by Jonah Black
Last night I overheard Mom on the phone with someone and it sounded kind of suspicious. At first I thought it might be her agent, or someone down at the radio station, but then I realized that she was doing something I’d never heard her do before. Mom, the famous author, the famous Dr. Judith, was flirting.
“Oh, stop,” she said, giggling like a twelve-year-old. “Stop it. You’re terrible!”
Then there was silence for a little bit, followed by more insane giggling. I was sitting in the kitchen, eating a Twinkie, trying to read the comics. While I was sitting there, Honey walked in.
“Are you listening to this?” she said, sitting down across from me. She opened a can of Jolt cola and got a package of Skittles out of her backpack.
“To what?” I said, without looking up.
“This crap,” Honey said. She tilted her head back and poured the entire package of Skittles into her mouth. She chewed it for a while like gum.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
In the next room, Mom was talking in a baby voice. She sounded like Tweetie Bird. “I really, really am?” she said. “Oh, you silly. Of course you’re my favorite.”
“Our mother thinks she’s Malibu Barbie,” Honey said. She stuck out her tongue. It was purple.
“Ooh,” Mom said. “You are so bad!”
“You think this is covered in Hello Penis?” Honey said. She pulled a copy of Mom’s book off the shelf and checked the index. “What should I look under? Maybe M for ‘Middle-aged Horny Housewives’?” She shook her head. “No listing. Oh, yeah, I forgot, this book is about teenagers, Mom’s specialty.”
“Stop it!” Mom said, laughing hysterically. “I’m serious! You’re going to make me wet my pants.”
“That’s it,” Honey said, standing up. “I’m outta here.” She grabbed her keys.
“Take me with you!” I said, jumping to my feet.
“Sorry, Squidly,” Honey said. “You’re not invited.”
“Where?” I demanded.
Honey smiled. “Football practice.”
She headed out, and a second later I saw the Jeep whiz by the kitchen widow. I have got to get my license back.
Mom hung up the phone and came into the kitchen. “Hi, Jonah,” she said. “How are you?”
“I’m all right,” I said.
“No, how are you really?” Mom said, looking concerned.
“I’m still all right,” I insisted.
She picked up the copy of Hello Penis! Hello Vagina! that Honey had left lying on the table and turned it over to look at her author photo on the back. She was wearing a yellow suit in the photo. Her hair had been highlighted, and her makeup was professionally done. She looked kind of like Martha Stewart, with an insane gleam in her eye.
“Jonah, be honest. Do you think I look fat in this picture?”
“No, Mom, you look great,” I said. “Who was that on the phone?”
“On the phone?” Mom said, all innocent.
“Yes,” I said. “The person you were just talking to.”
“Just a friend,” she said, and blushed. That’s when I knew something was up, because nothing makes Mom blush. I mean she tells people on her radio show how to masturbate. And here she was, turning red because I asked her who she was talking to on the telephone?
“What kind of friend?” I said.
“Jonah,” Mom said. “It’s not nice to eavesdrop.”
“I wasn’t eavesdr—”
“Bup, bup, bup,” she said, holding out her hand.
“Okay,” I said. “Sorry.”
“Jonah,” Mom said, sitting down across from me. “This is a hard time to be a boy, isn’t it?”
“A hard time?” I repeated.
“Yes.” She looked at me with big sympathetic eyes. “You know I’m always here for you, don’t you? I’m always ready to listen?”
“Yes, Mom,” I said.
“Because after what happened at your boarding school, I worry about you,” she said.
“I’m all right,” I said. I hesitated. And for a split second I actually considered confiding in her, just telling her everything that was on my mind.
Then her cell phone rang again.
“Hello?” she said. Then her voice went up like five octaves. “Oh hiiiiiiii, agaaaaaain. You’re not supposed to have this number!”
Mom put her hand over the receiver.
“I have to take this,” she said, and went back to her room.
I have to stop writing. Miss von Esse has called me to the board to conjugate the verb “to listen” in German. She’s a pretty sharp teacher.
Sept. 19
We had another preseason practice today. Watches Boys Dive was there again, and she was wearing a suede shirt that looked so soft it was almost liquid. Again I was sure she was watching me. And again she disappeared before I got a chance to talk to her. I asked Martino Suarez about her after practice, but he said he hadn’t noticed anyone. Now I’m thinking she’s like my Indian spirit guide or something, which sounds like a nice idea. It would be nicer, though, if she was real.
I started showing off for Watches Boys Dive today, and pulled off this wicked hard dive—a back two-and-a-half somersault with a one-and-a-half twist. It’s a Division I dive, the best one I know. I’d only done it right like four times at Masthead, and I hadn’t tried it once since I came back to Florida. But today I did it perfectly. Mr. Davis was definitely impressed.
“You pulled that one out of the hat, Mr. Black,” he said. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
I just smiled like it was no big deal.
Then Mr. Davis pulled me aside. “Jonah, that’s a dangerous dive to do unless you’re ready,” he said. “I don’t want you pulling any stunts until you’re in shape. That means physically and mentally, all right?”
“Okay,” I agreed.
“The last thing we need is for you to knock your head on the board, so we have to haul you off to the hospital. You know where that will leave us?”
I nodded. I knew where it would leave us: nowhere. I’m kind of the strongest diver on the team right now.
Later on, I saw Thorne in the weight room, which was weird because I’ve never seen him work out. It was just me and Martino, and a couple of other guys from the swim team doing our reps. Suddenly Thorne strolls in with his Discman on so loud I could hear the music. He lay down on the bench press and started lifting. He could barely lift 120.
“Hey, Thorne,” I said. “What are you doing?”
He smiled. “Ah, nothing, just working up a little sweat. Got a big night with Elanor Brubaker. She likes it when my hair’s a little sweaty.”
“You’re in here because you’re trying to make your hair sweaty?” I said, laughing.
“You got a better method?”
“You could just wet your hair with water. What’s the difference?” I said.
Thorne shook his head like I was hopelessly clueless. “Whatever,” he said.
I watched him struggle with the bench press, and tried to spot him a little.
Thorne did about six repetitions and then let the barbell drop with a clang. He sat up and took a drink from his water bottle. “Hey, Jonah,” he said. “You ever talk to that girl you were so into up at Masthead?”
“Who? Sophie?” I said.
“Yeah, that’s her. Sophie,” Thorne said.
I was glad I was still kind of wet from diving, because I suddenly broke out into this horrible, cold sweat.
“Nah. I tried to call her at home a few times but there was no answer,” I said. “And her e-mail doesn’t work either. Maybe they moved or something.” It was all lies. I hadn’t been in touch with Sophie because I had no idea what to say to her.
“Why don’t you just call her at school?” Thorne said. “They have phones in Pennsylvania, right?”
“I don’t want anyone there to know,” I stammered. “It’s complicated.”
“I could find her home number for you,
” Thorne offered. “I love doing stuff like that.”
My heart was doing the butterfly in my stomach. I was suddenly very cold.
“Sure,” I said. “Whatever.”
“Okay,” Thorne said. “Sophie what? What’s her last name?”
“O’Brien,” I told him.
“And where is she from? What state?”
“Maine,” I said quietly.
“O’Brien, in Maine,” Thorne said. “I can probably find her. But if I do, you’re going to explain this whole big mystery to me, right?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Just find the number.”
Suddenly I couldn’t wait. If I had Sophie’s home telephone number I could call her over Fall break maybe, and explain everything to her. We could arrange to meet. Things could still work out.
“All right,” Thorne said. “I’ll get my men working on it.”
“Since when do you have men, Thorne?” I laughed.
“Dude, I got stuff you wouldn’t believe,” he said, laughing, too. His beeper went off and he pulled it out of his pocket. “Whoa, dude, it’s Elanor. Gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”
As I continued my reps, I kept hearing the words O’Brien, in Maine, over and over.
Sept. 20
I’m lying in bed writing by the light of my crappy bedside lamp. It’s after one in the morning. Posie was just here. The whole room still smells like her—like saltwater and sunscreen.
I was finishing my German homework when I heard a boat out on the canal and a light drawing up to the dock and two seconds later there she is, knocking on the glass. I love the way she just shows up.
Her hair was wet and she had this big grin on her face. “Can I come in?” she said.
I slid open the door and she came in. She was wearing the top half of a red string bikini and that purple sarong skirt I’d seen her wear before and no shoes. I stopped for a second, just taking her in.
“Jeez, Jonah, stop staring at my boobs,” she said, but she didn’t sound mad. She just stood there watching me drink her up.
“I hope you don’t mind me coming over,” she said. “I was out night-surfing. It was so completely gnarly, I couldn’t see a thing. How are you doing, anyway?”
“I’m all right,” I said.
“Hey, do you mind if I sit down on your bed? I’m still a little wet from surfing.”
I moved my books out of the way, and she sat down and leaned her back against the wall. She looked around my room.
“I’ve missed having you around, Jonah. You’re the only person in the universe I can talk to,” she said.
“What about Thorne? He didn’t go anywhere,” I said.
“Oh, well, Thorne is a sweetheart, but you know what he’s like. All he wants to do is talk about sex all the time. It kind of wears me down after a while, to tell you the truth.”
I liked that Posie said that. I wanted to be the one she talked to. But what about Wailer? What was she going out with him for if she couldn’t talk to him? I didn’t say anything, though. I didn’t want to piss her off, and I really didn’t want her to leave. She might be my best friend, but I couldn’t help staring at the way the salt had crusted on her eyelashes, like crystals. In the hollows of her collarbone, too. She looked like a mermaid.
“You want a chaw?” Posie asked, and I snapped out of it. I don’t think she caught me looking. Or if she did, she didn’t mind.
“No, thanks. But you go ahead,” I said.
She filled her cheek with chewing tobacco, then reached down her bikini top and scratched under her breasts. It seems like she is always scratching them in front of me. I guess it’s nice that Posie feels comfortable around me.
“This top is murder. You don’t have a T-shirt I could borrow, do you?” she asked.
I walked over to my dresser and got a plain white T-shirt from the second drawer and tossed it to her. Posie stood up, turned her back to me, and picked at the back of her bikini.
“Damn. Can you untie this thing for me?”
“Sure.” I worked at the knot, which was hard to undo because it was wet, and my hands were sort of trembling. When it came loose Posie let the top fall onto the floor and for just a second I saw her bare back. I think a girl’s bare back has got to be the most incredible thing in the world. I mean, part of it is just the drama of knowing how cool it would be if they turned around. But their backs also look so delicate and vulnerable you just want to touch them. Posie’s does, anyway.
Posie pulled my shirt over her head and turned around and sat back down on the bed. My shirt definitely looked better on her than on me.
“That’s better,” she said. One of her cheeks was full of tobacco. She looked like Popeye the Sailor Man. “So what’s the story with the girl in Pennsylvania? Are you two still seeing each other?”
“Sophie,” I said. “You mean Sophie?”
“Yeah. What’s up with her?” Posie said.
I felt my ears getting hot. I didn’t know what to tell her.
Posie looked at me and poked me in the arm. “Jonah. You’re shaking,” she said.
“Um, I d-don’t know what to say,” I stuttered. “We kind of had a misunderstanding.”
Posie stood up and spat a big squirt of juice out the window into my mother’s shrubs. Then she sat down next to me on the bed.
“Jonah, babe, it sounds like you really loved her,” she said.
“I think I did, Posie,” I said. “I think I’m a little messed up now.”
My voice choked a little, and Posie gave me this great big hug. It felt great, the best feeling I’ve had since I came back.
“You know what you need, Jonah? You need . . . excuse me.” She went to the window again and spat out another big squirt of juice. “You need a woman.”
“Yeah, well, Thorne has me all lined up with his ex-girlfriends,” I said.
“That’s not what I mean. I mean somebody of your own,” Posie said. She looked at her watch. “Oh, my God, it’s almost one in the morning. I’ve got to go.”
She slid open the glass door and blew the rest of the tobacco juice out into my mother’s hydrangeas. “Don’t worry, Jonah. We’ll work it out,” she said, turning back to me. Then she came back over to the bed and gave me another big hug and kissed me on the lips.
“You’d better not have a boner, or I’m going to punch your lights out,” she said.
“I’m fine. Believe me. I hardly even notice you’re a girl,” I said. It’s funny. I didn’t used to notice Posie was a girl, but I do now. It’s painful.
“I’m a girl?” Posie said, in shock, and looked down at her chest. “Oh, my God! You’re right!”
Then she ran outside, and a second later I heard her boat roar on up the creek.
I looked at the place where she’d been sitting on the bed. There were two wet butt cheek marks on my sheets.
Then I looked down at the floor. She’d left her bikini top behind.
My bedroom door creaked open and my sister poked her head into the room.
“Can I come in here, Lamo, or are you jerking off?” Honey said.
“Come on in,” I said.
Honey opened the door. She was wearing a black T-shirt with a skull on it that said HARLEY-DAVIDSON.
“So. Who’s your friend?” she asked me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, trying to be mysterious.
“You’re telling me some girl didn’t just spit tobacco juice out your window?”
“A girl? No,” I said.
Honey walked into the room and picked Posie’s bikini top up off the floor. She held it up.
“This is really cute,” she said. “You’ll definitely look hot in this.”
“It’s Posie’s,” I said, bored with our little game. “She stopped in on her way back from surfing.”
“She’s loaning you her stuff now?” Honey said. “Man, that’s open-minded.”
She examined Posie’s bikini top carefully and whistled.
�
��Up yours,” I said.
“Hey, you want to borrow any of my undies? You want to start wearing girls’ panties to school every day, you just say the word.”
“Did you want something, or did you just come in here to annoy me?” I said.
“Listen, Phlegmball, can I ask you a question?” Honey said.
“Anything for you,” I said.
“What’s that chick like, that Dad married?” Honey said.
I was surprised. Honey always acts so tough. After Dad moved out, she pretty much pretended she forgot about him.
“Tiffany? I don’t know. She’s young, I guess. You’d say she’s young,” I said.
“Like what? Six, seven years old?” Honey said.
“I think she’s twenty-three.”
“His secretary,” she said.
“His former secretary,” I corrected her. I was watching Honey’s face to see how this information was affecting her, but she seemed unmoved.
“And so what, he like, buys her horses, jewelry, that kind of thing?” she said.
“Yeah. Well, they’re married and all.”
Honey stood there looking at her nails. Some of them were pretty long. She had this kind of blank expression.
“You think he’s gonna call me on my birthday?” she asked me.
“Sure, he will,” I said, although I wasn’t at all sure. Dad’s not exactly the most thoughtful person in the world.
“Well, he can call or he can not call. I don’t give a crap,” Honey said.
“You could call him,” I said.
“Yeah. Right. Hey listen, is there anything I can do for you, Spazmo? Is there anything you want? Cuban cigars? The answers to the SAT? What?”
I noticed she was changing the subject, but that was all right. There was something I wanted. Badly.
“I want to be a senior,” I told her.
“A senior? You mean like, you need me to break into the master record room, forge a bunch of documents from Masthead, alter your transcript, that kind of thing?”
“Yeah,” I said hopefully. “Could you do that? I mean, seriously? Could you?”