siobhan vivian - not that kind of girl (11 page)

Monday was the first bitterly cold day of the season, an ominous reminder that winter wasn't far off. The sharp air cut right through my wool tights. I had no idea what I would do the moment I reached the stop sign at the end of my block. Would I make a left and pick up Autumn, even though we hadn't spoken since the dance? Or would I make a right, and go straight to school? I sat there for a few seconds, staring down to the left at an empty street, until another car came up behind me. It ended up being a much shorter ride to school without having to cut across town and back for Autumn. Ten minutes, instead of twenty-five. When I stepped out of my car, I shivered. From the cold and the nerves. What would things be like when I saw Autumn? How should I act when I saw Connor? I had no precedent for either situation. I spent all of homeroom lingering near the door, glancing every so often down the hall at Autumn's locker. I kept imagining her standing in the center of her huge living room window, flanked by her mother's heavy plum drapes, her head turned all the way to the right so she could see down to the stop sign. I should have picked her up. But could Autumn really have expected that, after everything that had gone down on Friday, and the silence after? Was I expected to pretend like everything was fine? I couldn't do that. Autumn needed to know that she'd hurt me. She finally arrived about a minute before the late bell, scampering down the hall to her locker. She had on her red puffer vest and her favorite fuzzy woolen hat, the ivory one with the earflaps that her grandma had knit for her when she'd first started high school. I'd always thought the hat was so goofy, like something a sheep-herding Swedish yodeler would wear. She really liked it, though I hadn't seen her wear it for a couple of years. It wasn't even cold enough for a hat. Not really. I quickly took my seat, opened my notebook, and pretended to study the calculus equations I'd already memorized over the weekend. But inside, my mind spun numbers and values and x's and y's. I decided that if Autumn did try to talk to me, I'd hear her out, but I wouldn't forgive her. At least not right away. "Hey!" I looked up as Autumn walked past me and sat with some other girls in the back of the classroom. A terrible ache swelled in my stomach when I realized that Marci wasn't one of them, and I was quickly running out of people to blame. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Freshman year, I found a way to get changed out of my bathing suit without ever having to be completely naked. The complicated dance looked anything but graceful, and would certainly give Spencer a huge laugh. But I'd mastered it, and now, as a senior, I could do it faster than any girl in the locker room. Not exactly the kind of talent you'd note on your college applications, but a skill that had served me well. First, I pulled my arms through my bathing suit straps, and positioned it like a tube top. I wore a navy Speedo one-piece, which fit extra snug. I knew it wouldn't slip down, but I still kept my elbows pinned to my side. Then I put my bra on over the suit, and as soon as I had it latched, I pulled the suit down to my belly button. That was the trickiest part--moving fast enough to keep the pool water from seeping into the cotton. A second too long and the bra cups would stay damp until well after lunch, which felt as uncomfortable as it sounds. Next I put on my oxford shirt and did up the buttons, then pulled my skirt up over my hips. After that, I could discreetly trade my bathing suit for my underwear and my spandex shorts, without anyone seeing a thing. Not that any of the other girls were looking. The bell rang, and I slowly walked up the stairs to the freshman hallway, where Autumn would normally wait for me. I told myself she wouldn't be there. And she wasn't. But Connor was. He leaned against the big wooden banister, talking to two guys. I could tell he noticed me, the way the corners of his mouth lifted. I let mine lift, too, and ignored Autumn's braided blond hair bobbing far off down the hallway, already on her way to our next class. I kept walking. Connor broke off from his friends. He sped up until he was right beside me. But not with me. There was just enough vacant space to keep us from looking together. "You're breaking the rules," I whispered. "When can I see you again?" he whispered back. "If you don't get away from me, it'll be never." But before he could answer, Spencer tackled me. "Natalie! I've been dying to talk to you all weekend." "Hey," I said, and watched over Spencer's shoulder as Connor disappeared down the hallway. Then I smiled at her, thinking of my secret. I was sure she'd be proud of the way I was handling Connor. Spencer looped her arm through mine. "So there's a crazy rumor flying all over school about something shocking that happened this weekend." Her normally high-pitched voice dropped into something deeper, more suspicious and sly. For a second, I worried that Connor had let something slip. That word had gotten out. And the good feelings I'd had a moment before evaporated. I pulled Spencer over into a corner. "What? What happened?" "Come on. I'll walk you to class. And along with way, I will tell you the miraculous tale of one girl's takedown of Mike Domski." The story quickly spilled out: On Sunday, Mike had gotten ahold of Spencer's number. He'd called her and asked if she'd wanted to go to the movies. She had to stop stringing him along, he'd said. The way she'd rubbed against him at the Halloween dance and flirted at Bobby Doyle's party was enough to drive a guy insane. They had to go on a proper date. Spencer said yes, but she'd told him she had to go to her grandma's house for an early dinner. "Isn't your grandma dead?" I asked. Spencer winked. She told Mike that she would meet him at the theater at eight o'clock. Mike arrived early. He'd dressed up. He waited outside. At five minutes until eight, Spencer called Mike and claimed to be stuck in traffic. She asked Mike to go into the theater and save them seats. She didn't want to miss any of the plot, and that way, he could fill her in. Mike paid for two tickets and left Spencer's with the box office girl. He didn't know what kind of snacks Spencer might like, so he bought a bunch--Twizzlers, popcorn, those little pretzel bits with the cheese inside. "Wait. I'm actually starting to feel bad for him," I said. "Remember, this is the guy who defaced your poster, who crashed your girls' night, who--" "Okay. I'm back. Keep going." Spencer texted him about ten minutes later. Crawling traffic, she said, but she was close. And then, something else. "I told him to whip it out and have it ready for me. He wrote back, You nasty little girl." "Ew! He did not." Spencer could barely keep from laughing. "Anyway, a bunch of girls and I were already hiding in the very last row, and we could see him shimmying and wriggling in his seat. I ducked out and found the manager and let him know that there was a boy with his pants down in theater twelve." "No way!" "I think the manager wanted to call the police, but when he saw us girls laughing, he just threw Mike out. It was...epic. And I think I taught him a lesson for sure." "How did you know he would do it?" "Because for the last three weeks, I've been making him think that some kind of dirty hookup was the inevitable end of this ridiculous flirtation we'd been going through." "I'm proud of you," I told her, which seemed like a weird thing to say, but that was how I felt. "Okay. I'd better get going. I'll see you later, Natalie." The bell rang, and I ran to Western Philosophy. Mike Domski came down the hall from the other direction, looking angrier than I'd ever seen him. Jaw set, teeth clenched, gripping the straps of his book bag in two tight fists. I didn't feel bad for him. He deserved to be humiliated. I figured it might even do him some good. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Connor texted me just after midnight that Friday night. I was surprised and not surprised at the same time. He was waiting out on the driveway when I pulled up. As soon as I stepped out of the car and into the night, he reached for my hand. The whole walk up to the shed was a flirtatious build. I started jogging backward, silently daring him to come and get me. Connor made chase, so I turned and sprinted into the woods. He kept pace easily, his hands grabbing at my peacoat. I let him pull it off of me and kept running, managing to stay just out of his reach by circling and dodging around the bristly pines. Both of us were laughing, and we didn't even stop to think someone might hear us. I slipped on a pinecone. Connor caught me in his arms, his hands gripping me through my clothes. He leaned in to kiss me, and when he closed his eyes, I saw my chance and broke free again. I felt drunk, even though I wasn't. And while I ran away from him, I still raced headlong toward our shed. I couldn't get there fast enough. He came up behind me when I reached the door and fiddled with the lock, his arms wrapped around me, both of us heaving in cold air and blowing out puffs of steam. He fired up the little lantern, and then we tumbled down to the wool blanket. Connor rolled on his back and brought me on top of him. His hands slipped underneath my shirt. They were cold enough to shock me. I lifted myself up. "What are you doing?" "Huh?" Connor's cheeks were red and he was out of breath. "Nothing. Why?" "Good," I said cautiously, eyeing him as I climbed off his torso and lay next to him on the floor. He turned on his side and brushed away my hair from my face. Then he started kissing me again. The spot where my neck met my ears, lightly and sweetly, lips barely touching skin. I closed my eyes and ran my hands through his wavy hair. It seemed odd that I knew how thick it was. But even with that concrete sense, I lost my sense of gravity. I was somewhere between floating and falling--the in-between that feels both scary and awesome. Connor pulled me on top of him, and his hands slid up my back again. He watched me. Wide-eyed and grinning like a fool. His fingers tucked underneath my bra strap, then he pinched the closure, trying to pop the hook open. I rolled off him. "Seriously, Connor." "What? I'm sorry. Do you not want to?" "No. I don't want to," I said firmly. "I'm not like that." Connor's forehead wrinkled. "You're not like what?" I sat up and crossed my legs. "Listen. I might sneak out here to this dirty shed in the middle of the night to spend time with you, but I'm not like the other girls in school. I'm not going to lie back and let you do whatever you want to me. Things are going to go at my pace, or they're not going to go at all. Got it?" I'd hoped to avoid this kind of talk. I'd thought he might be able to read me, and we could have fun with each other and not get all heavy. Connor started laughing. Really laughing. It was infuriating. "What other girls are you talking about?" he asked. "Don't play all innocent with me." I second-guessed what I planned to say next, but when Connor didn't look any more serious, I couldn't help myself. "I know you lost your virginity in eighth grade." "Who told you that?" He sounded pissed, which confused me. First off, boys always bragged about that kind of stuff. And second, everyone knew that Connor had gotten really drunk and had sex with Bridget Roma in her sister's car on New Year's Eve. I shrugged my shoulders and played it cool. "Lots of people. It's true, isn't it?" Connor blushed. And not in the shy way. He shook his head, like I'd crossed a line. "I don't know what that has to do with anything. I'm not trying to force you to do anything you don't want to. That's for sure." "Good." A part of me regretted bringing it up, but I needed to make sure Connor respected me. Now that it seemed settled, I lay back down and tried to pull him close. Only he turned away from me. "You know what?" he said. "I'm not sure I can shift gears back that fast." I sat up quickly and was about to say something witty and sharp back when suddenly my left butt cheek burned bad enough for me to gasp. Connor noticed. "What happened?" I squinted my eyes in pain. "I think I just got a splinter!" "Are you kidding?" Connor tried to stifle a laugh. "Is that hard to believe? Look at where we are, Connor! Look at this place!" This was my punishment, I figured. "Ack! It really stings." "Here," Connor said. "Let me see." I rolled over to my knees and stuck my butt up into the air. It was completely humiliating, but what other choice did I have? "You're going to have to take off your jeans." I could barely swallow. "No way." "How else am I going to see what's going on down there?" He stood up and grabbed the lantern hanging over our heads. Ugh, I thought. So much for boundaries. I unzipped my pants and pulled my jeans down. I'd never been undressed in front of a boy before. I knew it would happen eventually. Maybe in a bed-and-breakfast or a nice hotel room. Not a dorm--those were gross. Definitely somewhere nicer than this. Connor moved the lantern close. I felt its warmth. "Yikes," he said, in a voice serious enough to scare me. "You're bleeding. Just relax. I'm going to lift up your underwear a little bit so I can see. This sucker ripped right through the cotton." His finger slid behind the elastic band and pulled it the tiniest bit down. "Okay. I see it. It's in pretty deep." He fished a red Swiss army knife out of his pocket. My heart raced until I saw he wasn't going for the blade, but the tweezers attachment. "Take a deep breath." I did--and it was over fast. As soon as the splinter came out, my butt felt slightly better. My ego, not so much. Connor brought the tweezers around to my face to show me the long, brown piece of wood. "You should probably get home and take care of it. Maybe put some peroxide on it or something, so it doesn't get infected." "All right." I hadn't exactly envisioned my night ending like this. Connor walked me back to the car. We didn't hold hands. Instead, I kept a few steps ahead to hide the fact that I was still blushing. But I did let him kiss me good-bye. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR I woke up late Monday morning. I'd spent the last three nights in a row with Connor, and the lack of sleep was definitely catching up to me. That, and the fact that it had been ten days since Autumn and I last spoke. It was yearbook picture day, and I should have gotten right up with the first buzz of my alarm to put some effort into getting ready. After all, my senior portrait wasn't just going to be in the yearbook. I would be immortalized up on the wall in the library, number nine. Only I kept hitting the snooze button. And when I finally did get out of bed, I barely had enough time to grab a shower. It wasn't until I'd finished drying off and begun brushing my teeth, that the steam on the mirror dripped away just enough to let me see what had magically appeared overnight. At first I'd thought it might be a