Major Crush(29)
Author: Jennifer Echols

Finally, after about two minutes of complete silence, I looked at him. He was watching me. I stared back at him. Something would have to give. I wondered why I didn’t give. He sat in the passenger side of my car rather than the drivers seat, but he’d have his license in November.

A nd he might not be as tall as Drew, but he was taller than me by quite a bit, and who knew how tall he’d be in a few months?

A nd he was very good-looking, with the expressive green eyes that always told on him. Now they were telling me that he had my number.

He knew I’d tried to lead him on. He was mad about it. A nd he wasn’t leaving this car until he got some. But he was going to make me wait.

I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel and wished I had my drumsticks. Better to meet the problem head-on, right? Still tapping, I said,

“A t the party. On the porch. You knew what I wanted.”

“Yes.”

“A nd you wouldn’t give it to me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t choose to help the cause.”

“Fair enough,” I said. Suddenly I stopped tapping and pounded both hands on the steering wheel. “I can’t believe you’re playing hard to get!”

“Me neither.” He crossed his legs. “I’m afraid you’re going to take advantage of me.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you would take advantage of me first!” Time to bring out the heavy artillery. I used the line boys used on TV when they were trying to get a girl to have sex with them. “You would if you loved me.”

Of course I was kidding. But if I’d thought about it for two seconds, I could have predicted what Walter would say to that.

“I do love you.”

The air between us sparked until Ï almost thought I could hear the tiny explosions.

“But I’m still not going to kiss you in front of Drew Morrow just so you can make him jealous,” he said. “Or kiss you now because you’re horny for Drew.”

“Really?” I asked. “Then why are you still in the car?”

“Good point.”

Walter would argue with me all night. Oh, what the hell. I leaned over and kissed him.

A t first I thought he was stunned, and then I thought he was being a butt, because he wouldn’t kiss me back. He didn’t move. Tickling my face with his beard, I moved to the corner of his mouth to see if that worked any better.

Then he wrapped his arms around me, pulled me closer across the seat, and gave me this warm, deep kiss.

Walter was a great kisser. Not that I had a whole lot to go on. The last time I’d kissed a boy was at the movies in eighth grade. The wonders of PG-13 had gotten everyone excited, and I couldn’t quite manage to get away from Bobby Thompson. A fter that, nothing for three years.

The nose stud scared them off.

But even I could tell that Walter was doing this right. There wasn’t enough tongue to be gross, but just enough to wake me up. I mean, this boy was waking me up. It occurred to me that Drew wasn’t the only playboy in the band. Walter had spent part of last year working his way along the clarinet line. It was paying off. For me.

This did not feel right. But it felt good.

I was giving Walter what he wanted. If his crush on me was anything like my crush on Drew, he’d probably dreamed for the past two years about kissing me. I was making my friend happy.

There was no way I could pull out now. Walter would hate me forever.

I could do this. I could do this for me and for Walter. I could pretend Walter was Drew.

His hand slid down my arm, and he interlaced his fingers with mine. His thumb rubbed my thumb.

I jerked away from him and backed across the seat, into the door.

He stared at me dumbly for a moment. “I knew it,” he muttered. Then he shouted at me, “I knew it! This is why I went away to school!”

“No, it isn’t,” I said, trying to slow down my panting. “You went away to school because you’re a good musician and an incredible writer, and you wanted to get a better education. A nd running water.”

He looked at the bus. “I’d drop out and come back in a heartbeat to be with you.”

“I know. That’s why it’s called a crush. It weighs you down and keeps you from doing what you really want to do.”

“What I really want to do is be with you.”

Before I could stop him, he got out, closed the door, and walked toward the bus.

I was going to let him go. A nything else I did would just mess it up worse. But I finally opened my door and leaned out. “Walter,” I called. “I don’t want to leave it like this. I want us to stay friends.”

He whirled around at the steps to the bus. “It s not all about you, Virginia. A nd sometimes you don’t get what you want.” He mounted the steps and slammed the door behind him. Which was difficult, because it was a folding door with a lever.

I waited for him to light a candle or a lantern in the bus. I watched from my car for a long time, but the bus stayed dark.

When I got home that night, Dad was at the hospital delivering a baby. It was Mom who was waiting for me, dozing on the couch with the Weather Channel on. I wondered why my parents had taken to watching the Weather Channel all of a sudden, like they were expecting a storm.

Mom was still in full makeup and looked like a magazine layout for expensive pjs, lying there in her negligee. Now, I don’t mean to give the impression that my mother never got dressed. She didn’t lie around in her negligee all day. Well, I guess she did, about two years ago. But she was depressed then, and it only lasted a week.

I lay down on the couch with my back to her front.

She stirred, pulled part of her silk robe over me, and kissed my hair. “You did so well today.”

“Thanks.”

“The band was night and day compared to two weeks ago. You’ve done a wonderful job with them. You and Drew. I’m so proud of you.”

I tried not to shiver under her robe. “Thanks.”

“A nd didn’t A llison look glamorous in the parade?”

I looked down at Mom’s hand resting beside mine. My fingernails were unpolished and cut down to the quick. Hers were long and red and freshly, professionally manicured.

“You know A llison has a big pageant tomorrow,” I said.

“I know.”

“Would you like to go?”

“Of course. I might go.”

“I mean, would you like for you and me to go with A llison and her mom?” Before she got the wrong impression, I hurried on, “I don’t think I’ll ever do pageants again myself. I’ve had enough. But I want to support A llison. I feel bad that I haven’t gone with her in the past two years. A nd the one tomorrow is so important.”