics,” I explain. “I need it for tryouts.”
He sits crisscross on the grass while I warm up and do backbends to stretch. When he finishes his drink, I pull him to his feet and show him exactly what he’ll have to do.
“Bend your knees. Keep your palm flat to my lower back. Just follow my movement. If I go too low, keep the pressure there. You gotta be strong and firm.”
“Are you gonna kick me in the face?”
“Hopefully not.”
He laughs, and I can’t help myself. I grab him and pull him into a tight squeeze. His arms flail and he swivels to get away from me, so I shove him away with a smile.
“Let’s do this.”
We start with standing back handsprings. I’m a little rusty, and I forgot how much I hate doing this. I don’t know how the other girls dive backward so gracefully without a worry in the world. It’s unnatural to me. I do several, nervous each time, and Zeb starts to get the hang of it.
“Okay,” I tell him. “It’s going to get tricky now. I have to go straight from a running roundoff into the back handspring. So you have to follow me as I go and get your hand in there.” I do several roundoffs so he can get a feel for how far I’ll move.
He wets his lips and nods. “Got it.”
The first two times I chicken out, jumping straight up in the air to see how much height I can get. On try number three, I twist to the side, coming down on my wrist. Zeb dives forward to try and help. We both end up in a pile.
Laughter tinkles down to us, and we look up to see Mom on the balcony, motherly pride and adoration on her face. I rub my wrist and get back up.
“Again,” I say.
The failed attempts go on longer than I care to admit. Half the time I freak out and stop. When I do it again, Zeb growls.
“Zae, just do it already! I’m getting hungry.”
“You just had a huge Slurpee!”
“That was, like, an hour and a half ago.”
