Hot Page 9

  “Widows? Men?” Noah looks confused.

  “Emma and me. You and Peter.”

  Noah’s face is blank.

  “You know he and Emma are dating.”

  “I’d hardly call what they’re doing dating.” Noah laughs. “No offense, Linds, but they’re just messing around.”

  I nod. I feel like I’ve swallowed nail polish remover, sharp and putrid. Poor Emma! How can Peter do this to her? But isn’t she doing it to herself too? I feel sick for both of them.

  “You knew that, right?” Noah asks, turning my chin to face him.

  “I don’t think Emma looks at it like that,” I say, the words scraping my throat. I don’t want to give her feelings for Peter away, but I thought they were obvious.

  “Ohh . . .” Noah nods. “Anyway, we’re not them. We’re us.”

  I open my front door, thankful for a way to stop talking about this. “Hi, Mom! Noah and I are here to study.”

  “You wicked witch!” Kristine’s voice bellows from upstairs.

  I cringe.

  “Don’t you talk to me like that, young lady!” Mom shrieks back.

  Kristine thunders down the stairs without even glancing in our direction.

  The garage door slams behind her.

  I hate it when they fight. Kristine is so mean to Mom, yet she really needs help. I wish Mom would run after her and they would hug and cry and work things out. But that never happens. Mom comes to the top of the stairs as if in slow motion and spots us. Clearly she didn’t hear us say hello over the volume of the argument.

  “Oh, hi.” Mom looks defeated. “Sorry you had to see that, Noah. Kristine doesn’t agree with my parenting these days.”

  “No big deal, Mrs. Kraus.” Noah smiles.

  I swallow a mouthwash of anger and shame and pity. Then Noah’s arm is around my back guiding me to the kitchen. He takes my coat off for me and kisses me quickly and softly on the lips, then wraps his arm around me in a safe, warm hug. My shoulders relax and my throat works again.

  “Sorry,” I eek.

  “I’m sorry, Linds.” He strokes my cheek. “Sorry you have to go through this. Families are a pain.”

  “Yeah, especially if they have Kristine in them.”

  “I’ll pray for her and your mom, okay?”

  Those words mean more to me than I can express. He’ll pray for my family! I wish we were older and could run away and be married right now. But I can’t say that to Noah. Instead I whisper, “Thanks.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  What’s this?!” Dad screams at the top of his lungs.

  “What’s it look like, Dad?” Kristine’s voice is too cool. “It’s pot, grass, weed, marijuana. Whatever you want to call it.”

  “I know what it is!” Dad bellows.

  “Then why’d you ask?” Kristine’s room is next to mine, so I can hear every word through the thin walls.

  “I brought some clean laundry into your room and found this in your drawer.” Mom’s voice sounds unnaturally shrill.

  “How about not snooping in my room?!” Kristine shouts back. “Whatever happened to privacy? I bet you didn’t search Miss Priss Lindsey’s drawers.” Kristine starts laughing like a maniac. She must be stoned. Her cackles shake the wall.

  Mom and Dad whisper in the hallway. Something about “tough love” or “leaving it alone,” depending on whose voice I strain to hear through Kristine’s cackle.

  I can’t stand it. I walk right past them in the hall. Neither of them look at me or speak to me, like I’m invisible. I hate this empty, longing feeling. I pull my black puffer vest from the mudroom hook and slide on a pair of old Tretorns. I need to escape. The sharp air bites my face. I don’t care. I run. At first just down the driveway, then down our street, then my feet run all the way through the neighborhood to Noah’s house.

  I need Noah right now like a magazine needs a cover girl.

  Unlike my parents, he notices me. He cares about me. He loves me. He’s there for me. He sees me. I know Kristine is needy. Her personality is fragile and torn, but what about me? Here I am, trying to do things right, to say the right words and to act the right way, but no one notices. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m out of breath and ringing his doorbell.

  Noah opens the door. His hair is the messiest I’ve ever seen it. He’s wearing gray sweats and a thick, hooded navy blue sweatshirt. His feet are bare. Even his naked little toes are a comfort to me. He has a curious look on his face. Like why in the world did I show up on his doorstep on a Wednesday night? I dive into his strong, warm frame before he can say anything. I lift my face to look in his eyes and just start kissing him. His lips feel soft and his arms feel warm and strong and safe.

  “I missed you,” I whisper.

  “I missed you too.” He murmurs back.

  I wanted someone to notice me, and here is Noah enveloping every curve of my body. I’m guessing his parents aren’t home because he’s kissing me back and sliding his hands up my shirt against my skin, and I want him to. I want him to touch all of me and wrap himself around me until I’m safe in him and can’t hear my parents yelling or Kristine’s cackle echoing through my brain. He sweeps me off my feet like a fireman and carries me into the den where he gently lays me on the couch. Then he’s next to me. I’m nervous, but not for long. Noah is sweet and gentle, and it only hurts for a minute or two. Actually it feels good to feel something, even if it’s pain. It reminds me I’m alive. I’m here, even if Mom and Dad don’t remember.

  When it’s all over he kisses me lightly on the lips. A drop of sweat drips from his brow, salty on my tongue. “I love you, Lindsey,” he says. I don’t want to move, ever. I just want to stay here with him against me and no one else and no world except us. The ugly uncertain girl I used to be dissolves when I’m with Noah. He makes me feel wanted and beautiful and loved.

  “I love you too. I love you so much.” I throw my arms around his neck and hold him tight against me. Maybe if I hold on tight enough, he’ll never leave.

  A door slams and there’s a rustling of bags and the clinking of keys. My heart races. My face burns. This is real. It felt like a dream, like a movie I was watching. But it was real. We did this thing and someone is about to find out.

  Noah jumps off me and grabs my wadded jeans from the foot of the couch. He tosses them to me and yanks on his boxers and sweats. I feel like I’m four, and my fingers can’t get my zipper and snap to work properly. My sweatshirt hits me in the face. I laugh nervously and give up on my snap in lieu of a top. I dive into its fleecy softness and wriggle my arms and head out in record time. Noah sits on the other end of the couch, facing me, and shakes his head vigorously to cue me to something I can’t figure out. I face him and he nods again.

  “In here, Mom,” he calls before Mrs. Hornung even calls for him. My heartbeat booms. I’m sure she can hear it in the kitchen. I fully utilize every second to try to resume the look of a normal person. I smooth my hair and straighten my sweatshirt. I finally force my snap shut.

  “Oh, hi guys.” She smiles, stuffing her keys into her purse as she peeks into the den. “I didn’t know you were coming over, Lindsey?”

  My cheeks are hotter than my 370-degree flatiron. I feel like “I had sex with your son!” is written across my forehead in sequins.

  “Family trouble,” Noah interjects for me.

  I’ve never been more thankful for someone to speak. I haven’t even told Noah yet. I nod and dig out some words hidden in the back of my throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you weren’t home, and I didn’t call or anything. Kristine got in trouble — huge trouble — and I didn’t want to be around all the yelling. I should have — ”

  “It’s okay, dear.” Noah’s mom puts her hand on my shoulder. I catch a whiff of outside, still clinging to her clothes. “I’m glad you felt comfortable coming here.” Two more pats on my shoulder. “You’re always welcome.”

  “Thank you,” I say, peeking at her. Hopefully the guilt in my eyes will pass fo
r the burden of family stress.

  “Do you two need a snack or something to drink?”

  I look at Noah. We’ve barely spoken since I got here.

  He shakes his head. I follow suit.

  “Noah, don’t be rude. Make Lindsey something in the kitchen. I just brought back all kinds of good stuff from the grocery: hummus, pretzels, yogurts, you name it.”

  There’s no way I can sit around and snack with Noah and his mom after what just happened. I can’t believe this happened! I need to process what we did, or I’m going to implode.

  “Thanks, but I really should get going.” Noah places his hand on mine. I don’t know if he’s thanking me for ending this uncomfortable scene or asking me to stay. “My folks don’t even know where I am, and they’ll worry.”

  “All right, dear. Hang in there.” Mrs. Hornung gives me a completely unexpected hug. Her hug is light and brief. I hug her back.

  “Thanks. You’re so sweet.”

  There’s a strange tug at my heart. Even though everything seems so right, so perfect with Noah, like true love and fairy tales. Even though his mom likes me, which means I could have a wonderful mother-in-law. Something’s not right, like a puzzle piece is missing. I’d never planned on this.

  I walk to the door with Noah holding my hand.

  Once in the privacy of the hallway he nuzzles my neck and slides his lips up to my ear where he whispers, “I do love you, Lindsey Kraus. You amaze me.”

  “And I love you.” I look into his eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity I feel for him.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  My house is silent. Kristine must have fled the scene of the crime. Mom and Dad must have followed her for once. I open the fridge and grab a Diet Coke. I lean back on the fridge and pop the can. The sissssle of escaping carbonation echoes in the empty kitchen. I still smell Noah’s minty, boyish scent. I still feel his hair in my fingers. But I can’t picture him. These marvelous thoughts keep getting chased away by something, by Someone.

  “I know, God. I know I wasn’t supposed to. But, this is different. So different. Noah and I love each other.” I chase the lump in my throat away with a sip of sweet soda.

  The Plain White T’s burst into “Hey There Delilah” on my cell phone. I’ve changed my ring tone to a song from Noah’s CD. It’s him.

  “Hi,” I whisper.

  “Hi.” His voice sounds thick and heavy.

  “That was close, huh?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t call because of that. I called because I loved being close with you.” His voice is so quiet, I squish my ear to the phone to hear him better.

  “Me too.”

  “Are you okay?” Noah asks.

  “Yeah,” I answer automatically. Am I okay? I hadn’t thought about that. I’m not a virgin anymore. Did it hurt? Was there blood? Will I be condemned? I’m still standing here. I shake my head and the negative thoughts away. “Of course I’m okay. Are you?”

  “Never been better.”

  I listen to his breathing, a soft murmur.

  “Gotta run,” he whispers. “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  Snap. I close my phone.

  He loves me. He really does love me.

  “Lindsey, is that you?”

  I swallow, although there’s nothing in my mouth. “Yeah, Mom, I’m here.” Did I say anything out loud I shouldn’t have?

  Mom’s footsteps are slow and creaky. Her eyes are red and puffy. I should run to her. I should hug her. I should ask if she’s okay. Okay. That’s a good question, isn’t it? Am I okay? That’s exactly what Noah asked me.

  “Mom, are you all right?”

  She nods. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do. Kristine got furious and stormed out of here in Dad’s new Audi. He took off in my car to try to find her.” A stray tear slides down Mom’s cheek. “She could get in an accident.”

  “Oh, Mom.” I reach out and fold my arms around her. “I’m sorry.” My heart races. Can she tell Noah was in my arms minutes ago? Do I look different? Am I different?

  Mom pats my back and pulls away. “Don’t you be sorry. It’s Kristine who owes us an apology, but I don’t even care about that. I just want her to be safe. She’s so reckless. I’m scared for her.” Mom sniffles. “I just keep praying.” Mom’s voice swells.

  “I do too.” I shake my head.

  The garage door groans, and I freeze along with Mom. If it’s Kristine, it will be a scene. If it’s Dad, who knows?

  “Anne?”

  “Lindsey and I are in here.”

  “Oh, hi, Lindsey.” Dad’s blond hair is disheveled. His blue eyes seem to have faded to gray, and his ruddy skin is more pink than usual.

  “Hi.”

  “Well?” Mom looks at him expectantly.

  “She drove off at a million miles an hour, and I couldn’t keep up. I had to stop at the red lights. I drove past that boyfriend’s — what’s his name’s — house and the school and that cheerleader girl, Delaney’s. Nothing.” Dad exhales.

  Mom shakes her head.

  I take this as my cue to disappear. They clearly don’t need me to hash this out. And in answer to my earlier question, can she tell? The answer is no. They don’t notice anything is different about me. They don’t notice anything about me. I don’t think they even want to. No one asked where I was. Did they even notice I was gone? No one asked how all this affects me. Do they even care?

  I silently slink to my room, abandoning their strained voices. I flip open my phone and punch in “143” — I love you — and send to Noah.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I sit on the stairs, fiddling with my iPod and waiting for Emma. She’s sleeping over tonight, although I wish it were Noah instead. How amazing would it be if we could hold each other all night long? But he has away games tonight and Sunday. The whole team took a bus to a town three hours away, and their sleepover is in some random hotel. He’ll miss youth group, and I won’t see him until Monday at school, and I don’t know if I can go that long. I ache when I’m not with him — a weird, lonely, empty feeling.

  It’s been three days since I had sex. In some ways my life is exactly the same. I go to school. I go to dance rehearsal. I text my friends. I do homework. Kristine is completely wrapped up in herself. Mom and Dad are consumed by Kristine.

  In other ways my life has totally changed. I have this enormous secret, but it’s not one I want to tell anyone. Who would I tell? My friends? They’d think I’m slutty. Everyone was shocked when Emma told us about her and Peter. Mom? She says she wants me to tell her everything. Who is she kidding? Because of the daily Kristine drama, she doesn’t have any time for me these days and, even if she did, she would totally flip! Dad? That’s funny. He gets home tonight from a sales conference. He’s been out of town for the last three days, ever since the Kristine episode. He’s not around enough to talk to. Noah? He already knows. That leaves God, and I’m pretty sure I know what He thinks about all of this.

  So, it’s just me and this secret. This secret that makes me want to dance and laugh because I feel so connected to Noah, like nothing could ever come between us. This secret that at the same time makes me want to run and hide because I know, instinctively, that this isn’t how it was supposed to be. Otherwise I could tell my friends and my parents.

  Noah and I were supposed to wait. Everything was great between us while we waited. But now, it’s so intense. I think about him all the time. I feel displaced when I’m not with him. I count down the minutes until I can see him. I linger at my locker in the mornings, waiting for him to show up and say, “Good morning.” I love seeing what he’s wearing and how handsome it makes him look. We don’t kiss or anything, but he’ll whisper something in my ear or brush his fingers against my cheek. Then it’s off to class where I force myself to pay attention and pull my pen away from the doodles of “Mrs. Lindsey Hornung” that fill the borders of my notebooks.

  During the last five minutes of lunch, Noah and I wander from o
ur tables of friends and find a place to sit alone. We talk with our faces close. He makes me smile and feel like I’m the only thing in his world. I know he’s the only thing that matters in mine.

  I could tell Emma. She’ll be here any minute, and she’s not a virgin either. She couldn’t judge me. Plus, she’s known me forever, and she’s a Christian too. So we share the same sin. It sounds so serious when I say sin.

  Ding-dong.

  Emma pushes through the front door without saying a word. Her eyes are bloodshot, and all the freckles on her cheeks have blended into one big splotch.

  “Hey, Em,” I say. Her neon orange duffle bag with “Emma” monogrammed in silver script letters bumps me as she walks past.

  I follow her like the train of an elegant gown. She starts toward the family room.

  “Mom’s in there,” I whisper. Whatever’s on Emma’s mind, I’m guessing she doesn’t want to share with my mom.

  She nods and looks at the ceiling. I know she’s trying not to cry.

  “C’mon.” I grab her arm and lead her upstairs.

  “Mom!” I yell. “Emma’s here. We’re going to my room!”

  “Okay, sweetie.” Mom tries to make her voice sound upbeat, despite the fact Kristine’s out with her boyfriend and Mom’s worried she won’t come home tonight.

  I close my door gently.

  “What’s wrong, Em?” I ask, plopping next to where she’s landed on my bed.

  “Everything!” she shrieks, finally letting the tears explode. “I missed my period, Linds. No joke.” She shakes her head furiously. “I missed my period, which means I might be pregnant!”

  I put my arm around her, waiting. I know, after all these years, Emma will need to vent before I can say anything.

  “Sixteen and pregnant.” She fake grins. “Fabulous. Now I won’t have to worry about what I eat — I’ll just be fat.” She brushes trails of melted mascara from her cheeks with the back of her hand. I stretch over to my dresser and grab a Kleenex. I ease back next to her, handing her the tissue.