Intentions (15 page)

Not my kind of party
, he wrote.
But I’ll try
.

Not my kind of party either. I don’t really even know the kid whose house it is. Dennis Kaufman. He’s a year older than we are. He’s kind of a loser and a druggie. But my parents know his parents, so Mom didn’t put up a fuss.

She hardly said good-bye when I left. What is going to happen—? No, I will not go there. I will not go anywhere but here. Where I am. This is my
kavanah
of the evening: be here now. Be HERE. I’m going to make it my intention. Live in the moment. Live for the moment.

What will that mean, here in Dennis Kaufman’s basement?
His house is a typical big suburban banana split, as Dad calls them, with rooms upon rooms. The basement is full of new furniture and old leftover furniture. There are, like, three couches, a couple of club chairs, lots of pillows, lots of carpet … lots of places to make out. I am beginning to see why Alexis said this is a great place for a party.

Who is she hoping to get with? Assuming she’s not being faithful to Mitch.

“Hey, Raebee,” she says to me now. Holding out a plate of brownies. “These are pot brownies. Paul made them with his sister.” She nods at some kid from school who I vaguely know. He’s a senior, I think. She takes two and puts the plate on the table.

Should I take one? I don’t really want to get stoned. But I kind of do. I mean, why not? It might make the night more fun.

What the hell? I take one, gobble it down.

Try to make conversation.

“Did you ever get new jeans?”

“No,” she says.

“Morrison’s is having a sale. Wanna go?”

“Maybe,” she says, and walks away. I eat another brownie.

A few kids come over, take brownies. “How’s it going?” they say.

“How’s it going?” I say.

Scintillating.

I should leave. But what if Jake comes? I want to be with him, talk with him, touch him, kiss him, have him hold me. I will feel so much better when his arms are around me. I pull out my phone to text him when I hear a shout from the pool table.

Adam won. They’re starting a new game and he’s racking up the balls.

He looks so good tonight. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans. His hair is shorter than it’s been in a while, styled in that mussed-up way. I see his muscles through his T-shirt as he hits ball after ball. I jump a little bit with each crack as the ball goes into its hole. He’s very good. So sure of himself. So in control.

I lean up against the wall, watch Adam. It’s OK to watch him. Just watch. A girl can enjoy, right?

I don’t let myself think about the fact that he’s the rabbi’s son. That would ruin everything. OK, it just did.

I quickly text Jake and say,

You coming?

I check my phone every two seconds for an answer. Nothing.

Meanwhile, Adam is shooting me looks. He knows I’m watching him. What am I doing? Am I crazy? I like
Jake
. And Adam is the fucking rabbi’s son, for God’s sake. My choice of inner-thought words cracks me up, and I laugh out loud.

Oh shit, stoned again. Which makes me laugh for some reason. Do I laugh a lot always, or only when I’m stoned?

Adam looks up at me and grins his lopsided half smile he has that all of a sudden I realize means I like you, but I’m too cool to give you a whole smile. You could earn a whole smile, though.…

Jake, you’d better get here fast.

The pool game ends. Adam won again, of course. Got that last ball right in the pocket.

Someone puts on soft music and turns the lights low. Adam walks over. He digs his hand into the bowl of pretzel M&M’s.

“Hey,” he says to me.

“Hey,” I say back.

“What’s up?” he says after he’s eaten a handful of the M&M’s, making that, somehow, sexy. Maybe I should just be HERE now.

“Not much.”

He leans into me a little, which for some crazy reason sends an electric charge through me.

My mind flashes to something I just learned in biology class: there are many birds that
seem
to be monogamous, that scientists have thought for years were monogamous, but they actually cheat.

Adam whispers in my ear.

I don’t hear what he says, but I get chills.

I pull back.

“What?” I ask.

“Huh?”

“I didn’t hear what you said,” I say, a little too loudly.

He pulls me to him and whispers in my ear again, loudly enough for me to hear him this time. “You look sexy tonight.”

I do?

I changed a million times and finally settled on jeans and a black top, the kind with spaghetti straps. I have a red bra on underneath. I knew my mother would throw a fit, so I threw another shirt, red, pretty see-through, on top of it all. You can see everything: the bra, the black shirt, the red shirt on top. I don’t think I look sexy. I think I look like a clothing ad gone wrong.

But Adam thinks I look sexy. I don’t
feel
sexy.

Well, maybe a little. The way he’s looking at me I do. The way he’s touching me very slightly with his body as we stand side to side leaning against the wall.

I see Alexis on the other side of the room. I sure don’t want to piss her off.

“Aren’t you going to hang with Alexis tonight?” I ask Adam at the same time I motion Alexis to come over.

But Adam leans into me
the way I saw his father lean into my mother
, his left hip to my right hip, his left arm is tracing a line up and down my neck, distracting me, distracting me—

“I’m hanging with you,” he says, his voice low and husky.

Jake? I pray silently. Walk down those steps now. Save me from myself. Lex? Come over, please.

Alexis giggles, and we both watch her go into another room with that kid Paul, their arms around each other. I feel Adam tense up, and I don’t know if it’s because he likes Alexis. Or maybe because he likes Paul. Who knows? Or is he jealous that they are getting action and he’s not? Yet. Yet? Why did I think that?

I pull myself straight and think of Jake. I think of right and wrong. I think of who I am and what I believe. I don’t actually feel stoned. Not like last time. But maybe I am. I should eat something. Jake would tell me to eat something. I reach over and grab a handful of potato chips, which taste really, really good. Salt and fat; you can’t beat that.

I move away from Adam, take more food.

Whatever Alexis and Paul are going to do, even if it is make out, even if it’s make a
baby
, it doesn’t mean it’s all right for me to do something with Adam. Just because my mother is a slut …

But now Adam’s next to me again, playing with my hair.

Jake? Where are you?

Adam’s whispering in my ear and I can’t hear all the words, but I hear “sit down” and “rub your back,” and before I can say
“Jacob Schmidt” three times fast, I am in a dark corner with Adam, on a few overstuffed pillows, and he’s rubbing my back and kissing my neck and it feels soooo good.

After a while, I turn to say something to him, to try to take this down a notch, to make some conversation, but he doesn’t wait for me to talk. He covers my lips with his and his tongue is in my mouth and even though it’s not Jake, he’s not Jake, and his kisses are too wet and sloppy, I still get tingles from the way he is touching me, where he is touching me, and it’s not like it was with Jake at all, with Jake I felt something in my heart, my brain, and my body, but this is only about my body, the way my body feels. I don’t really even like Adam, sometimes I even hate him, but he makes my body feel so good and my last thought before losing all
kavanah
is: I really hope Jake doesn’t come here tonight. And I reach into my pocket and turn off my phone.

Eventually we find another room. There is a mattress on the floor. I think there might be another couple in here, somewhere, but I don’t care. I am beyond caring. Adam is touching me all over. I want to touch him all over. His shirt is off. My shirt is off. So is my bra. I don’t care about anyone or anything right now.

He moves my hand to his pants.

“Touch me,” he says.

I put my hand there.

“Rub,” he says to me softly.

I rub.

“I have a condom,” he whispers, and I hear it rustling in his hand.

I

freak.

I can’t go there. Not now. Not with him. Not with
him
. Not with
Adam
.

God, what was I doing? What was I thinking?

He’s kissing me hard and holding my head with one hand and unwrapping the condom with the other, spreading my legs with his knee.

“No!” I say.

“Oh yes!” he says in a husky voice. “Yes, Rachel, yes …”

NO!

I jump up, knocking my elbow in his face.

“Ow!” he yelps. “Fuck!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—but I can’t!”

I grab my shirt, my bra and, covering my boobs, run out of the room. I open the first door I see, dash in, and
whack!
run right into something hard. With my head.

OW! Fuck!

I search in the dark for a light switch, tears streaming down my face from the pain. I feel shelves, boxes.… This is
not
a bathroom.

Finally I find a string and pull it. I’m in a closet.

Hit my head on that tall bureau. On the corner. I feel blood.

I start to get hysterical, but I can’t do that. I can’t. Have to get out of here and find a bathroom. I breathe deeply. Please, Rachel, calm down. Please. Calm down. After a few minutes I open the door, look up and down the hall. I don’t see anyone. I put on my black top. Oh no. I must have left my red shirt in the other room, with Adam. Great.

I stuff my bra in the back pocket of my jeans and walk down the hall, opening door after door until I find a bathroom.

Above the sink is an old and dirty mirror. I take some toilet paper, wipe it off.

I see someone who looks like me, but not. I am a horror show. My forehead is bleeding. I have red marks all over my neck, and on my tiptoes I can see some on my chest, too. My nipples hurt. I wanted every touch, every suck, and it sure didn’t hurt then, but now …

I keep looking at myself in the mirror until I can’t stand it anymore. Beauty comes from the inside? So does ugliness, Rachel.

I take some more toilet paper and wet it a little, clean up my forehead. It’s only a scratch. No trip to the emergency room, thank goodness. I can just see trying to explain this to my parents. I put pressure on to stop the bleeding. Dad taught me to do that.

Dad. Shit. Poor Dad.

I am my mother’s daughter.

Jake. Oh Jake. Oh God. I pray he didn’t come. I pray Adam has not walked out into the room, waving my shirt above his head in victory, for Jake and all to see. Oh please, God, no. I pray. I pray with as much
kavanah
as I’ve got.

I take the toilet paper away. The bleeding has stopped. For once I’m glad my hair is a curly, frizzy mess. I move a mop over to cover the scratch, smooth it out with my fingers. Good enough.

I hide in the bathroom for as long as I can. No one comes looking for me. Not Alexis, of course. Not Adam. I hear laughter. I hear music. I have got to get out of here. I turn my phone
back on. Shit, I have a text from Jake. I don’t read it. I don’t want to know. I call home. I need to get out of here. No answer. No answer? Where are they?

I get up, throw water on my face. Don’t look in the mirror. I breathe deeply.

My phone vibrates. Another text. I ignore it. Denial is a river in Egypt. Hardy har har. I have to get out of here without talking to anyone.

I walk out into the main room, my head down. Don’t stop, keep walking. I can’t help but look, and out of the corner of my eye I see boys at the pool table. They’re laughing. Jake’s there.

Of course he is.

Oh, Jake. Oh, me.

Guess I didn’t pray with enough fucking
intention
.

I walk quickly up the steps and get the hell out of this house.

I call home again. It rings five times. Finally Mom picks up.

“I need a ride.”

“Really? Now?” says Mom. “It’s so early.”

“Really,” I say. “Please.”

“OK,” she says, and hangs up quickly.

And then I wait. I wait. I wait in the cold night air.

I wait and wait. Where’s Dad? I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts. And my shivers. It is really cold outside. And I only have on my little black top. “A bit of a nip in the air,” I say to myself, out loud. “A bit of a nip.”

Nip. Bite. Who knew that biting could be such a thing in sex?

For the first time I understand how a girl could be stupid
enough to go all the way and get pregnant with someone she doesn’t love. I just had crazy almost sex with a boy I don’t even like most of the time.

“You’re so hot.” Adam said that to me as he put his hand—no, I won’t go there, can’t go there. I shake it off.

Shake, shake, shake.

I’m still shaking when Dad’s car pulls up. I go to open the front passenger door, but Mom’s sitting there.

I climb into the backseat and mumble, “Hi.”

Mom half turns around and says, “How was the party?” but it’s a distracted question, I can tell. Her hand is on Dad’s thigh. I expect her to yell at me about how little I’m wearing, but she doesn’t say anything.

I look at them more closely. Mom’s hair is a mess. Dad is stroking Mom’s neck.

WTF?

“Rachel?” Mom says.

“What?” I snap.

“How was the party?” she snaps back.

“Fine,” I say.

“Isn’t it early to be coming home?” Dad says, stepping on the gas.

“I guess,” I say. Not early enough.

“And we thought Alexis’s mom would be picking up, since I drove you here,” he says, annoyed.

I don’t say anything. I don’t have to. I can tell all they want to do is get back home and get rid of me.

Dad pulls into the driveway and I run into the house. Panda is sleeping on the living room couch. “Panda Cat,” I say, and
pick her up gently, cradling her in my arms so she won’t jump away.

I run upstairs to my bedroom, close the door, and turn on some music nice and loud. Then I burrow under the covers with my cat and try to sleep until I’m twenty.