CHAPTER EIGHT!
WINDOW THE ALBUM LEAF
MY THUMPING HEART felt wonderful. It reminded me of all of the time I had spent playing baseball in the summer of 2015. Getting back into the habit had been a bit of work, but had simultaneously been like taking a breath after holding it until your lungs felt fit to burst: not only immense pleasure, but natural. As natural as the blood flowing through my veins.
Dirt kicked up, visibly dusting the air in my wake. Benny had hit the ball into the outfield; it thumped against Mr. Myrtle's wall, and not-so-small Smalls rushed to retrieve it. There had been a time, I had been told, when Smalls had heard Hercules, an enormous dog, behind that fence and had nearly left the ball in his fear. But that was before he had become just as much a part of the Sandlot Boys as any of the others.
By the time Smalls scooped the ball into his bare hand, I touched third base. Ham, for the time-being, guarded third, and clapped my back on the way. It was such a casual gesture, I was beginning to wonder if it had become a habit for most of the boys.
But not Benny. He never touched me.
Home rushed toward me; behind it squatted Jordan. It was when his hand rose in the air that a flash of panic tugged at my gut. I did not dare to look back, due to a small fear that the ball would smack into my face. And so I dropped—dropped and slid the last several feet to home base, hard ground dragging and pulling at the fabric of my jeans.
Not even a second after I felt my foot strike base did I hear the smack of the baseball against Jordan's glove. Now stopped just ahead of the boy, I glanced at him; even behind the mask, I could make out his smile.
"Safe!" Jordan declared, stood, and—did not throw the ball back. He extended a hand out to me, and I took it, allowing him to pull me effortlessly to my feet.
"Thanks," I breathed, a triumphant grin spread across my flushed face.
Jordan raised the mask to reveal the full brilliance of his smile. The sun kissed the golden tone of his skin, picked out the surviving strands of blond in his darkening hair and eyelashes. He was truly handsome.
He waved at the boys, calling a break. Although there were a few complaints, all of the boys began to migrate toward the dugout. I glanced back at them, then at Jordan.
"What's up?"
Jordan pulled the glove from his hand. "I'm leaving. My dad's probably home by now—it's his and my mom's anniversary, so they're going out to Hollywood or something."
"Oh, that's nice." The smile on my face had not yet left; I had not slid like that in over a year, and although there would be a hell of a stain on my jeans, I felt good about my victory. "How long have they been together?"
"They've been together for seventeen years. Been married for fifteen." Jordan started for the dugout, and I followed, watching him as he ran his fingers through his damp hair. "Mom let me come here today so she could get ready, but she says I'm not ungrounded yet."
A laugh slipped past my lips, and I instantly pressed my fingers to them. "Sorry, it's not funny. I just don't really have that problem. My parents don't really ground me. They just beat my ass."
Jordan's lips curled, only slightly. "Is the grass greener over there? My parents never give me that sort of discipline. Guess it would interfere with their schedules."
Bertram had been at first base, and somehow had managed to sneak up on me and Jordan. He made his presence known by placing both arms around our shoulders, wedging his way into the small space between us.
"My aunt does both," Bertram snickered. "But she just smacks me around with a flip-flop. It doesn't really hurt. Better than my piece of shit dad, amirite?"
I couldn't help myself—I laughed again. The good thing was that Bertram would not take offense to that. "Right."
"I wish I had your parents, Kay," Bertram admitted. His arm curled around my neck and he forced my head onto his shoulder, to which I resisted and laughed. "They're so cool." His tone was wistful. "Remember when they let me basically live with you guys?"
"Yeah. Those were mostly the good days, amirite?" As I mocked him, I elbowed Bertram in the ribs. "Until your brother and his friends came and jumped Luke."
Bertram looked at Jordan when he replied, who watched us with evident curiosity. "Yeah. Then her entire family came out like a pack of ninjas and beat the fuck out of all of them. I slept through the whole thing, but according to Benny, Kay here beat the biggest one unconscious. Can you believe it? A fourteen-year-old girl! No offense, Kay-Kay."
A shy smile touched Jordan's lips. "Oh, I think I believe it. You were there, Bertram, when she punched me in the nose. I remember I had to go home 'cause it wouldn't stop bleeding. My coach was so mad at me for getting hit by a girl, but...I know now that I deserved it."
Snickering, Bertram said, "You really did. But you're cool now." Much to Jordan's dismay, Bertram ruffled his hair.
We were the first to the dugout. Bertram lunged for the famous mini-fridge, but Jordan held back, catching at my arm. Although a cold bottle of water seemed more enticing than Ethan Cutkosky—and that said quite a lot—I stopped to gaze up at Jordan, curiosity burning in my bright eyes.
"I'm still grounded," Jordan murmured, the circle of his fingers sliding to wrap around my wrist, gently. "But my parents will be gone all night. I was wondering if you'd want to...come over."
At the sight of my incredulous face, Jordan vigorously shook his head.
"Not for that," he clarified, a touch of panic on his tongue. "I mean, like...Okay, don't laugh, but I'm a really great cook. I was thinking that you could come over, and it could be like some sort of...date."
Jordan's nervousness was adorable, really. He had not yet released my wrist; he probably was not aware of it at all. A smile curled on my lips, and I repeated, "Date?"
"Unless you don't want it to be like that," he said, quickly, and took a slight step backward. It was then that he realized he was still holding my wrist, and he let go.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Benny, approaching quickly, Brandy at his side. And for once, I ignored the pang in my chest completely, smiled, and declared, "It's a date."
There was light in Jordan's dark eyes, and he flashed a grin of surprised pleasure. "Really?"
"Really," I winked. "So, what sort of date is this going to be? Casual? Formal?"
My calm, casual air was a lie. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was grateful for the California summer heat, because my already flushed cheeks flamed. Especially when Jordan looked at me, really looked me in the eye this time, lacking shyness; his eyes were wide and open and deep, full of something like affection. The look in his eyes seemed to set a weight upon me, although it made me feel as though I were floating all the same.
"It's whatever you want," Jordan said, and tore his eyes away from mine. The others were pouring past, the mini-fridge always the initial destination. When he looked back at me, he grinned. "You're always beautiful."
Against my will, a grin stretched upon my face, uncontrollable and wildly pure. "Thank you," I breathed, eyes falling to the ground, sweeping a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
"Eight o'clock?" Jordan asked.
"Sure," I agreed, looking back up at him, and the smile would not loosen, not a bit. "I'll be ready."
Jordan's mouth closed, though he was still smiling, and he leaned down to press a brief kiss to my cheek. Surely he felt the unnatural warmth beneath, but he did not comment on it. He said, "See you then," and took off for the exit.
As Jordan left, I crossed my arms, remained in place, and watched him go. The smile refused to release my lips. Moments later, something icy touched my elbow, shocking me out of my slightly-stalkerish daydream. It was Kenny who had snuck beside me, water bottle extended toward me.
"Thanks." The word released on a mixture of a breathy exhale and a laugh. I took the bottle with a lightly-shaking hand.
Kenny whispered, "Brandy's coming," and fell away a moment later. Sure enough, the one and only Brandy took his place. She was barely shorter than me, but I felt the urge to look down at her with that "I'm your superior" sort of look. Oddly enough, she was older than me.
Brandy's brown eyes were alight. "You're going on a date with Phillips?"
"His name is Jordan."
"I know, sorry—it's just that Benny always calls him by his last name, so he got me in the habit. Anyways, I just thought I'd...."
Brandy's voice died, leaving the next words unspoken. Somehow, I felt that I knew what she had been looking to achieve. To be that sort of friend to me, someone I could gush to. What she didn't know was that I didn't need girls for that. Ivy was in Malibu with her mother, and Leah was asleep at Kenny's house, after what Kenny said had been an exhausting night. But I could gush just the same to any of the boys here now—all except for Benny. And that was plenty enough.
Even still, there was something pure in this girl's eyes. Some childish hope, crumpling with every downturn, and it tugged at the strings of my heart, made me feel like a horrible person. Before Brandy could send a shy smile and turn away, I reached forward, almost touched her, and recoiled.
"Hey," I said, quickly, and almost sighed when she stopped and turned to look at me. "Um...Ivy's gone, so...I was wondering if you could, like...help me out."
In truth, I did not need any help. Dressing in jeans and a t-shirt was not hard work, but the burst of light behind Brandy's eyes made it worth it.
"Sure!" she nearly squealed, beaming. "Okay! Oh, I already know what I'm going to do!"
"Oh, God," I laughed, and was surprised to find that it was genuine laughter, the sort that simply escaped from my chest. Despite myself, I loved the feeling.
ღ
BRANDY had left minutes before, satisfied with her work. And, while the look she had left me with was simple, I was satisfied as well.
A simple black silk dress adorned my body well. I had gotten it a few months before but had never found the right time to wear it. The fabric shone dully, and ended just above my knees. The straps were extremely thin, and did little to clothe the pale skin of my shoulders, the sharp wings of my collarbones. The shoes were my mother's—heels (not very tall, but not short either), black and strappy.
Brandy had taken care with my curls, and her fingers felt wonderful when she gathered two chunks of hair from the sides of my head and pinned them back. The makeup was the simplest of all: pale-rose cheeks, matte lipgloss a couple shades darker pink than my natural lip color, and a light sheet of shimmering silver eyeshadow.
Alone now, looking into the mirror, a smile pulled one edge of my lips upward. Before, I might have thought I looked decent, maybe even pretty, but the constant bite of insecurity would always dominate. Then, I would not have expected that I could someday love all of myself, without having to change at all.
Not long after Brandy left, Jordan texted me, saying that he was on his way. Excitement now buzzed on every pore of my skin, sickening and uplifting. Without even closing my eyes I could see Jordan Phillips, the soft curve of his lips, the silky curtain of his darkening hair, that odd twinkle he sometimes got in his eyes. I had not felt this crush-sick since Benny.
The curtains were pulled away from my bedroom window, allowing the rosy-golden glow of the sunset. An unexplainable feeling tugged at the pit of my stomach when I gazed into that smudge of color in the sky; it touched and filled my eyes with gold, and a brilliant grin grew on my face, the most effortless grin I'd been able to produce since Benny had told me he loved me for the first time. That had been the most wonderful night, aside from the threatening letter I had found afterward.
Without any bit of thought, I found myself making my way downstairs. Luke was in the kitchen, surprisingly, and when he glanced up to find me walking by in a dress, his mouth dropped, spilling bits of chewed granola bar. "Makayla," he called, in a warning tone. "What are you doing?"
I paused, turned to look at my brother, and that effortless smile returned. He stared at me, unsure of what to make of this smile of mine, and did not speak or move as I approached him. In moments, I reached him, and placed a kiss to his cheek.
"I'm going on a date." My voice was smooth and airy. "With Jordan."
The rest of Luke's chewed granola bar fell to the table. I laughed, smacked his arm, told him to clean his mess, told him I loved him, and, feeling as though I were walking on air, moved for the front door. Soon, I was out in the fresh, warm summer air, the dying sun throwing off every bit of warmth it could sacrifice. It was hot out, yes, but refreshing and not at all stifling. The warmth seeped into my skin, formed a layer of protection there.
That red-gold brush of color in the sky grew steadily, swallowing the evening blue. I wanted to take a picture, but could not force myself to make any further movement once I stepped onto the small concrete pathway leading from the porch steps to the sidewalk. What I really found myself wanting to see was the color of the sky reflected in someone's eyes—and I told myself it was Jordan, but I never had been able to totally fool myself.
A phrase burned in the golden sky—not literally, but in the reflection of my eyes. Nothing gold can stay. It was the truest statement in the world, I realized. Childhood—nature's first green—lasted for eighteen years, if one's feelings were not taken into account. And with childhood came many things that would inevitably pass. Friendships "unbreakable" would break. Childish crushes would fade. Relationships would prove fruitless or toxic, would serve as lessons rather than lasting love.
It was depressing to know that, someday, I would speak to the last of my best friends for the final time. That our friendships, so strong and firm now, would be reduced to nothing but childhood memories, something to recall and laugh on but never spark back to life.
And it was even more depressing to know that Benny Rodriguez would someday begin a life of his own, strengthened by life's blows. He would join the Major Leagues and live the life of a rich athlete, fulfilling his heart's desires. Or he would marry, perhaps have children, and grow old with one lucky woman. He would tell his children stories of his golden childhood, of the time he pickled the Beast, the time he had busted the guts out of a baseball, and the time he had lost his mother. He would take them to her grave on the mountain, that gravestone shared with his father, and speak softly of her.
There would be no room for me in those stories. By then, probably, he will have forgotten me altogether. And if he did remember me, it would probably be a faint outline of his first girlfriend, first kiss. He might even remember how much I had disappointed him, getting into fights and smoking marijuana. Leaving when he needed me. Coming back and having the audacity to still be hopelessly in love with him.
A soft noise broke the dismal train of my thoughts. The sky burned with heavenly fire, washing away the red and leaving only a brilliant, fiery gold.
The noise did not resound, but it didn't have to. That voice...I would be able to identify it in a sea of a million screaming voices. Benny was crossing the street slowly, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. The sight of him sent my heart plummeting, shoved aside the crush-sickness for Jordan, which seemed pathetic now compared to the way I felt for Benny.
He wore a white sweater, surprising in the heat. He was staring at me, some unreadable expression in his eyes, and came to a stop in the middle of the street. Without a thought, I made my way toward him, and came to a stop two feet away.
"Hey."
Benny did not meet my eyes; his gaze fell to rest on my dress. "You're going on a date with Phillips?"
"Yeah." I tried to stuff my hands in pockets, then realized that I had none. Awkwardly, I folded my hands together behind my back. "Did Brandy tell you?"
He glanced back at the house, mouth pressed in a plump line. When he turned back, his eyes rose to meet the sky. "Well, yeah. But I heard him asking you out this morning, too."
"Oh." The words surprised me—not only because he had been listening in on our conversation, but because he had cared enough to do so in the first place. I swept the thought away quickly; he could not have been far, and just because he heard it and happened to remember it did not mean he cared.
Benny seemed nervous, on edge. He turned his eyes back to me, but the second they met my own, his eyes fell to rest on the crystal pendant between my collarbones. The one he had given me. He seemed to recognize it, and something flashed inside his eyes—perhaps it was the dying light reflecting from the crystal.
He looked up then, met my eyes—and my heart skipped a beat, because there it was. In awe, I caught the golden reflection in his hazel eyes, and it was so beautiful, so heavenly. If there was any sliver of a chance that I might be able to soon pull myself out of the overwhelming love I felt for Benny, it was gone now.
"You look pretty," Benny said, the words seeming to slip past his lips. He realized instantly and rushed to correct himself. "Good. You look pretty good." And, deciding that did not seem right either, he squeezed his eyes shut. "Sorry. I mean...Brandy did really well on fixing you up."
A giggle bubbled in my throat, but I forced it back, although unable to suppress the smile. "Thanks," I said, bowing my head slightly. I could not stand to look into those eyes any longer.
Just then, a bright flash of headlights swung onto the street. Benny and I glanced toward the pair of lights simultaneously and, in the same sync, stepped backward.
"That's Jordan." Despite the hammering of my heart, my voice was calm, collected. "See you when I see you."
For a moment, Benny stared at the lights longer, and I thought he would not respond at all. He was backing away steadily. The car slowed before me, and Benny stepped backward into his yard. Finally, his eyes turned to meet mine again, and the slightest of smiles turned on his lips.
"Not if I see you first."
A grin spread across my face, impossible to contain. Benny turned and jogged for the front door, just as Jordan stopped ahead of me. I was in my yard again, and stepped toward the car when the driver's door swung open and Jordan popped out, head towering over the roof of his car. He pointed a warning finger at me.
"Makayla, you better not open that door."
Jordan proceeded to speed-walk around the car. He wore dark jeans and a black button-up shirt. I'd paused, a few feet away from the car, grin still stuck to my mouth. Jordan stopped beside the passenger's door, took a deep breath, and gingerly pulled the door open. Like some fancy chauffeur, he gestured me inside with outstanding posture.
A laugh slipped past my teeth. "Wow, thanks."
The boy smiled gently as I slipped into the passenger's seat.
ღ
THE strong, delicious aroma of food lingered in the kitchen, but Jordan led me straight past it. At the end of the kitchen stood two sliding glass doors, which led out to the glass garden house. It was a gorgeous sight, the packed dirt littered neatly with flowers—roses, red and white, were the only flowers I could identify, but the colors ranged extraordinarily. They perfumed the air, with the smell of nature and beauty and life.
The remaining color in the sky was dark, almost black. The remainder of the day drained quickly, but the glass house was not left dark, because what seemed like hundreds of small candles littered the room. They glowed and danced upon thousands of petals, paling the reds to deep pinks, the whites to pale golds. A cobbled pathway led to the center of the area, cleared for a large gazebo, also encased in glass.
The gazebo burned the brightest. The circular bench was absolutely filled with the same small candles, and the walls were lined with white Christmas lights. In the center of the gazebo stood a round table, smaller than a kitchen table but not by much. Heaps of food were settled smartly over the mahogany.
All of this left me breathless. Jordan led me forward, a gentle hand on the small of my back, head hung. "Do you like it?" he whispered. "Is it too much?"
Before I could utter a word, all I could do was shake my head, mouth agape. Finally, I managed a breathy laugh and said, "This is the most...It's—it's perfect. Sincerely perfect. You did this?"
Jordan laughed at my incredulity, sounding amused and shy all the same. "Yeah. I guess I've always had an eye for stuff like this."
"Man, you could, like, organize weddings and stuff." The words sounded so improper in such a beautiful scenery, but Jordan did not seem to mind at all. "This is breathtaking."
I looked up at him then, and noticed the splotches of pink in his cheeks. Jordan's mouth was pulled upward in a light smile, and he looked so pure. How he had ever been Phillips the bully before I could not remember. I could hardly remember him as anything less than the sweet—and maybe romantic—boy he was.
As it turned out, Jordan had prepared the Italian meal himself—pasta and chicken Alfredo, garlic bread and soup, and a few other things that I could not identify. It all looked delicious, and I was ready to dig in.
Music played gently, whispers caressing the glass walls, my pale skin. The mood was utterly perfect. Jordan, who settled in the seat before me, looked utterly perfect. Everything, everything was perfect.
B E N N Y
point of view.
SHE left, leaving me with an empty feeling in my chest. She had looked so breathtaking....
Brandy lay cuddled against my side now, a gentle hand caressing the fabric over my stomach. Usually, her touch gave me chills, but now I was distracted. Not by the movie that played on the living room television, not by any distraction that wouldn't have filled me with guilt.
We had decided on Split tonight, the movie about a man with a personality disorder. The movie had seemed interesting enough in the previews. I remembered reading one of Kayla's posts about watching it for her sixteenth birthday, because it had been released on that date—January 20th. I could never erase that important date from my memory.
But I simply could not focus on the movie. Every time I blinked, I saw her. Her in that black dress, with her pretty natural curls and plump, pink lips. The golden sunset had been reflected in her eyes; the feeling it hit me with had not yet trickled away.
I recognized that feeling. Of course I did. And while I did not want to even admit it to my personal thoughts, it was clear. You love her, my mind and heart and soul and entire body said. You are still hopelessly in love with her.
A terrible homesickness flooded my veins, laced the crevices of my brain, created a thin layer to smother my heart. Beside Brandy, I felt absolutely out of place, as if I had awoken and found myself dropped in a foreign country, where no one spoke any of my languages. It felt wrong, being beside anyone other than her.
Brandy's head nudged softly against my chest. She wore only one of my large t-shirts, leaving her short legs smooth and bare. Her hair was pulled into a bun, messy but surprisingly cute. And while I stared down at her, I could acknowledge her beauty. It was as clear as the night sky was dark.
But looks were not enough. Seven months of a relationship was not enough if it was not with the right person. Kayla and I had known each other for a year before she moved, had dated for only a few months altogether, but somehow with her it was different. It just was.
Brandy drew in a gasp, but I could not force myself to learn why, to even attempt to act as interested as I should have been. My stomach was twisting painfully, filling with nausea, and my chest ached with rising agony. That same homesickness grew stronger, harder to bear, closed my throat and stabbed behind my eyes.
Homesick. Why the hell did I feel homesick? I was in the house I had grown up in. But, of course, I knew the answer. The comparison had been made before, the comparison of Kayla and home. She had told me that I was her home. Those days seemed so far, so out of reach. She clearly had grown out of that mindset—she was on a date with Jordan, for Christ's sake.
And I hadn't realized it until now, but Kayla had never stopped being my home. Brandy filled a hole in my chest, but only temporarily. In the end, Kayla could never be replaced. Never. She was home. She always would be.
I muttered to Brandy something about using the restroom and stood to my feet. In the dark, I practically stumbled upstairs. There was a bathroom in the hallway between the stairs and the couch, but it had belonged to my mother, so I steered clear of it. Instead, I found my way to the upstairs bathroom, hands flying to the walls, as if I would lose my balance otherwise.
Air ripped into my closed throat and filled my lungs, but it felt toxic, and I choked it back out. With a certain pale horror, I realized that it was a sob. My face was pulling itself into an involuntary grimace of pain. Warmth flooded my cheeks, and when I flicked the light on, a glance in the mirror revealed my tear-streaked face.
The door slammed shut, and I fell against the smooth wood, clamping a hand over my mouth to stifle the sobs. Even in the midst of this fit, I knew it was outrageous. A sixteen-year-old boy with a great girlfriend, sweet and pretty, literally sobbing for a girl he had not been with for a year. A girl who had moved on, was currently on a date with the boy he strongly disliked—although the reasoning for my aversion was different now.
Maybe Phillips deserved her. Maybe he had changed. Kayla was strong—she would never settle for anyone undeserving. She was picky about who she dated. It puzzled me, of course, but perhaps Phillips showed her a unique side of himself. A romantic side. Perhaps he was kissing her tonight, those lips that had once been mine to touch—
The thought was so overpoweringly painful, and I bit my lip so hard that I tasted blood. It was ridiculous. She was a first love—that was all. But I could never totally fool myself.
M A K A Y L A
point of view.
WHILE the food settled in our stomachs, Jordan and I talked across the table, sharing tons of laughter. A soft, sweet song filled the air, and it seemed to quieten us at the same time. Our laughter died, but our smiles did not.
Suddenly, Jordan was on his feet. His eyes locked on mine as he skirted the table, came to a stop before me, and offered a hand.
"Dance with me?"
For a short moment, I hesitated. I was not an experienced dancer. But I had slow-danced a few times before, and decided that the night was too perfect to pass another chance. Especially since I could not stop thinking about touching Jordan. He had been too far away, across the table.
A short smile rose on my lips. "Why the hell not?" And I placed my hand gingerly in his, almost feeling elegant.
I stood, and Jordan led me out of the gazebo, into the magical sea of flowers. The flowers threw their colors, illuminating Jordan's skin and bringing color into his dark shirt.
His arms closed around my waist, and mine around his neck. Jordan was warm, soft, comforting. For once, there was no room left in my mind for Benny—not in this very moment. His soft eyes bore into mine, and they held that twinkle again.
One of Jordan's hands rose to the middle of my back, and a soft gasp slipped past my mouth. The back of the dress plunged quite dramatically, leaving the upper half of my back bare. Jordan moved his hand immediately, but I shook my head at him, a smile playing on my lips. He moved his hand back into that place, warm and smooth.
As we swayed to the music, Jordan said, "I know all this is probably a little extra. But I just thought you deserved something nice. Not just diners and stuff like that."
"I'm not used to this at all," I admitted, "but I love it. Yeah, maybe it's a little extra, but it's so cool." I chuckled, swept my bangs behind my ear, returned that hand around Jordan's neck. "I'm just shocked that you put that much effort into something like this for me."
"Why wouldn't I?" Jordan's eyes showed sincere confusion. His lips were pressed in such a gentle way, I felt the urge to just close the space between his lips and my lips, right here, right now.
I shrugged, dropped my eyes. "I don't know. It's just that guys don't really put that much thought into such simple things as dates."
"The way I feel about you isn't simple," he said, and I could tell that he meant it. His voice was soft but serious. "Anything but. It scares me a little bit. I've never felt like this for anyone before."
Oh, God, said my mind, but my mouth kept its smile. "I like you too."
Jordan opened his mouth, and I almost thought he was going to correct me. Probably to tell me he didn't actually like me. But that was simply an insecurity. Jordan's lips snapped shut, and he flashed a smile that almost looked forced.
We returned to our dancing. The song did not really have a dancing rhythm, but it was slow and alluring. A smile fluttered on Jordan's lips, and he grabbed one of my hands, sliding it away from his neck. Then he rose our locked hands, only to twirl me. He took control, somehow swiftly pulling me from the twirl so that my back landed against his chest. Then he pulled my arm, sending me away like an untwining coil, to reach the furthest length between our extended arms.
Now a giggling mess, I allowed him to guide me. Jordan was grinning, too, as he pulled me back toward him in a twirl. I felt my heel catch, and I thought, terrified, that I would go tumbling. Then Jordan caught me, one arm around my back, and tipped me backward.
Jordan hovered over me, holding my weight without any real bit of effort. He was smiling like an angel, and I was a giggling mess again. He said nothing, only pulled me back up, but the force sent our bodies colliding—not a hard impact, but the kind that pressed the entire length of our bodies together, so that we were as close as we could be.
The touch froze us both in place. I felt the rise and fall of his chest against the swell of my breasts, his hard, flat stomach against mine, his legs laced with my own—my heels made me almost level to his height, only a few inches short. One of my arms flew around his neck, for balance that I would not have lost because of his arm, still secured around my waist.
His eyes were beautiful. That was the thing I noticed before glancing at his lips, soft and tempting, and he shot forward. The impact of his lips on mine was gentler than I had expected. At first, my eyes flew wide, although his had closed immediately. Then the surprise ebbed away, leaving room only for pleasure and serenity and the softness of his lips. I softened, and my eyes fluttered shut.
For once, I felt like I could move on. Could maybe give my heart to someone else.
ღ
i love this chapter. i really do. it hurts me a little bit, but...i love it.
also, check this. i've been thinking, and i really want to continue these books, even after they're over (this book is the last). i'm really considering writing a collection book delving into what you haven't seen. for example: how kenny and leah's relationship started, or even benny and brandy's; different points of view in certain scenes; conversations and group messages (i've already written a few of the latter). maybe even stuff that takes place in the future. i really think i'm going to do it. but would anyone be interested in that? (disregard - the book was discontinued.)
ALSO, i'm not so sure ab this one, but i really kind of want to rewrite 'all that matters.' it wouldn't be a replacement or anything, just a more organized and sort of cleaner version. i'd take out a bunch of the cringy stuff and all-in-all try to improve it. i probably won't do this, but it was an idea.
stay gold
x kayla
12.28.17