"Do you think I'm like Ms. Everley?" I ask.
"Do I think you probably get sloppy drunk on the weekends and have a college thong collection you can't seem to get rid of? No. Why?" Lil puts her sunglasses on her head.
"No reason."
"Well, don't stand out there all afternoon. Get in," she says.
I don't hesitate like I did that first day. I don't look for Sarah's approval. I know she won't get it. Instead, opening the door, I slide into the front seat that feels made for me. As I settle into the car, my mind clears.
"Where are we going?" I ask, just like that first day.
"Haven't you already learned that I'm not going to tell you?" Lil revs the engine and peels out of the parking lot.
We drive through town, the windows rolled down, freezing air coursing through the car. I put my hand out the window and let it curve through the breeze like a wave. Lil smokes cigarette after cigarette and pounds her fists on the steering wheel to the beat of the music. Everything lightens inside me, like this moment might be the best of my life. Like this is what living is supposed to be. Free, with music blaring, with the wind whipping my hair in my face and tangling its length into knots I don't want to brush out. I don't care if I like hot dogs or buns or pink or Paris. I like this, right here, right now.
My phone buzzes; a text message.
Sarah: Come over right now! I hate my dress! Need damage control!
I want to throw the phone out the window. Instead I turn it off.
Lil drives until we hit the dirt road we took to get to the party at Lake Loraine. She turns down the path and parks in the exact spot where we parked that night.
"Why are we here?" I ask, a knot forming in my stomach. I thought the text message waterfall would go away. I thought people would ease up as time ticked on. But they haven't. Lil has fought through a barrage of words every day. Whore, slut, trash. Someone even printed the picture and taped it to her locker.
Why would she want to come back here?
"I need to do something." Lil gets out of the car. I follow, willing to do whatever she needs. We walk until we get to the edge of the lake. The exact spot where I found her with gross-out guy. "Why do men think mustaches are acceptable?" She asks me.
"I don't know," I say.
"Cops and circus ring leaders are the only professions that should allow facial hair."
"What about porn stars?"
Lil smiles at me and turns back to the water. Her eyes squint and turn dark, like she's looking past the surface to something below. "Sometimes I can still feel his stubble on my skin."
"Lil..." I start to say something, anything that might soothe what she's thinking, but she turns around and grabs a large rock off the ground. Running up to the edge of the water, her boots almost going in, she flings the rock high into the air and yells. A deep, throat-breaking yell that echoes back to us from the other side of the lake.
I let her stand there, watching the ripples from the drowning rock until they reach the shore and disappear. She lights a cigarette and exhales the smoke out into the air.
"So are you going to dance with Alexander the Great Big Boner tomorrow night or what?" Lil asks, sitting down in the sand. I sit next to her and shrug.
"I don't know." Picking up a stick, I start to draw on the ground, writing my name and then Lil's. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure." Lil puts the cigarette out in the sand.
I take a deep breath. "What does it feel like?" Even in the cold my cheeks burn with embarrassment.
"What does what feel like?"
"Sex. What does it feel like?" I ask. I want to know so badly, and Lil is the only person I know who's done it. Maybe if I know, I won't be so anxious.
"It feels like falling on the bar of a bike a thousand times," Lil says, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them.
"That sounds horrible."
"It is."
Sarah and I have been planning what we want our first time to be like since junior high. We agreed that we want to lose our virginity the summer before college so it would be with someone we know from our hometown. I said I wanted rose petals on the bed and Sarah said she wanted Debussy's "Clair de Lune" playing in the background.
We also agreed that no matter what, whoever it was, we would be in love. Real love. Passionate love. We would stand in front of each other naked and look and I wouldn't be scared of his private parts because I was comfortable.
"Did you love him?" I ask.
"No," Lil says flatly. "I just wanted to do it. Like ripping off a Band-Aid or something."
"Have you done it with a lot of people?"
"A few." Lil looks at me and I wish I could live in her head for a day, to see the world in different colors or know what she does. "You shouldn't settle for anything less than love, Marty. A boy who will take his time and care about you. What it feels like physically doesn't matter. How it changes you in your heart does."
"Have you ever been in love?" I ask.
"Love?" Lil shakes her head. "There are people like you and there are people like me. There's Juliet and then there's Rosaline."
"I think you're a Juliet."
"And that, Pollyanna, is why she ends up dead at the end." Lil stands up and wipes the sand off the back of her black jeans. "Come on, I'll take you home."
"Um, Lil?"
"Please don't ask me about blow jobs." I laugh and squirm at the same time, and then point to her cigarette butt still stuck in the sand. She picks it up and we walk away from Lake Loraine.
***
When all the decorations are hung and the gym is covered in red and pink bulls-eyes and cupids holding rifles, I step back and look at my work. A banner hangs over my head. "Shot Through the Heart" . I wish Lil was coming tonight, so she could make the pit in my stomach go away. As I walked around directing the WelCo kids about where to hang everything, I couldn't stop thinking that I have no business telling them what to do. I can't get my own brain straight. It's a mess of words and music and sex and the desire to see Matt tonight. Who am I to tell someone else how to decorate?
As I stare at the words I painted on the paper, the theme my mom came up with, all I notice is that I painted outside of the lines. Little bits of red and pink run past the letter shapes I drew, making the banner imperfect. And the girl inside of me, the one that wants to see the world as a bunch of jumbled, curved lines, is happy. But the outward girl, who's wearing a hunter green dress that falls right above the knee and cinches at the waist so my boobs look just the right size, a small C cup, is mad I was so sloppy.
"Let's all give Marty a big round of applause for her great work," Ms. Everley yells to all the WelCo kids. "This place looks great. You should be proud of yourself, Marty!"
"Thanks," I say and force a smile. Proud of myself. I don't know what that is anymore. A few weeks ago, proud of myself would have meant making sure everything for this dance was perfect. The kind of perfect people remember and talk about. Now, I'm not sure what to be proud of. Proud I've spent years hiding the person locked inside me? Tonight, she wants to scream at the top of her lungs: this is a dance that celebrates the killing of innocent animals! I can cover the entire place in glitter, but Bambi still hates us! Or proud that she's coming out now and I didn't die with her locked inside of me, drowning on unwritten, unsaid words?
In the bathroom, I fix my makeup and reapply pink lip gloss. Matt's black jelly bracelet is still on my wrist. Anxious energy rumbles in my stomach, so I text Lil.
Marty: Please come 2 the dance.
I wait for a response, but it doesn't happen. The DJ stars to play music that vibrates the walls of the bathroom. People are shuffling in, girls doing the same thing I am before heading into the gym-turned-meat-market to grind with boys in an acceptable arena.
I walk out and wait for Sarah at our designated meeting spot outside of the gymnasium. I'm not walking in there alone. I don't care if you're in charge of the dance, she said to me earlier this week.
"You look great," I say.
"No thanks to you." She takes off her coat and hands it to the freshman coat checker.
"What?" I ask.
"My text message. You never came over." She purses her lips at me, hands on her hips.
Shit. "Sorry, I got carried away with the dance."
"When did you become a liar, Marty? Pippa saw you leave with Lil yesterday. What are you thinking?" Sarah grabs my arm and pulls me into a corner. Her tight fingers hurt my skin. "Are you trying to completely slaughter your reputation?"
"I'm being nice."
Sarah laughs, a condescending sound that comes through her teeth. "Marty. Lil is trash. Pippa told me she lives in a trailer. A trailer! Let alone what her mom did."
"What did her mom do?" I ask.
Sarah steps back, arms crossed over her pink dress, a wicked grin on her face. "She didn't tell you? And you're willing to let it all go for a girl you barely know."
I stare at Sarah, at the vacant look in her eyes, at the clutch that matches her dress that matches the clip in her hair.
A sophomore girl walks by and says, "Shot through the heart. What a lame theme."
The air gets tight, like all of a sudden I've been placed on a planet where I can't breathe and everyone is an alien. I want to tear down the decorations and burn them. I look around, trying to find a place to catch my breath, and see Alex walk through the door. I race over to him.
"You look nice tonight. Want to dance?" I don't wait for his answer; I yank on his arm and drag him away from Sarah and the banner hanging over the doorway.
"Sure," he says, shrugging his shoulders.
We walk out onto the dance floor. Flo Rida or Usher or one of those artists who can sing and dance like a robot at the same time beats in the background as people gyrate all over the gym, air-humping each other.
"Do you like this song?" Alex asks swerving his hips back and forth. Sarah stands against the gym wall staring at us, jaw dropped. I turn my back to her.
"Sure," I say and mimic his hips. I don't even know the song, but anything is better than listening to Sarah and her mean words.
"You look nice tonight." Alex puts a hand on my hip.
"Thanks." I take a step closer.
"I like your dress," he yells over the music and puts his other hand on my hip.
"I like your shirt. It matches your eyes." My mom always says if someone gives you a compliment you give one back. And Alex's baby blue button down does look great next to his eyes.
"Thanks. My mom picked it out." I stop, my jaw dropping without me thinking, and Alex smiles. "I'm kidding. Not about your dress. The part about my mom."
I laugh a little, but then wonder if he has a sleeveless undershirt on underneath. My mind pictures armpit hair sticking out in every direction, little beads of sweat dripping off the ends. I cringe. What am I doing? I move to step back from Alex, but the song changes. A slow dance.
He pulls me closer and wraps his arms around my waist. "And you smell good, too. It's my lucky night." He smiles at me and I force a smile in return. I wanted to get away from Sarah, but I didn't want this. Me wrapped in Alex's arms when all I want is Matt. But I'm here and I can't be rude to him. Not when he's been so nice. So I rest my cheek on his chest. Alex is the perfect height for me. The top of my head fits right into the crux of his neck.
I close my eyes and try to find something, anything that will take my mind off his armpit hair and my sloppy banner. I feel his hips swaying with mine, his hands on my back, his heart beating hard through his shirt. Hard ... Hard ... Oh my God!! He's hard!
I pull back, my face on fire. Alex looks at me, his jaw slacked wide, his eyebrows raised above his blue eyes that look like they might pop right out of the socket. I want to tell him it's okay. I'm flattered. But all I keep hearing is Lil's voice in my head, screaming Alexander the Great Big Boner!
"I need to go to the bathroom," I say. I rush out of the other side of the gym to the furthest open hallway, away from Sarah and Alex and Alex's boner. I don't take a breath until I'm alone. Oh my ... Oh my ... I can't wrap my head around what just happened. Or maybe I can and I don't want to. All I'm seeing are scenes from Health class about anatomy and men and sex.
I lean up against the wall, my head in my hands. Pulling out my phone, I check for a text from Lil. Nothing.
"Be still My Hart," a silky voice says behind me.
End Health scene. Enter wild-beating heart and sexy guitar-callused hands. Matt Three-Last-Names.
My hands drop from my face. He's wearing dark jeans that hug his hips and a green and blue flannel shirt rolled up to expose his arm accessories. I throw my rule about flannel shirts out the window.
"Hi," I say, taking a breath.
"Hi." He strolls over to me and the air gets hard-to-breathe tight but I don't seem to care because all thoughts of male genitalia are gone from my head and I'm staring at Matt's kissable, pouty lips.
"When did you get here?" I ask.
"Just a bit ago. Taking a breather already?"
"Something like that," I say. I play with my hair, unsure of what to do with his body so close to mine. "Did you come with a date?" I almost have to choke out the words. I'm not sure I want to know about the other girl he'll wrap his arms around tonight.
"No. You?" he asks.
"No," I smile.
"I like talking to you." He leans against the wall next to me.
My insides jump a thousand times and I say, "I like talking to you, too." Even though we've barely said a word to each other in weeks. Somehow my brain manages to block it all out.
"It's like I can say whatever I want and know you won't judge me, you know?"
It's because your voice is like honey coating my entire skin in sugar and deliciousness, I think to myself.
"I think about singing a lot now," Matt says, his green eyes so magnetic my knees buckle, the kind of buckle where your whole body changes. "Want to dance again?" He extends his hand to me, palm up.
"Right here in the hallway?" I ask.
"It's too crowded in there. Plus, I hate this song."
"Wonderful Tonight" by Eric Clapton wafts into the hallway from the gym.
Matt wiggles his fingers and I giggle a little as I take it. He pulls my body against his. I might die right here and now. A wonderful death, my heart exploding from too much ecstasy. I'm glad Alex got a boner because it led to this.
"Nice bracelet," he says, running his fingers over the one he gave me.
"I thought it went well with my dress." I take another breath.
"You look good," he whispers in my ear.
"Thanks," I say into his shoulder, and hope my knees don't give out.
And then Matt sings, "Many have I loved, many times been bitten, many times I've gazed along the open road."
His voice is off-key and gruff and if I were judging him for an audition I'd demand he be placed in the chorus so we could stare at his face, but not hear him. Yet I don't care. I would swear what he's singing is a lullaby. The most beautiful song I've ever heard.
"That's my favorite," he shrugs.
"It's beautiful."
He puts his hand on my face, cupping my cheek so it fits perfectly into his palm. "You're really pretty," he says. A chorus of angelic voices goes off in my head, booming around us like it's the show-stopping number at the end of Act One of the musical entitled Meet Me in St. Marty's Pants. "You still haven't come to see me play at Vinyl Tap. I'll be there over the holiday break, if you want to come by."
I nod. Actually speaking would ruin the moment; even if I tried, all that would come out would be a squeak.
Matt drops his arms and steps back from me. "Well, we'd better get back in there. I wouldn't want people starting rumors about us." He winks at me and turns his bac
k, walking into the gym.
Why must these moments end? Why can't life be one long slow dance?
I wait until he's disappeared through the doors before I move. Right as I walk back into the blaring music and the smell of sweat that permeates the air, my phone buzzes.
Lil: I'm here.
My stomach flips. I look around the gym, trying to find her. I can't wait to tell her what just happened. It's crowded and people are jumping up and down to the heavy beat of the music. My eyes scan the crowd. Sarah is grinding with Tony Pisano, a pimply boy in our grade whose parents own the only pizzeria in town. Alex is sitting on the bleachers alone. My heart pinches when I see him leaning, elbows on his knees, and tapping his foot to the song.
And then I see Lil standing on top of a speaker at the DJ podium. I don't know how she got up there. The skinny, middle-aged DJ is frozen in shock—probably cause on the top of Lil's head is a pair of antlers with red lights twinkling on the ends. And she's wearing a shirt that says in all-capital letters, OPEN SEASON, with an arrow pointing down to her crotch.
Slowly, everyone turns to see her standing there, like a hunting trophy on display for the whole school. I laugh, a deep freeing chuckle from the bottom of my gut, and without thinking about the eyes that might watch me or the words that might be said, I walk over to her.
"Nice shirt," I yell over the music.
"Thanks, Pollyanna." Lil jumps down off the speaker. "Bitchin' decorations. 'Shot through the heart'. Solid."
"Don't say things you don't mean," I smile. "They suck."
"I'm sorry, girls," Ms. Everley comes up to us at the DJ table. "But Lil, I can't have you here in that shirt."
She shrugs. "Want to get out of here? These songs suck."
The eyes of everyone in the gym are on my back. I feel them for the first time as Lil speaks. I look over my shoulder at Sarah, who's standing still and staring at me, her eyes narrowed. At Alex, who's smiling.
Playing Nice Page 11
