First Kiss (Jacqueline at 10)

It wasn’t as if she tried to get in trouble. But misfortunes seemed to find her like a worm to a bad apple and, well. . . she was a Wright wasn’t she? And being a Wright meant something. Like sticking up for herself. Like squirming out of the kind of trouble she knew mom and dad might not exactly want to know about. Like investigating when there was no one else to investigate; being curious because that’s what her favorite action hero, Batgirl, would do. That’s why she did it. That’s why on that rainy, June day of her tenth year, Jacqueline Louise Wright found the courage to be curious. To be brave.

And stepped into it. But good.

It all began with The Kiss.

She hadn’t meant to look. Hadn’t meant to even be there. But Holy Jeepers Batman, she’d heard the painful sounds and thought someone was in deep trouble. Like Mr. Freeze and Joker with a choke hold kind of trouble. So she’d crept up to the bushes all stealth like. What would Batgirl do? she wondered as she crawled on elbows and knees through the rain wet grass. Investigate, that’s what. She’d slung on her bat cape and then wished she hadn’t. It kept getting caught under her elbows and knees. This would never do.

She bunched the cape carefully and shoved the wet, trailing entrails into the back seat of her shorts. There was now a bulge the size of Iowa on her backside but superheroes never complained. On with the mission.

Thunder rumbled in the far distant horizon. It was kind of creepy but pretty cool too in a creepy-cool kind of way. In the house, she could hear Will crying. What a baby. He always cried when there was thunder. She’d tried to teach him to be gutsy, like Batman. She’d even put her bat cape on him and told him he could be Batman. He hadn’t liked that. He wanted to be Robin.

She needed a Batman.

And so the fight had ensued.

Out went Jacquie into the yard the minute Mom heard them.

“Pick up the sticks the storm knocked down and leave your brother alone,” Mom said. “You know he doesn’t like storms. Honest to God, Jacqueline Louise!”

So okay, picking up sticks wasn’t so bad. If she hurried, she could catch the last few minutes of daytime cartoons on channel 32. She’d been doing a good pace, the yard practically cleaned up, when she heard the sounds.

She dropped the armful of sticks she’d been carrying. Where was the bat signal? Someone needed help.

Down to her knees, the bat cape dragging behind her. Crawl, crawl, crawl. She snagged a heavy branch on her way to the bushes. What she found made her drop the stick in shock.

There, lying in the grass as if it were a bed of goose feathers was her brother Eddie and -- A Girl. Their faces were smashed together. Their lips were locked and jiggling like jello.

Jacquie was so astounded she fell over the bushes on top of them trying to get a better look. The Girl screamed. Eddie jackknifed up and hit The Girl’s nose with the top of his head.

The Girl screamed again. Blood spurted from her nose onto the bat cape.

“Goddammit Jacquie – “ Eddie began, furious.

But she barely heard him. She was flailing, trying to get up. The back of her hand smacked The Girl hard across the face. A third scream.

“My eye!” The Girl moaned.

“Eddie, I was trying to save you,” Jacquie said, scrambling.

“Jacquie, I swear to God,” Eddie was helping The Girl, wiping grass off her shirt, trying to pry her hands from her injured eye, tilting her head back to squelch the nosebleed. “You’re a walking, talking disaster. Did you hear me call for help? Did I sound the least bit like I needed help?”

Jacquie pulled a twig from her hair. “What were you doing if you didn’t need help?”

“Kissing, Jacquie. We were only kissing. Come on,” he said to the girl, tugging her hand. “Let’s get inside and find you an ice pack.”

Jacquie watched them disappear into the house. So much for gratitude. Kissing didn’t look like much fun anyway. It looked, well. . . slimy.

She bent and got back to the task of picking up sticks. She was halfway up the side of the house, her arms full of broken twigs, when she saw Danny McDonnell sauntering past, tossing a baseball up and catching it in his mitt. He wore his grass-stained, Red Sox Little League Jersey and a cap cocked to the side of his head. He paused when he saw her.

“Hey Jacquie,” he called out.

Jacquie greeted him, chewed on her bottom lip, then called him over.

“What’s up?” he said.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

He eyed her. “Depends.”

Batgirl was never a coward. Jacquie took a deep breath. “Will you kiss me?”

Danny turned red. “Why?”

“Because.”

He hesitated. Jacquie felt the blanket of courage begin to seep away. She gave him an out. “If you don’t want to, fine.”

“Who said I didn’t want to?”

“Forget it.”

“I’ll do it,” he said quickly.

“Because I asked?” she was belligerent, suddenly angry.

“Because I want to.”

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” She clutched the pile of twigs to her chest. The cape around her neck felt like fingers choking her.

They stood there for an awkward moment, then Danny leaned forward. Their lips touched. His was warm, dry. Not at all slimy. When it was over, Danny’s freckles stood like stars against his reddened face.

“Thanks,” she said, feeling as if there was something she was missing. Something more than Batman and Robin. Something more than thunder rumbling in the distance and the smell of broken, damp tree limbs in her arms.

“Welcome.” He ducked his head, gripped his mitt and ball, and turned away.

She watched him amble down the sidewalk, watched the way his skinny body slanted slightly to the left as he tossed the ball upward and caught it, a glint of sun pressing like lips to the cocked bill of his cap.

(Written by Jasmin Randick)