Tastes Like Winter Read online

  His breath hitches, and he shifts, moving his body so it is over me and holding himself up on his arms. I look up at him, and I’m greeted by warm blue eyes looking down at me, the heat of his breath falling on my cheek. He stares at me a while, making no move forward. I reciprocate.

  I’m tired of being quiet about my feelings for him. I remember my previous desperation to read his journals and suddenly feel like a hypocrite, because I’ve allowed his behavior to prevent me from speaking up. Maybe all he needs is a little encouragement to continue opening himself to me.

  “I like you, Jake. I really like you.” My voice is shaky.

  Lying in the dark room underneath him makes my confession echo against the walls, and I am overwhelmed by the vulnerability of the card I am playing. His eyes hold my own. They stay constant, no relief, no regret. I watch his steady poker face, and the suspense kills me.

  I watch as a flicker of decision passes across his eyes, and he shifts forward, covering my mouth with his own. His kiss is desperate, and while no words have passed his lips, his mouth pours everything unsaid into me. I use my own mouth to tell him that I am here for him and I’m not going anywhere. His hands are in my hair, on my breasts, pulling my leg to the side so he can move his own thigh further between mine and grind his body harder against me. I rub my own hands up his biceps and along his back, feeling the hard muscles that flex beneath my fingers.

  I want to pull off his shirt and trace his neck and chest with my tongue, but there is a tap on the door, forcing Jake and I to shift away from each other as fast as we can. Betsy leans through the doorway, takes in the darkened room, black television screen, and our labored breaths, and grins knowingly.

  “Need a ride home, Emma?” She purrs with delight. It’s obvious that she likes the idea of the two of us together, but as a parent and guardian knows it’s time to call it a night.

  My mouth is dry, and it takes me several attempts before I can get the words out. “S-Sure. Thanks.”

  Her disruption is probably for the best, and I should get out of here before things go further than I am ready for. He didn’t tell me he likes me back like I wished he would, but it sure felt as if his kiss was telling me something. I count it as a success, and begrudgingly, I leave the soft cocoon of Jake and his bed.

  ***

  When I get home, I am surprised to see Jake is already messaging me. My laptop screen lights up with his words.

  Jake: Kitten? You home yet?

  I sit down at my desk and type out a response, smiling happily to myself. Why? Do you miss me already?

  Jake: Something like that.

  I touch my lips, which are still swollen from our heavy make-out session on his bed. That’s nice to hear. What are you doing now?

  Jake: Sitting here thinking. Wishing Aunt B gave us more time alone before driving you home.

  I take a minute to envision where more time would have left us. The thoughts excite me.

  Me: Oh, yeah? What else are you thinking about?

  His next message takes several minutes before it comes.

  Jake: Thinking about how much I love lions.

  What? That was not at all what I was expecting. Is Jake watching Animal Planet again?

  Me: Huh? Are you watching TV? A little Big Cat Diary?

  Another minute passes before he types:

  Jake: No, you = lion.

  Without thinking, my eyes dart to the bag at my feet and the inked drawing Jake left on it months ago, a beautifully sketched lion head that I have happily been carrying around. My jaw drops, and my mind clouds over in confusion.

  Me: What’s that supposed to mean, Jake?

  Jake: Nothing.

  My heart pounds in my chest.

  Me: Not nothing. What are you trying to say?

  Each second I am forced to wait is an eternity.

  Jake: Fuck. Forget I said anything.

  No, no, no! I am not letting him run from this.

  Me: No, Jake. Are you saying you love me?

  He doesn’t respond, and I am gripped with panic.

  Me: Jake?

  Jake: Sorry, I can’t… Bye.

  His name goes grey.

  ***

  It’s been forty-five minutes, and I’m still frozen in place with our conversation open in front of me. I have re-read every word. I have memorized each one.

  Did Jake just tell me he loved me?

  No.

  Yes.

  Maybe?

  I pick up my phone and text him. Jake, please talk to me. Please don’t close up again.

  But he doesn’t respond.

  ***

  It’s been two hours, and I’m still frozen in place. He is still signed off and hasn’t responded to my text. Something monumental happened tonight, I know it did, but I need him to answer me so that I can figure out what exactly that is. He must have feelings for me, feelings that he is too afraid to face. I want him to admit them, but dammit, if confronting his feelings is going to make him run from me again, I almost wish we could go back to ignorant bliss. At least then I had a part of him.

  But now I am panicked and afraid that I screwed up this time. I shouldn’t have told him I liked him. I shouldn’t have poured all of my love into him with my kiss. I pushed him too far.

  I sit and I sit until finally, I force myself to move, and with my movement, the blood returns to my now tingly limbs. With the rush of blood, anger pours into me, and I violently kick my bag. That stupid lion drawing won’t stop staring back at me.

  “Dammit!” I scream into my silent, empty room. I’m completely out of control here, and it fills me with frustrating rage.

  I hear footsteps pad down the hall, and my mom quickly swings open the door.

  “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” Her voice is laced with concern.

  I look up, shock obviously written all over my face. I hadn’t considered that she was sleeping in the room next door before my violent outburst. I hadn’t been thinking at all.

  I recover as quickly as I can. “Uhhh, I—uhhh… yeah… Sorry for waking you. I—I stubbed my toe.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She rushes towards me, to inspect my fake injury. “Are you all right? Do you need me to get you some ice? When did you get home, and what are you still doing up?”

  “I’m fine; I’m fine. I got home a while ago.” I look around my room blankly for another excuse. Grabbing a half-full water bottle from my desk, I add, “I was thirsty and needed a drink.”

  I shrug and put on my most innocent face, and she buys it. She gives me a motherly kiss on the head and sleepily shuffles out of my room and back to bed.

  The outburst from my tantrum and the need to recover in front of my mom has caused some of the anger to subside. However, I am now overcome with despair and fatigue.

  I glance at the clock and see it is already after one o’clock. It’s late, and he isn’t coming back online, so I too head to bed, praying for sleep, and weighed down by hopelessness once again.

  ***

  Sleep escapes me all weekend, and when the sun rises Monday morning, I am tired to the bone. Genna picks me up at our usual time, and I’m greeted with a disapproving glare. She called me a few times the past two days, and not feeling up to talking to her, I sent her to voicemail. She already knows—thinks she knows—about my evening at Jake’s house. Apparently, little Miss Pissed Off, a.k.a. Sam, spent the weekend spreading around that it’s my fault she wasn’t allowed out Friday night. Apparently Betsy grounded her after Jake and I went upstairs. Sam has even gone so far as to tell people that I am nothing more than Jake’s plaything, one of the many girls he keeps around. She says I’m something to keep him occupied when he isn’t busy screwing up her life. Un-freaking-believable!

  Genna is pissed off that I didn’t call her right away and fill her in about the drama myself. She hated hearing about me from someone else and hated being ignored by me even more. I apologize but quickly set her straight and tell her how things actually went down
with Sam. I recant the true (and disheartening) events of my evening with Jake, including the stuff that happened after the little blow up in the Addler family foyer, and her mouth hits the floor.

  “Jeez, Em, I thought we were past this garbage. That boy has some serious commitment issues, and I am afraid that you are going to get hurt.”

  Too late. I’ve already been hurt.

  “Sam says he has other girls?” That is the one thing out of Genna’s mouth I can focus on. What other girls? The idea that there might be truth to that claim is pure torture. It’s not possible… Is it?

  Genna shakes her head. “I don’t know if that’s true. He did have quite the following in high school. I warned you about his reputation months ago… But maybe it’s not true. You never know with Sam.”

  A weak attempt at reassurance.

  I can’t bring myself to respond, because honestly, she’s right, and I should have listened to her sooner. I feel like an idiot. I haven’t heard from Jake all weekend, and I don’t think I’m going to. I need to stop torturing myself and move on. The highs with him are great, but the lows, all this confusion, it isn’t right. Coming home Friday night so happy, only to be thrown another curveball, is too much to take.

  I don’t want to think about it, so I try to distract from Jake’s giant elephant (or should I say lion?) in the room. I try to shift the focus by asking Genna what she thinks about Sam’s reaction that night, as well as the negative rumors she has been spreading. She shrugs the incident off as an adopted sibling rivalry that, because of my relationship with Jake, is being poorly misplaced. Ever positive as always, Genna assures me that Sam is sure to get over it.

  Jake, on the other hand, is another beast entirely, and one she swears she will never figure out. While I want her to be right, my gut tells me that the interaction I observed between the pair of them that night went much deeper than that, and I might need to watch out for Sam in the future.

  Sure enough, and even though I wished I wasn’t, I am right. Over the next two weeks, Sam does not warm up to me as Genna predicted. Every morning, I am greeted by an evil look, Sam’s eyes getting darker and meaner each day. By the third week, she has her friends all glaring at me too.

  Genna was the one who actually picked up on that. One morning, the daggers are being sent my way before the car is even straightened out in our usual spot in the lot. As soon as Genna throws the car in park, she flips out, beating her hands against the steering wheel in a way I have not seen her react before. “This is bullshit! Look at them! I don’t care who the hell Sam thinks she is, but you are my best friend, and most of those girls are on my team! Unacceptable! I am going to have myself a little chat with them today. Don’t you worry about that!”

  My heart swells at Genna’s protectiveness, but I have to insist that she please refrain from saying anything. “It doesn’t bother me. Really, Gen. I think saying something will make it worse, and I don’t want to cause any problems for myself at school or for Jake at home. You know his situation there is delicate enough.”

  I plead with my eyes and am forced to sic her with a puppy-dog pout before she agrees. As we walk up the entryway stairs a moment later, I return the group’s glare with my most winning smile. You’ve got to kill ’em with kindness, right? But as soon as I am through the door and away from Genna’s prying eye, my smile slips.

  I don’t mind taking Sam’s abuse, but the fact that I still haven’t heard from Jake does not help. I’m too ashamed to even talk about it with my best friend. She kept warning me, but I didn’t listen, and even though I tried not to get lost in him, I did. I tell myself that it was only two dates and a handful of kisses, nothing serious enough to get upset over, but my heart is in my stomach, and my throat is thick.

  Every day when I head to High Street, I am nauseous, wondering if he will be there, but so far, he has been a no-show. I don’t know how much Betsy knows or what reason he gave her for wanting to stay off the schedule, but I sense she knows something because she has been tiptoeing around me lately. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but she’s been extra nice, and sometimes I swear I catch her looking at me with pity in her eyes.

  I could ask her. Heck, I could grow a set of balls and confront him directly, but seeing my mom looking so vulnerable and desperate this past year has affected me profoundly. I don’t want to be weak, I don’t want to look desperate, and I definitely don’t want to be the girl who begs a guy to like her back. Even I know I’m worth more than that.

  I’ve tried to distract myself again, a game I should be a master at by now, seeing as I have played it off and on all year, but reading and being at the shop reminds me of him, and hence my methods of distraction, once tried and true, no longer work. Fortunately for Mom, my sorrow has been her gain, and my latest tactic is having her teach me how to cook. She loves it, and spending more time together has been great for our relationship. She is stronger every day, and I am so proud of how far she has come since Dad left. In addition to being a great distraction, spending this time in the kitchen together has also allowed me to get my hands on all our secret family recipes, which was always on my ‘to do’ list. However, trying not to eat the whole pie after we finish perfecting Gram’s caramel apple walnut has been a struggle. Misery does love pie.

  APRIL

  Still no word from Jake. My pie repertoire now includes lemon merengue, peach, and chocolate soufflé.

  MAY

  Add banana cream and peanut butter to the list.

  JUNE

  The weather has been slowly shifting and becoming sunny and warm once again. The nice weather helps boost my mood some. Spring in New England is a gift to savor in the moment, for it doesn’t last long. My teachers are understanding of that fact and have made certain allowances. English this morning is spent writing nature poetry outside on the grassy area by the east wing’s door. The grass is more bald patch than greenery, but it is nice to enjoy the fresh air and soak up some vitamin D, nonetheless. We sunbathe more than verse-craft, but since Mrs. McCarthy is doing the same it goes unnoticed.

  Gym, too, is spent outdoors, with an announcement that the remaining school weeks will be spent on a tennis unit. For those less actively inclined, we are given the choice to walk the track if we so desire. Mary and I pick the track, which morphs into more sunbathing in the grassy center while Coach Murphy is distracted by swinging racquets and overshot balls on the paved courts on the other side of the field.

  The day wraps up in AP Biology. We don’t get to break free of the building again, but Mrs. Bloomquist is equally antsy for the school year to end and summer to begin and has us spend the period on a fun exercise. We are all given a big piece of colored construction paper, the kind you use to learn how to cut with scissors in kindergarten, and told to outline the shape of our hand. We are then instructed to walk around and have five people write us an end-of-year message in each of the fingertips.

  “Think of positive messages, people! Tell each other what you like about them!”

  I slide my paper across to Mary first, delaying the lab room shuffle. She trades my paper for hers, and I tap my pen hard against the desk, thinking of what to write. I write Mary, you rock my world with your biological genius and pass it back to her. I take back my paper and glance down to see what she has added to my handprint. Thanks for sharing my desk space. I can’t wait for the alphabet to bring us together again. Hang out this summer? The last bit is squeezed into the fingertip, as she obviously ran out of space to write. I smile up at her and nod, even though I know we probably never will.

  I search around the room, looking for my next victim. Other students have already started moving about, and there is a cacophony of excited chatter and the continuous scraping of chair legs against the tile floor. I lock eyes with Hannah across the room, and she smiles back sweetly in acceptance of my visual offer. I push back my chair and shuffle over to her lab table. The seat beside her has already has been vacated by her partner, so I plop down. We exchange pages, and, without he
sitation, I write—You are the kindest person I know. And she is. Hannah has always struck me as one of those good-hearted souls. She is always smiling, always helping, and seeing her during the day lightens my mood without fail. She is one of the few people that I would probably make the effort of friendship for. When she hands me back my paper, she has written the exact same thing as I have. My eyes jump up, and we beam at each other and share a laugh.

  “Why aren’t we better friends?” she asks rhetorically, never losing her beautiful smile, and I vow to try harder with this one.

  Confident now, I walk over to Nolan. He is still in his original seat, having opted, not surprisingly, to make people come to him. I eye his paper and notice that his method has indeed worked, and he already has four fingers complete. My paper comes to rest beside his head, which is perched atop his arm. Half asleep, he wordlessly puts pen to paper and scribbles something out, passing it back before I can add my own note to his sheet. Scrawled in his tiny handwriting is: Emma, you have always been nice to me for no reason. I don’t know why, but I do appreciate it.

  My heart skips a beat. I’ve thought Nolan is cute since the sixth grade but never, in a million years, thought he noticed me in return. He has always been friendly enough, but his surfer-slacker personality makes his actions look careless. Before I lose the courage, I jot down: You have the most handsome smile I have ever seen. I try not to think of another smile when I write it. I turn the page face-side down, and when I hand it back, I’m embarrassed. I can’t believe I wrote that—in pen! He flips the paper over, and after reading, rewards me with a charming-as-ever grin, eyes still half-closed.

  Feeling a little lighter after that brief encounter with a boy who is not Jake, I sit back down at my lab table. The bell rings before I can fill my last two fingers. I fold the paper into quarters and tuck it into the zipper pocket on the front of my bag for safekeeping and head out to my locker to collect a few books before meeting Genna in the lot to drive home. Still high on the biology compliments, I am distracted and walk right smack into Sam.