I’d never met anyone like him. I’d never known they existed.
He was cocky, blunt, and full of life.
He made me look at things differently in an unusual light.
I didn’t know him. I barely knew myself.
I only knew that I liked his company, enjoyed his laugh, and loved that kiss.
Jackson made me feel different, but in a good way.
What would I take away from this? What would I gain?
Absolutely nothing.
Absolutely everything.
Today was my first kiss.
His name was Jackson.
I’d thank him one day.
Thank him for my first act of freedom.
Thank him for not being scared.
Thank him for stealing that kiss.
Thank him for trusting me.
Thank him for asking questions.
Thank him for listening as I spoke.
Thank him for being himself.
If I never saw him again, that would be okay.
I’d never forget today.
Jackson.
I sighed as I closed the book.
“Oh world.” I said. “Just try taking this smile off my face. I dare you.”
I sprang down the stairs and ran straight into Darcy’s room. She patted the bed and I jumped onto it excitedly. I spent the next hour replaying the entire night. She listened to my every word and only commented a few times with the occasional “Oh, or he had the cutest smile, or I’m so happy for you.”
I realized that these were probably the talks that thirteen-year-old girls had with their best friends. It couldn’t possibly be the conversation between an eighteen-year-old and her aunt.
Still. I didn’t care. My life was only just beginning. Other girls were probably miles ahead of me in their lives, but I wasn’t other girl’s. And I didn’t care what anyone thought of me. This was freedom at its best.
I am Free!”
It was Saturday. I didn’t have to work and Aunt Darcy was spending the day with Paul and told me to do whatever I wanted. I was content with spending hours in front of the television.
Literally, it was hours.
I watched three movies and some crazy show where they took some old run down house and remodeled it to sale. It was amazing. Seriously. It only took them like a week to rebuild an entire house.
About halfway through my bag of potato chips and the second episode of the house makeover show, I heard someone knock on the door. My heart dropped to my butt. Instantly I thought maybe it would be my father, and I started to have a mini panic attack. I tiptoed around the couch as if the person standing outside the door might hear me. Not likely, but I couldn’t help freaking out.
“Get a grip Grace.” I said to myself. It couldn’t be my father. He had no idea where I was. Surely he wouldn’t come looking for me. Just as I stepped closer to the door, whoever was behind it knocked again. Then a voice yelled out.
“Grace, come on open up. It’s me Kennedy.” She called out.
I let out the biggest sigh ever as I swung open the door.
“Hey,” I smiled. “What are you doing here?” I asked. I looked at her questionably. “And how’d you know where I lived?”
She pointed her thumb over her shoulder, and when I peeked around I saw Jackson sitting in the driver’s seat of his car. He shot me a wave.
I smiled and waved back.
When I looked back at Kennedy, I still had a blank look on my face. Her sheepish grin made me think she was up to something. She was the mischievous sort.
“Well?” I asked.
“I’m sorry to surprise you, but I didn’t have your number. I was hoping that we could hang out for a little while. My car will be ready to pick up in a few hours and Jackson is supposed to take me to get it. I was really bored sitting at home.”
“Don’t you have other friends?” The words slipped from my mouth before I had a chance to realize what I was saying. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Her eyes grew wide, and her mouth dropped open.
“That. Is. Not. What. I. Meant.” I paused between each word. “I mean. Ugh,” I sighed. I just couldn’t understand why she’d want to hang out with me. I knew she had other friends. She’d be just as bored with me as she would be if she were home.
She laughed and patted my shoulder. “I knew what you meant. Do you want to hang out?”
“Sure,” I replied with a smile, and opened the door wider. I didn’t ask what hanging out would require, and hoped that she secretly loved home makeover shows.
She waved at Jackson and I watched as he pulled away from the curb.
Closing the door behind us, I walked us into the living room.
“My aunt isn’t home. It’s just me and the T.V.” I said.
She made herself comfortable on the couch, pulling her legs up close to her. I sat down next to her and couldn’t help admiring the bright red polish on her toes. I loved it.
“Have you ever?” She looked at me and then stretched her legs out to my lap letting out a groan. “Have you ever painted your toes?” She asked obviously catching me staring at them.
“No.” I shook my head.
“Want to?” She asked excitedly, a little too excitedly actually. She was extra bubbly at times. I was a fairly happy person myself, but her enthusiasm made things brighter, more cheerful.
“I don’t have any.”
“That’s okay I brought mine.” She reached down beside the couch and pulled her purse onto her lap, dumping the contents out everywhere.
“Wow.” I laughed. “Is there anything you don’t have in there?”
“You can never be too prepared.” She batted her dark coated lashes at me.
She dug around until she found what she was looking for.
“Here it is.” She held up the bottle of red polish. She moved to sit in front of me on the table and patted her legs for me to give her my feet.
The only color polish I had ever used was clear. My mother never bought colored polish, and I never asked.
With a little too much enthusiasm, I swung my legs up to her lap.
A giggle escaped her lips, and I couldn’t contain mine.
“Why do I get the feeling that you’ve never experienced An Affair in Red Square?” Her voice was thick with a British accent.
“What?” I looked at her funny.
“It’s the name of the polish Grace.” She dropped her head back down an opened the bottle, still laughing. “Seriously though, this will feel like an act of rebellion, right?”
“A little.” I replied sheepishly. It’d be fun though.
“Can I ask you something?”
I could only imagine what would come out of her mouth next. Was I prepared for it? Did I want to talk about my home life and my past? I nodded my head. I wouldn’t give her all of the crappy details, but I’ve only ever been honest. So I’d tell her whatever she wanted to know.
“What was your home life like in Oklahoma? On our first day at work you told me that you just wanted to experience a little bit of freedom. Was life at home bad?” She asked as she brushed the red polish along my big toe.
She must have sensed my nervousness. My whole body was tense. I was replaying my responses over and over in my head. I didn’t want to tell her everything, just enough to suffice her.
She stopped what she was doing and looked up at me. “I’m sorry Grace. If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.”