of flowers or at least white leather gloves, instead of fuzzy mittens. I was nervous but in a good way; even the snow seemed romantic. I imagined a spotlight following me.
When I got there, Tommy was sitting on his front step, making snowballs and chucking them at the mailbox. His aim was decent; there was so much snow caked around the flag, you could barely see it. I made a tight ball, said a little prayer, and let it fly. I hit the mailbox so hard, it wobbled. When I looked at Tommy, he was grinning that grin of his that got me in the first place. “Good shot,” he said.
I shrugged, not wanting him to know how nice it felt to hear that. “What happened to the snow fort?” I asked.
“Jonas is reading.”
“Oh.”
He picked up another handful of snow and asked, “You want to see our tree house?”
“Sure.” Following him around the side of the house, I felt like I should say something. “My dad always meant to build us a tree house. There’s a whole pile of lumber in our basement.”
“Maybe this spring,” Tommy suggested.
“He moved to L.A.,” I said. He didn’t say anything to that. A girl would’ve said something in a high voice: Sorry, oh, my gosh, Los Angeles? I followed silent Tommy to the little cabin in the middle of his yard. “It’s not in a tree,” I observed.
“That’s just what we call it,” he said, ducking inside. I stepped in behind him and tried to think of something nice to say, because my mother says when you go to somebody’s house, find something to compliment. But before I could say nice walls or something, Tommy asked me, “Did you ever kiss anybody?”
I looked out the window of the cabin toward his house. I couldn’t see anybody looking out at us. “Besides family?” I asked.
“No, your grandmother.”
“I was just kidding,” I said. I didn’t want him to think I was a baby or a prude, so in one motion I turned around, grabbed him, and started kissing.
I tried to do it the way CJ and I had been joking about—you know, rocking your head left and right, put your hand in his hair. I wanted to do it right.
I scared him so bad, kissing him like that, he yanked his head back. “Um, want some hot chocolate?” he asked, and before I had a chance to answer, he left the tree house. He practically ran across the yard. I think I was still puckered when he got to his back door.
I walked home, which took an hour. I punched myself in the stomach the whole way. Jerk, jerk, foolish jerk .
I called him to break up as soon as I got in my house, before I even took off my jacket. Jonas answered the phone.
“Can I talk to Tommy?”
“He’s sick,” Jonas said.
I had actually made him sick. I sat down on the floor, still in my jacket and boots, leaning against the front door.
“Morgan?” Jonas asked.
“Just tell Tommy I don’t want to go out with him anymore.”
“OK,” Jonas said. “See you in school tomorrow.” And that was the end of that. I put the box of red-hots in my desk drawer next to the wadded-up thermometer and left it there unopened, to remind myself of the difference between girlfriends and boys. Also to torture myself. Tommy was out of school sick for a few days, but when he came back we barely looked at each other. I’d already told everybody I’d broken up with him because he was such a horn-dog, kissing me so hard out in his tree house.
fifteen
I touched his hair. Oh, jeez , it tortures me just to think of it, and there he is up in front of the class, finishing his Bring Yourself in a Sack, and I still think he’s so cute, which I would never admit. I scare myself sometimes, my hand in his hair and my eyes closed, him pulling away and looking all frightened, me smooching away clueless, making him sick.
I don’t care if he thinks I’m a slut, kissing him like that. He’s so full of himself, he probably thinks I just couldn’t resist him. He’s got that smirk on, as he pulls a tiny toy dinosaur out of his bag and explains that the
When I got there, Tommy was sitting on his front step, making snowballs and chucking them at the mailbox. His aim was decent; there was so much snow caked around the flag, you could barely see it. I made a tight ball, said a little prayer, and let it fly. I hit the mailbox so hard, it wobbled. When I looked at Tommy, he was grinning that grin of his that got me in the first place. “Good shot,” he said.
I shrugged, not wanting him to know how nice it felt to hear that. “What happened to the snow fort?” I asked.
“Jonas is reading.”
“Oh.”
He picked up another handful of snow and asked, “You want to see our tree house?”
“Sure.” Following him around the side of the house, I felt like I should say something. “My dad always meant to build us a tree house. There’s a whole pile of lumber in our basement.”
“Maybe this spring,” Tommy suggested.
“He moved to L.A.,” I said. He didn’t say anything to that. A girl would’ve said something in a high voice: Sorry, oh, my gosh, Los Angeles? I followed silent Tommy to the little cabin in the middle of his yard. “It’s not in a tree,” I observed.
“That’s just what we call it,” he said, ducking inside. I stepped in behind him and tried to think of something nice to say, because my mother says when you go to somebody’s house, find something to compliment. But before I could say nice walls or something, Tommy asked me, “Did you ever kiss anybody?”
I looked out the window of the cabin toward his house. I couldn’t see anybody looking out at us. “Besides family?” I asked.
“No, your grandmother.”
“I was just kidding,” I said. I didn’t want him to think I was a baby or a prude, so in one motion I turned around, grabbed him, and started kissing.
I tried to do it the way CJ and I had been joking about—you know, rocking your head left and right, put your hand in his hair. I wanted to do it right.
I scared him so bad, kissing him like that, he yanked his head back. “Um, want some hot chocolate?” he asked, and before I had a chance to answer, he left the tree house. He practically ran across the yard. I think I was still puckered when he got to his back door.
I walked home, which took an hour. I punched myself in the stomach the whole way. Jerk, jerk, foolish jerk .
I called him to break up as soon as I got in my house, before I even took off my jacket. Jonas answered the phone.
“Can I talk to Tommy?”
“He’s sick,” Jonas said.
I had actually made him sick. I sat down on the floor, still in my jacket and boots, leaning against the front door.
“Morgan?” Jonas asked.
“Just tell Tommy I don’t want to go out with him anymore.”
“OK,” Jonas said. “See you in school tomorrow.” And that was the end of that. I put the box of red-hots in my desk drawer next to the wadded-up thermometer and left it there unopened, to remind myself of the difference between girlfriends and boys. Also to torture myself. Tommy was out of school sick for a few days, but when he came back we barely looked at each other. I’d already told everybody I’d broken up with him because he was such a horn-dog, kissing me so hard out in his tree house.
fifteen
I touched his hair. Oh, jeez , it tortures me just to think of it, and there he is up in front of the class, finishing his Bring Yourself in a Sack, and I still think he’s so cute, which I would never admit. I scare myself sometimes, my hand in his hair and my eyes closed, him pulling away and looking all frightened, me smooching away clueless, making him sick.
I don’t care if he thinks I’m a slut, kissing him like that. He’s so full of himself, he probably thinks I just couldn’t resist him. He’s got that smirk on, as he pulls a tiny toy dinosaur out of his bag and explains that the
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