“No, thank you. I’ve come to the conclusion that sex is overrated and should only be used for procreation.”
“What?! I know it seems that way to you now, but sex is actually a whole lot of fun when it's with the right person."
“And you know this how? Through experience, Dr. Ruth?” I ask incredulously. “Look, I thought I had the right person, and like I said before, it was overrated. Look at what a mess having sex with him one frickin' time caused me already."
A freshman girl starts to walk over towards us. She’s looking mostly at me, and I start to think crazy thoughts–like perhaps she knows about what happened between David and me.
“Keep it moving, freshman,” Karen orders.
Her eyes bulge in what I think is a combination of surprise and fright, but then she silently pivots and starts walking in another direction.
“Do you think she knows?” I ask Karen.
“You’re being paranoid. She knows nothing. She just wanted to check out the pit like every other underclassman.”
Freshmen and sophomores aren’t allowed in the pit. It’s not an actual school rule, but rather a social construct created by juniors and seniors of our high school long before our time here.
“She was staring at me.”
“Because all of the freshmen know who we are, Jules. We’re seniors. I’m the loud one. You’re the pretty one. I’m a badass–”
“And I’m notorious.”
Karen rolls her eyes.
“You are not.”
“I hate the guys in this town.”
“Yeah, sometimes they can be straight up douchebags, but what’s a Penn Washington girl to do? Until we escape this town, they’re all we’ve got.”
“Not for me.”
"So you're never going to date? Never going to have sex again? You'd only be punishing yourself, Jules.”
“Well, it’s a punishment which I’ll gladly accept.“
Juliette
For the rest of the morning I move from AP English, to gym, and to calculus basically numb. The only thing I was paying attention to was the fact that just as I suspected, gossip moves lightening fast through our school, and certain girls were staring at me out of the sides of their eyes.
This isn’t me being paranoid.
This is real.
They know.
I take special notice of the smug stares of two girls that I have been longtime frenemies with–Carla Ritter and Marie Puzzini. Two ringleaders of a group of girls who have what Karen has coined The Franklin Package: bad attitudes, big mouths, and parents with money. These girls love running people’s names through the mud. They did it to poor Marion until she couldn’t take anymore and switched to another high school.
Now don’t misunderstand me, I realize that we aren’t living in the nineteenth century or anything. Obviously I’m not a whore just because I had sex one time with David, but it’s the fact that there are witnesses. That he permitted them to watch as if it were a peep show. Like it meant nothing to him. Like I mean absolutely nothing.
Karen tried to reassure me throughout the day by passing me folded notes, sealed with smiley faces, that everything is going to be okay and that barely anyone knows or cares about my night with David. I don’t think she is telling me the complete truth though, but it doesn’t matter. I truly appreciate her effort to make me feel better.
In fact in some small way, I now feel guilty that I didn't share my momentous, once in a lifetime news with her first, and that she had to hear about it through a second hand source. Especially because she called me right away and told me about her first time with her boyfriend, Bobby Wagner, when we were sophomores.
I’m not exactly sure why I didn’t tell her. Maybe because as soon as David and I were finished–I regretted it. Having sex was not something I necessarily was dying to have, but it was more like something I wanted to check off my list. Something that was a right of passage. Something that David had been asking for repeatedly. In other words, I did it for all the wrong reasons just as my mother feared I would.
Today is an early dismissal day for seniors. I usually stay after school and work on college applications in the library, but today I’ve decided to head home for the obvious reasons. I plan on crawling into a pint of butter pecan ice cream and then into my bed until graduation day.
I’m only midway down the school’s old stone staircase when I spot the very last person that I want to see is waiting for me.
It’s the jerk.
"What do you want?” I ask coolly.
“Jules.”
I can tell by the hesitance in his voice that he suspects that I already know what he’s done. He isn't his usual confident, cocky, self.
“What's up?” I ask with a hand on my hip and the corner of my mouth turned up in an accusatory manner.
David pauses like cowards often do when they’re about to lie.
“Uh, I wanted to talk to you."
He steps closer to me.
I step back.
To further understand the depth of my mistake, David is “the man” at our high school. He’s the football team’s quarterback, an honor society student, good looking, and while I’m now ashamed to even admit it–I felt more important when I walked the halls with him. Now his close proximity just makes me feel sick to my stomach.
“About?”
“Stories floating around about us that aren’t necessarily true.”
Necessarily? Is he kidding me?
"There's not a single frickin' thing I want to discuss with you, David.”
“Jules…just give me five minutes."
"You really want to do this in front of school?"
I inadvertently raise my voice a littler louder than I intended, so I turn to check to see if anyone is close enough to hear our conversation. David doesn’t flinch.
“I just want to talk.”
“There's nothing to say. Were your friends trying to decide who'd get the next crack at me? Is watching girls your thing? Do you charge admission for deflowering virgins?”
I am so angry that I want to cry, but I hate exhibiting huge emotions in front of people. I’ve already cried once today in front of Karen, and so I refuse to do it again. My throat tightens as I take a long hard swallow and use all my inner strength to hold the sniffles back. I don't want to give the imbecile the satisfaction.
"Calm down, Jules. Let me explain.”
“Explain what? Why you treated me like a whore? I mean I should have known better right? You made it quite clear that you weren't totally sold on this whole girlfriend/boyfriend thing anyway. Remember you told me that?”
“I said that months ago.”
“Well, now you can rest easy that you don't have to worry about that anymore. I don’t want you. We're done, David.”
“But I'm not ready to end it."
Delusional douchebag alert.
"Oh it's ended. We’re done. Tada the frickin’ end."
A few students, who have been circling around us like buzzards, overhear my words and start to chuckle. Immediately David’s posture changes. His back stiffens and his eyes grow colder than I’ve ever seen them.
“You gave me gonorrhea.” He makes sure to say the last word of his declaration loud enough so that everyone within earshot can hear.
More students start to gather around us. All I see are kids I’ve passed by in the hallways all my life with their eyes bulged wide and hands up to their mouths in morbid curiosity.
“That’s impossible,” I say defiantly. Determined to defend my reputation.
“You’re the only one I’ve been with. I definitely got it from you.”
I look around at the crowd continuing to swell. I catch a glimpse of disgust on a boy’s face that I’ve never seen before. Just as I feared, I am the victim in all of this and David is the one who is going to come out smelling like a rose.
I wish the ground would crack open and swallow me whole.
I am shaken.
I
am mortified.
He has ruined me.
“I was a virgin, you asshole!” I say before the tears start to fall. “You are the only one I’ve been with. I didn’t give you anything. ”
Except my heart.
And then I take off running.
Juliette
I’m barely past the parking lot when I realize that I don’t have my coin purse which is usually attached to my bookbag by a small silver keyring.
It’s odd that I don’t have it, and I can’t find it anywhere which is not a good thing, because my entire life is in there: my student ID, twenty-three dollars that my dad gave me this morning, and my driver’s license.
I sit on the edge of the curb and rummage through my bag. Maybe I forgot and dropped it inside. Maybe it’s buried down below with my assortment of ballpoint pens and tampons.
Crapola.
It’s not here.
I can’t believe this, but I’m going to have to turn around and head back to school to find it. As I very slowly make my way back towards the building, I finally remember what I did with it.
I actually detached my change purse from my bag and dropped it off at my locker in between classes. I didn’t recall what I’d done at first, because I’ve been like a zombie the entire day. Hell, I’m still a zombie.
I’m only a few steps away from the main entrance when I hear a commotion brewing. I’d hoped that the crowd had dispersed after our little show was over but no such luck. As I approach, it’s almost like a scene out of a primetime teen drama.
The same crowd of students who overhead my conversation with David, are still gathered around the base of the front steps. Several of them turn their heads and stare at me with condemnatory faces as I approach. It isn't until one brave soul (a guy from my study hall) approaches me that I finally discover what’s going on.
“David was just beaten up. He's behind the school and he looks kind of bad.”
"What?! Show me."
It only takes me a few seconds to jog around to the back of the school, and that's when I see him. Sprawled out on his back, with a bloody eye, and clutching his side as if he’s in severe pain.
A few of his teammates are standing around him, but I manage to push my way through the circle with a few curt excuse me's and pardon me’s, and I almost clutch my pearls once I see his battered face.
His lip is split and his left eye seems to be already turning purple and puffy. After I release a small gasp, horrified by what I see, I bend down and gently touched the side of his face. I may hate him, but I’m still a human being capable of empathy.
"Did anyone call the paramedics?” I ask any and everyone standing around.
“We did,” one of his teammates confirms.
“David…David, can you hear me?" I ask with slight urgency. His eyes are closed and he’s not moving much.
I check his pockets and notice that his wallet, keys, and several folded twenty dollar bills are still there, so this isn't some sort of robbery. Not that I actually thought that he'd been robbed on our quiet, suburban campus, but now I’m really baffled, because that means that he has been targeted.
Did one of his friends do this?
I look back up at the five large bodies standing around me. All of them play football with David, and I suspect that at least one of them was probably in that closet watching me have sex.
“Why are you all just standing here?” I ask. “Did one of you do this to him? Do you know who did?”
Nothing.
No one says a word.
They all just stare at me with these blank expressions on their faces.
“David, can you open your eyes?”
Finally I start to see his one good eyelid flutter and his fingers move.
He winces in pain.
“Jules?” His voice croaks.
"Yes, I'm here,” I respond.
While I’m relieved that he is at least awake and slightly coherent, now that I have confirmation that David isn’t dead, I have some fleeting not-so-nice thoughts about him.
This is what you get for being a complete jerk and embarrassing me in front of the entire school.
This is what you get for lying to me.
This is what you get for letting people watch me in your bedroom.
This is what you get for trying to ruin my reputation.
I hope you’re in lots of pain, jackass.
I am definitely a firm believer in karmic justice, and I have no doubt that karma is responsible for the fact that David’s been beaten to a pulp after casting me as an unwilling participant of his own little peep show. God doesn't like ugly.
“Help is coming soon,” I say flatly. “Your so-called friends here said they called 911.”
“Listen to me,” he says almost urgently as he grimaces through the pain, but this is no time for apologies. I don’t want to hear it.
“Quiet,” I silence him. “Talk later.”
He grabs my forearm. “Wait, Jules, the guy that did this–”
I should have realized when I first came upon David sprawled across the ground that something more was off. It’s weird that his teammates are all just standing around waiting for an ambulance. No one was actually doing anything. No one even went back into the school to get him an ice pack or something. It was like they were too frightened to do anything to help.
“Stand up.”
I’m still bent down by David’s side when I whip my head around and stare towards the direction of the deep, dangerous voice that just startled me.
The crowd of footballers parts with ease as the tall stranger approaches.
I remember his face.
He was the boy staring at me with disgust on his face when David and I were arguing.
“Are you talking to me?” I manage to eke out.
“Yes–and I told you to stand up and walk away.”
My eyes enlarge at his direct words and his crude manner. I feel like a deer caught in a pair of blinding headlights. Frightened to move. Unable to budge from my spot on the ground. The stranger holds my stare with his threatening jet black irises and wills me to my feet with them.
I rise to a standing position slowly, determined to face this beautiful but lethal looking boy. No wait, he’s more man than boy. I can surmise that underneath his clothes, every muscle in his body is sleekly defined, and he’s so tall that I could literally climb him like a pole and see for miles around.
Dressed in dark indigo blue jeans, a blue t-shirt, worn black leather boots, and tons of attitude leaking from his pores–he definitely gives off a mature type of energy.
A masculine, tough, raw, dominant kind of energy.
The kind of energy that clouds your mind and demands that you to listen to everything that its owner has to say.
It’s obvious that he doesn’t belong to this school or probably to this town. I’ve never seen anyone like him before in my life, and he is definitely someone who is unforgettable. This is a guy who could walk down the street and everyone would take notice. In fact, everyone is staring at him right now.
“Who are you?” I ask almost in awe.
“That’s the douchebag who did this to me,” David warns through painful groans from the ground. “Get away from him, Jules!”
“Why’d you come back here?” the stranger asks in an almost accusatory manner. His eyes relentlessly holding mine with an unsettling laser focus. Totally ignoring David’s claims.
“I forgot my wallet,” I answer reservedly. Intimidated by the tone of his voice yet strangely attracted to it at the same time.
“Where is it?”
“Umm, I think I left it in my locker.”
“Let’s go to your locker then.”
Juliette
For a moment my feet almost mindlessly follow the stranger’s directive, but then finally my brain kicks in. Who is this guy? How old is he? Where is he from? Why is he going around beating up high school students, and why am I listening to everything he says?
I look around at the spectators as if I’m going to find an explanation or at least an ally. All I see are many familiar faces but no real friends.
Karen is a violinist and has orchestra everyday after school, so I don’t expect to see her, but finally I do spot the guy from study hall again. He silently nods his head no to me. I’m not exactly sure what the nod means though. Is he trying to warn me against listening to the stranger or against defying him?
I cock my head to the side and look at study hall guy a little more intently. Silently willing him to give me another hint as to what he’s trying to communicate.
“Is there a problem?” the stranger asks after noticing the non verbal exchange between the two of us. Study hall guy averts his eyes away and down to the ground, and now I’m seriously starting to worry.
Everyone seems terrified of this guy. I guess the condition of David’s face might be the reason why. We don’t see many fights at our school.
I’m kind of wishing that either one of my older brothers still attended high school and were here to step in, but when I notice Principal Pike walking his way towards the group, that’s when I make a split second decision. I don’t want the stranger to have to deal with our by-the-book principal.
I can only assume by the evidence that he is indeed the person who hit David, and that he may have possibly done it for me. I also can assume that he is over eighteen years old and could face serious legal consequences if the principal involves the police. So I am making the decision to protect him.
“No, there’s no problem.”
“Dummy,” David says to me from the ground.
“Say another fucking word,” the stranger says in a menacing voice to David. “I dare you.”
David doesn’t speak again, but his eyes are shooting daggers straight through me. If I were a voodoo doll, I’d have pins stuck in very painful places based on the hate emanating from his glare.
Joseph Loves Juliette: A Masterson Novella Page 2