Chapter 20

Staying to finish my homework meant I had missed walking home with my nerd friends, so I was expecting to walk home alone. Instead I found Maria D’Angelou waiting anxiously for me at the school gate.

“Hi Champ, could you come home with me and help me with some homework?” she asked. “Mama won’t be home for a couple of hours.”

Guilty feelings about lunchtime surfaced. “Okay,” I conceded, “but what’s with the ‘champ’?”

“I heard about your success at the cross-country meeting.”

“Was it announced in your Home Room? I got to school late this morning and missed some of the notices?”

“No, I heard about it on the Drama Club grapevine,” she said. “They said you were competing against some of the strongest runners in the state and you finished second, qualifying for the Tri-State Championships.”

“The team came third so they also qualified,” I added.

“Perhaps they’ll announce it tomorrow.”

“Or perhaps not. Cross-country doesn’t have the same cachet as football or basketball.”

“That’s unfair,” said Maria.

“Perhaps, but it’s a fact of life. Parents want to see their kids succeed at sports where they can become famous and earn a lot of money. There’s only a cross-country team because it can be run on a shoestring. The school would much prefer to have baseball teams instead if it could afford specialist coaches.” I stopped talking at that point, aware I was sounding like my mother.

We walked in silence for a while before Maria adopted a broad grin. “You’ll never guess what I got for that math homework you helped me with.”

“E Minus?”

Maria faux-punched my bicep. “A Plus, of course. My first ever at math. How did your English essay fare?”

“Not so good: A Minus. Still, that’s better than my usual C, and the teacher praised my originality.”

“See, helping each other with homework was good for both of us,” said Maria.

We chatted the rest of the way to Maria’s house, but I noticed we were again reduced to communicating via two distinct monologues.

Maria opened her front door and ushered me in. I was worried in case Maria was wrong and her mother was home, but the house was thankfully empty.

“Do you want a soda?” asked Maria, ushering me into the lounge.

“Yes please.”

Maria fetched two sodas and handed me one. “I’m going to change into something more comfortable,” she said. “I’ll be back in five.”

While I was waiting, I texted my mum that I was helping Maria with her homework and that I’d be home in time for dinner. It was more than double Maria’s estimate before she reappeared, and she had changed out of her schoolwear into a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants, completely disguising her figure.

“Would you like to come up and see my room?” she asked.

“I probably shouldn’t. What if your mother comes home early?”

“I’ve put the security chain on the front door so she can’t get in. I’ll tell her I answered the door to a salesman and forgot to take it off afterwards.”

I had the feeling there was something Maria wasn’t telling me, but I wasn’t about to refuse a request from a pretty girl.

I followed Maria upstairs to her room. It was light and airy and there was absolutely no pink in evidence in the colour scheme. The walls were decorated with posters, not of boy bands, but of movies and plays.

Maria sat on her bed and patted the space beside her. I sat down next to her.

“What’s the homework you want help with? More math?” I asked.

“No,” she said, somewhat nervously. “It’s to do with my acting.”

“You want me to read lines with you?” I have to admit my tone was a little short, because reading out lines would have been a complete waste of my time.

“No. Let me explain. When you saw Eugenie Butler-Walker on Saturday, you gave her a kiss that was hot enough to peel the paint off the walls.”

“Actually she kissed me. And how do you know about it? I didn’t see you there.”

Maria picked up her smartphone, selected a video and started it playing. Someone had managed to capture the whole event, from when Eugenie jumped into my arms to when Mrs Crocker interrupted us. I could see why Mrs Crocker intervened: the kiss wouldn’t have looked out of place in a porn movie, it was so hot. I found myself getting hard just watching it. I was also intrigued to see Mrs Crocker let the kiss go on a lot longer than she needed to.

The video ended when Mrs Crocker sent me to her office.

“As you can see, I want to be an actress,” said Maria, gesturing at the posters on her wall. Maria’s face was flushed, though whether she was aroused or embarrassed I couldn’t tell. “I don’t know how to kiss,” she admitted, “and I need to be able to show passion like that. I know you’re gay so you don’t fancy girls that way, but do you think you can teach me?”

My reply was to incline my head towards Maria. She reciprocated until our lips were a fraction of an inch apart. I leaned the rest of the way and brushed my lips against hers, noting the sweet taste of soda on her breath. Then I brushed her lips a second time, a little harder. After the third time, Maria lost patience and plastered her lips against mine. I let her kiss me like that for several seconds, then parted my lips enough to allow my tongue to run across Maria’s lips. Maria’s eyes widened but she didn’t try to pull away, and shortly she relaxed her own lips and allowed them to part. I parted my lips further and retracted my tongue, ceding the field to Maria. She cautiously started investigating my lips with the tip of her tongue. As she grew in confidence, I allowed our tongues the gentlest of touches. Again Maria’s eyes widened but she didn’t pull away.

Not liking the awkward position we were in, I wrapped my arms around Maria then lay back, rolling her on top of me while continuing the kiss. Despite her petite form, her body landing on mine forced the breath out of my lungs and my unintended ‘woof’ forced us to break.

Maria giggled. “I expected French kissing to be really yeuky but it’s actually very nice,” she said.

“Only very nice?” I replied. “Then we’re not doing it very well and we need to practise.”

“I like that idea,” she agreed, and lowered her lips to mine.