A Bad Boy Can Be Good for a Girl (5 page)
PIZZA AND BEER
“
Wanna get some pizza later?”
“Is this that real date you promised?”
“Yeah.”
“Pizza's not much of a date.”
“It's what I'm in the mood for, that's all.”
“Okay, but come by my house and pick me up.
You can meet my Mom.”
At 6:45 he honks his horn.
“Come on in and say hello,” I yell from the window.
“Nah, I'm hungry, let's go!”
I grab my bag and slide into the seat next to him.
“Mmm, you look good enough to eat,” he says.
“Maybe we should skip the pizza.”
“No, c'mon, I'm hungry too, take me OUT.”
I toss my head back, shaking my hair.
I
know
I look good.
I'll make this boy so proud to be seen with me
and so happy
he won't know what hit him.
Twenty minutes later I'm sitting on his lap,
steering wheel molded into my back,
feeding him a slice.
I lick the sauce from around his lips.
He tips a beer bottle into my mouth,
lapping up what spills down my chin with his tongue.
He starts unbuttoning my top,
one button, then two, three, four.
Fixing his eyes on mine and smiling that smile,
he cups my boobs in both hands
and squeezes them
rubbing his thumbs back and forth against my nipples,
sending lightning bolts through my body.
He pulls my bra off to the side
leaning his head into my chest.
I want him to swallow me whole.
We're both warm and sweaty.
I'm dizzy.
The heat from his pants is rising
right through my skirt.
He reaches down to slide the seat back
giving us more room
unzips his jeans
and out it springs,
like an animal that's been waiting to be let out,
which is pretty much true.
I suck my breath in fast
as he slips on a condom.
Then his hands are on my thighs, under my skirt,
my whole body is unfolding to him,
I lift my hips upâ“Yes,” he whispers.
I can feel him move through me
all the way up to the top of my head
and all the way down to the soles of my feet
as we melt into each other
over and over and over
until I think I'm hollering
and he's yelling
“Yes, Yes, Yes, YES!”
I collapse into his shoulders
and everything goes quiet.
I've never felt happier in my whole life.
So this is what love feels like.
CLOSE ENCOUNTER
Blue Hall is crammed with people:
The Lunch Hour rush.
I'm trying to grab some stuff from my locker.
There's a hand on my butt.
Hey!
It better be him, or somebody's getting slugged.
It is him.
He's never touched me in front of other people before
“Cut it out,” I tease.
“Nobody can see anything in this traffic jam,
chill out,” he says, with a little edge in his voice
I haven't heard before.
Then he locks his eyes on mine
reaches down
and touches me right
there.
I can't breathe.
“Meet me at Red Light.”
And he's swallowed up into the crowd.
NEW FRIENDS
I'm walking to Red Light and I see a group
of his friends walking toward me.
I'm not sure if
I should say anything,
because we've never
been introduced.
“Hi, Nicolette,” one guy says.
“Hey, Nic.” Another tosses his chin my way.
The girls look in the opposite direction.
“Hey, guys!” I say, probably a little too enthusiastically,
but c'mon, I'm trying to make an effort here.
The boys grin at each other as they all keep walking.
NEW ENEMIES
Before I get to our place
here come some more.
Just girls this time.
These are the picture-perfect girls
who only go out with jocks,
they probably don't like that I'm taking
one of their own.
As if they could get him.
They wouldn't know what to do with him.
He's probably already worked his way through them
and figured that out,
which is why
he's
with
me.
I'm thinking all of this when they walk by
and one of them says to the other, like I'm not
even there, like I can't even hear them, like I'm not
even a person,
“Can you believe he's wasting his time with
her
?
She must be as trashy as she looks
to keep him coming back for more.”
If she hadn't already gotten a few yards down the hall
I'm not sure I could have stopped myself from
slapping her.
I spin in their direction and yell.
“Trashy! I'm not trashy, I'm a
woman, unlike you little girls.
If you want a guy like him, you'll have to get a clue.”
They laugh to each other, all superior. One says,
“You're the one who needs to get a clue.
I mean,
hello,
Red Light? Are you
that
stupid
you don't even know when
someone's calling you
a whore?”
ALL BETTER
I make it to our closet and hope he got there first.
He did, he's waiting.
“Nic.” He pulls me in and starts kissing my face, my
ears, my neck, my chest . . .
I push him away.
“Stop it, LOOK at me, can't you see I'm a mess!”
I've got to tell him how they hurt me, but
this is so not cool, and not sexy.
I'm blubbering like a baby.
I repeat the whole nasty thing anyway, word for word,
leaving out the whore part.
He smooths my hair away from my face,
wipes my tears, so tender.
He really does care.
“Don't cry, baby. They're just jealous. Don't waste your time thinking about them. C'mere, baby, let me make you feel all better. . . .”
AVIVA
“WHO the HELL is Aviva?”
I walk right up to his locker
parting the circle of jocks.
“Don't make a scene, Nic,” he says.
Some of his friends laugh.
“Are you laughing at ME?”
My words fly out like so much spit.
“Good luck, man.” And they walk.
“What's the big deal?” he says.
“What's the big DEAL?”
“We never said we couldn't see other people.
I thought we were just having fun.”
I'd be lying
if I said I couldn't believe what I was hearing,
It's not like I'd never heard it before,
but it still felt like someone just
knocked the wind out of me.
“Oh, we were having a lot more than FUN and you
KNOW it! I thought you cared about me. But you
were just playing me the whole time, WEREN'T
YOU?”
“C'mon, Nic. You know you wanted it as much as I did.
You're a blast, but let's face it,
we were just messing around.
It's not like we ever
really
went out.
I never even met your Mom.”
“YOU WOULD NEVER COME IN!”
“Nic, I'm sorry, really, I am,
I didn't mean for you to get hurt.
Of course I care about you. I just took her to a party,
it's no big deal.”
“It IS a big deal. You never even THOUGHT
about taking me to a party, did you,
introducing me to your friends.
I wasn't good enough, right?
But Aviva, you asked.
Aviva
, what kind of a stupid name is that, anyway?
Josie told me you were no good. She got that right.
I should have listened to her.”
I turn to leave.
As soon as my back's to him,
the tears slip out of my eyes
and run down my cheeks,
but they just keep falling
because there is no way
I'm going to let him
see me
wipe
them
away.
FADE TO BLUE
I run.
I want to get as far away
from him
as fast
as I can.
Far away from the almighty jock-filled Orange Hall.
I run and run
tripping down the stairs,
bursting through the doors to Blue Hall,
racing to my locker to grab my stuff.
I can see the patch of white halfway down the hall:
another note.
I get my things, slam the door, and crumple the paper.
I'm so outta here.
If I was never anyone's girlfriend
I'm not going to read some stupid note so I can be
dumped in writing
by some boy who never came close
to being a boyfriend.
DOG
I don't even have a dog to curl up with, to drown my tears into his shaggy fur. Not even a damn dog around to help me get over the human dog-faced piece of crap I just gave my whole heart and soul and body to. Mom says it's hard enough to take care of ourselves, let alone have time for any mangy mutt. But even a mangy mutt might help me believe I've got some kind of friend in this world.
NO MORE TEARS
I don't think there's a drop of salty water left
in my whole body.
I cried walking home, I cried trying to fit my key into the front door, I cried climbing the steps to my bedroom, I cried looking in the mirror at my pathetic self, I cried pulling off my “trashy” clothes, and I cried in the shower. I cried so hard in the shower I slunk right down and sat on the floor, and just let the hot water wash me away. It could have washed me right down the drain for all I cared.
Made
me
disappear.
FOREVER
Later,
I think,
Enough's enough.
Pull yourself together,
get dressed,
get some air.
I shove my hand in my coat pocket
and feel the crumpled note.
Fresh tears flood the corners of my eyes but
I'm not hiding.
I'm smoothing it out.
Bad news travels fast.
You never checked out
Forever
, did you?
It was signed,
Sorry he got you too,
Josie
LIGHTBULB
It was low, what he did, leading me on like that.
He meant something to me.
He had to pick up on that.
No
way
he didn't.
And for once, I thought I meant something
to somebody else.
Were those girls right?
Am I
that stupid?
I thought Red Light was just a name he made up, but after what they said, I thought I better look it up and I went back inside. Turns out, it's a place in Amsterdam for prostitutes. A whore sits in a glass-front room with a red lightbulb. If the light's lit, she's ready to do it. Men go to the red-light district just to screw their stupid brains out.
I wanted to find the deepest, darkest hole there was and climb in it when I read that. Here I was thinking how great it was that we had our own secret place with a nickname and all the time he really was calling me a whore.
AmIawhore because I like sex? Or because I did it too soon? Or too much? Nobody ever calls boys whores.
Why is that?
LONELY
I am way too young
to feel this used up.
This lonely.
I wish I was little again
and Mom
could make me some noodle soup
brush my hair
tuck me in
and tell me
everything is going to be
okay.
BEING HEARD
Mom walks in the door after work
and sees me slumped into the couch,
staring at nothing.
She's at my side in a second.
“Baby, what's the matter?”
I tell her,
not even trying to fight
this new round of tears.
She sits next to me,
wraps her arm around me,
rocking us gently back and forth
as I talk.
She hasn't done that
in a million years.
She's listening
hard.
Not yelling
or looking mad
or disappointed
or saying
I taught you better than that
or
how could you be so dumb.
Just rocking me
and listening
as I
spill
everything.
I finally stop.
She's quiet for another minute
or so,
like she doesn't want to interrupt
by asking
but wants to make sure I'm done
with my
emotional
heave.
Then she
smooths my hair
off my face
like she used to.
“What do you say we take tomorrow off?
A Mental Health Day. And we can talk,” she says.
“We could get our hair done
or do some shopping
or just take a drive along the coast,
how does that sound?”
I smile.
I nod.
I guess
for a while there
I forgot
I do
have a
friend
in this
world
after
all.
Aviva
CRISS-CROSS
I'm what you call a Criss-Crosser.
That's a kid who doesn't belong to any one
group in particular,
but is by no means a loser.
I've got friends in pretty much all the cliques.
I criss-cross my way through the school.
I think it's because I'm pretty, but not cheerleader
pretty,
and smart, but not brainiac smart,
and artsy but not freak-show artsy.
I play the guitar,
which people think is pretty coolâas opposed to,
I don't know,
the bassoon or something,
which they'd probably think was geeky.
And I'm kind of funny, too.
My Dad likes to say I'm good at
finding the funny.
Anyway, somehow I get away with being
a Criss-Crosser.
And I get the feeling it's a hard thing to get away with
in high school,
even though I've been doing it all four years.
STILL
It's not a normal, everyday
occurrence
when one of the hottest jocks at P.B.H.
asks me out.
I've certainly noticed him over the years,
I mean, who hasn't,
but I don't think he ever noticed me
until I saved his butt
in biology class last week.
We were cutting up dead frogs
and he didn't have the first clue what to do.
Some of the girls were going, “Ooh, so disgusting,”
but I think it's pretty amazing to be able to peel back
the skin of this
frog and actually see how all its insides work.
And I probably shouldn't admit this,
but even though that smell of formaldehyde
kind of smacks you in the face at first,
I kind of like how the sweet & sour smell grows on you,
sticking to the insides of your nostrils.
I bet years from now
I'll be able to close my eyes and still smell it.
So anyway, my frog was neatly
pinned to the pan
and I was just about to make a nice clean cut
with my scalpel
when he comes over to my lab station
looking like one of those stray dogs that
hang around the boathouse
looking for scraps.
“Hey, Aviva, how's it goin'?”
He knows my name?
“Fine, thanks. How's your frog coming along?”
“Not too good, actually.
I was wondering if you could help me out.
You seem to be sailing along,” he says,
just as I slice through the top layer of skin,
pull the veiny skin back, and reveal a perfect,
beautiful little froggie chest and abdomen.
“Cool,” he says.
“Way,” I say.
