17 FIRST KISSES is about a lot of things, and one of those things is the complicated friendship between Claire and her best friend, Megan. And then there's Luke - the boy who does the complicating. Here's the scene where Claire meets him for the first time:
All day at
school I think about the pact I made with Megan. Right up until the last bell
rings and it’s time to go to soccer scrimmage. I weave through packed halls,
past Buck Bronson (Kiss #1), who is shoving some scrawny freshman boy into the
girls' bathroom, and Steven Lippert (Kiss #7), who is picking his nose and
wiping it on the bottom of his tuba case. He’s a complete tool, and I never
would have let him kiss me anyway had I not been under extreme emotional duress
at the time of said kiss.
I change clothes
at warp speed because I like being first to the park and having extra warm up
time. I've vowed to make this year different, to make my next kiss count. But
seeing Steven and Buck just reinforces how desperate and impossible my
situation is. I shake my head as I pass the entrance to Salt Lick Park, a Christmas tree farm on my
right, acres and acres of unused fields on my left. I have no idea how
I’m going to pull off my end of the pact.
And that's when
I see him.
Bouncing a
soccer ball from foot to foot and looking so perfectly gorgeous, I half expect
to see a halo of light descending over midfield. What can I say? Nothing is
hotter than a boy in soccer gear. I think it’s the shin guards that do it for
me.
He’s wearing
this black, vintage Felix the Cat tee, totally different from the
redneck-prepster look most of the guys at school have. In fact, he doesn’t look
like he’s from around here at all. I start to wonder if I’ve wished him into
existence. Then I realize: A. I’ve stopped walking, and B. I’m staring (in what
is probably a really dorky and obvious way), so I jog over and say hi.
“I’m Claire.”
The boy kicks his ball into
the air and catches in with one arm. “I’m Luke, uh, Dawson.”
He smiles and holds out his
hand. I try to ignore the giddy feeling I get when our palms touch.
“Are you here for the
scrimmage?” I ask. Maybe he goes to school in the next town over.
“Nope, just messing around.”
He shifts from foot to foot and flicks his strawberry blond hair out of his
eyes. “Is there a game starting soon? Do I need to clear out?”
“No! I mean, it’s fine. It’s
not an official game or anything. The high school girls’ and guys’ teams get
together and play pick up games during the off-season so we don’t get rusty.”
“You mean Rutherford High
School?”
“Uh-huh. There’s just the
one.”
“Cool. I’m starting at
Rutherford tomorrow.” He tosses the ball into the air and maneuvers under it so
it bounces off his forehead.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. Just transferred in
from Miami,” he says, still heading the ball.
Score. A new student means
he’s never dated, crushed on, or stalked my best friend. If you made a Venn
diagram of all the hot guys at school and all the guys Megan has dated, you'd
have about three guys left. And speaking of hot guy Venn diagrams, if you made
one with all the hot guys at school and all the guys who are smart, there’d be,
like, four guys who are in that middle overlapping section, two of which I
already kissed in a debacle that earned me the Yoko Ono nickname.
“What year are you?” With my
luck, he’ll be a really tall freshman.
“I’m a senior.”
“Me too. Wow, you had to
switch schools in the middle of your senior year?”
He nods, and the ball
bounces off his head at a funny angle. He starts passing it from hand to hand
in circles around his waist, and I can’t help but smile at his inability to
hold still.
“Yeah, it kind of sucks, but
my dad’s in the military, so I’m used to making friends fast.” He shrugs. “At
least I got to spend middle school in Germany.”
“You did? That’s awesome.”
I am genuinely impressed.
Our eight stop light town is halfway between Atlanta and Alabama and all the
way redneck. Most of the kids at school have all the culture and ambition of
sea monkeys, so it’s nice to meet someone else who realizes there’s a whole
world out there.
“So, do you think it’s cool
if I stay for the scrimmage?”
“Definitely. It’s not for
another 20 minutes, though. We could play one on one while we wait? First to
five wins?” This guy may be cute, but the true test is how he performs in this
soccer game.
He gives me a confident
shrug and tosses me the ball. “Sure. Ladies first.”
I don’t like the way he’s
standing there, all cocky and sure of himself, so I set the ball down and give
it a few dainty taps. His stance relaxes, the way it would if you suddenly
realized your opponent was five years old.
This is going to be too
easy.
I cut to the left and before
he has time to think “I just got beat by a girl,” I’m past him and I kick a
straight shot to the back of the goal. Too. Easy. His eyebrows rise into his hairline. I
know that look. It’s the face people make when they realize how good I am. I
live for that look.
“Ohhh…” says Luke as I run
to retrieve the ball. “I didn’t realize I was playing with a shark.”
I hand him the ball with a
smirk. “Maybe.”
“It’s cool. I like a girl
who can play.” He winks at me, and I’m momentarily startled by his eyes.
They’re blue and dreamy and everything, but there’s something else, something shuttered,
and that’s the part I find myself strangely drawn to. If my life were one of
those paranormal romances, he would be the guy that turns out to be a
were-manatee or whatever.
And because I’m so busy
mooning over said manatee eyes, Luke gains the split second advantage he needs
to get around me and score. Oh, it is on.
I have to earn my next
point. With fakes and spin moves and every trick in my arsenal. Luke isn’t cutting
me any slack, and I’m glad. I could never respect a guy who did. Plus, I kind
of like the way he’s all up in my personal space. I finally pysch him out with
a quick Cryuff turn, and my shot just makes it.
Then it’s Luke’s turn. He
manages to maneuver around me, and not to be outdone, crosses one leg behind
the other when he kicks the ball into the goal. It is a showy, showy move.
My mouth hangs open.
“Seriously? Did you just Rabona me?”
He fixes me with a charming
smile, dimples included. Whew. Any second now, his new guy glow will wear off,
and I’ll realize he has poor dental hygiene and a hunchback, but I’m swooning
over those dimples until then.
I fake glare at him. “You
just wait.”
I drop the ball and take
off, juking from left to right, wracking my brain for a move that will top his.
Luke’s on me in a second, stealing the ball away. Crap. I should have been more
worried about winning than getting fancy. Crap, crap, crap. I mark him with my
hand against his shoulder, determined to steal the ball back. He makes a tiny
mistake, and I lash out, kicking it away from him. He’ll be on me again, so I
have to hurry. I turn, putting on a burst of speed, my arm flailing behind
me…and I feel something crunch against my elbow.
I turn to see that the
something was Luke’s nose. It’s bleeding. Like a faucet.
“Ohmygosh, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he says with
his hand cupped over his face.
I run over to my bag,
scrambling for something,
anything, to stop the bleeding.
A crumpled receipt, some gum wrappers, a couple
movie tickets. Useless. My hand brushes against something in the side pocket,
but I can’t use that. It would be mortifying. I give my bag a second sweep,
hoping a Kleenex or something will magically appear, but there’s nothing. I
know what I have to do.
I reach
into the side pocket, cringing as I unwrap it.
Luke’s eyes bulge. “Is that what I think it
is?”
“I don’t have anything else!”
And then I wrap one hand around the neck of the
cutest boy I’ve ever met, and shove a tampon up his nose.
Day 11 of the 17 days until 17 FIRST KISSES countdown. Other posts here.
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