Don't Kiss the Bride

Unamused, she pushes her dark-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. “At least walk faster. You’re not out here to exercise your mouths.”

Megan laughs as she ties her long, brown hair up in a ponytail. “This humidity is gross,” she says to me. “I don’t want to exercise anything.”

“Same.”

“Friday night we should—” She stops short. “Whoa. Holy biceps, Batman.”

“Huh?” Confused, I follow the path of her eyes, which leads me directly to Jude, who’s walking down the sidewalk toward the house he’s been working on. A small plastic bag from the convenience store a block away swings from his hand.

“That’s him,” I say.

“Him who?” she demands with her eyes still riveted on him.

“The guy who gave me a ride home. Jude.”

He turns, and a slow smile spreads across his face when he recognizes me. A pack of classmates sprints past us on the curve of the track, momentarily blocking him from our view.

“You guys are doing it wrong,” he jokes after they pass.

“We’re exercising our mouths,” Megan replies, walking slower and forcing me to do the same so we stay in line with him.

Laughing, he turns his attention to me. “How’s the car? Any news?”

“Not yet.”

Mrs. Stephens blows her whistle at us. “Ladies, if you don’t start moving, you’re both getting detention. Mr. Lucketti, I’m sure you remember what that’s like.”

My cheeks heat with embarrassment. Did he actually go to school here when he was younger?

Jude flashes her a cocky grin. “C’mon, you know you miss me, Mrs. Stephens.”

“Keep walking, Lucky.” A hint of affection laces her voice.

“You didn’t tell me he was hot,” Megan says, after Jude has disappeared behind the new walls of the addition his crew is building. “How could you leave that part out?”

“I wasn’t checking him out, Meg.” That might be a lie. I may have checked him out a teeny bit. “He’s like, in his thirties.”

“True, but he’s still a total snack.”

“I didn’t know he went here. Has Mrs. Stephens been working here her entire life?”

Megan shrugs. “Probably. I’ll bet that whistle is the only thing she’s ever blown.”

I make a face at her. “Gross. I’d rather not visualize her blowing anything.”

“I’d like to visualize blowing that guy. Did you see all those tattoos? Does he have a cute, younger brother?”

“Calm down. I just got a ride from him. I didn’t interview him for his biography.”

She glances over at the house, but Lucky is nowhere to be seen. “I hope guys are that good-looking when we’re that age. I don’t want to marry someone cute and then have him go all bald and doughy on me.” She shudders dramatically.

I bump my shoulder into hers. “You’re crazy. When you marry someone, you’re supposed to love them no matter what. It’s part of the vows.”

“Let’s make a promise to see how we feel when we’re in our thirties and married with kids. We have to honestly confess to each other if we’re still attracted to our husbands.”

I know us and our friendship. We will definitely be having this conversation in fifteen years.

“Why are you even thinking about marriage and kids? We haven’t even graduated high school yet.”

She shrugs. “Isn’t that the end goal? Big wedding, two kids, a nice house, successful career? My mom’s already planning my wedding, and I’m not even dating anyone.”

“That’s not what I want.” We head toward the doors to go inside. “I’m not ever getting married.”

“Don’t tell me you’re still stuck on that living-in-an-RV-with-a-bunch-of-cats idea?”

Megan wants what her parents have. A big house on a cul-de-sac. A family. Lots of get-togethers. Successful careers. I don’t blame her, because in her world, that’s pretty close to perfect.

But my world is different.

“What’s wrong with living in an RV? I can go anywhere. Live anywhere. I don’t want to be trapped. In a place or with a person. I want to be free.”

She raises her eyebrow. “Then someday your free ass better park that RV in my driveway to visit me.”

“Damn right I will. And if you’re not happy with your doughy husband we’ll drive off in it like Thelma and Louise.”

“Deal.”

The day drags. I’m bored and restless, watching the clock in every class, counting the minutes until three p.m. when I can head to work. I used to love coming to school every day. Up until around third grade, it was fun and exciting. I soaked up learning like a sponge and had lots of friends. I remember going to their birthday parties, wearing silly hats and singing. Eating cake. But right around fourth grade, things got worse at home. Or maybe I was just finally old enough to realize that things were always wrong. School became an escape.

I couldn’t escape myself, though. Not the fears that skittered in my head or the sick feeling that clung inside my chest.

I slowly withdrew from all my friends and classmates, until Megan decided I was going to be her best friend. She was the new girl, seated in front of me in class. On her first day, she turned around and blurted out her entire life story to me in one huge, run-on, rambling sentence. She was very animated—hands flying, black hair bouncing, eyes widening one moment and rolling the next. I blinked and nodded at her for a full ten minutes while she talked, caught in her spell.