by Johi Jenkins
“What do you mean, not in Iowa? I meant ever; Iowa, Illinois, wherever you’ve been.”
“Well, I….” I’m embarrassed, but I shouldn’t be, because I’m so over him. It’s still hard to say, because it was nothing. He wasn’t my boyfriend. “I’ve never had a boyfriend. In Iowa there was a guy I liked, and a guy that liked me, but they were different guys. And in Illinois there was no one; I was there for only a week.”
“But did you ever….” She wrinkles her nose, as if afraid to hear the answer. “Kiss a guy?”
“Not… while I was there.”
She looks at me oddly, as if puzzled by my choice of words. “Anywhere?”
“I… sort of did, here.”
“What! When did this happen?”
“Shh!” I have to shush her. “There’s not much to tell. But anyway….”
And for the remainder of class I have to tell her about meeting Thierry—all three times—and how on the third time we kissed. When I describe the kiss, I blush, and when I look over at Kerin she has a ridiculous grin on her face. I crush her fancy immediately when I continue to describe how the brother then showed up from Illinois, Thierry’s subsequent call, and how since then I’ve never seen Thierry again.
She’s upset I didn’t tell her, and even more upset when she finds out that John saw him. Not only this is bad because John saw me interested in a guy, but more so because he got to see Thierry and she didn’t.
***
The next time that I have a shift with John, I try to be friendlier towards him. I’m not exactly into him, but he is cute, and he seems like a nice guy. I want to give it a try. All this talk with Kerin about Thierry has left me feeling feelings I’d rather not feel. I need to remember my place.
I return John’s smiles, and I’m responsive when I think he’s flirting. Not that I can tell. I think he likes me, but he doesn’t make any advances. Either he’s shy or he doesn’t really want me and I’m just confused. Both options are quite possible. I do talk frequently with him, at school, work and even on the way to work, since we take the bus together when we leave directly from school. I mention the things I do at the house when I don’t have to work—hinting that I’m not going out with anyone at the moment.
Finally one day, the first Monday in February, one week after my tell-all conversation with Kerin, and three weeks after I last saw Thierry, John makes a move. On the way to work after school, as we sit on the back of the bus I’m lamenting that today’s shift is longer than usual—four hours instead of two—because I’m already tired, and we’ll get back home late.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I sort of like the longer weekday shifts. Since we’re already commuting, I don’t mind working the extra few hours. The paycheck’s a little fatter, and I get to hang out with you longer.”
Oh! My heart picks up nervously, as this is the first open declaration of affection I hear from him. Not that he acknowledged any deep feelings, but still. He wouldn’t say that if he didn’t like me. I have to respond.
I smile like I like what I hear. “Yeah, that’s nice,” I say.
“I’m sorry you’re tired, though,” he says. His eyes are intent, and search my face, as if looking for confirmation, or reciprocity of feelings.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, and smile as if to shrug it off. Suddenly he leans forward and kisses me briefly on the lips.
“Sorry,” he says right away.
“Oh, hey,” is all I reply, but I’m smiling, because I sort of liked it. It’s not the assault to my central nervous system that Thierry’s kiss was, but—whatever, I shouldn’t even be thinking about Thierry.
I lean forward and kiss him, to shut up my mind about Thierry, and this time we kiss for a little while. I feel a butterfly or two in my stomach, from the thrill of kissing someone new. The bus comes to a stop and we stop, giggling like we’re doing something we shouldn’t be doing. I mean, PDA on a bus—no one wants to see that.
We keep talking about other things and make it to work in high spirits. The four hours today go by really fast, as we spend every free minute we have talking about stuff. We take our break together and grab something quick to eat, but like always, he pays for his food and I pay for mine.
Turns out, we have very little in common, but I like listening to him talk, and he seems to enjoy my stories, too. After work John takes the bus with me back to the Garden District, even though that’s not the most direct bus to take him to his home, since he lives a few blocks north from me in Central City. He’ll have to walk some fifteen or twenty minutes, but he says it’s worth it.
I walk home from the bus stop, in a daze, trying to figure out what I feel. I like John; he’s a nice guy. I liked kissing him. I think. It was a welcome change, for sure. I think I’ll kiss him again tomorrow at school.
When I get home, late, June hands me an envelope—the first piece of mail I get at the Harrises’. It’s my first phone bill. I thank her and go to my room to open it. I’m afraid of how much it’s going to be and I don’t want to do it in front of her. When I finally rack up the guts to do it, I take a peek, and it’s five hundred dollars.
Five hundred dollars??
Tyra the store associate had warned me of a one-time activation fee and prorated charges on top of next month’s charge, but this? And Thierry had waved his hand off, like it was nothing. I had imagined the wave had meant, nah, don’t worry, it’s only like ten extra dollars. And he’s not here now! I have to pay five hundred dollars? I may be able to pay it, but I can’t justify it. God, help me.
Oh wait. It’s actually $516.50 CR.
CR. Is that credit?
I read through the summary, looking for the outline of charges. I do have a balance, but it’s currently negative. How?
And then I see it.
$600 CR. January 14. The day after I purchased the phone. Someone, I’m assuming Thierry, must have made a payment of six hundred dollars to cover my fees and data plan… it actually almost covers my entire bill for more than half the year.
That was the Monday after we’d last seen each other. He knew he wouldn’t see me anymore, but kept good to his word that he’d help me out, paying for the data he insisted on me getting, and made sure to keep me covered for a little while. Tears spill from my eyes as my heart battles with my brain, and yells that Thierry cares for me. That I don’t like John, and that I never will.
Thierry… what have you done to me?
Where are you?
***
The next day, the second I get to school I tell Kerin about John. She starts squealing with excitement but I stop her. I tell her that I’ve changed my mind and will tell John that we can’t be more than just friends. Her face drops. I explain that after John and I kissed I thought about it—well, it was more like, I read the cellphone bill, but I don’t tell her that—and decided I didn’t like him and I couldn’t pretend.
I blush when I think of how Thierry and I kissed, and later that night he told me we couldn’t be more than just friends. I hope it doesn’t hurt for John as it hurt for me. It can’t—he can’t possibly feel about me the way I felt about Thierry. But still, I’m a little embarrassed.
So I tell Kerin that I won’t have lunch with her and Lynn—they’re talking again—and that I need to have lunch alone with John. She agrees, but tells me she expects to be told all the details.
I dread lunch, but it happens.
John actually takes it well, and even laughs, saying that he also had a great time and that it’s okay, but that I should forgive him if I ever catch him staring at my lips.
I smile at him gratefully, and we eat our lunches talking normally about other things, like we’re really just friends.
If only I could do the same with my own breakup.
11. Fat Chance
Mardi Gras is the biggest festival in New Orleans. I quickly find out about it because there are parades and floats going all over town. It means Fat Tuesday, since it falls the day before Ash Wednesday, which is the
first day of Lent. From what I hear, because Mardi Gras is the last day of the Carnival season, per the tradition that’s synonymous with all sorts of celebrations and involves music, parades, floats, heavy drinking, lots of tourists, and lots, lots of people.
This year Mardi Gras falls on February 12. The weekend before is when the majority of the drinking takes place, and when Kerin wants to go. Lynn refuses to go to the festivities because it’s supposed to be a gigantic wild orgy, but Kerin assures me that it is not, and asks me to please go with her. I say that I’ll have to ask Uncle Roland and June, but if they’re okay with it I’ll go with her.
My parental units are surprisingly apathetic, and I guess I have to thank Fiona for it. I know she’s allowed to go out to parties as long as she’s with her girlfriends; so, I think June knows she’d be pretty hypocritical if she were to tell me to stay home when her daughter gets to go anywhere she likes.
Kerin is ecstatic about going with me. She warns me, though, that I have to wear purple, green, and gold, and drags me to see some of the parades the prior weekend to catch some beads off the floats. We leave after my morning shift and go shopping afterwards. We go to a cheap clothing store and I get a form-fitting glittery purple top. Kerin gets a shirt with the tackiest fleur de lis I’ve ever seen. I actually have fun; this is the first time I do something with Kerin outside school.
The whole time she tells me about the weekend and what to expect. She explains that people will be dressed in crazy costumes, but it’s okay, I shouldn’t be scared.
Too late.
One night during the week prior to Mardi Gras, I knock on Fiona’s door. “Come in,” she calls.
“Hey. Are you doing something for Mardi Gras this weekend?” I ask her.
“Duh, Tori,” she answers, impolite as ever. She says it like I’m so stupid for asking. “The girls and I are going out Friday, Saturday and Sunday, the whole weekend. Of course we’re going.”
I have a vision of Fiona getting drunk and flashing her boobs. Every wild thing that Kerin described, I see Fiona doing.
“You should totally go,” she continues. Something in her tone, and her use of the word “go” as opposed to “come” makes me believe she’s not inviting me to go with her. Fine. I’m going with Kerin anyway.
“Yeah, I will, actually. Maybe we’ll meet there,” I say, to be the bigger girl.
“Definitely,” she says, and as always, sounds just like how popular celebrities talk to their fans on camera: polite, friendly, and enthusiastic, but you can tell they don’t really give a shit.
***
Kerin and I are drunk. Or on a safe path to getting there.
This is the first time I drink, and I’m not stupid—or so I think—so I know not to drink too much. Besides, beer tastes terrible. But I’ve only had one and I’m already tipsy. We’d have more, but we keep getting carded everywhere we go.
We’re only on our second beer, all courtesy of Kerin’s oldest brother Aiden, who’s in town from Baton Rouge where he goes to college. Luckily he’s not one of those older brothers who are overprotective of their little sisters. He’s here with his own buddies and pretty much lets us do whatever we want, as long as we don’t flirt with his friends.
Aiden has dark skin like his sister, but his eyes are a light hazel, not dark brown like Kerin’s. I like how his eyes crinkle when he smiles; it makes him look older. He seems nice enough, at least to Kerin, and me by extension.
We’re in the French Quarter having a good time laughing at the craziest costumes, when I feel my phone buzzing in my clutch purse. It’s Fiona texting me that she scored a second-floor balcony through some guys she met. Apparently she and her girlfriends got in a fight with the guys from school they were with and decided to follow these other “hot” guys. Now she says we should go meet up with her.
Kerin and I are drunk so we get super excited with the idea. We tell Aiden where we’re going, but he doesn’t let us go alone. He and his buddies escort us to the bar.
“We’ll be right here!” Aiden shouts over the loud music. “Do you need another beer?” He asks, best brother ever that he is.
“No, thanks, we’re good!” We say, raising our second bottle, which is still going.
The guys seat themselves around the bar on the first floor and order drinks. Kerin and I go wait for Fiona by the stairs.
Finally Fiona comes down and I have to do a double take.
“Wow, Fiona. You look nice,” I say, even though sober me would never encourage her ego this way. She looks like she wants people to tell her that she’s hot. So I give her this small victory, why not? It looks like she put a lot of effort into her outfit; she’s craving attention. She’s wearing a gold sequin mini dress that looks painted on her, so short that I’ve no idea how she can sit down, and so low that I’m not sure how her boobs stay in place. It’s so skimpy that only about a third of her skin is covered. But she looks great, in her own slutty way, with Mardi Gras-colored accessories. The best thing is, I saw her leave the house. She wasn’t wearing that.
“Thanks, Tori! And Karen,” she sings happily, mispronouncing Kerin’s name. “I’m so glad y’all are here… and you actually look great; they’re gonna love y’all! Come, let’s go upstairs!”
We thank her, basking in the glow of Fiona’s approval like two regular losers from the masses. I wouldn’t normally do this but Kerin is like, in love with her or something, and I’m tipsy and in a cheerful mood.
We climb the stairs, following Fiona, and I hold my hands out in front of me in case I need to catch her. Her small frame wobbles in five-inch heels. When we reach the top she announces with glee that more ladies have arrived, and immediately two guys hand us a fresh beer. We down the one we’re carrying and set the empty bottles on a table before heading outside to the balcony. It truly feels nice, to be up here, and cheer to the people down on the street.
Megan, Lauren and two other girls from our school are in Fiona’s group, and with Kerin and me that makes seven girls total, but there are about ten guys around them. There are other girls in other groups but they seem to have a regular girl-to-guy ratio. The guys surrounding us are questionably cute. The hottest one is named Dean; he’s like James Dean for sure. And of course, he’s the one dancing with Fiona—or maybe I should say grinding. I fear for his jeans, because her dress is covered in sequins and with all that friction he’s bound to rip his pants before long.
All other guys are still trying to get their game on with the few available girls, but no one’s leading, since our two leaders are busy with their hands on each other. So all the girls gather around themselves, yelling over the loud noise, pretending to admire each other’s outfits.
Fiona returns, and she’s drunk. Drunk Fiona is actually nice to be around. Or maybe I’m drunk so I don’t care.
“Guys, I’m sooo glad y’all made it!” She tells Kerin and me, for the second or third time. This time though, she adds, “You know, the manager guy over there was threatening to kick us all out because we didn’t have enough girls for all the dudes they have here,” she says, and makes a pfff sound. “Nothing wrong with a sausage fest!”
Of course, Fiona would only want to hang out with me because she needs the girl head count. There; that should bother me, but it doesn’t, right now. Beer good.
“Glad to be here!” Kerin says.
“Yeah… we should flash!” Fiona yells.
“Let’s!” Megan says enthusiastically. “Bra or no bra?”
“Uh, bra!” Lauren says, in the exact tone that Fiona said “duh” to me earlier in the week.
Fiona yells, “No! No bra! Lauren, who cares about Laurenota? Let her rip.”
“Laurenota?” I ask.
We quickly learn that Lauren’s left boob is unnaturally larger than her right, and her so-called friends call it Laurenota. And of course she’s self-conscious about it.
To make her feel better I tell her I can’t tell a thing from where I stand—and she’s showing a fair amount o
f cleavage—and that in fact, all that matters is that her boobs are huge.
That leads the talk to big boobs.
Kerin grabs mine. “Oh my God your boobs are so big,” she says in complete awe, like she’s never noticed them before.
“They’re okay,” I say dismissively. “I mean, look at Lauren, for God’s sake.”
“Yeah, but yours, they’re still like, huge,” she says, laughing. She grabs one again and squeezes. “I mean, look at this!”
A few of the girls—and maybe some guys, probably—do look over, and opinions are asked.
My boobs are suddenly grabbed by all hands female, and deemed big but not huge, healthy-sized. Kerin’s boobs are small for her height, but she’s skinny so they actually look great, and anyway she has fashioned a cleavage using a push-up bra. Fiona’s small frame perfectly goes with hers, we all agree. Megan’s are small but perky and she’s really proud of them, so she’s been flashing all day in exchange for Mardi Gras beads. The two other girls—they’re either Kristen or Kirsten and Darla or Darcy, I can’t ever remember their names since I don’t hang out with them at school—have also a nice rack, which one of them claims has gotten them free alcohol all day, so far. I briefly consider that’s an early form of prostitution; I don’t say anything, but I laugh out loud.
The guys that brought us up here are absolutely happy with the change in topic. All the girls are huddling close to each other not allowing boys in, but Dean the Fiona Grinder doesn’t take no for an answer. His rough compliments eventually win her over, and he pulls her away to dance again.
Trent, a debatably cute guy, has been trying to buy me a drink for the last half hour, but I’m still milking my third beer. The girls say he’s hot, although not as hot as Dean, but still, I should go for it. To me, he’s only okay cute, since I’ve kissed Thierry, who’s hotter than all of them, and met his asshole angelic brother Corben. Still, this Trent’s available, he’s one of the cutest guys around here, and he’s talking to me; a dangerous combination on a girl with self-esteem issues partying with her overly popular, beautiful stepcousin. So I dance with him, swaying with the loud music. I don’t feel a thing for him, but I like the way dancing with him makes me feel.