“Thank you,” Gretchen says. “Really.”
“You’re welcome, really.”
We kiss.
Have you ever wanted to breathe someone in until they become part of you and never let them go? That’s what kissing Gretchen is like.
Maybe that’s how it is for everyone when they kiss someone they really love. I don’t know.
We break away and Gretchen goes over to the closet, where most of the clothes are still hanging.
“Hey, so, there was something I wanted to talk to you about,” Gretchen says, grabbing a bunch of pants still on their hangers and tossing them into an open suitcase. I wince at the thought of the wrinkles. “It’s kind of, um, a thing.”
“What’s up?” I sit on the edge of the bed to watch Gretchen pack.
“Well, it’s just that—”
Gretchen’s phone buzzes. That’s the third time in the past five minutes.
“Who keeps texting you?” I ask.
“Uh.” Gretchen glances down at the screen. “Well. If I tell you something, will you promise not to get mad?”
I laugh. “You know that’s never a good way to start, babe.”
Gretchen puts on a mock-innocent expression I’ve seen many times before. There’s no way not to smile at it.
“It’s possible,” Gretchen says, “that I told Chris and Audrey they could come over and help us pack tonight.”
“Why?” I can hear the whine in my voice. It’s our last night together.
“They were asking when they could say goodbye,” Gretchen tells me. “This was the last chance. I said they can’t stay long. Chris tried to make a stink about it, but I told him he’d just have to deal.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t really complain. Chris is my best friend, and Audrey is my little sister. I’ll see Gretchen every week once we leave for school, but I’m not going to see Chris or Audrey until Thanksgiving. If I come home for Thanksgiving.
“It’ll be fun,” Gretchen says. “We can hang out on our own after. Don’t worry.”
I cross the room, loop my arms around Gretchen’s waist and kiss the back of Gretchen’s neck, provoking a round of giggles.
“I never worry about anything when you’re around,” I say. “How long until they get here?”
“Half an hour, maybe?”
We both smile. Then we start making out.
It’ll be a while before we get another chance, after all. At least a week. The last time I went a week without seeing Gretchen was when my family went to a resort in the Dominican Republic. I was so lonely. Plus I kept feeling guilty about the exploited workers who handed me fresh towels every morning. For the first two days I texted Gretchen every other minute. Then my sister told me to put the phone down already because I was embarrassingly whipped.
I guess we lose track of time, because we’re still kissing when the front door slams.
“Crap.” Gretchen scampers off the bed. I go over to the mirror to check my hair. It’s all mussed. I try to smooth it back, but it’s a lost cause.
Gretchen’s mom opens the bedroom door without knocking, coming in with a bright smile and a long glance around the room. The rule in Gretchen’s house, which we tend to break a lot, is that we can hang out as much as we want but we’re supposed to leave the door open. Gretchen’s parents are keeping up the pretense that all we do is hold hands. It’s kind of cute, actually. My parents prefer to believe Gretchen and I don’t even do that much.
“How’s the packing going, girls?” Gretchen’s mom asks. I bristle at the “girls” thing, but I try not to let them see.
“It’s going great!” Gretchen smiles.
My annoyance slides away. Gretchen’s smile beams out so much happiness, so much warmth, that sometimes I can barely stand it. I gaze at Gretchen’s bright, open face and wonder for the trillionth time how I ever got this lucky.
Gretchen’s mom steps aside, and Audrey and Chris poke their heads into the room. Chris is grinning big, but my sister looks pouty. Audrey just turned sixteen and doesn’t have a driver’s license yet, so Chris must’ve stopped by our house to play chauffeur.
“Hiiii!” Gretchen sweeps forward and grabs them both into a three-way hug. I’m not a hugger, so I stay where I am.
I’m going to miss them, though. My friends. My sister. Even Gretchen’s parents, who have always been really nice to me.
It’s not that I won’t ever see any of them again. They’ll be around when I come back for breaks. Except that coming home for breaks also means seeing my mother again.
My mother, who still calls me Antonia, no matter how many times I say I hate that stupid girlie name.
My mother, who hasn’t allowed me to get a yearbook photo taken since I turned twelve and finally cut my hair supershort, the way I’d always wanted to.