Chapter Thirty Six

I scrambled from underneath Juice, to my feet, cheeks soaked with tears that had fallen too quickly to stream. I ran away as fast as I could. I had to leave him before he left me. I ran into a field of maize. It was the easiest way to disappear. I crossed into the tall, tightly packed, golden stalks and was instantly hidden. Switch-bladed.

Their husks recoiled from my useless body on contact, redirecting me ever so gently. Maybe not. I had no sense of direction. I slowed to a stop, I ran out of breath anyway.

A sudden rustling of stalks grew increasingly loud. It was a wave of rattlesnakes bound to crest on top of me.

Worse, it was just one snake.

Juice Williams slammed into me, but it was different than when Blake had. Juice was faster, so I could never explain the physics. Instead of my body being rag-dolled against the earth, I was twirled around in strong arms and brought to rest painlessly.

"What's a matter with you, huh?"

I peered up at him wordlessly. My wrists, all but pinned together in the strength of his embrace.

"You really are crazy, Mad-Eye. Got me chasing you, after I pay you a compliment."

He released me, but held onto one arm at the elbow to direct me through the maize. I came willingly. I tried to understand how I could've possibly mistook nearly the exact words I'd hoped to never hear from Juice, Saylor or Faith for what they actually meant.

I gave up and asked. "How could not ever needing anything from me be a compliment, Jerome?" I made no effort to hide my dismay.

He stopped and turned to me, taking my other arm, which I gave up willingly. Even if he didn't need me, I wouldn't dare deny him anything.

"It means you don't gotta do nothin' for me to want to stick around. And you know that already." He pressed his forehead against mine. I didn't mind the sweat. I was focused on believing whatever he told me. "Was you carrying bags when I used to roll up at your moms everyday?"

I shook my head. I wasn't. If anything, Jerome did things for me so I'd help him improve at dribbling in soccer. Jerome released my arms from where he held them at the bends. I grabbed him by the collar of his coat with both hands and forced a kiss onto his lips.

It surprised him at first, so I gave him two more. He still hadn't caught on, maybe he wasn't going to.

"You want to talk about the past?" I asked, shoving him hard. Desperation to anger through sublimation. I was fuming. He almost grinned at me. He liked me mad. He never did respect tears. "You can wrap your arms around me all night, five feet away from my cousin, but you can't kiss me in an empty goddamn cornfield?"

His jaw tensed, his whole body did. I watched the ball of his throat bob as he swallowed. It was like he knew he'd been had. Caught red-handed. He couldn't deny who he was from the person who'd been there when he found out himself.

"I ain't as strong as you, not like that. I can't ever be out in the open like you." His words, less a warning, more so a plea. Whether he kissed me or not, I would never tell. I needed him to know that.

"No one's asking you to. But now, when it's just you and me Jerri, don't you dare sleep head to foot with me," I said.

It was the best I could do. It was enough.

Jerome traversed the distance between us. He tackled me to the ground this time. It wasn't gentle, but I suffered through. His lips pressed against my face, again and again, most landing everywhere but my lips. Each was a powerful explosion, my body quaked from the blasts.

He'd hit this spot on my neck that made my head tilt back and my canines reveal their magic. He had so much energy. It was entirely different from how he'd kissed me before.

He was doing it for him, not for me, not for Juice or Jerome, but for Jerri, that frightened boy back at the hotel who had the nerve to wrap his arms around someone he wasn't allowed to love.

Juice Williams and I ugly kissed. The type I adored most, the type I trolled through the fifth floor darkness in search of, merely as a spectator. Now I was center court. Juice slobbered and drooled and I slobbered and drooled back. We rolled around. We licked tongues, ears, sides of faces. Our noses never fit quite right. We clawed each other's faces.

And we smiled the whole time.

#####

Juice and I had no problem getting back to the township. He was way more directionally inclined than I was. The problem was that I didn't want to go back. I didn't want him to put his mask back on. I was afraid that once we left that field of maize and were back out in the open, there was still a chance, no matter what he said, that I'd never see Jerri again.

The township had wide paved roads in between shops and places of interest that were crowded with communal folk and tourists alike, everyone there to enjoy the Apfelfest. There were pop-up stands set up along sidewalks, specifically for the occasion, inviting passersby to taste trademark ciders, candied apples, baked pies and pretty much anything else that included an apple in its recipe.

There were large wooden pails set up for apple bobbing as well and despite the unsanitary nature of the tradition, lines for them often bled into the road. While watching people chomp at those elusive apples, hungry-hippo style, was mildly entertaining, I couldn't say I understood the allure of being chomper myself.

Still, Juice and I watched for awhile and I got plenty of pictures chompers would undoubtedly have paid a small fortune to snuff out. The best time to snap was always the very first wide-eyed chomp or right after they'd missed it. There was always this genuine surprise splashed across their face as they surfaced, as if, only then had they realized both the mechanics of the apple bobbing sham and how ridiculous they were to think they'd be the one to defeat it.

I'd yet to see anyone 'win' without using the rim of the bucket. Win was a term used loosely. Survive might've been more apt. Best case scenario: While some queer Latino snapped photos of their best zombie impression, they got an apple with about ten different sets of teeth nicks in it.

"What did you think?" I asked, showing Juice my camera screen. On it, my latest and greatest: an old lady's dentures shipwrecked at the bottom of a pail.

Juice fell out laughing, then pointed at the next bobber. I shoved his arm down. "Aye, I know he ain't 'bout to dunk his head in there like his moms wasn't up right before him."

He had a point. My counter: wouldn't you have rather drank spit you knew, than spit you didn't? I kept that to myself, familial-like kiss bias and all.

"Wanna hit up the wineries?" he asked. It wasn't a question.

I followed him as he cut through the crowd, exerting all of my willpower not to hold his hand. It seemed like a necessity to stay together, but I didn't know how Juice would react. I didn't want there to be any reason to keep Jerri from me.

I grabbed a handful of his coat, the argyle part near the shoulder. "Wait up! Or maybe I could hold onto your coat somewhere?"

He held his hand up to his ear. I repeated myself when he stopped. Whispering in his ear felt sensual, only to me though. He made a face like I'd asked to smear dog shit all over him, shaking and pulling back his head with a deep, pursed-lipped frown. "Nah, I ain't tryin' get mines scuffed." He started walking again.

I didn't. He clearly needed the space. I knew where he was headed and I could go there later. At all of the wineries—and there were many of them—they had large platters packed with plastic shot-glasses filled with their different wine offerings for tasting. With the crowd, it was impossible to regulate. Well, not impossible, but they weren't carding people at the door, so it was a self-inflicted impossibility.

I set off toward one near the main entrance to the township, one I knew Juice wasn't going to be at. In theory, I thought some wine would help settle me. I didn't have much practice, just enough to know that wine tasted bitter and gross, like week's old flat root beer.