Meteors in August by Melanie Rae Thon Page A

trouble over in Washington, but no one knew for sure and Coe wasn’t talking.
    â€œDidn’t I tell you?” Gwen said as we climbed up the hill. “Didn’t I tell you there was something to see?”
    I shrugged. “I didn’t think it was so great.”
    â€œThat’s because you’re sweet on Myron Evans. He’s the only one you want to see with his pants down.”
    I refused to answer. Catching Myron didn’t interest me in the least, not since I’d seen him press his face in the fur of his dead cat.
    At the crest of the gully, Gwen grabbed my arm. “Have you ever kissed a boy, Liz?” I shook my head. She knew damn well I hadn’t, unless you wanted to count the time Jesse cornered me on the playground in second grade and licked me from my chin to my nose. I could still feel his rough tongue, the slobber I couldn’t wipe away fast enough. I was almost in tears, too surprised to slap him. He flipped my dress to expose my underwear to a gang of boys. Jesse ran and the boys scattered. Later I learned it was a dare. My cousin earned half a dozen nickels by making a fool of me.
    â€œWhat do you think it’s like?” Gwen said.
    â€œNothing special.” I realized that most boys didn’t kiss like Jesse. I had seen women swoon in movies; I had seen them surface from a deep kiss, gasping for air but not displeased.
    â€œDo you think that if I kissed you and pretended you were a boy that it would be the same as really kissing a boy?”
    â€œI s’pose.” I figured it would be a lot like kissing Aunt Arlen on the cheek, only wetter and probably worse. It still hadn’t occurred to me that Gwen actually intended to try it out.
    â€œWell?”
    â€œWell, what?”
    â€œLet’s see.”
    Kissing was kissing. I had no idea why Gwen had to go to the trouble of pretending I was a boy, not that it took much imagination: I was already five foot six, bony as Aunt Arlen, flat-chested as Coe Carson.
    â€œBe Gil Harding.”
    â€œI won’t,” I said. “Anyone but him.” In my opinion, Gil Harding was a greaser; his hair was hard and shiny, combed into a tail in back, and all his pants fit too tight. Gwen liked him because he was two years older, because he wouldn’t even look at her. “Just for a minute,” Gwen said, “just for me.”
    â€œHe’s got rotten teeth,” I said.
    â€œYou’ve never been close enough to Gil Harding to see his teeth.”
    â€œDon’t have to see ’em to know.”
    She kicked at the dirt. “Are you ready?” she said.
    â€œI’m ready.” I puckered my lips and closed my eyes.
    â€œNo, stupid. You’re the boy. You have to come after me.” I bent toward her; her breath in my face was grassy and sweet. She opened one eye. “Don’t you know anything? You’re supposed to put your arms around me.”
    I thought of my cousin Marshall, his hand gripping the bare breast of the girl who peed on Arlen’s lawn. I saw the bruises from his rough fingers, the girl’s smeared mouth, lipstick rubbed all the way up to her nostrils and halfway down her chin. This was as much as I knew about kissing.
    Olivia Jeanne Woodruff, that strong young woman, lured Elliot Foot off in her Winnebago. Was she wearing him down like Arlen said? Was she kissing him to death?
    Nina flung herself into the arms of Billy Elk. Nina threw herself on Jesse and tried to save him with her own breath. This was all I knew of love and mercy. The line blurred. Passion and salvation seemed like the same thing, like something I’d wanted my whole life.
    I lurched forward and clutched Gwen’s waist, gave her a fast moist smooch on the mouth—almost on the mouth. My aim took me high and I ended up getting more of her nose than her lips. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and spit on the ground. I was as sloppy as Jesse. She turned