Becca Ritchie - Kiss the Sky

Anything that makes a person into a lesser version of themselves is malevolent. At least in Connor Cobalt’s mind.

I’m not going to ruin this by arguing with him. “I do have one problem with it,” I admit.

He raises his brows in curiosity.

“The smell,” I say. “It’s disgusting. Worse than cigarettes. I’m going to have to bathe in bleach.”

He smiles and kisses me deeply. I love that. Drawing a man in with my opinions and words. It feels headier than enticing him with my body—though I enjoy that too.

When we part, I say, “Someone would make a lot of money if they invented odorless weed. Oh! Or perfumed marijuana!” I giggle. Giggle. That high-frequency girly noise is so unfamiliar. This hotbox is definitely working.

He kisses me again, silencing my laughter and filling my lungs with smoke and delight.

We stay under the blanket for a while. When I try touching my face, my hands move in slow motion, and my leg seems to take forever to shift, too sluggish to really go anywhere. So I stay positioned on Connor’s lap. But when I turn my head, it speeds faster than the rest of me, like it’s not attached to my body. It’s a weird combination that has me in a fit for two minutes. Was it two minutes?

Connor watches me, drinking water, and when he tries to pass the bottle in my direction, I reach out and hit his elbow. I laugh again.

“Here,” he says. He puts the rim to my lips and tilts the bottle up, helping me drink. The water feels good against my sandpapered throat. After wiping my lips, I become suddenly entranced by the buttons on his shirt. My fingers play with them. Wow. The buttons fit perfectly into that little hole. Such simple mathematics, and yet someone, somewhere discovered it first.

Connor says very little. I like the silence. It makes all the feelings stronger. Like how he brushes his fingers through my hair. Each part of me becomes more sensitive than the next.

“I’m hungry,” I suddenly say.

“I know the solution.” He scoops me up quickly, tossing the blanket aside. My heart races faster than before. He nuzzles his nose into my neck. “Time to feed you.”

I laugh, his skin tickling mine as we exit the room. I don’t care that we’re venturing into the camera-filled house. It’s not like we’re smoking on camera. No one has proof of anything.

And plus, it’s past Savannah, Brett, and Ben’s hours. They’re probably fast asleep in their own homes, leaving the cameras on the walls and in the rafters to film us.

Connor descends the stairs with me in his arms. Once we reach the main level, he sets my feet on the ground. The living room is right there. But Lily and Lo have their backs to us on the couch, staring at the television above the fireplace mantel. They stayed barricaded in their room for a full week before Scott apologized. Which Lo said was “half-assed and insincere,” but it was enough for them to finally venture downstairs.

I open my mouth to speak.

“Shh,” Connor whispers softly, pressing his fingers to my lips. We both smile. Why is that so funny?

We stay hidden by…nothing really. They can see us in the open space if they just turn around, but they’re both absorbed by the movie.

“Why are we watching this?” Loren asks.

“Because you need to know why I think you’re Peter Pan incarnate,” Lily replies.

I’m about to laugh again. I really don’t know why, but Connor covers my mouth with his hand to suppress my noises. How is he keeping me standing with just one arm?

He’s strong, Rose, don’t be stupid. Oh my God. Does weed make you stupid?

“And if I’m Peter Pan, who would you be? Wendy?”

“No,” Lily says. “Wendy chooses mortality over the boy she loves. I would be…” There’s a long pause, and I run my tongue against Connor’s palm.

He presses his lips together, trying so hard not to laugh.

“Tinkerbell,” Lily concludes. “She never leaves Pan. She loves him more than anything.”

“So you’re like my little fairy?” Lo asks, but I sense the adoration behind his words.

And yet, as cute as it is, Connor and I can’t keep our laughter in. It bursts forth and crushes our secrecy.

Their heads spin over their shoulders, catching us beside the staircase with crinkled brows.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Lo asks with the tilt of his head, scrutinizing our positions and faces and—what else is there to look at?

“My feet,” I say.

Connor has to bury his mouth into my neck to smother his next bout of laughter. Mine comes out full-force, no stopping that.

“What?” Lily squints at us in confusion.

Connor hunches over to rest his chin on my shoulder before he says, “We’re eating.”

Lily gasps. “Are you stoned?” She’s up off the couch before I can throw out an excuse. She’s not even ten feet near us and she stumbles back and pinches her nose. “Ugh.” She gags. “I hate that smell.”

Loren wears a supreme grin. “You two…” He shakes his head as he sidles next to his girlfriend. “Who would have thought the most responsible people in this house are the ones who get baked? Congratulations, you officially fit in our group.”

“Our friendship circle,” Connor clarifies.

I erupt into another fit of laughter. Connor picks me up in his arms again, carrying me towards the kitchen and setting me right on the counter.

“Can we stay and watch?” Lily asks excitedly.

“We’ll be seeing this on the next episode,” Loren reminds her.

“I want the unedited version though.”

Connor touches my leg. “You okay?” he asks, concerned even when he’s stoned.

“I’m not paranoid. Maybe it’s good weed.” But as long as I have Connor, I know I could ride out a bad trip.

What a weird version of love.

And it’s all mine.

The living room has been cleared out. Soft padded mats line the floor. Daisy is already jumping up and down, preparing for the self-defense lessons that Ryke, Loren, and I have promised the girls. I offered to hire a real instructor, but Ryke told me he was practically licensed.

I reminded him that being able to beat someone up doesn’t make him a good teacher. And then he said, “Stop fucking annoying me and go light a joint.”

I’ve been insulted far better.

Scott Van Wright aired the small segment of Rose and I giggling stupidly and devouring the leftover tacos. Since there wasn’t actual footage of us smoking, the backlash from the episode was minimal. There’ve been too many reality stars lying in their own vomit to be shocked by two young adults in unintelligible fits of laughter.

The only downside, I looked stupid for the first time in my life.

And I don’t care. It took twenty-four years to obtain this type of apathy. In college, if someone saw me as less than smart, at the bottom of the class, it felt life-ending. If they thought I was a prick, fine. If they thought I was a social climber, fine. Weird, whatever.

Stupid was the word that sliced me cold. Failure was the act that would leave me dead.

In one day, I had failed Wharton. Failed my “supposed” dream. And then I did something that made me into a stupider version of myself.

And today, I can say “I don’t care” and mean it.

I’m twenty-four-years-old. I always thought I was done growing up. But being with Rose has made me grow into the version of myself that I love the most.

 My fears are no longer so selfish and so pretentiously vain.

Rose tells me, “If I’m being attacked, I’m taking out my pepper spray and Taser. I won’t use my fists first. That’s a last resort.”

“What if you don’t have time for all of that?” I ask her. I can’t help but smile every time I eye her clothes. No tennis shoes. No yoga pants or T-shirt. She chose wedges, leather shorts and a white cotton top, tucked in like she’s about to attend a lunch meeting. Loren told her to go change, and she looked like she wanted to rip off his face.

I know better.

“Not all paparazzi are despicable,” she says. “I’m sure someone would have a moral bone and help me against angry hecklers.”

“What if the paparazzi aren’t around?”

She holds up her finger. “One time,” she tells me. “Only one time in the past four months have I been alone in public. And that was when Lily drove down five wrong streets in a row.”

“Hey!” Lily speaks up. She’s on the ground in proper workout clothes like Daisy. Only she wears her furry white cap that’s more suited for the snow than warm, mid-May weather. It has tusks and apparently it’s something called a Wampa from Star Wars. The only reason I can see her wearing it is Loren. Every time he glances her way, his breathing deepens and his amber eyes glaze in desire, looking ready to mount her.

Lily stands to her feet, abandoning whatever move Loren was trying to show her. “I only drove down the wrong streets because the GPS was in French.”

Rose gives her a look. “You were the one who put it in French.”

“Only because I’m trying to learn the language,” Lily explains, “so that I can know what the hell you two talk about behind our backs.”

Last episode was the first time they aired us speaking French to each other. Production included subtitles.

Our conversation revolved around Lily and went something like this on TV.

ROSE: She’s losing weight. I can see her ribs.

ME: That’s a shadow.

ROSE: It’s not a shadow. It’s her skeleton.

ME: I have a physics book upstairs. I’m sure it talks about light and shadows. Do you want it?