But when I talk to him, it’s kind of like I do a brain dump—tell him about my day, the good, the bad and the ugly—and then he tells me what I should do. Of course, I usually don’t do it, but talking to him is kind of like getting a mental massage.
Allison says, “Thanks, JJ, see you at school.”
I hang up and call Phillip, while I type IT’S ME! PICK UP! on the IM.
He answers, “Hey, Princess.”
Okay, so it is kind of dreamy.
“You owe me,” I tell him.
“No, you owe me. I could’ve just told her the truth.”
“Yeah, well, then I would’ve had to kick your ass, and I’m afraid that might be damaging to our friendship and your reputation.”
He laughs at me.
Quite possibly because my chances of kicking his buff ass are very slim, indeed. But since I could do it when we were young, I cling to the idea that I still could.
He finds this humorous and told me recently that he would love nothing more than for me to try. Of course, then Danny piped in with the kind of nasty comment only a boy can make, so I let it slide.
“Enough of your girl problems. Mark called me tonight and wants to hang out Saturday.”
Mark was a hot coworker of mine at my short-lived attempt at waitressing. He’s nineteen, in college, and totally hot. Did I mention that? Thick, wavy blond hair, big muscles, great body, hot car.
He’s what Lisa would call a Trifecta.
Hot face. Hot bod. Hot car. Trifecta, baby.
Unfortunately, he only seems to see me as his cute little work friend.
Yeah, it blows.
But I’m totally infatuated with the guy. I can’t help it.
Whenever he calls, I drop everything and change all my plans in order to go hang out with him.
Last time, I even ditched my new boyfriend, Dillon. And Danny gave me all sorts of shit about that. He was like Dillon is my friend. You can’t just be doing that. But, honestly, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, because Mark and I always just sort of hung out together. And Dillon told me as long as it was just a friend thing, he was cool with it.
Unfortunately, it has been just a friend thing.
Until last time, that is.
And this time he asked me to go out to dinner somewhere kinda nice, which made it sound like an actual date. So I am really excited!
“What should I do, Phillip? I’m kinda supposed to go to a movie with Dillon.”
“Kind of?”
“Okay, we have a date,” I reply curtly.
“So what’d ya tell Mark?”
“Um, that I’d let him know,” I lie.
“You know, I don’t know why you always jump every time that guy calls, and then when he doesn’t call, you get all depressed. What’s that line he always says?”
I sigh. “When you least expect it, expect it.”
“Yeah, what the hell does that mean, anyway?”
We’ve been over this many times before, but I reply, “It means just when I’m at the end of my rope waiting to hear from him, and close to believing I’ll never hear from him again, that’s when he calls.”
And he does. He’s got it down to an exact science.
“I’m just saying, that isn’t exactly the best way to treat a girl you like.”
“That’s the problem, Phillip, we’re just friends, so it’s not like I can complain about it.”
“I thought you kissed him last time you went out,” Phillip says.
Uh, yeah. And I’ve been reliving it every night and during all my classes for the past few weeks. He was such a good kisser. And it was perfect, exactly how I had imagined it. I had thought, This is it. He wants me, we’ll be together, and it will be amazing.
Then.
One week.
No call.
I told myself that if he didn’t call in two more days, I would never speak to him again.
Then.
Two weeks.
Still no call.
By now, I’d given up hope of ever hearing from him again and convinced myself that it was just a dream. I also decided if he did ever call that I might speak to him, but only to make sure he was still alive because I am a concerned citizen. But after that, I was going to give that boy a piece of my mind!
Finally after two weeks and three days, he called and asked me to dinner. I wanted to scream at him, You freaking jerk, but I caved and said That sounds great.
I’m so dumb.
Hey, wait a minute. I know Phillip never forgets anything, but I don’t recall telling him this juicy piece of information. I haven’t even told Lisa. I was keeping it to myself.
Hoarding it.
Plus, I seriously didn’t want Danny to find out. Or Dillon, for that matter.
“Uh,” I stammer, unsure how to answer.
“No, you didn’t tell me he kissed you,” he says, reading my mind.
I swear he can sometimes.
“I saw him all over you when he dropped you off.”
“Phillip, were you spying on me?”
“Actually, no,” he says in a believable tone. “I was seeing if your light was on.”
Sure.
“Phiiiiliiiip, what should I do?”
“What you should do is tell him you’re busy, for once. But what you’re gonna do is break up with Dillon and go out with him. Right?”
Okay, so the boy has me figured out. And he’s right. That is what I’ll do. How can I help it?
Hot face. Hot bod. Hot car. Trifecta. Triple Threat.
“So, what are you gonna tell him?”
“Well, I already kinda said yes,” I say, telling the truth this time.
“Told you. You’re hopeless! Night, Princess.”
“Night, Phillip.”
I go to bed thinking of Mark and willing myself to have a juicy dream about him. But, instead, I have some warped one where Phillip rescues me from Mark’s car because Mark has turned into some evil werewolf/vampire creature.
Bizarre.
So, my date on Saturday with Mark didn’t go so well. I suppose my dream should have been an indication of what was to come. It seemed Mark decided, unbeknownst to me, that he wanted to be more than just friends.
A lot more!
He took me parking before dinner. I said no way, and he took me straight home. Aren’t guys supposed to at least buy you dinner before they expect that? I was so upset and, of course, Danny is mad at me for breaking up with Dillon, and Dillon is still mad at me for breaking up with him.
Maybe I’ll just give up on boys.
Okay, maybe not.
I mean, they’re just so cute!
Today is the perfect day for lying out in the sun. It’s almost eighty degrees, and there is a soft, cool breeze. I don’t plan on wasting a day like today! So, I’m in my room putting on my new swimsuit. I’m really excited about this suit. It’s my first real bikini. I’ve always worn a two-piece, but they were a more athletic cut. This is one of those wonderful, skimpy, stringy things. I’ve never bought a string bikini, because I’ve always looked stupid in them. Let’s face it. You’ve got to have a figure to wear a suit like this. I’ve never had much of a figure, unless you consider the shape of a board an attractive figure. Yes, I’ve heard all the sayings.
“Flat as a pancake.”
“String bean.”
“Toothpick.”
“Tall drink of water.”
“Bean Pole.”
That’s one I don’t really get. I mean I understand the bean part, and the pole part, but what is a bean pole anyway? You’d think since I’m from a place where beans grow in fields and that I have actually walked beans, that I would know, but I don’t. Speaking of walking beans, I truly believe Congress needs to step in and enact some child endangerment legislation against that job.
Have you ever walked beans?
It’s the most disgusting thing on earth. I lasted one day—well, half a day, really. I just couldn’t see mucking around in the m
ud and the sun with all the bugs, chopping down weeds with a scythe.
Yes, a scythe.
Do you know what a scythe is? It’s like a huge, sharp, curved pirate sword.
And they hand them out to kids!
I am very fortunate that I didn’t chop off one of my legs while cutting down those stubborn weeds. That or the guy’s leg in the row next to me. And I have to tell you, when you think weeds, you think maybe a few here and a few there, like at home in your landscaping. But no, there are about a gazillion weeds in each row. And these weeds aren’t just little things either, but often corn stalks. And it takes a lot of work to chop just one of them down. And I swear, each bean row must be, at a minimum, several hundred miles long.
At least, that’s what it felt like.
After about four hours of walking beans, I have to admit, I was ready to use the scythe on myself, just to make the misery stop. But then I figured I’d forever be remembered as the girl who killed herself in a bean field.
Not exactly the legacy I am hoping for!
So, I quit. I’ll take babysitting some cute kids as a summer job any day. You take the kids to the pool, flirt with the lifeguards, and get a wicked tan. You go have ice cream, take the kids home, and put them down for a nap. Then you sit in the air conditioning and watch Oprah and your soaps. A much nicer working environment, I think.
But back to the bean pole thing.
I looked it up on the Internet and guess what? There is such a thing as a beanpole. It’s all one word. It is a thin pole used to support bean vines. Just what you would think, I guess, but I can tell you that I never saw one of them during my bean walking experience!
Where was I?
Oh, yeah, my bikini body.
It seems a strange thing happened this year. I went from a nonexistent A-cup to a nice full B. Granted, Katie and Lisa have had boobs like this since about sixth grade—okay, so my body is a little slow—but I have to say, they were worth the wait! For once in my life, I actually fill out a bikini top on my own (as in, no padding) and it looks pretty good, I think. I almost feel sexy in it. Mom was with me when I found it. At first I thought it might be a little too skimpy, but she liked it on me.
She said, “If you’ve got it, flaunt it, because once you have kids, your body will never be the same.”
This from a woman who is 5’9” and a perfect size 6. She goes and works out three times a week with a group of friends.
Although, from the sound of it, I suspect there is more gossiping and coffee-drinking going on than actual exercising. However, she must be doing something right, because she still wears a bikini herself and looks good in it. When we go on vacation to the beach, it’s really kind of embarrassing because the young guys pay more attention to her than they do me.
Maybe there is hope for me.
Of course, I’d prefer not to have to wait twenty years before I get a boy to notice me in a swimsuit.
In all seriousness, I know there are large, really important issues in the world. World peace, terrorism, nuclear arms, and global warming. But, honestly, finding the perfect swimsuit has got to be at the very tip top of most women’s list, regardless of race, religion, political, or sexual orientation. So, in finding this perfect bikini, I really feel I’ve done my part to help conquer this great world issue.
I’m thinking about the bikini’s big inaugural event. It will first be viewed by the public—and, specifically Jake, who I’ve been dating off and on for about three months now—at a big river outing some of us are having next weekend. Today, my plan is to hide in the back yard and fill in my tan lines, so it really looks great.
I am prepared to lie in the sun all afternoon if that’s what it takes.
I am so proud of my strong convictions!
I have the whole place to myself. Mom is at a volunteer meeting, and Dad is at work. Jake would be pissed to learn that I’m home alone and not begging him to come over, you know, so we can be alone, but I’m not in the mood to deal with that today. It’s too perfect of a day. So I put the stringy thing on and appraise myself in the mirror.
Not bad.
The bikini is of the string variety, like I said. It’s supposed to look like the American flag. One side of the triangular top is blue with white stars. The other side is red with white stripes. The bottoms are also red and white stripes and all the strings are made from the star fabric. It is really very cute.
I head out to the back yard, move my chaise into the sun and cover myself with a mixture of baby oil and iodine. I know, I know, no sun block is a bad thing. But my Mom used it when she was young, and she doesn’t have cancer or anything. Plus, it works great!
I lie down on my stomach first. Next to me is a table with an ice-cold diet Coke and a trashy novel to read if I so desire. Playing is my current favorite mix CD.
Aw. Perfection.
I close my eyes and start to daydream. I’m envisioning Jake’s possible reactions to the tiny bikini. They have ranged, so far, from him wrapping me in a towel because he is so desperately jealous and doesn’t want anyone else to see it, to attacking me with kisses out on a raft, to his fainting in amazement of my body, to—
“Hey, Jay,” a male voice says.
I open one eye and see Danny’s head peeking through the gate.
“Come play catch with me and Mac.”
Oh, come on. Can’t you see I am very busy!
“Aw, Danny, I can’t. I’ve got oil all over me.”
“Please, Jay, I’ve got football camp coming up, and I haven’t thrown a pass in two weeks.”
“What about Kelly Majesky?” I reply smartly, referring to his latest in a long string of female conquests.
Really, if Danny were a girl, he would totally be considered a slut.
“Football passes, Jay,” he says smoothly, rolling those baby blue eyes at me. “Come on.”
“I can’t, Danny. I really need to work on my tan today. I’m all set up here.”
“When we’re done, I’ll take you and Phillip to the Shack for ice cream,” he bribes in a singsong voice. “My treat. Come on, you can get a tan playing football. You play in a swimsuit all the time.” He pauses. “Of course, with all that oil on, you’ll be harder to tackle. Maybe you’ll give Phillip a run for his money. For once.”
For once?
A challenge, huh?
Shit.
“I want a double cheeseburger, fries, a chocolate shake, and maybe even a hot fudge sundae. Deal?”
“Pig,” he replies, but nods his head in agreement.
“Fine, I’ll be there in a minute.”
I lay my head back down and try to revive my daydream. Unfortunately, it’s long gone.
I look at my back. No change yet, but I guess Danny’s right. I can play with my suit on.
Play and fill in the tan lines at the same time.
I am so efficient!
So I get up from my comfy spot, walk over to the picnic table, hook my finger thru a belt loop on my favorite cutoffs, pull them off the table, and drag them behind me. I walk over to my fence and fling open the gate. Danny and Phillip are tossing the ball casually to each other in the empty lot next door. The lot has a luscious carpet of grass that Phillip and Danny work hard to keep immaculate, just for this purpose.
I start to walk toward them and then thinking, stop and yell, “Shoes or no shoes?” You have to decide this in the beginning, because if you don’t have shoes and the other guy does, it can be a very painful day for your toes. If the boys are feeling very serious about their practice, it’s shoes.
Most often, though, it’s no shoes.
I keep standing there, holding my shorts, waiting for an answer.
“Hello?” I say, waving my shorts in their direction.
But the boys are both just standing there staring at me, their mouths agape.
Shit, is one of my boobs hanging out or something? I take a quick look down at myself. No, everything appears to be in order.
What? It’s like the
y can see me, but they can’t hear me.
“Shoes?” I yell again, because maybe they didn’t hear me.
“Uh,” says Phillip, looking down at his own feet, like he can’t remember if he has them on. “Um, no shoes.”
Phillip gives Danny a sideways glance, and Danny smiles back at him.
What’s up with those two? I probably missed some stupid boy joke.
Whatever.
I jog over to them in my bare feet, pull on my shorts, and zip them up. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“Uh, new swimsuit, Jay?” Danny asks, with his eyebrows raised at me, half a smirk on his face.
“Yeah. Do you like it? I got it for the Summer Bash next week.”
Danny doesn’t answer my question, but asks one of his own.“Your dad seen it yet?”
“Well, no, but he’s not going to the party. So do you guys like it? Does it look okay?” I stare at Phillip. “Phillip?”
Phillip is still looking at me sort of shocked. What’s the deal? Does it look bad?
Phillip starts to open his mouth to say something. At first nothing comes out, but then he says, “I think I like that pink one you have better.”
Jerk!
The pink one he is referring to is practically a granny style one-piece. I give that boy a mad face.
Danny looks at Phillip and shakes his head at him. Then he winks at me and says, “Go long, right, Jay.”
I do, and we play catch for about thirty minutes, running various plays and routes. It’s usually fun and a good workout for me.
But the whole time we’re playing, Phillip’s bikini comment is festering in my brain. I brilliantly intercept a pass, and I nearly scream out loud, Hahahaha, Phillip, you jerk! But I withhold my comments and gave him a smirky grin instead.
Which apparently didn’t bother him in the least, because he shrugs his shoulders at me, his body saying, No big deal.
And that really pisses me off.
So on the next play, as we’re running side by side down the field, I carefully stick my foot out with the intention of accidentally tripping him.
Only it doesn’t quite work as I imagined, because my leg gets tangled up with his, and we both go down.
BOOM.
I land on my side with a thud and literally bounce off the grass.
Kiss Kiss Page 138
