Hiding From Us

26. zack

‘‘Who’re you texting?’’ I asked Jordyn. 

     She jerked her eyes to me. Nowadays, I noticed, she seemed a lot more nervous. Her hit send on her phone and put it away. ‘‘Just a friend.’’ 

     Something nagged me inside my stomach, and I didn’t know what it was. I wanted to ask which friend it was. I wanted to ask what she was saying to them. I wanted to ask why she’d shown up late and why she had to leave early. 

     Ask her.

     I was too scared. My older sister said I would never be a police officer because I sucked at interrogation.

     What I really wanted to do was kiss her. She was dressed in a loose tank-top with dark blue jeans. On her head was one of her brother’s gray beanies, and God, it made her look so cute. She smelt like lavender. I hadn’t kissed her in so long. 

     My older sister had also said that I would never play Christian Gray in a version of Fifty Shades of Gray, either, because I sucked at seduction. 

     But I wanted to try it. I wanted to touch Jordyn’s skin. 

     Miley Cyrus’s Adore You was playing in the background. As soon as she hit the first verse, I sat up and moved towards Jordyn. Then I took the magazine out of her hands and set it clumsily on the floor. One of my hands rested on her knee, and I made no attempt to move it. 

     Jordyn frowned. She wasn’t used to me like this.

     I put my other hand on her arm, reconsidered, and moved it to her neck. Her skin was hot. She seemed to realize what I was doing, and before she could say something—don’t, maybe, or keep going—I put my mouth to hers. I was a little surprised when she kissed me back, but I didn’t stop. My lips parted. She breathed into me. I shivered when her teeth grazed my bottom lip. Her fists reached for my shirt. 

     I pulled back for a millisecond. She hissed, ‘‘Zack.’’

     Gracelessly, we fell onto my bed and she pulled off my shirt. I thought, Is this really happening? I was fourteen. But it must’ve been legal to lose your virginity at age fourteen, because Jared and Lindsey had done it. 

     I love lying next to you / I could do this for eternity / You and me—we're meant to be / In holy matrimony . . . 

     She gently traced a finger down my chest, and my brain decided to die, right then, right there. Then she kissed me ever so softly on my stomach—I really, really wished I had abs—and I almost cried in ecstasy. 

     It was sad and funny: the simplest things could turn me on so easily. 

     I adore you.

     In the end, I passed out due to orgasmic pleasure or because I was just so, so tired. The last thing I remembered was Jordyn tracing circles on my arm as she lay her head on my chest, breathing easily and slowly. I had never gotten her shirt off, but I didn’t care. I felt supernatural. 

     When I woke up, she was gone. All that was left behind was her brother’s beanie and a crumpled piece of paper with words written in her graceful handwriting:

     had to leave early for volleyball, sorry. you look cute when you’re sleeping. it was fun. i’ll see you soon - j

     Despite her absence, I still felt happy. The euphoria inside of me was dancing, and I felt like dancing with it. it was fun. It was breathtaking (literally). 

     I waited an hour until Jordyn’s volleyball practice was over, and then I called her, but it went to voicemail. 

     ‘‘Hey, this is Jordyn’s voicemail. Something awesome has come up that has gotten me to miss your call, but when it’s over, I’ll call you back if you leave your name and number. Thanks.’’

     ‘‘Hi, Jord, it’s Zack. Um. Just checking on you and saying hi. I—love you. Uh . . . yeah. Call me later.’’

     I waited. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty-five. I called her again. 

     ‘‘Hey, you okay? Maybe your phone’s died, I guess. Either way, I just wanted you to know that I had a euphorically awesome time this evening, and I, uh, hope we can do it again sometime. Okay, love you, bye.’’ 

     Ten minutes. Twenty. 

     Nothing. 

     I tried one more time. 

     ‘‘Jordyn, I’d be so relieved if you gave me a call or something. Sorry. I’m just a bit worried. Please, uh, call me or text me or something.’’ 

     The night wore on. I tried to recall the memory of our longest make-out session, but it was already fading. So was my hope that Jordyn would call back. So was my confidence that our relationship was secure.