Read Online After the Kiss by Terra Elan McVoy - Free Book Online Page A

you’re protecting anything, but then she laughs again and says
i get it; never mind.
and you insist,
no really, what?
and she says you’re a funny girl. and asks have you gotten any good mail lately. and you don’t know what kind of mail she means (mailbox or inbox), and you don’t think she’ll be able to listen to either kind, with that judging laugh, even though she’s a fan of chicago and might want to know, so you keep it all to yourself and change the subject. you tell her a joke about the girls at school. you give her something to really laugh about.
    speaking from experience
    you can still hear luli laughing over it but the truth is you just can’t stop thinking about that catcher with the haiku. you’re not really sure why and half the time you think even thinking about him might in some way be swimming against the wrong current. when it comes down to brass tacks all you really have is yourself. why pretend there’s ever anything other than that? why can’t that be
okay
? what are you going to do with that boy in chicago—go through the whole darcy thing again, go back to writing and writing—trading photos every day so she could see your new town, so you could still see your old one—until marissa kept showing up in her photos and then those photos became fewer and fewer while yours kept coming, trying to prove how cool life was in charlotte—even though it wasn’t. are you going to do that with every new connection you make, in every new town? yes those chicago postcards and the memories attached to them are lovely (and wouldn’t it be so nice if you could have him every day—if we could—), but people don’t get to keep anything forever so who are you kidding? sure luli would say,
well how do you know?
she says spending your life trying not to get hurt is not really living, that she wants to live like a trapeze artist: if her body tells her to jump she does it because otherwise she’d just be cowering there on the platformwhen she could be flying and leaping with someone, maybe even for a long time. that’s what luli thinks. but everyone loves luli. luli’s never had letters unanswered. she’s never sent photos no one wants to see.
    not getting ready for a date
    it’s not like it’s a date. how could it be a date since you don’t date anyone, because dating’s a trap, because dating is totally dated? because you are the girl who stays unconnected to everyone. still, you do know he will be at the lake house tonight. and he knows you will be there. and you both know that right now you are probably getting ready to be there, knowing the other one will be there. it’s why you’re sitting here staring at your closet with a disaster of discarded outfits on your floor. it’s why you can’t decide between jeans or the deconstructed tuxedo pants. it’s why you wish you’d bought those killer turquoise cowboy boots you saw with mom last weekend, and why you can’t decide if your hair goes down or up. he’ll be there. you’ll be there. and eventually you’ll be there together. and you’re not sure what’s going to happen—what’s already happened is confusing enough—but you do know you’re sure something will happen. maybe like last time you’ll just talk. but that was still something. something for sure. he thought it was something too because what about those e-mails? so this isn’t just going to another weekly party. it’s more like kind of a date. even though you don’t date. which is why you’re not sure why you’re sitting here getting ready as though it is a date. but why you’re not able to act like it isn’t one, either.
    the kiss
    he just comes at you. you barely drop much of a
hey, how are you?
there on the back deck where people can see—and he just comes
at
you, surprising as a tornado on a sunny day,