The wetness retreated. “Jeez, Heather. That’s disgusting.”
I opened my eyes. “Sorry. Let’s try again.”
This time, we came at each other so fast that our teeth clacked together. It hurt. I didn’t think I’d have the nerve to try a third time, so I just kept kissing him. He kissed me back, his tongue like a muscled clam searching the back of my mouth.
It wasn’t the queasiest thing I’d ever experienced. That was the time Mom took me to Dr. Corinth when I was eight and had a fever, and he told her the best place to check my swollen glands was the ridge between my leg and privates. Right beneath my underwear lines. Mom seemed to think he knew best, and I suppose he did. Kissing Ant wasn’t that bad, but it had something icky like that in it.
While it didn’t feel good, I found I still liked something about it.
At least until he grabbed one of my boobs like he was stealing a Snickers from the Dairy Bar and squeezed it. I wanted to tell him if he wanted milk he should find a cow, but that brought the giggling back, which I did my best to cover up with a cough.
Ant’s hand dropped from my chest and he leaned away. He looked dazed and greedy. “You should stop laughing at me. I know a lot of people think you’re gross because of your ear, but I don’t even see it. I just see your pretty eyes.”
It was a terrible thing to say. Somehow, though, it made me feel bad for him rather than for me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing.”
“No, you shouldn’t.” He glanced down at his hands, then back at me with puppy-dog eyes. “Can I take your picture now?”
It sounded better than what we’d been doing. “Sure.”
He leaped off the bed and had that camera in hand before I could change my mind. It was flattering, I supposed, and I felt loose from the whiskey and pot and warm from kissing, and I’d known Ant my whole life and felt okay with him, even though he was being a weirdo.
I decided to pose like they did on the cover of Vogue, leaning forward provocatively and scraping all the smart off my face. I puffed my lips into a pout. I bet my mouth looked bruised and swollen from making out. It felt silly and good, which was a relief after that grody french-kissing. I intended to tell Claude all about it next time I saw him. He would think this night was hilarious, start to finish.
“That’s nice,” Ant said, encouraging me, his voice almost a snarl. “Sexy.”
His cutoffs had gone solid in the front. I pushed through the mental fog, staring at his shorts curiously, and then all at once, I understood. Hot shame washed over me.
“I have to go, Ant.”
He lowered the camera, his face cycling through all sorts of feelings, hovering the longest over anger before finally landing on something blank, which was the scariest look of all. I’d seen his dad’s face do the same routine at church when Ant was acting up, those spinning options and then a flourish of rage, and finally, all emotion wiped clean.
“You can’t go home until I get my picture,” Ant said, his voice as flat as his face. The front of his shorts stayed firm. “You owe me.”
“What?” I was having a hard time keeping up.
“You can’t come back here and give me nothing.” His resentment was a living thing in the room, so concentrated I could almost see it.
“Fine,” I said, squeezing my knees together, resting my elbows on them, chin on my hands. The back of my throat tightened with the unfairness of it all.
He clicked. The camera spit out a square of film.
“Now take off your shirt,” he said.
“What?” Apparently it was my new favorite word.
“You heard me. It’s no different than being in your swimsuit. Take it off.”
My stomach gurgled. “I think I’m gonna barf, Ant. I want to go home.”
“Show me your bra.” He didn’t even look like Ant anymore.
I started crying, I don’t know why. It was Ant. “Fine.”
I pulled my T-shirt over my head, glancing down at my chest. The front of each white cup was puckered. Mom had said I’d grow into the bra, that it would save money if we bought the bigger size.
Tears were streaming down my face. “Take your dang picture.”
He removed the first photo and snapped a second, the sound crisp in the small room. The moment that second photo ejected, he grabbed it and started waving it in the air to dry it.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now Ed will take you home.”
CHAPTER 16
“What happened last night?”