Boy Swap

by Kristina Springer

  Our team wins 5-4, with one of those points being mine. I’m feeling a bit giddy as I head toward the locker room to change back into my school clothes.

  “Hey, Brooke, wait up,” Missy says.

  I stop and wait for Missy to join me. A few of the other girls see me waiting for her and give me jealous looks. I love it.

  “Hey,” I say as she reaches me and we walk slowly toward the locker room. “Thanks for picking me today. That was fun.”

  “Don’t mention it,” she says with a shrug. “We have to stick together, right?”

  I nod in agreement.

  Missy looks around quickly to make sure no one can hear us and then says in a lowered voice, “So, how are you doing with all of the BSC stuff?”

  “Um…okay. I guess,” I say, happy that finally someone from the club is willing to talk to me about it.

  “I know it is a bit rough when you first join,” she says wisely. “It takes a little getting used to.”

  “How long have you been in it?” I ask.

  “Oh, since freshman year.”

  “Freshman year!? So it has been going on for three years?” I say, doing the math.

  “Four, actually,” she replies. “Cassie and Caitlyn started it when they were freshman. It’s totally huge. But that’s a good thing. Gives us more variety.”

  “Wow. Do you mind if I ask you a question?” I venture, since Missy has been so sweet and open thus far.

  “Sure,” she says, stopping us outside of the locker room so we can talk privately.

  I lean against the concrete wall. “Here’s the thing. How do you deal with other girls dating your boyfriend? When I first signed up I thought oh, it is just some harmless flirting. But, well, it’s kinda sucky to see Chris with another girl.”

  “You mean Cassie?” she says.

  I nod.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get through it. You have to like, think of the long haul. Chris is right now but BSC is for life.”

  My eyes get huge as I picture BSC members still following me fifteen years from now with a husband and a baby and some blond BSC member stopping by the house to flirt with my man while I’m changing a diaper.

  “Relax,” Missy says with a laugh, as if she can read my mind. “I mean high school life. Not forever life.”

  Phew.

  “I hear what you’re saying.” I sigh. “It’s just that Chris is special. I love him.”

  “That’s your first mistake.” Missy looks around to make sure no one is listening. “And don’t let anyone hear you say that. Rule #4 is to never fall in love with any guy in the swap.”

  “But I was already in love with Chris when I joined,” I protest, hoping for some kind of Grandfather Clause.

  Missy shakes her head. “Hmm. That’s a tough one. You’ll have to work it out. Come on, let’s change and get to lunch. Do you want to sit at my table today?”

  Do I? Heck yes!

  Chapter 8: Sex, Sex, Sex

  It’s 7 p.m. and I’m waiting for Chris to pick me up. I hope he hurries since I can only stay out until 10 on school nights. The doorbell rings and Mom gets to the door first.

  “Hi, Chris,” she says, drying her hands on a dish towel. “Are you hungry? Do you want a sandwich or something?” I swear my mom is on a one-woman Feed the World campaign. No one leaves the Thomas’ house without a sandwich in hand.

  “Not today, Mrs. Thomas. But thanks,” Chris says. My mom totally eats it up. She thinks Chris is so perfect. “Ready?” he says to me.

  I nod and we walk out to his car. “So what do you want to do tonight?”

  “How about we go hang out at my house?” he asks.

  Which can only mean one thing—his parents aren’t home.

  “Oh,” I say, stalling, trying to come up with a better plan. “Um…are you sure you don’t want that sandwich? I can still run in and get it. I think my mom just bought lunch meat today.” That was totally lame. But I didn’t have time to think of something better.

  Chris looks at me curiously. “No sandwiches. I promise I’ll buy you one later if you really want one,” he teases. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Shoot. It’s not that I don’t value the alone time with Chris, because I really do. I’m just not in the mood for another “Why can’t we have sex?” fight.

  We get to Chris’s house and he leads me straight to the couch in his basement. The basement is a sort of one-room apartment for Chris. His bed is in here, a desk, a dresser, a ping-pong table, a couch, a TV, a book shelf, and a mini-fridge. He flips on the TV and grabs a DVD off the shelf. He doesn’t even look at the cover but I can see he’s holding You’ve Got Mail—one of my favorites. He pops it in and heads back to the couch.

  The movie starts and I say, “Oooh, I love You’ve Got Mail,” hoping to slow him down just a bit.

  “Really?” he says, sounding a bit surprised as he puts an arm around me and leans in to kiss me. We kiss for a moment and then I pull back.

  “What? Don’t you like it? It’s in your collection.”

  “Oh. It’s my mom’s I think. Or my sister’s. I just grabbed the first thing.” He leans back in and starts kissing my neck and unfastening my bra at the same time. Why is it that he can unfasten my bra so much faster than I can? We start making out and I get caught up in it for a while. Chris is an excellent kisser. Soon my heart is beating and the heat is making it hard to breathe in. When I feel the top button of my jeans open, I push him off of me.

  “Chris, wait,” I say.

  “What?” he mumbles and tries to kiss my neck again.

  “I’m serious. Hold on,” I say louder.

  “Jesus, Brooke!” he says. “What the hell is your problem?” His face is flushed and his eyes are way angry.

  I don’t say anything. I can’t believe he just swore at me.

  “You know what the problem is,” I finally say in a low voice, trying to put my bra back on.

  “I don’t get your deal,” he says, obviously pissed.

  And I’m starting to get pissed too. “Well, I don’t get your deal.”

  “Why are you being so cold lately?” he says in an accusatory voice.

  “Me? I’m not being cold. I told you over and over that I’m not ready to have sex with you yet. Why do you keep pushing so hard?”

  “What’s the big freaking deal? I mean seriously. I thought you loved me.”

  “I’m sorry, when did this turn from a date to a Lifetime movie? Next are you going to say, ‘If I loved you I’d have sex with you?’”

  “Yeah. Real funny, Brooke.” He stands and stomps up the stairs.

  What was that? Is he leaving me down here? Where did he go? A moment later I hear the shower turn on upstairs. Okay, that was totally rude. The more Chris acts like this crazed sexaholic, the less I want to have sex with him. I’m really, really mad right now. And hurt. He never used to act like this before. Sure, he would occasionally try to get me to have sex but he was always understanding when I said not yet. He only turned into a jerk…when? Hmm. Since about the time I joined Boy Swap.

  Since Cassie.

  Could Chris actually be hooking up with Cassie behind my back? Or be on the verge of it?

  I glance up the stairs and still hear the shower running. Chris should be up there for a few more minutes. I slowly walk by his computer screen, hoping he left his e-mail open so I could snoop. Just a tiny bit—enough to see if Cassie has been contacting him. But no luck. I sit down in his desk chair to think. And then I see it. His cell phone. I glance back at the stairs and then quickly power it on and start paging through his text messages. Me, Me, John from band, his mom, Me…Cassie. So she is texting him. I read the message:

  Hey you. Friday, after game, private party at my house?

  Okay, A) Who does she think she is calling him “you?” That’s assuming a little too much familiarity, isn’t it? B) Umm, “private party?” What is that about? And C) Did she forget that Chris and I will be at the football game? Together? Friday nights ar
e always a date night—even when there isn’t a game. And shouldn’t she be with her own boyfriend on a Friday night? What will Carter be doing while she’s trying to get it on with my boyfriend?

  The shower turns off and I toss the phone on the desk and race back to the couch. I don’t need Chris to find me going through his stuff.

  Chris stomps back down the stairs, still wet from the shower, with a towel wrapped around his waist. If I wasn’t so irritated at the moment I would be totally ogling because Chris does have a really nice body—good arms and a slight six-pack. But no, I’m going to sit here with my arms crossed, staring straight ahead. He’s going to have to come to me to make this better.

  Chris walks over to his closet, pulls a shirt off a hanger, and slips it over his head. He crosses the room to his dresser and takes a pair of boxers out of a drawer and pulls them on under his towel. I can’t help but sneak a quick peek. But I see nothing so I resume my pissed-off, straight ahead stare. After Chris slips on his jeans he finally says something.

  “You want to go get something to eat?” he asks, like absolutely nothing is wrong.

  That’s it? That’s the big apology after yelling at me and stomping out of the room?

  “You’re hungry?” I say flatly, raising one eyebrow at him. “Now?”

  “Yeah.”

  I continue to stare at him.

  “What?” he says. “I’m hungry and I don’t feel like fighting.” He walks over to me on the couch, takes my hand and rubs the top of it with his thumb. I don’t budge. He takes my other hand in his too and pulls me up from the couch. “Come on.”

  Sigh. I guess this is the closest I’m going to get to an apology. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  We walk toward the stairs and Chris stops at his desk to grab his wallet and cell phone. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he says. “I’m not going to be able to go out after the game on Friday.”

  “Really. Why not?” I say.

  “Family thing,” he answers quickly.

  “You have a family thing on Friday? What kind of family thing?” I say in a slightly shaky voice.

  “Just a family dinner. At my godparents’ house.”

  Godparents? I’ve never heard of any godparents. He is so lying to me.

  * * *

  A short while later we are sitting in a booth at McDonald’s and Chris is wolfing down an Extra Value Meal #3, while my plain double cheeseburger, which he so generously purchased for me off the dollar menu, still sits untouched in its wrapper.

  “What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to eat your burger?” he says with his mouth full.

  “Why? Are all the other girls eating their burgers?” I say sarcastically, stealing the line he used on me from our last fight over sex. But it’s completely lost on him.

  Chris looks around the mostly empty restaurant and then gives me a puzzled look. “What other girls? What are you talking about?”

  I sigh. “Never mind. Are you almost done? I really want to go home.”

  Chris dramatically throws his last greasy fry onto the tray and stands up. “Yeah, I better get you home. You’re obviously premenstrual or something tonight.”

  Did he really just say that? Right. Like it could never possibly be his behavior pissing me off but rather my little girly hormones.

  I get up from the table, my throat too tight to respond, and push past him and out the glass swinging doors. I am so done talking to him tonight.

  Chapter 9: Enough is Enough

  How am I supposed to play my flute when I’m completely frozen? It’s 7:20 on Thursday morning and Mr. Shank has us doing an all band/flags/dance early morning practice outside in the school parking lot in preparation for tomorrow’s game. It’s got to be like 30 degrees outside, I swear. Thank God the football season is almost over. I’m balancing my flute between my legs while my hands are shoved under opposite armpits, trying to warm up my fingers before I have to play again. Mr. Shank is on the opposite end of the group yelling at some clarinet players.

  “My t-t-teeth are ch-ch-chattering,” my friend Emma, fourth chair flutist, says from my right.

  “Freaking inhumane,” Shannon, fifth chair flutist, agrees, joining us for a quick chat.

  About ten feet away, Lizzie looks over at Mr. Shank, still yelling, and decides to join us too. “Seriously, he needs mental help. Why are we doing this when there is a nice warm gym we can practice in?”

  “Torture?” I offer half-heartedly. My attention is on Chris, standing in the front of the group with the percussion section. I keep seeing him looking at Cassie when he thinks no one is watching. Cassie is practicing a variety of pelvic thrusting and butt shaking moves (which they refer to as “dancing”) with the rest of her squad. Delaney dances next to Cassie and her moves are much stiffer and robotic. A small smile crosses my lips. Seeing her dancing like that reminds me of when we were ten and we would spend hours in her basement playing Dance Dance Revolution. She was always so awful at it and I always won. Which makes it kind of funny that she’s over there with the dance team now and I’m here with the band.

  “At least you can w-wear gloves and still p-play your tuba,” Emma says, her teeth still chattering. “My fingers are blue!”

  “Let’s envision the trip. Florida. Sun. Warmth,” Shannon says emphatically, closing her eyes and holding her face up to the sky.

  “Is it working?” Lizzie asks.

  Shannon opens her eyes and looks at us. “Nah.”

  “I can NOT wait for our trip. I’m already bikini shopping. Online, anyway,” Emma says.

  “It’s going to be such a blast,” Shannon says. Shannon, Emma, Lizzie and I are sharing a hotel room in Florida and a day doesn’t go by that at least one of us doesn’t mention how fun the trip will be. Though at this point I’m seriously beginning to wonder.

  I nod and sneak another glance at Chris. He’s watching Cassie hold one spandexed leg in the air, doing a stretch. I think. I see Lizzie notice the same thing and scowl at Chris. She won’t say anything to me right now, though, not in front of Shannon and Emma.

  “Listen,” Lizzie says, obviously trying to distract me. “I need your guys’ help tomorrow night.”

  “With what?” Emma asks, jumping up and down now in an effort to warm up.

  “With my ‘Make Jacob Fall in Love With Me’ plan,” Lizzie says. “Phase one needs to happen at the band party. You guys are going, right?”

  Everyone nods. And I do too. What else do I have to do tomorrow night? I’m certainly not going to stay home while Chris is off somewhere with Cassie.

  “I need one of you to get a game of Truth or Dare going and then someone else has to dare me to kiss Jacob,” Lizzie tells us.

  “Oooh, I’ll do it,” Shannon says.

  “Cool, thanks,” Lizzie says. “I’m hoping my kiss is like a potato chip, you know that thing they say about eating just one? Brooke, are you hearing me?” She gives my shoulder a shake.

  But I’m totally distracted again. I’m on the verge of being humiliated in front of the whole band. Cassie has now parked herself in front of Chris and has his drumsticks in her hands. She’s banging on his drum and giggling and he is giving her a dopey smile. I turn and look at Mr. Shank and send him a silent plea to restart practice. A second later, thankfully, he does and Cassie returns to her spot with the rest of the dance squad.

  I’ve so had enough.

  * * *

  I’m sitting in my English class second hour with my head resting on my folded arms, contemplating my options and waiting for class to start. I don’t have any friends in this class and luckily no one tries to talk to me.

  At this point, I want to just, I don’t know, break up with Chris, I think. Yeah, there are a lot of feelings there and I know I still love him, but I just cannot take this anymore! He so obviously wants Cassie. It’s getting embarrassing. What if other people are noticing? Why hasn’t he broken up with me? Well, I guess I know the answer to that—Cassie’s boyfriend, Carter. It isn’t like she’s going to
break up with Carter Jones, a senior on the Varsity Wrestling Team. He placed third in state last year and everyone is betting he’ll place first this year.

  I flip my head so I’m facing the other direction and lay it back down on my arms. Carter Jones is in this class, but I’ve never spoken to him. He’s answered some questions in class before, and he seems pretty smart. What does he see in Cassie? It’s not like he doesn’t have other options. He’s hot. Tall, good build, big green eyes, and wavy dark brown hair. He could totally play the lead on a hit Disney teen show. I wonder if Carter ever notices Cassie’s blatant flirting with other guys?

  Say I do break up with Chris. Then what? Well, then I’m thrown out of Boy Swap and forced to surrender my precious pink scarf, I imagine. I return to the pits of social obscurity. Any rungs I’ve climbed on the popularity ladder vanish and I drop back on the ground with the rest of the band nerds. That’s kind of sucky.

  So where does this leave me? If I break up with Chris then I have no boyfriend and no chance at popularity. If I stay with Chris then I’m semi-popular (okay, let’s not exaggerate. More popular.) but miserable. This is so not fair. Why does Cassie get to have everything? Why does she get to be popular, have her boyfriend, have my boyfriend…

  WAIT. Wait just a minute. I’ve got it.

  Chapter 10: Don’t Get Mad, Get Swapping

  DUH.

  Huge, freaking, major DUH! Why didn’t I think of this before? It’s not like Boy Swap is a one-way street. Sometimes I can be so dense. Why am I just sitting around letting girls date my boyfriend and boo hoo hooing over it when I can be doing the same exact thing? I have the same access to all of their boyfriends that they have to mine. Any boyfriend of a girl wearing a pink scarf is up for grabs! But I think I will focus my attention on one very specific guy.

  Carter Jones.