Part 5 (1/2)

”Come on, you got something better to do?” he mumbled through his full mouth.

I turned and looked at the closed door of the back room. I could still hear my coworkers laughing behind it.

a.s.sholes.

”I'll give you twenty dollars,” he said, taking it out and shaking it in front of me. His blue eyes were big.

”What, do you think I'm a f.u.c.king prost.i.tute?” I asked.

”I just really want to talk to you,” he said.

”We're talking now,” I said.

”No,” he said, ”not here.” He walked up to the counter and traced a circle on it, waiting.

”You've got to do better than that,” I said.

”This is the best I can do with the lights on,” he said.

I fought back a smile, even though I knew it was a line. This boy was something. ”Fine,” I said, wiping my hands on a rag. ”Meet me outside. And I still want that twenty.” I walked to the back room and kicked the door, once, twice, three times. ”Going on break, f.u.c.kers,” I said, throwing off my ap.r.o.n and grabbing my cigarettes.

Aaron waited for me in a black convertible, so clean that it s.h.i.+ned in the streetlights like an oil slick. I walked over to the driver's side and put a cigarette in my mouth. He pulled out a Zippo and leaned over to light it before I could even grab my lighter.

”Wanna take a ride?” he asked.

f.u.c.k yeah, I wanted to take a ride.

I walked around the back of the car, opened the door, and sat in the pa.s.senger seat-leather, bucket. The dashboard had so many lights and b.u.t.tons it reminded me of the Batmobile.

Aaron lit his own cigarette, moving his Zippo through his fingers like a baton, pinkie to thumb and back again, as he put the top down. We started to drive, the wind blowing the flour out of my hair so that it flew behind me like snow.

It made me think about my own car. My poor impounded Civic, which I might be able to get back if I stayed out of trouble. Sitting next to Aaron in his car, staying out of trouble was looking doubtful.

He pulled into the entry lot of the park down the street and turned off the car.

”I thought you wanted to take a ride,” I said, throwing my spent cigarette on the ground. I watched it fly through the air like a miniature rocket.

”We just did,” he said, taking the last drag of his cigarette and doing the same.

I stared at the winds.h.i.+eld. The headlights were still on and were spotlighting two empty benches, a garbage can, and a sad little aluminum slide.

”How much longer do you have?” Aaron asked, his hands circling the steering wheel.

I looked at the clock on the dash, the same bright green as a glow stick. ”Forty-five minutes.”

”Well I'd better hurry up, then,” he said, taking off his seat belt and leaning in to kiss me.

I pushed him, hard, in the center of his chest. ”No f.u.c.king way, Aaron Chambers.”

”You don't want to kiss me?” he asked. He seemed surprised. I guess people didn't usually push him away.

I pointed at my forehead. ”Does it look like I'm wearing a sign that says chump?”

He stared at the steering wheel like he didn't know what to do.

”You said you came to apologize, so apologize,” I said. I caught my reflection in the side mirror. I still had flour on my nose. I rubbed at it.

”I'm sorry,” Aaron said, turning to me, making his face go soft.

”On your knees,” I said. If this boy wanted to apologize, he was going to do it right. I mean, he wanted to kiss me, so who knew what I would be able to get him to agree to?

”Seriously?” he asked.

”Um, you stood me up for my prom,” I said. ”I got arrested that night. My life is a world of s.h.i.+t because of you. Get on your f.u.c.king knees.”

”You're pretty cute when you're angry,” he said, reaching for my hair.

I whipped my head away. ”Apology,” I said.

”Okay, Miss Ca.s.sie,” Aaron said, getting out of the car and coming over to my side. He opened the door and held out his hand.

I looked at it, waiting.

”You're supposed to take it,” he said.

”Ugh,” I said, ”fine.” He led me to the front of the car. The headlights were still on, s.h.i.+ning out for miles into the darkness. He kneeled in front of me and held both my hands. It was very marriage-proposal and I felt my cheeks light up.

”I'm sorry about prom night and I would like to make it up to you,” Aaron said, his eyes never leaving mine.

”How?” I asked. It felt pretty good to have someone on his knees in front of me begging for my forgiveness. After the s.h.i.+t luck I'd had, it felt better than good.

He kissed one hand then the other. I felt static electricity travel up from them, to my shoulders, neck, and the base of my skull.

Who was this boy? Why wasn't he afraid of me? Why wasn't I afraid of him?

”I don't think you can make it up to me,” I said, but I didn't pull my hands away.

”I'd like to try,” he said, looking up at me, his eyes very puppy-dog.

”How?” I asked again.

He stood and took my chin in his hands. ”Like this,” he said, kissing me. I reared up to knee him in the b.a.l.l.s, but his lips made me stop. They were persuasive and warm and doing all the right things. The kind of lips that make you forget you're even kissing. I guess I did, because I stood there kissing him for minutes upon minutes, my leg c.o.c.ked and loaded but never making contact.

He stopped and looked at me. ”Am I forgiven?”

”Not even close,” I said. I could still taste his pizza and Pepsi, onions and sugar, on my lips.

We made out for the rest of my break standing like that, his hands grabbing the back of my head, the car's headlights reaching out on each side of us and into the night, like the arms of a star.

That is what I would take back. Not because of what happened that night, but because of everything that came after.