Page 18 of The Second Kiss
I ignore the question. “When did Jacob get here?”
“Early, like before eight,” Mom yawns. She's never been a morning person. “And he was here last night too.”
A vague memory worms its way into my mind. “Wait. Last night? Before or after I came back from getting my teeth pulled?”
“He was here when we got home.” She picks up my pillow and sets it back on my bed. “It’s a good thing. You were completely out of it. You could barely walk, so I had him carry you to your bed.”
“He carried me...to my...?” I’m beyond horrified. “You let Jacob in here?” I scan my room for anything embarrassing. Black lace lies over the side of the hamper–one of my bras. Three days-worth of clothes are lying in a pile in the corner. Was my bed made? Probably not. My room smells like my sweaty track shoes. Great. And my room is full of stuffed animals. It must have looked to Jacob like I was a stinky, messy, little kid.
Tyler senses a chance to kick me when I’m down. He pokes his head through my door. “Yeah, Jess, Jacob carried you up to bed and tucked you in. You even gave him a kiss goodnight.”
“What?” I gasp. The movement causes my jaw to throb harder.
“You were pretty far out of it.” Mom says. “But I doubt you did that.” She shoots Tyler a warning look.
He ignores her. “Actually, you did kiss him, just ask Jacob.” He studies my face for a second. “Wow, you look like you lost a fight.”
“Okay, Tyler, out.” Mom orders.
Tyler puckers his lips and makes kissing noises.
“Out,” Mom roars. “I mean it.”
I throw my pillow as hard as I can toward Tyler. It doesn’t nearly go far enough and isn’t heavy or hard enough to do the kind of damage I want to do to my brother.
I pull the covers over my head. “Tell him to go away. Tell him I died.” I wonder if Mom knows I mean Jacob, not Tyler.
“I’ll go make you something warm and soft to eat.” Mom pats my head through the covers. “Don’t let Tyler get to you. I’m sure he’s making the whole thing up.”
After Mom leaves, I fight the fog that envelopes my memories for the past sixteen hours. I have a vague impression of being carried up the stairs and wrapping my arms around Jacob’s neck. I thought it was a dream. I don’t remember kissing him. That doesn’t mean I didn’t. Tyler is a monster, but I don’t know if he has enough imagination to make up something like that. Something nags at the back of my mind. Something I said that I shouldn’t have said. Whatever it is, I'm positive I completely humiliated myself.
In front of my mirror, I study the bruises on my cheeks. Tyler’s right. I look like I was on the losing end of a street fight. I move over to the window, stand behind the curtains, and look across the yard to the Nag. Jacob, Dad, and Matthew are leaning over the hood, like three surgeons discussing a patient’s fate.
Even at a distance and from behind, Jacob looks incredible. Today he’s wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt. I lean a little closer. I have a good view from my bedroom. Today might not be a complete waste after all. I lean too close and clunk my forehead against the window. Jacob turns toward my room. There’s no way he could have heard me. No way he can see me up here.
He waves.
He can see me. I step away without waving back, humiliated.
Mom doesn’t even ask me if I want to go with them to church on Sunday. She leaves a bowl of scrambled eggs and a glass of warm chocolate milk in my room like I’m a pet. My jaw doesn’t hurt as much as yesterday, so after my family leaves, I go downstairs to watch T.V. I’m dozing on the couch when someone knocks on the door. I duck down behind the couch cushions, hoping whoever it is will go away.
“Hey, is anyone home?” Jacob’s deep voice resonates through the door.
I burrow deeper into the cushions. What is he doing here? If I didn’t look so bad, I’d love to have Jacob at my house. Right now, he’s the last person I want to see.
“Jess.” He’s peering through the window. “I know you’re there.”
I consider pretending to be asleep, but the side door is always unlocked, so he could come in anyway.
I sit up with my back to the window. “Just a second.” I dash to the bathroom and look in the mirror. The bruises on my cheeks are turning into a mixture of purple and a sickening color of yellow. I haven’t put any make-up on for two days, my hair looks like I just got out of bed, and my cheeks look like they belong to a chipmunk. Not in a cute way.
Why doesn’t he ever show up when I look good?
I take a brush out of the cupboard, force my crazy hair into a ponytail, and pull one of Matt’s sweatshirts off the rack to cover my pajamas. Then I go to the door.
“Hey,” he says.
I put my hand over my mouth. “Hi.” It sounds like I have a mouth full of marshmallows.
