Catch Me Twice

by Charmaine Pauls

  “What will it be, Kristi?”

  “Yes,” I say on a rush of air. “Yes, Jake.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “I won’t go back to the bar.” Just make the pain stop.

  “This ass is going to be mine, just like all your other firsts. Promise me.”

  “I–I don’t know if I’ll—”

  “There are two choices here, ginger. Either you promise and we take it nice and slow, or I pop your anal cherry now. It’ll be a first for me too. We can enjoy it together.”

  His fingers in my forbidden entrance hurt worse than being fucked raw for the first time with his big cock. I’ll never be able to take him in my backside, but I say what he wants to make the agony stop. “I promise.”

  When he pulls out, I twirl in the water to face him, my chest rising and falling with indignation. I want to hurt and humiliate him just like he did to me. Without thinking, I raise my arm, but he catches my wrist before my fingers can connect with his cheek.

  “Told you,” he says, taunting me by holding on to my arm no matter how hard I yank to free myself.

  “Told me what?” I snap.

  “I’m a bastard. I’m rotten to my core.”

  I still at that. No matter how badass he makes himself out to be, I’m seeing a side of Jake I never knew. There’s something vulnerable in the way he says it. He truly cares what I think of him.

  “You behaved like a bastard. You’re not rotten.”

  His smile is slow to come. Letting go of me, he brings his forefinger and thumb together. “I was this close from claiming your ass, and the thought is still tempting. Now tell me again I’m not rotten.”

  I have nothing to say to that.

  He wades through the water to the side and pushes himself out, no longer considerate about my feet on the yucky bottom of the lake. At least he offers me a hand. I allow him to pull me out, suddenly shy about my naked body now that he’s angry with me for something I don’t understand. My body breaks out in goosebumps in the breeze. Using his T-shirt, he dries me off quickly and dresses me. All the while, I stand there like a doll. When he’s pulled on his clothes, he takes my hand and leads me to where I left my bike against a tree. He holds it up for me to climb on, but I shake my head.

  “I don’t think I can sit in the saddle, at least not for a while.”

  “Can you walk?”

  “Of course I can walk.”

  “I’ll push your bike then.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  He steers my bike onto the dirt track, not giving me a choice but to follow.

  A little way down the road, he says, “Will you go to the matric dance with me?”

  Taken aback, I stop. “I thought you asked Britney.”

  “I did.”

  “Then you should honor your promise.”

  “Should I?”

  “It’s four weeks before the dance. You can’t dump her now.”

  “That’s the difference between us, ginger. You’re a good person.”

  “Stop insinuating you’re so bad. You’re acting like a victim.”

  A laugh rumbles from his chest as he shakes his head at me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Just keep walking, Pretorius. The rain’s catching up.”

  I look up at the sky. Thick clouds are rolling in. He picks up his pace, and I have to stretch my legs to keep up.

  At my gate, he hands me the bike.

  As if not knowing what to do with his empty hands, he shoves them into his back pockets. “Say you’ll at least think about going to the dance with me.”

  “I’m not going to be the reason you drop Britney at the last minute. That’ll be cruel.”

  “As cruel as me thinking about someone else when I’m with her?”

  “Don’t do that, Jake. You’re leaving in three months.”

  “Right.” He stares over my shoulder into the distance. “Will you be there, at least?”

  “Of course.” Without a partner. Denis asked, but it would’ve been equally cruel to give him hope when there’s no chance of anything happening between us. With the girls outnumbering the boys with a staggering majority in our class, I’ll be going without a date.

  “Right,” he says again. “I guess I’ll see you there.”

  “We could, um, meet up before.” Hastily, I add, “If you like.”

  He gives me a crooked smile. “I like, but I’m working at the factory for the next few weeks.”

  “Ah.”

  Turning on his heel, he saunters down the road in his tight jeans and wet T-shirt, not in the slightest concerned about the lashing thunder or imminent rain.

  Chapter 4

  Nostalgia hits me hard in the four weeks that follow. I didn’t think I’d miss school, but it’ll be better once I’m at university, keeping busy with studies and making new friends. I’m torn about leaving Rensburg. A part of me is excited about exploring a big city like Johannesburg with nightclubs and restaurants, while another part is sad to leave. I love the quiet serenity and the freedom of venturing to the woods or lake. I’ll miss my mom and Nancy like crazy. Nancy already got a job as a receptionist at the factory. I won’t see her except for holidays.

  I already miss Jake. After seeing him every day for the past twelve years, the separation feels violent, as if he’s been ripped from my life by force. The sentiment only adds to my weird state of nostalgia. It leaves me feeling out of sorts, unanchored in a strange way, but I don’t dare to look him up. I’m not going to run after him. If he wanted to speak to me, he would’ve called. Anyway, he’s leaving the country. That’s what I keep reminding myself. He’ll be somewhere foreign with new adventures and exotic girls. I’d be naïve to think he’ll remember my good old nerdish self back in a town most people don’t even know exists.

  For as long as I remember, Jake wanted to get away from Rensburg. Most of us are content with our lives, but Jake has always had a fire burning inside him, a restlessness that seems to drive him. While the majority of our class calls the perimeters between school and the lake home, Jake wants to explore farther borders. He’s always said he wants to see the world. He’s like a shooting star. The fire that drives him is so intense it makes me worry he’ll burn out too fast and all that wild beauty will be gone. I suppose it’s the very intensity that makes him so beautiful. It’s exactly the kind of tragic-romantic sublimity that attracts a dreamer like me. Sometimes, I get the notion his is a self-destructive beauty, a comet that feeds on its tail until it extinguishes into the dark sky, until all I’ll have to look back on is a cold, scientific calculation of a pinpoint location in a black night. But I don’t want to think of Jake as a star. Everyone knows stars are dead or dying.

  My mom finds the softest, prettiest pink fabric at the local store and makes me a strapless dress with a flowing skirt for the matric dance. It’s perfect. She should’ve been a seamstress instead of a cleaner at the brick factory. We decide to make an outing by going to Johannesburg for the shoes, taking Nancy along. I find a pair of nude pink sandals with heels, and my mom buys me a dainty white silk lily for my hair. She works damn hard to make ends meet. The shoes are setting her back quite a bit. The fact that she pays for them so joyfully to give me a memorable evening makes me appreciate the sacrifice all the more.

  Since Nancy’s house is bigger, we get dressed there for the dance while my mom is having a glass of wine with Daphne and Will, Nancy’s parents. My pink dress is laid out on Nancy’s bed, next to her faux leather dress. It’s purple and molds to her body like spandex. On anyone else, it would’ve looked like a cat woman costume, but with Nancy’s figure and self-confidence, she pulls the look off perfectly.

  I’m applying make-up in the bathroom mirror and Nancy is curling her hair when my phone pings from the bedroom with an incoming message.

  “I bet that’s Jake,” Nancy says.

  “I bet not.”

  “Who else would send you a text?”

  “I don’t want to know.”<
br />
  Dumping the curling thongs on the vanity, she dashes from the room.

  “Don’t you dare,” I cry, running after her.

  I try to squeeze past her through the doorframe of the bedroom, but she makes it ahead of me.

  “Our dresses,” I shriek as she dives for the bed.

  She lands neatly in the middle, grabs my phone, and punches in my secret code.

  Stopping next to the bed, I extend a hand. “Give it to me.”

  She rolls out of reach, her eyes fixed on the screen. “Jake says he can’t wait to see what you’re wearing. He wants to see it before everyone else. He wants you to send him a photo.”

  “He didn’t say that.”

  She shows me the screen. “Did too.”

  My body answers with a flush of heat that rises from my toes to my neck as I scan over the text. Yep, what Nancy said.

  Scrutinizing my pink strapless bra and matching thong, she points the phone at me. “Maybe you should send one before the dress.”

  I jump for my phone. “Don’t you dare.”

  She giggles and scoots back. A click sounds. Oh my, gosh. She took my photo.

  “Nancy, I’m serious. Give me my phone.”

  I chase after her around the bed, but she hops off the other side and runs out of the door before I can cut her off.

  “If you send that you’re dead,” I cry at her back, almost bumping into my mom who comes out of the kitchen with a glass of wine in her hand.

  “What’s with all the shouting and running?” my mom asks.

  “Nothing,” I mumble, sprinting for the bathroom, but the door shuts in my face and the lock clicks in place. Grabbing the handle, I twist it frantically. “If you send him a semi-naked photo, I’ll never speak to you again.”

  More giggling comes from inside.

  “Come on, Nancy. Open the door. We’re going to be late.”

  “This will take just a sec,” she calls.

  “Nancy!”

  My mom stops next to me, her expression concerned. “What’s up with you girls?”

  A sudden bout of dizziness overtakes me. It’s so intense, I feel weak. My stomach churns and acid pushes up in my throat. Leaning against the door, I place a hand over my abdomen.

  “Kristi,” my mom exclaims. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t feel so well.” Sweat breaks out over my body and saliva pools on my tongue. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  My mom pushes the back of her hand against my forehead. “Are you coming down with something?”

  I drag in a breath. “It’s the pizza.” Daphne treated us to lunch at Pinky’s. I shouldn’t have had the shrimps. Nausea makes me heave. “Open the door, Nancy. I’m going to be sick. I swear, I’m not joking.”

  “Nancy,” my mom says, her voice calm but urgent, “unlock the door, honey.”

  The key turns, and Nancy’s face appears in the crack. She stares at me with big eyes. “Are you serious?”

  I barely have time to push her away and make it to the toilet before my lunch comes up. Folding double, I empty my stomach. Acid burns my throat. Wave after wave wracks my body until I don’t have the strength to stand any longer. I fall down on my knees in front of the toilet while my mom holds my hair and rubs my back, mumbling over and over, “Oh, honey, I’m sorry.”

  Daphne appears in the door. “What’s wrong?”

  “Kristi’s sick,” my mom says. “She thinks it’s the pizza.”

  “Oh, no.” Daphne grabs a box of tissues and hands it to me. “It must be a bug. We shared the same pizza, and Nancy and I are fine.”

  “You done, honey?” my mom asks.

  “I think so.”

  I’m too weak to get up. I just want to curl up on the tiles and lie here. Taking my arm, my mom helps me to my feet and to the basin. Nancy stands to the side, looking on wide-eyed with my phone in her hand. When I’ve rinsed my mouth, I grip the basin for support, my shoulders turned inward. My face is a mess. Black mascara rings mar my eyes. My eye shadow is ruined and my lipstick smudged. My curls are tangled and wisps of hair stick to my sweat-drenched skin. I look like I feel. Horrible.

  “Oh, no,” Nancy says pitifully as she takes in my reflection.

  My mom is doing what she knows best, flushing the toilet and cleaning the rim with a disinfectant wipe.

  There’s no way I can fix my face in time. I’ll be late for the dance. I’m about to say so when another wave of nausea attacks. Rushing back to the toilet, I ruin my mom’s cleaning by throwing up again. There’s only bile left, but the dry heaves keep on torturing me until I’m back on my knees.

  “I don’t think going to the dance is a good idea,” my mom says apologetically.

  Everything inside me protests, not because I have the perfect dress or I’ve been looking forward to the end-of-school dance for twelve, long grades, but because it was my last chance to see Jake. I admit it to myself in a puddle of misery on the floor, just as I admit my mom is right when I vomit three drops of bile again.

  “Shall I call the doctor?” Daphne asks.

  “She doesn’t have a fever,” my mom says. “I’ll wait it out for a couple of hours. If she doesn’t get better, I’ll call.”

  No point in calling. We can’t afford the call-out fee. There’s another possibility though, a possibility I can’t utter until we’re in the privacy of our home, a possibility that doesn’t need a doctor. A possibility that terrifies me.

  “I’ll drive you,” Daphne says.

  “I’m sorry for ruining it,” I say to Nancy as she hands me my phone. Since neither of us has partners, we were going to go together.

  “Don’t be silly. You can’t help you’re sick.”

  The worry in her eyes says she’s thinking what I am. Please, goddess of mercy, let it be a bug. I’ll vomit my guts out for a whole month, and I’ll never eat pizza again. Anything, just don’t let it be that.

  My mother helps me into my clothes and bundles me into the back of the car while Daphne takes the wheel. She’ll have just enough time to drop us before driving Nancy to the dance.

  Nancy comes outside, dressed in her robe. “What about your dress?”

  “We’ll get it later,” my mom says. “Bye, honey. I hope you enjoy the dance.”

  As Daphne pulls off, I type a text and send it to Nancy.

  Please don’t tell him.

  It could be nothing. It could be a bug. Maybe the one, past sell-by date shrimp was on my slice of pizza.

  At home, my mom steers me to my bed and sits down next to me with her legs folded underneath her. “Oh, Kristi.” She wipes the hair from my face. “I know how disappointed you are. How about we watch a couple of movies in bed? Are you up for it, or do you just want to rest?”

  Looking at my hands, I hold back the tears stinging my eyes. “I’m sorry about the dress, Mom, and the shoes.”

  She nudges my shoulder. “That’s nothing, honey. The only thing of importance is getting better.”

  “Mom.” My voice breaks, and I have to stop.

  My mom sits up straight. “Kristi?”

  I sniff. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  She grips my hands hard the way she does when mentally preparing herself for bad news.

  Lifting my head, I finally dare to look her in the eyes. “I may not be sick as in sick.”

  She frowns, and then her face evens out with comprehension. “Do you think you’re pregnant?”

  My lip starts to tremble. No matter how hard I bite down, I can’t stop it. “I may be.”

  “Oh, Kristi.” She lets go of my hands to pull me into a hug.

  For a long moment, she just holds me. I love her so much right now for not getting angry. I didn’t know how much I needed to get the worry that’s been gnawing at me off my chest.

  Putting me at arm’s length, she asks, “You’re having sex?”

  “It happened only twice.”

  “Unprotected?”

  Fiddling with the frayed en
ds of my bedspread, I nod.

  “I wish you told me. I would’ve gotten you the pill.”

  “We didn’t exactly plan it. Plus, I was ashamed.”

  “You had sex. There’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

  “I thought you’d be angry.”

  “Just because we live in a judgmental town doesn’t mean everyone’s the same. I’ll never judge your actions.” Her face contorts with something like guilt. “I thought you trusted me. Maybe I haven’t been open enough with you.”

  “This isn’t about you,” I say gently. “I do trust you. I just didn’t want to put you in a position to ask Dr. Santoni for the pill and have everyone wonder who you’re sleeping with.”

  She sighs sympathetically. It’s a heavy gesture that’s meant for her as much as me. No one better than my mom can understand how I feel. She had a fling with a boy during a summer holiday and fell pregnant. The boy went home, and she had me, the usual story.

  “How long ago did it happen?” she asks.

  “Four weeks.”

  She shifts her gaze to the ceiling as she seems to do a mental calculation. “We’re not going to get ahead of ourselves without knowing for sure.” She gets up and pulls out the drawer under her mattress.

  “What are you doing?”

  Taking something from the drawer, she lifts it for me to see. A pregnancy test.

  “Mom!”

  “I’m a mature woman, Kristi. I have needs.”

  “Unprotected?” I croak. Another illegitimate child would ruin my mom. She’s barely managing as it is. I can’t wait to get a degree that will secure a good job. I need something that pays more than manual labor wages to help ease her burden. “Please don’t tell me—”

  “Only a donkey hits itself twice against the same stone,” my mom says. “We’re taking precautions. My period was late once, that’s all.”

  “I was going to say please don’t tell me who you’re sleeping with.”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  “Your period was late once so you got two tests?”

  “The double packet was on special, and you can stop putting me in front of the firing squad for something you did yourself.”