Part 4 (1/2)
”You okay?” she asks.
”Yeah.”
”Well, don't look now, but Carson is staring at you.”
I look, of course. It's a reflex, but I swing my gaze past him so that I don't seem to be looking at him specifically. Just taking in more of that beautiful window, I think. Who am I fooling? Kailie is right, though, he's staring right at me, not even trying to hide it.
”He found out you're Mormon, now he wants to add you to the harem,” says my friend.
”I am not Mormon.”
”But you're okay with the harem part?”
Here's how things work with our small horde of Mormons at the school. Carson is the only male. There are three girls who aren't related to him: LaDell, Wendy, and Rachel, and he has them on some kind of rotation. They take turns going with him to school dances, and the two girls without him as a date and his little sister, Chelsey, either go stag or don't go at all. It's beyond weird, and Kailie loves to joke about it.
”He's coming over.” Kailie shoots a withering look over my shoulder, and I know if that doesn't stop him dead in his tracks, nothing will. My best friend's looks are lethal.
Like a shadow in my peripheral vision, Carson steps over the bench and sits at our table. ”Hey,” he says.
I turn and smile at him. ”Hey.”
”So, did anything else happen with your brother?”
”No, not really. I haven't even gotten an email from him.” His email address is buried somewhere in my pockets full of paper sc.r.a.ps, receipts, and used tissues. It'd take a while for me to find it.
”But he's about to be released?”
”Released?” says Kailie. ”What, is a mission like prison?”
”It's just the term we use. Whenever you do any specific job for the Church we refer to that as a calling, and when you finish a calling, that's when you're released.”
”Mmm.” Her eyes glazed over after the third word.
Carson still gives her a speculative glance, though, before leaning in and saying to me, ”Listen, I'm sorry if I crossed a line, giving you scriptures and stuff.”
”It's all right.”
”I'm really bad at knowing what to say when people ask about my religion, and I guess you didn't really even ask.”
I look up at him.
Those stormy gray eyes are intent. Focused on me.
”It's fine, really.”
”I am not supposed to be this close to you,” says Kailie. ”My daddy told me not to talk to weirdo religious people.”
”You're religious people,” Carson retorts.
”Yeah, but I'm not a weirdo.”
”Speak for yourself. What'd you use to put on eye shadow today? A spatula?”
”Is it too over the top and daring for you?” She flutters here eyelashes and her eyelids are a pretty strong shade of purple, I have to admit. She makes it look fabulous.
”Well gee,” says Carson in a monotone. ”I find myself overcome with your stunning allure when you do that.”
She blows him a kiss.
He gives me a knowing, tolerant look and gets up to go.
That afternoon, as I pack my things at my locker, Jean-Pierre strides by without even a glance in my direction. I try not to stare after him. Let it go, I think. What's past is past.
Kailie dashes by with a, ”I have to get home in ten minutes or else,” hollered over her shoulder. I wave as if everything's fine with me.
At least, I think, this day is pretty much over.
That night, a tap at my window nudges me awake. I roll over and wait for it to come again. It might have just been a dream.
Tap-tap-tap.
I haul myself up to flip the latch, and then lay down again. ”Kail,” I say, once the window swings open, ”It's Monday night.”
”It's not Kailie.”
My eyes snap open. ”Jean-Pierre?”
”Yeah. Can I come in?”
”Sure.” I roll out of bed and hightail it to the bathroom. ”I'll be right back.”
When I return from brus.h.i.+ng my teeth and hair, I find him sitting on my bed. He looks up when I sit down next to him, and for a minute I don't know what to say.
”So...” he begins. ”You mad at me?”
”No.”
”You seemed kinda mad today at lunch.”
”I didn't think you even saw me.”
”That what made you mad?”
”It hurt my feelings.”
He presses his fingertips together and fidgets a moment. ”I know, we didn't really get to talk the other night. I like you, okay? But I'm not into the whole being a couple thing. The last time I had a girlfriend, it was constant drama. Even having a conversation like this, now, I hate this part. I wish we could just skip it.”
”Skip to what?”
He puts his arms around me and pulls me close. His skin is warm, through the thin cotton of his t-s.h.i.+rt. He nuzzles my nose and coaxes me in for a kiss. Warmth spreads inside me as we lock lips, but so does confusion. His palms slide over my s.h.i.+rt and he leans against me until we both lie down on my bed. The momentary panic I feel subsides quickly. He doesn't try to take off any of my clothes or anything, just kisses me and holds me close.