First Time for Everything (22 page)

“No problem.” I shrugged. “And it gets me out of civics early, so that’s a bonus.”

“After school tomorrow I’m going to make a poster, a collage, to have at our table for the Community Service Fair. Pictures from our different events, articles, statistics, you know, stuff like that. Do you want to give me a hand?”

I grimaced. “That’d be cool, but I can’t tomorrow. I have to catch the bus right away. Mom’s got a meeting out of town tomorrow, so she can’t pick me up if I stayed after. Just about any other day, though.” I clamped my mouth shut. It was bad enough I had to take the bus, but to babble about it like a kid?

“I can give you a ride.”

I broke free of the string of mental reprimands and stared at Jared. “What?”

“I can give you a ride when we’re done. You live out by the mall, right? I’m not too far from there. It wouldn’t be a problem.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Yeah, it’s cool. I could really use some help picking the pictures and designing the layout. It’ll be fun! I’ll meet you in the art room after last bell.” Jared clapped me on the back and turned down the math corridor before I could answer him.

M
R
. P
LESIOTIS
split us into six volleyball teams in gym class on Tuesday. I anticipated gym as much as I dreaded it. Gym meant Blake. Blake sweaty. Blake in shorts. Blake with a competitive gleam in those changeable eyes. But a ridiculous crush and mediocre athletic skills equaled a less than stellar performance in gym class. To top it all off, today Mr. Plesiotis put me on a team with Blake.

I was so busy focusing on Blake’s excellent ass (in front of me, displayed perfectly by Blake’s ready stance…
sigh
) that the other team’s first serve smacked straight into my face. Luckily, the person serving didn’t have much power. By the time the ball arched over the net and Blake’s head, it had almost zero velocity. I wished it had given me a bloody nose, at least. That way I could hide my embarrassment in the nurse’s office instead of facing five incredulous stares.

“Get your head in the game, Jackson!” A stocky junior named Alex-something-or-other glared at me from our server’s spot.

“Joey,” I corrected automatically.

“You okay?” Concerned green eyes met mine. Yep, Blake’s eyes were green today. That was so freaking unfair. I didn’t know what green meant!

“I’m good.” I faced the other team and waited for the next serve. This time, when the ball headed straight for my face, I stumbled back and bumped it closer to the net, where Blake spiked it over.

“Nice!” Blake slapped me on the back when we rotated position for our serve. Was it my imagination or did his hand linger a little longer than it should have?

Thirty minutes later I shoved my dirty clothes into my gym bag, then bent to tie my shoes. I had managed to make it through the rest of the class period without getting smacked in the face with a volleyball. I’d even managed to score a few points. All in all, I called it a decent showing.

“Johnny? Hey, Johnny?”

I turned at Blake’s voice, then looked around. Who was Johnny? I had my little alcove of lockers to myself. My heart sank. Stupid, girly phrase, but I swore I felt every thump and thud in my intestines instead of my chest.

“Joey,” I corrected.

“Huh?” Blake ran his hand through hair still damp from his shower. Jesus, he was hot.

“My name. It’s Joey.”

“Oh yeah, Joey.” He nodded at someone who walked past him. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

My calf muscle started to twinge, reminding me that I still bent over my foot to tie my shoelaces. I finished the last loop and stood straighter.

Blake’s now blue eyes returned to me. “So, anyway, I just wanted to say good job in there.”

“Oh, ah, thanks.” My mind was screaming like a tween girl at a One Direction concert.
Blake Richards talked to me!

He leaned against the bay of lockers and crossed one foot over the opposite ankle. “I saw you at the corn maze on Friday.”

My breathing picked up speed. This was it. He was going to tell me it was him in the maze. I wiped sweaty palms on my jeans. “Yeah. I was there.” Oh my God, kill me now.
I was there?
Had I completely forgotten how to have a conversation?

“Right. So I was going to ask you—” He cut off midsentence when one of his buddies yelled at him to hurry up. “Just a minute!” His fascinating eyes met mine.
Evil bastard. So not fair.
“Can I get your number? I have something to ask you about, and I don’t have time now. Can I call you later?”

My voice didn’t work—sudden evaporation of all mouth moisture made talking tough—so I simply nodded. He handed over his phone, and I quickly added my contact information. He dipped his head at me and jogged to catch up with his buddy when I finished.

“Y
OU
CAN
’
T
really think that Blake Richards is the one who kissed you in the corn maze. Do you?”

I glared at Carter. “You don’t have to make it sound like it’s completely outside the realm of possibilities.”

“You don’t even know if he’s gay. There aren’t even any rumors suggesting it.”

“He’s never dated a girl that we know of.”

“He hasn’t dated a boy, either.”

“He asked for my phone number! That has to mean something.”

“Has he called you?”

“I don’t know.” My shoulders hunched, and I slunk back into the chair opposite Carter. We sat at a small study table in the back corner of the library during study hall. “I lost my phone, remember? I called the maze people on Sunday, but no one turned it in. They said they’d keep an eye out for it, but I think I’m probably screwed. My mom is not a happy woman right now.”

“I don’t want to piss in your corn flakes or anything, but he probably needs help with his homework or wants you to sign a petition or something.”

Just because Carter was probably right didn’t mean I had to like it. I chewed on the cap of my pen and stared unseeing at my physics text.

“Who else is on your list?” Carter asked.

I didn’t have to ask what list he referred to. I pulled the little notebook out of my backpack and tossed it at him. He flipped to the right page. “So these are all the guys who were at the maze that fit what you noticed at the time?”

It wasn’t a long list. Only four people left on it. A few others had been considered but crossed off. Carter recalled that Jimmy Weber hadn’t worn a coat that night, just a flannel shirt, and I distinctly recalled gripping a coat for dear life during the kiss. Adam March, upon closer inspection, towered over me by six inches at least, so he was too tall to be my mystery man. Which left four names. Blake, Jared, Max Newton, and Jesse Stewart.

“What about Jared?” Carter asked.

“What about him?”

“Maybe he’s the one who kissed you. We lost him for a while at the end of the maze, so it totally could have been him.”

“I don’t know.” Jared was nice enough. A little intense sometimes. A little focused. Hot. I just couldn’t picture him going out of his way to give
me
a fantastic birthday kiss.

“And let’s not forget we know he’s gay, so, unlike Max Newton, who’s so narrow-minded he’d piss in public before even thinking about a boy that way, Jared actually
likes
kissing guys.”

“Jared wouldn’t have to sneak around kissing people in corn mazes. I’m pretty sure any gay guy—and even many straight girls—would jump at the chance to make out with him. And he’s out, so he’d have nothing to hide.”

“Maybe he was afraid you wouldn’t be interested in him. He’s probably seen the way you moon over Blake.”

“I do not—” Okay, maybe I did moon over Blake, but nobody except Carter would notice. Right? “That’s not the point. I need to figure out who kissed me in the maze.” And if it was Blake, all the better.

“You could just ask each of them.”

“Yeah, that’d be a great conversation.
Did you kiss me on Friday?
Who says stuff like that? Maybe, just for kicks, I could add
Do you want to?
”

Carter rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying if you really want to know, you should ask.”

I banged my head on the thick physics book. “Ugh! You are so not helping.”

Since Carter was useless, I decided to focus on my physics homework instead. Study hall was my last period for the day, and I was meeting Jared after class to make some kind of collage. When the bell rang, I tossed my stuff into my bag and jogged to my locker. Posters or collages or whatever in the art room might not be my thing, but I’d been looking forward to it. I’d been thinking about Jared a lot the last couple of days. Not the way I thought about Blake, though. Not obsessively. I wasn’t going to start logging Jared’s shirt colors or memorizing his class schedule.
And, oh my God, could I be any more of a stalker?

At least I was able to talk around Jared. Blake made me all tongue-tied.

I spun the combination on my locker and opened it, ready to grab my coat so I could get moving, but a padded manila envelope sat on the top shelf. An envelope, moreover, I had not put there. I lifted the parcel, testing the weight. Pretty sure no one would put anything dangerous in my locker, I tore open the package. The last thing I expected to find was my phone.

I pulled the smart phone out of the envelope and looked it over. It was clean; no dirt or leaf gunk marred the matte surface. I pushed the power button and grinned when my background image and icons loaded. “Nice.”

Someone must have found it since Friday night. But how would they know it was mine and take the time to return it? And why sneak it into my locker? They could have dropped it off with the maze people. I’d left them my mom’s phone number to contact if anyone turned it in. The little icon in the corner indicated that the phone was fully charged too. So not only had someone rescued it, they’d taken the time to clean it up and plug it in.

I sent a quick text to Carter.
I found my phone in my locker!!!

Carter’s reply came almost instantly.
?!?!?!

I took a picture of the padded envelope and sent it to him.

Was there a note?

Note? I checked the envelope and dug through the random bits of stuff filling the top shelf. I typed
No.  :(

I didn’t wait for a reply. I tucked my phone into my pocket, grabbed my coat, and crossed the school to the arts wing. Jared had already set up the supplies we’d need. There was a large trifold display board, a stack of magazines, a box of photos, scissors, colored papers of different thicknesses and patterns, a bundle of GSA pamphlets, stencils, and a few other things I didn’t recognize.

“Hey, you’re here.” Jared looked up from the sketch pad in front of him. He grinned in welcome even as he tucked a pencil behind his ear and closed the sketch pad. “Here’s what I’m thinking.”

I set my coat and backpack down and planted myself on the stool next to him as he outlined his vision. I’d only ever seen him in the halls or in GSA meetings. Never in his artistic element. Here, his hands danced expressively as he talked, drawing shapes and ideas in the air, and words and images tumbled from his mouth. He demonstrated something with tissue paper and newsprint—something to do with adding texture and depth to the poster—and I realized I hadn’t been paying attention to his words. I’d been too caught up in
how
he said what he said, not in
what
he said.

“What do you think?” Jared stopped talking and watched me with raised brows.

“It sounds great. But, I’m not very artistic. I can follow directions, though. Just tell me what to do.”

We soon learned that I couldn’t cut a straight line to save myself, so Jared did all the cutting and designing. Mostly I did the gluing and watched as Jared turned random bits of paper and images into a masterpiece. “You really didn’t need any help with this, did you?” I asked as I stuck a square of construction paper with a helpline phone number on top of a yellow starburst. The result was somehow more than it should have been—the bright edging appeared like a halo of hope around the number.

The whole collage was a message of hope and acceptance. To come up with something like that, to envision it and create it out of scraps, was an amazing thing. It made me feel boring with my affinity for lists and logs.

“Everything’s better with company.” He bowed his head, focusing on the design in front of him, something with chalk and a brick-patterned rectangle of cardstock. Was that a hint of pink on his cheeks? It couldn’t be. Jared wasn’t the kind of guy to blush.

It turned out Jared and I had more in common than the GSA. Both our fathers had disappeared from our lives when we were little. Both were raised by practical, straightforward moms. From the sound of it, his mom didn’t quite understand his creative side and was often confused by his artistic expression, but she made the effort. I, on the other hand, was a mini-me of my mother. Practical, straightforward. Just look at my dealings with Blake. Granted, obsessing about a boy wasn’t very practical, but I tracked and analyzed data (eye color could be considered data, right?). I had no doubt I’d end up following Mom into a job in accounting.

It surprised me how easy Jared was to talk to. I’d always viewed him as something
other
. Impressive but way out of my league. Too cool for a kid like me. But he wasn’t, or, more accurately, he didn’t act like he thought himself above anyone. He could talk geek with the best of them—he certainly knew more than I did about
Doctor Who
—and he even played some of the MMORPG games Carter and I devoted hours to every weekend.

“So,” Jared said as we cleaned up after finishing the collage, “did you do anything special for your birthday last weekend.”

Wham!
I’d managed to forget all about the kiss and the mystery and Blake’s possible involvement. The minute Jared asked, though, my face burned, and I relived every second of that moment in the maze.

A smile as broad as the moon crossed his face. “Oh-ho! What’s that all about?”