by Lena Prodan
Eric said, “Don't know,” and turned back to Sean.
"Don't we have it right after lunch?” Oh God, was I forgetting classes too? I reached for my backpack.
He turned back to me. “I switched to American Lit."
"Why? I thought we agreed to take World Lit."
"I changed my mind."
"I can't change my classes now, Eric. I mean, I could, but it's a huge hassle, and the school secretary hates me."
"Don't change it."
He was so damn cold. I peered into my backpack and stirred stuff around while I tried to figure out what his problem was. “Fine. It's your grade, not mine.” It took all my concentration to say that without a wobble in my voice.
"So,” Sean drawled, “do you guys go to Rocky Horror every weekend?"
A stab of jealousy ripped through me. “You guys went to Rocky Horror without me?” Eric and I were Riff-Raff and Magenta, always together.
"You wouldn't come out of your room. Besides, you chopped off your hair."
I blinked and blinked until the welling tears subsided. “You could have asked."
Sean was suddenly very interested. “You guys dress up?"
"Eric didn't?” How could my world change so much in one fucking week? Maybe the fates had dropped me into another universe and the déjà vu joke was on me.
Eric mumbled, “It's stupid."
My mouth opened.
Sean put his elbows on the faux wood grain table. “That's awesome. I should pick a character."
"You can be Magenta,” I snapped. “I'm dressing as Brad next time. Even if it is stupid."
"I can't believe they show it in a porn theater."
I grinned. “Yeah, be careful where you sit."
"You guys spend an awful lot of time at the pornos, don't you?"
I'd never thought of it that way.
It wasn't like Sean to be so casually chatty with me. I kept expecting a slam to follow each comment, but he was being nice.
Lane said, “But we don't watch the porn movies at the Rocky Horror theater. They card. Bastards."
"Plus, we'd have to pay to get in,” Mark reminded him.
"What character should I be?” Sean asked me. “Eric should be that blond guy, the one in the gold shorts."
I never thought of it before, but Eric had the tanned body and sun-bleached hair for it. “You mean Rocky?"
"Is that his name? And I should be the doctor, the guy with the lips."
"Frankenfurter?” My eyebrows went up. Oh my. Rocky and Frakenfurter. Cool. I was so excited for Eric, even if he was being a grumpy dickhead. “Would you really wear fishnets and a corset?” That took balls. In Ohio, it took a touch of insanity too. I hoped Sean knew how to throw a solid punch.
"Can you help me put a costume together? You'll go with us next time, right? In costume?” Sean asked.
My little heart went pitty-pat, and other parts of me throbbed too. I wondered if he'd let me lace up the corset. “I wouldn't miss it."
Eric punched his lunch sack into a tight ball.
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Chapter 7
Depending on the school, P.E. could be tolerable or hell. I was in a hell year. Instead of playing volleyball or basketball when the daytime temperatures dropped below forty, we suited up for soccer. Brilliance. None of us had cleats and the practice field was a swamp from days of heavy rains.
My class warily eyed the mud pit in the middle of the field as the P.E. teacher stepped over puddles on the sideline. “Okay, who here has played before?” she asked.
I waited before tentatively raising my hand. I saw another hand go up. We were the only two.
"You're the captains. Pick your teams."
The other girl holding up her hand had to be new to the school. There was no way I would have missed her in the hallways. By the time we headed back into the locker room, I'd already memorized every gesture, every expression, every second I'd been on the field with her, and yet I sneaked a few more peeks to make sure I had it right.
Blue eyes, loopy brown curls cropped short, a slight tilt at the tip of her nose, and freckles across her cheeks like the Milky Way scattered across the night sky. On the soccer field, even though she was petite, she got such a look of grim determination on her face that the other girls let her have the ball. I was bigger and heavier, and about as athletic as an upside-down turtle, but there was something about her that made me want to play. I challenged her whenever she went for the ball, just so that we could crash together. Every slam left me wanting more.
Back in the locker room, I stripped quickly, tossing my muddy socks and shorts onto the bench, and scuttled into the shower before anyone could see me naked.
She clutched a towel to her chest and hurried across the concrete floor as I had, even though she was slim and short and perfect.
There were privacy curtains in the showers, but they billowed as the spray hit them. I didn't want to get caught looking, but I stole glances at her stall as I soaped my hair.
For once, I was glad I wasn't a boy on the outside. No one could tell when a girl had a hard-on that tingled between her legs. If I had been a boy, I wouldn't have been able to see the dimples at the small of her back just above the swell of her hips, or the way her neck curved when she tipped back her head into the spray.
She closed her eyes and let the suds rinse off her face. My throat clamped down so tight I couldn't have drawn a breath if I wanted to. The planets came to a shuddering stop in their orbits and time so kindly paused for a couple seconds just for me to soak in longing so fierce that the pain was almost a relief, because that's how I knew it was real. Then it was over—she shook water from her hair and I exhaled and the universe shuddered back into motion. I wished I had the balls to rub one off at school.
Her name was Amanda. She ate lunch with the grits. We had no other classes together. The only time I saw her was when she stripped down for P.E. or when she got dressed after her shower. It was a fucking conspiracy.
* * * *
Amanda. Amanda. Amanda.
I walked down hallways at school with my books crushed closed to my chest, my head ducked so that my blush-burned cheeks could press against the slick surface of my physics textbook.
Since I'd cut my hair, vicious whispers of ‘dyke’ ambushed me in the hallways between classes. I pretended I didn't hear it. Sometimes I worried that there was something really wrong with me. I wasn't supposed to feel that way about a girl. Everyone said so. But I kept forgiving myself anyway.
I slammed between misery and buoyant joy every hour of every day. It was like worrying a tooth not ready to be pulled out of my gums, painful, but exquisitely so. I knew I was being an idiot, but then I'd secretly smile to myself and huddle behind my wall of print and exhale her name against the books.
Amanda.
* * * *
It took me two weeks to work up to saying, “Good game,” to her.
Amanda pulled a pilled sweater on. When her head popped through the neck, she grinned, showing crooked teeth. “Yeah."
My heartbeat crowded words out of my throat. I stood there, suspended between thought and action. She waited, expecting me to say more. I grabbed my books and bolted for my next class.
Amanda was a secret. I didn't even dare think about her while I ate dinner, or on the bus. Late at night, though, I'd snake my hand between my thighs and let my heart open. I remembered everything she said, how she said it, the way she picked polish off her gnawed nails ... everything.
P.E. was driving me nuts. I felt as if everyone suspected me, so I tried not to get caught watching her. I couldn't talk to her at lunch. The distance between our table and the grit's was only a three-foot aisle, but it might as well have been miles. If I was ever going to talk to her, I knew I had to see her outside of school.
* * * *
I called Eric, curling up on the sofa and cupping my hand over the receiver even though Mom and Pop weren't in the room.
"What?�
� Eric snapped.
There were a thousand things I needed to discuss with him, but they dissipated with that one word. “Um..."
"I'm busy."
I should have said, “I need to talk to you,” but I was too angry to admit it.
"Is this important?"
"Not anymore,” I told him, and hung up.
* * * *
Think. MENSA girl, think.
It was so obvious. I'd ask her out on a date. But I couldn't make it sound like a date-date, just something innocent like friends hanging out. The only place I could afford to take her was the movies, so that part was simple.
Timing was everything. I didn't want the other girls in our PE class to hear me ask, and I couldn't speak while Amanda was wet and naked, so a week later, while we dumped the equipment back into the locker, I blurted, “Would you like to catch a movie?"
"Which one?"
As Sean mentioned, the only movie theaters I went to regularly were the SkyPorn Drive-In and the seedy porno palace where we watched Rocky Horror. Titles came readily to mind, but I bowed my head and tried to think of movies normal people went to see. “You pick."
She grinned. By then, I knew the exact alignment of her crooked teeth, and the left-hand corkscrew of the thick brown curl that dangled before her eyes. Still, I couldn't stop wanting to look at her more.
We closed the equipment locker and headed for the showers. I turned my back to her as I stripped down.
"Which theater do you want to go to? The ones here in town suck, but Shaker Heights has a multiplex. Do you have a car?” she asked when we stepped behind our privacy curtains in the showers.
Well, fuck. Another thing I didn't think about. Harsh water pelted my face as I stood there, soap in hand, trying to think my way around that problem. Suds foamed around my toes on the slick floor tile.
"I'm taking driver's ed next semester. I don't have a license yet.” And probably never would, because I refused to let my parents know that I'd decided to learn how to drive.
"Maybe my mom could drive, if my brother doesn't need the car for work. You want to go this weekend?” She peeked out from behind the brown curtain. I grabbed the one near me and hid my body from her.
Obviously, I hadn't thought out anything beyond asking her, because I wasn't prepared for her questions. “I can't. I'm going camping."
"Camping?” She made a face.
"It's fun. We have a great time."
"Don't sound fun.” She looked a little pissed off when she yanked the curtain back into place. We didn't talk again. Next time I asked her out, I'd have the details in place first.
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Chapter 8
Reading Mom's moods was part observation and part intuition, but it was all survival skill. From the set of her shoulders and the way her mouth squeezed into a tight line that almost hid her lips, it was obviously a tip-toe through the minefield kind of day. I could never be sure why she was angry, but that hardly mattered. The wrong clothes, the wrong sound, even pouring too much milk in a glass—anything could refocus her fury onto me.
"One more accident, and that animal is going to sleep out in a doghouse,” Mom snapped.
Thank God, it was the dog. I should have felt bad, but instead it was all relief. I liked the dog more for pissing off Mom, but wouldn't dare even wink at her as she skulked under the table.
"I have some good news.” Why-oh-why I voluntarily put myself in the line of fire, I never knew. Temporary insanity. Maybe I felt bad for the dog. “I mailed my application to Harvard yesterday. Hans and Pieter wrote recommendations for me, and Eric's father did too.” I hated myself for feeling a flutter of excitement.
Coffee splashed out of Mom's mug when she slammed it down. “Harvard? You realize that's a rich kid's school."
Pop pushed back his chair. “Don't expect us to support trips to Martha's Vineyard with your new friends."
"What's Martha's Vineyards?” I asked. Yet another thing I was supposed to know that I didn't. We moved so much that there were gaps in my education. I knew about some of them—fractions were a special slice of hell for me—but new proofs of my ignorance constantly cropped up.
Mom's body vibrated with agitation. Her voice had that hysterical pitch that made me shrink back. “You better get a full scholarship. What were you thinking? That you could go live the high life? College is for finding a job, not living in a dream world."
"But ... It wasn't my idea. You told me to apply there."
Mom's mouth clamped down tight. “I most certainly did not."
I looked to Pop, my eyes wide. He'd heard that conversation. He'd heard her order me to do it, heard me protest that I didn't want to go there. Why didn't he say anything?
"Yes, you did, Mom."
"I'm sick of your constant lies."
"I'm not lying! You sat right there and told me that I had to. Right there!” I was on my feet, my heart pounding.
"I said no such thing.” So smug, so fucking smug.
"Oh! That's it. I can't believe I fell for one of your mind games again. I should have known! You always do this to me!"
Pop grabbed my arm and shoved me against the wall. My head hit it with a hard thud.
"If you ever raise your voice to your mother again, I will beat you within an inch of your life. Got it?"
Go ahead, old man. Quit threatening and just do it. Beat me within an inch of my life, and I'll crawl that last inch to death on my own. And then I win.
The dog ran around us, barking her head off.
Pop and I huffed. Adrenaline cranked through my body. Mom smirked and sipped her coffee. Pop let go of my arm. Bruises bloomed where his fingers had been.
Sharp throbbing spread through my skull. I trudged upstairs so that my parents wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing my winces. I sprawled over my bed and stared up at my Blondie poster. Her mouth was too fucking amazing for words, even better than Sean's. Too bad she was blonde and so damn skinny. My head throbbed in time with my heartbeat. Nauseated, I closed my eyes.
Next door, Mr. Foster sang opera in their shower. He didn't seem to know many of the lyrics, because he repeated the same lines over and over, and hummed others until he turned off the water. I wondered what he looked like naked, and what it would be like to fuck him, maybe right there in the shower. Then I decided I didn't want to know.
The dog jumped up on the bed beside me and tentatively licked my hand. I patted her head. Poor thing. Someone should have let her run away from us years ago.
Harvard. I should have known it was just another of Mom's cruel jokes. Even though I didn't want to go, I couldn't help feeling as if they'd taken something good away from me.
Why did I always fall for her fucking games? For a MENSA girl, I was damn slow to learn some lessons. She always made me regret trusting her. She was probably downstairs, smiling her private smile, chuckling over her triumph.
I couldn't stand to be in the house with her another second, so I grabbed my backpack, loaded it, put on my new hiking boots, and went downstairs with the dog.
"I'm going for a hike."
No one said anything.
"Would you like to get out of here too?” I asked the dog. She wagged her tail.
* * * *
It was habit to head for the gazebo. The guys were there, smoking.
"Oh, it's you,” Lane said as he pulled a pipe out of his pocket. “Want a hit?"
I let the dog's leash drop so that she could sniff around the bushes.
"What's with the backpack?” Tony asked.
"Practicing for our hiking trip. You guys should be too,” I told Sean and Eric.
Sean leaned back on his elbows. “It's months away."
"Don't blame me if you get blisters the first day,” I warned him. “You should be breaking in your boots now."
He shrugged.
I walked over to Lane and put out my hand. “Give me one hit before I go."
"I'm moving,” Lane said.
"Aw. Shit. Lucky you. Where?"
"Ramstein AFB, in Germany."
"We were stationed there once,” Sean said. “Couple years ago."
"I was born there,” Mark told us.
I asked Lane, “How long before you ship out?"
"Two weeks."
"Wow,” I said again.
"We have to find a new drummer,” Tony complained.
I found the end of the dog's leash and tugged on it until she came out of the woods. “Guess I'll see you around, or I won't,” I told Lane. There wasn't much more I could think of to say. We didn't bother with promises to stay in touch, because it would be lying. We didn't cry or hug. We simply accepted that fact of military life.
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Chapter 9
Autumn was the best time of year to be in Ohio. Once the heat broke, the skies cleared and the air had a crisp edge to it. Brilliant orange and crimson leaves clung to the trees but would soon fall.
The church youth group was on its third weekend hike, but it was the first that included an overnight. By June, everyone would be used to hiking ten miles a day in rough terrain with fully loaded packs, know how to set up camp, and have basic outdoor skills.
The trail through the southern Ohio woods followed gently rolling hills. Five miles in, there was a campsite, so we wouldn't have to rough it. We set off as a group. An hour later, we hiked in small clusters. My boots were broken in, and I was already used to the weight of my pack, so I could have been at the front of the trail, but Sean and Eric lagged behind and I wanted to walk with them. The slower I went though, the further they held back, until I lost sight of everyone and trudged on alone.
In a way, I was grateful for the solitude. Alone, I could stop to notice stark tree trunks and a forest floor of fallen leaves, the damp mineral scent of earth, and the way the sunlight shot through the bristly branches of a pine tree to spotlight mushrooms growing on the side of a fallen tree.
Nothing existed alone in the woods. Insects, birds, plants, and animals were bound together, a universe of a million species becoming one living thing.