Twice Kissed. Lisa Jackson

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spun her roughly around, and stared down at her tear-stained face. “Let’s go home, Mag. Come on.”

      “No!” She hit him then, her small fist pounding on his chest. “No!”

      “Maggie, please. Oh, Christ.” He pulled her into the circle of his arms and rested his chin on her head.

      She heard him breathing, felt his strong heart beating, was aware of the steel-like arms surrounding her. Mitch had always made her feel safe and now he was…was…she started sobbing again at the horrid thought.

      “It’s not what you think.”

      If she could only believe him.

      “Mary Theresa and I were just messin’ around. We got into Mom’s Smirnoff and got a little carried away. That’s all.”

      “I…I saw.”

      “You don’t know what you saw. I was stupid, yeah. It was kind of a ‘You show me yours and I’ll show you mine’ thing. Dumb, huh?” Tipping her chin up with one finger he looked down at her and attempted a smile. But his face was pale, his eyes dead and she didn’t know what to believe. “Come on, Maggie. No harm, no foul. Let’s go home. Mary cleaned up the mess by the hedge and put Mom’s bottle back. No one has to know anything.”

      “But—”

      He dropped his arms and patted her on the head. “I’m an idiot, okay? A dickhead. I admit it. I shouldn’t drink. Ever. If the coach ever found out, I’d be dead meat, and this thing with Mary Theresa…well, it was my fault, I admit it, and we have to keep it quiet, okay? You know I love Sheila.”

      Sheila Allman was Mitch’s girlfriend. They’d been going together since their sophomore year in high school. A cheerleader who had been homecoming princess and prom queen in the same year, she had been one of the most popular girls at White River High. Along with Mary Theresa.

      “Come on, Mag. Get into the car.”

      She couldn’t shake the bad taste in her mouth, the deep, piercing knowledge that she was being conned, but she had no choice. She had to return to the house. She had nowhere else to go, no one in whom to confide. On shaking legs she climbed into Mitch’s car, leaned against the passenger window as he cut a U-turn in the middle of the street. She stared sightlessly out the window as he drove with a little more restraint the short distance back to the house.

      John Fogerty’s gravelly voice blasted from the speakers. “I heard it through the grapevine, not much longer would ya be mine…”

      The music continued to pound as Mitch wheeled into the driveway and stood on the brakes. Maggie threw open the door and nearly fell from the low bucket seat to the pavement. Her legs were like rubber, her mind a kaleidoscope of horrid, ugly, sensual images. She didn’t wait for Mitch as she ran to the front door, into the house, and down the long tile hallway to her room. Mary Theresa’s door was closed, but a glow of blue light beneath the panels indicated that her lights were out, but she was watching television. Not that it mattered.

      Maggie burst into her own room, shut the door, and flung herself onto the bed. She hadn’t seen what she thought she had. She had to believe Mitch. Crawling under the covers, she squeezed her eyes shut, but she didn’t sleep a wink and heard, hours later, her parents come into the house, the slam of the garage door over the shout of angry words, and the rattle of a bottle as her mother poured herself a nightcap, probably from the same fifth Mitch had tapped earlier.

      It was sick. All of it. And Maggie couldn’t wait for the day when she’d be able to leave. Just the rest of the summer, then she could go move out and attend junior college. Forget living here. She wished she could just take off. As far away as possible. Away from this gloomy house with its awful, mind-numbing secrets. Away from her mother’s slurred speech and her father’s holier-than-thou attitude. Away from Mitch’s cocksure jock strut and Mary Theresa’s ever-present aura.

      No more being a shadow.

      Maggie rolled over on the bed, stared at the ceiling and, for the first time in her life, heard the voice, clear as a bell, as if Mary Theresa were in the room with her.

      Don’t tell, Maggie, please. Whatever you do, don’t tell!

      “What?”

      Mom and Dad would kill me if they found out. Maggie, please, keep this our secret.

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