Every Last Word (26 page)

I read the first few lines to myself.

This is bad.

I read the whole thing through in my head two more times. There’s a whole lot of crazy in here, but Caroline is probably the only one who will really understand it anyway. After all, I
wrote it for her.

“This is untitled, and, I don’t know, it’s totally random.” I stop short of saying it sucks because I don’t feel like being pelted with paper tonight. “I
wrote it in my room after I said good-bye to a friend of mine.” I find Caroline in the crowd and smile at her.

Caroline stands and starts clapping hard, and cheering way too loudly, and looking so proud of me, I want to burst. I take a bow, feeling a little proud of myself, too.

I did it. Now they kind-of-sort-of know about the crazy.

Suddenly AJ’s on stage next to me, handing me his clipboard, and if he’s weirded out by my poem, he’s doing a great job hiding it. While he swings his guitar over his shoulder
and adjusts it in place, I thumb through his songs and grab hold of a page near the top.

I pull it from the stack and hand it to him. “You can sit,” he says with a cocky grin. “I’ll play this no matter what it is.”

I step off the stage, taking his clipboard with me. He’s already plucking at strings, so I sit down on his orange couch instead of returning to my spot next to Caroline.

“Shit,” he says, getting his first look at the song he committed to sing. Then he looks right at me. His cheeks are crimson and he’s fidgeting with the paper. I’ve never
seen him so uncomfortable, not in Poet’s Corner at least.

I watch him, growing even more confused when he removes his guitar and returns it to the stand. He walks right to the front of the stage, past the stool he always sits on when he plays, and
roots his feet in place.

“This isn’t a song. It’s a poem.” He jumps up and down a few times, shaking his arms out by his sides. “How do you guys do this? I feel totally naked up here
without my guitar.” We all laugh as he shuffles into position, feet rooted again, and blows out a loud breath. “Okay, here we go.”

He looks right at me. “This is called ‘Wondering.’ I wrote this in my room a while ago.” His eyes never leave mine.

He drops his arm. “And now you can all see why I write songs and not poetry.”

Everyone’s staring at him, questioning this poem, curious about his subject, but his eyes are still locked on mine, and that dimple of his is more pronounced than ever.

I nervously glance around the room and watch each of them connect the dots. Chelsea’s face lights up. Emily waves her finger in the air, back and forth between AJ and me. Sydney lets out a
fake-sounding gasp.

AJ steps off the stage and sits next to me, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck. “They know,” he whispers in my ear.

“You think?” I laugh into his shoulder.

“Sorry. That was lame.”

“It wasn’t lame; it was perfect.”

“You’re not angry, are you?”

“Of course not.” I give him a quick kiss, and we’re surrounded by the sounds of whistles and
woots
.

Then it gets awkward. Everyone starts shuffling around, gathering bags and notebooks, heading for the door.

“Wait.” AJ stands and addresses the room. “Did everyone read?”

“Everyone but Caroline,” I say, gesturing toward her. But I’m not sure AJ hears me. He’s already lifting his key out from under his shirt and heading to the back to
unlock the bolt. She shakes her head, silently telling me it’s okay. She didn’t plan to read anyway.

All nine of us quietly climb the stairs, cross the stage, and file out the theater door. Everyone says their good-byes and heads off in groups in separate directions, but AJ and I hang back.

I wrap my arms around his neck and look up at him, feeling euphoric. Buoyant. Like we’re back in the pool, floating, kissing, talking, laughing, just us, alone, together. We’re no
longer a secret. It feels incredible.

“Do you want a ride home?” I ask, winding my fingers into his hair. “You could watch me pull out of your driveway and wonder if I’m devising a plan to sneak into your
bedroom.”

“Would you be?” He brings his hands to my waist.

“Absolutely,” I say. I’m not sure where all this confidence is coming from, but it feels right.

“Then, yes.” He unzips my swim parka all the way to the bottom this time, and when he wraps his arms around my back, he pulls me into him, harder than he did before. He kisses me
harder, too, and I tighten my grip on the back of his neck, thinking about how much I want this kiss to go on and on. I can’t imagine driving him home and saying good night.

“You know what?” I whisper. My voice is shaking, and it’s not from the cold. “I think we forgot to turn the lamps off.”

“Did we?” he asks between kisses.

“Yeah.”

“Hmm. I didn’t forget,” he says, and I can feel him smiling.

I smile back. “Neither did I.”

As much as I’ve thought about sex, I’ve always had pretty low expectations about my first time. I know it will be awkward and there will be that whole
struggling-with-the-condom moment, and when it’s all over, we’ll get dressed side by side and won’t have a clue what to say to each other. I’ve pictured my first time as
something I’ll have to do to get it over with.

So far, this is nothing like that.

AJ kisses my forehead. “Stop thinking,” he whispers.

“I’m not.” But of course I am. I’m always thinking.

“Yes, you are. Your forehead is all crunched up.” He kisses my forehead again and I feel the muscles relax. “We don’t have to do this, Sam.”

We’re lying on the orange couch with a blanket beneath us, our clothes in a haphazard pile on the floor. He’s already passed that condom thing with flying colors. I want to do this.
We’re practically
already
doing this.

“It’s okay. I’m just really nervous.”

“I know,” he says. “Me too.”

“You?” I stare at him in disbelief. “Why are you nervous? You’ve done this before.”

“Never with you.”

I take his face in my hands and kiss him, closing my eyes, letting his touch clear my mind, following his lead. I force myself to think about nothing but him, to concentrate on what he’s
doing, and after a while it becomes easier to let go.

His kisses trail down my collarbone, over my chest, across my stomach, each one sending chills through my entire body. When he finally brings his mouth back to mine, I kiss him, trying to lose
myself the same way I did in the pool that night. Our hips are pressed together, and I can’t believe how incredible it feels to be this close to him.

I didn’t expect so much talking. But he checks in a lot, and I like how the sound of his voice keeps me present, bringing me back to him if I start to drift away.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I slide my thumb over his bottom lip. “Yeah. I’m a lot better than okay.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not. You’re amazing.”

“I’m not sure about you, but I think I like ‘whatever
this
is.’”

I smile. “Me too.” He interlaces his fingers with mine, and I’m surprised that such a simple thing can make me feel even more connected to him.

Afterward, we lie there for a long time, face to face, talking and laughing and wondering if we’re the first ones to lock ourselves inside the room this way.

“I don’t know,” I say jokingly as I play with his fingers. “I think you’ve dramatically overstepped your role as keymaster.”

“I blame the couch,” he says. “I told you it was inspirational.”

That cracks me up. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at it the same way again.”

“Yeah,” he says, crinkling his nose. “They probably wouldn’t want it back in the prop room now.”

“No,” I say, laughing harder. “I can’t imagine they would.”

I kiss him, feeling completely alive and totally normal—saner than I’ve ever felt before—and now I can’t wait to walk through the halls with AJ, holding his hand, kissing
him good-bye between classes. I want to know him.
Really
know him. And I want him to know me the same way.

The few lamps we left on softly illuminate the walls, and I think about all the paper around us, all this love and pain and fear and hope. We’re surrounded by words. Nothing about this
moment could be more perfect, because I’m absolutely in love with this room and the people in it, on the wall and otherwise. And with this one boy in particular.

I
still have no idea where Caroline eats lunch. I asked her once and she said, “Places,” and when I asked her if she eats alone
she said, “Sometimes.” So I don’t expect to see her in the cafeteria today, but I stop at the door and scan the entire room anyway.

I haven’t been able to find her, not even at her locker this morning, but I’m still buzzing over what happened with AJ last night, and I can barely stand to keep it to myself another
second. I have to tell Caroline first. I wouldn’t have known him or any of the Poets if it weren’t for her.

Where is she?

The Eights are already sitting at our usual table, Alexis and Kaitlyn on one side, Olivia and Hailey on the other. Olivia moves over to make room for me at the end of the bench.

“Dieting?” she asks as I slide in next to her. I’m confused until she points to the empty spot in front of me. “Where’s your lunch?”

“I’m not very hungry,” I say, but that’s not entirely true. I’m too excited and nervous and elated, too
everything
to eat right now.

“So, what are we doing tonight?” Olivia asks. “I haven’t heard about any parties or anything.”

“I know. It’s too quiet,” Kaitlyn says. She takes a sip of her soda.

“Hey, I have an idea.” Alexis rests her elbows on the table and looks at each of us. “My parents are going out. Come over to my house. You guys haven’t all spent the
night in ages.” I catch Hailey raise her eyebrows as she takes a big bite of salad.

“I’m in,” Olivia says. Kaitlyn follows her with a “Ditto,” and Hailey says, “Sure, why not?” Then there’s silence. They’re all looking at
me.

I wasn’t expecting to find a perfect opening quite so quickly, but here it is. I dig my fingernails into the back of my neck three times and take a deep breath. “I can’t
tonight. I have other plans.”

Alexis doesn’t even try to hide the surprise in her voice. “Really? Hot date?” she asks jokingly as she sips from her bottled water.

“Actually…yes.”

Now I have their full attention. Kaitlyn pushes her soda away, Olivia returns her sandwich to her plate, and Hailey’s jaw drops, along with her chip bag.

“With?” Alexis’s eyes are wide as she asks.

I run my thumbs along the edge of the bench three times. “AJ Olsen.”

Kaitlyn starts laughing, and at the same time Alexis asks, “Who?” Everyone else looks at her and nods like they’re wondering the same thing.

“Wait,” Olivia says. “I know him. He’s in my English class.” She looks at me. “I mean, I don’t
know
him or anything. He never says much. But I
know who he is.”

“You’re serious?” Kaitlyn looks at me. She’s still laughing. “You’re going out with
Andrew
Olsen? You’re k-k-k-kidding.” She slaps her hand
on the table, cracking up at her own joke. “No w-w-w-way.” She looks around the table, but I keep my eyes fixed on her. My hands ball up into fists by my sides.

“You guys remember Andrew. From elementary school.” When they shake their heads, she sings that fucking Chia Pet jingle again, and then elbows Alexis. “You remember that kid,
don’t you? He stuttered so badly he couldn’t even say his own name.”

“Kaitlyn. Stop. Now.” Alexis says it like she’s scolding her. I’ve never heard her speak to Kaitlyn that way. I’ve never heard
anyone
speak to Kaitlyn that
way.