First Kiss (4 page)

I look up as he smiles down on my lips, "Can I just kiss
you?"

The thing I am makes me shake my head before I really even
think about it. "Aren't you at least a little scared?"

"I'm more scared of never doing this." His eyes are
lit up with passion, staring down on my mouth. It almost feels like he’s
kissing me. I feel vulnerable and scared just as the wind arrives.

It’s a cold wind.

It’s always cold.

It blows through the room and chills us all. We stop dancing
and look over at the two girls struggling with the front door. The wind is
trying to get to me. It wants me safe. I take the warning to heart. The reality
of it all crashes in on me. I blush and pull away, giving Lune a look. She’s at
my side in an instant, "We should get going. See ya 'round, Sam." She
says it in a singsong voice and drags me away.

I look back at him. He looks confused. He’s doing the math in
his head. No doubt coming to the obvious conclusion, that I caused the wind.

As Lune drags me out of the party, I catch a glimpse of the
grey eyes from the corner. He gives me a look I will never forget. It breaks my
heart and makes my stomach cringe all at once, and I don’t even know why. The
look is almost like he is saying I told you so. Like he knew it would happen.

Once we’re outside, the wind dies down after about a minute.
Lune straightens her hair and glances around, "Spooky, Lynnie."

I give her a grave look
,
“I didn’t make it windy.
The door came open.”

She laughs, “I know that.” She drags me to the car. Sarah and
Maggie come running out after us. Sarah has my guitar.

"Where's Jenny?"

Maggie laughs, "She isn’t coming."

Lune opens the door, "Slut."

We laugh and try to let it all be nothing, but my heart is
racing and I feel lightheaded. I look out the window at the dark night as we
drive to my place and know it was something.

Maggie mutters, "Bastion was hot, huh? But kind of
sleazy, I think." I glance back to see her wagging her eyebrows.

I make a face, "What?"

She nods, "You guys must have noticed the way he was
eyeing all the girls up."

"I don’t know about that. I never saw him doing
that." I want to say "to anyone else" but I leave that part out.

Lune nudges me, "What was up with you and Sam?"

I shake my head, "I don’t know."

Sarah leans forward, "Did he kiss you as the wind
started?"

I roll my eyes, "No. That’s stupid."

She shrugs and looks out the window, "You know that’s
what they're gonna say."

I can't fight the pained expression as it hits my face.
"I know."

Lune squeezes my leg, "Don’t listen to them, Lynnie. You
did nothing wrong."

I turn back around and watch the dark night roll past us.

Maggie squeezes my shoulders through the gap between the door
and the seat, "She's right." Her hand on me almost makes me believe
it.

It doesn’t matter though. It doesn’t matter how much I ignore
it or how much I pretend it isn’t true, I’m a Lake. Everyone knows what that
means.

Lune drops me off and I run up the old vine-covered path
quickly. I walk through the door quietly and set my guitar next to the stairs.
I put the fifty
bucks,
I get every week for singing,
on the desk.

"What you been at, girl?" The haggard, mean, old
voice slips through the dark hallway. "Huh? Where you been?"

I flinch and wait for the pain. I’m tight everywhere. I never
know where she’ll hit first. The hallway is too dark to see her. I shake my
head with a twitch and whisper, "Nowhere. Out with Lune after I made the
money."

"You little slut. You're just like your momma.” It’s like
she’s stuck on repeat. She only ever says about seven sentences and she’s just
said four of them. She thinks my mom was evil; she doesn’t factor in that her
son was the Lake family member. My mother’s last name was something I don’t
recall.

Pain hits in my belly first. I double over and heave as her
fist hits. I turtle and let her kick me. I close my eyes and wrap my fingers
around my head with my chin tucked. Her old boots stomp and kick until she’s
tired. It never lasts long. I taste my own blood in my mouth. My cheek stings
where she’s managed to get a boot in. My teeth hurt.

She spits at me. I tremble and let her. I always let her. I
deserve every strike. She and I both know it. That, and I have nowhere else to
go. My father's will demanded I stay with her until my nineteenth birthday, or
I wouldn’t get my inheritance on my twentieth birthday. That is freedom.

Chapter Two

The dark night has a magical feeling. Even if I don’t believe
in magic, my face is swollen, and I’m exhausted, the night still feels like
magic to me. A boy I have always
liked,
told me he
liked me. Nothing Mary does can take away from that.

Once she kicks my ass, my grandmother always goes to bed. She
watches TV infomercials and smokes. I have always wished long and hard for her
to fall asleep with the smoke in her mouth and burn the house down. Then I
could be free. Even if I were dead, I would be alive for the first time.

I am so sick of being a Lake. For me death seems like an out,
but being a girl it’s unlikely I will be the one to die. The curse doesn’t care
about who has the Lake blood, only that there is love in a heart. The man
always dies, always.
Even when he is the Lake.
Being a
girl I
must either
escape my curse, live a life
separate of love, or kill myself.

Killing myself has never really been an option.

I sit in the window and wait for the only thing that matters.
Nothing matters—not the Lakes or the curses or the pain—just her. I
wait for the moment I can sense Rosie. I don’t always feel her, but when I do,
it’s
like
the noise and pain in the world stands still
for her.
For us.

The wide window seat is the only place in the world I can
still feel her. It isn’t like her ghost is there, but maybe a stain. She died
in the house and I always prayed
   
she would haunt it—me.
She never did though, not properly, but I will take her anyway I can get her. A
whisper in the wind on a window seat is better than nothing at all. The whisper
happened the first night after she died. I had sat in the window crying for
twenty-four hours straight, when suddenly it was there.
A
whisper on the wind.
The wind that had taunted and provoked
me,
brought me something amazing.

I can only hope that it comes tonight so I have someone to
tell about Sam. I gaze at my reflection in the window and notice something,
movement down on the street. I frown and squint, willing my eyes to focus that
far. A figure stands under a lamppost across the road. It doesn’t move, not at
first. It stands there, leaning against the lamppost, as if daring me to look
out at it or pretending to be part of the lamppost. But I have sat in that
window a long
time,
I know what the shape of the
lamppost is.

My heart is racing as I open my window more and lean out into
the cool air. The wind is there, but it doesn’t smell like Rosie. It's
something else.

I almost slam the window shut when the figure walks toward me,
but when I recognize him, I’m more worried about hiding my fleece pajamas than
I am him harming me.
I duck in the window and whisper harshly
with only my face poking out.
"What are you doing?"

Bash shakes his head and whispers back, "I had a bad
feeling. I was falling asleep and then suddenly I saw you. You were crying and
hurting, and I had to see you."

I cock an eyebrow, "You’re psychic?" I regret asking
it right away.

"No, were you screaming and hurting?" He looks
confused. “I had to be sure. I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

How do I answer that? I shake my head, "I'm fine,
so
you can go." My stomach’s freaking out. Does he have
visions, like a preacher? Did he see me getting my ass kicked by the mean old
lady who I have four months, three days, and eleven hours left with?

He hops over my fence and stumbles into the yard through the
weeds and dead grass. We truly do have the worst yard in the whole town. I
accidentally giggle, watching him trip and cuss about the state of the yard. He
is making an awful racket. I glance back at the door to my room. If Mary comes
in, she’ll beat the hell out of me . . . in front of him. I wave my hands,
"Please go."

He jumps onto the porch and climbs with ease to the roof, to
where my window is. I gasp and notice how cold the air is suddenly.

I should scream and push him off. I don’t even know him. Hell,
Brandon doesn’t even know him. But something about him makes me feel like I
remember secrets about myself that I like. Even when he was glaring at me, I
felt like he knew me.

He climbs right to me, boldly. He grabs the frame of the window
and smiles at me. He is forceful and in my space, but I’m not afraid of him. It
is like my sanity flew right out with the breeze.

"Hi," he whispers, like he has done something he
does every night—like it's no big deal. He looks around, "This is a
nice house you have here." His sarcasm is duly noted.

I laugh and cover my face to muffle the noise. I turn and
tiptoe to the door and lock it. I slide my chair up against it and under the
knob, just in case, and creep back to him. “You shouldn’t be here, this is
super creepy. No offense, but it is.”

"None taken. I agree. Why are you limping?" he
notices.

My eyes widen as I struggle with my exhausted brain for an
answer, "I twisted my ankle on the way up the stairs." I whisper my
lie. I've done it for so long, I don’t even know how to tell anyone the truth.

He reaches in the window and grabs my hand, "Your
face." He brushes a warm hand against my cheek. I don’t even have a
response for that. I stand there, frozen. His warm hand against my cheek is the
most amazing feeling. I should push him off of the roof but I don’t.

When the shock leaves, I shake my head. My eyes must look
dreadful because he shakes his head, "I won't say anything to anyone. Just
tell me who."

I glance back at the door nervously, "She doesn’t mean
it. She's old and scared."

He frowns, "Of what? You're a small girl. Do you fight
back?"

I bite my lip and sit on the window seat, “I don’t want to
talk about it. Why are you here?”

He’s so
close,
I can almost taste him
in the air. His smell is refreshing and makes my heart swirl and flutter about
in my chest. Those stormy-grey eyes have me in their clutches. “Do you fight
back?”

I sigh, shaking my head and whisper, "I deserve it."
I've never told anyone that before, and I don’t know why I told him.

He looks pained, like he had earlier. He brushes his warm hand
across my cheek again, "Never say that again. No one deserves to be hurt
by the person who is supposed to protect them." He looks like he regrets
saying it instantly. I don’t know what to do or say.

I look down, "She's old and confused. She doesn’t mean it
the way you think she does. I don’t really want to talk about it. You shouldn’t
be here." My words are hoarse. He’s killing me inside. I can feel too many
things all at once.

He tilts my chin. His grey eyes take me hostage again. "I
had to see you again. I knew I couldn’t wait until morning."

Heat fills my face, “You don’t even know me, and to be honest,
you were a jerk to me at Sam’s.”

“I was worried about you.” He gives me a smile like he might
say something else, but he doesn’t. I swoon almost but then common sense comes
rushing in. I cock an eyebrow and pull back.

He tilts his head, "What was that? That face you just
made?" He is mocking me, I think.

I cross my arms over my red and white striped fleece pajamas,
"What face?"

He points, "The one where you were looking all sweet and
then you changed and pulled back, like you were shutting me off. What happened?
What were you thinking?"

"That you think because I'm poor white trash that I'm
easy. You think I'll let you in the window and make your trip to visit your new
cousin exciting."

Amusement crosses his face in a wave starting at his eyes,
"What?" He grins.

"You city boys are all the same." I wave a finger at
him.

He crosses his arms too and balances on the roof perfectly,
"So that makes you country girls all the same?” He grabs the window again
and shakes his head, "I'm not like that. I would at least get to know you
a little before making my expectations known."

I gasp and smack his hand, "Ass." We are flirting
and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

He chuckles but it’s dry and detached. His words make the
butterflies in my stomach dance. “Why do you live with her if she’s mean to
you? Why don’t you leave?”

I shake my head, “I have to.
She's old
,
she needs the help
. Plus, I have to save up money. My
father's will says I have to stay with her until the year I am turning nineteen
too, or I get nothing. My father was worried about her because his father died
so young. He wanted to be sure that we would help her out.
She
doesn’t charge me rent
,
I live here for free
.
"

He grimaces, “Doesn’t sound free to me.”

I want to tell him it’s the only place I can feel Rosie, but I
don’t. I just shrug, “I’ll be gone soon enough.” And I will never be back.

“When I met you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You sang
and it felt like going home. You know what I mean?”

I shake my head.

He stares at my mouth when he speaks, “This is weird. Don’t
you think it’s weird? To meet someone and they feel like home instantly?” He
watches me, speaking after a minute, "You aren’t how I imagined you would
be.”

I grin teasingly, "I don’t know why you would have been
imagining me.”

He looks shocked, “I mean, when I met you at the party,
tonight. I imagined you were different than this—fleece pajamas and
swollen lips.”

I shrug, “I’m not what everyone in this town thinks. The only
people who see me are my friends, and Sam.”

He watches me, waiting for something. "The big dumb
jock?"

I smile, "Yup and nope. He isn’t dumb. He had a very high
GPA. He goes to Harvard."

He looks down and sighs, "Look at you gushing. All you
small-town girls go for that big jock type, don’t you?”

I look at his hand, gripping the sill of the window and nod.
"I guess we do." It's weird he says
that,
‘cause he's big himself, just more lean.

He looks up like he’s trying to attack me with his grey eyes.
I frown, "Why are you here, for real?"

He shakes his head, "I don’t know." He says it like
he truly doesn’t know. He stands up as if coming out of a daze, "See you
tomorrow, Erralynn." He climbs off the roof and jumps onto the grass.

I watch him until I can't see him, and even then, I don’t want
to leave the windowsill, terrified I might miss a glimpse of him. I forget
about Rosie and just watch the road where he walked away.

I feel like I've been wafted over by fairy dust, like it's
all fake
. I can’t be this lucky, not now. Not after so many
years of unlucky. First Sam and now Bastion . . . it’s weird like he says, but
I do feel like he’s home in some ways.

The next day as I get ready for work and school, I forget
about the many things that usually plague me. I pull out my cutest brown mini
skirt, knee-high, dark-brown riding boots, a pale-yellow,
three-quarter
sleeve
shirt, and a teal scarf. Clothes I bought with the singing tips I
hide from Mary.

I step back and look at myself.
More dressed
up than normal, and less small town, hopefully.
I look hipster and cute.
My red hair is smoothed but still wavy. My blue eyes are bluer against the
scarf and my skin looks peaches-and-cream pink, instead of pale. My few
freckles that are spattered across my nose don’t look so obvious. They’re
always faded in the spring. My summer glow is long gone by winter and I stay
pale until summer. I look like her, and I know that is what Mary hates the most
about me. I vaguely recall my mother, but I know I am identical to her.

I look at the chair against the door and gulp. My makeup is
heavier to cover the bruises from the night before. I just hope the one on my
cheek isn’t too noticeable.

I try to feel brave, but I’m anxious. I want so badly to see
him; I have a feeling I would let her do anything to me, just to get to school
and see him. Not like the other days when I’ve hid in my room and wished I'd
died that night too.

I look at my calendar and nod. Four months, ten days, and
twenty-three hours. It isn’t so long. I've lived through years. I can do
months.
Especially with Bastion in town and Sam home from
school.
They are both excellent distractions. I glance back at the window
where he had sat and take a deep breath as I pull the chair away. I turn the
knob and brace for it. She isn’t there. My nerves are on edge.

I peek ahead out into the dark hall. I don’t smell her smoke.
I tremble as I turn the lock on my door before I close it and take my first
steps down the hall.

I wait for it.

The suspense is enough to kill me. I gulp as I reach the
stairs. Sometimes she likes to surprise me, keep me on my toes. I look behind
me. She isn’t there. I slip down the stairs and bolt for the door.

My fingers grip the lock.

I almost scream as I rip the door open and fly down the front
stairs to the path.

"Have a good day at work, honey,” she speaks sweetly. I
look over at her watering the weeds in her nightgown. I freeze and wait for a
knife to be thrown or for her to turn the hose on me, or instead of water, she
douses me in gas and lights a match.

She smiles and waters and I don’t know what to do.

"Bye, Mary," I speak softly. I turn and sprint up
the road. My feet ache. My boots aren’t really running shoes, but I am
terrified. I get a block before I can comprehend that she was pretending to be
nice to add a little twist for the morning. I nod and add that to the list of
things that she is capable of. I assumed she was too old for guile, but I guess
not.

It scares me more.