“You’re good now,” I say, pulling away.
Terrell looks at me and I swallow. His eyes kind of remind me of the way Dre used to look at me just before we’d kiss or touch or do more than that. I feel myself placing my hand on Terrell’s face, leaning in close. Something tells me to pull away, but then I feel Terrell wrap his arms around me and I ignore my brain and I kiss him.
I don’t expect Terrell to kiss me back as quickly as he does, like he was waiting for it. For a few moments I forget that we are in this small purple tube—everything’s quiet, I feel shaky, my heart won’t stop ringing.
In the movies, kisses are all wrong. It’s not fireworks or loud explosions. I used to think that every time I’d kiss a boy, the world would blow up. With Dre, kissing him felt like I was floating gently across a small cold lake. Right now it feels like I’m submerged in hot water, drifting deeper and deeper toward the bottom of the ocean.
I feel like I’m drowning, which is usually a feeling that makes me feel calm, but right now—
I pull away, breaking the kiss.
I need to leave.
I turn, scrambling out of the tube. I feel so warm, but I don’t stop and think; I start climbing down the steps of the jungle gym, but what I think is the last step isn’t, and I tumble to the ground.
“Fuck,”I whisper.
“Are you okay?” Terrell asks. I look back, a little horrified as his head pops out of the tube.
“I… I forgot something at home,” I say, probably looking and sounding like a mess. Terrell says something but I don’t catch it.
I just run.
Thursday
Today, I don’t care about the ogling. I need to get my composition sorted and finalized so that I can record it before the college applications open. I need it to be perfect. So perfect it wows the admissions people and they give me the scholarship I need to get out of here. I rush up the stairs to the music classroom.
“Mr. Richards,” Mr. Taylor says as I enter, like he’s been expecting me. Which he probably has, since I’m in here a lot. It’s weird, though; he usually calls me Devon.
“Morning, Mr. Taylor… I just wanted to work on the final section of my admissions piece for a little while today.”
“That’s fine.” He smiles. “Before you start, I just want to address a concern I have.”
A concern?
“I don’t normally listen to rumors… but I heard something and I wanted to check in with you.”
Mr. Taylor pauses, hesitant, like he’s not sure how to phrase the next part of his sentence. My heart is in my throat. I swear if it’s about Scotty, I’ll die—
“People are saying that you’ve been involved in drug transportation?” Mr. Taylor looks confused, like I’m the last person he’d assume would be involved in any of that.
My stomach flips.
“I haven’t,” I lie.
He nods. “I just wanted to let you know—colleges are quite harsh about that sort of thing.”
“I understand,” I say, feeling sick. He looks at me like he can see straight through me and my lie. Then he turns away.
“Good. It would be a shame if something like that harmed your chances. We wouldn’t want that to happen to one of our most promising students.”
I nod, feeling bad for lying—but what other choice do I have?
I haven’t dealt in nearly two weeks, for the obvious reason. The same reason that won’t answer my calls or texts. I miss the familiar sound of the wind chime text tone on my phone—I customized it so that I would know when it was Dre texting and not someone else. I push him back into the corner of my mind, and head to my usual seat at the back, blinking away the wetness in my eyes; I don’t want to think about him right now.
I take a breath.
Then I close my eyes and drown.
