Moxie

by Jennifer Mathieu

  I blink. This doesn’t happen to me. I’m not the kind of girl this happens to.

  Yet it is happening.

  To me.

  I think you’re pretty cool too…, I type back. I’m smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.

  Yeah?

  Yeah.

  So … Friday night?

  Yeah … Friday night

  Okay … cool … goodnight Vivian

  Night Seth

  I’m still staring at the phone when I hear my mother’s keys in the front door. A few beats later she walks in, throws her purse on the kitchen counter, and opens the refrigerator to look for what I know is an ice-cold Coke.

  “Hey, Vivvy,” she says, her back toward me.

  I think I’m breathing, but I’m not sure. I’m glad my mother isn’t looking at me or she’d wonder why I’ve gone catatonic.

  “Hey, Mom,” I finally manage.

  She fishes a can from the back of the fridge and turns to smile at me.

  “How was your day?” she says.

  Two asshole guys bump ’n’ grabbed me and one not-asshole guy told me he thinks I’m one cool girl. So I guess you could say, it was a day of extremes.

  “It was fine.”

  “That’s good,” my mom says. Just then her phone buzzes. She smiles at the screen, and I know it’s John. She reaches to answer it.

  “I’m getting ready for bed,” I mouth to her as she presses the phone to her ear and starts talking.

  “’Night, sweetheart,” she mouths back, pulling me close to give me a brief good-night hug.

  Later, as I slide under the covers, I think about boys. Mostly about Seth, of course, but Jason Garza and Mitchell Wilson and John, too. Some boys piss me off and some annoy me and some of them make my body go electric in the best way ever. I toss and turn and toss some more, and when I finally fall asleep, I dream about driving in a car with John and my mother and Seth around the Eternal Rest Funeral Home until my mom says it’s time for Seth and me to go on our date, but when we show up to Los Tios restaurant, Seth turns into Mitchell Wilson, and when I see him, I promptly punch him in the face.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  There are a million things I want to know about Seth Acosta, and as we sit in a back booth inside a dimly lit Los Tios, white Christmas lights strung around the windows, queso and tacos in front of us, I keep discovering them like little treasures.

  Like he’s left-handed.

  Like his dad speaks Spanish and German.

  Like his dog is named Max after this old jazz drummer his mother loves named Max Roach.

  I think it’s going to be scary, going on a real date with Seth Acosta. And at first, of course, I’m a little nervous. But soon, it’s as easy as the last time we hung out, driving around the funeral home and eating Jack in the Box in an empty parking lot.

  From the minute we sit down, we start having one of those conversations where we keep jumping on the ends of each other’s sentences.

  “And did you read…”

  “And have you heard…”

  “And did you ever watch…”

  And sometimes our knees bump under the table. And once our fingers touch in the chip basket.

  And the entire time I’m wonderinghopingthinkingpraying that when this night is over, Seth is going to kiss me.

  Please to the God I want to believe in, please let me get my first kiss from Seth Acosta.

  After dinner’s over, it’s still early—not even 9 o’clock.

  “What else can we do?” Seth asks as we slide into his car and pull out of the Los Tios parking lot.

  “There’s a party at this girl’s house,” I say. “But to be honest, I don’t really feel like a party.”

  “Me neither,” Seth says. “What about the beach? Too cold?”

  “I brought my jacket.”

  We head down to the public beach on the bay, right by the Nautical and Seafood Museum of the Gulf Coast and the Holiday Inn. It sounds all romantic and gorgeous to live by the beach, but the Gulf Coast isn’t exactly a bastion of moonlit walks on white sand. Seth parks his car and we sit on some ratty old picnic tables on the perimeter of the thin strip of sand, staring out at the mucky Texas water as it laps against clumps of seaweed and a few empty plastic bottles. At least we’re the only ones here.

  “Kind of sad how there’s so much garbage,” Seth says, peering at the water line.

  “Once in sixth grade our class came down here to do a beach cleanup as a community service project,” I say, drawing my knees to my chest, controlling a shiver. It is cold. “And my friend Claudia found a condom, but she didn’t know what it was, so she asked our science teacher, who was a guy, and he was so embarrassed that he ended the cleanup and we went back to school early.”

  Seth laughs out loud. I’m not sure if it’s weird to bring up a story about a condom in front of Seth, but I feel kind of bold and funny doing it.

  “So you want to leave East Rockport or stick around?” Seth asks. “I mean, after next year?”

  “I don’t know, honestly,” I answer. “I mean, I want to go to college, I guess. That’s what I’m supposed to say, right? But my mom can probably only afford in-state tuition, so I don’t know … wherever I go I doubt it will be far from here. What about you? What do you want to do when you graduate?”

  Seth tucks a strip of his black hair behind his ear and scratches his chin with his thumb, and it’s just the most delicious thing.

  “Honestly? I have no idea. Literally zero clue.”

  “God, that’s so nice to hear,” I say. “Like, I’m sixteen, right? How the hell can I possibly know?”

  “Exactly,” Seth answers.

  It’s quiet for a while, and I get up the guts to ask the question that’s been on my mind since Seth asked me out.

  “That girl you were hanging out with in Austin. Was she … mad? That you ended things?”

  Seth glances down at his knees. “I don’t think so. I mean, she was a nice girl and everything, and we’d known each other for … forever, before we started going out last spring. She was fun to hang out with but it was like we were together because we thought we were supposed to be, I think.”

  “Oh,” I say. “What’s her name?”

  “Samantha,” Seth answers. “She was my first real girlfriend, I guess you could say.”

  I nod, and I wonder not for the first time if that means he’s Done It, but I can’t ask that. All I do is say that I think that Samantha is a pretty name.

  “Yeah, it’s okay, but not as cool as Vivian,” Seth answers, and he kind of knocks his body into mine a little and I grin and look down into my lap, reminding myself for the tenth time this evening that this is real and not track number seven of my mental album titled My Fantasy Boyfriend—Greatest Hits!

  “What about you?” Seth asks. “No boyfriend?”

  “Nope,” I say, staring out at the dark water. “Never.”

  Seth draws back and his eyebrows fly up. “You? But you’re, like, the Moxie girl.”

  I flush. “Yeah, well, remember you’re the only one who knows about that. And anyway, that’s not exactly a plus around here. Most boys of East Rockport would consider that very un-girlfriend material.”

  Seth shakes his head. “Just proves the guys around here are dumb.”

  “They’re gross, too,” I answer, and I start telling him about the bump ’n’ grab.

  “That is gross,” he says, “but it’s not all the guys, right? I mean, I’ve found a few guys who aren’t complete assholes. Like the guys who hang out in the quad before class. They talk about obscure baseball stats and I literally don’t get anything they’re saying, but they’re not dicks anyway.”

  “Yeah, but those guys might as well not even exist at East Rockport,” I answer, curling up into a tight ball as a brisk wind pushes past us. “Mitchell Wilson, Jason Garza, those dudes. They’re the ones who matter. They, like, set the tone.”

  “So that’s why you started Moxie.”

  �
�Yeah,” I say. “I guess that’s why I did it. It felt like a way to fight back but quietly. The only way I knew how to.”

  “Well,” Seth says, “just remember that not all guys are like Mitchell Wilson. Not all guys are dicks.”

  I nod, but I feel prickly. My mouth slips into a little frown.

  “Hey.” Seth nudges me. “You okay?”

  I look at him. He’s amazing, but he isn’t a girl. I take a deep breath. “I know all guys aren’t dicks,” I tell him. “I get it. But the thing is, when there are so many dickish dudes around you, it gets hard to remember that, you know?”

  Seth nods slowly, like he’s chewing over the words.

  “Yeah,” he says finally, “I hear you.”

  “But you’re not a dick,” I say in a rush.

  He looks at me and smiles broadly, stretching out his arms wide. “Thank you! I gladly accept the honor of not-a-dick.” Suddenly, he pops off the picnic bench and races a few feet in front of me into the sand. “Ladies and gentlemen of East Rockport, I’d like to accept this Not-A-Dick Award on behalf of all the guys out there who recognize it’s gross as hell to do the bump ’n’ grab,” he shouts. “I’d like to thank my mother for raising me with the knowledge that she would disown me if I ever did something like that, and I’d like to thank my dad for backing her up.”

  He does a couple of bows as I applaud furiously before calling out, “You’d better hurry up, the orchestra is playing you off the stage.”

  “Just one more thank you,” Seth says, like he’s trying to fight off some imaginary awards show host pulling him into the wings. “I’d like to thank Vivian Carter for being such a cool girl and agreeing to go out with me, taking a chance that I might be not-a-dick in a town full of actual-dicks.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” I say, waving my hands in front of me, my face full of false modesty. “Honestly, no need to thank little old me.” I’m laughing now, and hard, too.

  Seth races up to me, and in the moonlight and the fluorescent lights of the nearby Holiday Inn, I can see his cheeks are red. He’s breathing more quickly. He’s looking at me in a way he hasn’t all night. It’s the look Meemaw started warning me about in the seventh grade.

  A look that’s full of Want.

  “Hey.” He takes my hand in his, his voice all husky. “Come on.” He tugs at me, and I stand up and we head back to his Honda, and I’m not sure if I can make it there without passing out. We slide into the front seats and just after we slam the doors shut, Seth turns to me and says, “Vivian, I want to kiss you.”

  The small part of my brain that’s left to process anything briefly realizes that I always thought my first kiss would happen standing up. But we’re in a car, which for some reason seems more grown up.

  “So…,” Seth asks, leaning in, his dark eyes looking right at me. “Can I kiss you?” His voice is soft, which makes everything he’s saying sound dreamier and sweeter, if that’s possible. I am memorizing his words. I am already playing them over and over in my mind.

  “Yeah,” I answer, my heart flooding. My face numb.

  And Seth leans in. His hand slides up and around the back of my neck and his mouth is on mine and at first I can’t help but think about the mechanics of it. Like the sense of his tongue against my tongue, soft and gentle and alive. Like the subtle pop! of our lips pulling apart before they go back together again almost immediately.

  But it takes just a few milliseconds before those thoughts escape me and I’m kissing Seth Acosta and how do any two people who like each other not just kiss constantly? How do you do this and stop? Ever?

  So the answer is we don’t stop. Not right away, anyway. There in that Honda on the first night of winter break in the parking lot of the East Rockport public beach, Seth Acosta and I kiss and we kiss and keep kissing.

  * * *

  Lucy sends me texts full of explosions and firecrackers and little yellow heads with eyeballs bugging out.

  Sara writes one long OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  Meg demands every detail including the color of Seth’s car (like that matters).

  Kaitlyn sends a selfie of herself screaming in joy.

  But Claudia?

  Nothing.

  A full two hours after I get home from my date with Seth, my oldest best friend in the entire universe sends nothing in response to my gushing, excited texts. I eventually call her, but it goes straight to the freaky lady’s voice telling me that the number is unavailable.

  At midnight I give up, tossing my phone to the side. I sink deep under the covers, replaying all the kissing in my mind—in the car at the beach, and on the drive home when we kissed at the stoplights, and when Seth walked me to the front door and we kissed standing up. But at the back of my skull is a little voice that wonders where Claudia is or if she might be mad at me for some reason.

  I can’t figure it out. This isn’t Moxie stuff, which has been what’s seemed to irritate her lately. It has nothing to do with Lucy. And she was happy for me the first time Seth and I hung out and just as happy when I told her Seth and I had plans for Friday night.

  Then I realize that Friday after school I never saw Claudia after lunch. I was too tripped up with my own giddiness over my upcoming night with Seth.

  I reach around in the darkness until I find my phone on the floor.

  Just let me know you’re okay … I’m scared something’s wrong … sorry I blabbed on about myself so much

  I wait and wait and nothing, and finally I fall asleep with my phone in my bed, my mind alternating between thoughts of kissing Seth and worrying about Claudia.

  And then, before I know it, I feel a hand on my shoulder, gently shaking me awake.

  “Vivvy, hey. Viv.”

  I blink, trying to sense what’s going on. Sun is streaming in through the blinds.

  “Am I late for school?”

  I realize my mom is next to me, seated on the edge of my bed.

  “No, sweetie, it’s Saturday. It’s Christmas break.”

  I rub my eyes, trying to wake up. “Oh, yeah.”

  “But Claudia’s here to see you.” My mom looks at me, her face clouded with concern. It’s then that I look past my mother and see my best friend since forever standing in my bedroom door. She’s dressed in black leggings and an oversized East Rockport Track sweatshirt. Her eyes are rimmed red. Her mouth is a tight line.

  “Claudia?” I say, now wide awake. Claudia sniffles a little and holds her hand up in a tiny wave, and my heart breaks for her without even knowing why.

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” my mom says, standing up and giving Claudia a squeeze around her shoulders before shutting my bedroom door.

  “Come here,” I say, crawling out from under my covers. I pat the bed and in a moment there she is, facedown on my comforter, head buried in my pink cowgirl sheets. She starts sobbing.

  “Hey, hey,” I say, cuddling up close. “What happened, Claudia? Please tell me what happened.” But it’s clear that I need to let her cry first—that I need to let her sob—and so I sit and run through a list of horrible, awful things that could make my best friend break down.

  Did somebody die? No, my mother would have heard about it already from Claudia’s mom or Meemaw or someone else in the East Rockport gossip loop.

  Did her parents split up? No, they’ve been together for a bajillion years and Claudia is always complaining about how they kiss with tongue even in front of her and her brothers.

  Did she get in trouble at school? No, Claudia isn’t a Goody Two-shoes, but she’s not a troublemaker either.

  Finally, she sits up and takes a big, shaky breath, then wipes the last few tears away from her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry … that I didn’t text you back last night.”

  I frown. “Claudia, fuck that! That doesn’t matter. Don’t apologize. I want to know what happened to you!” I squeeze her hands and then wrap my arms around her. I’m so much bigger than Claudia that I can always get a real
ly good hold on her when we hug, and right now I’m especially grateful for it.

  I wait for her to want to talk.

  “Okay, so something happened to me yesterday. After lunch.” She looks down at her hands. Her cheeks are pink. Blotchy hives are exploding on her neck and chest.

  “What?” My heart is hammering.

  “Remember how I left the cafeteria early? Because I had to get my gym clothes out of my gym locker to take them home and wash them over break?”

  “Yeah,” I say, nodding. “I remember.”

  “Well, when I was walking out of the girls’ locker room, I ran into Mitchell Wilson.” She sort of spits his name out—all four syllables. Then she shuts her eyes and shakes her head.

  Something heavy starts descending over me, and I know I could be an actual giant and I would still feel like I’m being crushed.

  “You know that hallway, right outside of the locker rooms?”

  The hallway that’s not that well-lit. The hallway that’s usually empty. The hallway with no classrooms or coaches’ offices or teachers hanging out, gossping with each other in the corners.

  I nod, starting to feel sick.

  “Well, Mitchell walks up to me, just, like, comes right at me, and does that fucking bump ’n’ grab bullshit,” she says. “Only … when he grabs me, he just, like, pins me up against the wall and he actually slides his hand up under my shirt. And he, like…” She pinches up her face, wincing. “He, like, grabbed me. Grabbed one of my breasts and squeezed it.”

  That motherfucking asshole.

  “Oh, Claudia,” I say, my voice soft. “Claudia, I’m sorry.”

  Claudia is crying again, and I realize that I’m crying, too.

  “It gets worse,” Claudia says, wiping the tears sliding down her cheeks with her fingers until she just gives up and lets them fall. “I told him to stop it. That he was hurting me. And he just, like, laughed it off, you know? He just made me stand there like that for what felt like forever, just pawing at me. I could feel his hot breath on my neck. And it hurt. It hurt so much.”

  My Claudia. The closest thing I have to a sister. The girl I’ve spent countless hours with collapsing in giggles and screaming in laughter and whispering in hushed voices about our hopes and our dreams and our very worst fears.