Page 9 of Jacob Michaels is Not Here

“You didn’t pull away.”

I shook my head.

“Oh, shit.” He swallowed as his hands slid from my face, obviously concerned at my lack of verbal response. “I didn’t…look, let’s just…Rob, I didn’t mean to—”

I ignored his sputtering and reached up to lay my hand against his cheek, letting my thumb jerkily brush over his cheek. His words, fortunately, ceased, which gave me the perfect opportunity to lean in and kiss him back. Lucas shut his eyes forcefully, eagerly, as I eased my face to his. The corner of my mouth turned up in amusement as I closed my eyes and gently pressed my lips to his. Lucas seemed to melt into me as I kissed him, my thumb learning to slide along his cheek more expertly as I did so. The kiss didn’t last long—I didn’t want to attempt more than a simple kiss. When I pulled away, Lucas’ eyes stayed closed several moments longer than mine, as though he had lost himself in the moment, but when they finally opened, they looked greener than ever.

“You like me, too?”

I nodded.

“Was the kiss…okay?” He looked away but made no effort to pull his face away from my hand.

“The first one or the second one?”

“Either.”

“They were both perfect.”

Then Lucas was amateurishly pulling my face to his again right there on the shore of Lake Erie, pressing his lips against mine. It was perfect, too.

“Is that what you think?” I spun on my heels to growl at Oma.

“Of course, I do.” She snapped back. “I think you’re not thinkin’ with your head. You’re usin’ another organ.”

In case I was confused, she tapped a finger against her chest. At least she hadn’t tapped her crotch. I rolled my eyes and turned back around, headed for the living room. Oma would never let me storm out on her, especially during an argument, but I was sixteen. What sixteen-year-old hasn’t jumped on a huff and rode it away when the mood struck them? I hadn’t even stepped from the kitchen into the living room when Oma snapped at me.

“Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”

“To my room!” I screamed over my shoulder.

“The day pigs fly!” She bellowed.

Chair legs scraping against linoleum sounded, and I picked up my pace slightly as I made my way to the stairs and started up them in a sturdy march. If I could only get up the stairs, down the hall, and to my room, maybe I could lock the door and avoid Oma. Of course, if I thought a locked door would keep Oma from continuing the argument, I was dumber than dirt.

“You swivel your ass and get back down here!” Oma shouted at me from the bottom of the stairs.

I turned on the landing to glower at her.

“No.”

“Don’t you sass me.” She put her hands on her hips and glared up at me.

“It’s my life!” I snapped. “And just like everything else, you’re telling me how to do everything!”

“Robbie,” Oma looked at me through squinty eyes, “this isn’t about gettin’ your driver’s license or a curfew. This is about your damn life.”

“Right.” I nodded firmly down at her. “My life. Not yours. Not Lucas’. Just mine. I can do with it what I like.”

Oma crossed her arms over her breast and cocked an eyebrow at me as she looked up at me standing on the landing.

“You’re plannin’ to do a damn fool thing, is what you’re plannin’.” Oma waggled her head. “You think you understand everything. Just like every other dumbass teenager. Well, you don’t know shit, Robbie.”

“What don’t I know?” I demanded. “I know exactly what this means, and you’re trying to convince me that I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand, damnit!” She replied sharply. “Your mother and father—”

“Where are mom and dad?” I looked around dramatically. “I think the only people who get to be involved in an argument are the ones here, don’t you?”