by Dana Faletti
“Luck.” Off she went.
In a minute, I was enjoying the quiet.
Things had been a little nuts recently, even for me, and I generally liked high drama. Even though I hadn’t had any crazy headaches since I’d seen the … whatever it was… I was still totally stressing over it. I avoided Heather Chandler and her locker at all costs. There was no way I wanted to see that monster thing again.
I already spent most of my school day just waiting for the next wave of wacky to crash into me. I was totally on edge, but the way I call it, paranoia is better than social suicide. I couldn’t risk another episode of Callie in Wonderland. I was lucky the first time when nobody noticed my trip down the rabbit hole.
I sighed. Now, how was I gonna get Mila off my back about this dumb dance?
Mila was right; we had been looking forward to high school dances for what seemed like forever, and I was a little disappointed to miss the first one. My parents didn’t even know I was bagging it yet. I figured I could pretend to be sick or something on Friday night. I could tell my mother I had cramps – she always bought the period story. There was no way I was showing my face at that dance. Mila could moan all she wanted, but my booty was staying right here in the safety zone, where I couldn’t see my mom’s.
High school had turned out to be much less of an event than I’d planned for so far.
The social scene at school was low key. Everyone seemed to belong to their own clan, but the mean girl phenomenon wasn’t en vogue at the moment. My class was small, less than two hundred kids, and I knew most of them by name, although Mila was really my only close friend. We had grown up together. Her house was behind mine. I could find my way there in the dark; through my backyard and hers to her back door, where I was always welcome.
Mila and I had been best friends for as long as we were old enough to have friends. We’d gone from dolls to diaries together, from Barbies to boys. We’d learned the facts of life at the same time – well, actually she found out first from her older sister, but when she spilled the mechanics of things, I totally didn’t believe her, so I’d asked my Mom. You can imagine how well that went down.
Red faced and breathy. “She told you what?!” My mom’s eyes bulged, almost crossing.
“I know, Mom, isn’t it gross?” I drained my glass of kool-aid and watched as my mom gripped the kitchen table for support. “I mean who would ever let a boy put his –“
“Okay, Callie.” She stood up straight, ready to take on “the talk.” “I guess you and I have some things to discuss.”
I can remember thinking “Why am I in trouble when Mila’s the one being inappropriate?”
Mom set me straight, and I’d digested the information pretty maturely.
“Are you kidding me?! You let Dad do that?! Mom, you are on a whole new level of gross for me, really. That should be illegal, Mom! Mom, I am never ever ever going to do that! Guh – Ross!”
After our science (fiction) lesson, I’d raced out the back door and over to Mila’s before you could say fertilization. She was of the same opinion at that point. I mean, we were nine years old at the time, and boys were so dumb. They had been starting to look a little cute to us, actually, but after we got the skinny on the birds and bees business… well, we wouldn’t be googly eyed at boys for a while after that talk.
So, Mila was my best friend, but lately things were a little off between us. For one thing, her mom wasn’t home a lot. She worked, like a hundred hours a day, and my mom never let me at anyone’s house without a parent at home. I mean, geesh– any number of tragedies could befall us without an adult, right? Ugh… And, Mila’s mom, not being around a lot, didn’t really do supervision or rules all that well, unlike Johanna the Enforcer across the way.
See, my Mom could walk through Wal-mart and spot six sex offenders in aisle three pretending to check out the dietary fiber but really hunting for the right kid to snatch.
She was always on the lookout for the bad guy, and she just knew he was after me – who wouldn’t want me, right?
Now, Mila’s mom – same store, same aisle – she’d be too busy checking out the dude in the motorcycle jacket with the killer butt to notice a sex offender if he walked up to her and said “Excuse me ma’am, I’m a registered sex offender, and your daughter is cute.”
Milas’s mom would probably answer him with something like “I think the dietary fiber is right over there, sir, excuse me.” And, she’d never break eye contact with the nice butt.
There had to be some kind of happy medium between Johanna the Enforcer and Lilli the
Lah-Dee-Dah, but I didn’t know anyone who had that kind of mom. Really, I loved Mila’s mom. She was a great listener and an awesome cook. I had great memories of sleepovers at Mila’s featuring Lilli dancing with us to some weird old band called Abba, swinging us around and singing at the top of her lungs. I could picture her drinking Margaritas while she made us homemade salsa and tacos. She loved to dress us up, do our hair and nails. She was a lot of fun. And, I knew she totally loved Mila and Rae, Mila’s older sister.
So, Lilli was all about the fun, and Johanna was all about the fear, but Mila and I had survived so far. Thing was this – lately Mila was getting a little too daring, getting into stuff that I just wasn’t down with. I mean, with our without Mom breathing down my neck, I was generally a good kid. I wanted more freedom, sure – for example – A PHONE would be nice, but I didn’t want to abuse that freedom or get myself into trouble or hurt. I’d love to put on that – “ooh I’m so cool and rebellious” act, - but really, who was I kidding?
I HATED when my parents made me drink wine or champagne to toast at special dinners, so I definitely was not going to be drinking anytime soon. I’d choke on Lilli’s cigarette smoke when she would get drunk and all “I’m in college again – woo hoo!” and light up. I was way too smart for drugs, and there were no boys on my horizon that could tempt me to risk my parents’ heartbreak and my dad’s imprisonment. Really, he would kill any boy who deflowered me, and then my mom would be a crap single parent. My brothers would grow up to be jerks with a jailhouse dad for a role model. Nope – I’d hold onto this virginity thing for a while. (Plus, it was kind of embarrassing to admit, but I still thought the mechanics sounded a little gross and painful.) I ‘d probably dry heave at my mother if she warned me one more time about STDs, but like, yeah – I didn’t want that nastiness on my you know what either!
I liked the safety of my suburban overprotective family, and I couldn’t help it – I wasn’t born for danger or rebellion. Melodrama and angst, of course, but that was where the teenager in me crashed against the shore and ebbed back to sea. I was no hurricane. Sorry Mila.
The other day, Mila showed up with weed, AT MY LOCKER – like she was gonna roll it up in her chemistry homework or something and toke during study hall. And, she got all blotchy with me for raining on her drug parade. I mean, didn’t she ever see the egg commercials, the “this is your brain on drugs,” crap? I didn’t want to be scrambled or cooked. I wanted to keep my wits about me and stay out of trouble. Because God knows, my mother would smell me smoking a joint from four miles away, and then I’d never get a cell phone. I had to keep my eyes on the prize.
Truly, though, I wouldn’t do drugs. Just wasn’t my nature.
“Hey Angel.” I looked up. My Dad stood in my bedroom doorway, smiling easily down at me. “What’s the story?” He plopped down next to me on the floor. That was the great thing about Dad – he always met me wherever I was – out shooting baskets in the driveway or painting my tootsies on the bedroom floor. Loved that guy.
“Ah, nuthin. What’s yours?” I raised my eyebrows at him, and he shrugged a quiet snicker.
“Same shugar, sweetheart. You pumped for the dance?”
Crap. I hated lying. I didn’t have the skills. “Yeah. Me and Mila were just talkin’ about it.” I stared at my black fingernails.
“Cool.” He tousled my hair. “Can’t believe my angel girl’s going
to her first high school dance.” Oy. Smile. Breathe. Don’t look him in the eye. He stood up to leave. “Come down for dinner in a couple minutes. Mom’s making tortillas.”
Shazam! That bounced my mind right off that sneaky little lie. Loved my mom’s homemade tortillas. Mom’s grandma was born in some Chihuahua or something place. That had to be why she had some mad skills in the kitchen when it came to Mexican cooking. My friends always wanted to come over for Cinco de Mayo feast. Mom was a genius with a jalapeno.
I had to wonder how I would have turned out with a family like Mila’s. Maybe I’d be flaunting my push up bras and sneaking marijuana too if I didn’t have Dad to answer to and Mom up my arsenal. I could gripe and moan the plight of the overprotected teenager all I wanted, but deep down I knew how lucky I was. Yeah, I’d been the victim of many a lecture on everything from sex to drugs to grades, but at the end of the day, my parents were here. They might pummel me with rules and regs, but they also drowned me with love, sometimes tough but always present.
Was there a train heading towards my room? Sure sounded like it. Ah... I rolled my eyes - the twins. Just as I was delving into the depths, pondering the state of my existence, these two schmonces arrived just in time to pull me back to the shallow kiddie pool.
“Hey, Callio”
“Yo, Cal,”
“Hey guys.”
“What up my sista?”
Seriously, Sam? I gave him the “I’m the older cooler sister” eye. “When did you become d.j. dorky dork?” I teased.
“Ouch,” Jack snickered and punched Sam in the arm.
“Whatever, Callie. Like you’re so cool with your zombie fingernails.”
What was with all the shuffling? Is this kid a boxer or something? Turn your hat around and pull up your pants. I can see your Spidey underoos. Snicker.
“Ok, Sam, and I’ll make sure to take notes on your dress code so I totally rock the fashion scene.” I looked him up and down dramatically, pointing at each “I’m a geek” calling card. “Wear sports socks up to knees with Adidas sandals. Make sure to roll up tee shirt sleeves to flaunt skinny arms.” Let’s not forget the time he wore his under armor to school. Yeah…, just his under armor and some sneakers. We would NEVER let him live that one down.
“Dinner!” came the melodious call from the angel of chili powder and shredded cheese who was at that moment downstairs creating a tasty piece of heaven.
Sam pounced from the room, yelling “I’m eating all the super hot ones! I’m not saving you any, Callie!”
I rolled my eyes but had to suppress a smile as Jack and I followed our brother down to the fiesta. Sometimes I just loved my family.
3
I couldn’t believe I got sucked into this. I was totally against it from the very beginning, and now the whole ordeal was spiraling downwards faster than I could think of a way out. I was so dead.
I shouldn’t have caved in the first place. Mila was just so darn pushy, no not pushy, convincing. She was like Eve in that Bible story. “Come on, just eat the apple, Adam – you’ll be so smart afterwards. God won’t be mad at all!” And, she’d smiled, red lipstick smeared on her two front teeth, eyes begging me. Why hadn’t I just said no?
Instead, here I was in a convertible with boys (broken rule numero uno), speeding down a highway (broken rule numero dos), and they were drinking some apple flavored wine (you get the picture with the rules, right?). Mila was incredibly giddy, kneeling upright in the back, hair blowing in the wind, woo hooing every so often.
DEAD. Did I say that already, because that’s what I would be as soon as we either wrecked whoever’s parents’ car this was or got caught. One or the other seemed totally inevitable. I gnawed on my fingernails with worry that wouldn’t go away.
Until my head started to pound, and I couldn’t think hard enough to even worry.
Suddenly in front of my eyes were colors I’d never seen before– so bright, they were near blinding. Music – where had I heard that melody? Whispers, fluttering... What the? I knew I hadn’t drunk anything tonight to bring this on. In fact, the real reason I had left with Mila was because I knew she had been drinking, and I didn’t want anything worse to happen to her.
I wasn’t supposed to have even been at the dance, but now I wished I had stayed there. I rubbed my temples and squeezed my eyes shut, willing the headache to go away. Maybe if I replayed the night in my mind, I could focus enough to make whatever was happening to my head go away.
Mila – the temper tantrum.
“You have to come!”
“No, Mila, not going. You can borrow my skirt though.”
Stomping. Doors slamming.
Mom’s eavesdropping.
“I heard that argument, Callie. You are going to the dance tonight.”
The pouting.
“Not going.”
“You are.”
The awful attempt at lying.
“I’m not. I have cramps.”
“Your period isn’t for two weeks.” How did my mother keep track of this stuff? Not fair! “You’re going. Get dressed.”
The humiliation of pulling up to the dance with your parents and having them walk inside with you AND STAY and start saying hello, how are you to every kid that was ever in any of your elementary school homerooms like they totally know their shirt size. Yeah, everyone should go through this at least once in their lives, because really, what could top this on the embarrassment scale?
The loud music.
The groups of kids, not really dancing, sometimes singing along to some of the tunes.
The ones making out in dark corners
The red headed girl throwing up on purpose in the bathroom.
The football player whispering to himself about how he could just end it. Pills. Sit in the garage with the car turned on. Nobody would notice until morning.
Hold it! Wait a minute… I didn’t hear this stuff, did I? Where did that come from? Okay, I remembered it, but I couldn’t have heard these things… Really weird. I totally couldn’t stand how these headaches made me so crazy. I mean, disturbing. Okay, rewind.
Mila, grabbing my hands, jumping up and down, brimming with Eau de alcohol.
“You’re here! I knew you’d come!”
“They forced me.”
Too happy to commiserate.
“You look fab.”
“Whatever.”
Sneaky looking boys eyeing up Mila, thinking about sex… Uh...
I guessed. Weird, again.
I mean, she was wearing a jean skirt ripped up to you know where and a hot pink Juicy tank top that made her look, well, juicy, I guess. Nothing was really left to anyone’s imagination, and I’m sure that’s what they were imagining.
Car keys jingling.
Begging. Pleading.
“They won’t even realize we’re gone. We’ll just take a drive and come right back.”
“No freakin way, Mila.”
Stomping. Huffing. Lots of slurring and attempted swearing. Crap. She was wasted.
And, off she was strolling with The Hormone and Beefcake who probably shared a single brain cell between them.
Running to catch up. Regretting already.
“Okay, I’ll go
Squealing. Giggling. More jumping.
“Yay!”
“Hey, Cal, come on!” I felt Mila’s arm around my shoulder in the speeding car, bringing me back to reality. I could hear her hiccups. “Just let your hair down for like a second, okay? Have some fun, Cal Pal!” Cal Pal – Mila’s nickname for me for as long as we’d been friends. “You okay?”
“Uh-huh,” I muttered and put my head between my knees. I could hear them talking about me, some kind of banter over where I’d scored the bad weed. One of them was convinced it was ecstasy. Far from it. This headache was really lasting – wait, whose voice was that? Somebody was whispering.
“Pull over. Near the trees. It’s dark. No one will see you. One for each of you.” An old woman’s scratchy voice. I
couldn’t see her, but she seemed to be right here in the car with us. I looked at Mila, singing along to some song on the radio, seemingly oblivious to the woman’s whispering. “Just pull over. They want it. No one will see, and they want it bad.”
Suddenly my head didn’t hurt anymore, but there was ice in my veins, all around my eyes. Every instinct in me screamed “Get out of the car, Callie!”
“Take us back to the school, now.” I said as evenly as I could.
Mila stopped singing and turned to me with a look of utter shock and dismay. “Cal, relax-”
“Shut it, Mila.” I put my hand on Beefcake’s shoulder. “Tell your friend to turn around and head back to Mackle now.”
He looked at me, grinning his cocky grin, so sure of himself. “Why would I do that, pretty girl?”
Then they started laughing, the hysterically drunk laughter of two dumb jock high school boys who probably can’t even tell a consonant from a vowel. Right then, something snapped in me, I guess. I grabbed the back of the Hormone’s neck and squeezed. Before I knew it the car was spinning – totally 360 – and fast. Mila and the guys were screaming, but it was white noise to me. I was totally focused on teaching these guys a lesson about how to treat girls. Anger juiced through me – how dare she or they even think about taking advantage of us? They thought they were the shugar, but I was pretty sure they were pieces of it.