Read Online Infinity by Sarah Dessen - Free Book Online Page B

and into the waistband of my jeans, pressing his fingers there. I knew because we’d been practising
this too, all this time, trial run after trial run. Like the roundabout, what came next was obvious. And scary. And, it seemed,
inevitable.
    I’d been with Anthony for over six months. We’d met at work: we both had jobs at Jumbo Smoothie. He worked the blenders, which
was an advanced position, while I dumped sliced peaches and yoghurt into cups, prepping. It wasn’t a great job, but we got
to play the radio and eat all the free smoothies we wanted, which was fun for the first week or so.
    Anthony was tall, with a bony frame: he had big wrists, wild curly hair and a sloping kind of walk that always made him look
like he was taking his time. When he blended smoothies, he really put his whole body into it, arms shaking, bouncing on the
balls of his feet, like the noise the blender made was music and he just couldn’t help himself from dancing.
    He wanted to sleep with me. He hadn’t come out and said it, but he didn’t really have to. He was a senior; we’d been together
six months. Us having sex would be a natural progression, after kissing to letting him go up my shirt, then down my jeans:
like moving from learner’s permit to licence, there’s only one thing left. And so I have this choice. To either merge in or
take the long way home.
    ‘I’m so proud of you!’
    That was my mother when I came out of the
DMV office, holding my new licence. It was still warm in my hand from where they’d laminated it, as if it was somehow alive.
    ‘Let me see the picture,’ she said. She squinted down at it. ‘Very nice. You’re not even blinking.’
    It was a decent shot. I’d even had a second to brush my hair while the guy was arguing with some woman over her picture –
she’d blinked, I guess – which I figured was a bonus. And there, next to my face, was all my pertinent information. Height,
weight, eye colour. Birthday. And expiry date: 2014. Amazing. Where would I be in four years?
    ‘McDonald’s,’ my mother said when I asked her this. We were in the car. I was driving.
    ‘What?’ I said.
    ‘I thought we should go to McDonald’s,’ she said. She fiddled with her sun visor, up then down. Although she’d never admit
it, my mother was nervous riding with me. ‘To celebrate.’
    ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Okay.’
    McDonald’s was smack in the middle of the lunch rush, the noise of registers and commotion and the crackling of the drive-through
speaker almost overpowering. My mother told me to go find a table, then stood in line clutching her purse. The people behind
her were all public-works guys in orange jumpsuits, talking too loudly.
    I found a table by the window and sat down. The surface was covered with salt, like a dusting of snow, too thin to see but
you could feel it. I moved my finger through it, leaving a circle behind, until suddenly someone put their hands over my eyes.
    ‘Guess who?’ a voice said right next to my ear. It was Anthony. Without my sight, the McDonald’s seemed to get quieter, as
if you needed to see all the commotion for it to really be happening.
    ‘I know it’s you,’ I said softly, reaching up and putting my hands over his. I could feel the silver ring he wore on his index
finger pressing gently against my eyelid, cool and smooth. He went to move his
hands, the joke being over, but I kept them there for a second longer before he slipped loose and it was bright again.
    ‘So, did you get it?’ he asked, dropping one hand on to my neck and leaning over me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out
my licence, showing him. ‘Nice. Good picture too. You’re not even blinking or making a weird face.’
    ‘Nope,’ I said. Anthony’s licence picture was terrible. Just when the guy was about to pop the flash someone slammed a door,
and Anthony was startled: in the picture he looks surprised, like his eyes are bugging out of his head. But it doesn’t bother
him. He says no one