Skin

by Napoli, Donna Jo

  “Yes.”

  Mr. Weisskopf is more discreet than I’d have guessed. “I’ve got nothing to add.”

  “Hmmm. I’m doing my best not to get angry here, Pina.”

  “The mall, Mamma.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “That is the subject. The mall. Can we go? I’ll fold all the rest of this when we get back. Promise.”

  “How many lipsticks do you own now, Pina?”

  “What do you care? I buy them with my babysitting money.”

  “I don’t care about the money. I care about you.”

  “I’m not going to buy more lipstick.”

  “What are you going to buy?”

  “Do I really deserve this third degree?”

  “I don’t know, Pina. Do you?”

  “Okay, I’ll walk to the mall.”

  “You’re grounded, remember.”

  “You let me go to the mall last week.”

  “It’s too late. You’ll never make it back in time for dinner.”

  “Unless you drive me.”

  Mamma picks up another T-shirt and chews on her tongue. Then she throws the shirt back on the pile and slaps a hand on her forehead. It stays there a long moment. “Get the keys.”

  I knew it. Mamma has no experience at being a prison guard. I actually feel sorry for her right now.

  Once at the mall I ditch Mamma at the drugstore and make a beeline for Slinky’s cosmetics counter.

  “Hey,” she calls. “Come to show it off?”

  “What?”

  “The tattoo. Or is it tattoos?”

  “I chickened out.”

  “Good for you. With a tattoo, you’d have never been able to get a job with the CIA.”

  “I never want a job with the CIA.”

  “It’s just an example, kiddo. Imagine holding out your tattooed hand for a shake at a job interview. The interviewer would fumigate his office after you left. You dodged the bullet, sweetie. There are better ways to be cool.”

  “Don’t be such a mother,” I say with more force than I intended.

  “Sorry. I just mean, if you need to express yourself, you could think of other ways. So what’s up?”

  “Are you married, Slinky?”

  “Slinky?” She smiles and tilts her head. “Are you kidding? You know I have a boyfriend.”

  “I mean, were you?”

  “What is it you really want to ask?”

  “Well, you have a child and everything.” I shrug one shoulder. “That must have been an accident?”

  “A surprise. There’s a difference. I get the feeling you’re still not asking what you want.”

  “Slinky, I’ve been thinking of jumping my boyfriend.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Her face changes, but I can’t read it. The smile is gone.

  “I sort of already jumped him. But not completely, you know.”

  “I guess I do.” She leans on the counter. “So… are you asking me whether it’s worth the risk of pregnancy?” Her voice is very soft.

  “I don’t think I’m really asking anything. I just want someone to know.”

  “I’ve been there before. Listen up: telling me doesn’t make me share the responsibility.”

  How she can cut straight to the quick like that astonishes me. I was right to come to her. “You’re really a hard ass, Slinky.”

  “Is that why you’re telling me? So I can be hard on you?”

  “I don’t want to hurt him.”

  “Who?”

  “My boyfriend.”

  She pulls back and her eyebrows go up. “You think you’ll hurt him by sleeping with him? That’s a new one. Isn’t he in high school?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re telling me there exists a high school boy who’s not dying to score?”

  “I don’t think this one is.”

  “Is he gay?”

  “No way.”

  “Is he healthy?”

  “He plays football.”

  “Oh, come on. This guy is dying to score.”

  “He’s not the typical football player.”

  “What, you’re buddies with the whole team? I wouldn’t have pegged you for that.”

  “He’s special.”

  “Sure. Everyone is. Let me tell you a secret.” She leans even closer. “There’s really only one question that’s relevant to whether or not a high school football player wants to score.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Is he alive?”

  I laugh, though I know it’s not true.

  But I let myself believe Slinky about Joshua—not in general, just with respect to me. I let myself believe it because I need to. Joshua wants to score with me, no matter what happens after that. Just like me, he’s going to feel that it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all—yup, that’s exactly what he’ll feel.

  This is the belief I can run with.

  THE FOOTBALL GAME THIS week was Friday again. I stayed home, still grounded, and finished all my homework for the weekend. But I took this babysitting gig on Saturday.

  Here I am, holding an umbrella in one hand and ringing the Harrisons’ doorbell with the other, looking like an ordinary honest person, like the person I used to be. Joshua will be coming over within a half hour. Mamma didn’t ask, and I didn’t tell.

  “Hi, Pina.” Mrs. Harrison opens the door and steps back. Mr. Harrison stands beside her and blinks. I wonder if he’s confused that she just called me Pina when he seems to know I call myself Sep. “There’s a plate of treats in the refrigerator. For you and Joshua.”

  My cheeks burn. If I’m this transparent to Mrs. Harrison, Mamma definitely knows. Well, fine. I hate being queen of deception. “That’s very nice of you. Thanks.” Oops. “I guess I owe you a bag of sweet potatoes.” I laugh in embarrassment.

  “No, no, it was nothing. Sarah told us about the wonderful arch. Have fun now.” They leave. Without even kissing Sarah.

  They must have kissed her before I rang the bell. They must have been standing at the door waiting for the bell to ring, like horses at the gate before a race, raring to go. It’s later than they usually go out, but still, I’m surprised.

  And it dawns on me: They’re glad I’ve got a boyfriend. My first boyfriend. As long as I want a place to be alone with Joshua, they’ve got a sitter.

  Symbiosis.

  But their eagerness gives them away: they’re worried it won’t last. A teenage romance, after all. They’ll take me while they can get me.

  I hang my raincoat on the coatrack. I set the umbrella open beside it on the tiled entranceway. I nestle my rain boots in front of it.

  Sarah’s sitting on the living room floor. She still hasn’t acknowledged my presence. I walk over and plop down beside her. Legos again.

  “The bottoms of your jeans are wet,” says Sarah.

  “It’s raining.”

  “Like God crying,” says Sarah.

  “Where did you get that idea?”

  “Clancy.”

  I remember the name vaguely. Oh, yes. “He’s the one you bit?”

  “He bit me, too.”

  “He said rain is God’s tears?”

  “He said rain is God’s pee.”

  “What a nasty idea.”

  “I punched him. And I told him rain is God’s tears.”

  “Rain is water from the clouds, Sarah.”

  “Clouds of God’s tears.”

  I clear my throat. “Water on the earth—puddles and lakes and rivers and oceans, all that water—it sometimes gets absorbed into the air and forms clouds. And when the clouds get heavy enough, rain happens.”

  “God’s unhappy,” says Sarah.

  Okay, another tack. “What would God have to be unhappy about?”

  “Clancy.”

  I almost laugh. I guess if I were God, Clancy might make me inconsolable, too.

  “When’s Joshua coming?”

  “Soon.”

  Sarah smiles to h
erself as she snaps a Lego wheel into place. “I have something for him.”

  A tiny sting of jealousy makes me sit up straight. “What?”

  “You wouldn’t like it.”

  I furrow my brows in suspicion. “What is it, Sarah?”

  “You’ll tell Mommy.”

  “Not unless she really should know.”

  She smirks.

  The doorbell rings.

  “Yay!” Sarah runs and lets Joshua in.

  He drips on the entranceway floor and smiles at me.

  “Don’t you know about raincoats?” I say, not budging from my floor spot.

  “My jacket’s usually enough.”

  “Not tonight,” I say.

  “Not tonight.” Joshua spies the coatrack. He peels off the wet jacket and hangs it near my raincoat.

  “Your pants are wet,” says Sarah.

  “It’s okay, Boss.”

  Sarah puts her hands on her hips.

  “I mean, Sport.”

  She juts one hip out and mock pouts.

  “I mean, Sarah.”

  Sarah laughs. “Come see.” She grabs for his arm.

  Joshua puts his hands up. “Whoa. Let me take these off first.” He puts his wet sneakers beside my boots. Then he lets Sarah pull him past me and down the hall toward her bedroom.

  “You stay there,” she calls back to me.

  I follow.

  Sarah gets a flashlight from the nightstand beside her bed and opens her closet. She shines it in the corner.

  Joshua gets on his knees and peers in.

  I lean forward but it’s impossible to see past his bulk.

  “Sep, do you know where they keep the plastic bags?”

  “Like a garbage bag?”

  “He’s not garbage.” Sarah shakes Joshua’s shoulder. “He’s mine.”

  “A dead mouse does not belong to you,” says Joshua.

  “A dead mouse?” I squeak.

  “Yes he does.” Sarah pushes on Joshua’s shoulder with both hands now. “I own him.”

  “No, you just discovered him.”

  “I found him in the yard. So he’s mine.”

  “Did you carry him in?” I ask.

  “Of course.”

  “With your hands?”

  Sarah laughs at me. “I’m not a cat. I didn’t carry him in my mouth.”

  “Mice are dirty, Sarah. Let’s go wash your hands. And I’ll get you a plastic bag, Joshua.”

  “Thief! I knew you wouldn’t understand,” Sarah says to me. “But you”—she turns to Joshua—“You should.”

  “What would you do with a mouse, anyway?” asks Joshua.

  “Show him.”

  “What?”

  “Show and tell. You know. Everyone does it.”

  “Your teacher wouldn’t appreciate that,” I say.

  “Clancy would.”

  “Clancy? You and Clancy fight.”

  “Not about mice.”

  “Listen, Sarah, he’s dirty. Never touch dead animals. You can pick up diseases.”

  “Meat is dead animals.”

  “But meat is refrigerated,” I say.

  “I’ll put him in the refrigerator.”

  “No,” I yelp.

  Joshua wraps his arms around Sarah. He’s still on his knees and she’s standing, so he’s enveloping pretty much all of her. “This mouse is garbage, Sarah. You can’t have him. If you want a live mouse, talk to your parents.”

  “Mommy hates live mice. So does Rucka.”

  Joshua closes Sarah tighter into his arms. He doesn’t ask who Rucka is. I have to love him for that. “Tell you what. You can put the mouse in the plastic bag.”

  “No, she can’t.” I shake my head vigorously. “There are germs all over it.”

  “She already touched it, Sep. And she can scrub good afterward.”

  Sarah lifts her chin to me. Her eyes defy me to speak.

  I get the plastic bag and watch Sarah lift a small, shriveled gray thing with pathetic little feet and claws, all curled and flimsy. She doesn’t take it by the tail with just her thumb and index finger. She holds it in both hands, cradled, and slides it into the bag. For an instant, I’m sorry for her. And for the mouse.

  I put the plastic bag on the kitchen counter and take Sarah to the bathroom. “Why not just bathe now? All over.”

  “Joshua has to stay out.”

  Joshua lifts his hands in surrender, like he did when Sarah grabbed for him at the front door. He backs out of the bathroom.

  “That’s okay,” I say. “He can wait for us. He can choose a book for us to read afterward.”

  “Sure, I’ll do that.”

  “Go!” orders Sarah. “Three.”

  “Three books, coming up.” He heads for her bedroom.

  Sarah bathes quickly. She can be no-nonsense when she wants. And around Joshua, she wants. “I’m done.”

  “Okay, stay a minute and let me go get your pj’s.” I go to her room.

  Joshua’s sitting on the bed reading The Big Orange Splot. He looks at me. “I love this book.”

  “I do, too. It’s one of my favorites.” My throat feels all lumpy, like I want to cry. “Do you know Blue Moose?”

  He shakes his head.

  “When’s your birthday?”

  “January.”

  I sort of remembered that. I snatch the pj’s from under Sarah’s pillow. “If I still know you then, I’ll get it for you.”

  He grabs me by the wrist and pulls me onto his lap. “You better still know me then.” He kisses me.

  I get up all wobbly. How can it be that this boy has such an effect on me? I cannot wait to be with him.

  I make it through drying and dressing Sarah. I make it through listening to Joshua read her The Big Orange Splot.

  “What’s next?” asks Sarah.

  “I don’t know,” says Joshua.

  “I told you to pick three,” says Sarah.

  “I thought you and Sep could each choose one.”

  “But I told you to pick all three.”

  “I got distracted. I love this one.”

  “You love it?”

  “Yes,” says Joshua.

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. You can read it two more times.”

  So Joshua reads The Big Orange Splot two more times. He does it with feeling. And Sarah listens, giving all her attention.

  We both kiss her good night.

  “Don’t forget the snack,” says Sarah.

  “What?” asks Joshua.

  “Mommy made it. I helped. Eat it.”

  We close her door and go down the hall.

  Joshua’s hand envelops mine.

  “Do you want a snack?” I ask him.

  “I want you.”

  “Good.”

  “But I have something for you first.” He sits on the couch and pulls me down beside him. Then he digs in his pants pocket. “Here.”

  It’s one of those rubber stamps that little kids use. This one is of a seahorse. “You thought about a tattoo, right? And you keep making designs on the back of your hand. Maybe you’d like to cover yourself in seahorses.”

  “Thank you.”

  “There’s more.” He digs in the other pocket and hands me a slim metal box.

  I open it. It’s an inkpad. Green. “Thank you.” I set the stamp and inkpad on the coffee table. Then I grin at him. “Ready?”

  He smiles and shakes his head. “You know what? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think we ought to talk a little first.”

  I snuggle back beside him. “About what?”

  “With you all close like this, my head empties.” He laughs.

  I put my hand over his heart. “Have you ever slept with anyone, Joshua?”

  He gives a low whistle, leans forward with his forearms on his thighs, and folds his hands. He doesn’t look at me. “Yes.”

  “Who was it? Sharon?”

  “I can’t tell. You know that. It wou
ld be telling you something personal about someone else, Sep.”

  “Was she on the pill?”

  “I slept with two people. And one of them was on the pill. And I didn’t ask the other one.” He puts both hands in his hair and folds them around the back of his head and stares at the floor between his knees.

  “You didn’t ask?”

  “She knew how to take care of herself.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I am.” He sighs and leans back and drops his hands to the sides of his thighs. “She’d had a lot of experience.” He looks at me. “A lot.”

  “You’ve had a lot of experience.”

  “Me?”

  “Two people, and you’re only sixteen.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, compared to you, I’ve had a lot of experience.”

  “Weren’t you afraid you’d get AIDS?”

  “I was fourteen the first time. AIDS was the last thing on my mind.”

  “Fourteen.” Ninth grade. Lord. “How old was she?”

  “Come on, Sep. I won’t identify her. She wanted to have fun. And she enjoyed teaching me things. And I enjoyed learning.”

  “You learned well.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  “I’m not on the pill, Joshua.”

  “I know. You told me Tuesday night. Remember? It doesn’t have to be relevant, Sep. We can go slow.”

  “I don’t want to go slow.”

  Our eyes lock.

  “You’re in a rush?” His voice trembles just the slightest bit.

  “Yes.”

  “After the other night—you know, the gazebo—I kind of thought you might say that.” He reaches into his pocket. “One more thing.” He puts a foil wrapper on the coffee table.

  It takes a few seconds for me to realize it’s a condom.

  I’m shaking all over. “Lights out,” I whisper.

  THE WEEKS GO BY in a bright blur, like a single wild sweep of a paintbrush across a white canvas, making colors dance everywhere. Joshua and I have lunch together every day. We text each other every night. We take walks on the weekend. And we make love.

  You can call it having sex. But this pleasure is so much beyond anything I’ve read about in the nonhuman animal world, it’s got to be making love.

  Even for humans, this is no ordinary thing. I’ve prowled around the Internet, so I know. Whoever taught Joshua did a bang-up job. Or maybe he was just a gifted student.

  When we’re at the Harrisons’, we do it on the floor now, because it’s too hard to manage the couch without falling off, given the way I throw myself around. I’m glad he uses a condom, because otherwise his sperm would get whiplash. And once we went back to the Weisskopfs’ gazebo and did it. And once in the backseat of Mamma’s old VW Beetle, which was actually a lot better than I thought it would be. Anyplace turns out to be fine, really.