“Oh, honey, we didn’t hear you come in. Charlie was just telling me how insightful you are in prayer group. I never knew religion was so important to you!” To Charlie, she throws in an exaggerated wink. “I’m very spiritual myself.”
I fight the urge to chuck my backpack at Kim’s head. “If by spiritual, you mean you bought some power beads and read Eat, Pray, Love, sure you are,” I say.
Charlie raises his eyebrows and laughs. Kim looks like I just slapped her across the face.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to borrow Charlie,” I say, gesturing for Charlie to follow me upstairs.
“I hope this one doesn’t sneak out in the middle of the night,” Kim mutters under her breath before taking a swig of her tea. I shoot her the middle finger from the landing, even though she doesn’t look up.
“What was all that about?” Charlie says once we’re safely in my bedroom.
I was hoping he didn’t hear her, but of course Kim managed to make me look bad in less than two minutes. I pull my bedroom door shut and, as an afterthought, lock it. It feels weird having Charlie in here when I do that, but Kim eavesdropping at the open door would be worse.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Kim’s used to guys pulling a runner in the night. I think she expects the same thing to happen to me.”
Charlie clasps his hands together, almost like he does in prayer group, except he is wearing a very different expression. “And what exactly does your mom think we’re doing in here?”
I turn my eyes to the floor. Heat is creeping up my neck, but I don’t want to come across as rattled. Staring at the carpet is supposed to be a way to refocus, but instead I’m forced to see the very spot where I slept with Juan Marco Antonio. Even though Charlie could never know that—even though the room is spotless—I still feel like all the guys who have been in here must have left some sort of evidence, some presence Charlie can sense.
“Just homework,” I say. “You know, the usual.”
Charlie chuckles and stares at his hands. For a minute, there’s a long and awkward silence, one that probably feels longer than it actually is. It’s awkward because of the weekend, because we share a secret now, after years of Charlie just being Angela’s boyfriend to me. Now he’s more than that. He has made me, for better or worse, complicit in whatever scheme he’s cooking up.
“Our anniversary is coming up soon. Two years together. So it has to be a really good gift.”
I sit down on my bed, expecting Charlie to take the desk chair across from me, but instead he plants his butt on the mattress beside me. Close. I shift down and turn to face him. I notice a pair of lacy panties on the floor and push them under the bed with my toe, hoping Charlie didn’t see them.
“Of course I can help,” I say. But a simple text would have sufficed. And that would have avoided Charlie’s interaction with Kim, and having him see the inside of my bedroom, somewhere I never imagined Charlie setting foot.
“Any initial observations?” He stretches back on my bed, a little too presumptuous for somebody who has never been in my room before.
But I don’t say anything. Instead, I stand up, with the guise of rummaging around in my desk for a pen and notepad. I take a seat in my desk chair, pen poised, like I’m ready to write down any brilliant ideas.
“Two years is a long time,” I say. “Something really personal. Like, maybe something engraved with your names on it? Angela loves stuff like that.” I think about the promise ring, what it stands for. How often I see her spin it lately.
As if on cue, Charlie raises his hand, twirls the silver promise ring on his own finger. “I want to get her something to bring her out of her shell. She’s so … inhibited, you know?”
I think back to the red-faced Angela who avoided my eyes over the weekend, the one who can’t talk about sex with a straight face. The Angela who hates talking about anything personal—the Angela who probably befriended me because we share this in common.
“What about tickets to, like, an adventure park?”
He laughs. Charlie’s laugh is slow and deliberate, like each syllable has to be earned. It strikes me how unlike Faye’s laugh it is, that goddamned seal bark that you don’t have to earn at all.
“This is a bit awkward, Mercy. That’s why I wanted to talk about it here.”
I instinctively bring my arms in front of my chest, afraid of what he’s going to say next. Even though the posture does nothing defensively, it makes me feel safer somehow. Always has.
But Charlie makes no movement toward me. He stares at his hands. “I want to buy her something a bit more personal than that, but I have no idea what she would like. It’s something you might know better, being a girl and all.”
“Jewelry?” I ask, relaxing my posture slightly.
“Lingerie,” he says. I almost laugh, until he peers up at me and I realize he is completely serious.
“I guess now I know why you didn’t want to talk about it in the quad,” I say with a nervous laugh.
“I’m serious, Mercy. Will you help me? I’m a guy. I’m clueless.”
I nod slowly, hoping my face doesn’t relay my confusion. Angela was conflicted on the weekend but said Charlie wasn’t pushing her to sleep with him. As far as I know, she still wants to wait for marriage. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that lingerie and sex are virtually indistinguishable. And if a guy buys you lingerie, it’s definitely with the intent that you’re going to sleep with him. But I don’t want to say any of this to Charlie, because that would be betraying Angela’s confidence. I guess I’m keeping secrets on both sides of the fence.
“Great. I knew I could count on you.” Charlie’s face breaks into a huge smile and he stands up, wrapping me and the back of the chair in an awkward hug. I don’t think Charlie has ever hugged me before, and it catches me completely off guard. He doesn’t even hug Angela much in public. When his chest is pressed against mine, smothering my face, I remind myself that this is Charlie, Angela’s Charlie, who is only asking me to shop for lingerie with him because I’m her best friend—not because I have ample experience on the subject.
We go to Victoria’s Secret. I’m not taking Charlie to what, until Faye, used to be my secret spot. Faye would make the whole situation more cringeworthy than it already is, with her sexual innuendos and her perfect hair and teeth and the way she looks at me sometimes, like she knows more about me than she lets on.
“Can I help you?” asks a perky salesgirl wearing an extremely padded push-up bra under her “Tiffani” name tag.
I try not to stare at her cleavage before I start. “We’re shopping for—”
“My girlfriend here,” Charlie says, putting his arm around my waist. “We need something special.”
When the salesgirl turns to lead us toward the nightgowns, I give Charlie a bewildered expression. He just shrugs.
“Seems less weird to me,” he whispers. “Besides, you can try stuff on. You and Angie are about the same size.”
I trail Charlie around the store, feeling completely lost in an environment where I usually feel completely at home. I suppose he has a point. Angela and I have almost identical builds, and he wants to buy something that fits so she doesn’t have to suffer the embarrassment of taking it back. But this just seems weird. Maybe what threw me off most of all is that he called her “Angie,” a nickname she once told me she despised. By that point she had been calling me “Mercy” for too long to tell her I kind of hate that nickname, too. But now, I only hate it from people who aren’t Angela.
Charlie picks up a black garter belt and raises his eyebrow. I shake my head. “That’s too intimidating,” I say. “They’re complicated.” When he raises the other eyebrow, I quickly say, “I mean, they look complicated,” and silently vow to not say anything else.
Lucky for us, “Tiffani” does plenty of talking, chattering excitedly as she pulls items from racks so fast I can’t even tell what she’s grabbing. She whips her head around and surveys me with squinting eyes. “
Thirty-two B, right?”
I nod and look at the floor, wishing Charlie didn’t know my bra size. Somehow Tiffani makes the scenario even more humiliating.
“Don’t worry—they’re the perfect size to work with,” she says. “You can make them look huge with the right bra. And you know they’ll never get saggy!” She looks down at her own bulging chest and giggles. “I wish mine were that size,” she says in a tone of voice that implies she absolutely does not wish hers were that size.
She leaves me in the dressing room with about twenty different options. Most are tasteful, minus a very skimpy black corset that looks like something out of a bondage film. Of course that’s the one Charlie wants me to try on.
“I think Angela would be scared of this,” I say, waving the hanger around, willing it to disappear.
“The whole point is for her to think outside the box,” he says before I pull the door shut. It crosses my mind that Charlie is the second person I’ve inadvertently shopped for lingerie with in less than a week. At least the first was not by choice.
Of all the lingerie I own, a corset is a new one, even for me. Forcing myself into it leaves my hair in complete disarray. Not bedroom hair. More like hurricane hair. I can barely breathe and my breasts are threatening to spill over the top. Not in a sexy way.
“Definitely not a good pick,” I call to Charlie.
“Can I at least see it?” he calls back.
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I’m serious. I have to like it.” He lowers his voice. “It’s my first time, too.”
My face, which was set in an expression of shock, softens. He may be unorthodox, but he has a point.
“Fine,” I say. “But don’t laugh.” I open the door. And right away I wish I hadn’t.
Charlie is facing away and turns around with his hands partially obscuring his eyes. He’s peeking at first, but drops his hands—and his jaw—when he sees me. But not in the same frightened way as the more uncertain first-timers, like Evan Brown. Guys like Evan Brown don’t drop their jaws because they mean to. It’s an expression that isn’t supposed to happen, like blowing your load ten seconds in.
And that’s not how Charlie looks at me. Charlie’s jaw drops deliberately, like he had complete control over it and decided to let it fall. And he says nothing, just stares at me until I feel my own face start to go red—and I never blush. Only when I start pulling the curtain back does he finally speak.
“I wish Angie would wear that.”
I laugh, but it sounds like it’s not coming from me. I cross my legs, grateful that at least my bottom half is covered by a pair of shorts.
“Maybe try that purple one.”
I close the curtain and breathe deeply, or as deeply as I can with my lungs mostly compressed by satin and lace. Getting the corset off is even harder than getting it on, and I rip the bodice a bit in the process. I hope Tiffani doesn’t notice and make me buy it.
I try on the purple one, the pink one, the long blue one. I don’t show Charlie any of them, instead calling out from behind the curtain whether it’s a hit or miss. My anxiety is mounting, and Charlie’s enthusiasm seems to be waning. Finally, he decides on the white lacy one, even though I advised him against it.
“The most surefire way to make a girl feel more like a virgin is by putting her in bridal lingerie,” I say as he pays at the checkout. “Something more neutral might be less scary for her.”
He rolls his neck and shoulders, like he has spent all day at a desk job and is only now waking up.
“You’re a good friend,” he says. “It means a lot.”
I edge away from him, hoping he won’t put his arm around me and make me play his girlfriend again. “I hope so,” I say, but even I can hear the wariness in my voice. If I’m such a good friend, why do I feel like I’m betraying Angela?
“Angie’s going to love this,” he says with a satisfied smile that I can’t bring myself to return. Because even though Charlie thinks “Angie” will be happy, I don’t think she would like any of what went on this afternoon behind her back.
19
I have a revelation the next morning in the unlikeliest place. Prayer group, which was rescheduled from yesterday because the drama geeks took over the library for their annual Shakespeare read-a-thon.
Charlie is reciting something that I’m not paying attention to, not only because I don’t understand it or believe it but because the very sound of Charlie’s voice today makes me think of silk, like lingerie, and Angela wearing it. It’s not a mental picture I want. As I’m staring at the open Bible in my hands, trying to think about something else, my revelation happens.
I know how to help Toby Easton with polymers. The answer was right in front of me the whole time, but not in the pages of my notes where I was looking for it.
“Come over to my place after school,” I tell Toby after his chemistry class lets out. “I have something to show you.”
He puffs out his chubby cheeks. It’s almost like he’s suspicious. He couldn’t possibly know about what goes on in my bedroom. Could he?
“Is that normal?” he says, fumbling with the papers in his hand. The top one bears a mark unfamiliar to me. A big red C. “I mean, I never went to a tutor’s house before.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “And how’s that working out for you?” I say, gesturing to the C. “Five twenty-four Silverberry Run. Be there at six.”
I stop at the water fountain on my way to class. My hair starts falling into the fountain, until a hand pushes it back for me. I close my eyes. For some reason I expect to see Zach when I stand up. But Charlie is there instead, wearing the same look he had on yesterday when I came out of the dressing room.
“I was thirsty,” I say dumbly, wiping my mouth. My cheek feels hot where his fingers just were. I don’t want his fingers there. I don’t want anybody pushing my hair behind my ears for me. That was what Luke used to do. This is what girlfriends do.
“Hot date tonight?” Charlie says, tilting his head and pointing across the hall. I follow where he is looking and see Toby at his locker with a pudgy blond girl clinging to his neck. That must be the girlfriend who comes second to his textbook.
“No,” I say brusquely, wrapping my arms across my chest. “I’m his tutor.” How long has Charlie been watching me, anyway?
“I had no idea you were a tutor,” Charlie says, propping his foot against the wall. “But now I can totally see it.”
I nod. “Well, who knows if I’m any good at it.”
Charlie leans in. “I bet you’re an awesome teacher,” he says.
I don’t have time to react because Zach saunters up beside me and puts his hand on my shoulder.
“Hey, Mercy,” he says. “I need to talk to you about something.” He looks from my face to Charlie’s and back to me again.
Charlie crosses his arms. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but the bell rings and he heads down the hallway.
“What were you guys talking about?” Zach says, staring at his retreating back.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Nothing important.” I start walking in the opposite direction. “I’m late for class. Can we talk later?”
Zach shrugs. “Sure, I guess,” he says, stopping abruptly. “Look, this might sound weird, but I don’t like how Charlie looks at you. He’s kind of strange, don’t you think?”
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s what you wanted to talk to me about? I can take care of myself, Zach.” I shift my backpack strap and stare at my feet. “Besides, what’s it to you? Are you jealous or something?”
Zach’s face clouds over and I immediately wish I could take back what I just said. I know Zach is just looking out for me, but I don’t need looking out for. I can take care of myself.
“You know, I don’t think there’s anything to talk about after all,” he says. “See you around.”
I remain planted in the hallway when he keeps walking. See you around. That’s Zach-speak for you’re an ass
hole, although he would never say that. Not even when I deserve it.
I half expect Toby Easton not to show up after school. Maybe his girlfriend isn’t okay with him going to his tutor’s house. Maybe he isn’t okay with it. I’m grateful that Kim isn’t home, because she would definitely scare him off.
It’s weird having a guy over and not going through my regular routine first. I’m wearing the same jeans and T-shirt I wore to school today, with the same flimsy ponytail and stale makeup. I get ready, but in a different way. I line up everything we will need on the kitchen counter. Then I wait.
He shows up at half past, wearing the same uneasy expression he had on in the hallway at school. “I’m desperate,” he says. “This class is killing me.”
“You’re in the right place,” I say, leading him into the kitchen.
“Holy…,” he says when he sees the cluttered countertop, all the bottles and jars and flattened Ziploc bags. “What’s all this?”
“This,” I say, spreading my arms out, “is your interactive lesson in polymers.”
He eyes me up with suspicion. He doesn’t want to put his notebook away. He’s clinging to it, to whatever he wrote down in there.
It’s not a regular lab experiment, what I have set up in the kitchen. It’s something more basic, and hopefully more fun. Because that’s how I have been teaching people in my bedroom all this time—by going back to basics, breaking it down step by step, making it less intimidating. I figure it’s worth a shot to apply this method of teaching to Toby, but in a very different way.
“During polymerization, chemical groups are lost from the monomers so that they can join together,” I explain, standing behind the counter. “But you don’t need to remember that yet. You just need to remember that examples of polymers are plastics and silicones. And that’s what we’re making. Silly putty.”
Firsts Page 12
