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Authors: Suzanne D. Williams

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BOOK: I Kissed The Boy Next Door
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“I’ll get back with you,” I said. No way was I telling Tray my idea.

I went to my bedroom and sitting on the mattress stared at Jackson’s window.
Should I? Because no one was pushing me this time, and no one would applaud. It’d get me no attention. In fact, it might get me in a whole wad of trouble and upset Jackson.

I picked up my phone and set the alarm. Two a.m. I’d wait until Jackson was asleep and then I’d sneak in.

CHAPTER 14

This was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Sneaking in to wake Jackson up was one thing. Sneaking in to
use his cell phone was another, and I didn’t even know if his mom’s number would be on his phone. I did know he’d miss it in the morning and flip out, so my plan was to get the number and leave it behind. I figured that was not stealing but more borrowing. And I had to do all of that without waking him up.

Two a.m. rolled around a lot quicker than I thought it would, and though I’d climbed out my window the other night to see the meteors and climbed in his window to wake him up, this felt way different.

I looked like a burglar wearing blue jeans and a black shirt and crouching over to run across the space between us. Even more when I slipped his window open and hauled myself in – no easy feat to do on my own. He was on his stomach, his head laying to the side and one arm dangling off the mattress. He, of course, had no shirt on, so I could see his back real plain, and that distracted me from finding his phone.

He’d sat it on the bedside table, but not the one convenient to me. That’s how these things always go. The task is that much harder than it would be if things lined up for once. So I eyed how to get around that side of his bed without yanking the covers because they were sliding off.

In the end, I sort of crawled on my hands and knees, going real slow to not make a noise. I arrived at the table in a short amount of time and took his phone into my hand. Then I eyed him because the minute I touched it, it’d light up the room. I stuck my hand beneath the bed. This made it hard to see the phone’s screen, but dimmed the light where it wouldn’t shine in his face.

The minute I touched the screen, he shifted. He flipped onto his back and the bed covers slipped down below his waist. Man oh man, that was a sight, and again, I was distracted.

It crossed my mind that I’d lost my mind completely to be there doing this, and I argued with myself. Maybe I should leave off. Maybe this was none of my business. Maybe he’d work things out with his mom without me. But how much time would pass before that happened and where would his little brother be by then? I’d save him a load of pain by finding out because he wasn’t going to do it.

These were all the things running through my head. In the end, I saw I was there, had his phone in my hand, and
should get the number and go, then fight with my conscience.

He
turned his face my direction, and I had the strongest desire to touch him. He was breathing real deep and quiet. I counted the seconds between breaths and was amazed anyone could sleep and breathe like that. It made me dizzy trying. I stretched out my hand across the mattress, stopping an inch before his face, where I could feel it, warm air puffing outward.

And it was weird because I had this grown-up moment. I thought about being married to him and what it’d be like to lay there at his side. That made me think about his parents and how they’d split up, and it seemed even more painful. I could feel it somehow down in my gut, the ripping of two hearts apart
that had been close once.

I gazed down at the phone and flipped through the contacts. He had a lot of
names I didn’t recognize. I found his dad and his sister. And me. Owen. I scrolled through twice because I had to have missed it. He would have his mom’s number. Right?

Right.
Because he did, and there it was. I was so nervous, my fingers trembling, and that made it hard to transfer the number to my own phone. I fumbled through it, then took one last look at him, kind of wistful, before sitting the phone on the nightstand.

That’s when things got nervy. He shifted in bed, his hand stretching out before me and his leg blocking my retreat. He must have been dreaming because he was twitching, mumbling beneath his breath.

I had to get out of there. Fast. I stuck the phone back on the nightstand and contemplated my exit. I ended up crawling beneath his leg, which was uncomfortable. I crept toward the window, but as I touched the sill, he shifted again, and I swear I thought he was awake.

I pretended he wasn’t, hooking my leg over the edge and dropping
to the ground. I couldn’t get inside my room quick enough, and I didn’t dare look back.

***

Jackson sat up in bed in time to see the fleeting image of Lucy’s hair go over the window ledge.
Lucy?
He blinked and rubbed his eyes, then scooted to the edge of the bed.

Sure enough, she was crossing the space between their rooms, running like she was hiding. She pulled herself up the side of her house and fell into her room, disappearing inside.

What was she doing? Why did she come in here and leave?

What time was it anyway?
He switched sides of his bed and reached for his phone, and he startled. His phone. Not where he’d left it. He glanced back at the open window. She hadn’t bothered to close it in her escape. What was she doing on his phone?

He tapped the screen and noted the time. Two fi
fteen. What was going through Lucy’s pretty little head at two fifteen a.m.?

He looked down at himself and fell back on the bed. The dream he’d been having returned in his head. He was with his mom, and she was telling him about his little brother, how everything was all right, and how she loved him and his sister as much as she ever had. Then he’d seen his little brother, and it’d been so peaceful.

If only that’s how things were. However, the truth was she didn’t need them. Lucy was right. His mom and his dad had grown apart, not keeping the love alive between them. And with it dead, she’d turned to someone else to find that feeling again.

But that didn’t make what she
did right, only make sense.

She’d brought him up to
act better. What happened to all those church sermons, all the Bible Scriptures they’d heard preached? What of the time the Fuselli’s went through something similar? Mr. Fuselli had an affair, and his mom had said how awful it was, how she couldn’t ever live like that and put up with what Mrs. Fuselli had.

The pot calling the kettle black because she’d gone and done the same thing, then lied to his dad and given her son away.
But––

His gaze wandered out the window
to the bedroom on the opposite side. But if not for all of this, he wouldn’t have Lucy, and Lucy was the best thing to ever happen to him.

“What were you up to?” he said out loud.

CHAPTER 15

Jackson didn’t wake me up. He didn’t text or call. He didn’t knock on the window. He didn’t climb through the window and shake me awake.

He didn’t show up for breakfast either. In fact, come noon, I
hadn’t seen neither hide nor hair of him, and that added to the beating my conscience was taking from my actions during the night.

Should I call his mom
? Should I not? Was this any of my business?

Come twelve thirty, I couldn’t stand it anymore and crawled off into a corner of the living room to make the phone call.
The line on the other end rang and rang, and a woman picked up. I said, “Hello,” not able to think much beyond that, then figured I should find out if the woman was, in fact, his mom.

“Is this Jackson’s mother?” I asked.

The woman said she was.

“My name is Lucy McKinsey. I live next door … to him … now.” I kept adding in
facts to help it make sense. “He … he doesn’t know I’m calling you, and I’m thinking he might be mad at me after. But …”

“McKinsey?” she said suddenly. “Lucy McKinsey the girl he’s had a crush on for three years?
That Lucy McKinsey?”

Well,
that near shook me out of my chair. Jackson had a crush on me for three years? I mean, he’d said he never forgot me, but that’s different from having a crush.

“I … I guess so,” I said and
plunged ahead. “He and I … we … I love him.”

She became quiet, and when she didn’t speak, I kept
going.

“He was talking
to me … the other day, and he was upset. This whole thing with you and his dad is bothering him. Probably it’s none of my business, but I don’t think he’d ever say anything to you … you know, about what happened. He …”

I licked my lips. My mouth was dry.

“He saw me holding a baby … at church … and got upset. That’s when he told me everything. He kept saying you sent his brother away and didn’t want him either.”

I’d run out of things to say and fell silent. Soon the sounds around me became loud
in my ears: the whir of the refrigerator, the house popping in the heat, a lawn mower churning somewhere in the distance.

S
he spoke. “Lucy, I don’t know what to say. He’s wrong. I love my son. I love all my children. Even Joseph.”

Joseph. That must be
the baby’s name.

“But circumstances … it was what I had to do.”

“I understand,” I said, “and I’m not judging you or asking for information. I just … I just want Jackson to be happy.”

“Tell you what,” she said. “You have an email address?”

I said I did and gave it to her.

“I’ll send you something
, and you show it to Jackson.”

“Okay
,” I replied. I apologized for bothering her and said I wouldn’t anymore. But as I was about to hang up, she spoke again.

“I’m glad he has you,” she said. “He’s loved you for such a long time.”

She hung up, and I stared into the room in a daze, not really seeing anything in it. Jackson loved me … long enough she knew about it. That was something.

I couldn’t decide what to do next.
A knock decided it for me. I rose from the chair and opened the door. Standing there gazing back at me was Jackson.

“Where’ve you been?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Out with my dad. He has the day off.”

“I texted you.”

He nodded. “I know. I couldn’t reply.”

And guilt starting bashing my head in again.
I couldn’t keep this to myself. “You staying for a few minutes?” I asked. “Because we need to talk.”

***

Jackson seated himself on the front stoop at Lucy’s side.

W
hatever she was about to say obviously tormented her because she kept wringing her hands. He bet it had to do with why she was in his room last night.

She hung her head and ab
sentmindedly picked at her pant legs.

“Well?” he said.

She looked up, her bottom lip between her teeth. “I called your mom.”

He
startled. “My mom? Why?”

He hadn’t expected that at all.

“I wanted to help you.”

He roved his eyes over her face. Her anguish displayed itself in
her eyes; dark circles sat underneath. She must not have slept much after her escapade.

“You’ve already helped me,” he said.

Her face registered surprise at that statement, which emotion she confirmed with her next word. “How?”

“By listening to me
. By making me laugh. By being yourself.”

But it was as if she didn’t hear him because she
continued to spout her reasoning. “I thought talking to her would maybe, you know …”

No, h
e didn’t know. Talking to his mom would do nothing. She’d made her choices, and they’d affected everyone. Somehow He would live with that.

And
in his mind’s eye he saw Lucy’s fleeting form racing across the lawn in the darkness. “Was that why you were in my room?” She was after the phone number.

She visibly flinched. “Y-you saw me?”

“Leaving and climbing in your window. You should have talked to me first.”

“I know.”

Her bare statement struck him hard. She was remorseful, and so she should be. “This isn’t one of your dares, Lucy. This is my life you messed with. You should have thought of that.”

“You’re mad. Aren’t you?” she asked.

“Furious.”

She wiggled in plac
e, moving her feet down a step and putting them back up again. Resting her hands at her sides and subsequently moving them back into her lap. “I deserve it.”

“You deserve …” And words failed him. It wa
s so like her to do this, something so incredibly on the edge of stupid. It was why he loved her so much.

Overcome, he
leaned forward and kissed her, her lips tender and pliant under his, her breath sweet blowing in his mouth.

She gaped at him afterward, her forehead wrinkled. “What … was that for?”

BOOK: I Kissed The Boy Next Door
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