by Laura Hopper
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say a little too quickly, worried that the floodgates might open again.
“What’s your next class?” he asks.
“Math.”
“Come on, I’ll walk you.” He interlaces his fingers in mine, and we walk. Holding hands. We are now a teenage couple making our debut on the stage that is the high school hallway. It clearly doesn’t faze him that this is a sort of announcement at school. I, on the other hand, am dying inside. I wonder if he has any idea how significant this little stroll is to me.
Part of me feels unbelievably lucky to have Luke making a public statement about how much he likes me. The other part of me is extremely uncomfortable being on display in this way. I don’t know where to look.
I see Bella Ruben, who was my next-door neighbor from the time I was in preschool until fourth grade, when her family bought a big house with a swimming pool. We used to make mud pies in her backyard and lemonade stands in the driveway. Bella gives me look as if to say, Nice going, Janey.
The most awkward part of our walk down the hallway is passing Sloan. She pretends not to notice, but her eyes go right to my hand in Luke’s. She quickly looks away. Other people are less practiced at hiding their surprise. We get our share of smiles, raised eyebrows, and whispers. I notice a few nods from senior girls, like I’ve been accepted into an exclusive club. It’s as though all of a sudden, I matter. I was no one when I was just Janey King. Or when, in the final track meet of the season, I won the three-hundred-meter low hurdles as a freshman. Or when I took the top speaker prize at a debate. But as soon as I’ve been endorsed by the one and only Luke Hallstrom, I am someone.
It doesn’t seem like Luke is at all aware of the statement he is making. Luke does what feels right to him, and he’s not going to worry about being judged. I love that about him. And I love holding his hand at school, and I love that we have nothing to hide, and I think I might love him.
That afternoon, I walk out of the locker room on my way to the track and Luke is standing there, arms crossed, dressed to work out.
“Hi,” I say. “What’s up?”
“I don’t feel like doing the same old boring workout.”
“Okay,” I say, wondering where he’s going with this. My mind races. I won’t let a suggestion from Luke keep me from doing the right thing. “I need to get a run in.”
“Me too,” he says. “I just can’t do high jumps today. I need to mix it up.”
“We could run at Torrey Pines,” I suggest. There is the most beautiful eight-mile stretch of looping dirt trails along the coast. The narrow path winds over and around the oceanfront cliffs, shaded by huge pine trees.
“Genius. Grab your stuff.”
It’s a great afternoon for a run by the water. The sun is hanging low in the sky, and there is a cool breeze lifting off the ocean and onto my body, which is getting warmer and sweatier with each mile. I run in front of Luke on the narrow path. There was a time, probably only a few weeks ago, when I would have felt really self-conscious knowing Luke was right behind me. I might have worried what I looked like from behind, how my form was being judged by him. But now I simply enjoy the moment. Gorgeous scenery, Luke at my heels, the smell of the Pacific Ocean wafting through the air. Nothing else matters.
I think about our walk earlier today, the one where we strolled down the hall at school, raising curiosity and interest among our classmates. That walk was merely twenty yards down a fluorescent-lit hallway lined with orange lockers and the cacophony of voices, books dropping, and doors opening and closing. It lasted only three minutes, but seemed to go on forever. Now we are on an entirely different kind of journey. It’s just the two of us on eight miles of gorgeous coastline. The only sounds are those of the sea and our footsteps on the soft ground, and I can already tell it’s going by much too quickly.
When I see the end of the run in the distance, I kick into high gear and sprint the last quarter mile. The vibrations of Luke’s footsteps grow fainter. I run harder, faster, stronger. Unlike in the school hallway, I am completely at ease on this mission. I know where to go, where to look, how fast to travel. I sprint to the tree where Luke and I dropped our water bottles and sweatshirts. I finish and sit down in the shade to catch my breath. I see Luke approaching and lean back on my elbows in a pose that suggests I’ve been waiting around for him all day. He runs right for me, pretends to crash into the tree, and falls on top of me.
“Ugh, I’m so sweaty,” I protest.
“I like your sweat,” he says, drawing a finger down my damp arm.
“Are you crazy? I’m so gross.”
“There’s nothing gross about you,” Luke says, and he licks the back of my neck under my ponytail, sending chills up my spine. I hear a moan escape my lips, conveying to him, as well as myself, how good he makes me feel. I close my eyes and let my head fall forward as the sensations travel to my every nerve. He continues to run his tongue around my neck, making his way to my ear and ultimately finding my mouth.
My eyes are still closed when I feel his lips touch mine, and I kiss him hungrily. The feelings he has sent through my skin into my veins have made me ravenous for him. I press my lips firmly against his as my tongue explores every crevice of his mouth.
“Get a room,” I hear someone say, and I open my eyes to see two guys, probably in their thirties, running by. Luke and I start laughing, too caught up in our moment to feel embarrassed.
“Should we get out of here?” he asks.
“Yes, please,” I say.
When we get back to my house, I notice that my mom’s Volvo is not in the driveway. Then I vaguely remember her saying something this morning about parent/teacher conferences after school today. I think she might have said she’d be home around dinnertime. I really need to start paying more attention when she speaks.
“I’m pretty sure we have an hour or so to ourselves,” I tell Luke.
“I can think of a few things to do with that time,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.
I take Luke to the backyard, where we have a fire pit and a canopied lounge chair big enough for two. He sits down and leans back against the lounge as I hand him one of the water bottles I grabbed from the fridge. I sit down in front of him on the lounge. When we first moved in, my dad planted cypress trees along the perimeter of our backyard, and now the trees are huge and create a living wall that makes the yard totally private.
“It’s cool back here,” he says.
“Thanks. If you’re lucky, I’ll make you s’mores one day.”
“Hope I get lucky.” We both laugh at the choice of words. “You’re awesome,” he says.
“Thanks,” I say. “So are you.”
“You think so?” he asks.
“I think everyone does,” I say.
“I’m not so sure about that. I bet you could find a few haters out there.” Just the way he says it, I can tell he himself doesn’t believe it. Again, I’m reminded that Luke is fully invested in being universally adored.
“I doubt that. What’s not to like?”
“Well, same goes for you,” he says.
“Not exactly,” I say, and I mean it.
“Oh, please,” he says. “You’re so smart, so cute, so down-to-earth.”
“What do you mean down-to-earth?”
“You’re not caught up in all the crap I hear other girls talking about. You know, clothes and purses and their flat-ironed hair. And you have no insecurities.”
I am stunned. Does he really believe that? “You’re blind! I have so many insecurities.”
“Name one.”
“Just one?” I ask.
“One.”
“Okay, here’s one. Today, when you held my hand on the way to math, I worried that people wondered what you were doing with a nobody like me.” I surprise myself with my ability to look him straight in the eye and reveal how self-conscious I am.
“First, you shouldn’t worry about what other people think.
Second, anyone with half a brain knows damn well that I’m the lucky one to have you as my girlfriend.”
“Your girlfriend?” I ask.
“I guess I should have thought of a better way to bring that up. I think of us and boyfriend and girlfriend. Don’t you?”
“I wasn’t sure,” I say.
“Well, what do you want us to be?” he asks.
“I’d like to be your girlfriend,” I say.
Ever since our earliest moments together, I’ve worried that Luke would never like me the way I was growing to like him. But in the last instant, all of that changed. He is my boyfriend. I am his girlfriend. This is real. And yet, it still feels like a fantasy.
He lifts my chin so that our faces are less than an inch apart. “Just to be clear, I’m the lucky one,” he says in a whisper, and he kisses me softly, lightly, as if to punctuate his point. I kiss him back and the soft kisses grow more intense, more passionate. “Should we take off our sweaty shirts?”
“For sure,” I say and I reach for his shirt, pulling it over his head. He then helps me off with my shirt and jog bra, leaving our sticky bodies to cool in the brisk February air. He explores my skin, front and back. I love the feeling of his hands on my back, my chest, and my shoulders. We wrap our arms around each other and the kissing continues, creating more heat between us.
“I have a question,” he says.
“What?”
“Are your shorts sweaty too?”
Is my heart beating fast because I’m nervous or excited? Or both? “Yeah, a little,” I say.
“Mine too.” He lifts his hips and slides his shorts off. He’s wearing black boxer briefs that hug his body and make his erection beyond obvious. It’s one thing to assume it’s there, or to feel a slight hardness pressed against me through his jeans. It’s an entirely different matter to see a huge boner underneath a thin layer of black cotton. And that boner is pointed at me. It’s a turn-on, but it’s also a little scary. “Lean back,” he says.
I lean back so my head is at the foot of the lounge. He leans over me and reaches his hands into my shorts, easing them off my body. I’m so glad I happen to have cute underwear on today. It could have easily been the ugly faded pink ones with the lace coming loose at the edge.
Once my shorts have been discarded, Luke lowers himself onto me. His face on my face, his chest on my chest, his hips on my hips. Even with the cool breeze, I feel myself getting hotter and sweatier. He is rubbing against me, pressing himself with a seasoned rhythm. I feel like I’m going to explode. My legs separate slightly and he fits snugly between them. I can feel the warmth beneath our underwear. Is it coming from me or from him? Or is it the fusion of our body parts? I picture us like those commercials for pain relievers where there is a red throbbing epicenter under a crude drawing of a unisex form, and arrows shoot outward depicting the pain spreading through the body. Only in our case, there is this intense heat arising from between our legs and spreading outward from there.
“Should we stop?” he whispers in my ear. Although the pressing and rubbing do not appear to be stopping.
“That’s probably a good idea,” I say.
We slowly sit up, facing each other, taking a moment while our breathing returns to normal and our inner temperatures cool. Another moment passes while we sit there in our underwear.
“I don’t want your mom to come home to this. Not the best way for me to make a first impression.”
“Yeah, good point.” We gather our clothes from the ground. Getting dressed is not nearly as sexy as getting undressed. I feel so weird stepping into my shorts and slipping on my shirt in front of him. There’s really no graceful way put on sweaty clothes.
When we both have our shorts and shirts back on, Luke sits down to put on his shoes. “Come here,” he says, tapping the space next to him on the lounge cushion. I sit.
“What?” I say with curiosity.
“I want to talk to you for a second.” Oh god. Nothing good has ever started with I want to talk to you for a second. Here it comes. He didn’t mean it. He doesn’t want things to be that serious. He wants to take it back. I feel my stomach tense up like my body is getting itself ready for a punch to the gut.
“What’s up?” I ask as casually as possible.
He looks into my eyes; I swear he can see through me. “I want to have sex with you.” I almost fall off the lounge. “Let me rephrase that. I want to make love to you. I know how important the first time is, and I want to be your first. I promise to be gentle and patient and wait until you’re ready.”
“Wow” is all I can think to say. I have gotten an A on practically every vocabulary test, essay, paper, and grammar quiz in my entire life, and all I can muster in this moment is one silly word.
“That’s it?” he asks.
“I want to have sex with you, too. I want you to be my first. I trust you, and I want to remember for the rest of my life that my first time was with you, because you make me feel really comfortable. I don’t know when I’ll be ready, and I hope you’ll wait, but I have a feeling it won’t be too long.”
“It can be as long as you want,” he says, and I believe him.
“Okay,” I say.
“One more thing,” he says.
“Yes?”
“Your shorts are on inside out. You might want to fix that before your mom comes home,” he says, smiling.
“Oh god!” I say. I am so embarrassed. I was sitting here having a serious conversation with Luke about sex while wearing my shorts inside out. I look down and see that the mesh built-in underwear is lamely hugging my body while the black nylon hangs out from underneath. Could anything look less sexy? What do I do?
“I’ll be right back,” I say.
I practically sprint into the house to my bedroom, where I sit on the bed for a minute, positively mortified. Realizing I can’t leave Luke outside, I compose myself, take off all my running clothes, and throw on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. I do not want to walk back outside, but I know I don’t have a choice. I can’t just hide from him, hoping he’ll forget the humiliating image of me; I know I won’t soon forget.
When I leave my bedroom, I see Luke walking from the backyard to the front door.
“Are you leaving?” I ask.
“I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” he jokes.
“That was really embarrassing,” I say.
“Don’t worry about it,” he assures me.
“Easy for you to say,” I say. “You were all right-side-in.”
“So you’re saying you can be practically naked in front of me, but you can’t wear your shorts inside out?” he asks, a crooked grin on his lips.
There goes Luke again, finding the right words to say to put me at ease and make the awkward moments funny and fine. At the same time, I know I will never wear those shorts again.
“Ironic, right?” I say.
Now I officially have a boyfriend. Luke Hallstrom is my boyfriend. I am his girlfriend. Something I never thought I wanted or needed is making me so happy. The crazy part is that it doesn’t alleviate my insecurity like I thought it would. I always figured girls who had boyfriends didn’t have to worry about having a bad hair day or waking up with a pimple, because they knew there was someone who loved them no matter what. What I’m learning is that having a boyfriend makes me worry about that superficial stuff even more. If I say something wrong or wear something ugly or put my shorts on inside out, am I going to lose the thing I never even thought I wanted in the first place?
Chapter Twenty
On the weekends when Danielle doesn’t have dance competitions, her Friday afternoons are free, and we hang out after school. Our usual plan is to go the mall, get a beverage or a bite, and walk in and out of the shops. Our usual plan also includes Sloan. I hate that Sloan and I have been avoiding each other. My phone seems so quiet now that it’s not lighting up with texts from her with constant updates about where she is, what she’s doing, and what she’s eating, and f
unny comments about cute boys, bitchy girls, and annoying parents.
“What’s she doing this weekend?” I ask Danielle. She knows exactly who the she is in this question without my having to specify.
“I don’t know,” she says unconvincingly.
“Yes, you do,” I press.
“I invited her to come today, but she said she was going to hang out at home to catch up on America’s Next Top Model reruns.”
“Sounds fun,” I say dryly. It stings to know she’d rather watch television reruns than spend time with her supposed best friends.
We grab iced lattes and walk around the mall for a while, dipping into shops and browsing through racks of clothes, shelves of makeup, and displays of shoes. Danielle tells me how she and Charlie can never be together at her house because the twins think it’s hilarious to spy on them or rifle through the trash in search of used condoms.
“I swear, I think my parents have given up. It’s like they’re too exhausted to enforce any discipline. Those boys are totally out of control,” she says.
“I know they drive you crazy,” I say, “but I happen to think they’re pretty funny.”
“Oh, sure, funny for you. You don’t have to babysit them tonight and listen to them try to sing hardcore rap while playing Call of Duty at full volume.”
“Poor you,” I say.
We head toward the escalators and I think we’re on our way out of the mall, but instead, she pulls me down a different path from our usual route.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“You’ll see,” she says as she leads me into CVS.
“What, do you need tampons or something?” I ask.
“Nope.”
I can’t imagine what she’s up to, but she seems to know exactly where she’s going. Her precision maneuvering through aisles toward the back of the store leads us straight to the condom selection.
“No way!” I practically squeal.
“You can’t be too prepared,” Danielle says with mock seriousness.
We browse through the multitude of choices: Lubricated, Sensitivity, Ecstasy, Ultra Smooth, Fire and Ice, Ribbed, and the Midnight Collection, whatever that is. My head is spinning. Could they possibly be that different from one another? Is there a right or wrong answer? I wonder if Luke has a favorite. What if I pick the worst one?
