The Morning After

        So, my first kiss was short and sweet…and absolutely perfect.  That moment when his lips met mine, tasting of the sundae we had shared for dessert, was in a word, delicious.  After waiting over sixteen years of my life, and three months of dating Carter, it’s a relief to no longer be counted among the ranks of “sixteen and never been kissed.”  And all that waiting?  Totally worth it!

12:07 AM: Since it took Carter a good ten minutes to get up the courage to envelop my lips with his, I pull up the driveway with my headlights off.  It’s officially seven minutes past my curfew, and I am in no mood to get into trouble while on this first-kiss high.  Believe me, I drove way over the speed limit trying to get home on time.  I tiptoe into the house, holding the handle until the door is all the way shut, ensuring that little ‘click’ doesn’t wake everyone up. 

I think I got away with it, since my mom didn't peek her head out of her room and give me ‘the look.’  Hopefully this means skipping the ‘I’m disappointed in you’ speech, a week-long grounding, and a phone call from my mom to my boyfriend’s parents.  Score! 

          6:05 AM: Man, I am exhausted!  After the excitement of last night, I hardly slept a wink.  Today we’re leaving on our choir trip to St. Louis, Missouri, home of the Gateway Arch.  Our director has been going on and on about the historical features of our trip, which might actually outweigh the vocal opportunities we’re about to have. 

          I can’t believe Carter finally kissed me, and now I have to spend this very long weekend away from him!  I could have been headed to the theater, spending a movie lip-locked with my gorgeous boyfriend.  Instead, I’ll be spending my weekend singing, and visiting national landmarks.  At least I’ll have my best friend around to commiserate with.  I can’t wait to tell her every little detail of my moment of pure bliss.

          Since my mom is a chaperon on this trip, I’m about to endure a seventeen minute car ride to the school, with her driving, and praying to high heaven she really doesn’t know I arrived home late last night.  How I’m going to dodge my mother over this four day trip—while sharing a hotel room—I’m not sure. 

          After dumping my bags in the trunk, I jump into the passenger seat of my mom’s Charger.  Hoping to avoid conversation on the way into town, I immediately put my seatbelt on, lean my head against the window, and close my eyes.

6:30 AM: We arrive at the school and make sure all of our bags make it into the luggage compartment.  I immediately climb onto the bus, feeling pretty good about myself. What, with getting my first kiss and getting away with being late for curfew, I’m thinking I might have a career in the CIA ahead of me.  Have you seen all that stealth I’ve been exhibiting?

My best friend, Melinda, slides into the seat next to me and sighs.  Leaning all the way back in her reclining chair, she swivels her head toward me, bleary-eyed and on the cusp of a yawn. “Oh, Reagan, why must we leave at the butt-crack of dawn?” 

          Knowing she is not a morning person, I grin back at her and say, “It’s only a half hour earlier than when we normally get to school.  What’s thirty minutes?  Besides, if anyone should be complaining, it’s me.  I didn’t even get home until after midnight. Say nothing about when I got to sleep.”

          Melinda sits up, wide-eyed all of a sudden, and says, “After midnight?”

          Oh yeah, she knows all about my curfew.

          My mom and my choir director choose this moment to sit in the seats directly in front of me and my best friend.  What lovely timing they have.

I look over at Melinda, putting up my finger to say ‘just give me a sec’, and dig through my purse with my other hand until I find a pen and receipt to scribble on.  I’m about to start writingout what happened when our choir director stands up, looks around the bus, and gives us her chipper ‘we’re about to embark on a great trip’ speech. After reminding us all to follow the charter bus rules, she thankfully sits back down. 

6:48 AM: As soon as the bus pulls away from the curb, and just as I’m beginning to write my note to Melinda, Mom turns around and says, "So, Reagan, you got home a little late last night." 

          Busted!  "I know. I'm sorry, but I promise it was for a good reason." 

You see, I say this expecting my mother to leave it be, at least until we get to the hotel and can talk about it privately.

          "And what would that reason be?" 

          How do I answer this question in front of my choir director, who is now listening in, and my best friend, whom I haven't had a chance to tell yet? 

"Well,” I begin. “It was Carter's fault. But I will never be late because of him again." 

Enough information to appease my mother for the time being?

          "So did he finally kiss you?" 

Apparently not.  Both my choir director and best friend whip their heads toward me, slack jawed, waiting for my response.

          I grit my teeth, simultaneously wishing the ground would open up and swallow me whole.  Why on earth is she doing this to me?  I suck in a breath, and sort of whisper-hiss, "Yes, okay?  Did you have to bring it up in front of everyone?"

          My mom smiles, turns back to face the front, and says, "It's my job to embarrass you.  Consider it your punishment for breaking curfew."