Mia

Mean people exist. My grandma says no, there are only troubled people, and we should feel sorry for them and practice forgiveness. 

I love my grandma, but talking to her about some things is pointless.

Presley Lindley and Justine Coates may be troubled, but I sure don’t feel sorry for them. So why am I hanging out with P&J at Juice Joint on a Tuesday evening? Because they co-captain my crew team and called an after-practice team meeting about our spring fundraiser. 

Presley and Justine act like they’re just being helpful, but they never leave me feeling helped.

Presley, to me before crew practice today: “Hey, your hair’s doing something kinda funny.”

Justine, eyeing my torso in my team uni: “Don’t you think that’s a little tight?”

Or the way they talk with their other friends on the team about plans none of the rest of us are a part of, right in front of us. Like now.

Presley: “Jose’s having the biggest party Saturday. House on the lake.”

Justine: “His parents are going out of town and will be ‘forgetting’ to lock up the liquor cabinet. Who’s going?”

The invited rowers around our table chime in while the rest of us sit like outcasts. Since I came in late, I don’t have my smoothie yet and can’t slurp it to make myself seem occupied. Tatum, a fellow outcast, catches my attention across the table and rolls her eyes, but it doesn’t make me feel much better.

The details fly. A keg! A DJ! A hot tub! Oh my! I look up at the bar and blush hot. Remy Katz, the star of my every daydream, is pushing through the swinging doors leading to the kitchen.

Remy doesn’t usually work Tuesdays. Yes, I know his schedule along with the kind of car he drives (an ancient Ford Mustang), his favorite smoothie (the Bam Bam), and his sign (Aquarius).

I’m now wearing a ratty tee over my apparently too-tight uni. All my makeup is washed off. Presley was right earlier; it’s not my best look.

Remy, a senior, is one year ahead of us in school. He’s good-looking, sure, but in a way that makes it clear he’s not trying. His curly, sun-streaked hair is always messy. He’s perpetually tanned. He’s not overly tall or short or buff or overly anything, really, but there’s something magnetic about him that has everyone orbiting in his wake. Something about the way he moves, maybe, assured and fluid, like a prowling cat. And his smile. It breaks across his face so slowly, like the sun rising. When it shines, I can’t look away. Like now. Shit. He’s looking at me. Right at me. Right now.

“Geez, Mia, why don’t you just lick the boy already,” Presley says. I struggle to appear nonchalant, but it’s too late. Everyone at our table watches me. Several smirk.

Justine makes a sad face. “No harm intended, but Remy Katz is maybe a little out of your league? You’re going to end up getting your feelings hurt.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mumble.

She pats my hand. “Mia, you’re practically drooling. Have some pride.”

“Or,” Presley says, “woman up and ask him out. I dare you.”

“Come on, let’s just start planning for the fundraiser,” Tatum says.

Another Juice Joint employee emerges from the back. “Order up, one Wild Child.” She sets my smoothie on the counter, now manned by Remy Katz.

Presley winks. “Here’s your chance.”

On a normal day, I could collect my smoothie from Remy without breaking a sweat, or at least not a visible sweat. But he caught me staring, and my whole team is looking on. Moving my chair makes a loud screeching noise and has even more people turning in my direction. 

It’s funny how when you start thinking about something you do all the time, like showering or brushing your teeth or, I dunno, walking, you struggle to do it normally. Like, how long are my strides, for instance? Do I swing my arms? It’s a miracle I make it to the counter in one piece.

Remy raises one golden eyebrow and treats me to that slow smile. Seriously, if there were a smiling Olympics, even the German judge would be throwing up a 10.

“You my Wild Child?” he asks.

“Yes. I am. I mean, that’s my drink. My smoothie. I’m not a wild child. I mean, I can be wild. But I’m not a child. I can be… oh, shut up, Mia.”

I hear giggling. Remy wraps his tanned fingers around my cup but doesn’t hand it to me yet. “What’s going on back there?” he says.

“Huh?”

He lifts his chin in the direction of my team. “With your friends.”

“Not my friends.” How did I used to stand? Hand on my hip? Hand in a pocket? I don’t have pockets. “I mean, not all of them are my friends.”

“Good call. Justine Coates and Pres Lindley are stone-cold pricks.”

Surprise makes me forget my struggle to function. “You know about them?”

“My sister Nola is in their grade. I’ve heard stories.”

“Nola’s your sister? Oh, right. Nola Katz. I should have guessed.”

“Yeah. So what’s their deal?”

I’m having a conversation with Remy Katz. Forming words and everything. “It’s stupid.”

“Indubitably, if it involves those two.”

Wow, the things his lips can do with an SAT word. It’s so mesmerizing I lose my head. “They dared me to ask you out.” What? Did I say that?

“Huh. How come?”

“I think because…”

“What?”

“I was staring. I, uh, have seen you. In school. And I’ve always sort of… thought you were cool.” Ugh. How lame am I?

“They think they’re throwing you to the wolves.”

“Excuse me?”

His quick grin is as stunning as the slow smile. “They think I’m going to turn you down. Yeah?”

“Something like that.” I’m blushing again. “Anyway, this has nothing to do with you. Don’t worry about it.” I reach for my smoothie. He doesn’t release it.

“I say it does have something to do with me. Wanna thwart their plans?”

“What?”

He lifts his free hand and beckons me closer. “Come here.”

“What?” I say again. But I obey, because I’d do anything Remy Katz asked. I lean in, and Remy leans in, and then, wonder of holy wonders, he kisses me. A light touch of lips, with his eyes open all the time like he wants to make sure it’s okay (as if there’s any world where Remy kissing me wouldn’t be okay).

He pulls back an inch. “Yeah? You alright?”

I lose my head again. Releasing my death grip on the counter, I reach up with both hands and pull his mouth back down.

Side note: my best friend Emma is gay. When last year, in tenth grade, neither of us had gone on even a first date, we started practicing kissing so we’d be ready if/when the time came. We Googled “Best Movie Kisses,” watched how-to videos, and read books. Most of all, we kissed until our lips were raw. It was fun, but kissing Emma never made my insides turn to jelly, or hers either.

Kissing Remy? My organs have gone one hundred percent Smucker’s. 

I give him all I’ve got. Soft strokes of my mouth. Pace relaxed and slow. A gentle tug on his bottom lip. A nudge with my tongue until his lips part. My hands tugging his hair, not too hard, but enough to stimulate the follicles. Altering my angle and going in a bit deeper with a little more tongue, teasing, tempting him to join in, and holy crap! He’s joining in and he’s taking over and then we’re just kissing and it’s wonderful and we’re kissing some more.

Remy groans loud enough to startle me, and I release him. Did I misunderstand? Was the groan a good thing or bad? Am I mauling Remy Katz? 

Remy’s chest pumps. Mine does the same. He’s gaping at me. Gaping, there’s no other word for it. No smile in sight. Oh, and holy crap again, he’s squeezed my smoothie cup so hard the top popped. Thick liquid oozes over the sides.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Please forget this.”

I can’t stand to look at him anymore and turn away. But my phone and car keys are back at the table. No choice but to paste on a smile and brazen it out, even though every one of my teammates is gaping at me, too. 

“Girl,” Justine says. Just “girl.”

Could she possibly be impressed? Maybe? No. Shocked. That’s what she is.

Presley practically throws herself across the table. “What the F was that? That’s Remy Katz, Mia. You don’t just up and kiss Remy Katz.”

I try for a casual shrug but don’t dare glance back at the counter. “Maybe I do. It’s no biggie.” 

Right. My heart is only threatening to abandon ship in search of a more stable body.

“No biggie?” Justine says. “No biggie? Everyone was watching you.”

Presley waves her phone in the air. “I took a video.”

Wonderful. Evidence if Remy decides to file a harassment lawsuit, which he won’t, because he’s too nice, but Presley will still get a thrill sharing it around school.

“Guys, come on, let’s just discuss the fundraiser, okay?” Tatum squeezes my shoulder. “I’ve got to be home in thirty. Stats test tomorrow; it’s not just me, right?”

Soon the group is discussing T-shirt sales, free paddleboard lessons, and other ideas to raise funds for our regatta. Meanwhile, I try to sink through the floor.

I’ve harassed Remy Katz. Yes, it was sort of amazing, but obviously I’ll never be able to come into Juice Joint again. Probably I should change schools. I could dye my hair. Start wearing glasses. Distance myself from the crazy girl in the video.

Maybe my parents will agree to move.

“Mia. Mia. Mia.”

Tatum hisses my name while she points to a spot above my left shoulder. Remy stands there, blessedly smiling again. “Your phone,” he says. “Gimme.”

Remy holds my phone up to my face. When the screen lights up, he opens the contacts app and adds his number. “Now send me yours.”

Dumbfounded, I text, “This is Mia. I’m sorry.”

Remy throws back his head and laughs. I want to die. He’s so beautiful and kind and still trying to help me save face. As he walks away, my heart breaks apart.

Seconds later, Remy texts and the pieces come back together.

“Only sorry you stopped”

“U kiss like a freaking goddess”

“Seriously”

“Do it again?”

“SOON?”

Note to self: buy Emma something sparkly.