First Times

by Marthe Jocelyn

  It was all I could do not to pump my fist in the air. Ellie whined that she wanted to come, too, but Mom stared her into silence.

  “Just remember that you won't be covered by Darcy's insurance, Josh. You're a passenger got it?” Why was my dad always such weasel?

  Darcy hadn't visited us here in Dundas before. We drove down the main street not that there's much going on after seven o'clock at night and saw only a couple of kids skateboarding in the square near the art gallery.

  “This is it, Josh?” I couldn't see Darcy's face, but his voice told me that he wasn't exactly impressed…. “Surely, there must be more going on for teenagers?”

  What could I tell him? No car, no social life. Since Dad let me drive so rarely, I was dependent on my friends to get where anything was happening. Then it hit me. There'd been rumors all week about a bush party, Friday somewhere on the escarpment.

  “Cool!” Darcy said, when I told him. “I remember some amazing beach parties out in Kitsilano when I was about your age. Are you going?”

  “I'd like to….”

  “But old Doug the Dull won't approve?” Darcy was smiling and I smiled back. “Why tell him? Why can't you and I hang out with some of your buds? We've got wheels, right?”

  It was easy. When we got back from the drive, this whole story just tripped off Darcy's tongue. We'd stopped for ice cream and run into one of my friends. Darcy pretended not to remember who, and I jumped in with the name of my most reliable friend, Aaron, the one Dad approved of most. Aaron had invited us over to his place on Friday night so Darcy could meet his older sister, who lives in Toronto. Dad bought it.

  I was surprised by how juiced Darcy was about this whole bush party thing. Whenever we were alone, he kept telling me stories of things he'd got up to at those beach parties, like the time he and his friend picked up these girls who had a jeep and how they drove it wildly down the beach, scattering the partygoers and being chased by a whole bunch of cop cars. Come Friday night, he was antsy, hardly sitting still through dinner. He rushed me out, telling Mom and Dad that he wanted to go pick up some snacks to take to Aaron's with us. “Liquid snacks,” he said, as soon as we got in the car. “I want to hit the liquor store before it closes at nine.”

  By the time we peeled out of the parking lot, we were supplied: a keg of beer, cartons of coolers, and a couple of bottles of bourbon. Darcy had tried to use a credit card, which for some reason wouldn't work, so he ended up paying cash. Luckily, I had some of my counselor wages with me, as he didn't have quite enough.

  Darcy handed me the brown-paper bag with the bourbon as soon as we got into the car. “Take a swig,” he said, “then pass it to me.”

  “Nah, I don't like the taste.” I passed him back the opened bottle and he took a long pull.

  “Don't tell me you're a prude like your old man, who doesn't drink?” His tone was light, but there was a hard glitter to his eyes.

  “Beer,” I mumbled, “I just don't like spirits.” I thought how Dad would never touch a drop of alcohol, and the look on his face when he'd told me that their dad had been killed in a hit-and-run by a drunk driver.

  We were out of Dundas now, heading up the escarpment. I'd got rough directions from one of my friends, but once we turned onto this dirt track, we became part of a convoy of cars loaded with people heading to the party. A bonfire was already blazing and the cars were parked at one end of the field. Woods bordered the field on one side, but, other than that, there were just more fields, with not a building in sight. Perfect!

  Darcy was a huge hit. It didn't hurt that he was handing out drinks like Halloween candy. Most of the kids were from school, or hockey, and I introduced him to everyone. Soon, he had a whole group around him and he was telling them the stories that had so impressed Mom, Ellie, and Alanna, only now he was swigging bourbon instead of beer. I was only half listening, but the stories were a little different heavier on stars he knew rather than ones he'd only seen. Nothing wrong with enhancing a story a little to make a good impression. I hung out on the edge of the group with my friend Connor and his girlfriend, Heather.

  Heather is hot. She's had all of us lusting after her for months, but Connor was the one who was brave enough to ask her out. Fair enough, though it still drove me crazy being near her. But Connor's my best buddy and I'd never do anything to ruin that. Even if he and Heather ever broke up, I don't think I'd ask her out because it would be disloyal.

  Connor and I knocked back a beer and got talking about the hockey tryouts next week. Neither of us noticed at first that Heather had edged closer to Darcy. By the time we did, she was at his side, eyes fixed on him, a shy smile on her face. I could tell he was flattered because he started to focus on her.

  “I get to see a lot of pretty girls in Hollywood, but most of them are fake, not like the pretty girls here.” She lapped it up. He handed her the bourbon bottle and I was surprised to see her drink from it. She tipped it back and only a few drops came out. Darcy produced the other bottle and started on that, but it seemed that Heather was holding it more often than he was.

  Other hockey players from our team came up and we started trash-talking, jumping all over each other's chances of making the team again. We only stopped laughing when Connor said, “Where's Heather gone?”

  Most of the action now seemed to be down around the bonfire. I looked around, but couldn't see Heather. I couldn't see Darcy either. Connor and I split up and began to search, calling out their names even though people looked at us as if we were idiots.

  I was getting a bad feeling. I wondered if we should be looking in the woods, when Connor ran up to me, panting, his face flushed red. “Someone said that she went off with your bastard uncle!” His eyes were wild and his fists were clenched like he wanted to hit me.

  “Why?”

  Connor shoved me. “Why do you think? He was making eyes at her all night. Giving her bourbon like it was going out of fashion. Hell, Heather never drinks.”

  “They're probably just talking somewhere, that's all. Darcy loves an audience.” My words sounded empty and the bad feeling was getting stronger. It was hard to meet Connor's eye.

  “Yeah, right!” Without saying anything more, Connor headed towards the parked cars. Miserably, I followed after him.

  The empty space where the white convertible had been seemed to glow in the moonlight. Connor grabbed my T-shirt and yanked me towards his mother's van. “Where would he go? Where would he take her?”

  I shrugged, helplessly. I had no idea.

  Connor's face was grim as we drove down the dirt track that led to the main road. I tried to come up with some scenario as to why Darcy might have taken off with Heather.

  “Don't.” Connor's voice gave no room to argue. “I know he's always been your hero and all that, but he's a jerk.”

  Protests sprang to my lips, but didn't come out as Connor barreled on, “He's a name-dropping asshole who needs to impress kids half his age. He's worse than an asshole he's creepy, too. Heather's just turned sixteen, for God's sake. Don't tell me he doesn't know that! He plies her with booze and now he's off somewhere doing who knows what to her.”

  “Stop!” I yelled. I'd seen a flash of white parked in a clearing to the side. I pointed.

  Connor slammed on the brakes, fighting the wheel as the van bucked and slowed. He threw it into reverse, backed up, and roared to a stop behind the convertible. In the dim light, we could make out two figures entwined in the front seats.

  Leaving the engine running, Connor leapt out of the van and pulled open the convertible's passenger door. Heather half slid out, slurring, “Hello, Connor,” before passing out.

  Connor staggered slightly, lifted her up, and carefully carried her over to the van, where he strapped her in. He snagged a blanket from the backseat and used it to wedge her head against the window.

  Darcy was walking towards me, hands outstretched, words tumbling out. “She said she was tired, Josh, that she wanted to go home. I looked for you, but I couldn't
see you. Helen said she wanted to go right then.”

  “Heather,” I said. “Her name is Heather.”

  “Whatever. I couldn't turn her down. She'd had too much to drink. You know what it's like with these girls.” He winked at me and I wanted to throw up. “Then she asked me to pull over because she felt sick. Next thing I know, she's all over me.” He gave me a crooked little grin, the boyish one that Mom likes so much. “What's a guy to do?”

  I didn't have to answer because Connor came roaring past me, fists flying. Darcy was bigger, but he was not a match for Connor's rage. In the end, knocked down, Darcy cowered on the ground, trying to protect his face.

  “Asshole!” Connor spat on the ground right by where Darcy lay, before he walked to the van and drove off.

  Eventually, Darcy staggered to his feet. His lip was cut and one eye was swelling. When he began to talk, I cut him off, “Are you okay to drive?” I reached into my jeans' pocket for my cell phone. “Or shall I call Dad?”

  “No, don't do that. I'll drive.”

  He kept trying to talk to me on the ride home, but I turned my face to the window.

  Dad was sitting on the deck, but ran to us when he saw the state Darcy was in. “What on earth has happened?”

  Darcy launched into a story about how he'd tripped over a rock in Aaron's garden. He winked at me and said, “I went head over heels, didn't I, Josh?”

  “No,” I said, “you didn't.”

  As I told my dad what had happened, the words came in a hot rush, like vomit. Dad put his arm around my shoulders, keeping his eyes on Darcy. “Call Connor,” he said. “Make sure he got Heather home safely. Then head on up to bed.”

  When I woke up the next morning, Darcy had gone. This time I didn't cry.

  Please Help

  BILL HABEEB

  I've got a problem. I'm in love. Okay, maybe I'm only fourteen, but I've liked girls before and I swear it was never like this.

  It started in Ms. Barnes's class. We were doing this history project. Our group had chosen to depict the persecution of the California Mission Indians in papier-mâché. Ms. Barnes was circulating to see how we were doing. When she came to our table, she kind of reached behind me and put her hand flat against my back. It was just one of those how-are-things-going-over-here things, but all of a sudden, I had the feeling I was going to hurl.

  My stomach flipped over and I felt my face turning red. I got all worried that I had B.O. It was love. It had to be. Otherwise, why would I be so worried about how I smelled? It was because she was so close to me … and her perfume. It was soft and inviting, like the smell of Play-Doh right after you open the can. It was what's the word intoxicating.

  I can't even believe I'm saying that.

  A second after she put her hand on my back, someone on the other side of the room started screwing around. She spoke sternly to him, but she still had her hand on me, like she forgot about it, and I could still smell her perfume. Without knowing it, I turned my head in the same direction that she was looking. I couldn't tell you who she was talking to, or what she was saying, because all I could think about was the touch of her hand on my back, the smell of that perfume, and the sensation of her body so close to mine.

  Is this sick? This sounds sick, doesn't it? I'm sick.

  But then, suddenly, she turned her head back toward me. She did it so fast that I didn't have time to look away. My face was right there. When she swung her head around, her hair swept across my cheek, and for a moment we were face-to-face. Like, kissing distance. I lost all track of where I was, and who I was. For a flash of a second, I actually thought we were about to kiss. I kind of pressed my lips together and pushed them out, the way people do when it's about to happen.

  I AM SO STUPID!!

  If that wasn't embarrassing enough, at the same time I lifted my hand up behind her back, the way really smooth movie guys do. And my hand accidentally brushed right across her butt. GAH!

  I didn't mean to. But it happened and I'll never forget it. When I touched her like that, it made her jump. Plus, I was blinking like crazy from getting poked in the eye by her hair. I was puckered up, blinking like a maniac, and my hand touched my teacher's butt. Very smooth.

  She was cool about it, but I wanted to disappear.

  Is this love? Is this what happens? Because if it is, then it's way worse than the stuff they teach us in Sex Ed. Pregnancy and STD's are one thing, but this feeling this feeling will ruin your life. This feeling will kill you.

  Maybe I should stop here ’cause it just gets worse.

  I wish I could describe her. The picture in our yearbook just makes her look like a teacher, and the one I took with my camera gives her gigantic nostrils. At first I would look at her and not go nuts, but the more I saw her, the more I didn't want to take my eyes off her. I don't know what it is. She has this sexy nose (which is why my picture is not fair to her). It kind of curls up at the end and, on top of that, she has an overbite. I don't mean literally on top. Her nose is actually above her mouth, where it's supposed to be. But the two together are just too beautiful. It makes me happy to look at her face.

  Sometimes, depending on what she wears, I can see the freckles on her shoulders and just below her neck. Maybe it doesn't sound like much, but between the time I came into class on that first day and now, those were the things that just made me crazy. Crazy.

  I started spying on her.

  You see what I'm saying? Crazy.

  At first, it was just hiding behind a tree to watch her walk to her car after school. But it got worse.

  On the Monday morning of the holiday weekend (we got the day off from school), I went to the mall and she was there. I spotted her off in the distance. I don't know why, but I started following her around, staying far enough back that she wouldn't see me. When she went into a store, I would stand outside, behind one of those booths that sell hats or cell phones. I'd watch through the front windows, pretending we were a couple and she was out shopping for me and we'd meet later for drinks and shrimp cocktails….

  After a while, she went into one of the big department stores and I followed. She went up the escalator to where the dressy clothes are. I watched her glide up away from me.

  When I got upstairs, she was going through the racks of dresses and holding some up to herself. That drove me crazy. I hid behind a rack of sparkly dresses, pretending that I was a rich older guy. I would surprise her by secretly buying one for her. When she took it up to the counter, the clerk would say, “It's yours. A handsome gentleman purchased this for you.” And then she would look over and see me and we would both be in love.

  I watched Ms. Barnes come out three times from the dressing room to see herself in three different dresses. She looked great in all of them. In the mirror, she twisted around to see how they fit. She smoothed the dresses down and posed and turned so that the skirts kind of floated out. It was the best day off from school I'd ever had.

  I was there for a while, just standing around, hiding behind stuff, trying to act casual. Naturally, the security guard stared at me, all suspicious. Can you blame him? I got the idea to show him that I was not a creep or a shoplifter, so when Ms. Barnes headed back to the dressing room for the fourth or fifth time, I grabbed something off a rack as if I were there to shop. It's easy to look back now and say, “That was stupid,” but at the time, it seemed like the smart thing to do.

  I took the first expensive thing I saw a suit with narrow blue-and-white stripes. It was a coat and pants plus a vest. (They call it thumb-sucker or seersucker which is appropriate because it truly sucks.)

  I hurried over to where the dressing rooms were a long hallway with doors on both sides. The girl there said, “How many items?” all bored and stuck-up, before unlocking one of the doors. And then it hit me. What if she's on the other side of the wall changing?

  It was like when my friends Zack and Mike C. pushed me into the women's bathroom during a school basketball game and held the door shut. It was scary but kind of
not. Part of me wanted to get out right away, but this other part felt goofy excited about being there.

  So, there I was and the doors of the dressing rooms didn't go all the way down to the floor. To stick with the plan, I decided to try on the suit. I should have looked at what I was grabbing I have a thirty-inch waist and these pants were about a size 58, like clown pants. I had to hold them up with both hands so they wouldn't fall down. I was nearly laughing out loud at myself, when all of a sudden, I heard one of the other doors open.

  I scrunched down to look under the door and I knew those legs were hers. She has really great calves and ankles.

  See? There I go again. Calves and ankles! I'M LOSING IT!

  She wasn't changing next to me after all. She must have been in the dressing room directly across the hall because I could see the hems of some of the dresses she'd tried on hanging below the door.

  I opened my door a little so I could peek out and watch her walk away. She was wearing a dress with really thin straps and hardly any back. She looked so amazing.

  I couldn't stop watching her. Everything about her was just so … sigh-ful. It was a complete Zen moment of inner peace.

  And then my stupid cell phone went off, blasting loudly. I spun around and yanked my (real) pants from where I dropped them on the floor you know, to get my phone. But when I whipped them up, my cell phone flew off its clip and right out under my door. Crap!

  I ducked down just in time to see it skip off the carpet and bounce into the dressing room across the way Ms. Barnes's dressing room.

  What was I supposed to do? Leave it there?

  I had to get it and I had to move fast. So, I opened the door, made sure the coast was clear, and stepped across the hallway. The idea was to open the door real quick, scoop up the phone, and get out of there. I'd made up my mind to end this here and now. And I would have. But the door to her dressing room was locked. I'd have to crawl under.

  Still holding up my clown pants, I leaned over to see where exactly the phone was. I couldn't quite reach it. I lay down flat on my stomach and planned to crawl partway in, grab the phone, and get back into my own dressing room, where I would change my clothes and my misguided ways once and for all.