What My Girlfriend Doesn't Know

by Sonya Sones

  that’s always the exact moment

  when a commercial for Viagra comes on,

  and some real deep-voiced announcer

  says something like:

  “And remember—

  contact your doctor

  if your erection lasts longer

  than four hours”?

  As I Head Up the Ramp to the Carpenter Center

  To the second meeting of the drawing class,

  I notice this real sexy girl strutting toward me,

  the type of girl you always see

  grinding around on MTV.

  She’s wearing a little tiger-striped jacket,

  a skirt no wider than a ribbon,

  and these thigh-high spike-heeled boots

  that make her look tall enough to play in the WNBA.

  When she’s just a few yards away from me,

  she flashes a smile in my direction

  and says, “Nice hat.”

  I glance over my shoulder

  to see who she’s talking to.

  But nobody’s there.

  Then, a second later,

  when we’re almost next to each other,

  she flashes another smile, right at me,

  and says, “And your beard’s not bad either, babe.”

  Babe? Did she just call me babe?

  I turn and watch her wiggle away into the night.

  Then I float the rest of the way to class,

  making a mental note to always wear my hat

  and never shave again.

  But Then I Get to Thinking …

  Was it wrong

  for me to have gotten

  such a kick out of it just now,

  when that girl called me babe?

  Wouldn’t any guy love being flirted with

  by a girl who looks like that,

  even if that guy already happened to have

  an amazing girlfriend?

  And speaking of girlfriends,

  is it like a totally sick thing

  that I’m wishing Sophie could have been here

  to see that girl flirt with me just now?

  But, I mean,

  wouldn’t it have made her feel good to find out

  that she isn’t the only girl in the world

  who thinks I’m sexy?

  And speaking of sexy,

  is it way messed up that I’m so excited

  about seeing Chelsea’s naked body again

  a few minutes from now?

  Am I just

  a normal red-blooded American guy?

  Or a deluded and disgusting

  pervy dawg?

  When I Walk into Studio B

  Felix tips an imaginary hat to me,

  and everybody else calls out “Hey!” or “Yo!”

  or gives me a little wave.

  Except for Tessa, who flashes me the peace sign

  and says, “’Sup, Wild Thing?”

  A second later,

  when I sit down in front of my easel,

  I get that same feeling you get

  when you walk outside on the first real warm day

  after a winter that seemed like it would never end.

  And I can’t help thinking how glad I am

  that Felix hasn’t told anyone I’m still in high school.

  Because for the first time in my life,

  I actually feel like I fit in

  with a whole group of people.

  And I’m in no hurry for that feeling to go away.

  Tessa and I Are Sharpening Our Pencils Before Class

  “Okay,” she says. “Pop quiz: Which girl group

  had the first number one hit?”

  I’m debating between the Chiffons and the Shirelles,

  when this big fat middle-aged woman

  waddles in through the door of the studio.

  I figure she’s probably just

  the cleaning lady or something.

  But Felix hurries over to help her off with her coat.

  Then he tells the class that her name is Gina.

  And that she’ll be modeling for us tonight.

  Gina’s gonna be our model?

  But what happened to Chelsea?

  To incredibly beautiful Chelsea

  who I’ve been dreaming about seeing

  all day?

  When Felix says

  Gina’s very different from Chelsea,

  I think to myself, Duh …

  But when he says

  she’s every bit as amazing as Chelsea,

  I think, Geez. This guy needs glasses!

  Gina Hoists Herself Up onto the Platform

  And slips out of her loose-fitting dress.

  Eeewww … This is not the kind of person

  you want to see without her underwear on:

  hippopotamus thighs, breasts like saggy blimps,

  butt cheeks big as planets …

  Felix asks Gina to take her first pose.

  “It’s not about trying

  to trace Gina’s edges,” he tells us,

  “it’s about imagining you’re wrapping her in ribbon.”

  The idea of wrapping Gina in anything

  grosses me out.

  Though when I start sketching her,

  something weird happens.

  I realize that with all of her bulges and bumps

  and extra rolls of fat,

  she’s even more fun to draw

  than Chelsea.

  There’s something about all her mounds of roundness

  that reminds me of a bunch of ripe grapes,

  or of one of those real curvy women

  in all those paintings by Rubens.

  In fact, the more I look at Gina,

  the more I can see

  that she is every bit as amazing as Chelsea—

  just like Felix said.

  During Gina’s Break

  Tessa gives Honk and me

  another one of her pop quizzes:

  “Who said,

  ’The Beatles saved the world from boredom’?”

  I slam my hand down on an imaginary buzzer.

  “I believe that would be George Harrison.”

  But Honk doesn’t even pretend to have a clue.

  “Didn’t Kanye West say that?” he asks,

  before taking off with Eve

  to try to find a Coke machine.

  Then I say, “Okay, Tessa. Which Beatle

  had the most successful solo career

  for the first five years after the group broke up?”

  She doesn’t even have to think about it.

  “That’s easy,” she says.

  “It was Ringo.”

  No one knows that!

  I can’t believe she got it right.

  I gotta give her props.

  “Until you came along,” I say,

  “I’d never met another teenager

  who knows as much about old rock and roll as I do.”

  She grins at me and says, “You still haven’t—

  I don’t know as much about

  old rock and roll as you do,

  I know more about it than you do.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I say,

  racking my brain for a way to stump her.

  “Then what grade were Simon and Garfunkel in

  when they first met?”

  “Sixth,” she says, without missing a beat.

  Dang, she’s good.

  Class Is Over

  I’m rolling up my sketches,

  when I overhear Honk asking Eve and Tessa

  if they want to go get something to eat.

  Honk suggests Cafe Paradiso,

  but he gets outvoted by the other two,

  who say they like Finale better.

  As I listen to the three of them hatching their plan,

  that old familiar left-out feeling

  drifts down over me like a sad song.

  Then, out of the blue,

  Eve turns
to me and says,

  “You coming with us, Robin?”

  And she says this

  like it’s no big deal.

  Like of course I’m included.

  “You better, man,” Honk says.

  “Or these two bodacious babes might try

  to take unfair advantage of me.”

  I’m Just About to Leap on Their Offer

  When it suddenly hits me—

  Mom’s probably already waiting for me.

  And I bet she’s parked right out front!

  If I walk out there with these guys

  and they see her waving at me or something,

  they might figure out how young I am.

  What should I do?

  There’s no time to sneak off and call her on my cell.

  Besides. What would I say to her?

  “Quick, Mom! Hide?”

  So I say, “Thanks, guys. I wish I could.

  But I’ve gotta be somewhere.”

  Then I hightail it out of there.

  And a second later, I’m racing down the stairs,

  my feet in a Road-Runnery blur,

  when this real bizarre feeling comes over me—

  like I’m the male equivalent of Cinderella,

  and if I don’t make it to Mom’s Volvo

  before the clock strikes twelve,

  it’s gonna turn back into a pumpkin.

  And I’m

  gonna turn back

  into Murphy.

  Though I Guess It Doesn’t Really Matter

  Because I always do turn back into Murphy.

  Every time I walk through the door

  of Cambridge High.

  I turn back into Murphy,

  and Sophie turns into that strange girl,

  the one who’s actually going out with Murphy,

  the girl who used to be normal,

  who used to be popular,

  who used to have two best friends,

  two best friends

  who turned into two ex-best friends

  the second they found out Sophie was dating me,

  two ex-best friends

  who won’t even talk to her anymore,

  who just look away when they see her,

  or put their heads together

  and whisper about

  that strange girl,

  the one

  who’s actually going out

  with Murphy.

  Dylan Just Stole My Hat Again

  Only this time,

  he didn’t throw it out the window.

  This time he shoved it down onto his own head

  and started dancing around.

  “Look at me. Look at me,” he sang.

  “I’m Murphy. I’m fugly.”

  And all the people in the hall cracked up,

  like he’d just said the most hilarious thing ever.

  I tried to grab it back,

  but he kept ducking out of my reach.

  Then, when the bell rang,

  he slam-dunked it into the trash can and took off.

  I rushed over to fish it out,

  but it was too late—

  the brim already had a glob

  of unidentifiable greenish-brown slime on it …

  And now I’m just standing here

  trying to wipe it off,

  feeling about as powerless

  as a dead battery.

  It’s 4:00 p.m.

  And Sophie and I

  are back at Adrenaline Zone,

  getting ready to start cruisin’ the U.S.A.

  We’re sitting next to each other,

  me—revving the motor

  of a virtual pimped-out Mustang,

  she—

  gripping the wheel

  of a glittery pink Thunderbird.

  But something tells me

  that when that starting flag goes down,

  neither one of us will be trying to win the race.

  We’ll just be ramming as many of those

  poor, defenseless, cud-chewing cows as we can,

  trying to turn them into steaks.

  Okay.

  Maybe it is sick.

  But it’s a whole lot cheaper than therapy.

  On the Way Over to My Third Class at Harvard

  I tell Mom I think I’d feel more inspired

  if I got a little exercise before my art classes.

  “So from now on, why don’t you just drop me off

  at this corner and I’ll walk from here?”

  She looks at me a little funny, but she pulls over.

  She seems like she wants to say something to me,

  though all she does is brush the hair off my forehead.

  Which sort of makes my skin crawl, but I let her.

  Then I tell her I’ll probably be going out

  for dessert after class with some of the other students

  (maybe they won’t even ask me this time,

  but I’ve got to be ready in case they do).

  “Well, okay …” she says. “Though it is a school night.

  And you know how you get

  when you don’t have enough sleep and …”

  Blah dee blah blah blah.

  Just what I need—to be treated like a toddler

  by my overprotective mommy.

  “Don’t come till I call you,” I say,

  leaping out of the car.

  And as I dash down the sidewalk,

  she shouts after me, “Be safe!”

  Like she thinks if she didn’t say that,

  I’d be—what?

  Unsafe?

  Before Class

  Honk and I start messing around with Dr. Bones,

  the life-size human skeleton

  that’s hanging from a metal stand

  in the corner of the room.

  Honk slips a tube of Super Glue out of his pocket,

  glances around to make sure Felix hasn’t arrived,

  then glues a thin strip

  of stiff red carpet onto its skull.

  “Whoa. Dude …” I say. “Instant Mohawk.”

  I move Dr. Bones’s jaw so it looks like he’s talking.

  “Yo! Tessa! Eve!” I make him shout,

  lifting his arm to point at his head.

  “How do you like my new ’do?”

  The girls look over at us and grin,

  then join us in the corner.

  “No offense, Dr. Bones,” Eve says,

  “but you are having a seriously bad hair day.”

  I move Dr. B’s hand to his mouth like he’s horrified.

  “Sticks and stones may break my bones,”

  I make him say.

  “But who cares? I’m already dead.”

  And when the three of them bust out laughing,

  I feel like the funniest guy on Earth.

  Geez

  Now I’ve seen everything.

  In fact, I’ve seen way more

  than I actually wanted to see.

  Because tonight’s model isn’t Chelsea.

  Tonight’s model isn’t Gina.

  Tonight’s model is Wade:

  one totally nude

  dude!

  This Is So …

  … Awkward.

  To just be sitting here

  staring at a naked man like this.

  Because, let’s face it.

  Guys don’t usually sit around staring

  at guys who aren’t wearing any clothes.

  Like, in the men’s room,

  when you’re standing there

  peeing next to someone—

  it’s not exactly socially acceptable

  to check out what that other guy

  is holding in his hand.

  And it is even less socially acceptable

  to keep your eyes anywhere but straight ahead

  when you’re taking a communal shower after P.E.

  So,

  when it comes right down to it,

&nbs
p; I haven’t actually seen a lot of penises.

  And sitting here

  staring at this completely nude male model

  is kind of weirding me out.

  Because … well…

  let’s just say I hope Wade’s wang

  is way above average.

  What It’s Not About

  “It’s not about surfaces …” Felix says

  as he wanders from easel to easel.

  “It’s about what’s below the surface.”

  So I try to see below Wade’s surface,

  while avoiding the area below Wade’s waist.

  “It’s not about making pictures …” Felix says

  as he continues through the room.

  “It’s about seeing.

  It’s not about knowing …

  It’s about being obedient to the shape that you see.”

  Geez. I’d be obedient to it—if I could locate it.

  But Wade’s pretty shapeless.

  I mean, compared to Chelsea and Gina.

  “Meander around till you find it,” Felix says.

  “Just follow the bouncing ball.”

  Follow the bouncing ball?

  What the heck does he mean by that?

  I glance over at Eve and catch her eye.

  But she just shrugs and gives me a look

  like, “Don’t ask me.”

  When Class Is Over

  Honk says, “Who wants to go get something to eat?”

  I’m trying to work up the courage to say, “Me,”

  when Eve takes hold of my left hand,

  Tessa takes hold of my right one,

  and Eve says, “We do.”

  Like it’s a done deal.

  “Mind if we kidnap you?” Tessa asks.

  “It’s not about being kidnapped …” I say,

  doing my best Felix impression.

  “It’s about being obedient to your kidnappers.”

  Which cracks them both up.

  “Okay, then, people,” Honk says,

  turning to head toward the door,

  then pausing to waggle his butt at us.

  “Just follow my bouncing balls.”

  Which causes a loud chorus of eeewwws.

  “It’s not about being disgusting …” Tessa says,

  swatting Honk with her rolled-up sketches.

  “It’s about being truly disgusting.”

  And as we head out the door, Richard calls after us,

  “Hey! Don’t meander off without me!”

  Then, the five of us pile into the elevator,