Marissa dances herself back over to her bed and sits down. “Tell me more,” she says breathlessly. “Tell me more.”
“We went out again the next week. And this time, he kissed me goodnight. My first kiss. Mmmmmm…I felt like I was floating. I was sure I was falling in love. We started seeing each other more and more, sometimes doubling with Gaby and Jimmy, who seemed to be going at least as hot and heavy as we were. After about a month, Brian told me he loved me. I was floating. It all seemed so real—like it was going to last forever.”
“So, did you two do it?” Marissa asks.
I blush. I’m always uncomfortable talking about this stuff. “No, we didn’t. He wanted to, of course. All guys do, I guess. But I wasn’t anywhere near ready.” I laugh, remembering the time Brian tried to slide his hands up under my shirt.
“He tried for second base once,” I tell Marissa, “and I wondered why he was bothering. I’ve got little enough up there now, and I had absolutely nothing then. I pinched my elbows down over his hands and asked him what he was doing. There’s nothing there, I told him. He smiled and kept his hands where they were. I have to admit, I liked the way they felt against my skin. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘I don’t care. Besides, I had to try, or else I might lose my man card.’ I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that man card thing, but I guessed it had something to do with Jimmy. I wondered if Jimmy and Gaby had already gone there.”
My mood flips from wistfulness to sadness. It was almost four years ago, but it still makes me sad. And angry, too. Marissa sees it on my face.
“Here comes the bad part, huh?” she asks. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
I pull myself together. “It’s okay,” I say. “It was a long time ago. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it, though.”
“Did it have something to do with Gaby?”
“How’d you guess that?” I ask, surprised.
“It wasn’t hard. You were happy and smiling when you were telling me about Brian trying to cop a feel. Then you mentioned Gaby and Jimmy and your face dropped.”
Even though it all happened almost four years ago, it still feels like it was yesterday….
Gaby and I are sitting on a wooden bench in a park not far from school. It’s nearly four o’clock, but we usually hang out for awhile after school before we go home. The guys are at football practice, so this a good time for us to catch up. Football will be ending in a week, so we’ll see what happens after that.
It’s a cold November day, but the sun is shining on our bench, so we’re comfortable. I’m wearing my fake suede winter coat and jeans. Gaby’s got a heavy dark gray sweatshirt and black cargo pants—I swear, she must own a dozen pair of cargoes. I hardly ever see her in anything else. A bunch of children are laughing and screaming as they scramble around on the playground equipment not too far to our left. Three Moms are chatting at a picnic table near the equipment.
I can tell that Gaby has something on her mind by the way she’s chewing hard on some pink bubblegum, as if the chewing helps her think. I’ve learned that if I just wait, she’ll eventually spit it out—spit out what’s bothering her, that is, not the chewing gum.
“How far have you and Brian gone?” she asks out of nowhere.
I know this must be leading up to something big. Gaby and I have done the usual girl talk about how much we love kissing our guys, but we haven’t talked about anything more. Until now.
“Just kissing,” I say. I can tell she’s disappointed, so I add, “he tried to feel me up, but I stopped him.” I open my coat to display my flat chest before continuing. “He cracked up when I asked him what the point was. There’s nothing there. He agreed, but said he had to try or he might lose his man card.”
Gaby chuckles. “That’s one of Jimmy’s things. He’s always saying he has to do this or he has to do that or they’ll take away his man card. At least he hasn’t used it to try to get sex. He’s straight up about asking for that.”
“Oh my god—are you guys talking about that already?” It’s not really that soon, I know, from a guy’s perspective anyhow, but with Brian and me still in the making out stage, I hadn’t thought about where Gaby and Jimmy might be. Just because I’m an ultra cautious girl doesn’t mean Gaby is. She’s a lot more adventurous than me, which is one of the things I like about her, usually.
“Yeah, for a couple of weeks,” Gaby says. “I kind of want to. And Jimmy is definitely ready. We’ve done about everything else.”
My face is getting warm, and it’s not from the sun. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know what ‘everything else’ is. “Uh, really?” is all I can manage to say.
Gaby winks at me and grins. “And let me tell you, it all feels really good.”
She sounds like she’s already made her decision, or is very close to it.
“He says he loves me. And I love him.”
What can I say to that? Only what my careful brain would say to me.
“It’s an awful big step, Gaby. Don’t rush it. And whatever you decide, please be careful.”
Marissa is perched on the edge of the bed now, listening intently. I think she’s guessed what’s coming—part of it, at least.
“One night about two months later, Gaby calls me,” I tell her. “She’s crying on the phone. She’s pregnant, she tells me between sobs. And Jimmy, god damn him, has decided he doesn’t want anything to do with her anymore.”
“Effin’ guys,” Marissa says, shaking her head.
“Gaby’s mom is real old-fashioned. She can’t handle the scandal, so she’s sends Gaby to her grandmother’s in Chicago before she starts showing. You’d think it was 1960, for chrissakes. Gaby and I talk and text every day, but it’s not the same. She’s going to give the baby up for adoption, and then she’ll be back, she says. It’ll be just like old times.
“But it never happens. She keeps the kid—an adorable little girl she just couldn’t bear to give up. By this time her mom has separated from her dad and joined them in Chicago. So Gaby stays there. We stay in touch for awhile after, but she’s so busy with her kid it just kind of fades away. So there you have it—my strongest memories of freshman year.”
“That sucks,” Marissa says. “What happened with you and Brian? Did you two ever do it?”
“No way. Not even close.” I wonder how much I should reveal. Cautious Heather battles briefly with wanting-to-open-up-completely Heather. “I still haven’t done it,” I say, finally.
“Really? That’s cool,” Marissa says. “I’ve only slept with one guy. Danny. We went out most of senior year. But go ahead, finish your story. What happened with you and Brian?”
“We didn’t last much longer than Gaby and Jimmy.”
“How come?”
I shrug. “Bunch of reasons, I guess. He and Jimmy were best buds, and after what Jimmy did to Gaby, I couldn’t stand looking at him. But it was more than that. Brian was a nice guy, but we really didn’t have that much in common. I realized I was more into the idea of being with an older guy on the football team than I was into Brian himself.”
“Welcome to the world of high school,” Marissa says. “I’m so glad those days are frickin’ over.”
“Me, too,” I say. “Anyhow, now I’m holding out for real love. I just hope I know it when I find it.”
“Maybe it will find you,” she says.
“I hope so. Because I sure haven’t had much luck looking for it.”
But that’s another story.
Chapter 5
Thursday afternoon. I’m sitting in my room, playing my guitar. One of the first songs I learned: Shania Twain’s “Forever and For Always.” I guess I’ve been a hopeless romantic for a long time.
Marissa is at class, so I’ve grabbed the chance to play. She still doesn’t know I even own a guitar. I keep it in the back of my closet tucked behind my clothes and only take it out when she’s not here. She and I are getting along great, though, so I’ll probably let her hear me play before long.
Part of my “opening up of Heather” project. I’m not great on the guitar, but I’m not bad. It’s just a big step for me, playing for someone. Marissa will be the first. She’ll love that, I think. At least I know she likes country music, which is what I mostly play, although I’ll play almost any kind of love song. I’m such a sap!
Marissa likes lots of different music. We have something playing most of the time we’re here, sometimes my stuff, sometimes hers. Some of her stuff I like, some of it I don’t get at all. Maybe I’ll surprise her and learn to play Pink’s “Perfect.” It’s a long way from country, but it’s a catchy tune, and I like the lyrics. I’m not sure how it will sound on an acoustic guitar, though. If nothing else, we’ll probably get a laugh out of it.
It’s only been four days since we met, but Marissa has been great for me. She’s so outgoing and so fun—some of that will just have to rub off on me. I hope. She’s already talking about taking me shopping to get a few cool outfits. I told her I don’t have much money for clothes, but she says she knows a place where they have good used stuff cheap. She showed me some outfits she got there, and they look really good. I can’t wait to see what she picks out for me. I’m a little nervous, though—she definitely dresses for more attention than I’m comfortable with.
School has been pretty good so far, too. My psych professor is really fun—I think he’s probably a frustrated comedian. English and history are okay, and math is math. Two semesters of required math, and I’ll probably never have to do the stuff again. Won’t that be nice!
I glance at the clock. Quarter to four. I’ve got to head to my final class, the one I didn’t tell Mom and Dad about. I ease my guitar back into the case and place it carefully into the back of my closet. Then I’m off to class.
I’ve been looking forward to this one. Vampire Lit. Sounds stupid to offer a class on such a mindless subject, I know, but with the popularity of vampire books and movies in the last few years, more and more schools are doing it. Maybe they think it helps enrollment. This one meets just once a week and is only good for one credit. But hey, a credit is a credit, and this class should be fun. I came late to the Twilight books—like I do to most things, it seems—but I really liked them. Did I mention I’m a hopeless romantic? How could I not get into Bella and Edward’s story? I’m hoping I’ll learn about some more romantic tales like that.
The small, amphitheater style classroom is almost full of chattering students. Fifty or sixty kids, I guess. I’m not surprised at the crowd. The chance to earn a credit for reading about vampires is too good to pass up for many kids. I’m also not surprised to see the class is at least eighty percent female. Not good odds, but I’m not here to meet a guy—I’ve got other classes for that. I find a seat in the second row from the top, next to a black-haired girl who is busily pecking away at her laptop. The seat on my other side is empty. Maybe I’ll get lucky and it’ll stay that way, giving me some extra room.
The professor walks across the small stage in front of the room to a wooden lectern. His thin frame is stooped with age, but he moves confidently, belying his frail appearance. Long white hair hangs limply from his head, the ends falling onto an old-fashioned black cape. As he turns toward us I can see the inner lining of the cape is a dark red color. Talk about unusual wear for a professor—I guess he’s playing up the vampire thing, for this first class, at least.
He’s certainly not what I expected. I thought a class like this would be taught by someone young and hip. This guy looks like he could have been around when the original Dracula was written, whenever that was. Hey, maybe he really is a vampire!
He stands behind the lectern, waiting. The room slowly quiets.
“Welcome to English 131,” he says, his deep voice carrying easily through the room. “Vampire Literature. I trust you are all in the right place.”
From my seat near the top, I can see almost all of the students. Nobody moves, so I guess everyone is where they’re supposed to be.
“As I’m sure you’ve all guessed by now,” the professor says, “I’m Dr. Simpson.” He moves out from behind the lectern. “Our main focus this semester,” he continues, “will be to be to trace the changes in vampire literature from the beginning to the present. To do this, we’ll focus on five books. We’ll begin with Dracula, the book that started the whole thing. Then we’ll move on to Interview with the Vampire, by Anne Rice, which created the first boom in modern vampire popularity, way back in the seventies. Then we’ll go to Twilight, which is pretty much responsible for the current vampire craze. We’ll finish up with a couple of new books you may not have heard of yet.”
Suddenly, a body plops down into the empty seat beside me. It’s a guy, wearing a brown, long-sleeved waffle-knit shirt. I check him out through the corner of my eye. He seems tall—sitting, at least, his head is level with mine—and his light brown hair is stylishly messy, held that way with gel, I think. His profile is sharp and even. All in all, he’s pretty darn cute.
He might just be a late arrival, but I think I saw him earlier, on the other side of the room. This new seat is no closer to the professor, so he’s either moved to get away from someone, or to get closer to someone. Could it be me? Or is it the girl on the other side of him? She’s pretty cute. His eyes are fixed forward, giving no clue. I can’t see what color they are without being obvious, and there’s no way cautious girl is going to be obvious. I hope they’re blue, though. I love blue eyes.
I turn my attention back to Professor Simpson, but I can’t help sneaking a glance to my right every now and then. One time, I think I see the guy’s eyes flicking away from me, but I can’t be sure. I spend the rest of class with my attention divided between listening to the professor and trying to think of something to say to the guy beside me. Maybe not during class, but as soon as it’s over. So far, everything I’ve thought of sounds lame. Marissa, where are you when I need you? I’m sooo not good at this stuff.
Finally, Dr. Simpson brings the class to a close. All it all, it was pretty interesting. I’m definitely going to enjoy this course. I still haven’t thought of a way to start a conversation with the guy next to me, so I guess I’ll let him make the first move, if there’s going to be one. I think Mom would approve of that, but I’m pretty sure Marissa will get on my case about it.
Anyhow, the choice is taken out of my hands when the girl on the other side of him says something to him. I couldn’t hear what, but he replies and now they’re talking. Oh, well. You snooze, you lose, I guess. He probably moved to his new seat to be next to her, anyway.
I turn and make my way in the other direction out to the aisle.
Chapter 6
“What do you mean you couldn’t think of anything to say?” Marissa asks when I finish telling her about the guy in vampire class. “Say anything. Say red, blue, green, black—it doesn’t matter. Guys love it when a pretty girl starts the conversation. It takes the pressure off them. They don’t care what you say. Heck, most of the time they’re too busy checking you out to pay any attention to what you said.”
She’s sitting at her desk. I’m perched on the edge of my bed.
“I’m pretty sure the other girl didn’t say red, blue, green, black,” I say defensively.
Marissa chuckles. “No, probably not. But the point is, it doesn’t matter what she said. She said something, and then they were talking. That’s how easy it is. Now you’ll never know if he moved to be next to you or next to her.”
I sigh. “I’ve never been any good with this kind of stuff.”
“Well, you’ve got me coaching you now,” Marissa says, grinning. “And I’m very good at it.”
She gets up and sits beside me on the bed. “The first thing we gotta do is get you a new outfit or two. Hunting outfits, I call them. You got any yoga pants? They’d look great on you.”
Hunting outfits? That is so not me. I wonder if I’m going to regret this. I usually only wear my yoga pants to the gym.
“Yeah. I’ve got black ones and gray ones
.” I don’t tell her that I seldom wear them out in public like other girls do, unless I’m on my way to the gym or something.
“Cool. With your long legs, yoga pants will be hot.” Marissa gets up and begins pawing through my closet. “Let’s see what you’ve got that we can pair ‘em with.”
She takes a couple things out and holds them up for a better look, but always puts them back. I guess nothing’s quite right, in her mind, at least.
“Hey, what’s this?” She tips my guitar case forward. “I didn’t know you played.”
Damn! I’d completely forgotten about my guitar.
“Yeah, I play a little,” I say, trying hard to sound nonchalant.
“Cool. Will you play something for me? I love guitar.”
I feel my heart begin to race. I’d been planning on letting Marissa hear me play eventually, but hadn’t thought it would be this soon.
“On one condition,” I say. “I don’t usually play for other people.” I don’t want to say I’ve never played for anyone. That would sound way too serious and way too lame. “So you can’t tell any of the other girls I play, okay?”
“Deal.”
She pulls the case out of the closet and hands it to me. I put it on the bed and take my guitar out, then sit down and begin strumming the strings. Marissa sits across from me, on her bed.
I’m pretty nervous, so I begin playing a song I’ve played for years, Taylor Swift’s “Teardrops on My Guitar.” Part way through, I begin to sing.
“Wow, you’re really good,” Marissa says when I finish. “But in my experience, that wishing star stuff in the song seldom works.” She grins. “Now hunting outfits, on the other hand….”
“Okay. Okay. I get your point. I’ll let you put something together for me. I don’t promise I’ll wear it outside the room, though.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll love it. You got any classes tomorrow afternoon?”
“Nope,” I say. Like most kids, I avoided taking any classes that meet on Friday afternoons.
Mine: A Love Story Page 3
