Page 3 of Black Waters

Her lips touched mine, and I couldn’t react. I couldn’t get the skin attached to my mouth to move. Connie told me, “See her. Envision her.”

Thatwas easy. Whit was always on my mind, so her smiling green eyes popped into my blind sight in an instant. Lips touched mine again, and I tried so diligently to pretend they were Whit’s, but her smell was off. I smelled hair product, not the lake or fresh, hard-earned feminine sweat that Whit always exuded after a dance practice. Thinking of what I didn’t smell had me smelling Whitney. That’s how much I yearned for her. In my mind, Whit was soaking wet, running down my dock toward my backyard— toward me.

Connie moaned as my mouth opened to hers, and that moan distracted me from the precious image in my head. The visual of Whitney in my arms, kissing me, started to fade until I heard, “Link.” Whether it was in Connie’s voice or not didn’t matter. The only one to call me Link was my Whit. Next thing I knew, I was on top of Connie, with my eyes closed, captivated by the closest I could get to Whitney Summers.

Maybe one would have thought that having a pretend Whitney would ease my continuous aching for the real thing, but it only increased my need. My body was not fooled, and it longed to feel Whit intimately. The next morning, simply being in the school parking lot made me want her even more. I knew Connie could sense my stress because she leaned back against my car. “Whenever you need to imagine, I’m right here, Reether.”

My body moved of its on accord, and I dove in. My eyes closed, and I was crushing Connie up against my car with my own body, my own lies…

“Really? It does nothing violent to your stomach?”

Hearing the real voice that rules my world, my body jerked away from Connie’s. Constance was heartbroken. She pushed me away and took off running in tears. I should’ve chased her. I should’ve tried to right my wrongs, but instead, I found myself leaning against the back of my car, watching perfection as one of her dancer friends told Whit what I already knew.

I smiled, so proud of my little dancer chasing the dream her parents despised. Whit’s red hair blew in the wind as her eyes searched for me. The relief on her face, when she found me, gave me an inner peace that no substitute Whit could ever have me experience.

Even with this knowledge, when Constance came back, I tried to use poor her to fill the void again. There seemed to be no other choice. Crash, the ass, drove his yellow Lotus into the skating rink’s parking lot. Whit beamed, talking to him. In my car, I dove into Constance’s mouth trying to find shelter, solace from the truth in Whit’s gleaming smile. I believed her smile belonged to me—the way it did when she found me—needed me at school to reassure her that her dreams were justified.

Well-fed jealousy had me abandoning my substitute, leaping from my car, and banging on Crash’s passenger window just in time to stop their first kiss. I almost puked. I found myself mentally concocting a ludicrous plan to follow Whit and Crash everywhere, preventing any possible contact. My shit-eating grin was the outward proof of me not being of sound mind. And that same grin seemed to rub Whit in all the wrong places. As she marched away, I yelled, “Ahhh, all right. I pissed you off. I’m sorry. Come back, baby!” but was pleased the kiss had been stalled.

Crash the—the, okay, so Whit was the one with name-calling talents. Anyway, Crash the ass chased after Whit, said something to her, and did some sort of epilepsy dance that I was sure would have her running for the hills. But it didn’t. My girl smiled at Crash like he was her savior, and I was back to wanting to puke.

Inside the rink, things were even worse. It was like witnessing Whit fall in love right before my bulging eyes. She even shared her popcorn! That had me trembling like a pansy walking barefooted across hot coals. And even though Crash appeared shady, he treated Whit with the utmost respect, so I couldn’t even dislike the guy—besides hating him for reasons that were not his fault—if that makes any sense at all.

Their wheels rolled around the rink to “True Colors,” a couple’s skate song. I was tempted to take the empty bag of popcorn they had shared and shove it down the DJ’s throat for causing this obvious connection. Sending Cyndi Lauper hate mail climbed to the number-one slot on my to-do list for writing a song that was perfectly worded for lost souls needing guidance. What? Cyndi couldn’t have written a song about a perfect girl falling in love with her adorable best friend because she finally saw the light?

With her own shoes back on, Whitney seemed to be hesitant as she walked to me. Her eyes were on the floor as if she were doing something wrong. I was already in my regular shoes because rolling around with newfound lovebirds was as much fun as poking my fingernail beds with rusty needles, over and over.

Thankfully, Ford was entertaining Constance, playfully spinning her around the rink, so I could focus on my current meltdown and observe and monitor Whitney.

Standing in front of me, saying nothing.

My finger tilted her face up. “What’s wrong?” I asked with hope for a miracle lingering in my voice. When she didn’t answer, I pushed a red curl behind her ear so I could see her pixie face. “Whit, talk to me.”

“I don’t know.” She reached out and unconsciously tugged on the hem of my T-shirt. “This feels weird, but… Crash and I are going to leave and, uh, you know.”

My body’s organs rearranged themselves as my imagination soared to unwanted visions unmercifully taunting my brain. “What?” I screeched as if I no longer owned a pair. “You want to go and do—what?”

“Not that Link!” She smacked my chest. “Not giving up my V status ’cause of a successful couple skate. Geez. To dinner, dummy. I—I think I want to get to know him.” She went back to playing with my shirt. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Whitney Summers asking me this should have told me about her insecurities—should have explained so much. Her pulling on my shirt, trying to get me closer, should have been a tell-all sign, but I had much to learn, the hard way apparently.

I wanted to throw a tantrum and scream, “Hell, no! I don’t think it’s a good idea! Because I want you!”But she had been through so much. Who was I to take away her true smiles—not fake smiles that were a façade to hide her pain. I don’t know. I guess when you truly love someone, selfishness somehow steps aside so you can do what’s right for the one you adore even if it shreds you apart, one heartstring at a time.

I peered past her and saw Crash observing us. Strobe lights flashed, but I saw his expression wasn’t one of possession over Whit. It was one of hope. I don’t know exactly how I understood it, but I then knew his tough-guy persona wasn’t real, and I knew he really liked Whit.

As much as I wanted her, she didn’t think she wanted me in that way, so my jealous mouth opened. “Yeah, I think it’s a real good idea to get to know him since you seem to… you seem, you know, to kind of like the guy.”

Complete overload caused shortages in my brain while Whit happily held Crash’s hand, and they left for alone time.

“You still breathing?” asked Harlan as he approached.

“What?”

He patted my shoulder. “Someday, the two of you will see the light and marry. I swear it, friend. Just keep breathing ’til then.”

Does everybody know I’m in love with Whitney? Wait—

I was about to ask Harlan what he meant, if he thought Whit cared for me in that manner, but was interrupted by an acquaintance from school. Chuckling, Terry said, “I didn’t know your girl was so much like her brother.”