While most everyone else was studying for the American government test in school the next day, Kyle was busy studying up on the vast repertoire of football plays for his future university. His dad told him that, after assessing the talent level of the other quarterback recruits Alabama seemed likely to get, there was no one else in his league. So he had to know the plays, had to make a good impression so he could secure the starting quarterback spot that was on the line. Most of the hard work would come in the summer. Now was preparation time.
To him, high school was already a fading memory. He was thinking so far ahead that he didn't even feel like he was really there sometimes. But when Michael came scampering towards the table, he remembered that high school wasn't over, and not everyone was as focused on the future as he was.
"Hey, man," Michael said, taking a seat beside him.
"Hey." Kyle closed the playbook and hid it beneath his government textbook. He was under strict orders not to let anyone get a glimpse of it. Top secret stuff. Of course, if Michael came to Alabama, too, he'd get a playbook of his own.
Michael didn't say anything, but he looked like he wanted to. He was fidgeting a lot, had a little bounce to his posture. And for once, he looked alert. Michael never looked alert in the morning, especially not at school.
"What's up?" Kyle asked, sensing that there was a very specific reason for his friend's good mood.
"Uh . . ." Michael just smiled and laughed, scratching his eyebrow. He didn't have to say anything for Kyle to understand.
"So . . . you got laid, huh?"
At first, Michael just grinned proudly, but then he added, "More than that."
"Twice?"
"More than that."
"Three times?"
"More."
"Holy cow, are you a man or a machine?" Kyle asked in astonishment.
"No, I mean . . . twice, okay, but it was just more. You know, more than it ever has been," he elaborated.
"This was with Maria, right?"
"Of course."
"Okay, just wanted to make sure. Sometimes it's hard to keep up with you."
Michael at first made a face of annoyance, than relented. "Yeah, I guess that's fair. But this is the way it's gonna be from now on. Me and Maria. I'm tellin' you, man . . . it was so much more. I never felt like that with Isabel. Or anyone, you know?"
"Oh, trust me, I know."
"And it's like . . . like I finally get it, you know?" There was this dazedly happy look on Michael's face as he stared off into space, still waxing poetic. "I get what you mean when you say Tess is the one. 'cause Maria's the one for me."
It was a bold declaration, especially from a guy who had spent the better half of his adolescent years playing the field in an effort to avoid settling down. Kyle wasn't about to tell him to slow down, though, or to not get ahead of himself. If Michael was really feeling this way for the first time, then he deserved to get caught up in it and experience it for all it was worth.
"You're high on your sex life right now. You realize that, right?" Kyle said.
"Yeah," Michael agreed, grinning goofily. "I know."
...
Maybe it was because her mind was elsewhere, but Maria could not find the right spot on the right shelf for The Great Gatsby. It was a little ridiculous that it was taking so long, because it was one of the most checked-out books following the release of the movie. Either she was just not very good at this job, or she just couldn't focus.
It was probably a focus thing. All day long, all she'd been thinking about was . . .
She squeaked in surprise when she felt a hand on her arm, and before she was even completely turned around, a warm mouth was on hers, kissing her deeply. She relaxed into his embrace, letting him push her back against the shelf. Gatsby fell from her hand.
"I missed you," Michael murmured between kisses.
She smiled, wondering if his day at school was feeling as long as her day at work was. "I missed you, too." She'd spent the majority of her morning, remembering how sexy she'd felt with his hands all over her and how comfortable she'd felt falling asleep in his arms. Waking up had been torture. Moving out of that bed had been almost impossible.
He seemed all too eager to take simple kissing to the next level as he reached behind her and cupped her ass, squeezing suggestively. She laughed a little, holding onto his shoulders as she reluctantly leaned back a bit. "As much as I'd love to . . . I'm at work, and your mom's my boss, and there are other people here."
"So?"
She gave him a look. He couldn't be serious. How was the mom thing not a turnoff?
"Okay, I can wait," he gave in. "But tonight . . ." He brought one hand around to her front, hovering just below her bellybutton.
"Tonight," she echoed. They were going to have to be quiet. His parents—or at least one of them—would be home this time, and Tina and Dylan would be there, too. Maybe after everyone else was asleep, then they could just . . .
Her mind raced. The possibilities were endless.
"This is so different," she told him.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I don't think I've ever really looked forward to sex before."
Now it was his turn to make a face. "Are you serious?"
"No, it was always like this . . . obligation. I never felt like I got anything out of it. Until last night."
"That's right." He sounded . . . proud. And that was adorable. "In fact, you got something out of it two times."
"Yeah, I've never felt like that before," she admitted, lowering her hands to tug on the waist of his jeans.
"Never?"
She shook her head sincerely. "Nope. Not until you."
"Are you kidding me? I gave you your first orgasm?"
"Shh." She giggled lightly, pulling him closer by pulling on his pants. "First of many, I hope."
"Oh, yeah," he assured her, cupping her ass with both hands again. "I'm just gettin' started, I promise."
Oh, she liked the sound of that.
Just as they had started kissing again, Krista rounded the corner from the adjacent aisle of books to this one. Maria heard her more than saw her and pushed Michael away, startled, knowing that Krista would have had to have her head in a book to not see or suspect anything.
"Michael," she said. "What're you doing here?"
"Oh, uh . . ." He looked at Maria, then back at his mom. "Lunch break."
His mom frowned, asking, "Where's your food?"
"Oh, I already ate."
Maria averted her eyes, hoping she wasn't getting red in the face. Poor Michael. He wasn't hiding it very well.
"Subway," he went on. "Meatball sub. Pretty good. Not enough cheese on it for my taste, though. I might go back and complain."
"How about you go back to school?" Krista suggested quickly.
"That's . . . a good idea, too," he relented. "I'll go learn something. Maybe somethin' I'll use in life." He started backing away, looking all sorts of awkward as he ran into another shelf, knocking over a few books. He put them back up in places they didn't belong, then waved goodbye as he scampered out of sight.
Bending down to pick up the Gatsby book, Maria continued to avoid all eye contact with Krista, wondering if she looked as obvious as she felt.
...
Pep rallies. Worst thing ever in Isabel's opinion. She didn't want to be there, nor did she want to even pretend like she wanted to be there. But since sub-district basketball was happening next week, they just had to host a pep rally to show support for all the athletes, most of whom didn't express any gratitude whatsoever. So really, what was the point?
She did the fight song dance without even thinking, because she'd done it so many times that the moves were permanently etched into her brain now. Tess was at the front of the formation, of course, getting way more into it. It was a good thing most of the students were watching her.
Kyle, in particular, had his eyes glued to her. Naturally. Clearly. He never looked at anyone else. He never wanted to. But right beside him, Michael was talking to one of their loser friends, not even paying attention. Worse, he was laughing. Not at them, but probably at some stupid joke. Some stupid, lame, male hormonal joke. He looked like he was in a good mood. He looked . . . peppy.
When they got done shouting "Go, Fight, Win!" four times at the end of the routine, Isabel was relieved it was over. Except it wasn't over. She had to stand out in the middle of the gymnasium for the rest of the pep rally, which was an unbearable twenty minutes long, while Tess orchestrated things on the microphone. There was a failed attempt at getting the athletes to do a minute-to-win-it game that involved getting them dizzy by spinning them around and them having them attempt to shoot free throws, and that was followed by a lackluster speech by the coach. And then it was pretty much over, and three minutes before the final bell of the day rang, they did the fight song dance one more time, and then, mercifully, they were released.
As she was heading out of the gym, Isabel heard somebody call her name, so she turned around, hoping pathetically that it was Michael. But much to her surprise, Alex was there. "Hey," she said.
"Hey." Like Michael, he looked peppy, too. He had a smile on his face, bounce in his step. That sort of thing.
"What're you doing here?" she asked.
"It's Wednesday," he replied. "Study Buddies day."
"Oh." Crap. She'd totally forgotten about that. "Right." What was wrong with her? That tutoring program was supposed to be her pride and joy, the brightest of all the bright marks she would leave on this school. And now she was just spacing it off?
"I just caught the tail end of the pep rally," he remarked, tagging along with her as she slinked through the crowded hallway.
"I'm sorry."
He laughed a little. "No, you . . . I thought you guys did good."
"Not me," she muttered dejectedly. "I wasn't cheerful."
"Well . . ." He trailed off, like he wanted to disagree but couldn't.
"I'm a cheerless cheerleader. I'm an oxymoron. Or . . . maybe just a moron in general," she contemplated.
"No, come on, don't say that."
"Why not?" She snorted at how unhappy she sounded, hating that she couldn't pull herself out of this pit of despair.
"So I take it things have been rough ever since . . ." Again, he didn't finish.
"Yeah." The roughest part of all of it, though, was that it wasn't getting any easier.
"I know what it's like," he emphasized. "Except . . . it's probably even harder for you. You gotta see him every day. I only see Liz once in a while. Campus is a lot bigger than this school."
"Yeah, it sucks," she grumbled, not even bothering to sugarcoat it.
"You know, if you ever need someone to talk to," he offered, "or if you wanna just hang out sometime . . . I'm here."
"Thanks," she said, thinking that it might be a good idea to take him up on that. Alex was one of the only people she trusted anymore, and one of the few people who could truly understand.
...
Andy was the only one who didn't come downstairs for dinner that night. Not surprising in any way. Still, Maria had thought that just maybe he'd make an effort since this was her and Dylan's first night back. Well, technically she'd been there last night, too, but . . . only Michael knew that.
As they were wrapping up their meal, Michael was engaged in an adorable conversation with Dylan, all about football. Dylan could barely even finish his food, because he was jabbering so much, so excited about the prospect of playing on an actual team this summer.
"So you wanna do it?" Michael asked. "You wanna play?"
"Yeah!" Dylan exclaimed.
"But it's not gonna be like it is when it's just me and you," Michael reiterated. "You'll be with other kids. Kids your age. But I'll be there, too. I'll drive you to practice and come to your games."
Maria's heart swelled at the sound of that. Dylan had never had this before. Any of it.
"I'll come, too," Tina chimed in.
"Yay!" Dylan yelled, clapping his messy hands together.
"Dylan . . ." Maria reached over with a napkin and cleaned her son's fingers off. He was eating food with his hands that was meant to be eaten with a fork.
"So where did you hear about this?" Krista asked Michael, setting her own napkin atop her empty plate.
"My friend Jase. His little brother's on the team," Michael answered.
"Little brother?" Krista echoed.
"Yeah."
Maria noticed it, the slight look of alarm in the other woman's eyes. It was clear she was freaked out that her son was acting like a dad to someone who, technically, in terms of the age-spread, could have been a younger sibling. Michael probably didn't notice anything, though, because he was mostly just watching Dylan.
Oh, well, Maria thought. She couldn't blame Krista for being wary. Any mom would be. As a mother herself, she could understand. But she wasn't going to dwell on it. No way. She was still feeling way too happy about . . . everything.
"Tina, will you help me with the dishes?" Krista asked.
Her daughter reluctantly got up and started clearing up the table. "Thanks," Maria said when Tina took her plate.
"You're welcome," Tina said politely, before leaning down and whispering in Maria's ear, "We missed you."
Maria smiled. It was really nice to be missed, to have people in her life who actually cared. Everything about her life with these people was . . . different. In a good way.
When Krista and Tina headed over to the sink and started filling it up with water, Dylan started rambling incoherently about something. Maria was able to translate a few words and gathered that he was happy he was going to be back in his room tonight. Michael just smiled and nodded and said, "Yeah," a few times, but his attention was starting to divert, too. Now, he was looking right at her.
He didn't have to say anything. She knew what he was thinking. Mostly because she was thinking the same thing.
When Dylan got bored, he yipped, "Ooh, I wanna help!" and slid down off his seat, running into the kitchen. He ran into Krista's legs in his haste.
"Dude, what's wrong with you?" Michael teased. "You're not supposed to wanna do chores."
Dylan just laughed as Krista pulled over a chair for him to stand on. And just like that, he was helping dry while Tina was washing, and Krista was offering him pointers here and there.
"He's a good kid," Maria said, feeling lucky on all sorts of levels.
"Yeah, he is," Michael agreed. He watched them for a few seconds, but then he turned his head to the side, and he was looking at her all suggestively again. It was like a talent that he could shift from the adorable dad role to the tempting boyfriend one so quickly.
Boyfriend. She savored the thought. Was he her boyfriend now? Surely. It didn't feel like something that needed to be discussed or confirmed. It was just . . . obvious.
She felt a blush creep up to her cheeks, maybe because of her own thoughts or maybe because of his intense gaze. Either way, she figured this must be what being on cloud nine felt like.
Without saying anything, he reached over and put his hand on her leg underneath the table, high up on her thigh, resting it there for just a few seconds before he tried to slip it in between her legs. She swatted it away playfully, because the last thing she wanted to do was have Krista see. The poor woman. She'd probably already seen too much at the library.
"Stop," she whispered.
"You want me to stop?"
She smiled coyly, because he had her there. Of course she didn't want him to stop. She longed for him to keep going, because she wanted his hands all over her, caressing every inch. Because she was pretty damn sure he had the best hands in the entire world.
"Hey." That was all he said before giving her the most mischievous look she'd ever seen from him. Everything he wanted to do was practically plastered on his face. It was obvious in the way he leaned in closer, in the way his eyes roamed all over her, in the way he had to link his hands together to keep them to himself. When his eyebrows jutted up suddenly, she almost burst out laughing. When he made the 'let's go upstairs' motion with his head, her whole body tingled with delight.
Krista and Tina weren't paying attention. Dylan had their focus now. He was a regular entertainer drying those dishes. Which was a good thing, because Maria didn't want to have to make up some corny excuse to leave the table.
Michael made the first move. He just got up quietly and walked away from the table, sending one quick glance back over his shoulder as he headed up the stairs, as if to say, You'd better follow me.
She sat back, trying to look relaxed and inconspicuous. She'd give it a minute. Then she'd get up, too.
It was hard to be quiet, of course, but kind of exhilarating. It turned out it was even harder afterward, because sex with Michael was so electric that she wanted to scream out at the top of her lungs just how good it was, how much she loved it, how much she loved him. But since she couldn't very well do that without alerting everyone else in the house to what they were up to, she settled for some contented moans instead. She felt so comfy and cozy—and still pretty turned on—lying on top of him, their slick bodies still sliding against each other. "That was amazing," she murmured.
"I know, right?" he agreed as his fingers combed through her hair. "I told you I could be better."
"Better and better all the time." She grinned.
"Oh, I'm just gettin' started," he promised.
"Really?" She gasped when he lifted his hips, rubbing his renewing erection against her.
"Oh, yeah. I got skills."
"Like what kind of skills?"
"Serious skills." He kissed her, slipping his tongue into her mouth expertly. "Like that."
"Mmm." There was something nice about this, being with someone who knew exactly what he was doing. She had some experience, sure, but with Michael . . . it was like she was in the hands of a master. The most amazing, sensual hands . . .
"I'm just like . . . intense," he proclaimed. "I'm an intense person. Especially in bed, you know. I'm intense."
"Oh, I know."
"It's intense."
It was. And that was exactly why she was enjoying it so much. It was more than just sex. So much more.
"You want me to make you cum again?" he whispered huskily, the aggressive passion in his voice contrasting with the tender way he touched her cheek. "Huh?"
"Yeah." Maybe it was just the newness of it, but she felt like she could do this all night long.
"Yeah?" He started to shift beneath her, even just the slightest movements making her head spin. "Can I go down on you?"
Her eyes must have widened a bit at that suggestion, because that would definitely be new.
"Would I be the first to do that?"
She nodded. Max had never been considerate enough to even offer. Yet, of course, he'd expected her to go down on him whenever he felt like it.
"You want me to?" he asked, his voice a whisper seeking permission.
"Sure." Doing something new made her a little bit nervous, but an excited kind of nervous. It was nice to think that she'd be able to do something with him she'd never done with anyone before.
"Alright, come on up here," he urged, rubbing her sides.
"I am up." And so are you, she thought. In a different way.
"No, like . . . up. Like, sit on my face," he instructed.
"What?"
"Yeah, just do it."
"I thought you were going down on me."
"Same thing."
"Not really." This was . . . way more embarrassing. Was that the right word? Maybe not, but since this was going to be a new experience for her, she wasn't exactly comfortable with being the one so in control.
"Just—trust me, you'll love it," he reassured her. "Sit on my face."
"Michael, I . . ." She wanted to be daring and adventurous and just go for it, but she couldn't help being hesitant.
"Don't be self-conscious," he told her.
"I am, though."
"Maria, I've literally been inside you. There's nothin' to be self-conscious about."
"I know, but . . ." She couldn't get herself to move. Not this time.
He sighed, relenting to a different position. "Alright, you wanna lay down then?"
"Yes."
"Okay, you can lay down." With one arm wrapped around her mid-section, he flipped them over so that he was the one on top. Since he was the one who knew what to do, she let him get her all positioned. He took one of the pillows they weren't using and put it underneath her to further elevate her hips.
"Spread your legs," he told her.
Oh my god, oh my god, she thought, her pulse racing in eager anticipation. She did as she was instructed, trusting that he would make this amazing for her, that she would love every second just because he was the one doing it.
He touched her for a moment, massaging, teasing. He looked incredible, poised in between her legs, all his attention focused on her as his own arousal became all the more prominent. Giving her pleasure, she realized, was going to give him pleasure, too.
"Alright, hold on," he said, brimming with confidence as he scooted back on the bed and lowered his head.
She squealed and bucked her hips the second his mouth made contact. Oh, yes, she was gonna love this.
...
School was nothing more than a waste of time at this point. Second semester, senior year . . . most people only attended because they had nothing better to do. But Michael had plenty of better things to do. The only reason he got his ass out of bed and hauled himself to pointless school was to make his mom happy. There was still the minute chance that he wouldn't graduate if he missed too many more days. That was Principal Forrester's threat, anyway, but Michael knew better. He'd already been accepted to two colleges. What were they really going to do, hold him back because of his shoddy attendance? Yeah, right. They weren't that eager to spend another year with him.
At least the classes seemed to be getting easier. None of the teachers were really expecting the kids to pay much attention at this point. They were just happy if it remained quiet, which, for the most part, it did, because everyone was too busy spacing out.
As Michael spaced during English class that day, he doodled. But soon enough, his doodle turned into a full-blown sketch. First the eyes, then the mouth. Soon enough, a fairly recognizable drawing of Maria was coming to life at the top of his paper, the paper he was supposed to be taking notes on. He liked drawing, not enough to want to pursue it as a career or anything, but when he was bored and she was on his mind, it seemed like an okay thing to do.
"Michael?"
He looked up from his paper when Ms. Alvarez said his name.
"Are you listening?"
He looked around. No one was listening, so why was he the one getting called out for it? "No," he answered honestly.
Ms. Alvarez sighed in disappointment and continued on. "I'll be partnering you up for today's assignment."
As her voice droned on, he noticed Isabel, still sitting just two seats away. She was trying to not look noticeable as she glanced over at his desk. So he closed his notebook.
Ms. Alvarez rolled through the list of who was partnered up with whom for whatever the hell it was they were doing, and Michael knew it wasn't going to be good when he was one of the last one's left. Because one of the only other names who hadn't been called was hers.
"Michael, you're with Isabel."
"Ooh . . ." a couple of guys in the class said. Like being partnered up together was going to hurt or something. Well . . . maybe it would for her. But he could do it. He was fine.
"Spread out around the room," Ms. Alvarez instructed.
Isabel immediately shot to her feet, scurrying towards the teacher's desk. Michael watched as she quietly tried to get the partners switched up. Clearly she would have rather been with someone else, anyone else. Even that girl who ate her own hair. But Michael didn't have to hear the conversation to know what Ms. Alvarez's response was: Something about picking partners at random, drawing names out of a hat or drawing sticks or something. Putting a couple together wasn't her first choice, either, but as luck would have it, that was just how it turned out.
"But we're not a couple," he heard Isabel say.
Ms. Alvarez shrugged helplessly and probably said a few words of encouragement.
Ultimately, the partners didn't change, and Isabel slinked back to her desk, a look of dread on her face. She sat down and held her head in both hands, not even looking at him.
Well, here goes nothing, he thought, deciding to at least make an effort. He got up and moved one desk over so that he was sitting beside her. "What're we supposed to be doin'?" he asked.
She ripped three pages of paper covered with handwriting out of her notebook and thrust them at him. "Reading each other's rough drafts."
"Of that story we were supposed to write?"
She nodded wordlessly.
"Oh. Here." He took a crinkled up paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. "I only got one paragraph done."
"Of course." She finally lifted her head up from her hands and started in, looking like she was trying to be completely focused on reading what he had written.
He tried to start in on hers, too, but he couldn't get into it. Not because it wasn't good—obviously Isabel was the best writer in the class—but just because it felt weird. Writing was personal to her. He'd never read anything of hers, not even when they'd been dating. Maybe she'd never trusted him enough for that, or maybe he'd just never expressed enough of an interest.
"Nice drawing," she mumbled.
Crap. Maybe he should've held off on doodling until another class, one he didn't have with her.
"So are you guys, like . . . together now?" she asked, her lips pressed tightly together with anger, her eyes narrowed.
He didn't want to lie to her, but the truth was going to crush her. There was no good response to give. "You could say that."
She nodded with bitter acceptance, then kept on questioning. "So is she your girlfriend now? Are you guys dating or just hooking up or-" She stopped abruptly. There must have been something about the look on his face, something that made it perfectly clear to her that he and Maria were togethernow in every sense of the way. And even though she'd been the one to ask the question in the first place, she looked devastated.
Sorry, he thought but didn't say. He was sorry, to an extent. Sorry that he'd hurt her, again. But he wasn't sorry for feeling what he felt for Maria, and for acting on those feelings. Because being with her was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He couldn't be completely sorry about that.
Isabel was trying not to look at him, but in a way, that just made it all the more obvious that tears were forming in her eyes, welling up, about to spill over. Her lower lip was trembling, and he knew that, in her mind, she was probably picturing all the things she didn't want to picture: Maria and him together. Really together. Like how they'd been together last night.
And finally, she just couldn't take it anymore. "Great story," she muttered, slapping his crumpled paragraph back down onto his desk. She sprang from her seat and bolted from the room without asking for a pass. Her hasty exit drew everyone's attention, and the talking started up. Gossip. Fantastic.
"Noise level down," Ms. Alvarez cautioned. But Michael knew it was no use. He and Isabel were still high-profile people at West Roswell High. When she tried to work with him and then got all emotional and fled the room, it was bound to make headlines.
