Page 35 of Your Kiss Is On My List

TREY

Fuck no. She wants to tell that story, the one I’ve struggled to not let define me? And make that the profile as if it’s who I am?

I was twelve and she was only nine, but she remembers it like she was an adult. Acted like she was an adult that day, and all the days afterwards. Until the kiss.

“You can’t. I won’t let that incident define who I am, not in my eyes and certainly not in the eyes of everyone who would see the piece.” My words are calmer now, or in my head I was calm, but they still come out harsher than I want them to.

“I… I can see what you mean.” She’s almost hiccupping with bottled-up emotion. It happens to her every time she tries to hold things in that need letting out. I let out a long breath. “But the story—it’s already out there, Trey. And it hasn’t defined you. You’ve defined your life in spite of it and that’s the whole beauty of the story.” I snort. Big brave words coming from a friend who can’t see anything but the good in me, sees more than there is.

“It’s not like that, doll.” The name rolls out of my mouth reflexively, not because I’ve learned it or gotten into the habit of calling her that. But because it’s who she is to me, for real. She’s a living doll, always has been. Bound to be someone else’s doll someday, but for now, I’ll claim her, call her doll because she’ll let me.

“What do you mean—” I can’t talk her out of thinking I’m some kind of hero that I’m not, so I don’t try. I sidestep.

“Everyone doesn’t know about it. In fact no one at SPU knows about the incident.”

“You mean accident,” she says.

* * *

Back home there was a lot of whispering about the incident—accident—either way the blood was on my skates, it was my blade that sliced him open. When it happened, some people judged me. Said I should give up skating. Others felt bad for me, and still thought I should give up skating. Mom and Dad supported me and insisted I get back on the ice when all I could see was a puddle of blood where the ice was supposed to be. I finally got past it not because Dad or Mom or Coach coerced me past the fear, but because of Dani. Of course. She came up to my room one day and told me I was meant to skate, meant to play hockey, that the accident shouldn’t ruin both Corey’s and my life.

“I don’t want to have that whole horrible incident—accident out there. To be judged by everyone again. No one at SPU knows. I’ve told no one here about it.” Almost true. I told Nate and I’m not counting him because he won’t judge me and he’s sworn to secrecy. The last thing I want is to spook prospective NHL scouts with a horror story from my past. But I can’t tell her that because she assumes everyone will see it the way she does—me being brave. When the actual reality, the way I see it, is a constant struggle with guilt and cowardice. One that’s diminished over time. I don’t need the struggle with my demons to resurface, especially not at this crucial time in my life.

“You haven’t told anyone? Not even Nate?” I shake my head. “No one knows? But it was in the news.”

“That was ten years ago and it was more a local story. It wasn’t a sports story back then. I didn’t get into the sports pages until high school. So no one at SPU had a reason to see the story or to find out about it.” And I did my best to never talk about it. Ever. Her face collapses and I know I’ve crushed her plans.

“But I’ll think about it,” I say, irrationally, unintentionally.

“You don’t have to. It would be asking a lot—too much. Obviously it’s a very private thing for you, not something you want to share with the public at large if you’ve never mentioned it to your best friend.”

“You’re my best friend, Dani,” I croak the truth like it’s coming from my depths and watch her eyes melt with tenderness.

“That’s why I take it back,” she says. “I’m a shitty friend for asking you. I wasn’t thinking of all the implications. If I open that can of peas, maybe people will start judging you again, maybe even the press or NHL scouts will judge you. Hockey means everything to you.” She grabs a hold of my arm and squeezes. “You do hockey and I’ll find someone else.”

“Who?” My heart lurches because I’m the idiot who isn’t thinking of implications. I hadn’t considered the fact that if she doesn’t profile me, she’ll need to profile someone else. And there’s no fucking way I want her to find another guy on this campus to profile unless he’s over sixty or gay. Or maybe she can profile a woman. “How about Emily?” I say. “She has a story to tell.” I’m not sure she’d want her story out there either, but it’s what my panicked brain spit out on short notice. Sorry Emily. Dani shakes her head.

“I don’t know. I’ll need to give it some thought.” She gives me a lost smile, the kind that isn’t rooted in reality but that pops out from habit, from the kind of soul that exists on smiles, thrives on them to live. “But we have a quick deadline and I have to come up with a subject and concept by next class and that’s in two fracking days.” Fuck. She starts gathering up her jacket and backpack and something in me snaps, call it Dani Survival Instincts—those instincts that move me to make sure my relationship with her survives no matter what the cost.

“Wait.” She stops, gives me a world-ender look, the kind that makes me feel like a giant, like I’m infallible because she thinks I am. My chest tightens and I can barely breathe, let alone talk, but I manage to croak out whatever words rise from my heart and soul in an impossible to repress ball of fire.

“I’ll do it. You can do the profile on me.” My mind goes blank, erasing all the fear and reasons why it’s a bad idea, all the trepidation about being judged, or worse, pitied when it goes public, are empty concepts like the jaw of a shark with no teeth.

“Are you sure?” Her eyes go wide and she moves closer. I breathe her in.

“Sure as I’ll ever fucking be.”

Not sure what I’m sure about.

Chapter 15

DANI

I want to throw my arms around him, but I restrain myself because the last thing I want to do is escalate into another uncomfortable impasse. He told me I was his best friend. But I know where that’s coming from—that horrible accident and the aftermath when we were together almost every day, when I first fell for him and thought naively of him as my big brother, but only until my hormones hit and then I knew how I really felt, what that passionate affection was really all about.

Maybe because our bond comes from that horrible place, sharing such a dark secret, that’s why he can’t think of me as something more than his best friend. Maybe he needed to leave me and move forward and forget about that past to thrive. Because he clearly thrives here at SPU.

Without finishing the cake—though I wrap it up in a napkin and take it with me—I leave him at the table.