by Rachel Cohn
Very wanted to be nice, she really did. She did not want to be a reckless girl who toyed with others’ feelings. She knew the intimacy had been meaningful to Bryan, and not just as sex. Idiot-girl, she smacked herself. It was his first time, so now her careless acquiescence would be imprinted into his erotic memory for the rest of his life.
Very knew he desired more from her than physical intimacy. He wanted a real relationship. Gross.
“So are we, like, together now?” Bryan said after.
She’d said yes, already knowing she’d give him a mere twenty-four-hour grace period before she dumped him. Very was nice enough to know that she didn’t want her dear friend to remember his first time ending with some bitch shoving him out of bed and telling him she preferred him as a cuddle buddy rather than a lover. This way, he could retain the afterglow, with hopes of more to come, for at least a day.
She’d done Bryan a favor, really.
So why did he continue to scowl at her?
CHAPTER 7
Meanwhile, Back at Campfire Sucks-to-Be-Here
Bryan’s scowl threatened to burn a hole through Very’s very guilty soul.
She had to redirect that scowl he burned her way over the backyard fire into a lustful gaze in favor of Lavinia, who was in the house, happily knitting away with Aunt Esther. Lavinia and Aunt E. had discovered they didn’t both just love knitting, they also shared a delight in passing the needle time watching old episodes of The Golden Girls. A match made in heaven, except Very needed to redirect that match, also, by prying the knitting biddies apart and getting Bryan and Lavinia together. Turn that “meh” into “heh-heh!”
Commonsense Lavinia had already figured out the pairing with Bryan would never work; not-so-commonsense Very thought the experiment should be pursued anyway (if only to find out whom Lavinia really could like). Very loved no challenge more than an impossible one, like fitting a square into a circle.
There was no way out except through. Through some quagmire of illicit sexual shenanigans, Very speculated.
“You know what would be hot?” Very said to Bryan and Jean-Wayne, who were seated side by side on a log at their dying campfire.
Jean-Wayne, content and stoned, said, “If you got me a sleeping bag and a pillow and peed for me so I could just fall asleep right here and not have to break my nice buzz by moving at all? That would be hot.”
Bryan, who hadn’t drunk as much of the stale Manischewitz wine as Jean-Wayne and Very, and who’d barely shared in their post-Passover-meal campfire joint, was not in the mood for games. He said, “Very, we still haven’t resolved what we’re going to do about our problem.”
This was why she could never fall for Bryan. She’d been about to propose a threesome—her, Bryan, and Lavinia—from which Very would tactfully sneak out at the right moment so Bryan and Lavinia could join bodies and souls and thereby relieve Very of her guilty conscience. (Jean-Wayne would have to be excused from the naughtiness on account of being so baked he’d likely fall asleep right when it got good.) Bryan had no sensual imagination. He couldn’t fathom that she was about to propose making every straight boy’s fantasy come true. Very snapped, “Don’t worry about it. It’s my problem, not yours. The Grid can stay up, and I’ll turn myself in. Absolve you all of responsibility. That’s what you want to hear, right?”
“It’s what I want to hear,” Bryan said. “But not necessarily something I actually believe you’ll do.”
“I will. Don’t worry. When we get back. I’ve been summoned for a meeting with the dean anyway. I’ll take care of it then.”
“You promise?”
“Swear.”
Bryan’s scowl downshifted a few notches. He also had a scholarship to protect. And he actually cared about school. Yes, Very would do him this favor; it was only fair. She’d explain everything to the dean, be appropriately contrite, make sure the other administrators of The Grid were not held accountable, and they could all move on. No prob.
“So what would be hot, then?” Bryan asked.
As with anyone with whom intimacy has been shared, it was impossible not to look at Bryan and think: We did it. You have been inside me. Very knew he thought the same. The thought hovered over all their interactions now, and it was a shame, because she missed the Bryan she’d known before. The Bryan who let her cornrow (badly) his mass of electric hair; the Bryan who programmed and laughed with her through so many late nights in the Jay study lounge; the Bryan who grabbed her hand so she could hold steady on a crowded subway train; the Bryan who tried to teach her cleansing breaths; the Bryan who always let her use the oregano shaker first when they went out for a midnight slice. And, of course, she missed the cuddling most. How he held her with no expectation of more, how he just let Very be. She’d felt safe and happy in his arms, like it was okay if a stray tear slipped down her cheek when she missed her mom, it was okay if maybe she had a reputation as a slut, because Bryan understood the good heart underneath. (Her slut reputation notwithstanding, the truth was she’d only ever been with, really been with, four men. Or boys—whatever you wanted to call them. And one and a half girls, if you wanted to be technical, and if it counted when hands between legs caused one party to reach orgasm but not the other.)
“I think it would be hot if you two kissed,” Very said, pointing at Jean-Wayne and Bryan. She was no longer willing to offer up girl-on-girl, even if she already knew from experience that Lavinia’s response to that proposition would have been If I was going to go that route, it wouldn’t be with you, fickle wench.
“Do you ever think about anything even reasonably worthwhile?” Bryan asked Very. “I mean, if you’re not on your laptop or your iPhone or playing a video game, you’re flirting with anyone who comes your way. Are you really that shallow? Do important issues even concern you?”
“I probably am that shallow,” Very said quietly.
But was she?
Very considered What She Wanted from Life, Circa Now, as Determinant of Potential Shallowness. She wanted:
For El Virus to reappear, but live and in the flesh this time, and to make all her Double V fantasies come true; a life of great companionship and sensuality and kinky role-playing, all settled for her without her having to go on any further quest to seek this life for herself. If he was independently wealthy, that would be a nice bonus, as Very was getting weary of a life skating by. If he wanted her to be his “con girl” and go to sci-fi and comics conventions with him, she’d be up for that, and she’d wear costumes, too. A beautiful partnership.
For Aunt Esther to die a peaceful death, not, like, right now—she should have a few good years left, but Very knew it was in the cards; Aunt Esther frequently proclaimed she was eager to move on and up, to return to her husband and son, and to her own parents. But Very had gotten used to her, and she didn’t want her aunt to go quite yet. Cat’s death had been sudden, and tawdry. No one deserved to go like that, especially a benefactress lady who made bitchin’ sweaters and matzo-ball soup, and who’d taken in a traumatized orphan once upon a time. Aunt Esther should live at least long enough to see Very graduate from Columbia, maybe longer if her sweaters turned out to be big sellers. It had been Cat’s dream for her daughter to get into and graduate from an Ivy League school. At least Very’s aunt should see that happen. Mostly, though, Very would like for her one known relative to experience a way out that was peaceful, with the satisfaction of having lived a full and loving life. See? Very had potential for depth. She did.
For premium cable or satellite TV she didn’t have to pay for to be hers, streaming through her iPhone (she’d also like not to pay for that). Also, a lifetime of free downloadable songs with online connections that never hung during download thus causing the need to reboot and other malfunctions. Key.
For Lavinia to switch presumed majors from English Lit to Premed. Lavinia was so smart and science-y, compassionate and caring, it would be a shame to waste that talent on finding meaning in boring novels that had no meaning anyway. Also, if
Lavinia became a doctor, Very wouldn’t have to worry about paying for health insurance. Lavinia would be a truly selfless and noble physician, totally Doctors Without Borders–ish, relieving Very of the need to worry about the problems of the world, because why should she if her closest confidante and much more competent friend was already on the case? Very could stick with setting random Google News Alerts to learn about the great issues of the world while Lavinia went out and tackled them in 3-D. Awesome.
For mobile devices like phones and laptops to dispense chocolate and condoms. Not dispense them together, obviously—though chocolate-dipped condoms presented some enticing possibilities—but no, Very wanted her machines to provide not only for her instant information gratification but also for her physical satisfaction.
Yes, she really was that shallow.
Bryan knew her too well.
Perhaps it was the mental haze from the joint, but suddenly Very figured it out: Aw, hell. It’s Bryan who’s Pandora’s box. Somehow, in allowing herself to be intimate with a friend as opposed to a casual acquaintance, she’d caused something in her body chemistry to trip out of whack. Because this one had repercussions. This mistake she got reminded of every time she logged in to The Grid.
El Virus going missing had only added to the reminder. What if El Virus was dead? What if—cue horror-movie background sounds—he had another online girl on the side? Or boy? Or what if—cue sad song of desperate woe—he had a Real Person in Real Time in the Real World?
This Pandora’s-box schiz had to be temporary, right? Whatever dysfunctional imbalance it was causing Very, she knew she had to figure it out on her own and take care of it on her own. She couldn’t count on anyone to help her through. Could she?
There had to be an iPhone application to address this problem. If there wasn’t, Very could make her fortune creating it. An application into which a user could stuff those what-the-fuck indefinable feelings of dread deep inside their own personal iBox of demons, and the goal of the game would be to teach the user how to keep that box shut tight instead of allowing it to open and let the demons run rampant.
Very couldn’t deal with the sight of the Bryan demon any longer. She sought out Lavinia instead.
Very left Jean-Wayne and Bryan sitting on the log, not K-I-S-S-I-N-G, and found Lavinia in Aunt Esther’s TV room, perched on a rocking chair. Aunt Esther sat on a sofa nearby, slumped asleep, knitting needles still in hand.
Very told Lavinia, “I tried to propose an orgy but the boys weren’t interested.”
“I miss everything,” Lavinia pouted, holding up her night’s work for Very’s inspection. “But look! I finished a scarf!”
Very couldn’t help but admire Lavinia. Not only did Lavinia take on tasks—like schoolwork, and exercise, and knitting—but she completed them. Very could never finish anything she started. Too many distractions. She couldn’t get through a university lecture without IM-ing half the room to beg them to send her their notes so she could sneak out early and play Guitar Hero. She couldn’t jog a Wii block without having to return to her laptop to reprogram her workout playlist. And knitting? WTF? Fingers were meant to tap tunes and keystrokes and joysticks, not tap knitting needles to make things that were actually useful, like sweaters and scarves and blankets. At least, useful in colder climates.
“Why do we like Bryan?” Very asked Lavinia, sitting down on the floor at her feet.
Lavinia said, “Basic stuff, I guess. He’s good people. He’s cute, but in that geeky, not-obvious way. He has no idea he’s cute—bonus points. He’s smart. He’s kind.”
“Not lately.”
“Would you be kind to you if you were him right now?”
“I would, actually.”
“That’s true, you probably would. Maybe that’s part of the problem. You’re so busy being free-spirited with everybody that you don’t see yourself hurting one special person who really wants to be close to you.”
Lavinia was right, as always. Why had Very been so mean to Bryan? Very cared about him. She shouldn’t have hurt someone who cared about her. She needed to make it up to Bryan. She needed to give him a consolation prize. She owed him that much.
“Bryan is birkensex, you know,” Very informed Lavinia.
“He’s what?”
“Earnest sex with granola people. You know.”
“I don’t know.” The most lovable part of Lavinia? She was a virgin. Not a “Jesus wants me to save myself for marriage” and all that bullshit kind of abstainer. Lavinia was just quietly, and firmly, resolute not to do the deed unless she genuinely cared for the person and the feeling was mutual. Lavinia didn’t seem to feel that horny rush to do it that so many college coeds whom Very had encountered so far seemed to have, herself included. It was called self-respect, or something. Bizarre.
“Have you ever tried a vibrator?” Very asked Lavinia.
Lavinia put down her needles. “I may be a Unitarian, but I really feel like that’s not an appropriate question to ask me. Crossing a line.”
“Why?”
“It’s just none of your business.”
“That means you have.”
“I haven’t. The thought never even occurred to me until you just suggested it. Satisfied?”
“Consider yourself suggested. You should try it sometime. It’s a bit satisfying. Until the right person for you comes along.” Very didn’t add: The technology is satisfying only technically, for the briefest moment. Then it just feels sort of sad and lonely.
Very didn’t know this piece of useful health information from her own experience. But she had read enough customers’ reviews of vibrator products on drugstore.com (as instructed by the Go Ask Alice! health people online) to feel educated on the topic.
“Very? Seriously? I don’t know anyone who knows so much about this stuff by your age. You just turned nineteen, for goodness’ sake. How old were you when you first had sex, anyway?”
Just in case Aunt Esther was a teensy bit awake, Very whispered: “Thirteen.” The answer was a lie. Very had been a month shy of her thirteenth birthday.
“That’s terrible,” Lavinia said, looking at Very pityingly. Lavinia placed her knitting on the floor and stood up. “I need to go to sleep. I suggest you do the same before you stir up more trouble.” She wagged her finger at Very, teasing. “No orgies out there tonight, okay, young lady?”
“All right,” Very groaned.
Lavinia stepped over to Aunt Esther to lay her down properly from her hunched position. Aunt Esther barely stirred as Lavinia guided her legs onto the sofa and moved her head onto a pillow, then took the afghan hanging on the back of the sofa and placed it over her.
Lavinia placed a kiss on top of Very’s head. “Good night,” she said, then headed upstairs to bed.
Very was not tired. The night was still so young.
How could she pass this time trapped in New Haven without imploding? She was too buzzed from the meal and the weed to study. She could go onto The Grid and see what everyone back at school was up to. But no, she wasn’t finished with the Grid people here in New Haven yet. She should return outside, where she and Bryan had unfinished business that Very knew exactly how to handle.
Very walked into the kitchen en route to doing exactly that, but the dishwasher seemed to call to her: Unload me, Very! You know that would be the smarter option. Wow, now even the dishwasher was talking to her. She’d thought her psychic intuition with appliances only happened with machines that could go online.
But if she unloaded the dishwasher, Aunt Esther would only complain in the morning that she’d put everything back in the wrong place. She thought to alphabetize Aunt Esther’s cookbooks instead, but that would only fill Very with disdain for that old-fashioned way of cooking, when there were perfectly fine recipes to Google and cooking demonstrations to YouTube.
Very returned to the TV room and plopped herself onto the armchair. She could watch TV. Yes, that was the safest option. But before Very could tap into the remote, her iP
hone vibrated. Please, Very willed the phone, let it be El Virus, at last!
But no … it was Amanda Yamaguchi, who wanted to know if there was going to be another party this weekend.
Party on her iPhone, of course. That’s how Very could pass the time tonight.
Very played with the vibrate feature, setting it on and off to make it buzz on her hand, on her stomach, on her thigh, and, oh my, she was turned on for real now. If she’d developed that Pandora’s-box app for her iPhone by now, for sure the demons in it would be telling her, Very, Very, don’t be contrary. Close the box on Bryan already. We know you know how. Go on out there, girl.
They were tricky, those demons. Could they be trusted?
Of course they could be trusted. She’d created them. She owned them. They wouldn’t lead her astray.
Very still had to give Bryan his consolation prize. Because wasn’t the flu staved off by a vaccine of … more flu? That’s what Very had to do. Inoculate Bryan against Very by giving him a last dose of Very. That’s what the demons in the box meant she should do. That’s how she could shut the box finally.
Very returned to the backyard, where Bryan sat alone, finishing off their joint from earlier.
“Where’s Jean-Wayne?” Very asked Bryan. The hardest part about dealing with Bryan since the Spring Break incident was the looks he gave her now, underneath the angry look he put on for pride’s show. Underneath the anger, hurt and longing shone too forcefully through.
Very’s conscience was glad for the dark now that the fire had burned out. Darkness didn’t require thinking.
“Jean-Wayne went inside to bed.”
“Well. Good, then.” Very dropped to her knees in front of Bryan. “There’s something I want to give you.”
CHAPTER 8
The Long and Winding Road
