A Kiss in the Dark Read online

  “You can’t be here, Ben!” she yells.

  “Hey, relax!” Meredith says, bolting to her feet. “Ben is cool. He won’t say anything.” She turns a sunny grin on Ben’s shell-shocked face. “Right, Benny?”

  “Hell, no. I’m man enough to admit that you guys scare the shit out of me.”

  A burst of laughter sounds from the door, and my mother says, “I’m with you, Ben. I can’t believe how seriously they take this.” She walks away, shaking her head into her mug.

  Football culture in Georgia is something my mom still hasn’t quite grasped, having gone to a small high school in upstate New York, where we lived until I was in fifth grade. There, it was no big deal—no parade, no fanfare. Not even a homecoming dance. I’ll never forget the way Mom’s eyes bugged out of her skull at the throngs of people the first time she came to watch me cheer. Or the perplexed, horrified look on her face when bare-chested, teal-and-white-painted boys charged through the oversized inflatable replica of a Ridgedale football helmet, each carrying a flag that spelled out RAVENS. They might as well have been wearing mammal-skin loincloths and waving clubs around.

  Maybe it was silly, but football is a big deal. And I love it.

  The tension in the garage breaks as we all chuckle at Ben’s remark, and he tosses the basketball into the grass before strolling inside to take a better look.

  “So you’re in charge of smuggling the float this year?” he says, circling the trailer. “What’s the theme?” He jostles it a little, runs his hand over the surface like he’s testing it.

  “Ravin’ Ravens,” I reply. “Does it pass inspection?”

  Ben’s eyes flick up to meet mine. “Wasn’t that the theme last year?”

  “No, that was Ravens Rock. We had a rock-climbing wall and a giant Indiana Jones boulder. This one is going to be a nightclub. Totally different.”

  “Ah, I see.” Ben pats the trailer again, like he’s pronouncing it worthy. Then he picks up the sketches near Meredith’s leg. “This what you’re planning?” His eyes dart from the papers to the sagging boxes. “Need some help?”

  A few of the girls, including me, blurt out “no” at the same time Meredith says, “Yes!” She turns to us, undoubtedly sensing the daggers shooting from our eyes. Letting our parents pitch in is one thing, but a guy who’s friends with half the football team? No.

  “Guys,” she says, “Ben is amazing with his hands.”

  Jadie snorts. “Oh really?”

  Ben turns so red, he’s practically glowing, but Meredith rolls her eyes. “He built our doghouse, perv. And a bunch of other stuff, and he’s been my neighbor for five years. So I think I know when someone is trustworthy.”

  “Thanks, Mer.” Ben runs a hand over his hair, which is thick and the color of beach sand. It stands straight up, then bounces right back into place like some kind of cartoon coif. “Trustworthy until Hargrove gets here, anyway.”

  There’s a collective gasp. Joel Hargrove is new at Ridgedale. Not only is he a football player, but he’s a former member of enemy camp. He transferred from Mortonville, Ridgedale’s sworn rival. To some, that alone puts him only a step above the spawn of Satan. But add in the fact that Joel cost us the play-offs last year when he tackled Ken Davenport and broke his collarbone, and Joel pretty much is Satan.

  And still, some of us can’t help but be curious about him.

  Ben chuckles. “He’s coming over later to shoot some hoops. You’ve got plenty of time to blockade the door or rig booby traps or whatever you need to do.” When he’s met with nothing but aghast, anxious stares, he holds up his hands. “Seriously, I’m not going to say a word.”

  “Okay, let’s do this fast, then,” Meredith cuts in. She explains the situation to Ben, who grabs a measuring tape and assesses the boxes from every angle, jotting down notes on the back of the sketches while she talks.

  “This should be easy.” The tape snaps into place. “I can make crates out of some scrap wood I have in my shed. I’ll be right back.”

  “Wait,” I call after him when he starts out of the garage, paper in hand. “You’re doing it now? What if Joel gets here early?”

  Ben shrugs. “It’ll go a lot faster if you want to help me.”

  If I gave any impression that I knew the first thing about power tools or woodworking, I didn’t mean to. But I kind of like the idea of learning, so I hop down from my stool and follow him up the driveway.

  “So I haven’t seen you at the soccer field in a while,” he says as I fall into step next to him.

  I almost forgot that my seven-year-old twin brothers, Aaron and Michael, are on a rec soccer team with Ben’s little brother. Lately I’ve gotten into the habit of staying home during their games, to take advantage of the rare quiet and get my homework done.

  “Michael says I’m bad luck, because they lost the last two games I went to.” Still, I feel like a terrible sister. I make a mental note to watch them play next weekend. “Speaking of games, you were holding the giant cutout of Joel’s head on a stick at the last football game, weren’t you?”

  I don’t mention that it distracted me for all the wrong reasons.

  “Hey, he’s a nice kid,” Ben says. “Someone needs to get the ball rolling for everyone to stop treating him like a curse.”

  We cross the street, heading toward the big white house with green shutters on the corner. “Why did Joel’s family move out of Mortonville, anyway? Is it because his dad teaches here?”

  All I know is that if I’d taken down Ridgedale’s wide receiver during one of the most important games of the season, it would be the last place on earth I’d transfer to voluntarily.

  “Mr. Hargrove taught over there for a while too. But he’s getting deployed to Afghanistan. I guess Joel’s parents wanted a house that was smaller and easier to maintain while he’s gone. They ended up in Willowbrook, right around the corner.”

  In truth, we all kind of live “right around the corner.” The homes in our town are mostly clustered into subdivisions, with restaurants and businesses and shops lining the main roads. The entrance to Meredith’s and Ben’s community—called Scarborough Farms, though there’s nothing farmlike about the stately Colonials—sits directly across the street from the high school’s driveway. My neighborhood is about a mile down the road to the right, and Joel’s is less than half a mile on the left.

  “Gosh, that’s so scary. My mother would be lost without my father.” Immediately I feel like an ass for being hesitant to get to know Joel. Everyone has been so focused on Joel-the-Mortonville-Pirate that no one, except Ben, has bothered to find out who he is off the field. And I’m glad it’s still early in the year, because there’s plenty of time to change that.

  Ben leads me toward the back of his house. The yard is small but neatly manicured, and in the far corner is a toolshed built to resemble a little cottage. Next to it is a white-and-black doghouse with a nameplate that reads SULLIVAN. It looks a lot like the one in Meredith’s yard, the one I never realized Ben built, until five minutes ago.

  “This shouldn’t be too hard,” Ben says as we head toward the shed. “You won’t need anything fancy. Might not even have to break out the nail gun.”

  “Damn.” I snap my fingers with mock disappointment. “Hammers are so inferior.”

  Ben stops so quickly, I almost trip over him. “Wait, have you really used a nail gun?”

  “No,” I admit.

  He grins. “Man, then I’m definitely not letting you near it. If you nail your foot to the ground and can’t cheer, Mer will rip my nuts off.”

  “I think she has other plans for them.” I clamp my hand over my mouth and feel myself blush right to the roots of my hair. My natural color has always been strawberry blond, but if I looked in the mirror at this moment and saw it glowing a fiery magma red, I wouldn’t be surprised in the least. “That came out so wrong.”

  Ben laughs, and there’s a sudden shyness to the set of his shoulders as he opens the shed door. “Mer’s a cool gir
l. Too cool for me.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She’s . . .” He motions at me, like whatever magic word he can’t conjure up is hidden in the fibers of my clothes. “She’s Meredith Kopala. And I’m not a jock.”

  I step closer to him and put my hand on his shoulder, biting back a giggle and making my face as somber as possible. “Ben, this might come as a shock to you.” I lower my voice. “We’re not living in an after-school special.”

  His eyes widen with feigned surprise. “No?”

  “Nope. Cheerleaders date people who aren’t jocks. Jocks date people who aren’t cheerleaders. Those rules? It’s a conspiracy. They don’t exist.”

  He whistles like I’ve blown his mind and ushers me inside, looking thoughtful. The shed is small but neat and smells like wood and mulch. Ben heads to the far corner, where slats of plywood and a few two-by-fours lean against the wall. “So you think it’s that easy, huh?”

  I shrug. “There is a right and a wrong in the universe, and that distinction is not hard to make.”

  “You did not just quote Superman.”

  Ben gapes at me, and I try not to look too self-satisfied. I’m both surprised and impressed that he picked up the reference. “I have two brothers, remember? They’re obsessed. My mom actually framed that quote and hung it in their room.”

  Though, I’m pretty sure she did it as an effort to keep them out of beast mode, a move of pure wishful thinking on her part.

  “Come on,” Ben teases. “Don’t pin it on the testosterone in your house. I recognize a fan when I see one.” He points to the locket hanging around my neck. “I’ll bet that’s where you hide your S, huh?”

  I clutch the silver heart. “I’ll never tell.”

  He gives me an approving once-over. “Wow, who would’ve thought?”

  “I’d also never tell if, say, you were thinking about asking Meredith to homecoming?”

  His eyes fix on me, and in the light filtering through the shed window, they look almost the same color as his hair. “For real?” The piece of wood fumbles through his hands and clatters to the floor.

  “Are you nervous just thinking about it?” I snicker.

  “I don’t know. I guess I haven’t really thought about it. Okay, that’s a lie—I’ve thought about it. A lot,” he corrects, testing the plywood between his hands. “But I suck at figuring out if she’s flirting or just being Meredith. I mean, we joke around, and sometimes we walk to school together. But then she goes her way and I go mine. Separate circles, you know?”

  Lately I’ve begun to suspect that Meredith’s feelings for Ben might be more than neighborly, but I choose my response carefully, wanting to convince him without selling out my best friend. “All I know is that if anyone else had gone near that float, Meredith would’ve come at them like a spider monkey. I’d bet money that if you asked her to homecoming, she’d say yes.”

  He nearly loses the board again, then brandishes it when he regains his grip. “See, this is what happens. Everything’s fine when you’re friends with a girl, but throw in words like ‘homecoming’ and ‘together,’ and suddenly I can’t walk and chew gum at the same time.”

  “Guess I’d better handle the nail gun after all.”

  He actually lets me too. Only a couple of times, since my job is mostly “hold this,” but when I’m not keeping boards steady like a champ, I take great pleasure in pulling that trigger. We work pretty quickly, and soon we’re carrying a rectangular crate for the body of the stereo back to Meredith’s garage.

  “The speakers will be a little trickier because they’re taller, but I can throw something together tomorrow if you want,” Ben says, smiling proudly when we’re met with cheers and claps. He sets the crate on the trailer, and Meredith helps him slip the box over it.

  “Perfect!” she exclaims, ruffling his hair. “Nice job, Benny.”

  Ben backs away with a shy smile, pushing his hair into place even though it didn’t go anywhere.

  “Glad I could help. I should jet, though. Joel’ll be here soon, and I have to act natural.”

  He waves good-bye, and we wave after him until Meredith closes the garage door.

  “I guess we’re not getting much more done today,” she says. “You guys can stay for lunch if you want, but I’m not bringing the boxes outside for spray-painting with a Mortonville Pirate right across the street.”

  “Former Pirate,” I point out.

  “Once a Pirate, always a Pirate,” Anna Chen butts in. “He is a hot Pirate, though.”

  “Blasphemer,” Meredith shoots back.

  I start gathering stray shards of cardboard and paper from the trailer bed to take my mind off the fluttering in my stomach. My insides dance like this every time I think about Joel, and it’s been happening for longer than I care to admit. Talking to Ben seems to have made it worse, which probably explains why the next words that tumble out of my mouth are in Joel’s defense.

  “I’m pretty sure a player’s loyalty is to the game, not to the team. He didn’t have to play here if he didn’t want to. Besides,” I add before anyone can argue, “Ben told me Joel’s dad is being deployed to Afghanistan soon. I’m sure Joel has a lot more on his mind than football.”

  The murmur that goes up through the garage tells me I’ve won Joel a sympathy vote. Especially from Jadie, who was adopted from China as an infant. She’s never spoken to her birth parents and has a huge soft spot for people who lose theirs.

  “Still,” Meredith says. “We need to be careful around all the guys. But him especially.”

  I fight the urge to point out that letting Ben help with the float despite his buddying up to Joel doesn’t exactly qualify as “careful.” But I’ve seen the way Meredith lights up around Ben, how she ruffles his hair the way she did moments ago. I’m convinced that she didn’t grant him exemption so quickly on the off chance that her family might need to borrow a cup of sugar one day.

  The rest of the girls head inside, where my mom and Mrs. Kopala are putting together egg salad and tuna sandwiches. I hesitate, staring through the small window in the garage door at the spot where Ben’s basketball is still lying at the edge of the Kopalas’ driveway.

  “I’ll go with you if you want to bring it back,” Jadie says through a mouthful of mayonnaise and egg. I swear she appeared next to me out of nowhere.

  I’m assuming Ben has a spare if he hasn’t come to retrieve his ball, but part of me wonders if the new light I shed on Joel has Jadie thinking what I’m thinking.

  I hop off the float and dump my paper scraps in the trash. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  When we get outside, Ben and Joel are walking up the street together. My breath catches in my throat, and Jadie murmurs, “Geez, he really is hot.”

  It’s unfair to other boys, really. Joel could easily be a movie star. Blond hair—much blonder than Ben’s—blue-green eyes, a smile that can knock the wind out of you like a quarterback sack. No complaints here about the broad shoulders and flat stomach, either. Joel Hargrove really hit the jackpot in the genetic lottery.

  “Hey,” Ben calls when he sees us. He eyes the basketball I dribble as we approach them. “Are you challenging us to a game?”

  “We thought it might be kind of hard to play without your ball,” Jadie says. She swipes it from me in one swift move and passes it to Joel. He looks surprised, but recovers quickly and breaks out that Hollywood smile.

  “Nice,” he says. He offers his hand to Jadie first, then me. “I’m Joel. I know we met at the preseason banquet, but remind me what your names are again? They introduced me to ten thousand people that night.”

  Jadie chirps her name, and I follow it up with, “Macy.” I’m surprised I remember my name, because all I can think about is how warm his hand felt in mine. “How do you like Ridgedale so far?”

  He gives a lackluster, one-shoulder shrug. “I’m still getting used to it, but it could be worse.” I get the feeling that’s his stock answer, the thing he
tells people instead of flat out, “It sucks.” And it makes me feel terrible.

  “It’ll get better,” I say. And the way he holds my gaze, like he has every intention of holding me to that promise, makes me want nothing more than to keep it.

  “Starting now,” Ben agrees, nodding toward the ball. “Are you guys up for some two-on-two?”

  “I don’t think—” I start to say, but I’m cut off by Jadie’s bony elbow jabbing my ribs.

  “Totally,” she says, and I know she got the same vibe from Joel’s response as I did. She turns to me. “You and Ben versus me and Joel?”

  And before I know it, we’re running up and down Ben’s driveway, dribbling and passing over the asphalt, laughing and sweating in the bright end-of-August sunshine. It doesn’t take me long to realize that Ben is some kind of basketball ninja, so when I’m not sure about a shot, I find a way to pass to him. But Joel has some sweet moves himself, and Jadie is a scrappy little thing, so when Ben and I score the final two points, it’s by the skin of our teeth.

  “Good game,” Joel says, holding his hand up for a high five, which I oblige. “I’m impressed.”

  “Never underestimate a cheerleader.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He smiles at me, a real one without reservation this time. It’s something I could definitely get used to. I’m so busy thinking as much that it takes me a second to register Jadie’s hand next to my face.

  “Hey, don’t leave me hanging!” she shouts into my ear.

  I laugh, slapping her five. “Come on. Meredith probably thinks we got kidnapped.” I grab my cell phone off the retaining wall, but then decide that one more minute won’t hurt. I hold my phone out to Jadie. “Wait. I want a picture of the winning team.”

  Jadie makes a face. “I don’t know about winners, but I can take a picture of the cheaters who think they beat us.”

  Ben and I convene beneath the net. He slings an arm around my shoulder and says, “Take the picture, quick!” before balancing the ball on his pointer finger.

  “Totally missed it,” Jadie says, shaking her head. The ball clomps toward the garage door. “Do it again.”