A First Time for Everything

by Isabel Morin

  I sit down next to Casey on the couch without saying a word, my eyes glued to the screen.

  “You kind of have to ignore how Ricky patronizes her,” Casey says during the commercial.

  “Yeah, and the way he demands breakfast.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Casey asks, all wide-eyed innocence. “I make every woman I’m with cook me breakfast.”

  “As if you’d let a woman stay the whole night.”

  His eyes widen in surprise, and he actually looks kind of hurt. “Ouch.”

  “Sorry, that was a bit harsh. I’m sure you don’t kick girls out of your bed.”

  “Of course not,” he says, suddenly entranced by the vacuum commercial.

  “You probably let them know you have to get up early for class and they leave on their own.”

  He slides me a look out of the corner of his eye but doesn’t reply. The show comes on again, and now Lucy is doing take after take and eating spoonful after spoonful of the Vitameatavegamin, getting slowly plastered. It’s pure comedy genius, and Casey and I both laugh so hard the couch shakes.

  “I wonder if she realized what a trailblazer she was,” I say when it’s over.

  “That’s what you want to be, isn’t it?”

  “Of course not. I’d be a horrible comedian.”

  He rolls his eyes. “I’m talking about in medicine.”

  “I guess that would be cool. I mean, doesn’t everyone?”

  He laughs. “No, plenty of people don’t want that kind of pressure. Or maybe they fantasize about being the first at something, but they’d never actually attempt it.”

  “But you think I would.”

  “It’s pretty obvious.”

  “You barely know me!”

  “Hey, it’s a compliment.” He switches to a baseball game and settles back into the cushions. “This is what I was looking for when I saw that episode.”

  “I have to work on my essay anyway.” But instead of moving I pull my feet up until they’re tucked under me. “Who’s playing?”

  “Oakland and Seattle.”

  “So you’re an Oakland fan?”

  “Yup.”

  We watch a Seattle player take two strikes and then hit a fly ball to center field.

  “What about you?” I ask.

  “What about me?”

  “Do you want to be a trailblazer?”

  Just like that, he closes up. I can almost see the walls go up, like on the first day when I asked him what he was doing after graduation.

  “My dad already did that.”

  “But if you could, what would it be for?”

  He doesn’t say anything for so long, I assume he’s going to ignore the question. When he does answer, he still won’t look at me. “Buildings I designed.” His jaw is clenched, his back rigid, like it’s costing him something to even discuss this.

  The A’s are at bat so I stop talking. Besides, I’m clearly making him uncomfortable, which wasn’t at all what I was trying to do.

  “I should probably get back to work,” I say, testing the waters. I don’t actually move.

  “Nah, stay here and relax.”

  “I’m not bothering you?”

  “Only when you probe my deepest, darkest desires. Otherwise, it’s all good.”

  One of the A’s gets a base hit, and Casey’s attention is pulled back to the TV. Then the next batter hits into a double play and it goes to commercial. I have his attention again, and I decide to pick his brain on a different subject.

  “What would you do if a girl yawned in front of you? Would you be offended and avoid her for all time?”

  “That depends. Am I making sweet love to her when she does it?”

  I can’t hold back my laugh. “No. You’re sitting at a table eating tacos. But maybe you’re going on a little too long about your senior project, and she’s been studying for hours.”

  He laughs, but that soft look I saw the night of the party is back, and instead of teasing me, he sounds kind. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Most guys aren’t scared off that easily. He probably realized he has to up his game.”

  “I suppose. I guess I won’t know until I see him again. If I see him again.”

  “All you did was yawn. Trust me, that’s nothing. Everyone has embarrassing things happen to them. It goes with the territory.”

  “What was the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to you?”

  “Seriously? I’m not revealing something humiliating just to make you feel better.”

  “Please?”

  He sighs like the weight of the world is upon him and turns so he’s fully facing me. The game comes back on, but he’s not paying attention now. “Fine, but only if you swear never to mention it again, not to me or to anyone.”

  I wiggle in my seat with anticipation. “I swear.”

  “Okay. Well, I had a girlfriend my whole first year here, but we broke up right before leaving campus for the summer.”

  “Meaning you dumped her.”

  He sighs. “Do you want to hear this or not?”

  “My apologies. Please continue.”

  “So I fly back to Berkeley at the end of the year, and about a week later I plan to meet a friend after work at this bar—”

  “You had a fake ID?”

  “Yes. Anyway, I notice this totally hot woman on the other side of the bar. She looks like she’s in her early thirties, but I’m kind of into the idea of an older woman, especially after being with only Tori for a year.”

  I can’t help myself. “So you walk over to her like the young stud that you are…”

  “And I say hi and offer to buy her another glass of wine. She smiles and says why not, her friend’s running late. We introduce ourselves and start talking, and I mention I’m on break from college. She looks surprised and says she thought I was older. I was rocking a beard then, and I was wearing a button-down shirt and tie.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I say something about working with my dad and she gets this funny look on her face and asks me my name again. This time I tell her my last name, too, and she looks at me like I’m a serial killer. She’s like, ‘I can’t believe this is happening to me.’ She asks me if I know who she is, and I say no, totally confused. And she says, ‘You slept with my daughter, you horny little shit.’”

  My hands fly to my mouth, and my whole body cringes. “No way.”

  “As soon as she says that, I realize she’s Amanda Gray’s mother. She’s younger than the rest of our mothers because she had Amanda her senior year of high school. So I say, ‘You look terrific, Caroline.’ Then I throw down twenty dollars for the wine and get the hell out of there.”

  I stare at him, speechless.

  He turns back to the TV and raises the volume. “Now can I watch the game, please?”

  I give his arm a squeeze. “Thank you for that.”

  …

  Reassured by our little talk, I heed Casey’s advice and stop worrying about whether I offended Brian. I’m rewarded for my blasé attitude by a text from him the very next day.

  Got your number from the directory. Hope you don’t mind. Want to grab a bite sometime this week?

  I do a little dance alone in my room as I contemplate how to reply. This is the first time anyone’s asked me out, and it’s a lot to process. I want to celebrate, but I also need someone to talk me through this. I text Audrey and a second later my phone rings.

  “What did you write back?” she asks without preamble.

  “Nothing yet. I wasn’t sure how long I should wait.”

  “You don’t need to wait when you get a text. That’s really more for phone calls.”

  “Huh. I thought it was more complicated than that.”

  “It’ll get complicated soon enough, grasshopper
. No need to rush it.”

  I’m composing my text back to him when I realize I’m in trouble. If we like each other, eventually there’ll be kissing, and maybe more. Probably more. What if it’s terrible again? What if he can tell I don’t know what I’m doing?

  Things just got more complicated.

  I sit on my bed and try to think clearly. If I don’t go out with any guys, I’ll never experience anything, but the thought of trying fills me with dread. I can’t leave myself open to the kind of humiliation I experienced with Eric. I don’t think Brian would be cruel, but he’d definitely wonder what was wrong with me.

  I could avoid the entire problem by not dating anyone, but then I’ll graduate and be out in the real world, and it’ll be even worse. And I’m tired of feeling this way. I want to be normal.

  Not to mention the fact that sometimes I feel like I might actually die if no one touches me.

  I try to slow my brain down and puzzle out the problem, like I do in the lab. But only one solution presents itself. The only way to get good at something is to practice. Which means I need someone to practice on.

  And only one person comes to mind.

  I text Brian to say I’m free for lunch tomorrow. That’s safe and will buy me time to work out the details of my insane plan.

  Chapter Seven

  I hang out in the lounge the next night hoping Casey will show up, only to have an annoying guy down the hall come in and talk through the entire episode of Broad City. I go back again Thursday evening and Saturday afternoon, tensing up every time I hear a male voice. Between the TV—which is only on to lure Casey—and my pathetically spinning brain, I can barely follow what I’m watching.

  On Sunday, I come back from the library, drop my books off in my room, and take up my stakeout of the lounge again. Five minutes later I’m already fidgeting and irritated.

  I need to change tactics. This is no way to carry out a plan. If I were starving, I wouldn’t just open my mouth and hope food fell into it. Besides, I don’t have time for this. I have an essay to write and applications to complete, not to mention classes and the clinic.

  I need to take charge of my problem and its solution. My lunch with Brian on Thursday was fine once I got over the constant fear of yawning—which of course led to the desperate urge to do it—but we need to progress. He already wants to make plans for the coming week.

  I turn off the TV and leave the lounge to listen at Casey’s door. My heart rate has shot up and my breath is coming too fast, but I knock, determined to see this through.

  Nothing. No noise from the other side of the door. Which means I’ll have to do this all over again another day.

  I turn around and walk straight into Casey.

  I fall back a step and stare like an idiot, trying to remember how I’ve always acted around him. Do I usually smile when we meet?

  “Hey. Were you looking for me?”

  “Sort of. But if you’re busy I can come back another time.”

  “Now’s good,” he says, unlocking his door. “Come on in.”

  I follow him in and stand by the door while he drops his book bag and sits down heavily in his desk chair. He looks tired, and his eyes are rimmed in red, like he’s been rubbing at them. Maybe he has allergies. Or maybe he was up all night having sex. Then again, he could have been studying. I suspect he works a lot harder than I originally gave him credit for.

  I look around, taking in the lava lamp on top of the bookcase and the pile of books on the floor. Leaning down to get a better look, I can see they’re about famous architects and building projects. The wall above his desk is covered with drawings of various structures, as well as photos of architectural wonders from all over the world—towers and churches and museums. For someone planning to be an architect, they’d be inspiring. But what are they for Casey?

  “Have a seat,” he says, nodding to the bed.

  The bed’s not exactly made, but the royal blue cover is drawn up most of the way. A tapestry in blues and greens hangs on the wall next to the bed, and somehow this standard of college dorms everywhere looks exotic in his room. Overall, the room’s a lot neater than I would have expected.

  I sit, my butt barely on the mattress, unsure where to begin.

  He turns the desk chair so its facing me and sits. “So what’s up?”

  “I was just wondering…” I stop, unable to go on or even look at him.

  “You were wondering…” he prompts.

  “You know that problem I told you about?”

  “The yawning?”

  “No, the other one.”

  “You mean being a virgin who’s never kissed anyone?”

  Talk about putting a fine point on it. “Yeah, that one. Well, I was thinking…I mean I was wondering if you could maybe help me out with that.”

  He looks totally confused. “Help you out?”

  “As in, give me lessons.”

  His face goes blank with astonishment, his mouth falling open. It’s a few seconds before he can speak. “Okay. I wasn’t expecting that.” He scrubs at his face, like he’s trying to wake himself up from a dream.

  A bad dream.

  “Exactly what is it you want me to teach you? Kissing, or…”

  “I was thinking kind of…everything.”

  “Everything,” he repeats.

  Something changes, and he’s looking at me with intent now. Not just stunned but considering. Maybe imagining.

  “Or maybe not everything,” I say, backpedaling. “We could see how it goes.”

  “Why—?” he starts to ask, but a hacking cough interrupts him. When it finally dies down, he finishes. “Why me?”

  “You already know about my problem, plus you’re good at it. I mean…you must be, or girls wouldn’t, you know, be so into you.”

  The image of him kissing that girl at the party flashes through my brain.

  “Hannah—”

  “You said you want to fool around only with girls who won’t have feelings for you or get clingy. Well, that’s me.” I take a deep breath. “I can’t go on this way forever. Brian finally asked me out. I need to know what to do.”

  “Girls get attached to guys they fool around with.”

  “Are you afraid I’d fall for you?”

  He starts coughing again, and when he’s done, he looks worn out.

  “You sound pretty bad,” I say, worry overtaking my mission. “Maybe you should go to the health center.”

  He waves this away. “I’m fine. Anyway, the getting attached thing is biology. You’ll be… awakening and everything.”

  This would crack me up if I didn’t happen to agree with him. I certainly hope I’ll be awakening, but I didn’t count on him having some kind of moral dilemma. I can’t decide whether I’m touched or annoyed.

  Casey leans his head back and closes his eyes. Beneath the gorgeousness he looks pale and tired, and the energy that usually radiates off him is missing. It looks like my timing isn’t so great. I suppose even Don Juan had bad days.

  I get up and lay the back of my hand on his forehead.

  He opens his eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “Checking to see if you have a fever.”

  “I thought only moms did that.”

  “Well, it works. They feel your kepi and know if you have a temperature.”

  “Your what?”

  “Kepi. It’s Yiddish for little head.”

  “That’s so cute. What other Yiddish words do you know?”

  “Lots, but they’re totally random and mostly insults. You do have a fever, by the way,” I tell him. “Do you have any Tylenol?”

  He shakes his head, looking thoroughly confused by the turn of events. “I don’t need—” he breaks off to cough violently.

  “I’ve got some. I’ll be right back.”

 
Back in my room I rummage through my box of cold medicine, Band-Aids, and pain relievers. It’s probably overkill for a college student to have the medicine cabinet of a mother of four, but I like to be prepared. I grab the cough medicine and a thermometer and head back to his room.

  He hasn’t moved from the chair, but he’s sort of listing to one side, like a boat about to capsize.

  He puts the thermometer in his mouth without any argument or joking, which is how I know he must really feel bad. He closes his eyes and I sit on the bed, waiting for the little beeping noise to tell us he’s done cooking.

  He hands it to me without looking at it.

  “A hundred and one,” I tell him. “You should be in bed.”

  “Yeah, that would be nice,” he says, as if standing up and moving two feet is more than he can envision.

  I pour the sticky medicine into the little plastic cup, and he takes it without complaint.

  “Come on. I’ll help you.” I grab his arm and tug him up.

  He leans his weight ever so slightly on me, the warmth that always radiates off him amplified by his fever. For a second, I think of all that heat and muscle and humming energy over me in bed, and I can hardly breathe.

  Then he starts coughing, his whole body shaking with the force of it, and I feel like a pervert. We make it to his bed, and he collapses onto it with a relieved groan. I put his water bottle on the little table next to the bed and tell him to drink it. “I’ll leave this here, too,” I tell him, setting the bottle of cough medicine down. “But you need to wait at least six hours before you take it again.”

  He grunts in reply and closes his eyes, lying there on top of his comforter. I lean down and rub the cream-colored sheets between my fingers, and it’s just as I thought. He may be sleeping on a twin bed in a room the size of a shed, but Casey’s bedding is worthy of a sheik.

  He turns over, curling tight into himself, his breathing deep and slow. His burnished eyelashes lay softly against his cheek, his hair curls against his pillow. I let myself out quietly, oddly moved by the sight of Casey looking so vulnerable.

  Back in my room I try to read, but I can’t concentrate. I feel totally defeated without being certain if I am. He certainly seemed like he was refusing me, or like he was trying to turn me down without coming right out and saying it.