by Judith Tewes
His or mine?
Love me.
The words - crazy words - raced through my head. Love ME.
We stared.
There was wariness in his eyes. A look I understood, because I was that look. He expected me to push him away, but maybe there could be a different ending, a major plot twist, the kind that got under a character’s skin.
Tangled them in knots.
Our breath mixed. I entwined our fingers, slid his hand up along my sweater. He turned his face away – stock-still, as if afraid any movement would shatter the heat we were building. I cupped his hand to my breast. His chin angled to me then, a moan on his lips, breath warm and sweet on my cheek. A gentle pressure as he gave into the urge to touch, to feel.
It was glorious until he jerked away from me. I stumbled at the loss of his body, but found my feet.
Cursing, he punched a button and the doors swished open. The blast of fresh air made me shiver. He pulled me from the elevator. “Come on, let’s get you looked after.”
His harsh tone got my back up. “I don’t need looking after.” I resisted, but my captor, wannabe savior took no notice of my ineffectual attempts at reclaiming ownership of my arm.
“Are you from the psych ward? How’d you get out?” His expression shifted. Hardened. Concern, or maybe guilt had him avoiding my gaze. “How long were you in there? I saw you make two trips before I decided to check up on you. You can’t really hide in these elevators, you know.” He gave a hollow laugh. “Glass.”
I tried to respond, but I couldn’t think. I’d been rejected. Shut down. Just like I knew would happen. We approached a semi-circular desk. Behind the counter sat a security guard with a grim expression.
“Let me go,” I said. “Let go.” Finally, my body kicked in and my brain unstuck. I pulled away, stared into the guy’s startled eyes, watched his jaw clench.
“Don’t,” he said. “I can help. Let me help you.”
I bolted for the exit.
And hoped never to see his urgent, gorgeous face again.
Chapter Seven
“Owen, you better have that out of here before Mom gets home or you’ll be in big trouble.” Roach fired the warning as we stood behind the couch and observed Owen’s progress on the screen.
He glanced from the controller. “Kyle let me borrow his PS3 for the night. I’m getting in as much gaming time as I can. As soon as I hear the garage door open, I’ll hide the evidence, have no fear.” His eyes slide to me. “Why’s she always around anyway? We’re not a refugee camp.”
“Like I’d seek refuge here if the world was overrun with zombies or Wal-Mart greeters.” The little puke. And I’d been feeling sorry for him – a little boy denied his intrinsic right to play videogames and blow shit up. “You’re buddies with Jesus - you guys turn the other cheek, remember?” I grinned. “This place would be the first to go. Don’t forget, pollywog, I know all your gaming secrets.”
“Infernal woman.” Owen sputtered, blasting the enemy away in a series of rapid rounds from his virtual AK-47.
“Come on. Leave the kid to his carnage.” I pushed Roach toward the stairs. “I need more help with our deflowering project.” We headed for the stairs. Somewhere between the first and third step my thoughts returned to where they’d continually been hanging out for the last twenty-four hours.
Him.
It was official. I was a fallen woman—a floozy, a bimbo Jezebel who enjoyed forcing guys to feel her up in public. A flush of embarrassment worked its way up my neck, making my skin itch under my shoulder-length hair. I swept a swath off my nape for a second, and then let the weight of it drop with a defeated sigh. I had no business obsessing over Mr. Hot and Urgent. How many times could I relive it? The guilty pleasure that tightened his lips, the concern in his eyes when I took off.
Who was he?
Who was I in that half-baked moment when I slid his hand to my breast and knew it was right? But it was wrong, wrong, wrong. Really wrong. Without a doubt the most dastardly, stupid, lame-assed, WRONG thing I’d ever done.
So why couldn’t I stop thinking about him? Feeling his body against mine? He’d been right there with me, as pulled into me as I had been into him.
Fuck it. I couldn’t lie. The guy was the innocent party in this mess. I had no one to rag on but my naughty, wanton self. I buried my face in my hands, letting out a low moan of self-loathing. Couldn’t wait to tell Roach about this one.
No.
No telling Roach.
Not this time.
“Are you just going to stand there all day?” Roach’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I shouldered through her doorway.
“Damn, girl,” I gasped. “What have you been smoking in here?” I crossed the room and flopped onto Roach’s bed, burring my face in a pillow. “Whew, it reeks!” The putrid stench I couldn’t quite identify seeped through my makeshift barrier.
“You know that new flat iron I got for my birthday?”
Something in Roach’s voice made me start to laugh even before I heard the story.
“The one my mom got from a friend of a friend who works at a salon? The one that gets so hot it blows a fuse if you try plugging it in with the lights on? I had to take an online safety course before I could use it.”
The pillow muffled my snort.
“My mom picked my lock, which in itself is amazing if you think about it, and then she snuck into my room and borrowed it. She thought it was like a regular curling iron, only with more oomph. Half her hair fell out this morning. She fried it off.”
I chucked the pillow across the room. “She didn’t!”
“She did. That’s the smell. Fried hair. Dad bought a wig for her to wear at work today, a bob, like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.” Roach was clearly impressed. “It’s the best style she’s ever had.”
The Church Lady in a hooker bob. Life was good.
“Get your laptop. We need to reevaluate,” I said, my spirits lifted, faith restored.
“Bugger. Not again.” Roach brought her laptop over and sat cross-legged beside me with it balanced on her thighs. “Didn’t the Tyler Gribbons experience teach you anything?”
“Look, unless you want me to let loose on the unsuspecting male population, humping guys in elevators…”
Roach shook her head. “An elevator hump? Where do you dream up this stuff?”
If only she knew. My life and the implausible were one and the same. Like how I couldn’t stop thinking about the elevator and my descent into glassed-in lechery.
“I’m not judging you.” Roach held up a hand. “I’m not. And I know you don’t care what anyone else thinks, but I still don’t get why you’re stuck on sucking the heart out of it. That’s what it’s supposed to be about, you know. Love.”
“You think that’s the way guys see it?” I laughed. “You’re right, I don’t care about my reputation, or if people want to call me a slut, it’s not about love – it’s about having a choice. Having control over shit in your life.”
And the fact that I didn’t believe in love at first grope. The “L” word was purely a marketing scheme, guilting the masses into shops at every heart-tugging change of season. It was all puppies and unicorns, with fine details like adultery and deception, obscured by fancy pink hearts and gold glitter.
I scanned the document I thought I’d never have to reference again. Two months ago we’d compiled a list of potential devirginizers. I’d gone through more than half the names already. I never expected to seriously consider the ones this far down.
“THE DEVIRGINIZERS”
OUTTAKE #2: IT’S SNOT WORKING OUT
INTERIOR. WEITZ RESIDENCE. BASEMENT. DAY.
GRAHAM WEITZ, 17, lays, fully clothed, on his waterbed, stares up at the stained ceiling-tiles of his basement dwelling while CHARLIE presses her lips to the crotch of his jeans and blows.
GRAHAM
(voice thick and nasal)
Yeah, that’s hot. She makes a grab for his zipper.
(bolting upright)
Wait, I have to sneeze again.
He barely gets the words out when he lets loose an explosion of phlegm and mucus.
CHARLIE
(wiping face with sleeve)
You know what? It’s snot working out.
Graham looks bleak, but it could just be his cold. Charlie tries to alleviate his disappointment.
CHARLIE
I have my period anyway, so, it’s probably for the best. Let’s just grab some of that chicken soup your mom’s making for lunch, okay?
END OF OUTTAKE
“What about Duncan?” Roach asked. “We should have added him from the start.”
“Drunken Duncan?” I made a face. “I don’t think I can do it. I saw his thing once in sixth grade. He flashed me underwater during swimming lessons.”
Roach made a face. “That’s horrifying. I never go into pools, ever. Even hotel showers make me nervous. You know how many penises have flopped around in those things?”
I laughed, and then looked away from the screen. “None of these will do, Ty was as low as I’m willing to stoop. My life is too fucked up.”
“Is that a hint?” Roach asked. “Should we talk about your mom now?”
“No.”
“Want me to hug you? I will if you really want me to, but you know how I like my personal space.”
I shook my head.
“Okay then, we need to think outside the box, look beyond lists, forget guys from our school.” Roach shut her laptop. She spread her arms out, palms up like she was listening to the word of God. “There must be someone in town who rocks your boat.” She closed her eyes. “I can feel it, you’re holding back. Every girl has a crush she won’t admit to. Fess up. Give me a name and I promise you, we’ll get your cherry well-and-truly popped.”
I thought of him, of course I did.
“And if he’s nameless?” I sighed. “A nameless, fantastically good looking guy I made an ass of myself in front of once, and can’t forget? What do we do then?”
Roach opened her eyes.
“We pray.”
“Not to be deliberately hurtful or insensitive, but…” I blew her a raspberry.
“Okay, I’ll pray, while you confess. Tell me child,” she intoned, “who is the one who wets your drawers?”
Five minutes later Roach was bashing my head with both pillows. I knew I should have kept my mouth shut.
“Are. You. Out. Of. Your. Mind?” Each word was punctuated with a wallop to my noggin. “He could have been a serial killer! Or worse, he could have had crabs!”
“Right,” I said when she paused for a breather, “having crabs is much worse than having Hannibal Lecter eat your liver. I never said we did it, or I saw his schlong or anything, so I don’t see how his crab infestation, or lack of one, comes into the equation.”
Exhausted, Roach slid to the floor, resting her back against the lopsided Ikea dresser we had assembled last year. We’d resorted to reverse engineering at one point and it showed. I still had the earrings we made with the leftover washers.
We were quiet for a while.
“Any fallout from Ty?” Roach asked.
“He’s too busy porking Jessica’s best friend to worry about little ol’ me. I’m yesterday’s blue-balls as far as he’s concerned.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I’m always right.” I joined her on the floor. “Usually.”
Chapter Eight
“SUCKS TO BE ME”
SCREENPLAY
BY
CHARLOTTE WEBB
ANONY MOUS
INTERIOR. A HIGHSCHOOL HALLWAY – DAY
CHARLIE and ROACH skip down corridor holding hands, laughing uproariously at their own
lighthearted whimsy. The zippy duo comes to an abrupt halt as they near a row of lockers.
CHARLIE – VOICE OVER
Much as I loved being right, in this one teeny instance, being wrong wouldn’t have sucked a whole bunch.
ROACH
Do you believe this?
CHARLIE – VOICE OVER
Yes, I did believe it, because, as I told Roach before, lots of things that weren’t supposed to happened, did happen, and one of them just happened to crap in my face. The evidence of my stupidity was proudly on display not four feet away.
ROACH
Is that really you? If I squint, it could be anyone. Well, any girl.
CHARLIE
Except that I’m the only girl in school with a fucking mole at the end of her smile! I knew I should have pulled an Enrique Iglesias and had Mini Me removed. We could have preserved her in a Petri dish for future generations to admire.
ROACH
Let’s think positive. One topless photo doesn’t a life of prostitution make.
CHARLIE
One, no. However, one topless photo of you photocopied and taped to every single fucking locker in your school could certainly lead a girl in that direction.
ROACH
No one will figure it out. And if someone tries to peg this on you, we’ll write up a formal denial and post it in the school newsletter.
CHARLIE
Did you even read the words at the bottom? Are your corneas non-functional?
(reads aloud)
Charlie gives good head!
ROACH
Ewe…did you really?
CHARLIE
I’m a virgin, Roach. Doesn’t mean I’m exactly virginal. But the point is, he used my name. I think that makes it pretty clear who owns those melons.
ROACH
(groaning)
How did this happen?
CHARLIE
Tyler Gribbons. He took the shot with his cell, right before he went to that football training
camp.
ROACH
(answers her cell)
Weird, it’s for you. I think it’s Ty.
CHARLIE
(pissed)
Hello. This is Charlie, who’s going to Fucking maim and kill you, speaking.
TY
I see you got my message this time. I wasn’t sure if you had your phone back yet. You gotta’ admit the old school locker trick is still pretty effective.
CHARLIE
Fuck off and die. Slowly and painfully.
TY
(laughing)
Love you too, baby. See you around. Actually, lots of people will be seeing you around. I posted it online.
CHARLIE
(dial tone in her ear)
You ………………………………………
FADE TO BLACK
The B-movie of my life fades away and I land in the horrific reality of it all.
I knew it could have been worse. In his haste Ty had prematurely snapped, capturing the moment when my bra was just slipping off my breasts. No exposed nipples. You could have seen the same amount of flesh on any beach or poolside.
But still. The fact that he’d lied and a supposedly private moment was plastered on lockers…stung. It made me feel vulnerable and used and everything I didn’t want to feel when it came to guys.
“In a thousand years from now, this photo will resurface and save my flagging acting career.” See? I could think positive thoughts. And I did, for about a second.
“You don’t want to be an actor anymore,” Roach said. “You want to be an accountant. You told me last week. We planned your course load.”
“Roach, no one wants to be an accountant. That was a joke.”
“Oh, well, good thing. I was afraid to tell you your math marks aren’t up to snuff.” Roach reached out, crumpled one of the offending photos, moved to the next locker, and the next, tearing off as many Charlie chests as she could.
I stood there watching her, and every other Tom, and Harry Dick in the school, as they gave their lockers a cursory glance, tore off the picture and moved on with their lives, while my boobs looked up at them from the freshly-waxed floor.
Chapter Nine
&
nbsp; “You go, girl.” Grace applauded the mother a few tables over who ignored the anxious looks of stuffy patrons and whipped out her breast when her baby started fussing.
Mom’s favorite family Italian restaurant had reopened under new management, so Grace and I were playing food critic, under strict instructions to give mom a detailed review during our next visit. So far our findings were dismal, bleeding into major waste of time. And we hadn’t even sampled the food yet. We’d been seated for half an hour staring at our menus while savory odors drifted over from other tables. No one had taken our orders. The wait was making Grace punchy.
“You don’t see many women with the confidence to bare it all and nurse in public,” Grace said. “Why is something so natural a taboo? Mothers have the right to feed their children, anyplace, anytime.”
“Can we not talk about breasts?” I was still recovering from the day’s tits up debauchery. It hadn’t amounted to much in the grand scheme of things. Roach had made sure any stray photocopies were swiftly taken care of and the print evidence was long gone before any of the teachers would have noticed. Even if they had spotted one of the copies, they’d probably assumed it was something for art class or yet another lame poster for yet another lame school dance.
Amazing what shit went on under teacher’s noses.
And as for sharing the photo around online? Well, my fairly well-covered boobs didn’t hold up against another Beyoncé meme. By the last bell, the whole thing was a distant memory.
For everyone else, at least.
“Please.” I held up a hand. “No more boobs. Not even in terms of nourishment. Besides, if you go on and on…breastfeeding this, breastfeeding that…and looking at her funny, then you’re part of the problem, don’t you think?” I propped the pleather menu on the table using it to conceal my chest, unable to shake the feeling every man in the crowded restaurant had downloaded my hooters from Ty’s sleazy Facebook page and jerked off before going to dinner with their wives. “I mean, if it really didn’t test your tolerance for naked flesh on public display, would you think to mention it?”
“Playing devil’s advocate? How predictable.” Grace attempted to make eye contact with one of the waitresses buzzing between tables. She started waving her arms. “What does it take to get food around here?”