Firsts

by Laurie Elizabeth Flynn

  “I love it,” I say quietly. And to prove it, I do something I haven’t done for as long as I can remember: I finish the whole plate. I don’t want to be under Kim’s thumb when she’s not around to criticize me. I can imagine her shaking her finger at me, admonishing me for not following the “one-thirds” rule she instituted when I hit puberty, where I would be praised for eating only one-third of what was on my plate and leaving the rest. But tonight, I don’t care.

  When I try to help Faye clear dishes, she waves me away. “This is the least I could do,” she says, shoving plates into the sink and running them under water. “Your tutoring probably saved me from failing chemistry.”

  I feel Zach’s eyes burning into me. I wait for him to make his usual joke about being a lost cause, but he doesn’t. When I glance at him, he’s staring at his place mat, and he doesn’t look angry or upset, just sad. And that’s a lot worse.

  After dinner, Faye asks what movie we want to watch. Turns out, she shares my hatred of chick flicks and romantic comedies. Oddly enough, it’s Zach who would rather watch some sappy love story than an action movie. Yet another thing I didn’t know about him—another thing that I won’t be able to forget, that will make it that much more difficult to keep our Wednesday lunch dates in their sealed little box.

  “You’re outnumbered,” Faye says, plunking down between us on the couch and hitting the Play button. “Two against one. Not to mention, you’re a huge pussy.”

  Zach stretches his legs out and puts his feet up on the coffee table, like this is his house. A thought rips through my mind. He has been here before. The idea makes my stomach feel unsettled.

  “I like happy endings,” he says. “I can’t help it if I like when they end up together.”

  Now I don’t know if he’s talking about the movie, or us, or him and Faye. But Faye throws her head back until it’s almost in my lap and laughs. “You have a lot to learn,” she says. She leans into me, until our faces are only inches apart, and whispers conspiratorially. “Life doesn’t have a happy ending most of the time, does it?”

  I nod. My throat is dry, and for some reason I keep thinking that if I leaned forward two inches I could kiss her, find out once and for all who she’s really flirting with—me or Zach. Maybe I’m making all of this up in my head because I don’t have any friends besides Angela, who doesn’t really like people touching her, so I don’t know how regular girlfriends act. Maybe I should kiss her, right in front of Zach. Two inches would put my lips on hers. Two inches would give me an answer.

  But then she pulls back and smacks her forehead. “Shit. I forgot the popcorn,” she says, and she bounds off the couch, leaving me and Zach and a couch cushion that might as well be an iceberg between us.

  It shouldn’t feel like this.

  “It just kind of happened,” I say. “The tutoring. She invited herself over when I was helping Angela.”

  He shrugs and stares at the television, where the opening credits are rolling. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess she doesn’t get boxed into one day of the week.”

  I blow out a breath. He’s right. I like Zach the way he is in my head—simplified and predictable, my Wednesday friend. He fits perfectly there. Or at least he used to. But all these extra bits of information, all they do is add dimensions that force me to readjust to make room. Suddenly Zach takes up more space, and I don’t have more space to give.

  The smell of microwave popcorn emanates from the kitchen. My stomach roils. I can’t possibly sit here through this movie, on the same couch with Zach and Faye. There might be room physically, but not mentally.

  This is why I don’t make friends.

  “I just remembered I have a huge assignment in English that I need to finish,” I say, standing up. “It’s due tomorrow.”

  Zach knows I’m lying. He knows I never procrastinate. But he doesn’t say anything, which is what I thought I wanted. A quick getaway. A painless exit. But I just feel empty as he gives me a close-lipped smile and a strange little wave good-bye.

  Faye is disappointed. She’s dumping what looks like the entire content of a saltshaker shaped like a cat into a huge bowl of popcorn, and she makes that face again, the one where the crease appears between her eyebrows.

  “I wish you could stay,” she says as she walks me down the hall.

  “Me too,” I say, and part of me means it.

  I expect her to stop in the foyer when I put my shoes on and open the front door, but instead she follows me to my Jeep, padding down the driveway in her bare feet.

  “We should do it again sometime,” she says, rocking back on her heels.

  “Yeah,” I say, and part of me means that, too. “Thank you for dinner. It was perfect.”

  And then Faye does something unexpected. She reaches in to give me a hug, and I find myself smelling her hair, the same way Zach smelled mine. I don’t expect it to smell the way it does, earthy and vaguely floral. When I pull away, she brushes her lips against my cheek and smiles.

  I return her smile, wondering what that brush of her lips against my cheek meant, if anything. I thought I was good at reading people, even stereotyping where appropriate. But Faye is almost impossible to figure out. I can’t decide if I like that about her.

  I wave as I pull out of her driveway, my heart thudding in my chest. I drive home slowly for once, trying to get the jumble of thoughts in my head to form some kind of linear pattern. I’m unsure if I’m happy or sad or hopeful or disappointed or all of the above.

  Maybe I should have stayed for the movie. I would have stayed for the movie if Zach weren’t there. My stomach squirms when I think about what they’re doing right now. I almost stop the Jeep more than once and turn around and go back.

  But I can’t control everything. I can’t control whatever’s going on at Faye’s right now. Maybe she’s straddling Zach right now and maybe his hands are all over her perfect denim-clad ass. Maybe his fingers are in her hair and he’s running his tongue across her perfect teeth.

  I don’t know what I’m jealous of—the thought that she has that effect over Zach, the power that I thought only I had, or the thought that she wants him instead of me.

  When I’m finally home, upstairs in my room, I pull out my journal. I need to get rid of the mishmash in my head, get it on paper. When it’s on paper, I’ll feel better, just like I do after the virgins. When it’s in my journal, I can move on.

  Tonight was weird. Maybe I’m reading too much into it. This could very well be what regular teenagers do every day. But something was weird. I felt wanted.

  I stare at my own handwriting and hesitate. I almost don’t want to continue, but I have to. I at least want to remember feeling this way.

  I don’t know what to think about Faye. There’s just something about her. She’s unlike anybody I’ve met. And when I’m with her, I feel like I don’t know myself at all.

  Or maybe I know myself better than ever.

  17

  Faye doesn’t mention dinner when I see her during chemistry on Monday, but the way she puts her hand on my arm and leans her face so close to mine that our safety goggles touch makes me hyperaware of everything she does. Angela doesn’t mention her “midlife crisis,” and Jeremy Roth doesn’t even glance my way when we cross paths in the parking lot. Kim doesn’t mention yoga or detox tea or charity events when I bump into her before school. Zach doesn’t bring up tutoring or milkshakes. So it’s basically back to business as usual.

  Luckily, I have ample distraction, and not in the form of sexually inexperienced guys. As weird as I feel ending on Unlucky Thirteen, maybe it’s for the best. I’m not superstitious, but I’m choosing to take the number as a sign. It’s time for me to really call it quits and focus on other things instead. Like this dance Angela is making me go to.

  “Why the sudden interest in high school dances?” I ask when we’re cleaning our beakers after class on Wednesday. “I thought you hated all that organized stuff.” This much is true. Angela has always demonstrated a
n indifference bordering on disdain for football games, parties, and yearbook committees, which makes her attendance at Charlie’s soccer game and interest in this dance very out of character.

  “Charlie wants to go to this one. He says the DJ is really good.”

  “Fine,” I say. “But why do I have to third wheel it with you?”

  “You won’t be third wheeling it. You should find a date, too.”

  “Sorry if I’m not jumping at the proposition.” I reach over and pick up my backpack. Zach, my “Wednesday friend,” is coming over for a lunch date. At least, he’s supposed to. I haven’t talked to him since the weirdness at Faye’s house, and I’m not sure what to say. I think we might like the same girl, and I might be jealous that you like her better than me? There’s just no way I can bring that up without sounding totally insane.

  “Come on, Mercy. There have to be tons of guys who would be dying to go with you.”

  I scan the half-empty classroom, watching people filter out. Zach is still at his desk, chewing the end of his pencil thoughtfully. I could take a date. I don’t need to be unattached anymore, like I did when I was being sought out by the virgins. I have no reason not to find somebody to ask. Zach would be the obvious choice, but I can’t go with him. Not after I made it so clear that I didn’t want to be his girlfriend. I wonder if Faye is taking a date. She would have her choice of just about anyone.

  Speak of the devil. Faye barrels back into the room like a hurricane and makes a beeline for our shared desk. “Forgot my purse, again. Thank God nobody stole it,” she says. “I think I have short-term memory loss. Or maybe it’s your influence on me.” She winks and blows a kiss before running out the door.

  Angela visibly flinches. She hates when people say things like “Thank God,” or her personal pet peeve, “Jesus Christ!” This time, I’m grateful she notices Faye taking the Lord’s name in vain, because she didn’t notice the wink or the air kiss or the smile that Faye left in her wake, the one that won’t leave my lips.

  Zach walks out of the room without looking at me. He makes not looking at me so much more obvious than the glances he kept throwing over his shoulder last week that I wish I had never said anything to him about it.

  My phone beeps. I expect the text to be from Zach, but it’s not. It’s from Charlie.

  I need your help with something. Can we meet today?

  I mentally catalogue my itinerary for the rest of today. Second period French, third period lunch, aka quickie with Zach. I text back.

  I can meet you after school. In the quad okay?

  He texts back almost instantly.

  Can I come over instead?

  Sure.

  I pause before hitting send. I wonder what’s so important that Charlie has to meet me alone and if it has anything to do with his new part-time job as our gardener—or Angela’s behavior on the weekend. Whatever it is, I guess I’m going to find out soon.

  At lunch, Zach makes it clear that he’s not interested in studying for next week’s chemistry test. When he fails to undress me the second we get in the door, I entertain the horrifying thought that he’s not interested in me anymore, either. He plunks down in front of the TV instead, on the leather couch Kim loves too much to ever let me sit on.

  “Let’s just hang out today,” he says, pulling me down beside him. “Let’s just chill. It’s been a hectic morning. Besides, there’s something I want to talk to you about.” He rubs his hands together.

  I jerk away from him, very aware of the unease gnawing away in my stomach. He’s going to say something about movie night at Faye’s house. Or maybe even let me in on some other facet of his life that I know nothing about. Suddenly I don’t want him to say anything. I don’t want it to be more complicated. So I do my best to clear his mind, too.

  “I have a better idea,” I say, straddling his lap and hiking my skirt up. Luckily, it works. He pins me down by my wrists and meets my mouth with his, and our bodies rub against Kim’s precious couch before he scoops me up and carries me upstairs. It’s the sweetest kind of silence, the kind where our breathing is in sync and I can forget about everything and be in the moment, the way Kim’s yoga instructor told us to be. We can go back to how we were.

  But when it’s over, the spell is broken. He doesn’t even wait until we get our clothes back on before asking me to the dance.

  “I don’t think so, Zach,” I say, turning my face away from his.

  “I don’t see why you won’t go with me,” he says, slumping over me in defeat. “We have sex all the time, but you won’t be seen in public with me. You didn’t even want to sit on the same side of the table when we got milkshakes. And you sat ten feet away from me at Faye’s.”

  I raise my eyebrow. “That’s not true,” I say. And it’s not. I sat on the other side of the table because I didn’t know where I was supposed to sit. But I don’t tell him this, because then I would have to admit to him that going for milkshakes with him is the closest I have ever come to an actual date. And I can’t tell him why I felt so uncomfortable at Faye’s, either. Because then I would have to admit that I might be certifiably nuts.

  “I don’t even want to go to the stupid dance,” I say. “But if I do, I’m going alone.”

  “I’m a good dancer,” he says, snaking his arms around my waist and running his lips across my shoulder. “It could be great foreplay.”

  I kiss his cheek and pry myself out from under him. “I’m not your girlfriend, Zach.”

  He frowns. I hate when he makes that face.

  “Fine. Maybe I’ll ask another girl.”

  “You should,” I say, locating his pants on my desk chair and tossing them to him.

  “I’m serious,” he says, tugging on my elbow. “I can’t wait around for you forever.”

  I stare at the floor because I’m afraid that if I look at him, I’ll see exactly how much he means it. Zach is attractive and sweet and funny and smells good. Most girls would be happy to be with him. I’m not like that. I’m happy when I’m with him, but I don’t want to be with him. It would be so easy that way, so uncomplicated. Having a boyfriend would be a good way to put the virgins behind me. Monogamy, the ultimate bookend. But I can’t do that to Zach. I know I would just end up hurting him. I would mess up and he would realize I’m not who he thinks I am and he would disappear.

  But I also don’t want him to be with anybody else, as selfish as that is.

  “You know, you break my heart every Wednesday,” he says. When I look up, he’s smiling again, but it’s not his usual smile. It’s more reserved, with the corners of his mouth slightly pinched. I ignore that it’s not his regular smile, because I don’t want him to know how disarming this new smile is to me.

  And I don’t want him to know that I can even tell the difference.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. The syllables sound strangled. I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for—the dance or the milkshake date or Faye’s or everything else.

  “If you say so,” he says, doing up his belt. “How about you come over tonight? My mom’s taking some course. I thought it would be fun for you to see my place for a change.”

  I try not to outwardly balk. I never go to a guy’s place. Not ever. Not even Luke’s, four years ago. And I’m not planning on starting now, not even with Zach. Zach might seem like Luke’s polar opposite, but I learned from Luke that you can think you know a guy, only to find out too late that he’s someone totally different. That he had been wearing a mask. I can’t take the chance that Zach could be wearing one, too.

  Besides, I have a good reason. Charlie coming over gives me an excuse that for once doesn’t involve being naked with a different guy. “Can’t tonight,” I say. “I need to help a friend with something.”

  “Fine,” he says with a drawn-out sigh. “But this weekend, I really might need some of your mad tutoring skills. My experiments suck.” He pauses. “That is, if you could fit me in on a weekend. I don’t know if you make exceptions for lost causes.” />
  I take a deep breath. Zach is insistent on bending the rules. But it’s nice to feel wanted, not wanted by a virgin who doesn’t know any better but wanted by someone who does. Even though I’m emotionally guarded with him, Zach still knows me better than almost anyone else, and somehow he still wants to spend time with me.

  “This weekend,” I say, throwing his shirt at him. “Come over on Sunday. After dinner. My mom’s making me do a yoga class with her in the afternoon.” I rub my temples, wishing it wasn’t true, but after Sunday’s class, which Kim dubbed “a great success,” I was automatically corralled into going again.

  “I like the idea of you getting all bendy for me,” he says, and suddenly he’s normal Zach again, and I’m flooded with relief. “Now I’m not just your Wednesday friend. Even if you don’t want me for a boyfriend.”

  I turn away from him as I put my own shirt on, not because of modesty but because I’m afraid that Zach knows me too well to see my face when he mentions that word. Boyfriend. I have more history with that word than anyone knows, even though the one guy I considered my boyfriend never came out and said it. So I guess I’m seventeen, with zero boyfriends but exactly fifteen guys under my belt, literally. Luke, Zach, and the thirteen virgins. I have slept with almost exactly as many people as my age.

  I don’t know if that’s something to be proud of or horrified by, or maybe both. But since I don’t want to think about it right now, I do what I do best. I spin around and grab Zach and press my mouth against his, and lose myself in the familiar contours of his body.

  18

  I didn’t bank on Kim being home when Charlie comes over, and I definitely didn’t expect to find Charlie seated at the kitchen table with her, drinking what must be her smelly detox tea and smiling broadly, like he always has tea after school with people’s moms. I stand and watch them before I enter the kitchen, before they know I’m home. Kim crosses her legs and hikes her skirt up her thighs, and leans in to give Charlie a view of her propped-up cleavage. Gross. I never thought I’d see my mom flirt with my best friend’s boyfriend, but I guess with Kim anything is possible.