A Kiss for Emily (Emily Stokes Series) Read online

  A Kiss for Emily

  a novel by

  J. P. Galuska

  Book One of the Emily Stokes Series

  A KISS FOR EMILY

  Copyright © 2011 by Jennifer Galuska

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

  Cover art by Jennifer Finerty

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

  For my children, who inspire me to write wonderful works of art.

  Acknowledgements

  With God, all things are possible.

  Thanks to my sister Julie, who told me it was great right from the first draft. Thanks to Scott L., who then bought me my first books on writing.

  Thanks to my niece, Janelle, for turning me onto Muse.

  Thank you Muse, for helping me to feel…more.

  My deep gratitude goes out to my writers group – Ann Noser, Mike Kalmbach, and Christa Worrell. Good luck with your own stories.

  I love you Ashley, Cortiney and Lindsey.

  Thanks to Joan Sween, the Minnesota Writer’s Alliance, Connie L., and the members of the Rochester MN Writers Group of 2009.

  A big shout-out to my YA test-readers: Kelly Ziemer, Brianna Allen, Cindy Turner, Ashley McGowean, and Alexa Sundeen.

  Thank you to the rest of my supporting family and friends. You mean the world to me.

  A KISS FOR EMILY

  PROLOGUE

  I ALREADY KNEW I was going to miss his kiss more than I’d miss my friends, and we hadn’t even kissed yet.

  Chapter One

  THE END

  STARING OUT MY BEDROOM WINDOW with my forehead pressed against the windowpane, the hot air from my breath fogged the glass in a tiny circle with each jagged exhale.

  This had become the worst day of my life.

  Late in the evening, the temperature of the window against my skin felt more like autumn than spring. Outside, the sky had lost its color. An unanswered question continued to threaten the core of my stability I’d come to trust: How could he do this to me?

  Within the giant “how” tumbled two more thoughts, each specific to “now what?” I had pretty much narrowed my choices down to two options: drown in my pit of misery, or rise above myself and embrace the move. Either way I’d have to say good-bye to everything I’d ever loved.

  Bits and pieces of previous conversations tumbled inside my brain. Dad, Mom, my sister Kat, and I all agreed that a new house would be good for us. A bigger house, better suited to our needs--toy storage for Kat, a place for me to practice my guitar, and whatever it was that parents thought necessary. We agreed as a family.

  Somehow, I’d been deceived.

  For the past twenty-odd years, Dad has been the owner of a gun shop located on the edge of Topeka. Once rural, the area was now prime for development. On more than one occasion, I had overheard his worries concerning possible new homeowners objecting to his outdoor shooting range. Once, I even saw him wink at Mom when he told her that he was all right with her wearing a tight skirt to the judge’s chambers in order to keep his zoning license and permits.

  I hated him, but not because of his business or crude sense of humor. I hated him because he didn’t even have the decency to apologize for ruining my life.

  Just a few hours ago, Dad came speeding home from work happier than usual, calling for Mom, even before getting the white diesel truck into park. Kat and I were outside playing basketball.

  “Hey, kids!” Dad shouted. His boyish grin still outshined the gray at his temples. I inwardly laughed as I watched him skip into the garage where Mom was, preparing flower pots.

  “Izzy! Izzy!” I heard him call. “I bought a house!”

  The basketball bounced off my head. At the very moment I opened my mouth to laugh because I had not been hurt, my ears began to burn at the horrific words my mother spoke: “We can make the commute, but this means new schools for the children...”

  Like a shock wave from a huge explosion, the news hit me full force, almost knocking me to the ground; my perfect world had just ended prematurely. Kat looked up at me, her words echoed in my head, “Are you okay?”

  No, I was not okay. My father, the hero that I trusted without waver, had just stabbed me in the back.

  Mom grumbled something and headed in the house, wiping her dirty hands on her apron as she walked. Dad trailed off after her. Filled with disbelief, I felt compelled to follow. I had to see the man who had just demolished my life.

  They made it as far as the entry way; he was standing there, excitement radiating from his smile. “It’s so beau-ti-ful out there,” Dad said without hearing what Mom was implying. “We’ll have eleven acres.”

  She didn’t take the bait. “Emily is a junior this year.”

  “Kathryn will love it. She’ll have room to run around and play. It’s just what every seven-year-old needs.”

  Mom didn’t return the smile. “You had no right to do this, John! Your midlife crisis should be about buying a little red sports car, not a—”

  “I don’t like sports cars,” Dad retorted, rather meekly.

  Mom stomped off. The next thing I heard was a slamming door. Probably the bedroom door; the one place a woman could go to hide, no matter her age. I slammed my own next.

  Still in my bedroom, frozen in a catatonic stupor, I sensed a presence behind me. Turning awkwardly, I kept my head pressed against the glass. Pain radiated from my mother’s eyes despite her otherwise neutral expression. By now she had changed out of her work clothes and into a pair of lounging pajamas, her straight deep auburn hair still pulled back in a clasp.

  “Although you may feel like it, Emily, it’s not the end of the world.” Mom took my hand and led me away from the window. “And you have Bunny. I know she’ll help.”

  Bunny was like a Band-Aid for my heart. The white stuffed rabbit dangled beside me as I held it by its ears. Yes, I was too old for a stuffed animal, but I didn’t care. It didn’t seem right to cast her away. After all, I’d had her for as long as I could remember, and she was a wonderful friend, never complaining about her missing black button eye or her fluffy cotton-tail worn smooth. Plopping down on the edge of my bed, Bunny sprawled out next to me.

  “You just don’t get it, Mom.”

  Her eyes asked her question.

  “Alex asked me to be his partner for the English project today.”

  “You and Alex have been friends for a long time…”

  Yes, that much was true. Pictures of the two of us were scattered about my room. “But it was different today.” Pain swelled in my heart. “I could just feel it.”

  “You’re hoping he’ll ask you to prom?” she asked.

  “It’s not just about prom. It’s bigger than that.” I knew I was getting ahead of myself, but I’d been dreaming about this fairytale with a happy ending for a while now. I’d been dreaming about… a kiss.

  “I wish I could say I understand, but when I switched high schools, well, that was a long time ago.”

  “Did you ever get over it?” I looked at Mom, hoping to hear something good.

  She hesitated and finally exhaled loudly through her nose. “Derek Houser was the boy I left behind. I don’t think anyone ever completely gets over their first love. Still, if you focus on the good in your life, it will help you get through the rough stuff. Besides, the new house is just a few miles past Silver Lake. Maybe it won’t be so bad.” Leaning over, she pressed her lips against the top of my head. “I love you, and I’m always here for you.” Then she added a smile. “Now get some slee
p and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Mom turned and left me alone in silence. The forced smile on my lips began to quiver as my brave façade started to crumble. I needed a new hero.

  Mom had a hero. It was Job, a persevering man described in the Old Testament. I considered adopting him as my hero. Then the second passed. Persevering was something I could not fathom at this particular moment. Hope of a quick and painless death was more like it. Imagining a meteorite falling from outer space and making a direct hit while I slept in my bed, felt oddly comforting at this particular moment.

  As I sat in the stillness, my life took on a surreal quality as the realization that my very room, my school, my friends, my fairytale, were all about to evaporate in the aftermath of an atomic explosion. Everything would be gone. The thirty miles to the new house might as well be three hundred. My father had dropped a bomb. And somehow I’d become an unarmed soldier summoned with draft papers to a war I didn’t know existed.

  I looked at my stuffed white rabbit. Her expression told me she understood. I swooped Bunny up in my arms and held her tight. Nuzzling into the soft patch of fur between her long ears, I rubbed my chin across her fuzzy white hair, becoming lost in thought.

  Kat startled me when she came in to say goodnight.

  “You should be in bed,” I said.

  “I was reading a book with Dad,” she replied. “Are you going to bed soon?”

  “Soon.”

  Her small face brightened. “Can I sleep with you?”

  “Not tonight.”

  Her lower lip plumped.

  “Some other time. Now leave me alone.” Watching Kat mope back out into the hall made me feel bad, but there was no way could I deal with life if she were in my room, and that’s assuming I could deal with it at all.

  Emotionally drained, my body tipped over and my head bounced on the pillow. “It’s not the end of the world. I can do this.”

  Then I waited for the statement to take hold.

  Who was I trying to kid? This move is going to kill me. Tears that were strangely cold rolled off my cheeks and soaked my pillow. Traitor.

  Chapter Two

  ALEX

  THE WEEKEND PASSED BY in a slow-motion fog. If someone were to ask me what happened, I wouldn’t be able to give any details except that my father had crossed over into enemy territory and blew up my life. I wasn’t certain about anything anymore, except that I was suffering from shell shock, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or some other form of psychological war trauma.

  Now Monday morning, I’d soon be facing my friends for the first time since hearing the “good news.” I had no idea how to tell them about it and I looked upon this task with the same feeling as walking in front of a firing squad. Standing in front of the mirror, I tried out a few ice breakers:

  “Hey everyone, I’m moving in a month and I’ll probably never see you again.” Too histrionic.

  “I have terrible news….” Too emo.

  “Guess what, I’m moving!” Too animated.

  “My dad has single-handedly ruined my life!” Too dramatic.

  Crap.

  Just as I was about to cave into self-pity, a new idea began to take shape. Maybe I’d just pretend I wasn’t going to move. I loved denial! It made life so much easier to cope with.

  Continuing with my pre-outing prep and blow-drying my hair, thoughts of the school play popped into my head, cutting short my new-found enthusiasm. Opening night for the school play would be here in no time. Rather than being excited, the idea made me feel a little ill. And overwhelmed. Somehow, I’d have to find the energy to keep up the long rehearsal hours and pretend my life wasn’t about to end.

  A new brigade of hot tears rolled down my face, reinforcing the idea that nothing in life was certain. The hollow pit lingering in my stomach swelled against my heart, interfering with the love I felt for the stage. Why did Dad have to ruin my life?

  After dabbing my tears with a tissue in an attempt to save my mascara, I leaned in close to the mirror to check for damage and caught a glimpse of my internal mood-rings which revealed a brownish-hazel color. Depressed: go figure. I doubted my eyes would ever be blue again. Returning to my hair, I brushed it until it shone, but I still didn’t feel pretty. I never felt pretty, even though I was often told I was. Leaning to the side, the long strands fell into open space, exposing the dark brown low-lights Mom added to the under-layer a few weeks back. Mom’s comment to keep track of the good things rang through my head. Shiny hair was a start.

  With my morning routine complete, I headed for the kitchen to grab an apple out of the fruit bowl and considered sneaking off to school without all the normal morning conversation. That was my other favorite coping skill, avoidance.

  “Stop right there, young lady,” Mom called from the dining table where the rest of the family was gathered.

  I let go of the doorknob.

  Mom was big on the family eating together. “Gangs!” she would state. “If you don’t have family, you have gangs.” She got up from her chair and repeatedly pointed to her cheek as she approached me.

  “Sorry, Mom.” I pecked a kiss on her cheek. Mom was known to the public as Elizabeth Stokes, an avid volunteer at the Boys’ and Girls’ Club. She was always in the news. She was less known for her love of Edgar Allen Poe, fascination with criminal psychology, or her paid work as a probation officer in Shawnee County.

  “I get one!” Kat bellowed as she tore around the corner. Her semi-curly brown hair was wild, still not combed.

  Arms out, I leaned down, trying to prepare myself for the assault.

  With a track and field style long jump, Kat launched herself into the air and hooked her arms around my neck, nearly causing permanent damage.

  “You must be practicing,” I groaned, staggering backwards.

  “How could you tell?”

  “I’m psychic. So, I also know you’re going to have a great day at school.” Prying her arms off my neck, she dropped to the floor. “See ya later, Kitty.”

  Grabbing my backpack, I ignored Dad, who was sitting at the table looking my way.

  Walking out to my car, I knew I had to pour the charm on Alex if I was going to get him to ask me to the dance. My stomach tightened as I tried not to think about how thirty miles was long enough to kill friendships, force me into a new school district, and wreak havoc in my life, but short enough for parents to commute to their same jobs every day. Placing all my faith in the English project, I begged God to work a miracle. After cranking the ignition switch, I added a final “please” and began the short drive to school.

  Until a few months ago, I didn’t want a boyfriend. All because of Zachary Melcomb. He had been the boy who’d completely destroyed my childhood fantasies of the romantic first kiss, and any dating that could lead to another kiss. His kiss made me not want to kiss another boy for five years. It wasn’t just nasty, it was naaasty! I still remember his fat slimy tongue jetting into my mouth like some trained walrus searching for a treat, the feeling of extra spit sloshing in my mouth—his tongue whirling wildly beside my tonsils until I gagged! My body still responds with a repulsive shudder just thinking about it.

  But as of late, when I look at Alex Hibbs, I secretly desire a romantic kiss. Not just any old kiss, but one that makes you weak in the knees and defines true love. The all-important, all-encompassing kiss: that’s what I dreamed of. That’s what I wanted.

  Not like there was any pressure or anything.

  I knew if I could make it to English, I’d make it through today. Alex always made me feel better. His hysterical sense of humor made me laugh. And how I loved to imagine running my fingers through his thick, black hair that was always kept at the perfect length of needing a haircut yesterday. He definitely made it a little easier to get up this morning, but a whole lot harder to face the move.

  But I had my plan! A great plan that involved wooing.

  My insides seemed to grow warm just thinking about it. Indeed, I was beginning to bel
ieve I could survive.

  As I pulled into the Topeka West parking lot, I noticed the girls already huddled together. Bailey, Clair, and Rayyan each already had steady boyfriends, and of course, they were going to prom. Making a quick search further down the parking aisles, I felt my cheeks tighten as I spied Alex’s black Jeep. At least I had three good things going for me today. Getting out of my car, I could hear the girls’ conversation. Dress shopping for prom. Tonight.

  “Where do you want to go?” Rayyan scanned our faces.

  “I think we should look at Sylvester’s, the fancy little boutique at Fairlawn Plaza.” Clair’s eyes lit up like fireworks.

  “Isn’t that really expensive?” Rayyan began the procession to the entrance.

  “I’ve always had really good luck at J.C. Penney,” Bailey offered.

  “Really?” Clair looked skeptical.

  “My mom would like it if I could keep the cost down,” Rayyan admitted. Everyone nodded in agreement, even me.

  Rayyan noticed. “Did Alex ask you?” All eyes locked on me.

  “No…” I heaved a sigh. Somehow my diabolical plan suddenly seemed stupid.

  “I’m not surprised. He’s so…” Bailey made a face that included sticking out her tongue.

  “Stop picking on Alex. He’s a nice guy! Besides, you can’t hold him responsible for all the crap that has happened in his family,” I responded hotly.

  “I guess every dysfunctional family has its normal member.” Sarcasm oozed from Bailey’s words.

  “I think you and Alex would make a nice couple,” Clair said. “You should come with me to Sylvester’s after school since it’s so close. You want to impress him, don’t you?”

  “Ah…”

  “But you think Alex will ask,” Rayyan asked, no doubt wanting details.