“That sounds great,” I said, even though every word she said was killing me. “But I better get going. I have to pick Ryder up in a few minutes.”
“Why isn’t he picking you up?” Amy asked.
“Got to challenge those gender norms,” I said. “Also, if I have to see a foreign film, he has to be seen riding around in Gert.”
“I guess that seems fair.”
“Have fun with your applications,” I said, grabbing my purse and heading for the door. “Don’t wait up, darling.”
“Yeah,” she said. Her voice was quiet as I headed out the bedroom door. “You have fun, too.”
I may have begun my relationship with Ryder with limited kissing experience, but I was most certainly making up for lost time.
For the next few weeks, Ryder and I could hardly keep our hands off each other. We were making out in his car, in mine, at his house — occasionally in the hallways at school. Sitting behind him in AP history was torturous, because all I wanted to do was lean forward and press my lips into his neck.
I had a feeling Mr. Buckley wouldn’t take too kindly to that.
There was only one thing that could distract us from kissing when we were alone together.
“We’re not making out to a Goats Vote for Melons song,” I said, turning my head so that Ryder’s lips hit my jaw instead of my mouth.
We were horizontal in Gert’s backseat, parked out beneath some trees on Lyndway Hill. Ryder’s car may have been fancier (and cleaner), but Gert boasted a larger backseat. Victory for Gert.
He groaned and sat up a little, propping himself on his elbows. “What’s wrong with Goats Vote for Melons?”
“It’s not sexy. We need to get some Boyz II Men playing up in here.”
“Who?”
“Ugh. I’m surrounded by uncultured idiots.”
“Funny. I often feel the same way.”
I shoved at his shoulders, forcing him up and off me. He moved too quickly, though, and his head slammed into Gert’s roof. “Ow!”
“Serves you right,” I said as I reached for his iPod. “Let’s see. What else do we have on here? Hipster band, hipster band, hipster band … Oh, grunge. That’s a nice change.”
Next to me, Ryder seemed to deflate slightly. For a minute, I was confused; then I realized that, to him, I wasn’t the grunge girl. Amy was. That was her music, and she was the reason he’d given it a chance.
Part of me wanted to correct him on this. To tell some story about how I was the one who loved grunge and had pulled Amy into it. But really, Amy was the last thing I wanted to talk about right now.
So I cleared my throat and went back to skimming through the songs on his iPod. Eventually, I gave up on finding anything decent and selected “Of Lions and Robots,” the only GVM song I didn’t hate.
Ryder, having regained his composure, gently removed the iPod from my hand and tossed it into the front seat, out of reach.
“Make you a deal,” he said, kissing just beneath my ear. “I’ll add some better make-out music to my collection, if you drop it for the moment….” His lips traveled down my neck, sending chills up my spine.
“Fine,” I said, as if this was some great sacrifice on my part.
He eased me back down onto the carpeted seat, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. He kissed his way up to my mouth, tugging slightly on my lower lip with his teeth. I giggled and arched my back, pressing myself tighter against him.
But then Ryder shifted slightly, and I was suddenly less focused on his mouth and more keenly aware of his hand, which had begun creeping beneath my shirt.
Despite the constant making out, we hadn’t quite reached second base yet. Not that I was at all opposed to it.
But the higher his hand crept, the more nervous I began to feel. What if he managed to get my bra off only to be disappointed? What if my boobs were too small or weird looking or something? Amy’s were much bigger than mine and probably perfect. Though, admittedly, I wasn’t really sure what made boobs perfect or weird. It didn’t stop me from worrying.
“Hey,” Ryder said, pulling away a little. “Is this all right?”
The minute his eyes met mine, I felt myself relax. His expression was so soft, so gentle, and it eased some of my worries.
Stop comparing yourself to Amy, I thought. He doesn’t want her, he wants you.
“Yeah,” I said. “Definitely.”
He smiled, then went back to kissing me.
And to trying to unhook my bra. Apparently, this is a very complicated act for boys, particularly to do one-handed, because it seemed to be taking him longer than I’d expected. But he’d almost managed it when —
Crunch!
The snowball smacked into the windshield, followed by a burst of retreating laughter from outside the car.
Ryder and I both groaned.
“Assholes,” I said.
“Why are we here again?” he asked.
“Lyndway Hill is the cool place to make out. At least, so I’ve been told.”
“Right, well, I would argue that my house is cooler.” He eased off me, allowing me to sit up. He smirked at me as I attempted to smooth down my hair. “Might I suggest that we continue this there?”
I just grinned.
Unfortunately, Ryder’s house was not as empty as we’d thought.
We burst through the door, laughing at the fresh snow that had fallen on us as we’d run up the front steps. He flicked snow from my hair, and I laughed, pushing him away. He caught my arms and moved me backward, so I was pressed against the front door as he leaned in to kiss me.
But our lips had barely met when we heard the loud “Ahem” and jumped apart.
“Mom,” Ryder said, spinning around to face the woman that neither of us had noticed standing in the living room. “I didn’t think you were home.”
“And I thought you were,” she said, her voice devoid of any humor. “Your car is in the garage.”
“Right. I was with Sonny.”
I raised a hand and gave a small wave. “Hi, Mrs. Cross.” Yeah. This was not how I’d planned on meeting his mom for the first time.
“It’s Ms. Tanner,” she corrected. “I no longer use my married name.”
“Right. Sorry.”
I’m not going to lie. I was already pretty scared of Ryder’s mother. She was so strict about how clean her house and even Ryder’s car were kept. And Ryder, despite seeming to think she was perfect, had described her as pretty strict and cold, things that had only gotten worse since the separation. Not traits that particularly meshed with my personality.
As if that wasn’t enough, in person, she was entirely intimidating. I’d known she was pretty from the photo I’d seen of Ryder and his family, with her smooth dark brown skin and dark eyes. But she was also quite tall. And had broad shoulders. And then there was the way she was dressed, in a crisp, neat, expensive navy-blue suit.
“Is that your car outside?” she asked, glancing out the window.
“Uh, yes, ma’am. It is.” And then I tried, perhaps foolishly, to make her laugh. “I named her Gert.”
But she didn’t laugh. “Hmm. Charming. I’m sure the neighbors will be very curious about what a car like that is doing in the driveway.”
Ouch.
I wanted to say something, to defend Gert, as silly as it sounds, but luckily Ryder spoke up first.
“It’s vintage,” he said, laughing. And the fact that he was obviously quoting me made me soften a bit.
“Indeed,” Ms. Tanner said. “I’m sorry. I missed your name. What was it again?”
“Oh. Sonny,” I said. But, because I thought it might be more impressive to her, I added, “Short for Sonya.”
“Sonny,” she repeated. “I must be behind on my son’s love life. Here I was thinking he was interested in a girl named … Amy?”