Purity (6 page)

“What about Ben Simmons?” I ask. Jonas’s head jumps up.

“Oh yeah. He’s kind of the man whore of the drama department. I made out with him at a party once, actually. Probably the most popular I’ll ever get,” Anna says with a sigh.

As soon as the bell rings, I tug Jonas aside. “Put Ben Simmons on the list.”

“Are you crazy? I thought you were just entertaining Anna. Ben is an arrogant asshole. You wanted my opinion and—”

“But there’s not a rule against jackasses, remember? And besides, he’s probably got standards that I can meet without going to the football players. Jonas, come on…. He’s just an option. Maybe I won’t even need him.”

Jonas rolls his eyes but nods. “Fine, but he can’t be the number-one pick.”

“Deal.”

I meet up with Jonas at the end of the school day and make him pull out the LOVIN List so I can see Ben’s name, which is sitting halfway down the page. Still, having one name makes me feel better, like I’m making progress instead of just accepting my eternal virgin fate.

“Think of anyone else?” Jonas asks as we walk to his car, a defeated sound in his voice.

“Sort of.” The name occurred to me in the middle of my English final. He’s not the person I’d most like to sleep with, but there are worse choices.

“Who?” Jonas asks.

“What about… Daniel?”

“Daniel? Costume Daniel? Ex-boyfriend Daniel?” Jonas asks.

“Sure. I mean, I know he doesn’t have any creepy disease or whatever. And besides, we already fooled around a little bit. He’s an okay guy.”

Jonas studies me for a moment. “Daniel. Really?”

“You sound surprised,” I say as we approach the door to the parking lot. People bottleneck here, smashed together like cattle.

“I am. Daniel…” Jonas says as he ducks to avoid getting hit in the face by a girl’s giant frizzy hair.

“I’ve got a better shot with him than Ben, I imagine.”

Jonas sighs. “Lord, what fools these mortals be,” he quotes as we break out of the cattle herd and emerge in the heat of the day. We squint in the bright sunlight, and the scent of cut grass from the baseball field is heavy in the air.

When we get to Lucinda, Jonas pulls out the LOVIN List and scribbles Daniel’s name at the top. “If you’re actually going through with this, I guess it’s better Daniel than Ben,” he mutters.

We’d promised Ruby we would drop by Flying Biscuit after school, and by the time we’re there I’m already considering my options for a third guy. Jonas seems sick of hearing about it, so I keep quiet as I race through guys in the marching band. Steven what’s-his-name? He’s not entirely unattractive. Maybe. But then there’s also Alex, a trumpet player who has a reputation….

“So have we come up with a better loophole for the ball? Tell me fast. I’ve got a table of those Red Hat Society ladies waiting on a messed-up order,” Ruby says with a grin. She slides into our booth, braided pigtails swinging back and forth. Her skin looks even more elaborate in the afternoon light, a watercolor of peach tones.

“No, we’re still going with your plan, unless you’ve got a better one,” I say. “I have five weeks to find someone—”

“Five weeks? Man. I thought you had more time,” Ruby says. “So, who is the lucky winner of your virginity, Shel? Because the new waiter here asked about you. Jeffery? And all I’m saying is,
I
wouldn’t throw him out of bed.”

“We’re making the list,” I say, “and at the top is Daniel Caulfield. He’s the perfect candidate. We aren’t friends anymore, and as far as I know, he’s STD-free. No offense to Jeffery—I’d just rather start with people I somewhat know.”

“Daniel Caulfield,” Ruby says, flipping her order book back and forth as she thinks. “The guy you dated last year, right?”

“Yeah, that’s him,” Jonas interrupts with a defeated tone. “And that was also the guy she
broke up with
last year.”

“That’s only relevant if they broke up for a sex-related reason,” Ruby says, leaning back to eye the order-up counter. “I mean, if they split because he’s all, like, ‘Oh, baby, I want to have hot carnal relations with you now in this beanbag chair,’ then he’s perfect for this—”

“I so don’t want to hear this,” Jonas cuts her off, then clamps his lips down on his soda straw and slouches, letting his shaggy hair fall in front of his eyes.

I turn to Ruby. “We broke up after only a few weeks because I couldn’t compete with his love for cosplay. I refused to miss Jonas’s birthday to go to some ginormous costume convention with him. But we
did
, um… fool around a few times. So I don’t think sex is too far out of the question.”

“How ‘around’ was this fooling?” Ruby asks. Jonas puts his head down and groans.

“Removal of shirts, reaching under other… um… articles of clothing,” I say like I’m explaining a medical condition.

“That’s not very ‘around’—oh, wait, hold that thought,” Ruby cuts in as the cook slides a plate heaped with pancakes under the heat lamps. She hurries over to deliver it to a table of impatient-looking women in elaborate red and purple hats. They look like a bunch of oversize berries.

“I didn’t know that,” Jonas says, sighing as he sits back up.

“Huh? That Daniel and I—”

“No, I figured
that.
He was always staring at your boobs—no way he wouldn’t cop a feel. But I didn’t know about why you and Daniel broke up. I thought it was just the cosplay thing. I didn’t know the thing about my party.”

I prop my feet up on the opposite side of the booth, trying to keep my sundress tucked under my legs. “Well, it was really just convenient timing. The cosplay thing was freaking me out, and your mom told me you’d be getting the car, so… you know. I couldn’t miss the unveiling of my primary mode of transportation.” I smile, and Jonas laughs, yet shakes his head.

“Fair. But promise me that if he wants you to dress up like Wonder Woman in order to have sex, you’ll bail.”

“Okay,” I say. “He’s more of the anime-loving-fuzzy-ear-wearing-girl type anyhow.”

“Naturally,” he says, grabbing for his glass again as Ruby slinks back over.

“So how and when are you going to get him into bed?” she asks with a candied gleam in her eyes. I blush a little.

“I’m thinking Saturday, just because I can usually get the van on Saturday nights. I’m not sure how, though. I figured I’d just, like… you know, hit on him, and then… I figured I could just—”

“Are you going to tell him you’re still a virgin?” Jonas interrupts.

“I don’t think so,” I say. “What if he gets cold feet?”

“What if he doesn’t know and is… rough?” Jonas asks, folding his arms across his chest and raising a bushy eyebrow.

“Good point, Jonas,” Ruby says. “Seriously, Shel. If you’re hoping he’ll tell from your face that he’s hurting you, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Maybe,” I say. “I’ll just tell him to be careful. I’m not going to explain the whole plan and ball and everything, though. That’d definitely scare him off.”

“Good idea. And what about the panties?” Ruby asks.

“Oh, God,” Jonas groans.

“The panties?” I ask.

“Yes. I know the kind of panties you wear, Shelby, and if you think those are going to get the deed done, you’re putting way too many eggs in the ‘He’s after what’s underneath them’ basket.”

“Ugh, stop saying ‘panties.’ That word is totally unacceptable—but besides, I wear cute underwear!” I say. “I’m wearing ones with little flowers—”

“Do they have lace?” Ruby asks, folding her arms so that she looks like Jonas.

“No, but—”

“Exactly. This isn’t a guy you’ve dated for ages who will think you’re adorable no matter what. Trust me on this one, Shelby. A matching lace bra and panty set will make you impossible to resist. It’s like guys have some sort of irreversible programming when they see them. ‘Ah! Lace bra and panties! Allow me to sex you up, please!’ ” she proclaims in a robot voice.

“That’s so not true,” Jonas says. “We’re not animals—”

“Please, Jonas. Men got brute strength and size. Women got hot bodies and steel-trap minds. It’s our leg up in your little male-dominated society.”

Ruby has a point. A sexist point, but a point.

By the time I get home, I’m so freaked out about the panty requirements that I’m prepared to run straight to my underwear drawer and try to scavenge for
something
lacy and presentable. I think the best I can do might be some blue ones with happy-face rainbows, honestly. But as soon as I hit the door, Dad is there.

“Hey, Shelby!” he says, using up every ounce of his enthusiasm and conversation ability on the greeting.

“Hey, Dad.”

Silence. We stand in the hallway, staring at each other.

“So, I wanted to talk to you about the ball plans again…. It was really helpful last time,” he says. He sounds nervous.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Well, um, Madame Garba’s School for Dance is sponsoring the ball by giving discounted formal dance lessons.”

No. Oh God, no, say it isn’t so.

“What do you mean?”

Don’t answer that, Dad, please don’t answer it.

“Well, as Princess Ball organizers, we should probably take the school up on it. Especially since we don’t know how to waltz.”

“Dad… um…” What am I supposed to say? That I’d rather walk through a rubbing-alcohol river with feet full of fresh paper cuts?

“I was thinking… just one or two lessons. Nothing big,” Dad says.

“When is this?”

“The first would be Sunday evening. Are you busy? If you’re busy—”

“No.” I sigh. “I’m not busy.”

“Oh, good. Good.”

We stare at each other a moment longer. I silently plead for an interruption, something to keep me from having to continue discussing ball plans, and to my surprise and delight, my phone beeps with a text from Ruby:
Dont forget to shave your legs!!!!

I smile a little, and Dad rocks back on his heels. “Well, then, I guess I’ll go work on my questionnaire. It’s really… big!” he says.

I nod, and we brush past each other, him sprinting for the dining room and me for my bedroom.

I try to push the prospect of dance class with Dad out of my head—ballet class with fourteen other four-year-olds was bad enough, but with Dad?
Focus, Shelby.
You’re in control, you have a plan—a plan involving panties and leg shaving that will make the entire ball—waltz lessons and all—just an act. I yank open a dresser drawer. Somehow, picking out underwear calms me, reassures me that I’m the one in charge here.

Lots of white, lots of stripes and flowers and other decidedly unsexy things. Toward the back I find the pair with rainbows; they match a camisole I have. Anna got them for me as a set a few Christmases ago. We aren’t close, but all her female friends got camisole sets in snowflake-shaped tins that year—probably spoils of an after-Thanksgiving sale. I don’t wear either piece of the set too often. I wonder if the camisole counts as a matching bra. Probably not. I just won’t tell Ruby.

I try them on in front of a mirror, trying to look sexy—apparently, the lips-parted, sexy faces those Victoria’s Secret models make are an acquired skill, because I just look like I’m about to drool. The AC is on high, and it gives me chill bumps, making me look more like an uncooked turkey than sexy. Whatever. I have to call Daniel. No way around it. I might as well do it while I’m wearing my sex gear.

Daniel’s number is still in my cell phone. We didn’t have a rough breakup, but we definitely haven’t called each other since. I scroll down to his name, inhale, and dial, staring at the little rainbows on my underwear.
This is crazy. This is so crazy.

Daniel answers on the third ring.

“Hello?” he says, and I can tell by his confused tone that his cell’s caller ID has already told him it’s me.

“Hey, Daniel!” I say, sounding like my dad a half hour ago.

“Shelby? What’s up?”

I could get out of this. I could just ask him for directions somewhere or if he still has my favorite bracelet or something. But the Princess Ball pamphlet is peeking out from underneath my history book, screaming “You’ll be a thirty-five-year-old virgin!” and it’s very persuasive.

“I um… I dunno. I just wanted to talk, I guess.”

“About what?” he asks. I hear a few clicks of the computer mouse in the background.

“I just… we haven’t really hung out or anything since we stopped dating, and you know… that sucks. I was thinking maybe we could get together Saturday night and watch a movie or something?”

Daniel pauses. “Sure… I’m busy Saturday, though. What about Sunday?”

“Um…” I sigh. “Can it be later? Like, after eight?” I can’t believe I have to schedule a dance class and a sexual experience on the same day.

“Yeah, no problem. Any specific movie? What theater?”

“Oh, not a theater,” I say, a little too excitedly. I rein myself in. “I was thinking you could come over here or I could go there….”

“Okay,” Daniel says, his voice still framed with doubt, like I’m going to pull some sort of huge practical joke on him
at any given moment. When I don’t speak, he continues. “Want to meet here Sunday night, then? Maybe eight thirty or something?”