The Music of What Happens - Bill Konigsberg Page 0,87

I just feel … different. Awake. Powerful. I want more of this, now. I hold his eye contact and keep up my pushing rhythm.

“Come on, come on,” he shouts as I strain with everything I’ve got on nine.

“Ahhh!” I whimper involuntarily, and then I close my eyes and give it everything I’ve got.

It comes with a grunt that sounds like it comes from some other boy. Some boy with a shred of confidence. A kid who finishes what he starts and is capable of stuff. I straighten my legs and find myself nearly hyperventilating. Max grabs the platform like he’s going to put it into place, like I’m done.

I’m not. I take my knees down to my chest, all the way. My skinny legs are shaking something fierce. I squeeze my eyes shut, I feel the sweat dripping like my forehead is crying, and I push like my life depends on it.

My legs straighten. All the way. It’s a little bit beyond what I can do, but I straighten my legs, I twist the handles, and the platform drops with a metallic thump.

I laugh and roll off onto the ground, totally spent.

“All right!” he says, and I know he’s not patronizing me. He bends and leans over me, and when I open my eyes, his dark eyes are smiling into mine. “That was amazing!” he says. “Amazing!”

I feel new. Like maybe how those kids feel when Dr. Phil sends them to Outward Bound and they complete all the crazy tasks. My legs feel like they won’t ever hold me up again, but I lifted ninety pounds. With a rubber band to make it harder. I can’t believe it.

We stare into each other’s eyes for a bit, and I laugh, and he laughs, and I am utterly turned on, and I don’t know if he is, but I am like, wow. Pumped, I guess. He lifts me to my feet, and I say to him, “Bathroom,” and he helps me walk my wobbly legs to the bathroom, his strong arm behind my back and draped over my shoulder. Our bodies are so close and I smell his sweat and I want this moment never to end, ever.

He stops at the door. I am the one who drags him in with me.

“What?” he says, and I don’t answer. I slam the door behind me and pull him toward me and mash my mouth into his and now it’s his turn to whimper.

I’ve never felt so sure about anything in my life before. Like I’m possessed with some boy demon, and I decide, then and there, that if this is working out, I will do it every minute of every day of my life.

I push my chest against his and lick his lips and he groans and he pulls me closer in to him, and our sweat mingles into something funky and beautiful that I want to taste. I pull my mouth from his and lick his chin and his jaw and he squeezes my butt and I knead his shoulders and I need him in a new way.

“Not here,” he says, pulling slightly away. “We’ll get arrested.”

I pull him closer. “Don’t care,” I mumble.

He laughs. “Okay now, tiger,” he says. “I have a better idea.”

“Definitely call me that,” I say, still breathless, and he takes my hand, and even though the workout just started, he walks me out into the brilliantly scathing early morning Mesa air.

Mom is fast asleep when I bring Jordan in the front door. I can hear her snores coming from her bedroom, all the way out in the family room. For a little lady, she snores loud.

I open the patio door, take Jordan’s hand, and lead him out to the pool.

“Is this okay with your mom?”

I nod. It basically is. Not that she’d want to walk out and see us, but like she said: There’s lots of users and abusers out there, and Jordan is neither. He’s my boyfriend, and having sex with your boyfriend is nothing to be ashamed about.

If only my body agreed. I’m shaking. I hope Jordan can’t feel it through my hand.

I decide I’ll tell her in the morning, and I hope she won’t be mad.

Facing away from Jordan, I strip off my gym clothes. Part of me wants to watch him watch me strip, and wants to watch him take his clothes off too. But another part is feeling shy and tentative, very un–Super Max, and if I look at him, I’m afraid