Lynn needed new makeup, and Fippy wanted to check out the shoe stores. Since black isn’t part of my palette for lipstick or eye shadow and I prefer my shoes to have heels rather than orthopedic soles, I was mostly there for the company.
As Lynn tried on her seventh shade of lipstick (apparently Midnight sends a stronger political statement to The Man than Black Licorice does), I asked her if she was going to wear her new purchase to Roman’s party.
“Why do you want to know?” she asked.
“I was just wondering if guys minded getting black lipstick all over their mouths.” I picked up a sample of Total Eclipse lipstick from the display and examined it.
“Which guys?” she asked, exchanging a suspicious-looking glance with Fippy.
“The guys. Our guys. The ones who’ll be playing those kissing games at Roman’s party,” I said, smoothing the lipstick across my mouth. “I just realized something,” I continued, waiting for Lynn to finish looking at herself in the mirror so I could check myself out. “If I end up having to kiss Jeremy, that would be totally weird. He’s kind of like a brother to me.” As Lynn turned her head back for another one of her exchanged glances with Fippy, I snuck a peek at myself. Black lipstick was definitely not for me. I looked like I’d been eating dirt.
“Um . . . there aren’t going to be any of those games at Roman’s party. They’re a little bourgeois,” Fippy said, rubbing some black lipstick on her cheeks as if it were blush. I couldn’t believe she was using that word. Why didn’t she and Lynn just move to France if they wanted to speak French so much?
“That looks awesome, Fippy!” Lynn said, practically dipping Fippy and planting a sloppy wet one on her.
If I hadn’t been so in need of the inside track on Roman’s party, I would have had a connip fit right there. “It does not look awesome,” I would have said. “If anything’s bourgeois, the word awesome is, and what the heck does the word bourgeois mean anyway?” But I held myself back.
“I know what you mean about those games,” I said, following the girls to the cash register. “But to be honest, I was looking forward to them as a chance to get rid of my reputation as a priss.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get rid of it sooner or later,” Fippy said.
As we left the store, Lynn talked about her orthodontist’s giant nose and how she thinks she’s seen his brain through the opening in his nostrils. My mind wandered as she described what gray matter looks like. I wondered what could possibly help me lose my reputation at this point.
“Hey, Jacques,” I heard Fippy saying. “What are you doing here?”
“My favorite French bookstore eez ’ere. I am looking for a book about Paree in ze year 1967—ze summer of loave.”
“Right on,” Lynn said.
“Groovy,” Fippy said.
“Peace,” I said. Then I held up my two fingers and made a V. I felt really cool. Almost as cool as Lynn sounds when she talks about The Man.
Fippy took me off to the side as Lynn continued a conversation with Jacques. “You could lose your reputation right here, right now, if you want to. All you’d have to do is make out with Jacques. The news would spread quickly and poof—your reputation would be gone.”
It seemed so simple. Just one kiss and my days as a priss would be over. It was a win-win situation. If the reputation was holding CJ back, he could stop worrying about it. And even if it wasn’t, I could get in some much-needed practice for the big kiss with CJ. Whenever that would be.
“Okay. I’ll do it,” I said.
Fippy took Jacques aside and whispered something in his ear, and before I knew it, he was taking out the ChapStick and wiping it across his mouth. This is it, I thought. There’s no turning back now. I’m about to become a woman of the world. A force to be reckoned with.
I was all ready. I puckered up. The air was thick with tension as Fippy gave Jacques a quick rub on the shoulder for good luck, and Lynn handed me a Listerine breath strip. I was finally getting the chance to prove myself. My reputation was about to be restored. My life was about to change forever.
But then, just as Jacques moved in for the kill, I realized something kind of disturbing. Between my most recent growth spurt and what seems to be Jacques’ unfortunate shrinking spurt, there’s a good six inches between us. Not the most ideal height difference for kissing partners. Especially when one of those partners has never kissed a boy before. If I didn’t do something quick, Jacques would be kissing my armpit. My clean-shaven but non-mouth armpit. And what would that have done for my reputation? Nothing more than show the world that when it comes to kissing, I have no idea what I’m doing.
So, at the last minute, I had no choice but to duck, leaving Jacques stuck kissing the lamppost just behind me.
My first instinct was to feel bad. I didn’t want to embarrass the guy. But then I watched him go at it with the slab of steel and he seemed to be enjoying himself.
My next instinct was to take a look around me and examine the expressions on Lynn and Fippy’s faces. And to note that the expressions did not convey respect.
Even so, I didn’t learn from my mistake.
“Raisin, ma petite chou, do you want to try it again?” Jacques asked, wiping his mouth when he was all done. “Zere is nothing to be afraid of.”
Did he have to use the word afraid? It certainly didn’t do much to further the illusion I was trying to create of myself as an experienced woman of the world.
Still, he was giving me a golden opportunity, and I knew I had to take it.
The only problem was, I couldn’t. From where I stood, the nearly white peach fuzz that grew out of the top of his head made him look like a baby chick. If I’d wanted my first kiss to be with a baby chick, I could have gone along with Lola on her class trip to the petting zoo.
“I’m not afraid. I’ve just changed my mind,” I said, immediately wishing I could unsay it. When I’d practiced that line in my head the moment before, it had made me sound mysterious. As if something unexpected had come up at the last minute. Something that required a little black dress and a string of pearls or two. But judging from the knowing glances being exchanged all around me yet again, I wasn’t mystifying anyone. I was giving them exactly what they expected: hours of laughter and merriment to be enjoyed behind my back.
And possibly in front of it too.
Now I’ll never convince anyone I’m not a priss. . . .
Comments:
Logged in at 7:42 PM, EST
PiaBallerina: To be honest, CJ really doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would care about your reputation. He might not have even heard about it. From everything you’ve said about him, he doesn’t seem like he talks about that stuff with people. In fact, he doesn’t seem like he talks at all.
7:50 PM, EST
He doesn’t?
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Logged in at 7:52 PM, EST
PiaBallerina: No.
7:57 PM, EST
So I’ve been wasting my time worrying about nothing?
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Logged in at 8:01, PM, EST
PiaBallerina: Well . . . I wouldn’t use those words, exactly.
8:03 PM, EST
Then what words would you use?
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Logged in at 8:07 PM, EST
PiaBallerina: I don’t know, exactly.
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Logged in at 8:11 PM, EST
kweenclaudia: allow me . . . . stop using up precious time worrying about what cj has or hasn’t heard and start making better use of your time by practicing to rock his world by being the best kisser he’s ever come in contact with.
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Logged in at 8:13 PM, EST
PiaBallerina: I’m sorry . . . who are you?
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Logged in at 8:15 PM, EST
kweenclaudia: just your alleged best friend. the one you’re supposed to be happy for because she’s found true love.
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Logged in at
8:18 PM, EST
PiaBallerina: Interesting . . . I guess I must have forgotten that we’re best friends since it’s been so long since we’ve hung out with each other.
Comments:
Logged in at 8:21 PM, EST
kweenclaudia: well, maybe we haven’t hung out because you always seem annoyed with me.
8:23 PM, EST
Kitties, please! Stop fighting. There’s been a terrible misunderstanding. A two-pronged misunderstanding, come to think of it.
The first prong is about your friendship. You two are still best friends. Claudia, Pia is happy for you. Pia, Claudia does still love you. You must not let a boy get between you. Boys aren’t that important. I mean, come on. They’re basically just like girls, only not as good because they’re short and sweaty. And they’d rather waste their time exploding video car games than spend their time wisely, crimping their hair to simulate that retro eighties look or melting down their old lipsticks to create a faaabulously original new shade of lip gloss. In the scheme of things, boys just don’t matter that much. Except of course in my case because I live for the drama.
The second prong is about this blog. This blog is about me, Raisin Rodriguez. Not you two, Pia and Claudia.
Now kiss and make up.
Who’s going first?
Comments:
Logged in at 8:25 PM, EST
PiaBallerina: Not me.
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Logged in at 8:27 PM, EST kweenclaudia: me neither.
8:29 PM, EST
Pia, remember when Soledad Sanchez called you a bed wetter in third grade and Claudia got her back by showing Mrs. Chasen the snot ball collection she had under her desk?
And Claudia, remember when you were kind of grumpy and snarky every day since kindergarten and Pia continued to love you as if you were her own?
Now kiss and make up. Before you get me angry with you.
8:31 PM, EST
I’m waiting.
8:35 PM, EST
Still waiting . . .
8:37 PM, EST
Still waiting . . .
8:41 PM, EST
Okay. Where’s the kissing? I’m not seeing any puckered-up mouths. I’m not hearing any smooching noises.
8:52 PM, EST
Fine. Have it your way. I’m done meddling. It’s really none of my business whether or not you guys are speaking to each other. As long as you’re speaking to me.
The big news is that I’ve figured out how to get all that practice in. You know that guy I’ve told you about? The one from earth science who mumbles to himself and likes to chew on lightbulbs? I’m going to ask him if he wants to help me practice making out. It’s perfect! I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend, and I’ll bet he’s free tomorrow, because the Dungeons & Dragons club doesn’t meet on Wednesdays.
Yay! I feel so much better now.
Comments:
Logged in at 9:07 PM, EST
kweenclaudia: raisin, honey, i think we need to talk. i just got off the phone with pia and we both think lightbulb boy is a bad idea. i mean, i’m sure he’s very nice and all, but you don’t know very much about him, and you could give him the wrong idea and you wouldn’t want to lead him on. or make him angry. and as pia so wisely pointed out, he could also have glass shards in his mouth. you wouldn’t want to end up hurting yourself, now, would you? so promise us you’re not going to use him for practice, okay? in fact, we were thinking that maybe you should take a break from worrying so much about cj for a while. maybe you’re putting too much pressure on yourself and you need a little rest, ya know?
Comments
Logged in at 9:09 PM, EST
PiaBallerina: So, what do you think, Rae? Let us know, okay?
9:11 PM, EST
HA! I GOT YOU TWO! See? You really do love each other. As soon as something came up, you were on the phone figuring out what to do about it.
Comments:
Logged in at 9:14 PM, EST
PiaBallerina: So you made up that stuff about lightbulb boy? Pretty clever.
Logged in at 9:16 PM, EST
kweenclaudia: omg. we were so worried about you. we were afraid you’d kiss him and something gross would happen. or that he’d fall in love with you and try to be your boyfriend and then chop you into little pieces when you let him down. anyway, i’m really glad you’re not really going to kiss lb boy. and i’m really sorry, pi, about not spending enough time with you. i was being selfish.
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Logged in at 9:18 PM, EST
PiaBallerina: No, I was.
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Logged in at 9:21 PM, EST
kweenclaudia: no, i was.
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Logged in at 9:22 PM, EST
PiaBallerina: We could go on like this all night. But the important thing is that we made up.
Comments:
Logged in at 9:23 PM, EST
kweenclaudia: exactly. and that we never fight again. and that we find you a boyfriend and then you and he, and me and clint, and raisin and cj can all triple date. it’ll be amazing.
9:26 PM, EST
I’m so glad you guys made up. The three of us need to stick together. And you two need to take care of each other now that I’m gone. So no more fighting!
Now, eyes back on me, please.
Thank you.
Where were we?
Something about practicing to rock CJ’s world.
Not sure who to use for practice.
I could use Countess, but there’s the small issue of doggy breath. I could use Lola, but Eisenhower might flip. And anyone else would be totally inappropriate, don’t you think?
9:28 PM, EST
I’ve got it! Raisin Rodriguez, Brilliant Thinker, strikes again! It’s so simple, I can hardly believe no one else has thought of it. Allow me to present the most important piece of machinery to hit stores since the straightening iron.
Drumroll, please . . .
Want to learn how to kiss but don’t have anyone to practice on?
Have we got the solution for you!
It’s not your boyfriend. It’s not karaoke. . . .
It’s Boyfriendaoke!
Just hook it up to your TV. Looks and sounds just like the real thing! For individuals, small groups and large. Fun for the whole family!
Isn’t it great? I can practice all my kissing moves on my Boyfriendaoke. Morning, noon, or evening. Anytime is Boyfriendaoke time!
PS—Anyone know where I can find a Boyfriendaoke lounge?
Comments:
Logged in at 9:32 PM, EST
kweenclaudia: maybe it’s in the same place where you left your mind?
Comments:
Logged in at 9:35 PM, EST
PiaBallerina: I’m not sure either. But in the meantime, you can practice on a pillow. Or maybe one of Lola’s stuffed animals.
9:47 PM, EST
PiaBallerina! You devil, you. Who’d have guessed you’d know so much about the art of making out?
Things couldn’t be going better between me and the pillow. Same goes for me and Lola’s Pooh bear. There’s only one downside: I’m afraid they’ll find out about each other. Which could get ugly. And unnecessarily hurtful.
Then again, it could be good practice for both of them. For when CJ moves into the picture.
We all need to move on at some point.
Wednesday, December 8
9:06 PM, EST
Kitties and Gentlemen,
I just noticed something very disturbing. I’ve let a little time slip since the last time I shaved. And just now, as I was getting ready to take a shower, I took a look at my legs. I thought Sam was exaggerating when she told me that the hair grows back thicker. Being overprotective. But it’s just the opposite. She was putting it mildly.
The hair grows back thicker. And coarser. And darker than I ever could have imagined. Never mind cousin Nestor’s mustache under my arms. Now I have his father Manny’s beard growing down my calves.
I
guess I should be grateful that at least this time I was warned. Remember when Sam gave me my first tampon? There was no warning that time. The least she could have done was tell me to stay away from the instructions. I still haven’t recovered from “using a mirror to help guide” me. Thinking about what my you-know-what looks like still skeeves me. And I still have nightmares about seeing Mervis the librarian’s wrinkly pink face between my legs.
Jeez. As if going through puberty isn’t awful enough, I have to do it with Mervis, Nestor, and Manny leeching onto me!
Friday, December 10
7:07 AM, EST
What’s the story, Morning Kitties?
I feel very well prepared for this evening’s festivities. I practiced my new skill for a good long time last night. When I woke up this morning, I gave my lips a spa treatment consisting of exercise, moisture treatments, and a reading from the Kabbalah.
As the hour nears, I’ll dress them in a sheer coat of Mango Madness lip gloss, and we’ll be all set. I’ll walk into the party, CJ will notice me and my shiny lips right away—perhaps he’ll have a pair of sunglasses handy to shield him from the glare—and he’ll come right over. “We still need to pick a day for me to help you with your speech,” I’ll say.
“Never mind the speech,” he’ll reply. “What I really want is to get to know you better.”
“Oh, I see,” I’ll say with a knowing glance. We’ll talk, we’ll laugh, we’ll drink red wine. But it’ll really be Hawaiian Punch Green Berry Rush. We’ll toast to our new assignment abroad. But it’ll really be the Franklin Academy SantaSmells edition of CoolerThanYou. We’ll agree to keep it between us. But I’ll really tell everyone I come in contact with. And then I’ll get on my coat, hat, scarf, and mittens and be ready to meet Samantha at 1o PM sharp.
Raisin Rodriguez & the Big-Time Smooch Page 9