Who I Kissed (9 page)

On Friday night, I pull the car up to the address Casper gave me, a little surprised by the freakin’ mansion-ness of his home. It’s about the size of three houses and is built across a ridge, so the view of the mountains behind it is amazing. It’s even more gorgeous this time of year, with the reds and oranges on the trees. I turn off the ignition and sit in silence for a moment, studying the huge house, trying to imagine living in it.

Finally, I grab my backpack and close the car door behind me. The age and condition of our car suddenly seems kind of embarrassing. As I walk, my boots crunch over leaves from the many trees on the lot. Raking must be a full-time job. Trees line both sides of a back yard that includes a full-size tennis court that seems small in the surroundings.

I don’t want to be intimidated or impressed by the sheer size and cost of the house. Money shouldn’t make people seem better than those who don’t have as much, but it’s hard to remember that while staring up at such a majestic building. I feel like I’m wearing a ratty bathing suit in a room full of girls in expensive prom dresses.

Inhaling deeply, I focus on the slightly sweet scent of decaying leaves drifting to the ground to rot in the gusts of wind. The little girl inside me wants to stretch my arms out and twirl around. It’s my favorite time of year, even though it means that the dampness and cold of winter is around the corner.

I think how Alex will never have the luxury of a gray, soulless, cloudy day, and I close my eyes and breathe in and out through my nose slow and deep, the way Bob’s been teaching me.

“You okay?” a voice calls.

I open my eyes and see Casper looking tiny in the doorway of the house, especially from the long brick driveway where I’m standing. I realize he must have been looking out the window, watching for me. Seen me hesitating.

“Come on,” he yells. I scramble up the driveway, walking fast, but it takes a long time to reach him.

He smiles and flicks his hair as I approach, and I push at my braid as the wind whips it into my mouth.

“Wow,” I manage, wanting to pretend I’m cool and used to this. “Wow,” I repeat, not able to pull it off.

“Yeah. What can you do?” He lifts his shoulder as his gaze goes from one side of his house to the other. “My parents invested in technology back in the nineties and got out just in time. You should see my mom’s house, where I live the other half of my time.” He grins and makes a silly face, and it’s slightly charming. Some of my unease fades. “They have a competition going.” He holds the door for me. I step inside and am reminded of fancy museums. The entranceway has huge ceilings, tile floors, and lots of echoic space. There are no framed family pictures or even piles of books or bills on end tables. It’s spotless and organized and makes me want to whisper, like a show home for pretend people who never make messes.

I slip my shoes off and adjust my backpack strap on my shoulder, wishing I’d worn something a little fancier than yoga pants and a hoodie. Casper has on jeans and a polo shirt. I guess this is his casual look.

“You mind working upstairs?” he asks. “In my room?”

“Um. No.” I look around, expecting his parents to come out to meet me.

“My dad and stepmom aren’t home,” he supplies. “They’re at a party.”

“Oh.”

“Poor little rich boy,” he says. “Left all alone.”

I’m not sure where to look or what to say.

“Don’t look so sad, Sam, I’m just kidding.” He laughs. “And Theresa is here.”

I don’t ask who Theresa is, assuming she’s a maid or cook or something.

“You’re quite safe, don’t look so uneasy.”

“It’s just that your house is so…”

“Big?” he supplies.

“Yeah. That. And…”

“Expensive?” he says.

I nod again, trying to shake off my feelings of inadequacy.

“It’s just a house.” He waves his hand at the vast hallway that leads to a spiral staircase. “Theresa promised to bring up some food and drinks in a while. She wants to check you out.”

“Who’s Theresa?” Curiosity gets the better of me as he leads me down a huge hallway, past a dining room with dark wooden chairs lining each side and a fancy table with vases of fresh flowers on them.

“Family,” he says as we reach a huge spiral stairway.

“Wow,” I say again, and we tromp up the stairs and weave down another long hall, past a couple of closed doors, and then he leads me into his bedroom. I step inside and glance around. It’s the size of our entire top floor at home, and it’s nothing like I’d expect a boy’s room to look. No posters of rock bands or girls in bikinis, no clothes on the floor. There’s nothing personal about this room either. It could belong to anyone. For some reason, it makes me a little sad for Casper.

The floor is dark wood, and there’s a king-size bed on the opposite end from the door. It’s covered by a comforter with gray and black geometric shapes that looks fluffy and pricey. To the far right is an archway leading to a bathroom that makes Dad’s look like a dollhouse. The curtains on his window match the comforter. I’ll bet it’s the work of a professional designer. I think of my own room, with posters of Rebecca Soni and the Olympic Swim Team on the wall and my bulletin board of swimming awards. Clothes piled everywhere. Mayhem.

Casper points to the left, where there’s a sitting area with two black leather couches and, pressed against the wall, an office desk. It’s perfectly neat, with a laptop on it.

“Cool spread,” I say trying to sound like the coldness and sheer size are wonderful.

“You get used to it.” His voice is nonchalant.

“So,” he says and points to a couch. “
1984
. You need to plug in?”

“Yes.” I slip my laptop out of my backpack, and he points to an outlet. I plug in and sit. While the machine I’ve had since middle school is firing up, I glance around. Casper pulls his Mac from the desk, moves to the couch, and puts his feet up on the coffee table.

“We’re going to ace this thing,” he says.

I don’t respond, but I want to ask him if working with me and getting a good grade is more important to him than Alex’s memory.

A light tapping behind us startles me.

A striking woman steps into the room, holding a tray. Or is she a girl? It’s impossible to tell her age, and I stare at her, because it’s weird to have such a beautiful person breathe the same air as me.

“Hi, Theresa,” Casper doesn’t look up as he types something on his keyboard. “This is Samantha Waxman. Samantha. This is Theresa.”

“Hello, Samantha.” Her mouth widens, but her eyes don’t smile. She glides forward and places a tray on the coffee table between us. She’s brought us four cans of soda and one plate of oversized muffins, and another plate with an assortment of fruit.

“Sam,” I manage, but her beauty steals my ability to say more.

“Casper said you were very smart. He didn’t mention you were pretty too.”

My cheeks warm. Me pretty? She could be on the cover of
Vogue
.

“I would have said she was pretty, but you’d accuse me of being shallow. Again. I like Sam for her brains. Her looks are merely a bonus.” His voice is affectionate and teasing. “And stop giving away all my secrets.”

“Not all of them, Casper,” she says, talking as if he’s a little boy, but one she’s fond of. “The muffins are nut free,” she says, and I realize she knows exactly who I am.

“Don’t make a mess, you know how Mavis gets.” She smiles at me. “Not you. Casper. He’s a slob.” She smiles again, but it’s not warm. “I’m going out,” she says, and slips out the door, leaving a floral scent in the air.

“I am not a slob,” he calls, but she’s gone. Based on his room, I’d have to agree. He looks at me. “I’m actually pretty clean. I mean, for a guy, you know. Not a neat freak or anything”

I hold in a smile. It’s kind of funny that he’s defending himself both about not being a slob and about being a slob. As if he can’t decide which one is worse.

“Theresa is beautiful,” I say and eye the muffins. Even if she’s not tactful. My appetite is returning. I’m not sure it’s a good thing, but I’m starving.

Casper lifts a shoulder and gestures to the tray. “Take one.”

“You said she’s a relative?”

“Long story. Kind of a sister.” Casper grabs a muffin, takes a bite, and brushes his crumbs to the floor. He glances down and bends to pick them up, then looks at me, straightens his back, and sits up, leaving them on the floor. I notice him look down again, but he doesn’t touch them. It’s none of my business what his messed-up relationship with crumbs is.

I pluck a muffin from the tray, rip off a chunk, and wolf it down. Casper watches me and grins. “You eat. Another thing I love about you.”

I chew, suddenly self-conscious, and the muffin lumps up in my throat. “You love that I eat?” I ask.

“Well. You know. Most girls are all, ‘oh I can’t eat that, I’m on a diet.’” His high-pitched voice goes even higher imitating a girl. “When they weigh, like, ten pounds. You don’t pretend not to like food.”

I shrug, not wanting to think about the reason I’ve always been able to throw back a lot of food. Swimming burns a lot of calories.

“I like a lot of things about you,” he says.

Whoa, this boy has guts. His forwardness unnerves me. I can tell I’m not the love of his life or anything, but he’s good at flirting. I put the muffin on the tray, take a can of soda, and pop the lid, rationalizing what is happening. Casper is cute. He’s being nice to me, but I’m definitely not crazy over him either. Not like with Zee. I swallow, wondering about attraction and how it works. Why Zee? What decides who people fall for? Is it only based on looks? Personality? Or is there some connection in previous lives, like Aunt Allie believes?

“So are you back to swimming yet?” Casper asks.

I put the soda down. “No.”

“Why not?”

“What about you?” I ask instead of answering. “What’s your sport?”

“I play football, but I dislocated my shoulder.” He rubs it, moving his fingers in a circular motion. “I need to get back, especially for college applications. Ivy League calls. Oh. I also do some free running. With Zee and Alex.”

I stiffen as if he’s thrown cold water in my face.

“Sorry,” he says softly. He gets up and sits beside me on the couch. “Sometimes I still forget about Alex.”

I keep my gaze down, refusing to look at him. “I don’t know how you can be nice to me.” I focus on the coffee table and blink and blink and blink.

“It was an accident.” His leg presses up against mine. It’s muscular, but mine is too and almost bigger than his. “He’s not the kind of guy who would want you to suffer because of it.” His voice is almost a whisper. “I mean, he wasn’t.”

“Under the circumstances, he might.” I sniff, and my nose accidentally drips. It should be mortifying but, how can I really care?

“No. He wouldn’t,” he says. He gets up and snags a box of Kleenex that I can’t help notice matches his décor. I try to wipe up the mess on my face as best as I can. My eyes aren’t leaking, but my nose makes up for it.

He sits down on the couch, but not so close he’s touching me this time.

“It was really bad luck,” Casper says softly.

“Luck? I only kissed him to—” I stop, realizing I’m about to say something I’ll regret later. “I’m a mess,” I point out, but it’s not like he didn’t notice that already.

“Why did you kiss him?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head. I won’t admit the truth.

“Alex thought you had a thing for Zee,” he adds.

I crumple into myself a bit. Shake my head. “Zee hates me.”

Casper slides closer and puts his arm around me and pulls me close. “Zee is kind of an ass. He’s pissed at everyone right now. Don’t let him get to you.”

Yeah, and I’m at the top of his hate list. Casper slides his hand under my chin and turns my head toward him. His fingers are strong, but I move my chin away. I can only imagine how blotchy my skin looks. Red eyes. Red nose. A beauty queen.

“What happened to Alex was awful. But it was awful for you too.”

I stare down at the box of Kleenex.

“You know, it easily could have been any one of us. I mean, obviously the guys wouldn’t be kissing Alex, but I know we’ve had nuts and stuff around him before. We could have, you know, touched him or something. Same thing could have happened.”

“But it didn’t.” I stare at my lap.

Casper reaches over and takes my hand. “Seriously. Even Chloe doesn’t blame you. Not really.”

“You talked to Chloe about me?” I cringe, imagining what she might have said.

“She doesn’t hate you. She actually kind of feels bad for you.”

I let out a breath of air. “If I were her, I would hate me.”

He leans back, sinking into the thick leather cushions. “It’s complicated, I give you that.” An expression I don’t recognize crosses his face. Pity? “Did you know the coroner ordered an autopsy?”

The image makes me sick to my stomach. “Why?”

He shrugs again. “I guess because of the way he died. Chloe said it’s common in a sudden death.”

I let it sink in, but the image is so horrible I shiver and wrap my arms around myself.

Casper taps the couch with his fingers. “You want some free advice?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Talk to Chloe. It might be good for both of you.”

He leans over to the table, picks up a Coke, and chugs it.

“I don’t want to make it worse.”

He puts the can down and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “It won’t.”

I sniffle, no longer even embarrassed at being such a hot mess.

“If you ignore her because you feel guilty, the weirdness will keep building and building. Her anger, I mean it has to go somewhere, right? If you don’t talk, it might be you.”

He points his finger at me and then drops it down to my arm.

“How’d you get so smart?”

“Valedictorian, remember?” He smiles, scoots closer, puts his hands on my neck, and starts massaging.

“Relax,” he whispers. “Turn around so I can give you a proper massage.”

My insides mix with unease and pleasure, but I tilt my head to one side and slowly move so my back is to him. His fingers knead my shoulders, digging deep. It’s both painful and exquisite.