What You Always Wanted (25 page)

“I approved of the movie selection, don't worry,” Sarah says to me. “There are plenty of hot guys.”

“Oh, plenty of hot guys,” Brian mimics in a high-pitched voice.

Sarah laughs, but I give his shoulder a playful shove. A wide smile lights up his face. It's a nice smile. No dimples, but the freckles add something extra.

“Movie starts in five minutes,” Ryan says, handing out the tickets.

“Okay.” Sarah moves away from him and links arms with me. “Y'all go get the popcorn and we'll meet you at the door. We're going to the bathroom.”

“We are?” I ask.

She pulls me toward the guy who tears the tickets and on to the bathroom. We head straight for the mirrors, where Sarah removes her hood and fluffs her hair.

“I'm so glad you asked us to do something tonight, Mads,” she says, swiping strawberry ChapStick on her lips.

“Me too.” I take off my coat and fold it over my arm.

“Ry told me that Brian hasn't stopped talking about it all day.”

“Really?” Now I fluff my hair, separating some of the curls to make it look fuller. I'm getting pretty good with the styling wand.

She washes her hands, then raises her voice over the
whir
of the dryer. “He's been anxious to hang out with you outside of school, but wasn't sure if you'd go for it.”

“I didn't know that,” I say, retying my scarf. “He could have just asked.”

“Would you have said yes?” The dryer stops midsentence and her voice echoes off the tile walls.

I don't answer. Until Angela put the idea in my head, I don't know if I would have.

“And I have to say I'm a little surprised to see you flirting with him.” She crosses her arms and leans against the counter.

I swallow hard, worried I've been doing something wrong.

“Because we all sort of thought you had a thing going on with Jesse.”

My eyes widen, but I try to keep the physical reaction to a minimum. Nothing looks guiltier than enthusiastic denial. And he'd kill me if I snitched about our dancing practices.

“Nah,” I say, playing it cool. “We're neighbors, so he takes me home. And starting in January, I'll be riding home with Angela instead.”

“Hmmm. Okay,” she says with skepticism. “He'll be happy about that.”

“Jesse?”

“Brian. Duh.”

She leads me out and we meet up with the boys, each with a popcorn tub tucked under an arm and a cup in each hand.

“A lemon-lime
pop
for you,” Brian says, handing one of the cups to me.

Good memory. Another point.

“I like your hair like that,” he adds.

And another point. This might turn out to be a fun double-date thing after all.

The previews are already playing, and it's obvious right away that we're going to have to split up. Sarah and Ryan head to the other side, and Brian leads me up toward the top. The very back row.

“I'm glad we don't have to sit with them,” he whispers, taking the seat against the wall.

“Why?” My heart kicks into high gear as I imagine the sorts of things that typically go on in the back row of movie theatres on a Saturday night.

“All they're going to do is make out.” He leans in close. “And it's loud. I stopped going to movies with them a long time ago.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. We could have done something else.”

“Well, it's fine now that you're here.” He offers me a timid smile just as the lights dim the rest of the way, darkening his features.

I look around until I find the silhouettes of our friends a few rows down to the right. I should say “silhouette,” because they're practically one figure.

“Told you,” says a whisper at my neck.

The movie turns out to be one of those over-the-top superhero films, but I'm somewhat satisfied by the romance story line, so it keeps my attention. Though not enough to help me forget that Brian and I are sharing the same armrest. Or that his leg stretched out and touched mine ten minutes ago and he hasn't moved it.

I peek down to the dark blob that is Sarah and Ryan, and suffer through a twinge in my chest that might be akin to jealousy. I risk a glance at Brian out of the corner of my eye and turn my face fully toward him when I see that he's looking at me.

I have to strain to hear his whisper, but I'm fairly sure he says, “Would it be weird if I said I really wanted to kiss you right now?”

My mind chooses this moment to replay Jesse's kiss, my introduction to the world of kissing. That swirly feeling where your head goes numb and your toes tingle.

I liked it. And I want it again.

“You're supposed to feel it out,” I manage through wild panic and curiosity. “If the moment is right, it won't be weird.”

He laughs under his breath. “I only asked if it would be weird if I said I wanted to kiss you.”

“You're making it weird right now,” I whisper back, joining his laughter.

“Well, you already had the first kiss you were waiting for, so I figured I'm allowed now.”

The kiss I was waiting for . . . The soft glow of the orange lights overhead, the hay falling everywhere, the sailor suit. I'm not sure if it gets more perfect the more I relive it, or if it really was just the most romantic first kiss I could have dreamed up for myself. I think I'll have to count it.

Maybe I really am free to kiss whoever I want now.

My eyes dart to his lips. They're a little thinner than Jesse's but—no. I stop myself from comparing them. Jesse is not my boyfriend.

“So . . . what are you thinking?” Brian asks.

“I don't think it's weird,” I say.

His mouth twists into a pleased smirk. “Good.”

Given how anxious he was to make out back when we were rehearsing for the audition together, I expect him to just grab me and kiss me right away, but he doesn't. He clasps my hand resting on my leg and turns his attention to the screen.

A warm sensation spreads up my arm. No one's ever just sat and held on to my hand before, just to keep touching me. I'm not sure what to do. I lift my eyes back to the movie, but nothing registers. I hear nothing but my heart in my ears and see nothing but the image of our joined hands.

Then his grip tightens, and I know he's asking me to look at him. So I do. He studies me in the dim lighting, leaning
toward me. My eyes lock on his mouth as it gets closer and closer to mine.

This is happening. I'm about to be kissed. By Brian.

I stomp down that voice inside that says,
Don't do it! He's not the one!
and close my eyes. His other hand rests on my shoulder and pulls me gently forward until we kiss.

Nothing. I feel nothing.

It's just two sets of warm lips smashed against each other.

Brian leans away and we both stare at each other. Did he also feel nothing?

He smiles, which relieves some of my tension, and whispers, “Should we try that again?”

I let out a small laugh and nod, closing my eyes and pushing away that stupid little voice again. Only this time it's saying,
He's not Jesse.

I try to get into this one more, putting a hand behind his head and allowing him to deepen the kiss. But after a few seconds, his mouth stops moving, and we both open our eyes. I fight back laughter, but it comes out when I see him bite his lips.

He clears his throat. “That was weird, right?”

“Totally weird,” I say, eyebrows scrunched together. “I'm so sorry.”

He straightens in his seat. “No,
I'm
sorry! I shouldn't have forced it. I just thought—”

I squeeze his hand to stop him. “We both thought, Brian. It's fine. It really is.”

We laugh together, and I gulp down my Sprite, cooling my insides from the anticipation that had nowhere to go.

“Please don't hold this against me,” he says after a minute of staring blankly at the screen.

“I won't if you won't hold it against me.”

“Friends?”

I give his hand another squeeze, not ready to let go just yet. “Absolutely.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

As expected, there were no car keys under my tree this year. I shouldn't have let myself dream that my parents were just trying to fool me. My last hope is my birthday in February, which was the original agreement anyway, and a chunk of money to
help
me with a vehicle, like they helped Rider with his Camaro.

But I thought it would be different for me. Not only did they move me across the country halfway through my high school career, but I'm also their only daughter and the only child living at home, though I realize this won't necessarily be the case much longer.

I
understand
it, but that doesn't mean I'm happy about it.

At all.

And watching Ma
ooh
and
aah
over every little thing Dad gave her—a fancy gliding chair, baby bath toys, and the diaper bag he saw her petting in the store, to name a few of their
“necessities”—did nothing for me but cause my lip to curl in irritation.

Rider handled it all with maturity, but he made his fair share of remarks when we were alone. He especially liked to rub it in that he won't be around for babysitting and diaper duties.

I sort of wish he wasn't around today because he's decided to tag along with me to the New Year's Eve party tonight, even after I said I didn't need a brother-bodyguard. When I reminded him of the Halloween party disaster, he said that was exactly why he needed to come. Not really the response I was going for, because I know what's going to happen: I'm going to be the one who has to watch him extra closely to make sure he doesn't sneak off with any of my classmates for a midnight make-out session, not the other way around.

I finish curling my hair and go back to my bedroom to examine my appearance in the full-length mirror on my closet door. Black boots, leggings, long silver top, black sweater, red lips, and an extra teeny star drawn next to the usual one by my left eye. Not that I have anyone in particular to impress.

I turn to grab my coat from the doorknob and catch sight of my newest and most prized possession, proudly displayed on my dresser. A framed head shot of Mr. Gene Kelly,
autographed
.

A few days after Christmas, the girls and I held a special meeting of Teens for Classic Movies, which turned out to be just Angela, Tiffany, Sarah, and me—I guess we scared the other two potentials away last month. We watched
White Christmas
while feasting on sugar cookies and drinking through an entire
box of hot chocolate mix, then exchanged our meager gifts. We had set the limit at ten bucks each, because, well, we're broke, but they all chipped in and had Mrs. Morales help them find a legit autographed picture, just for me.

“Maddie!” Rider calls from down the hall. “You ready to walk over to the party?”

“One minute!”

I take Gene's photo out of the frame and gently smooth my hand over the surface. Chills run through me at the realization that Gene touched this very piece of paper as he signed his name in blue ink next to his own smiling black-and-white face. My eyes well up and threaten to spill over, but not because of that. Because I don't know how I got so lucky to find a group of friends who actually
get
me.

The type of New Year's Eve party I want to host one day will be a classically formal affair like in the old movies. The girls will wear fancy dresses with long white gloves, the guys will wear tuxes, we'll drink pop out of champagne flutes, eat a delectable catered dinner served by a waitstaff, and everyone will dance! Or maybe a themed party, the kind of extravagant fling Jay Gatsby would throw, and we could do the Charleston out on the lawn until the wee hours of the morning.

I told Angela my ideas when she was in planning mode, but she looked at me like I was crazy and said no one would ever come to anything like that. Normal teenagers want to wear jeans and eat bagel pizza bites and taquitos. So it's Angela's own fault she's stuck in the kitchen all night heating up frozen snacks
and keeping the chip bowls full while Sarah and I hang out with everyone else, listening to ski-trip stories and watching the festivities in New York on TV.