by Laura Hopper
This morning is entirely different. My eyes fly open fifteen minutes before I have to get up. I lie in bed and find myself smiling that goofy smile again. Was that text exchange a dream? I reach over and grab my phone from my nightstand and reread our texts. There it is in black and white. Although there’s still a chance I’m being punked.
After a long, hot shower and a little more of my vanilla-scented body wash than I typically use, I find my best jeans, the ones I always wear when I care what I look like, which isn’t that often. I put on the baby-blue hoodie I got for Christmas. It’s super soft and Sloan asked to borrow it when she saw it, which makes me think it’s probably good enough for the occasion. Now for the workout clothes. I decide to go with all black: black Adidas shorts and a black shirt I got from the 10K I ran in October. I can honestly say I’ve never planned out my track practice outfit before.
I brush my hair in the mirror and decide to leave it down. Even though I spend a few more minutes on it than I do most mornings, I realize it probably doesn’t look any different than it did yesterday, which might be a good thing. My phone makes that pong sound again. It’s Brett, and he’s waiting outside. Holy crap, how is it 7:45 already? I thought I had so much extra time. I run into the kitchen and grab a cereal bar.
“Janey, do you have a second?” Dad calls from the kitchen table.
“Sorry, Daddy, Brett is waiting outside.”
“You look pretty.” My mom notices the difference. I really don’t want to appear as though I’ve made extra effort. Hopefully my mom is more perceptive than my friends at school. My mom can look in my eyes and see that I have a fever without even touching my forehead.
“Oh, thanks,” I say, hoping to sound as if I can’t imagine why I look any prettier today than I would on any other Tuesday. I give her a quick kiss on the cheek and head out the door.
Brett and I arrive in the lot a few minutes late, thanks to me. Sloan and Danielle are waiting there. Brett, annoyed at my tardiness, rushes off to class.
“Why are you so dressed up?” Sloan knows me as well as my mother does.
“I’m in jeans and a sweatshirt,” I say.
“You know what I mean.”
“It’s true,” Danielle adds. “You look fancy . . . for you.”
“Thanks a lot,” I say.
“Really, what’s the deal?” Sloan isn’t giving up.
I want to tell them. I need to tell them. They are, after all, my best friends. But what if I tell them about my sort-of date and then it doesn’t happen? What if he forgets? What if he was just kidding? What if he gets a better offer from a hotter, older girl?
“I’m going out with Luke after track.” It feels so good to say it out loud. I can’t contain my happiness.
“Luke who?” Danielle wants to know.
“Luke who do you think?” I say.
“Don’t tell me you’re talking about Luke Hallstrom.” Sloan’s smile is a mile wide. She’s staring at me, awaiting official confirmation.
“I am.”
She screams. I mean a horror-movie shrieking kind of scream. Everyone around us turns to see who got stabbed. The three of us start to laugh.
“Nothing to see here. Go about your business,” Danielle assures the oglers.
“Tell us everything,” Sloan coaxes.
“There’s really not much to tell,” I say, trying to sound casual.
“Oh, puh-leeze!” Sloan says. “If you’re going out with him, then you spoke to him, and already that’s a lot to tell. So hurry up, I have English in three minutes. Talk fast.”
I do my best to tell the story while downplaying my excitement. I don’t want my friends to make a big deal about it only to have the whole thing turn out to be nothing. I give them the facts without the emotion. The problem is they know me too well.
“Don’t pretend like it’s no big thing. You’re wearing your new hoodie, your hair is all brushed and silky, and you’re smiling like it’s going out of style. It’s okay to be fired up,” Danielle assures me.
“Okay, I’m excited, but there’s always a chance he’s going to blow it off.”
“Why would he do that? He asked you just last night. I promise you, not enough time has passed for him to change his mind,” Danielle says.
“True,” I say, trying to convince myself.
I’m really glad I told them. It’s exciting to share, and so helpful to be talked off the ledge. We get to the hallway and have to go our separate ways. Danielle and Sloan each give me a hug. We don’t usually hug goodbye when we’re going to see one another at break in two hours, but the big news has clearly has changed the dynamic of the day.
I get to chemistry and do my best to focus on Mr. Bal and his droning on about Rutherford’s nuclear atom. I glance around at the boys in my class. Already I’m comparing them to Luke. Owen is sitting right in front of me, and his hair looks like he slept in a wind tunnel. Luke’s hair is always the best kind of messy. Next to Owen is Garrett, who is sticking his pencil in his ear. I can’t imagine Luke doing anything that disgusting. Down the row from me is Parker, who is trying to discreetly finish his breakfast. He pulls small pieces of waffle out of the pocket of his joggers and slips them into his mouth, hoping no one will notice. I wonder if there’s syrup on that thing and what the inside of his pocket looks and smells like.
I practically have to shake myself out of this. Is this really me? Janey King? Spending class time scrutinizing boys and mentally criticizing them for not living up the standards set by Luke? I’ve got to get focused. This is exactly why I haven’t been interested in a high school romance. It clouds the senses and messes with the brain. I vow to keep my brain on point. I zero in on Mr. Bal and the wonderfully captivating subject of the atomic model.
At lunch, the debate team is meeting in the music room to prep for this weekend’s tournament. Everyone in the group, a mix of tenth-, eleventh-, and twelfth-graders, brings a lunch and spends the fifty minutes mock debating. Mr. Dawson, an English teacher, also oversees debate. He’s very cool and really knows how to coach us. Debate is the only class I have with Brett, which makes it another reason I love these lunches. Brett is a fantastic debater. He makes strong arguments and can fight passionately on any subject.
“Today’s resolution is,” Mr. Dawson begins, “sex education in schools is advantageous.”
Brett and I share a smirk.
Mr. Dawson continues, “Who would like to take this one?”
I raise my hand, as does almost everyone else. We are nothing if not an eager bunch.
“Janey, you take prop. Landon, you’re on opp.”
We have gathered research and prepared information on a number of different topics. We have arguments for both sides of every resolution. After ten minutes of sifting through outlines and jotting down notes, Landon, a bookish sophomore, and I move to the front of the classroom. I start. I may have trouble talking to a cute boy while jogging around a track, but I can debate anyone, anytime. Chin up, shoulders down, eye contact.
“There has been an ongoing debate ever since sex education was introduced in schools, about whether it is beneficial for young students to have such a wide range of knowledge. Sex education in schools is absolutely advantageous. Of all westernized countries, the United States has the highest percentage of teen pregnancy. If sex education is introduced in schools, students will be educated about forms of contraception, and they will be made aware of the importance of abstinence.”
I look around the room, working to make eye contact with everyone sitting there. I lock eyes with Brett, who I know is my biggest supporter.
“Another benefit of teaching sex education in schools is the reduction of sexually transmitted diseases, including HIV, among young people.” I go on, discussing the appropriate ages for children to learn about sex, and note that the data suggests that many parents are not emotionally or psychologically equipped to have the necessary conversation with their kids. I get a nice round of snaps from my peers before Landon begin
s his argument.
“There are many disadvantages to incorporating sex education in schools. First, students are instructed about safe ways of having sex, ultimately serving to promote sex among young people. In other words, it validates teenage sex. Therefore, kids who weren’t even thinking about sex may then consider having intercourse.”
The word intercourse gets a few chuckles. Even Mr. Dawson cracks a smile.
Landon continues, “Another negative to sex education in schools is that the curriculum in most public schools is simply not held to a high enough standard. Many teachers are not equipped to handle the sensitive subject matter, students laugh and joke around, and the importance of the subject is minimized.”
I’m pretty impressed by Landon’s arguments. We go back and forth a few times before we take our seats to hear feedback and results.
“Just so you know, I’m all for sex ed,” Landon says to no one in particular as he sits back down. That gets a big laugh, especially because it comes from him, who seems like he’d be the last person on Earth willing to talk about sex. That’s one of the trickiest things about being on the debate team: We often have to speak passionately on the opposite side from where our feelings really lie.
Mr. Dawson asks our teammates to give us comments and criticism, which is always helpful and sometimes surprising. It turns out everyone was really impressed that Landon made such good arguments for something he didn’t personally support. Mr. Dawson announces that I am the winner by a very slight margin due to the fact that I was less emotional and more declarative than my opponent. I find it ironic that I was able to stay unemotional on the subject of sex today, the only day of my life thus far where I am actually having some real emotions on the topic.
Chapter Seven
It’s go time. School is over and I’m about to walk out to the track. I can’t decide whether this is the moment I’ve been awaiting or dreading. Strangely, I haven’t seen Luke all day today. Maybe he’s not even at school. Maybe I’ve been duped. I mean, why would Luke Hallstrom want to go out with me, anyway? He’s handsome and experienced and always surrounded by an elite group of seniors. He is adored by every girl in San Diego County. I am small and plain and unremarkable. What was I thinking, getting myself excited for a date with a guy who is so completely out of my league? It probably wasn’t even Luke who was texting me last night. I’m probably getting cyberbullied by someone with mad tech skills. I’m such a fool.
As I leave the locker room and walk toward the track, I see him. He’s standing with a couple of his friends. He doesn’t even look in my direction. My insides collapse. This whole thing was somehow a fraud. I’m not sure how or why, but I’m absolutely certain I’ve gotten this all wrong. I walk slowly to the track where the other junior girls are congregated—stretching, gossiping, adjusting ponytails. I glance again toward the cluster of senior boys and confirm that Luke is acting like the same stranger he was last year. I feel so stupid for the extra effort I put into today’s outfit and for telling Sloan and Danielle that I had a date with Luke. How could I even think for one minute that Luke Hallstrom could possibly be interested in me?
Chow calls us all to the starting line for a warm-up half mile. I am the first to hit stride when his whistle blows. The frustration and humiliation I feel are oddly good for endurance and speed. I take off like a shot and keep up the fast pace around the track.
“Hey,” calls a voice on the track next to me. I look up to find Luke running at my side. I sent myself down a paranoid, insecure spiral for no reason at all. Is this the power of boys? Their attention or lack thereof can determine your state of mind minute to minute? Second to second? I’m not sure I have the stamina for this madness.
“Hey,” I reply calmly, as though I haven’t just taken a ride on the emotional roller coaster from hell.
“You still good to grab something after practice?”
“Sure.” Oh my god it’s real. It’s really really real. I find the sheer joy makes me run even faster.
“I looked for you at lunch and didn’t see you. I thought maybe you were blowing me off.” Great minds think alike. It’s surprising to me that while I’m trying my very hardest to play it cool, Luke is totally candid. He can plainly admit that he wondered if he was being blown off. I thought all guys acted like nothing bothers them.
“I had debate.”
“Ah. Didn’t know you were on debate. What’d you fight about today?”
Oh no. I have to say the word sex to Luke.
“The advantages of sex education in school.” I’m trying to force myself to keep from blushing.
He breaks into wry little grin.
“Oh? And what did you have to say about that?” Luke asks while we keep up our pace. A significant distance grows between us and the rest of the pack.
I feel myself get shy. I may have said the word sex, but there’s no way I can say contraception or abstinence. Once again, I can speak calmly and unemotionally in front of a room full of people on the subject of sex, but when one adorable senior boy asks me to recount my argument, I turn to Jell-O.
“Uh, I had prop. So, basically, I said that sex ed is beneficial. You know, the whole knowledge-is-power thing.”
“Right. I know I’d certainly rather learn about it from a teacher than from my parents. I don’t think I can handle hearing my mother use the word penis.”
Oh my god. Luke just said penis. I decide to just pretend I’m not as nervous as I feel. It occurs to me that our conversation has become much more of a priority than our run. We have slowed down to a jog and let some of our teammates pass us.
“Did your parents ever have the dreaded talk with you?” I ask as we begin our last straightaway.
“Not really. I have older siblings, so my parents probably figured I heard stuff from them. Last year, my dad bought condoms and put them in my bathroom, but we never discussed it. Like it never even happened.”
“How do you know it was your dad?”
“Well, I’ll tell you how I know it wasn’t my mom,” he says.
“How?” I ask.
“I played Little League in the third grade. My dad was out of town when the season started, and my mom couldn’t bring herself to take me to buy a cup, so I had to wait until my dad came home. I missed the first game. This is not a woman who would buy condoms.”
“Got it. So I guess you don’t go to her for advice about girls,” I say.
Luke snickers. “That’s what older sisters are for.”
“You’re lucky. I’m an only child. But my parents think of themselves as super cool and progressive, so they’re certain they serve that purpose for me.”
“Do they?” he asks.
That’s a very good question. I haven’t really had much reason to go to my mom or dad for advice about boys, dating, sex, or condoms. But I certainly don’t want to let Luke know how inexperienced I am.
“Still undetermined,” I say.
Luke finishes his workout before I do. I’m running my leg of the relay when I see him throw on a sweatshirt and toss his water cup in the trash. Then he sits, watching my team finish our practice. I think I run faster when he’s watching. It’s cool the way he doesn’t pretend to be busy doing something else, like checking his phone or talking to his friends. He’s not trying to hide that he’s waiting around for me. When I’m finally finished, he tells me to grab my stuff and meet him in the student parking lot.
I go into the locker room to get my backpack and duffle bag. I splash some cold water on my face, shake my hair out of the ponytail, and throw my hoodie on over my running clothes. I don’t want to leave him waiting, but I don’t want to sprint out the door too eagerly, either. It’s funny to have to think about all this stuff: Hair up or down? School clothes or workout clothes? Hurry or stall? I never realized how simple life was without strategizing for a boy.
I walk to the parking lot and Luke is leaning against his black Jeep. He looks really cute in his gray Boston College sweatshirt and with his
messy hair. He takes my bag and backpack, throws them in the back seat, and opens the door for me. I’m starting to think this might be a real date. During the five-minute drive to the juice place he turns down the music so that we can talk. He asks me questions about school and where I want to go to college. We talk about Stanford and East Coast versus West Coast schools.
“I think it was just always a given that my siblings and I would go to college back east. My parents are both from Massachusetts, and when I graduate in June, they’re moving back. That way they’ll be close when I’m in college.”
“Let me guess,” I say, giving a nod to his sweatshirt, “Boston College?”
“Yep. Early decision. Got the news before we left for Cabo. They have a great track team. I’m really excited.”
At the juice place, we step up to the counter. Luke asks me what I’d like. I speak directly to the guy working there.
“I’ll have a small Peachy Keen, please.”
Luke laughs out loud. He does this adorable thing with his tongue when he laughs—it sticks out ever so slightly onto his bottom lip. I am thoroughly captivated by how cute he looks when he laughs that it takes me a moment to realize I have no idea what he’s laughing at. Did I do something wrong?
“What?” I want to know.
“Nothing.”
“No. What’s so funny?”
“You just sound like a little girl ordering that. It’s cute.”
He just called me cute. I’m having the best time.
“Oh, and you have some macho smoothie order? Like Big Banana Man?”
If only I had anticipated how those words would sound. First Luke said penis, and then I said big banana man. I feel my face turn crimson. Luke raises his eyebrows.
“Well, I won’t argue . . .”
We laugh so hard we can barely finish ordering. The guy at the cash register looks at us like we’re crazy. When I try to pay, Luke shuts me down, telling me that maybe he’ll let me get it next time. His saying that there will be a next time is just about the greatest news ever.