The Tension of Opposites (11 page)

Not wanting to watch Elle disappear, not wanting to think about what she would be doing in the next hour, I looked down, and when I did, I saw it. The blue was darker in the shadow of the bench, but the fabric of the butterfly glinted in the fountain's light. Elle's notebook lay at my feet, looking as alone and forgotten as I felt.

My mind rushed through all my options.

The one that screamed the loudest was:
Keep it. Read it. Give it back later.

After all this time, the answers to my questions were lying at my feet.

But I couldn't … could I?

I reached down and grabbed the notebook. Before I could think another thought, I did what I knew was the right thing. The only thing.

“Elle!” I screamed into the night. Competing with the rush of the fountain, my word faded quickly. Chip slammed the passenger door and started around the back side of the Range Rover.

I stood and ran toward them. I couldn't hold on to it. If I did, I wouldn't have the strength to keep myself from betraying her.

“Chip!” I shouted.

He was walking past the back window when I saw his thick body stop and turn.

Chip moved slowly toward me.

“Elle dropped this,” I said. I held the notebook in the air. Chip's large hand reached out and took it from me, his solid fingers running across the wings of the butterfly.

“Fascinating read,” he said with a quick nod. His baseball cap was on backward, and strands of golden hair poked from the little hole in front.

“What?” I asked.

“I found it one night after Elle passed out.” Chip ducked his head, playing it off in this casual way. “I've seen her write in it, and I thought it was some paper for English or something.”

“It's not,” I said.

“Yeah. I figured that out.” Chip laughed. He actually laughed! The sound made me feel this intense need to claw at his face, but I controlled myself by digging my fingernails into my palms. “You've read it, too, then?”

“No,” I said, my jaw tight.

“Don't tell her I did.” Chip took a few steps back. “She'd be embarrassed.”

“I won't tell her.” I shook my head. “She'd be a whole lot more than embarrassed.”

“It's not a big deal,” he said. Then he turned and made his way to the opposite side of the car, tromping right over that sacred square.

“Yeah,” I said. “It really is.”

Chip folded himself back into the SUV, and I watched as he passed the notebook into Elle's hands. It wasn't until that point that she turned and saw me.

She nodded.

Smiled.

And then she was gone.

I knelt on the cold, hard ground, staring through the viewfinder of the Nikon. The miniature house before me was made up of nothing but sugar. I could hardly see any gingerbread under the colorful gumdrops, M&M's, Red Hots, and licorice. White icing glued the candy in place, piped around each piece in looping circles, cementing the chocolate-covered pretzels that stood side by side to form the little picket fence that wrapped around the entire green rock-candied yard.

“I can't believe I won,” Darcy said as she shifted her position for a picture.

“I can,” I said. “Look at that thing. How many hours did it take?” I snapped a shot just as three moms wearing fuzzy scarves stepped into the background, blocking the CHRISTMAS IN CENTERVILLE's 10TH ANNUAL GINGERBREAD HOUSE COMPETITION poster that I'd intended as Darcy's backdrop.

“I lost count after twenty-three.” Darcy adjusted the silver star on top of a large coconut-covered evergreen in the front yard. She had decorated it with crushed pieces of peppermint candy. “After I lost to Eden Pertly last year, I knew I had to step up my game. But let's get to what's really important—are you guys having fun?”

I nodded. Tried not to smile.

“I knew it!” Darcy clapped a couple of times, the sound muffled by her thick mittens, before I reached out and dug my fingers into her arm.

“Calm down,” I said. “It's really nothing. We're just hanging out, okay?”

“No.” Darcy breathed her strawberry breath into my face. “It's not nothing. It's totally a date. Your very first ever, if I'm not mistaken.”

“Yeah, but if I think like that I might freak out,” I whispered. “So, for tonight, it's nothing.”

“Oh, whatever.” Darcy patted my cheeks with her mittened hands. Her brown hair fell forward over her shoulder, and she flung it out of her face. “I feel like your big sister, you know? And you're spoiling my moment, Tessa.”

“Kind of like my dad spoiled mine.” I grunted, remembering the uncomfortable moments of introductions when Max had picked me up.

“Oh, no.” Darcy laughed. “Did he give Max a lie-detector test? Force him to submit fingerprints?”

“Practically.” I ducked my head. “Let's just say that my parents have all of the Kinsleys' phone numbers.”

“How embarrassing.”

“Tell me about it.” I nodded toward the gingerbread house. “Enough about my humiliation. I need another shot of you and the masterpiece. Some admirers got in the way earlier.”

Darcy leaned down again, her hand perched beside the tray holding her first-place masterpiece, and blew a huge pink bubble with her gum. I snapped just before she sucked the wad of Strawberry Splash into her mouth with a big pop.

“Come on,” I said. “You ruined the picture.”

“I thought I was adding some panache.”

“One piping hot cup for you,” Max said, stepping to my side and handing me a Styrofoam cup, “and one for the Master of Gingerbread.”

“Mmm,” I said as the hot chocolate warmed my throat and chest. I licked my top lip, tasting sweet, melted marshmallows, and thought of Noelle. “That's just about right.”

“It's almost warm in here with the heaters,” Max said.

We stood in one of seven large tents lining Main Street, much warmer than we had been earlier, when we'd shivered on the side of the street as we'd watched the holiday parade.

Darcy pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans and smiled, then typed something before looking up.

“I gotta go,” she said, peering around a group of people and waving toward the tent's entrance. “T just got here.”

“Congrats again,” I said. Taking another sip, I looked at Max and found him staring at me. “What?”

“Nothing.” As he adjusted his tight-fitting wool cap, several black curls fought for freedom. He gave me a mischievous little smile, and I ducked my head. “Let's get outta here.”

I wondered if he'd noticed any difference in my hair, which I'd straightened and clipped up in several sparkling barrettes. Or my extra layer of raspberry-flavored lip gloss. I'd felt silly as I chose my outfit, giggling a little as I pulled my favorite wool sweater over my thermal shirt, turning to check my butt in the stretchy jeans I'd bought special for the evening.

“I got something for us,” Max said, placing his hand on my back as we passed a large group of skinny middle-school boys on skateboards.

“Oh, yeah?” I said, trying hard not to smile.

“Yeah.”

Several large snowmen walked past on the street. One waved at me and tipped his hat.

Max pulled his hand from the pocket of his black coat. “Ever ridden in a horse-drawn carriage?”

I stared at two red tickets fanned out in his hand. Looked into his eyes. He tilted his head, and for a second I got the urge to brush my lips against his pink cheeks to see if they were as cold as I imagined.

“No,” I said. “I haven't.”

“I figured.” Max grabbed my hand and squeezed. “You said you usually skip the whole Christmas in Centerville event.”

“Well, yeah. Since …”

“Elle, right? And I heard this is the first year they've had the carriages.” Max pulled my arm and started toward the line. “So I thought maybe you'd like to go with me.” I couldn't say anything, so I just nodded.

Minutes later, Max and I stood in the roped-off line for the carriage ride. In front of us an elderly couple dressed in long brown coats stooped slightly, as if time were pressing them forward and they could hardly resist the pressure. Between their frail bodies, their bare hands were clasped, their fingers intertwined. That was what made me grab my camera … those two gnarled hands.

“That oughta be good.” Max lowered his face and looked up at me, half smiling.

“What?” I asked.

“The hands. You thinking of the assignment? Tension of Opposites?”

“Strength and weakness in the same shot,” I said. “How'd you know?”

“I know you better than you think.” Max met my eyes, held them for a little longer than usual.

Suddenly, I had no idea what to do with my hands, so I clasped them around the body of the camera, then let go and tried to shove them in the pockets of my jeans, but my mittens were too bulky. When our carriage arrived, I breathed out this huge sigh, then immediately wished I could suck the cloud of frozen breath back into my mouth.

I didn't dare to look at Max's face until we were stepping up into the carriage. I knew it would be there, that annoying half smile of his, and I was right. But somehow, when I saw it, I felt a little better. Until we sat on the velvety seats and I lost my balance, almost pitching into his lap. Grabbing my waist, he caught me and eased me down next to him. That was how his arm ended up around me, his fingers playing with the flowy white belt looped through the rings in my jeans. As I listened to the horses' hooves
clip-clop
along the pavement of Main Street, I couldn't believe I was actually sitting in a horse-drawn carriage with
Max Kinsley's
arm wrapped around me.

“Cold?” he asked.

“No. I'm not—” I turned toward Max as our carriage went over an uneven patch of pavement. The tilt was just enough to ease me into him, our noses grazing.

Oh. My. God.
I thought.
We're totally close enough to kiss.

And I started to freak. If it happened, would it be glaringly obvious that I had never been kissed? Like,
really
kissed.

Max looked at my lips, brushed a strand of hair off my cheek, and finally met my eyes. The winter wonderland surrounding us ceased to exist. Jingle bells quieted and twinkling lights faded, leaving only the whinny of the horses, the gentle motion of the carriage, and us.

He smiled. I giggled. His arm moved to tighten around my shoulders, and he pulled me a little closer. I moved toward him, wondering about the scent of my breath. Then his lips grazed mine, and I finally knew the answer. That mouth I'd been staring at for months was as soft as I'd imagined.

It was brief, our first kiss. My first kiss. But I couldn't have asked for more.

When we separated, he leaned his forehead against mine.

“Not bad,” he said.

I squinted.

“I'm just saying,” he said, with a tilt of his head.

“Oh, shut up.” I laughed and leaned into his shoulder, letting my body sway with the carriage as the two horses pulled us through town. Max swayed, too, his warmth pressed against me, making me tingle all over.

After our first kiss, I felt all twisted and loopy inside. I wondered if people around me noticed, but no one flashed me a knowing look or a too-wide grin. Max held my hand, leading me through throngs of people littering the sidewalk, past tents stuffed with Christmas crafts, and around carolers dressed in clothes that looked like they had been worn on the set of
Little House on the Prairie
.

We were on our way to Max's car, my mind sifting through all the possible ways I could ensure another kiss, when we passed the line for pictures with Santa, and a little girl sucking on a large candy cane hopped right in front of us. We nearly knocked her down, but Max tore his hand from mine and grabbed her shoulders to keep her upright. The girl's mother, wearing a large puffy coat, gripped the girl's upper arm and thanked Max while trying to keep her squirming daughter under control.

“It was my fault,” Max said.

“No.” The mother pried the gooey candy cane from the fingers of her child. “She's had way too much sugar tonight.”

I couldn't believe so many people were standing in the roped-off line, which zigged and zagged through one of the side streets near the center of town, finally ending at a large display, where Santa was seated in front of a shimmery green wall. I was thinking that the man they'd found to play Santa was perfect—his beardlooked real, and his eyes held that sparkle mentioned in every Christmas story out there—when I saw Elle step toward him from the front of the line. Behind her, Chip strutted to the platform, his hand running through his golden hair.

“Tessa?” Max grabbed my hand and squeezed. “You ready?”

I shook my head and pointed toward the front of the line. Elle sat on one of Santa's knees, and Chip planted himself on the other as Santa let out a merry “Ho, ho, ho!” I watched Elle throw her head back and laugh at something Chip said.

“I want to wait for her,” I said. “How do we get over there?”

Max stood on his tiptoes and looked over the heads of all the people separating Elle and me. “C'mon,” he said. “I think I see a way.”

I followed him, taking in whiffs of hot cider and sugary pastries, until we made it to the opening in the rope wall that signified the exit. Elle and Chip had just walked out and were ten feet ahead of us, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, hers around his waist. They stopped at a picnic table planted in the middle of someone's front lawn. Elle sat as Chip pulled some money out of his pocket and flipped through the bills.

“Can we?” I asked.

“You really want to?”

“No.” I touched my forehead to Max's shoulder. “But I should.”

“Okay.” Max rubbed his thumb against the back of my hand. “I understand,” he said as we started walking toward them.

When I tapped Elle on the shoulder, she jumped and let out this abrupt sound that was a cross between a growl and a scream.

“Sorry,” I said, feeling awful, especially as I watched Chip's face screw up in a look of disgust at the noise. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

“It's okay.” Elle pressed her elbows into the wooden table as Max sat across from her. “Want some hot chocolate? Chip was about to go brave the line.”

“No, thanks,” I said, not moving from my place at the side of the table. “We already had some.”

Chip didn't say anything, just folded the money in his hand and shrugged before turning and walking away. Elle, her face illuminated by the white twinkling lights that outlined the house behind Max, didn't see when one of Chip's friends stopped him in the street. The guy stepped close and said something, then shrugged and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. When Chip turned our way, I rotated my body quickly, not wanting him to know I'd been watching.

As Elle and Max talked about how the center of town smelled like horse poop, I watched Chip duck between two houses and disappear.

“Elephant ears!” I said suddenly, my voice way too loud.

“Please tell me that's not some cuss word you've made up, Tessa.” Elle laughed. “It was kind of cute in the fifth grade. Not so much anymore.”

“Funny.” I shot Elle a sarcastic smile. “I meant exactly what I said. Elephant ears. I'm going to get some.”

Max started to extricate his legs from underneath the picnic table. “I can go.”

“No,” I said, already walking away. “I got it.”