What My Girlfriend Doesn't Know

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What My Girlfriend Doesn't Know Page 11

by Sonya Sones

“Remember the time when this happened?”

  and “Remember the time when that happened?”

  (Which, of course,

  I never do,

  because I wasn’t there.)

  Well, okay—

  it is that bad.

  It sucks, even.

  But if I can just make it through

  to the end of the day,

  I’ll finally have Sophie

  all to myself.

  When She Runs Up to Me at the Goalpost

  Our mouths are drawn together

  like two supercharged magnets.

  And we get so carried away,

  so fast,

  that we just barely

  manage

  to stop making out

  long enough

  to race over

  to my house

  and start

  making out.

  As Soon as We Get Upstairs to My Room

  It’s like there’s

  no future,

  no

  past,

  only

  now.

  Right

  now.

  The greatest

  now

  I’ve ever

  known.

  Only

  now—

  this

  kiss,

  this

  wow!

  Then, Without Any Warning

  Sophie’s cell starts ringing!

  Jolting us

  out of the spell we were under.

  We try to ignore it for a while,

  but our kisses start fizzling,

  then stop altogether.

  Both of us groan

  as Sophie yanks herself out of my arms

  to dig her phone out of her backpack.

  Only the thing is,

  when she finally gets her hands on it,

  she doesn’t switch it off—

  she answers it.

  Guess Who’s Calling?

  But Sophie isn’t telling her

  that she’ll have to talk to her later.

  She isn’t hurrying to hang up the phone

  and throw herself back into my arms.

  She’s just pressing it to her ear,

  listening intently,

  with her eyes getting bigger by the second,

  oblivious to the fact

  that she’s totally ignoring me.

  “Omigod … omigod!” she says. “I’d love to!

  But are you sure it’s okay with your parents?”

  Sophie keeps her ear welded to the phone,

  hanging on Rachel’s every word,

  completely forgetting that I’m even

  sitting here—sitting here fuming,

  waiting for her to hang up the freaking phone.

  Then she says, “No way … no way!

  You mean my mom already said I can go?

  I can’t believe this.

  I can’t believe it!”

  “That makes two of us,” I growl under my breath.

  I Sit and Seethe

  Listening to Sophie jabber on and on and on.

  And when she finally does hang up,

  she’s got so many stars in her eyes

  that she doesn’t seem to notice the daggers in mine.

  She leaps off the bed

  and starts dancing around the room,

  telling me that Rachel’s taking her to Bermuda

  with her family this weekend.

  “I never get to go anywhere.

  And now I’m going to the Caribbean

  to stay in a fancy condo right on the beach!

  Isn’t that amazing?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “It is amazing.

  Amazing that you’d rather

  talk on the phone to Rachel

  than make out with me.”

  That’s when the stars in Sophie’s eyes

  disappear behind a cloud bank.

  “Wait a minute, Robin,” she says,

  “that’s not true. I—”

  “Yup,” I say. “It’s pretty amazing, all right.

  Amazing that my own girlfriend

  couldn’t care less that she’s gonna

  be away from me all weekend.”

  Sophie’s eyes fill with tears.

  “I thought you’d be happy for me,” she says,

  making herself sound all pathetic.

  “Well, I’m not!” I shout.

  And my words reverberate

  in the sudden silence,

  like the slamming

  of a door.

  Sophie’s Cheeks Look as Red as if I’d Slapped Them

  “I’d be happy for you,” she says,

  in a voice as quiet as the eye of a hurricane,

  “even though you obviously don’t care about

  anyone but yourself.”

  “Look who’s talking!” I say.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to turn down Bermuda.

  But you could have at least pretended to feel

  a little bit sad about going away without me.”

  “And you could have at least pretended

  to be a little understanding about it,” she says,

  “considering that it’s your fault

  I haven’t seen Rachel practically all winter!”

  That hits me like a blow below the belt.

  And suddenly, it’s like we’re having a fistfight,

  only instead of flinging punches,

  we’re flinging words at each other.

  And a few minutes later,

  when Sophie stomps down the stairs

  and storms out the door,

  I’m literally hopping mad.

  I mean,

  like I’m actually jumping up and down,

  pounding the air,

  screaming at the empty hallway.

  Later

  When I get to my drawing class,

  I’m still so pissed at Sophie

  that my heart’s clenched in my chest

  like a lead fist.

  There’s a new model tonight—a milk-skinned goth

  with more piercings than a pincushion,

  and a shiny snake of pink-and-black-striped braid,

  swirling down her back like a question mark,

  a question mark

  that reminds me

  that I still don’t have any answers

  to some very pressing questions.

  Like what is wrong with Sophie, anyway?

  How come ever since she started

  hanging around with Rachel

  she’s been acting like an entirely different person?

  Felix tells us to be archaeologists,

  to dig deep into the paper.

  “Scratch it,” he says. “Gouge it.

  Run over it with your mopeds.”

  Which is exactly

  what I’m in the mood to do.

  Only I was thinking more along the lines

  of a Mack truck.

  My Charcoal’s on a Rampage

  Tearing into the paper

  like a bull ripping into a matador’s cape.

  This isn’t just a drawing,

  it’s a brawl—

  a knock-down drag-out

  free-for-all.

  I smear it, smudge it,

  wrinkle it, tear it,

  scrawl all my rage out

  onto the page.

  During the Break

  When Honk comes over

  to check out what I’ve done,

  he lets out a low whistle.

  When Richard sees it,

  he gasps and ducks behind Eve

  for cover.

  Eve makes the sign of the cross with her fingers,

  like people do in the movies

  when they’re trying to ward off vampires.

  But Tessa just grins at me

  and says, “Feel better now?”

  And I have to admit—I do.

  At Finale

  T
he five of us are tucked into a dimly lit booth,

  licking the last crumbs

  of Dark Chocolate Decadence off our forks,

  when I happen to notice

  that my left thigh is pressed against Eve’s thigh,

  and my right one is pressed against Tessa’s.

  This causes me

  to have an impure thought.

  A couple of impure thoughts, actually.

  I can feel the heat

  from both of their legs

  penetrating right through my jeans.

  Did the girls press their thighs

  against mine?

  Or did I press mine against theirs?

  Is it possible

  that they could be

  flirting with me?

  And, right at that moment, as if both girls

  heard me ask my question out loud,

  each of them shifts her leg against mine,

  applying just a little more pressure.

  Of Course, I’m Probably Only Imagining This

  But real or imagined, it’s turning me on.

  And I find myself wishing I could slip a hand

  onto each of their thighs and—

  That’s when I realize that Eve is talking to me.

  “So,” she’s saying,

  “are you up for doing it with us, Robin?”

  “Up for … doing it with you?”

  My heart starts thumping in my chest

  like I’m running the Boston Marathon.

  “Please,” Tessa says, “I need you.”

  Gulp.

  “You … do?”

  “Sure she does, bro,” Honk says. “Tessa needs

  all four of us to chill with her on Saturday

  and help her celebrate her birthday in style.”

  Tessa’s birthday?

  That’s what they were

  talking about?

  “So, are you gonna grace us

  with your illustrious presence?”

  Richard says.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” I say.

  It Isn’t Until a While Later

  After we all exchange cell numbers

  so we can firm up

  the plans for Saturday,

  after Tessa leans her head against my shoulder

  and tells me how glad she is

  that I’ll be with her on her birthday,

  after I sling an arm

  over each of the girls’ shoulders

  and give them both a squeeze,

  that I start thinking about Sophie,

  thinking about how she’d feel

  if she could see me right now,

  thinking that it would

  serve her

  right!

  On Thursday

  I spend the whole morning

  doing whatever I can

  to keep from bumping into Sophie at school.

  I even sneak upstairs to the second floor

  to get from my health class to math class,

  just so I’ll be sure not to run into her.

  Except I do run into her.

  Because Sophie’s up here, too.

  She must have had the exact same idea.

  And when our eyes meet,

  I look away so fast

  that I almost get whiplash.

  During lunch,

  I hole up in Schultz’s room,

  avoiding the cafeteria completely.

  And after lunch, when Sophie

  walks into the room for art class,

  both of us act like the other person

  is invisible.

  When I Get Home After School

  I find my mom cramming clothes into the dryer,

  with her hair wrapped up in a towel.

  “How come you’re home so early, Mom?”

  “Well,” she says, heaving an exhausted sigh,

  “first you have to promise me

  you won’t shoot the messenger.”

  But before she can explain what she means by this,

  my dad staggers into the room,

  carrying a pile of laundry that’s taller than he is.

  Uh-oh.

  His hair’s wrapped up in a towel, too!

  “Oh, no …” I say, “not again”

  Right away,

  my scalp starts itching like crazy.

  And so does my beard.

  “Yep,” she says. “Second time this year—

  your father and I just found out that

  both of us have lice.”

  “And so, apparently,

  do half the kids at Happy Time,” Dad says,

  dumping an avalanche of laundry onto the floor.

  “But we’re thinking of changing the name,”

  Mom says with a grim little chuckle,

  “to Unhappy Time.”

  My Heart’s Trying Real Hard

  To exit my body through my throat right now.

  Because my dad’s checking my beard and my scalp

  to see if I’ve got lice.

  And if I do,

  then I’ll have to inform Sophie.

  Since those nasty little bugs could have easily

  jumped right off of me onto her.

  I can picture the whole excruciating scene:

  “Sophie,” I’ll begin, “I know we aren’t exactly

  on speaking terms right now,

  but there’s something I need to tell you …”

  “Oh, just go ahead and spit it out, Robin,” she’ll hiss.

  So I’ll brace myself and continue.

  “Okay, then. You know the other day,

  when we were making out on my bed?”

  And Sophie won’t say anything,

  but she’ll sort of shudder,

  like she can’t believe

  she ever wanted to make out with me.

  “Well…” I’ll say,

  “we weren’t quite

  as alone in that bed

  as we thought we were …”

  I’ve Been Spared!

  Dad’s just pronounced my entire head

  a “louse-free zone”!

  “Thank God!” Mom says.

  “But be careful not to touch anything, Robin.

  The house is probably still crawling with them.”

  Then she shivers convulsively,

  turning to my dad

  with this wild sort of gleam in her eye.

  “And it must be ten times worse at the school.

  You’ve got to get over there right now

  and bag up all the things from the dress-up center.”

  “I do?” he asks wearily.

  “Yes! Please!” Mom says. “Every scrap of it!”

  “Don’t worry,” Dad says,

  trudging toward the door.

  “There’ll be no tutu, no cape, no hat left behind.”

  “And watch out how you handle that stuff,”

  she calls after him. “It must be positively infested.

  Especially those hats.”

  And just thinking about the hats,

  with all those lice running rampant all over them,

  sends a chill down my spine—

  and gives me one of the best ideas

  I’ve ever had in my life.

  So I Wait Until My Mom Takes a Martini Break

  (She’s not much of a drinker,

  but I guess today’s an exception.)

  Then,

  like a skilled criminal mastermind,

  I set my plan into motion:

  I pull on a pair of plastic gloves

  and start searching through

  the lice-infested laundry pile.

  I’m looking for my dad’s Red Sox cap—

  the one he’s worn every single day

  since they won the World Series.

  And when I finally find it,

  I slip it into a jumbo Ziploc bag

  and sneak it upstairs to my room,

  where I take off my own hat,


  put it into the bag right on top of my dad’s cap,

  and zip them up together, real tight.

  Then I toss back my head

  and shout, “Mwa-ha-ha-ha!”

  And Suddenly I’m Thinking About Sophie

  Thinking about how much she’d love this plan,

  and about how much more fun

  this whole thing would be

  if she were doing it

  with me …

  And for a minute there,

  I get this real strong urge to call her—

  to just call her up

  and act like nothing’s happened

  and ask her if she wants

  to help me execute my plan.

  But then I remember

  all the awful stuff she said to me,

  and all the awful stuff

  I said to her,

  and the urge

  passes.

  On Friday Morning

  I sneak my dad’s cap back down

  into the laundry room.

  Then I zip up the bag with my own hat still in it,

  and hide it inside my backpack.

  I feel sort of naked

  heading out of the house

  with a bare head,

  but it’s all for an evil cause.

  When I get to school, my thoughts shift to Sophie—

  maybe she’ll be waiting for me

  outside of health class,

  like she was the other day.

  Maybe she’ll

  throw her arms around my neck

  and kiss me

  and tell me how sorry she is.

  Maybe she’ll tell me

  that she’s decided not to even go to Bermuda,

  that she’d rather stay home

  and spend the weekend with me.

  Then again,

  maybe she won’t.

  Because I can see the door to my classroom now,

  and Sophie isn’t anywhere near it.

  It’s Basically the Same Drill as Thursday

  Sophie and I try to avoid each other all day.

  And when avoiding each other can’t be avoided,

  we try not to look at each other.

  The only time my mood improves

  is right before English,

  when I see Dylan waiting to pounce on me.

  I make sure he’s looking right at me,

  then I slip my hat out of its plastic bag

  and shove it behind my back

  like I’m trying to hide it.

 

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