Hot (5 page)

A
nd kick, kick, kick, kick, fan kick, fan kick, jump together, slap, slap, turn, and roll my head. Now, arm up, lock onto Julia’s shoulder, snap my head right, and march, march, march, march. The synthesizers in the song scream. The music is the living pulse of the gym, and the dance team is the blood flowing through its veins. And stag leap, swivel, swivel, up, and touch the ground, hold it, and exhale. Next group does the same while I actually snatch a breath of air. And, one, two, pop up, and pose.

“Better, ladies. Fours, you’re a half beat behind the threes on that last sequence. Catch up. Follow Melissa’s lead on the fans.” Todd, our dance coach, paces back and forth in front of us.

I’m hoping he talks a little longer so I can breathe like a normal person again. My heart races so fast, it feels like it will beat right out of my chest and slide across the floor like a hockey puck. I glance at the clock. Time to go. Two hours of practice and my muscles feel like pudding. I’m starving, and I have a heap of homework tonight.

“Once more. Make it count.” Todd turns to the CD player, gives us a millisecond to get in position, and punches the Play button.

I reach inside myself to find the energy to perform the whole routine again. The music lifts me and snaps my limbs from one
pose to the next. My smile is genuine. The notes fill me and move me. Adrenaline pushes my body around the gym floor until the last note resonates in the air.

I collapse onto the floor along with half the dance team.

“That’s it!” Todd shouts. “See you tomorrow. Nice practice, girls.”

Melissa reaches out her hand and pulls me to standing.

“I don’t know if I can walk to the back of the gym,” she pants. Sweat drips down her freckles.

I wipe the smoldering droplets on my own face before they sting my eyes. “I know
I
can’t. That’s why I’m going to let you carry me.”

She rolls her eyes. We attack our water bottles and take our time stretching in the back of the gym. “Sooo, Emma said you and Noah were cozy at youth group?”

“Yeah.” I nod, blushing. “It was . . . wow, completely uncomfortable.”

“How do you mean?” Melissa asks.

“Oh, he was great. He is so sweet. It’s just the topic was,” I lower my voice, “sex, and I was so self-conscious sitting next to him while they talked about all that stuff.”

“It’s awkward enough talking about that without a guy next to you.” Melissa leans over her knee.

“Right. So, Mel, you don’t have to tell me, but have you and Beau, you know, I mean not have you done it, but have you talked about it, you know, sex?”

Melissa’s flushed face deepens to purple. She looks around and whispers, “Lindsey, we were barely dating in the first place, and then we broke up, and then we got back together. Now, we’re kind of off again. His parents won’t let him date, even though we see each other at school and stuff during basketball season. We
haven’t had time to even think about that! We’re too busy deciding if we’re a couple!” She looks at me sideways. “Have you and Noah talked about it?”

“No! I mean he hasn’t even tried anything. Which is great. He’s just kissed me, more like little pecks, which I loved. I’d just never really thought about the religious part of abstinence before, and last night really has me thinking.” I take a sip of water, so sweet and wet, sliding down my parched throat.

“Which religious part?” Melissa asks, switching legs.

“Well, Pastor Ed, he’s the youth pastor at youth group, was saying sex is a gift from God, and He wants us to take care of that gift. I’d never considered that before.” I normally don’t talk about God with my friends. Not that I avoid it, it just doesn’t come up, or maybe I feel uneasy. But I know Melissa goes to church, and it’s all so heavy on my brain today. A bead of sweat slides down the side of my nose and drops onto the floor. “It sounds hokey, but it kind of makes sense too.”

“Yeah, I guess I thought of the whole thing more as a commandment. You’re supposed to wait because that’s what the Bible
says.
I never thought about it as what God
wants
.” Melissa switches legs. “But abstaining because He wants us to makes more sense, actually.”

“Sorry, this is heavy stuff.” I roll my eyes as I zip my coat.

“No, it’s fine, really fine. It’s actually good. I’m glad we can talk about it. I’m glad you talked about it with me. And I guess Beau and I might face the issue someday.” Melissa tosses her gym bag on her shoulder.

I let that thought take a ride through my head. Will Noah and I have to face the issue? He’s a Christian too. He sat on the couch and heard every word Pastor Ed said, just like I did. He saw that match glowing in the silent room. I know what my stance is.
I want to wait until I’m married. It’s the right thing to do.

Pastor Ed mentioned Christian teens wearing purity rings on their ring fingers as a symbol of chastity. I slip my thumb around the vacant space on my left hand. I imagine a shiny silver reminder of my promise to Jesus to stay pure for Him. I’ll have to look into it. Kristine would get a kick out of that! I can hear her now: “You know that’s your wedding finger?”

“I know.” I would keep her gaze.

“So, who did you marry?” She’d laugh, not in an evil way, but in a you’re-so-queer way.

“I didn’t. It’s a purity ring.”

“Pure of what?” Kristine would raise an eyebrow.

“You know, I’m saving myself for marriage.”

“Why?” Kristine would plop me down on her bed. “That totally hot hockey player is into you. Do you know what you’re missing? I bet he’d be fabulous. He’s clearly in good shape.”

I would hit her with a pillow.

I
t’s Friday night, and I’m going over to Noah’s. I’m nervous and excited and jittery. I’ve never been to his house. I’ve never met his parents. Well, I’ve known who they are for years, from the neighborhood and all, but I’ve never formally met them and definitely not as Noah’s girlfriend.

Noah and I have barely seen each other this week, unless you count sending texts and chatting for a few seconds now and then in the cafeteria. I’ve had practice every night and he’s had practice every morning early — at six o’clock — something about it being impossible to get ice time. He has two away games tomorrow and another one on Sunday. So he won’t even be at youth group. This is our only chance to see each other, and I can’t wait!

Mom likes that Noah came to our house first. She thinks he’s polite. She called his mom on the phone to make sure I was invited and Mr. and Mrs. Hornung would be home. Did I mention I have to meet his parents?

I’ve thought and rethought my outfit. I want to convey the right message. I’m wearing a coral sweater twin set and these great flared camel-colored cords. I look conservative (for his parents), but pretty (for Noah). My coral and aqua headband pulls my straightened hair from my face. I’ve decided to grow out my bangs, so they’re pulled back too.

I don’t mind walking through the neighborhood. I feel like I’m nine again, slipping through yards, trying not to set off any dogs barking, cutting through the right places to avoid fences. The cold air cuts right through my shearling coat. It makes me feel awake and alive. The sky has a pale yellow cast as the day turns to night. It’s perfectly silent and the air has the crisp, metallic smell like it might snow.

I take my time, breathing in the dusk. I left the house at 5:55 and don’t want to arrive exactly at six, looking overly eager, but I am. I want to hear Noah laugh and have him be next to me and smell his special smell. I also want him to kiss me again, but I have no idea if that’ll happen with his ’rents around. I want to charm Mr. and Mrs. Hornung — to make them think I’m the perfect girl for their son.

He’s sitting on his front porch as I walk up the driveway. My heart is going up and down like a sewing machine needle.

Noah shrugs in his khaki barn jacket and stands. “Just thought I’d wait for you out here. The stars are coming out.”

I look up. In the purplish sky, tiny lights gradually ignite.

“Come on in. It’s freezing.”

We shuffle into the tan brick split-level. The houses are smaller at this end of the neighborhood, simpler. I like it. I take off my shoes and coat. His house smells like black licorice and roast beef.

Noah leads me into the den, which is a really small, closed-in room, with three hunter green walls and two brown-and-green-plaid love seats piled with cushions. Handles of hockey sticks peek out from behind the couch. The faint odor of smelly feet lingers. A plasma TV is on one wall and a Wii with a tangle of cords covers the floor.

Mr. and Mrs. Hornung sit stiffly on one of the love seats. This room looks like it’s been taken over by Noah and his younger brother, Adam.

“Mom, Dad . . .” Noah’s fingers weave through his hair. “This is Lindsey. Lindsey, these are my parents.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Lindsey.” His mom smiles at me from her awkward perch. Her dark curls are pulled back out of her face with tortoise shell combs. She looks like an L.L.Bean model with her cardigan and turtleneck.

“Hi, Lindsey. We’ve heard a lot about you.” Mr. Hornung stands and reaches out his hand to shake mine. Noah looks like him, dark and rugged.

I nervously shake his hand and turn to Mrs. Hornung. She’s where Noah gets his height. She’s at least three inches taller than her husband! “Nice to see you too.” I manage.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you riding your scooter around the neighborhood.” She smiles.

“I’m just counting down the days until I can drive a car around the neighborhood.” I laugh nervously. What have they heard about me? Do they know Noah called me his girlfriend? That he kissed me? Has he had other girls over? Did they like them? I want them to like me. I want to do the right thing, but I’m not sure what that is. I feel awkward. As natural as it is for me to talk to my friends, I can’t think of one thing to say to Noah’s parents.

“Don’t count too quickly.” Mr. Hornung smiles. “Now that Noah can drive, we make him run all kinds of errands for us.”

“I’d drive you anywhere you wanted too.” Noah smiles. “So . . .” Noah rubs his palms together as if he can’t get enough Emilio Estevez. “Who’s up for
MD2
?”

“Are you really making Lindsey watch that?” his mom asks, rolling her eyes.

“Making?” Noah turns to me. “She loves the Mighty Ducks. Don’t you, Linds?”

“How could I not?” I look at Mrs. Hornung for pity.

“Well, between you and Adam, we’ve seen this one about four thousand times. I won’t spoil the ending.” Mr. Hornung laughs and leaves the room.

“Have fun,” Mrs. Hornung says. “If the movie is too awful, you can always come into the family room and watch TV with us, Lindsey.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Hornung.” I laugh. “I might need to take you up on that.” I like her. I see where Noah gets his ability to make people feel comfortable.

“You at least have to watch all of
MD2
. We’re having a double feature you know.
Mighty Ducks 3
is just waiting over here.” Noah points to the top of the TV where the DVD case sits and elbows me. His mom smiles as she turns to go.

As soon as we’re alone, Noah turns to me. “Want something to drink?”

“No thanks.” I shrug and plop onto the love seat.

“They’re funny.” He shakes his head.

“All parents are.” I laugh. “Where’s Adam?”

“He’s at Colt’s house or somewhere. I don’t really remember. I just know I finally get you all to myself.” He leans toward me and brushes my lips with his just like the other time. He tastes cold and sharp and sweet like the gum I always smell on his breath.

He leans back and looks me right in the eyes. My neck muscles don’t seem capable of holding his gaze. There is less than a centimeter separating our faces. Our noses bump, and I laugh.

“Quack, quack, quack.” Noah dims the lights and pushes Play.

The movie is on, but I couldn’t care less about the kids on ice. I want Noah to kiss me again. I listen to his breathing. His fingers reach out and curl around mine. It’s dark like a real movie theater in here. He wiggles my fingers slightly, like a tickle. I feel
his thigh against mine. A few minutes later he leans into my ear and whispers, “Are you ready for a drink yet?”

I turn to answer, but when I do my face is in his face. I bite my lip. I shake my head, but his mouth is on my mouth, and we’re kissing, and his hands slide on my back, holding me close to him. I feel like I’m flying, and he’s warm and intoxicating. He leans his chest against mine, so I’m sandwiched between the couch and Noah, like a piece of paper slid under a paperweight, protected from the wind so I won’t blow away. And we kiss and we kiss and we kiss, and his lips are warm and wet, and his hands slide under my T-shirt to the small of my back. They feel like fire against my skin. I hear footsteps, and I pull back to end the kiss but end up embedding myself in a jumble of couch cushions.

Noah must hear the footsteps too.

He exhales. “Wow.” He shakes himself and stands.

I’m breathing more heavily than when I finish a dance routine.

“I’ll go get some Gatorade.” Noah’s cheeks are flushed as he walks out of the room.

“You two doing okay?” I hear Mrs. Hornung ask him in the kitchen.

I’m thankful for a moment to myself. I sit up as straight as I can and smooth out my cardigan. I retuck my top into my cords. My headband is around my neck. I slide it back into place and bob my knee up and down as I look around the room. I’m disoriented. I’ve never felt anything like that in my life. I turn the dimmer switch to full wattage to snap myself out of my reverie. How long were we kissing? I have no idea what’s going on in the movie, and I have to go to the bathroom. I wish Noah were back. I feel conspicuously alone in his house. What if one of his parents walks in? What would I say? Would they know what we’ve been doing? I try to watch the movie but can’t focus my eyes
or thoughts. My brain teems with mouths and heat and Noah’s weight against me.

“I thought I’d grab some chips and salsa too. Why don’t you push Pause and keep me company in the kitchen?” Noah’s silhouette fills the doorway.

I jump at his voice. “Sure.” I fumble for the remote and press Pause, not able to think of anything funny or coy as a reply. What do you say to someone after they’ve kissed you like that?

“Actually, could you show me where the bathroom is?”

“Right down there.” Noah points down the hall.

“Thanks.” I walk into the burgundy powder room and close the door. A grouping of three paintings of wild ducks hangs on the wall, and ducks are embroidered into the beige towels. It’s so dark and men’s-clubbish. I laugh. I guess decor is a little different when it’s three guys and one girl in the house, versus our three girls and Dad. I look in the mirror. I expect my image to betray my kissing frenzy. But my hair isn’t mussed, and except for my bare lips where my lip gloss has been smooched, I look pretty normal. I use the restroom, extremely conscious of the noise of the flushing toilet and the faucet as I wash my hands with a bar of lemon-and-thyme-scented soap. I reapply the lip gloss I had safely stashed in my pocket and take a deep breath. I’m starting to feel normal again.

Ta tatatat ta!
The friendly sound of chips tumbling into a bowl fills the fluorescent-lighted kitchen. Noah’s mom chats on the phone and smiles at me, then turns and walks out with the white cordless.

“Would you grab the salsa?” Noah asks, motioning to a jar on the counter. “I’ve always loved this movie,” he says, carrying the bowl of chips and a tall glass with ice clanking against its sides back into the den, “but I don’t remember it being sooo . . .” He
stops and turns so that he’s directly in front of me. “Exciting.” He playfully nips at my lips, the quickest kiss, and then another and another as if he’s going for the world’s record for fastest consecutive kisses.

I laugh out loud and fall back into the couch. I’m relieved he doesn’t revert the lighting back to the secretive dusk. We watch the rest of the movie and the next one too with our heads at separate ends of the couch and our stocking feet entwined with each other. We giggle and chat and play footsie while the Mighty Ducks win yet another championship game.

“I’ll walk you home.” Noah shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Great.” All of a sudden I’m exhausted. My eyelids fight to stay open.

We walk the long way home along the sidewalks, under the streetlights around to my house. The crisp air gives me a second wind.

“So, three games this weekend?” I ask.

“Yeah, the other team’s decent, but we’re better. We should win if we keep our heads on straight.”

“I wish I could come.” I watch his Nikes slap the cement.

“These are too far away.” He slips off my mitten and weaves his fingers in mine. “Next week, we’re home.”

“Cool. I’ll have to perform at the basketball game on Friday, but I could come on Saturday. Do you play on Saturday?” I ask, feeling stupid for not knowing his schedule.

“You won’t miss anything on Friday. We have the night off. And yes, always on Saturdays.”

We walk in silence for a few minutes, but it’s not awkward. For once, I’m not scanning my head for conversation. I’m just enjoying the warmth of his hand on mine, the sound of our footsteps, and the idea that I’m Noah’s girlfriend.

When we reach my house, he stops before I can climb the three steps to my front porch. Our outside house light streams on us like a spotlight.

“I burned a CD for you.” He slides a disc out of his jacket like a magician.

I reach out for the circle, as if it’s an enchanted stone or a magic wand and I’m sizing up its powers.

“Thanks.”

His lips are on mine again, and not for just a second this time. They linger and hold my lips. Just as I feel all warm and giddy, he pulls away.

“I’ll watch you in.”

I can’t speak. He keeps taking me by surprise. Surprised by his kiss, surprised by his pulling away, surprised by the CD, surprised by his finality of the evening. I feel like I’m in a Ping-Pong match watching the ball go back and forth, from him being as nervous and excited as I am to him being totally in control. Thank goodness he is, because I am not. I’m not in control at all.

“Good luck tomorrow.” I smile.

“Thanks, Linds. G’night.”

“Good night.” Ten feet separates us, now twenty, now I’m touching my door, and he’s standing like a statue, watching over me.

I play the CD while I get ready for bed. The first song is “Hey There Delilah” by the Plain White T’s. I sit on the edge of my bed, absorbing every note and word as if Noah were serenading me. Tomorrow, I’ll load it onto my computer and update my iPod. I brush my teeth to “Perfect” by the Smashing Pumpkins. I wash my face to “I’ve Just Seen a Face” sung by Jim Sturgess. I turn down the volume way low, so I can drift into my dreams as Lenny Kravitz chants “I’ll Be Waiting.”