Word Prompt: Stripe
Chapter 2
The first time I kissed Bella we were thirteen. Mike invited us to his birthday party where no adults were allowed downstairs. We played spin the bottle. When mine pointed toward Bella, no one was watching, so I flicked it with my finger so she wouldn't have to kiss me. We were best friends; it would've been weird.
I kissed Jessica instead, and Mike was pissed. Bella kissed Ben, and Angela was pissed.
Spin the bottle is a stupid game.
On my last turn, I landed on Bella again, and all eyes were on me. She crawled her way into the circle and closed her eyes, waiting for me. Her bottom lip trembled as I touched it with my thumb, whispering, "It'll be okay," before I kissed her.
She was a good kisser. Tentative, but good.
Last night was different, though. All tentativeness was gone. The way she clung to me, the way she breathed me in and devoured my lips was . . . carnal, instinctive, and I loved it. I want to do it again.
I spend my Sunday cleaning my room: stacking books on top of my cluttered dresser, putting my dirty clothes in the hamper, and pushing all my baseball gear and too many ballcaps to count into the closet. I do it all methodically while trying not to think about Bella's lips, her small sigh against my mouth, or the way her arms felt wrapped around me. I am completely unsuccessful. I am, however, successful at conjuring many scenarios in which I could sneak her into my room and have my way with her.
But, gah! It's Bella.
It's just too weird.
Then again, something tugs in my gut and makes me feel sure that it wasn't a mistake, that we'd be okay, that we could try this if we wanted to.
I kinda do. Want to.
I mean, I like Tanya. But she's like every other girl. There are a million Tanyas as evidenced by her hair connection, as Bella calls them. And I've dated a few. But I've never dated a Bella. Not officially, anyway.
Once my room is clean and my homework is done, I grab my cap off the counter on my way out to Bella's. We've got to talk about this. I enter her kitchen through the back door without knocking. I don't even know the last time I knocked when I came from my yard.
The kitchen's small and hasn't been remodeled like ours, but it gets the job done. The space is cluttered, filled with junk mail and stacks of old newspapers Charlie says he'll get to but never does. They're all pushed to the side, though, because Bella's at the counter doing her thing. She's in her baking stance: one leg is perched up, foot against knee. She's wearing light pink knee socks with a hot pink stripe, giving her a sort of flamingo look.
I get a spoon and peer over her shoulder to see if the cookie dough is ready. I dip in and snag a scoop, enjoying the gritty feel of the sugar against my tongue.
"That's good. Gran's cowboy cookies?"
She nods from where she is. She hasn't even looked at me. This is annoying. At the very least I figured she'd scold me for leaning my nasty hat over her bowl.
"About last night . . ." I start, having no clue what I'm about to say, just knowing I need to say something.
She sighs loudly and stops stirring, pressing her hands against the countertop. She shakes her head. "Just forget it, Edward. I get it. It's fine. We don't have to talk about it. You have Tanya, anyway."
"I don't have to have Tanya," I say quietly.
She turns around appraising me, shifting from pink foot to pink foot. "I think you do." Her voice is stern. Final. "Besides, I finally . . . I . . . forget it."
"You really don't want to talk about it?"
She levels me with steely eyes. "How are your parents? Your dad apologize yet without sounding like an asshole?"
Wow, that was low. True, but low. And she made her point: we both have things we don't want to talk about.
"Okay. Fine, we don't have to talk about it. Can we hang out? I can't be at home anymore. My mom is cleaning out her closet."
"Yeah, it's fine. Let me put these in first."
"Okay." I slink off down the hallway and place my cap on her bedpost once I enter her room. It seems different now—now that I've kissed her of my own free will. Pretty stupid, I know. But it's true.
A massive bulletin board covers half a wall. Pictures morph one into the other, like a flow chart of friends and family, including myself. Magazine cutouts of her favorite players and her top five dream fields to visit create a border of softball and baseball greatness.
Next to the board are two posters. Her mother drove down for State last year and had two created for us. One of me, and one of Bella. They were made from our individual team photos. Bella liked them so much I had her keep them. They're posted side by side, mine labeled Shortstop, hers labeled Pitcher. I even signed mine for her, telling her when I made it to the major leagues, it'd be worth something. She'd laughed and told me she'd rather get a cut of my pay. I told her I'd think about it. Her mother, Renee, grinned slyly then stared back and forth at the two of us like we were nuts. We probably were. Are.
I slowly walk around her small room. I take in the books on her nightstand, mostly fiction with a bunch of sensitive-looking boys on the covers. I gaze at the tiny trinkets on her dresser: a stuffed baseball her gran knitted her when she had given up on making her a girl, a shot glass with a few rings and some small earrings in it, and a small bottle of lotion. I pick it up, taking a whiff, and the smell kicks me in the gut, drawing me back to last night when Bella was writhing in my lap.
I lower my head and sigh. What did we do? Have we messed everything up?
I close my eyes and go back there, this time laying her down on the hard cement and hovering over her, kissing her like I really mean it, like I want it. Like it wasn't just an accident. Because it wasn't, was it?
I don't think so. I know I liked it. I liked her braless, that's for sure. I tug lightly on the pulls of her top dresser drawer and slide it open. Just as suspected, I see what I'm looking for. Only it's not what I thought it'd be. Bella's always wandering around in her sports bra and sweats or boxers, but there are no sports bras in here. There's black and cream and white and lace and bows, and I can't stop thinking of what Bella would look like wearing one of these.
What is wrong with me?
A kitchen cabinet bangs, and I close the drawer just in case. Bella comes into her room and sits on the bed, propping herself up with pillows and turning on the TV that's attached to the wall. She glances at me, like she's bored, saying, "What?"
"Nothing." I sit beside her, and we watch reruns of Friends while the cookies bake.
She leaves occasionally to pull them out, plate them, and put another batch in. I do nothing but agonize over my stupid life each time she disappears.
I can do this. I can be her friend. As long as she's not mad at me, I can do this.
She munches on a warm cookie and offers me a bite.
"Are you mad at me?" I ask, chewing thoughtfully.
"Yes," she says and takes another chunk of cookie into her mouth.
Well, crap. Now what?
"What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to not be your dad."
"I. Am. Not. My dad."
"You are. You're a lot alike. Only you don't realize it. Ask your mom about it. Or even Katie. They'll tell you."
"Great. So you're all ganging up on me?"
"Something like that," she says, completely unapologetic.
"Well, can you, like, at least give me some pointers?"
"How 'bout you take your head out of your butt." She takes an angry bite of cookie and keeps her eyes on the TV.
"Nice. Real nice, Swan."
She swivels her head toward me, abandoning the show blinking in front of us. "Nice? You want to talk about nice? Like how I was nice to you last night? How I didn't say a damn thing and let you do what you needed to do only to be repaid by being treated like a piece of meat—"
"You are not a piece of meat, and I—"
"And then told that you were grateful that not only was I a soft place to land, but I was also a place to rest your mouth."
"What? That's—that doesn't even make any sense. I didn't say that. I only meant that—"
"Oh, I know what you meant. Besides, why would you want me when you have Tanya? Perfect, perky, petulant, potato head Tanya."
"What's with all the alliteration? That word grouping was weird, too, by the way."
"Shut up, Edward." She returns her attention to the screen.
"I'm shutting up. Just tell me what you want."
"I want you to leave me alone and forget this ever happened."
I face her fully, but she doesn't look at me. "That's what you want?" I may sound a little disappointed.
"Yes."
"Okay."
"Okay." Well, that was disappointing.
"How long will you be mad at me?"
"I don't know." She crams another cookie into her mouth.
"Can you give me a ballpark?"
"Wrigley." She picks up the remote and stabs the buttons angrily, trying to change the channel.
"Good choice." I wasn't expecting her smart mouth, but as I look to her bulletin board and see Wrigley first in line of her must-see fields, I know this is serious.
"Yeah, I make good choices. Usually," she says, eyeing me. And it stings like a freaking bee.
Well, damn. I always liked her tough side. It came in handy when our order was late and we were starving. Or when an umpire made a bad call and she shouted at him from the stands, still in her cleats from playing her own game. But now? Now that her toughness is aimed at me? I don't like it so much. And I don't even get it. Not really.
Bella said she didn't do girl talk. And maybe that's true. I know girls are pretty gossipy. But there's another type of girl talk: cryptic conversation. I didn't think Bella would participate in it—she's usually pretty direct—but she does. I don't fully understand why she's so upset. Is it because I kissed her and I was technically unavailable? Or simply because I kissed her at all?
Although, frankly, I don't care about either because I can rectify both problems. I can break up with Tanya. And I'm fairly sure I can convince Bella that kissing me is okay, just like I convinced her suicide wings are good and she should try them.
I take a cookie off her plate and think about how to say all this when she snaps at me. "Can't you get your own plate? Your own cookie? Not everything that's mine is yours."
"Okay, I'm sorry." I plop the already-bitten-into cookie back on her plate and give her an apologetic smile. She glares at me. I am so in trouble.
"Maybe I should go," I offer.
She shrugs like she doesn't care, so I go. I tuck my head as I climb the fence and realize I've just left my hat in Bella's room. It's my favorite. Crap.
Mom is crouched awkwardly in her closet going through pictures and paperwork. I don't quite understand why my mom is leaving. Why isn't my dad? So I ask.
"It's simpler this way. And I kind of . . . I want something for myself. After raising three kids and caring for this home and working for your father, I want something that's mine."
"I don't want you to go," I admit and sit down beside her, pulling at the carpet threads.
She places her hand over mine and sighs.
"I know, honey. I don't want to go either, but I don't think there's any other way. I've done everything I can. I've—"
She seems so forlorn, so I stop her. "I know, Mom. It's Dad's turn to give something up. He needs to do the right thing for once for his family. No, screw that, for you."
She gives me a wan smile. "If there's anything I'm proud of, it's that I've raised such sweet boys."
"Watch that plural. I don't think Garrett counts. Do you remember that girl he brought home for Christmas?"
"She was covered in glitter," Mom blurts and covers her wide smile with her well-manicured hand.
I laugh loudly at the memory, remembering my brother's detailed account of how he came across her. Gross. "Did he tell you how they met?"
Mom holds up a hand to stop me. "I don't even want to know. I tried with him. I really did," Mom says. "But some boys are just boys."
"Hey, what does that say about me?" I nudge her with my foot, and she giggles softly.
"You are a gentleman."
"Well, tell that to Bella." It comes about a bit brattier than I mean it to.
"Oh, she knows you're one of the good ones."
"I don't think so."
"Why? What did you do?" Mom scrutinizes me in that I-know-you-broke-the-window way, and I come clean.
"I may have kissed her last night."
"What? Oh, that's wonderful! Did you call Katie? I bet Bella did. Oh, so great," she says full of glee, her eyes bright and wide. But then my mother does something strange. Well, stranger than praising me for kissing my neighbor. She starts to cry, a few tears streaming down her cheeks. My mother never cries. She is as stoic as they come. I guess she has to be living with my unfeeling father.
"Are you okay?" I ask softly, worried I won't know what to do to help her. I never know what to do to help. Though, my mother often says just asking helps, so I do. Ask, that is. If I can help and all.
"Yes, I'm just so happy for you. Now, I liked Tanya, I did, and you know I don't like to meddle, but Bella is just . . . she's it, honey. She's it!"
"Yeah, I guess she is," I say, not knowing what I'm agreeing to.
My mother leans over me in an awkward hug and hops onto her feet, clapping. "I have to call Renee!" Not Bella's mom. Why does she need to know? I know they're friends, but really?
"Mom, maybe not yet. Maybe . . ."
"Nonsense."
I can't bear to crush her happy moment by telling her Bella's pissed at me and wishes I'd never kissed her to begin with, so I don't keep her from snagging up the cordless from her nightstand.
She holds the phone between her ear and shoulder while simultaneously texting on her cell. Girls spread news fast. This isn't good, but what am I supposed to do? I have no idea, so I do nothing.
After eating dinner and having a quick shower, I check my phone for messages. Garrett sent me a text.
Way to go, baby bro. Heard you finally slid home with Swan.
I call him immediately.
"How's it hangin'?" he says in greeting.
"Little to the left. What's your text about?"
"Katie called me. Said you and Swan finally knocked boots."
"We didn't; there was no knocking. Of the boots."
"Dude, you're as stupid as you look. Get on that, all right?" He's exasperated with me. Always is when it comes to girls. Like I'm not living up to my potential. Truth is, he's lived enough for both of us. It's embarrassing. But I know he'll keep bugging me, so I say what I have to say.
"All right."
"Really?" His voice is high in excitement.
"No, nimrod, it's Bella."
"I don't like to joke about your sad, sad broken condom conception, but you know . . ." He is full of crap. While Katie calls me an afterthought baby and Mom calls me a sweet miracle, Garrett continually calls me Oops. He loves to joke about it. He's eight years older than me, and Katie is ten. So maybe he's right. I don't care; I'm Mom's favorite. ". . . I honestly think Dad's sperm was old and slow 'cause Mom was young and fertile. There's no other reason for you to be this dumb."
"You know, I sort of missed you last week. Now, not so much."
"Then my mission here is done." He sounds so proud of his work. I even think I can hear him dusting off his hands. What a nerd.
"Great. Thanks for all the brotherly advice."
"You're quite welcome, young padawan."
"You're a dork. How do you even get chicks?"
"I've got great hair, I'm charismatic, and I'm built, man. Cullen men are gorgeous bastards. Haven't you noticed? Then again, took you eleventy years to notice Bella has boobs and sex legs. Oh, but wait, you just said you hadn't noticed. Hmm, sorry, I said the wrong thing. So uh, good luck with your ignorance. I guess you'll have to fly by on your good looks like Dad did."
"I am not like Dad."
"Dude, no. Not oblivious like Dad at all. I mean, he can't even see what's right in front of his freaking face and how lucky he is to have found someone that's amazing and willing to put up with his crap."
"Not anymore," I mumble.
"Yeah, I guess. Good luck with that. Sucks, man, you being at home and stuff."
"Yeah, thanks."
"Hey, and good luck with Swan, too."
"Double thanks."
I end the call and lie in bed staring at the glowing stars on my ceiling. Bella and I put them up on my eleventh birthday. She was determined to make constellations and printed out something from the internet that we used as our guide. It took us three hours, but it was worth it. I think about her every time I look up at them at night.
My phone brightens, and I pick it up, seeing another text from my brother.
You've still got Tanya, right? She's hot. Keep her. At least until you figure things out.
I fall asleep imagining what tomorrow will bring. Angry eyes from Bella or sad ones or happy ones, like usual. I don't know what I'll see. I only know I want her to look at me the way she did last night. Or, at the very least, the way she used to, like a friend.
Here's hoping.
A/N: Some facts: this story is completely written and 23 chapters, I have a Twitter account (come say hi), I like you, you're cute, it's good to see so many familiar "faces" and some new ones, too, your reviews make me laugh and smile, and that's awesome. Thank you.