Where'd You Go? (Track Twelve, III), chapter 9
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She sauntered into the kitchen. Mike was perched on the counter, gnawing on an apple. Wren pulled herself up on another counter and snagged a spotty banana.
"Do you know when you sing, you make the same face as when I pull your hair?"
"I'm the master of faces," he responded distantly as he inspected the apple before taking a bite.
"It really freaked me out seeing you in the truck like that," Wren said quietly, "We were both wondering if you were going to die on us."
Okay, so the rollover is an unavoidable topic. I give up.
"Well, I didn't." He fingered the stitches on his forehead, "Hurt like Hell to get these."
She sidled closer to him. He raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.
Resolution number two broken. So what if I come across like a slut?
"I'm afraid of the fruit bowl," she confided in a secretive way.
The maliciously innocent white dish was sitting at the opposite end of the counter with a sink in between her and it. Mike shrugged and tossed his apple core into the trash can. Wren turfed her banana peel. Bored, she stared up at the ceiling.
Whoohoo. What do we do now?
Wren grinned as she felt his arm sliding around her back. When she turned her face to him, he jerked his arm back to his side.
"What're you doing?"
Wren smiled as an adorable blush crept up his cheeks. "Nothing," he kept his eyes fixed on the floor.
"Mike, you really are a dumbass." Playfully, Wren gave him a shove. He still did not look up. Instead, he colored an even deeper red. "Oh, quit sulking."
Daringly, Wren caught his slightly stubbly chin in her hand and turned his head. Now, he grinned and without further ado, kissed her. It was very gentle, and made up of a series of smaller ones. Reverently, Wren let her fingers slide over the smooth, prominent bones on the left (and unscratched) side of his face. Quite boldly now, Mike's arm snugged around her waist.
I never thought that this would be how I received my First Kiss. If someone had told me this in grade seven, when I was imagining such things, I would have gagged and gone into this huge-ass explanation about how it was Billie Joe who was so much "hotter". Now...who the heck is Billie Joe? I've got Mike! Funny, talented, tall, awesomely haired, Mike.
As he pulled back, Wren could not resist telling him, "I guess you're my bitch now."
"Tré'll be absolutely heartbroken."
"When he wakes up," Wren mused as she came back to earth.
"You know," The way he murmured into her ear made her heartbeat clatter in her head, "We've got the whole house to ourselves." Wren closed her eyes as his humid breath misted on her neck.
Whoa whoa whoa whoa. Perhaps you shouldn't lose both your lip virginity and the real virginity in one day? A wee bitty too fast for my taste.
Regretfully, she opened her eyes and said, "Yeah, but you've got a pair of sprained wrists."
"It's not the wrists that count," he chuckled.
"I know, I know," It was impossible to keep from stroking his face, "but I don't know...." He smiled at the contradiction, but let her go on. "It doesn't seem right if Billie Joe and Tré are in the hospital and we're here...you know, getting uh, you know. It's like unfair or disrespectful or something."
His knowing smile made her laugh. He nodded in agreement. "I get what you mean. Let's just keep this quiet for a bit, 'til things smooth out a bit."
"For now anyways."
Peacefully, they leaned on each other, sharing strength.
"You would not believe how long I've been liking you," he muttered.
"Longer than seven months? That's how long it's been for me. I was too afraid because I thought things would get weird if you didn't like me back." Now, she held his hand, caressing the long fingers.
"Really? Pretty much the same thinking here. But, I thought you were Billie's."
Despite the tensor bandages wrapped around his wrists, Wren had the feeling that his embrace was anything but fragile. It was an extremely comforting feeling. She indulged in it for a few moments before her mouth acted without her brain's permission.
"Did you have the truck insured?"
"Yep." He sighed, "But all the drums and shit in the back.... Most of Tré's stuff was in the box. I'm so fucking lucky my bass was with you guys."
"I should go unload all that," Wren said tiredly.
I really just don't wanna do anything. Sitting here's just fine.
With a last smoothing of his side burns, she slipped off the counter. When he tried to follow, she spun and poked a finger into his chest.
"You're not going anywhere, Mister Dirnt, with those wrists. Stay and watch the phone."
He looked like he was going to protest, but Wren put on her best school teacher glare and he wisely kept silent. Once out in the driveway, Wren did a little hop-skip-yay dance. Life was looking up.
"Do you know when you sing, you make the same face as when I pull your hair?"
"I'm the master of faces," he responded distantly as he inspected the apple before taking a bite.
"It really freaked me out seeing you in the truck like that," Wren said quietly, "We were both wondering if you were going to die on us."
Okay, so the rollover is an unavoidable topic. I give up.
"Well, I didn't." He fingered the stitches on his forehead, "Hurt like Hell to get these."
She sidled closer to him. He raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.
Resolution number two broken. So what if I come across like a slut?
"I'm afraid of the fruit bowl," she confided in a secretive way.
The maliciously innocent white dish was sitting at the opposite end of the counter with a sink in between her and it. Mike shrugged and tossed his apple core into the trash can. Wren turfed her banana peel. Bored, she stared up at the ceiling.
Whoohoo. What do we do now?
Wren grinned as she felt his arm sliding around her back. When she turned her face to him, he jerked his arm back to his side.
"What're you doing?"
Wren smiled as an adorable blush crept up his cheeks. "Nothing," he kept his eyes fixed on the floor.
"Mike, you really are a dumbass." Playfully, Wren gave him a shove. He still did not look up. Instead, he colored an even deeper red. "Oh, quit sulking."
Daringly, Wren caught his slightly stubbly chin in her hand and turned his head. Now, he grinned and without further ado, kissed her. It was very gentle, and made up of a series of smaller ones. Reverently, Wren let her fingers slide over the smooth, prominent bones on the left (and unscratched) side of his face. Quite boldly now, Mike's arm snugged around her waist.
I never thought that this would be how I received my First Kiss. If someone had told me this in grade seven, when I was imagining such things, I would have gagged and gone into this huge-ass explanation about how it was Billie Joe who was so much "hotter". Now...who the heck is Billie Joe? I've got Mike! Funny, talented, tall, awesomely haired, Mike.
As he pulled back, Wren could not resist telling him, "I guess you're my bitch now."
"Tré'll be absolutely heartbroken."
"When he wakes up," Wren mused as she came back to earth.
"You know," The way he murmured into her ear made her heartbeat clatter in her head, "We've got the whole house to ourselves." Wren closed her eyes as his humid breath misted on her neck.
Whoa whoa whoa whoa. Perhaps you shouldn't lose both your lip virginity and the real virginity in one day? A wee bitty too fast for my taste.
Regretfully, she opened her eyes and said, "Yeah, but you've got a pair of sprained wrists."
"It's not the wrists that count," he chuckled.
"I know, I know," It was impossible to keep from stroking his face, "but I don't know...." He smiled at the contradiction, but let her go on. "It doesn't seem right if Billie Joe and Tré are in the hospital and we're here...you know, getting uh, you know. It's like unfair or disrespectful or something."
His knowing smile made her laugh. He nodded in agreement. "I get what you mean. Let's just keep this quiet for a bit, 'til things smooth out a bit."
"For now anyways."
Peacefully, they leaned on each other, sharing strength.
"You would not believe how long I've been liking you," he muttered.
"Longer than seven months? That's how long it's been for me. I was too afraid because I thought things would get weird if you didn't like me back." Now, she held his hand, caressing the long fingers.
"Really? Pretty much the same thinking here. But, I thought you were Billie's."
Despite the tensor bandages wrapped around his wrists, Wren had the feeling that his embrace was anything but fragile. It was an extremely comforting feeling. She indulged in it for a few moments before her mouth acted without her brain's permission.
"Did you have the truck insured?"
"Yep." He sighed, "But all the drums and shit in the back.... Most of Tré's stuff was in the box. I'm so fucking lucky my bass was with you guys."
"I should go unload all that," Wren said tiredly.
I really just don't wanna do anything. Sitting here's just fine.
With a last smoothing of his side burns, she slipped off the counter. When he tried to follow, she spun and poked a finger into his chest.
"You're not going anywhere, Mister Dirnt, with those wrists. Stay and watch the phone."
He looked like he was going to protest, but Wren put on her best school teacher glare and he wisely kept silent. Once out in the driveway, Wren did a little hop-skip-yay dance. Life was looking up.
