17 First Kisses Read online

  Megan closes the yearbook with a snap. “So, you see. There was no one else we could have chosen.”

  “Well,” begins Britney.

  “There was no one,” says Megan.

  I’m still not convinced, though. “But I’m a tomboy.”

  “So you play soccer. Soccer is fine. We can work with soccer. As long as it’s not softball.” Megan shudders.

  “Plus, we’ll make you over, just like in Clueless.” Amberly’s eyes light up at the thought.

  “What do you say?” asks Megan.

  I can’t picture myself spending time with these girls, let alone being one of them, but the image of Megan hiding out on her patio pops into my head. I really do want to get to know her better. And if they could make me look as confident in dresses as they do, that wouldn’t suck either. Before I can stop myself, I say, “I’m in.”

  “Awesome!” says Megan. “You’re coming to my house to get ready for the dance with us.”

  With that, they kidnap me. Well, they drag me across the street to Megan’s house while my mom waves good-bye with tears of joy shining on her cheeks. We gallop up the stairs to Megan’s room, and because all the houses in our neighborhood have almost the same layout, her room is in exactly the same place as mine, with the same window seat and everything. That’s where the similarities end. Her walls are painted bubble-gum pink, and there are butterflies on her curtains. A huge poster of a boy-band lead singer smiles down at us from above her bed, and I cringe. I’m not the kind of girl who tapes boys to my wall.

  “Let’s get started.”

  Megan pushes me down by my shoulders onto the seat in front of her vanity. Amberly grabs a stack of Teen Vogues to use as a reference. While it’s clear Megan is the unofficial leader of the Crown Society, Amberly is the unofficial leader of this makeover. Even Megan defers to her vast knowledge of all things gloss and glitter. I can’t really see what they’re doing to me because Megan is flat-ironing my already-straight hair, Amberly is doing my eye shadow, and Britney is painting my nails. I just try to keep up with their commands. Tilt your head forward. Close your eyes. Relax your fingers.

  Partway through, it occurs to me this could be a sick joke. Maybe they’re making me look ridiculous. But when Amberly finally shows me my reflection in the mirror, I gasp. It’s hard for me to point out all the things they did, all the little pieces that make me look the way I do now. I no longer look like a boy in a dress. I’m beautiful.

  Amberly sighs. “It’s some of my best work,” she pronounces before we leave for the dance.

  Except for the eighth-grade dance, which is like a mini prom, you don’t have to have a date to go to our school dances (all of which are held in the gym). Girls and guys show up in clusters, dance in clusters, and leave in clusters. The exceptions are the people currently going out. The couples are interspersed between the clusters, wrapped up in each other’s arms, gazing into each other’s eyes like they wish the Winter Wonderland Dance would just go on forever, even though you know they’ll be broken up by next month.

  The coolest girl cluster by far is the Crownies, and that’s where I am now, even though it’s hard to believe. I shouldn’t be wearing makeup and standing with these girls. I should be hanging out with Sam and making fun of the crappy decorations. I hope he’s not worried. I didn’t have a chance to text him or anything. I search the crowd for Sam and find so many eyes peering back at me.

  “Everyone’s staring,” I say. I fiddle with the hem of my knee-length blue dress. The one that looked awful on me at my house, but now, after their makeover, seems to fit just right. “They’ll never believe I belong.”

  “They’ll believe whatever I tell them,” says Megan.

  “Tool alert,” says Amberly. “Steven Lippert is walking this way.”

  Steven makes terrible puns and tries to flirt with me in English class, and right now he’s headed straight for us. He picks me out of the group like the weakest animal, his eyes going from my shoes to my headband and back again. Ew.

  “What’s up, CJ?”

  Megan steps between us. “Claire’s busy right now. She’s going to go dance with us.”

  I’m so used to being called CJ it takes me a second to realize she’s talking about me. Steven mouths the word Claire and slinks away with a backward glance at my legs.

  We work our way to the center of the dance floor, right underneath the gargantuan papier-mâché snowflake. Before I was one of them, I thought they all danced the same way: cooler than everyone else. But now I realize they each dance differently. Britney alternates her little dance moves with a glare that is either self-conscious or angry. Hip shake. Glare. Shimmy. Glare. Amberly dances with so much hip action I’m worried a teacher will come over. Megan looks beyond cool. She flings her long blond hair around, and throws her hands in the air, and laughs with her head thrown back as she sings along to the music. I just stand there like a moron.

  “Why aren’t you dancing?” asks Amberly.

  “I don’t dance.”

  Britney snickers. “You can’t dance?”

  Megan doesn’t laugh.

  “B, can you find a boy and make him get us some punch?” she says sweetly.

  When Britney exits, she turns back to me. “Dancing is an important life skill. Amberly and I can teach you.”

  “Yeah!” Amberly nods like a bobblehead. Oh, Lord.

  “What about Britney?” I ask, stalling.

  A smile forms on Megan’s lips. “Do you really want to dance like Britney?”

  “No.” I look down at my overly large feet. “I’ve never really tried to dance,” I mumble.

  “Wait, wait, wait. You’ve never practiced in front of your mirror?” asks Megan.

  “No.”

  “You don’t try to copy the girls in the music videos?” asks Amberly.

  “No.”

  Megan acts like I just told her I have a third eye growing out of the back of my kneecap. “We are totally having a sleepover. Tonight. At my house.”

  Britney is back with the punch. Well, she’s back, and Sam and Glenn are trailing behind her with punch.

  “Thanks, boys.” Amberly winks at them.

  “I can’t believe that’s you,” Sam whispers to me. “No one recognized you at first. All the guys were trying to figure out who the new girl was.”

  I grin in spite of myself. “You will not believe what happened. I’ll call you later,” I whisper back.

  Glenn hands me a cup of punch. “You look different. I mean, pretty. You look really pretty.”

  I’m shocked. Glenn Baker, who has up until now treated me pretty much like I’m a boy (despite the fact that we kissed in sixth grade), is red-faced and tongue-tied around me. And he thinks I’m really pretty.

  “You’re right,” I say to Megan in disbelief after they leave to rejoin their boy cluster. “Everyone does believe I’m one of you.”

  “Well, you’re not in yet,” says Britney.

  “But you said . . .”

  She shakes her head. “Do you see a necklace around your neck? You have to be initiated first.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “Whatever we tell you to do.”

  I am about to say “screw this,” and Megan can tell. She pulls me aside.

  “Look, we all had to do a dare to get in. It’s not that bad. Just do it and get it over with. Please. I really want you to be a Crownie.” Megan has the biggest, bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. It’s impossible to say no to them, and she knows it, which is why she’s got them trained on me right now. She lowers her voice. “I know I acted like we only picked you because there was no one else, but that isn’t true.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “Nope. Two weeks ago I saw you fighting with your mom in your driveway. She was trying to make you take dance lessons and you said you wouldn’t do it.” She hesitates. “I would give anything to be able to stand up to my parents like that. That’s when I decided I wanted you to be my best friend.”
>
  The girl I saw on the patio is back. This is the Megan I want to be friends with. The real one.

  “Okay. I’ll do it.” We rejoin the other girls. “So, I just have to do a dare?”

  Britney opens her mouth, but Megan cuts her off.

  “Yes. Just one dare. Give us a second to decide what it is.”

  The three of them form a huddle, and I stand there in my dress feeling stupid and trying to imagine what sort of public humiliation they’re concocting. They’re giggling when they turn back to me.

  “You have to kiss a boy,” says Amberly.

  “And you have to say, ‘I feel like a snowflake because I’ve fallen for you,’” says Megan.

  I start to feel nauseous. “Who do I have to kiss?”

  “We’re still working on that part,” says Megan.

  “What about Eric Masters?” asks Amberly.

  Britney gives her an Are you crazy? look. “Pass. You know he was Megan’s boyfriend in sixth grade.”

  “Oh, right, I forgot. Sorry.”

  “What about Michael Shaw?” asks Britney.

  “Pass. He has coat-hanger shoulders. It needs to be somebody really good,” says Megan. “What about Buck?”

  “Pass,” I say, and everyone stares at me. “He kissed me in, like, second grade. I want someone new.” I shrug like it’s no big deal, even though I’d rather gnaw off my own arm than kiss Buck again.

  The girls look impressed.

  “I knew we picked the right girl,” says Megan. “Hey, who’s that guy over there?”

  She points toward the snack table, which is really just a lunch table with a glittery paper tablecloth.

  “Amanda Bell’s cousin,” replies Amberly. “He’s totally yummy. That is such a good call.”

  Amanda wears a smug smile while her friends vie for the attention of her oh-so-cute cousin.

  “If you kiss him, her friends are going to be so pissed,” says Megan. She smiles. “He’s perfect.”

  I watch him for a few seconds longer.

  “Done.”

  I take off across the gym floor in long, sure strides that make it pretty obvious to anyone watching me where I’m going. Ordinarily I would be terrified of rejection, but I don’t feel like me tonight. I feel like Megan McQueen’s new friend. Buoyed by that feeling, I walk straight up to Amanda’s cousin, parting the sea of adoring girls who surround him.

  “Hi. I’m Claire.”

  If he thinks it’s weird for a girl to walk up and introduce herself, he doesn’t show it.

  “I’m Evan.”

  Amanda and her friends shoot daggers at me with their stares. Evan’s buttoned-up-all-the-way-to-the-top shirt and slicked-over hair make me think he might be a goody-goody at his school, but at our school he is fresh meat. He’s even cuter up close. He has dark brown hair like Amanda’s, but thankfully no snaggleteeth. Now that I’m close enough to count his inch-long eyelashes, I am suddenly shy.

  “I feel like a snowflake tonight.” I can barely bring myself to say the words. “Because I’ve fallen for you.”

  It takes him a minute to process this.

  “Wow. That’s a pretty bad one.”

  He laughs, and I join in.

  “I know. But I kind of had to say it.”

  I jerk my chin toward the girls. He sees them watching us and gives me a friendly nod to show he understands.

  “I kind of have to do this too.”

  I wrap one hand behind his neck and give him a quick peck-on-the-lips, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kiss. Actually, I barely remember the kiss at all. What happened after was more important. I remember the half-shocked, half-happy look on his face when I pulled away. I remember the incredulous gasps from Amanda and her friends. But most of all I remember what happened when I waltzed back over to the Crownies.

  “That was amazing! So totally hot!” yells Amberly.

  “Did you see their faces?” laughs Britney. She squeezes my shoulder. Now that I’ve done the dare, all the negativity I was getting from her before has vanished.

  “It was pretty amazing.” Megan gives me a hug. “You’re officially one of us now!”

  We spend the rest of the night in Megan’s basement eating turkey-Brie–raspberry jam croissants (Megan made them herself—including the raspberry jam—from scratch!) and rehashing the dance. Whose outfits were cute and whose needed help, Steven Lippert’s attempt to do the worm, and, of course, the Kiss are the major topics. Then we dance around in our pj’s and sing “I Will Survive” into our hairbrushes. (Well, they dance. I mostly hover on the sideline and try not to trip over myself while I mimic them.)

  After Britney and Amberly fall asleep, Megan drags her sleeping bag over to mine and tells me how jealous she is of how her college professor parents treat her genius older brother. So I tell her about how my mom focuses all her attention on my perfect big sister. We talk until it’s light outside about the places we want to go and things we want to do and the glamorous lives we’ll have when we’re old enough to leave Pine Bluff. And I finally realize what I was missing in all those years without girlfriends.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  Chapter

  5

  The body paint oozes thick and gooey against my fingers. Sam stands in front of me, shirtless, and once again I’m struck by how different he looks. Man boobs—gone. Love handles—gone. Abs—present.

  “So, what am I painting?” I ask.

  “Paint me orange with a navy E.”

  “An E?”

  “Yeah. I called some guys from the soccer team. We’re gonna spell TIGERS,” he says. “Oh, and if you want to get creative and paint some black tiger stripes on my arms, that’d be cool too.”

  I wipe a nickel-sized glob of tangerine-colored paint on Sam’s stomach and start smearing it around. When my fingers reach the contours of his abs, I get that fluttery feeling again. I step away abruptly.

  “I’ve got an idea,” I say.

  “What?”

  “You should get the girl you’re crushing on to do this at the game. That way she’s touching you.”

  “You think?”

  “Definitely.” I don’t explain to Sam why I’m positive this will work. “Who is she, anyway?”

  His eyes are on the floor when he answers. “Amanda Bell.”

  “Amanda Bell?! You have a crush on Amanda Bell?”

  I repeat these words about fifty-seven times on the way to the game. Amanda Bell has fought to become queen of the B group, and she’s one of those dying-to-be-popular people who act way meaner than the actual popular people. It’s like that with monkeys too. The beta females are always the most aggressive. As soon as I hop out of Sam’s truck, he places a firm hand on each of my shoulders.

  “No more talking about it now that we’re at the game, okay?”

  “Done.” I pretend to button my lips.

  After we get inside, I stop at the concession stand so I can watch Sam in action—I mean, buy cotton candy. Poor guy. Amanda is surrounded by three other girls. He bravely approaches the pack and singles out their snaggletoothed leader. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but the girls are giggling, and not in a good way.

  Then Sam plays his trump card: he whips off his T-shirt. Amanda is as stunned as I was. She casts covert glances at her friends, and when she sees they too are smiling carnivorous smiles at Sam’s abs, she nods in agreement. By the time I pass by with my cotton candy, she’s happily rubbing paint all over his stomach. I flash him a hidden thumbs-up, and he grins.

  Then I hurry to find a seat before kickoff because, despite how much I make fun of Buck and our football team, I freaking love football. The intensity of the players. The excitement in the stands. Moms clanging cowbells. Old men reliving their glory days as they holler at the boys running around under the stadium lights. It’s intoxicating.

  The first quarter is pr
etty uneventful—it’s our defense against theirs, and they’re both good. But then I see Glenn, our star receiver, tear off down the field. He completely blows past the poor guy who is supposed to be covering him. Buck throws a wobbly rainbow of a pass, and the crowd collectively sucks in their breath. But there’s no way. Buck overthrew. Glenn won’t be able to . . .

  He catches it! He jumps into the air like there’s a hidden springboard on the field and, with every muscle in his arm stretching and straining, plucks the ball one-handed and curls it into his gut as he falls back to the ground.

  The crowd explodes. I whistle through my fingers and yell, “Yeah, Glenn!” People are screaming for Buck too, which just pisses me off. He threw a crappy pass. He is so lucky he has Glenn to make him look good. Sometimes Buck even throws the ball at the guy on the other team, but Glenn jumps in front of him just in time to intercept it. My dad calls him an offensive cornerback.

  The head coach, a skinny, wrinkly, white-haired man who looks exactly like an old rooster (hence his nickname: the Rooster), claps Glenn on the back. The assistant coach, who is fresh out of college and the target of many schoolgirl crushes, stops jumping up and down just long enough to do the same.

  We score shortly after Glenn’s magical catch, and the game calms down again. I bounce from clique to clique since my three closest friends are busy with pom-poms and herkies.

  herkie (noun)

  1: One of those jump thingies cheerleaders do when they’re excited.

  2: Kicking one leg out to the side so it’s parallel with the ground, while simultaneously trying to kick your own ass with your other leg, while simultaneously jumping as high as you can. So it’s kind of like a toe touch, except hilarious, and the best part is they have no idea how goofy it looks.

  I squeeze past my ex, Tanner Walsh (Kiss #9), as he bangs away on his drums. For a band guy, he is kind of a player. In the next section over I say hey to Sam and the rest of the T-I-G-E-R-S. Amanda Bell and her friends have taken up roost behind him, and Sam is smiling the goofiest smile. I let Seth Wong, who is the T in TIGERS and also Kiss #13 and Tanner’s ex–best friend (not a coincidence), spray my hair with glittery blue hair paint.