Girl Parts

by John M. Cusick

  She asked him about his day, but David usually had little to tell. School was boring — he just sat in front of a monitor all day. This puzzled Rose, since he sat in front of a monitor at home, too. He liked to surf the Web, chat with friends, and read blogs. Rose decided the difference must be her, since he was alone at school, but at home they were together.

  They watched movies. David preferred action, but Rose loved romances. She liked comparing herself and David to the couples on-screen. She recognized the longing looks in their eyes, and even though Rose had never stood in the fog while a plane idled nearby, she knew what the lady in the gray hat must be feeling, having to leave her man. And even though David had never thrown pebbles at her window, she knew what it must feel like to throw open the curtains and run down to meet your beloved on the frosty morning lawn. And of course, every movie ended with a long, passionate kiss.

  At night, when the movie was over, they lay in David’s bed. This was the best part of Rose’s day, when it was just the two of them. Talking or not talking. Just breathing. Then Mrs. Sun would knock on the door (which they had to keep open) and say it was time for Rose to go to her own room. They shared a “faux kiss” good-night, which was a trick they’d invented, a way to say “I like you” without really kissing. Rose would press her fingertips to her lips, David would do the same, and then they’d touch each other’s lips. David thought it was “so cheesy,” but Rose liked it anyway. She was pretty sure he liked it too. It was his idea.

  Rose wasn’t programmed to keep herself busy during the day, and at first she spent a lot of time sitting and staring. But the longer she was with David, the more things she had to think about and compare with each other, and soon all the activity in her head accelerated her heart rate, and she got antsy. Her hands wanted something to do, and so they made paper birds. Soon her hands got so good at making paper birds they made them without Rose telling them to. When David got home he found more and more on Rose’s nightstand, until eventually her room resembled a mini-aviary.

  One evening they stood at her window, watching dark clouds move in over the lake. The window was open, and a pre-storm breeze blew through the room. “The air is very romantic today,” Rose said.

  David chuckled, as he always did when she came out with one of her little Rose-isms.

  “Why is it romantic?”

  “Can’t you feel it?” she said, looking up at him through her lashes. She touched his collarbone, and David felt a crackle, a vibration in his spine.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I do feel it.”

  He thought he might kiss her right then, but a cross breeze coursed through the room, and her family of paper birds fluttered up from the desk. Rose made a little noise of delight, but David, unthinking, closed the window and brought their flight to an end. She pouted over the pile of paper, which David didn’t understand, but she perked up when he suggested they watch the storm from the covered veranda.

  Then one afternoon he found a picture on Rose’s wall.

  “What’s this?” he asked, examining the random squiggles.

  Rose was making art, and like all new artists, she hadn’t quite escaped her influences. She’d copied the painting in the hall — a dreary southwestern landscape with storm clouds pouring into a river basin, which Rose thought looked like the murky soap Lupe rinsed down the drain after washing the crystal. She’d scribbled circles on white printer paper until the walls of her room were covered with hoary clouds. The differences between her drawings and the soaring vista above the dinette set troubled her, but David’s compliments filled her with a new and powerful upward feeling. Pride.

  He found himself forgetting Rose was a robot. Her diction had changed, become less formal, more easy and fluid. Her gestures and opinions, once painfully recognizable as his own, were blending into a distinct personality, one that was sweet, steadfast, curious, anxious, funny, and real. He liked her fastidiousness in the kitchen, the serious way she considered every joke before deciding whether it was funny, her fascination with folded paper, thunder, shadows, and sunlight (Where had these opinions come from? They weren’t his.), and of course the way she looked at him, which sometimes stopped him cold, so that he forgot what he was saying.

  “You’re the best thing in my life,” he said once, surprising himself. They were on the back patio in the big chaise lounge, wrapped in a plaid quilt. Their faces were chilly, but their bodies were warm, together under the blanket. David was drinking a Coke and flicking pebbles into the lake. He thought about the sun and how it changed color as it sank, turning a brilliant crimson. Almost the exact color of her hair.

  “You’re the best thing in my life.”

  He looked at her over his sunglasses, smiling. “I guess I kind of like who I am when I’m with you. I like how I like you. Is that weird?”

  “I think it makes perfect sense.”

  He laughed. “I haven’t spent this much time with a girl ever. I don’t think I’ve been friends with a girl since first grade.”

  “Oh no?”

  “Yeah. When we finally do make out, it’ll be a little weird. Like I’m kissing my sister.”

  Rose said nothing. Instead she tossed a pebble toward the lake. It fell miserably short.

  “I’m just kidding, you know. It won’t actually be weird.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” Rose let out a breath, which made David laugh harder.

  “That’s my Rose. My Rosy.”

  “Yo, Sun,” Artie called.

  David kicked up the kickstand of his bike and watched Artie jog across the parking lot. The cars gleamed in the late-afternoon sun, everything looking sharp and white. Artie shouldered his bag, shirt untucked, tie crooked.

  “’Sup, Artie?”

  “Jesus, dude, where have you been?” He stopped a few paces away and coughed. Artie didn’t do a lot of running.

  “Gotta cut back on the smokes, Arts. You’re gonna yack a lung.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Artie lit up. “So, seriously, I haven’t seen you in weeks. I thought we were going to hang this weekend.”

  “I’ve just been chilling at home.”

  Artie blew smoke into his fist, then tossed it to the wind — an old trick. “How’s Rose? You chilling with her?”

  “She’s decent. Yeah.” David pretended to adjust his side mirrors. “You know. We see each other now and then.”

  “Getting to know each other?”

  David gave Artie a sideways look. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “She touch your pecker yet?”

  “Jesus, Artie . . .”

  Artie jabbed his cigarette in David’s direction. “What’s with you and this chick, man? You never used to be prickly about girls. Remember when you taped Stacy Keener flashing you on New Year’s and posted the vid on the school server?”

  “Yeah, she wasn’t too happy about that.”

  “But you didn’t care.”

  “Well, maybe I do now,” David said. “I guess maybe I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “So she hasn’t touched your pecker yet.” David said nothing. Artie nodded. “Yeah, figured as much. Well, damn. It’s your life. Just don’t want to see my boy get his nuts chopped off.”

  David glared at his friend, who sniffed nonchalantly.

  “OK.” Artie puffed. “So when are we going to hang out again?”

  “Soon.”

  “Party at Clay’s this weekend?”

  “Maybe.”

  Artie nodded and turned away. Head still bobbing, he started off toward the field, trailing smoke. David tried to think of something nice to say, something to let him know they were still dogs, but Artie turned back first.

  “Hey, while Rose is getting to know you so well, make sure to tell her about Stacy Keener,” he said, and flashed the peace sign.

  “What do you want to do this weekend?” David stretched out on Rose’s bed, folding his arms beneath her pillows. “Other than be with me.”

  She tucked in beside him. “I don’t know. Wh
at do you want to do?”

  “Clay’s having a party Friday night. That might be fun.” Rose said nothing. “So what do you think? Clay’s on Friday?”

  “OK.”

  “I’m sure Clay will let us use his room.”

  “Use it for what?”

  “Well, I was thinking maybe Friday would be the night we’d kiss,” he said, kissing her hand. “What do you think?”

  She smiled into her shoulder. “Maybe.”

  “Oh, that look!” David said, clutching his chest in sweet agony. He lay back and traced her belt with his finger. “When you give me that look, I think I could wait a hundred years if it meant getting you into bed.”

  “But you have me in bed right now,” she said.

  David laughed. “Baby! I think that’s your first joke.”

  “Was it?” Rose blinked.

  She was glad he was happy, but she had no idea what he was talking about.

  Clay’s place was northeast of the lake, in an old neighborhood of stone mansions. The facade was dark, but light and music poured onto a back patio.

  Cars were jammed two across on the side lawn. Rose’s high heels sunk into the dirt. It was her first time wearing them, but she walked like an expert.

  “You look incredible,” David said for the fourth time.

  She wore her party dress, the calf-length black slip with the slit up the side and the red trim neckline. Her lips were bloodred and her hair was down, carefully styled to fall in waves along the sides of her face.

  “What’s this theme called again?”

  “Pinup,” Rose said.

  They moved arm in arm across the drive, David in his starched yellow shirt and ripped jeans. To Rose, he looked more wonderful than usual — crisper, as if fresh from the package. She wondered if there were boy Companions, and if they looked like David.

  Kids with plastic cups sprawled by the covered pool and on the concrete steps leading to the rear of the house. Rose smelled a sweet smoke, which the data banks identified as cannabis, without explaining further. They went inside, where it was filled to the walls with people.

  Rose held tight to David’s hand as they zigzagged through the party. The air was damp with sweat and cigarette smoke. The music thudded, buffeting them like waves. Someone stumbled backward, spilling her drink inches from Rose. A thick-faced girl resembling Clay was asleep on the couch, one arm dangling over the edge, her mouth open.

  “Sun!” Clay called from the kitchen. He wedged between a kissing couple and barreled toward them, pulling David into a bear hug. He wore a jersey with a tie around his flushed neck. There was lipstick on his cheek.

  He put a conspiratorial hand on David’s shoulder. “Brother, we got some college bitches up in hiz.”

  David cleared his throat. “You remember Rose, right?”

  His eyes moved over her, taking a moment to register her presence. “Hell, yes, I do. Prettiest girl in Westtown. Have a beer.” He pressed a dented Solo cup into her hand. “Now you hold on to that, and make sure nobody puts anything in it. David here is a gentleman, but I can’t speak for the rest of these deadbeats.”

  Rose glanced at David.

  “Don’t listen to him,” he said.

  “It’s true: don’t listen to me. I am thoroughly trashed. Now, have fun, you two.”

  He smacked David on the ass. He tried the same with Rose, but she ducked away.

  “You’ll lose a hand that way,” David said. “Seriously.”

  Clay laughed. “Classic!”

  They moved into the crowd. “People are looking at you,” he said in her ear.

  “Am I doing something wrong?”

  “No. It’s because you’re here with me.”

  He led her to the edge of the room, positioned her against the doorframe so they were visible to the rest of the party, and leaned in.

  “Fun, right?”

  Rose saw other couples doing the same — the girl against the wall, the boy with his arm around her. She slouched and smiled, mimicking them.

  “Yes.”

  A girl in a lavender sweater placed a hand on David’s midsection as she passed. “Hey, David. How you been?”

  He nodded in greeting.

  “Who was that?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You know a lot of people.”

  “A lot of people know me.” He looked her over. “You look incredibly hot.”

  Something shattered in the kitchen.

  “All right, who brought the cool kid?” Clay shouted, followed by a chorus of drunken laughter.

  Rose examined the other girls. She noticed their imperfections, the flaws in their skin, the asymmetry of their faces. She was more beautiful, certainly. They tottered on their heels, had applied their makeup clumsily, and worst of all, were inattentive to their boys. She was a better girlfriend. She felt David’s arm tighten around her waist and leaned into its support. She brushed her hair over her shoulder and fixed him with a smoldering gaze.

  “Would you rather be here with anyone else?”

  “Not a chance.”

  He kissed her lightly on the neck, sending a thrill down diodes on her left side. Her skin sensors came alive, activated by this new touch. Tonight, she thought.

  “I’m going to grab a beer.”

  Rose felt a rush of disappointment. “Oh. OK.”

  “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

  “OK.”

  His gaze clung to hers as he backed away. He left her tingling in the door frame, her locks popping open, one by one, like buttons.

  The keg was in the kitchen.

  Three girls sat along the countertop, their legs crossed at the heels. They were tall, thin, and blond. Lacrosse players. The one nearest the keg wore pumps with leather straps winding halfway up her calf. She smiled at David. “Hey, remember me?”

  He pumped the keg, the beer gushing into his cup.

  “Yeah,” he said, not looking at her. “Name starts with a V, right? Something weird?”

  “Vonis.”

  “Yeah, Vonis.”

  “So you do remember me.”

  David sipped off the foam. “Yeah, I said I do.”

  He started to go, but she stuck out a leg to block his way. Her calf was shiny with perspiration.

  “So talk to me a little. Who’s that redhead you came in with? She’s cute.”

  “My girlfriend.”

  “I thought you liked blondes.”

  “I try to keep an open mind.”

  “Glad to hear it.” She was drinking something red in a clear plastic cup. Her breath smelled like vodka.

  “Are you going to let me by?”

  “Maybe.” She bit her lip. David’s eyes fell to her mouth. It sparkled with gloss. “Maybe you’ll come find me later?”

  He took a long, slow swallow. “I came here with somebody, remember?”

  “Since when does David Sun leave a party with the girl he came with?”

  “People change.”

  Vonis slid off the counter. She was almost as tall as he was. He felt her arm snake around his hips.

  “Bullshit,” she whispered. Vodka and cranberry. Heat radiated from David’s collar. He thought he must be glowing. Her body felt good, slender and firm. She positioned his hand on her waist and smiled. Her look was open and promising.

  “Come on, we don’t even know each other,” he said.

  Her body, which was all slow movement, froze. “What did you say?”

  David’s heart skipped. “Nothing.”

  “Are you serious?” She withdrew her arm. “Did you just say, ‘We don’t even know each other’? What is this, the fifties?” She laughed, a cold sound. Like squealing ice.

  David powered down the rest of his beer and tossed the cup. “Piss off, skank.”

  “You freaking loser,” she spat. People looked up.

  David pushed his way out of the kitchen, elbowing a freshman to the wall.

  “Fag!” she called.

  He
didn’t look back.

  “Where’s your beer?” Rose asked.

  He grabbed her arm, pulled her in, and kissed her. She melted against him. Her mouth was on fire.

  “Let’s go upstairs.”

  “OK,” she breathed.

  The upstairs hall was nearly empty. A girl sat on the top step, crying into her cell phone. A boy in a leather jacket ran a hand up his date’s billowing white dress. David pushed in the nearest door, pulling Rose behind him.

  It was a bedroom, Clay’s sister’s, with a canopied bed and a floor littered with clothes. He locked the door. He pushed her against the wall, kissing her neck. Rose clawed him, pulling at handfuls of shirt. She smelled clean and fresh, her skin hot and dry. David felt dizzy. His face tingled.

  “Oh, please,” she moaned.

  She pressed against him, ran her hands up his back. Their lips touched. David’s knees dipped.

  “Are you OK?”

  “God, yes. Do that again.”

  She did. This time, his lips parted. She opened her mouth against his, letting their tongues touch, making a blue spark. David withdrew, but not completely. It was like tonguing a Duracell — a grade-school dare. He closed his eyes and kissed her again, a proper French kiss. Her soft lips moved against his. She moaned. He opened his eyes again. Her face glowed. It was glowing in the dark. So was his. Their cheeks were translucent, like kids with flashlights in their mouths.

  “Jesus.” He wiped drool from his chin. His lips were numb.

  “Don’t stop.”

  “I can’t.”

  “No,” she moaned into his shirt.

  “You’re not ready yet. You’re shocking me.”

  “But I feel ready.”

  His crotch ached. He adjusted himself.

  “It hurts down there?”

  He clenched his jaw. “Yeah, it does. It hurts bad, baby.”

  Rose cooed. “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s like a vise, you know?”

  “What can we do?”

  David thought. “How about a strip show?”

  “A what?”

  He lay back on the bed. “No touching. Just . . . you. Getting naked. Remember in that old movie we watched, True Lies? That one scene?”