The Kissing Diary (15 page)

All smiles, Rosie walked into homeroom. She chatted with her friends, never mentioning detention. Teresa was her usual friendly self, and seemed less like an outsider to Rosie. Even her clothes looked more acceptable. Who cared if her pink shirt didn't match her red plaid skirt? On Teresa, somehow, it worked. It occurred to Rosie that perhaps she was the one who had changed.

As soon as Rosie entered English class, Mr. Woo called her over to the desk. “Welcome back, Rosie,” he said quietly.

“Nothing like that will ever happen again,” she said.

“I know that,” said Mr. Woo, winking at her.

The wink meant everything. She sat down at her desk, turning quickly around to smile at Summer. Then she leaned toward Robbie and said, “That's fine.”

He answered, “Okayyyyy,” drawing out the word. It was enough for Rosie.

As soon as she got home, Rosie called Lauren. “I'm still sick!” her friend croaked. “You sound happy! What's up?”

“I am!” said Rosie. “But not that you're sick! Robbie asked me to the dance. Can you believe it?”

“That's great!” said Lauren. “I'm so bummed, because I never got the nerve up to ask Tommy Stone! Summer and Sarah are going with me, if I'm better by Friday.”

“You'll be better, it's four days away!”

“I'm staying home tomorrow, and if I don't have any fever, my mom says I can go in on Wednesday. I miss you!”

Rosie hung up the phone, a huge smile on her face. She and Summer were friends again. Sarah had said goodbye to her today, and had even given her a hug. It was funny how happiness was something that was better when you shared it with your friends.

*   *   *

On the day of the dance, Robbie and Rosie exchanged glances only. It was as if the act of going together had made them both so nervous that they could no longer speak. Rosie raced home to get ready, four hours early. She shampooed her hair and toweled it dry. Her mother would style it for her later, with the curling iron that she'd brought home from the salon. Mrs. Goldglitt had watched Jessica at work making soft ringlets on several clients already.

Rosie sat down at the computer and looked up Robbie Romano under his screen name. What had she heard him tell his study group his name was? RobRom15.

She scanned his profile.

Name: People call me Robbie, and my parents call me Robert when they're mad at me.
Rosie thought it was brave of him to mention his parents. Who cared?

Location: In my room playing Xbox Live, or in my driveway shooting hoops.
Rosie wasn't surprised by Robbie's love for Xbox. Jimmy played it, when his homework was done. She could hear strange boys shouting in the living room from all over the country! Rosie made a note to ask Jimmy which games he liked so that she could mention them to Robbie. She wouldn't be fake and pretend that she played them, but at least it would provide a few minutes of conversation.

Gender: Male.
No kidding, thought Rosie. What were the rules? Don't insult their egos. Don't ask if you scared them. Don't eat Blue Hawaii ice or hit someone in the face or do anything embarrassing. It made them clam up.

Hobbies and Interests: Hanging out with friends, Xbox Live, music by Sublime, the comedian Dane Cook.

Rosie ran into Jimmy's room and found one of his Sublime CDs. She read the liner and the lyrics from top to bottom and played the music while she researched Robbie. Music was safe to talk about. What did she have now? Sublime, Xbox, Dane Cook. About three minutes of conversation, but it was a start.

Rosie looked in the mirror and formed her lips into a pout. Would Robbie kiss her? Who knew? Would she like it? Maybe. Would he know where their noses were supposed to go? She hoped so. Would she be the first girl Robbie kissed? In a way, it would be easier if he was a virgin kisser. If there was no competition, Rosie could be the best, but she could also be the worst. But if he knew how to do it, Robbie could show her. She was a fast learner. She picked up Spanish easily. And dance steps, too. Why not kissing? Rosie laughed out loud.

*   *   *

A half hour before she was supposed to meet Robbie at the rosebush, the famous rosebush where he had fallen over backward, Rosie was dressed and ready to go. She made a last-minute call to Lauren, who picked up the phone and said, “Hey, we miss you! We're all getting ready at my house.”

Before Rosie could feel bad that she hadn't been invited, Summer grabbed the phone. “Don't kiss anybody before we get there, okay? We'll see you inside.”

Rosie started to laugh. “Hey, I promise! What did we decide? Leave the lip gloss on or take it off?”

“Eat something inside, and it will come off on its own. Then you won't have to decide,” said Summer, laughing. “Break a leg!”

Sarah picked up the phone. “Summer thinks it's a play or something! I'm not kissing anyone. It's germ season, you know.”

Rosie heard Summer say, “It's always germ season for you, Sarah!” to a chorus of laughter.

“I'm nervous!” Rosie said, wondering if anyone was still on the phone.

Lauren was back. “Don't be!” she said cheerfully. “We'll be there to rescue you if you need any help!”

Mrs. Goldglitt started screeching about how late it was getting, and to brush her teeth and get her coat. “You're not the one going, Mom,” said Rosie.

“I'm as nervous as a cat!” said her mother, examining her daughter from head to foot, and rubbing Rosie's face with a tissue. “Too much blush. You look like Grandma Rebecca's porcelain doll with all that rouge. But Grandpa would tell you that you looked beautiful, honey. If he were here.”

“Better than cute,” said Rosie softly, feeling a wash of sadness pass between them.

When they arrived at the school, Mrs. Goldglitt didn't want to let her out of the car. “I can't leave you here alone,” her mother protested, but Rosie convinced her that a yardful of students would keep her safe. “Be good,” she said, leaning over to kiss her. “Have fun, be smart, don't drink or drive.”

“What?” said Rosie, in mock protest. “I was going to drive Robbie to the beach afterward!” She made a face and said, “And drink? What are you thinking? It tastes worse than coffee!”

“Good,” said her mother, smiling broadly. “I'll pick you up at eleven.”

When she was gone, Rosie's heart started hammering as if she'd run the track three times. She was scared and eager, and excited, too. What could she call it?
Sceager
sounded right.

Rosie found the rosebush that had made Robbie fall over backward. The famous rosebush where it had all begun. It was getting darker now, and the front of the school was deserted. Maybe her mother was right. She should have stayed in the car until she'd spotted Robbie. Rosie shifted from foot to foot, peering into the distance, searching for Robbie's lanky frame.

A voice made her jump. “I saw him over there, on the other side of the school, by Mrs. Petrie's house!”

Rosie squinted her eyes in the darkness and saw the glint of a hundred buttons. It was Teresa Tubby, her girl Teresa, top wrestler and true friend, her eyes trained on Rosie. “There's a rosebush on the other side of the school, you ninny!”

Rosie ran like a maniac, following her heroine past the front steps of the school, past the flagpole, past the sign that said
SEVENTH GRADE CAR WASH ON SATURDAY
. In the distance she saw two people, a boy and a girl. The girl had long blond hair that shimmered in the streetlamp. The boy's hair was spiky, and his face was in shadow. Robbie and Mary. Mary and Robbie. She could have spotted them anywhere, her crush and her downfall. The kiss exchanged between them was a knife in Rosie's heart, and she stepped back quickly, trying to save herself from falling.

The noise startled the two of them, and made them look up.

Robbie's mouth hung open. Mary followed his stare and said, “Can I help you, Miss Peeping Tom?”

Teresa reappeared with Billy in tow. He reminded Rosie of her cousin's golden retriever, coming to rescue the damsel in distress.

“Hey,” said Billy, and Rosie mumbled something back. “I've been looking for you! Weren't we supposed to meet at Mrs. Petrie's rosebush? The one I thought your grandfather was looking for? Teresa said you were waiting by the other rosebush!” He held out his hand, and Rosie took it gratefully.

Teresa took Rosie's other arm, and said out loud, “You know he got detention defending you!”

Rosie glanced sharply at Billy, who smelled only of aftershave and was her second newest hero. “I thought you said you were in detention because of lateness,” she said.

“I lied,” he said shyly, and they turned the corner and entered the fiesta-decorated gymnasium without looking back.

“I forgot there was more than one rosebush,” Billy whispered. “I thought you'd remember.”

“Detention got my memory,” Rosie fibbed. “Mr. Woo would be proud. You used symbolism!”

“Too bad we met at the wrong symbol, huh?”

“And your handwriting sucks,” Rosie scolded him gently.

She would never tell Billy that his
B
looked like an
R,
especially when she had wanted it to be so. Teresa had saved her, with her jingling chains and her hundreds of buttons and her heart of gold. Rosie would tell her other friends, Lauren, Summer, and Sarah, that they should take her blunder and put it in the vault and never speak of it again. She would never ever tell, cross her heart and hope to trip backward over a blooming rosebush.

17

Rosie's New Mantra

Later in the evening, sitting on a bench under one of the piñatas, Rosie discovered that she could say anything she liked to Billy. She didn't have to run home and log on to the computer to look up his profile. Rosie even apologized for those times she held her nose. “I feel terrible about it,” she said, looking to see if he was insulted.

To her relief, Billy laughed and said, “Hey, I deserved it! We have Teresa to thank for conquering my hygiene problem. If she hadn't told me, you'd still be holding your nose! It's hard to catch a whiff of yourself.”

It seems that the Tubby family had moved next to the Joneses a few years back. They were friendly neighbors. Following Rosie's discussion with Teresa Tubby about Billy's odor, Teresa had taken matters into her own hands. She had rung his doorbell and dragged him into the kitchen in what might have felt alarmingly like a wrestling move. She didn't hold back, telling him, “Consider me an intervention of one.”

“What's an intervention?” Billy had asked her, mildly confused.

“If you were doing drugs, your family and friends would be here to tell you that you're ruining your life.”

“I don't do drugs,” said Billy, mystified.

“If you drank, we'd be saying the same thing.”

“Does milk count?” Billy asked, still clueless.

“You smell,” said Teresa matter-of-factly. “You need help so that you don't drive all your friends away.”

And that was that, Billy told Rosie. He was an only child whose parents had divorced when he was a little boy. Billy never bothered to ask his mother when to use deodorant. He thought you were supposed to put it on after physical exertion. Following gym class, sweating profusely, Billy put on his deodorant and went to class. The rest was history.

They talked until they got thirsty, and left the bench to get a cup of punch. Tommy Stone's mother accosted them both. “You're the only kids that haven't been photographed tonight!”

She led them to a booth that was covered in shiny blue paper. Silver stars hung from ribbons fixed to the top. Sitting them down, she whispered to Rosie, “How did a nice girl like you end up slugging Mary Katz?”

Rosie shrugged, and felt her cheeks turn red, but when Mrs. Stone turned to get her camera, Billy coughed into his hand, muttering, “Loser.”

“Can you believe it?” whispered Rosie. “Tommy Stone must have told his mother!”

“
Gossip Girl!
” said Billy, which surprised her, as most boys didn't know the names of books that girls read.

Mrs. Stone took their picture, and the two of them stayed talking inside the star-festooned box. It was nice and secluded, and Rosie didn't feel a moment of shyness. Index cards were not necessary when it came to Billy.

Rosie asked him, “Didn't you mind when people made fun of you? I get upset, because I want everyone to like me, you know?”

Billy laughed, and said, “Not everybody likes me, that's for sure. And if I knew how bad I smelled, I'd hold my nose, too!”

Rosie felt something hit her on the back of her head. Had Mary Katz secretly crawled behind the booth to torture her? No, it was a star made out of heavy cardboard, knocking her on the head and falling to the floor.

“It didn't hurt you, did it?” Billy asked her.

“No,” she said, touched by the concern in his voice. “The attack of the shooting stars!”

Billy picked up the star and twirled it in the palm of his hand. He handed it to Rosie, and said, “You've been my star for a while.” It was Billy's turn for his cheeks to turn red.

Then he leaned toward Rosie and kissed her once, very gently. Their noses didn't bump. Their teeth didn't clink. Fireworks didn't explode the way they did in the movies, but she liked the kiss. What was the word for it?
Sweet,
she thought. Close to tender. Were there stars in the air? Just cardboard ones, dangling above her. But Billy had called her his “star for a while,” and had kissed her to prove it. For an instant, she pictured Mary kissing Robbie at the rosebush, the bush where Robbie had fallen over backward. Let them fall over backward together, thought Rosie. She no longer cared. Just like that, Robbie Romano had turned into a shooting star of his own and flown out of Rosie's heart.