The Kissing Deadline (17 page)

Activity picked up around her. Glad she had
worn her sneakers, Cassie watched the girls in dress shoes file out
of the locker room. At their complaints, they were offered shoes
from the communal bin or the barefoot option. Neither was a
pleasant alternative. Coach gave them a lecture on hammer toes and
other pitfalls of high heels as they marched single file down to
the track.

Midway down, Coach Ameen said, “If I call
your name, stop, drop, and roll. Your buddy will retrieve a
fire-retardant blanket to throw on you.” Coach whipped a blanket
into the air. “Don’t rise until your buddy covers you with the
blanket.” Two steps later, Coach said, “Sierra.”

The chosen one dropped to the ground and
rolled. Mike ran to Coach for the fire retardant blanket and used
it to snap at Sierra’s body, putting out the imaginary flames.
Sierra yelped and rolled into the back of his knees. Mike went down
and they fought for control of the blanket.

Cassie covered her mouth to stifle a laugh,
but the rest of the class let loose.

Coach said, “We need to knock time off our
fire drill speed. Best way to do that is take some laps.”

They reached the track, and with a deep knee
bend, Larry said, “I can do this easy.”

“If you were on a sled pulled by huskies,”
Antenna Guy said. The verbal challenges, veiled as insults,
continued. Their interactions were perplexing, and possibly the
main reason that boys and girls had separate gym classes.

While everyone lined up, Coach reclined on a
lawn chair. His face was cast in shade by the attached umbrella. He
took a pull from a green Gatorade bottle then put it into the
armrest cup holder. After it was secure, he reached down to the
turf and lifted a green water hose. He adjusted the brass nozzle,
angling the end toward the track. When water gushed out, he placed
his thumb over the circular metal opening. “There won’t be any
dehydration on my watch. After each lap, you’ll take a pit stop
here for a drink.” Coach removed his thumb to demonstrate. The hose
gurgled then water spewed forward.

Appetizing.

A couple of the guys took off running. Cassie
discretely shoved at the side of her purple plaid bra. It wasn’t a
sports bra, and the underwire hurt while she was sitting still. She
couldn’t imagine the pleasure of jogging while wearing the thing.
Ah well, there was no help for it because she certainly couldn’t
explain the problem to Coach. There was probably a communal bin of
sports bras. She joined Sierra and Brooke in an anemic shuffle
filled with commentary. At the halfway mark, the thundering sound
of running shoes came from behind her.

“On your left, Cass,” Ryan called out. Cassie
jumped to the edge of the track to allow the herd to pass.

“Brooke, take over,” Coach called out. He
dropped the hose to the ground and adjusted his umbrella. Brooke
cut across the field to the water station and lifted the hose.

“Hoser,” Amber called after her.

Sierra and Cassie looked at Brooke in envy.
They’d take the nickname if it meant the jogging stopped. Cassie’s
hair floated down her back in these post-scrunchie days. With every
step, the strands bounced and Cassie dreaded the thought of
untangling it. The school budget didn’t extend to luxuries like
conditioner. Students had to bring their own hair products if they
were fancy enough to want more than the school-provided body gel
which doubled as shampoo. If she could bum a hair clip from
someone, she’d put her hair up wet. That was her hairstyle of
choice her freshman year. She shoved a hand at the strands, and
felt her cheeks glow with the heat and humidity.

Sierra wolf-whistled. The guys had stopped by
the water station, and most of them had their shirts off. They’d
taken the hose from Brooke in order to spray themselves with
water.

Wow.

Sierra sped up and accepted the hose from a
shirtless Mike. She took a drink then she returned the hose to
Brooke. Cassie stepped forward, but Lizard Larry brushed past her.
His long neck jetted forward, and he lapped at the water while
making an indescribable sound. He licked the end as if the water
wasn’t flowing fast enough.

Cassie hesitated, not wanting to follow
him.

Coach yelled from underneath his umbrella, “A
line’s forming, get a move on, girls.”

Cassie dropped to one knee in a strategic
shoe-tying delay tactic. The girl behind her drew in a sharp
repulsed breath.

“Get after it,” Coach yelled.

Cassie chose to do a double knot. She lined
up the laces as slowly as she could. Loop, tuck, tighten.

Facing the unavoidable, Amber shoved by
Cassie to take the next drink. On her way, she threw her hip into
Cassie’s shoulder.

Cassie slid sideways, her palms slammed
against the track, and a sharp stinging sensation bit her palms.
Unable to stop her skid, she rolled into the mud puddle formed from
hose spillage.
Squish.

The shirtless guys, who’d slowed to wait for
Amber, stopped in order to laugh. Cassie pulled up, palms burning,
face flushing, and clothes dripping.

“Sorry, Cass,” Brooke said, biting her lip.
“Turn around, and I’ll hose you off.”

The mud had an unpleasant uniquely swampy
smell. Cassie feared they’d just fertilized the ground for it to
smell so distinctly. She tried not to flinch as Brooke doused her.
Cold. Wet. Soaking. She squealed and the water stopped
abruptly.

Brooke said, “Uh oh.” The hose hung loose in
her grip, pointed toward the ground. Water poured out as she stared
at Cassie with an appalled expression.

* * *

Cassie looked down. White shirt, purple bra,
water. Cassie had just become unwilling contestant number one in
her first wet t-shirt contest. She raised her head. The shirtless
guys hadn’t moved, not even when Amber urged them to go. Paige
lifted her camera.
Flash.

Coach tossed her the fire retardant blanket.
“Hit the showers, Cassie.”

Making great time on her run back to the gym,
Cassie couldn’t be sorry because the peep show had gotten her out
of lap number two and gave her first dibs at the empty communal
shower. She showered then spent the rest of class leisurely blowing
out her hair and bra with the hand dryers. She’d just finished her
makeup when the sweaty troop from lab filed in. The heat had wilted
Brooke’s bob and expanded Sierra’s curls to twice their normal
size.

“Four minutes, girls,” Coach yelled from
outside in the corridor.

“What does he mean four minutes? I have to
shower and change.” Amber’s shellacked cheer curls still looked
bouncy and fresh.

“Not happening.” Paige yanked her camera
strap over her head.

Cheryl walked over to the faucet and sluiced
water over her arms. “Just use the sink.”

* * *

The drama group continued working on Act II.
A stagehand replaced the bag of flour with one whose seams were
secured with packing tape, but the bag of sugar beside it remained
open. The sugar had to be left unsecured for the next scene.

Ryan plunged his hands into the bag and held
out his white-coated palms to Cassie. “If your lips kiss my hand,
I’ll know you accept me.”

Cassie took his hands in hers. “With my kiss,
I accept your sweet offering.”

Cassie couldn’t explain later why she did
what she did next. Was it the oppression of the STOP flags? The
prolific use of hand sanitizer? Hunger? She lifted one of his hands
to her mouth and ran her tongue from the base of his palm to the
end of his pinky finger, then gave it a small sucking bite. Ryan
blinked and trembled.

On their way to the Nurse’s office, Cassie
swore to Ryan she didn’t know the Principal was in the audience. “I
can’t believe he wants us to go to the clinic and make sure we
don’t have mono.”

Ryan laughed and held open the door. “He had
to do something.”

“Cassie, I didn’t expect to see you in here
again so soon.” The nurse tossed a chart from a desktop onto the
exam table. “What does this make? The fourth time this month?”

“Third,” Cassie mumbled around the
thermometer. Were questions meant to be rhetorical when people
asked them while your mouth held a thermometer?

The nurse left the room to get Ryan’s chart.
The paper sheeting crinkled under Cassie as she shifted toward him.
She mumbled around her thermometer, “Again, I’m so sorry.”

“No problem,” Ryan mumbled around his own
thermometer. After taking it out his mouth, he said, “It’s okay.”
He lifted her hand and sucked on the side of it.

Electric sensations ran through her hand.
Wow.

“There. We’re even.”

Cassie appreciated the gesture on multiple
levels.

The nurse didn’t.

The drive to Larry’s party took thirty
minutes, ten of those passed while on his property. They sped by
fence after fence of enclosed pastures. Some pastures housed common
animals: black and white Oreo-looking cows, llamas, and horses.
High razor wire topped other enclosures. Whatever lived in there
didn’t make an appearance at the fence. This explained a lot about
Larry. After parking the Yaris in the line of cars near the barn,
Sierra swung a foot out.

One of the roaming domestic animals screeched
and darted under the Toyota. Sierra jumped back. The atmosphere
reminded Cassie of her trip to Old McDonald’s petting farm as a
child. She had the urge to grab some change from the ashtray in
order to purchase feed for the animals.

The air smelled fresh, but earthy and
farm-like. They avoided the ruts in the dirt road and followed them
to the barn’s entry. The closer they got, the louder the country
music sounded. Enormous speakers stood around the barn. Antenna Guy
stood to the side of one, fiddling with some wires.

Inside the barn, Sweetie, Larry’s little
terrier, ran around people's feet with a shamrock-shaped hat
balanced on his head. He carried a strand of hay in his snout and
made targeted forays into nooks created by the square bales of hay.
Cassie stayed far away from him. Her memories from the carnival
were not so easy to escape.

Sierra joined Mike and two other teens who
were sitting cross-legged in a circle. Cassie knew it wasn’t a
trust circle. It was something else. Sierra sank down close to
Mike, her knee touching his. Larry squatted down opposite her with
his pet Iguana perched on his shoulder.

Clad in her,
Kiss me I’m Irish
t-shirt, Cassie fidgeted and swallowed. She wished she was wearing
Sierra’s
Try It and Lose a Hand
t-shirt instead. Hovering
behind her friend didn’t work. Sierra grabbed Cassie’s arm in an
unrelenting grip and pulled her down, making her the group’s
reluctant sixth member. Sierra placed a Coke bottle in the center
of the group and spun. The bottle cap stilled, pointing on Mike.
Sierra leaned over and kissed him.

The action drew in Amber. She wore a green
satin camisole and tugged Ryan behind her. He wore a dark green
polo over a white t-shirt. Ryan shook his head but complied anyway,
sinking down beside his girlfriend. Amber reached for the bottle
and smiled tauntingly at Ryan. Before her orange-tipped nails could
touch the bottle, Mike snagged it and tossed it to his bud. Ryan
caught the bottle with one hand.

Mike said, “You're up, Ryan. Seven Minutes in
Heaven.”

Amber glared while Ryan gave the bottle a
half-hearted spin.

The bottle made a full turn. Who would it
choose? It wobbled near Amber then hit an uneven dip and came to a
rest, landing on Cassie. Her heart pounded in time with the bass
from the speakers, and her face heated when Larry pointed to a
nearby stall.
Seven Minutes in Heaven with Ryan.

Amber rose and stomped toward the barn exit.
“Oh, no, you’re not.”

“This was your idea, Amber.” Ryan faced
Cassie and made a helpless gesture with his hands, pointed to
Amber, and followed her.

Cassie covered her mouth. Rejected at Spin
the Bottle, a new low.

“Fine,” Amber yelled back over her shoulder.
“You can play. But it won't be you who kisses someone else first.”
Amber seized the nearest guy and laid a big kiss on him. It was one
of the painters from drama club. His hands roamed down her sides to
her waist and he kissed Amber back without hesitation.

Ryan stopped mid-step.

Amber inclined away from painter long enough
to smirk in challenge then stretched tall to kiss the painter
again.

Ryan turned and stomped back through the
center of the circle. He reached down and pulled Cassie up by her
arm, then marched her over to a nearby stall. He pushed her in.
After crowding in behind her, he slammed the door shut, enclosing
them in the stall.

Larry called after them, “Clock starts now,
seven minutes.”

The stall was packed high with farm equipment
and stacks of hay, leaving them only a small cramped space at the
entrance. The air smelled like fresh hay and wheat, like animal
food, and the closed door muffled the party sounds.

Ryan slid into a seated position with bent
knees, his back to the door. Cassie propelled forward a bit but had
nowhere to go. She braced against the hay, but stepped on Ryan’s
topsiders and lost her footing. Pain snaked through her elbow as
she banged into a metal barrel, and hay scratched against her palms
when she tried to stop the descent. She landed against Ryan’s solid
warmth, and her weight knocked him back into the door. The wood
shook and she crouched there awkwardly, half against the hay and
half against Ryan. She breathed in his cologne. The snickers of
partygoers filtered through the wooden stall door. Clearly they
were misinterpreting the sounds.

Ryan put a hand on each of her knees and
tugged. She slid down the rest of the way and ended up straddling
his lap. Taking a breath, she flattened her palms along the rough,
uneven wood on either side of his head. His fingers wound through
her hair, met at the back of her head, and he tilted her face
toward his. He tilted it to the right.