I try not to gag at his graphic response. I start to feel weird about the comment he made about my pants being down. Hardly a thing to say while you’re dating (or doing the deed with) someone else, even if it is Daphne. Nobody deserves to be cheated on, even trolls and probable demons. I don’t know what kind of game he is playing, but I want nothing to do with it. My conscience would weigh heavily if anything happened between Brett and I while they’re together.
I want to bang my head against a wall for letting Brett drive me this crazy the last few days. Instead, I quietly make my way back to the sofa where I lay my head down softly between Veronica and Jimmy’s. Veronica lifts her head up at me. She sleepily smiles, grabs my hand and closes her eyes again. My tension eases. I love my best friends.
My muddled thoughts don’t keep me from falling back to sleep.
Brett Dixon
Saturday 10/5
My grandparents’ anniversary was boring as hell. I really did wish Ramona was there. In fact, I wish all three of them were there. We would have had fun. Maybe we would’ve gotten a little drunk off the champagne. I’d love to see them all drunk.
I have absolutely no idea what those texts I just got were about. It probably had something to do with Daphne. Or maybe she was mad that I didn’t text her earlier like I said I would. I completely forgot until after an hour of tossing and turning in bed. Either way, it was weird.
I was pretty horrified after the game when Ramona saw me kissing Daphne. I didn’t want to kiss Daphne after I realized they were all looking at me like they were witnessing my grandparents making out. Is Daphne that bad?
I shouldn’t have looked up though. I wish I hadn’t looked up. But I had to know if Ramona was watching me kiss Daphne. I had to know if she looked pissed. I didn’t know I would end up looking right at her. But I couldn’t look away and neither could she. My mouth was moving on Daphne’s but I desperately wanted my mouth to be on Ramona’s instead. I probably freaked her out. She did not look pleased when we said our goodbyes. She wasn’t just mad though, she looked sort of...sad.
She used to come to my door when we were younger to ask if I could come out and go to the park or ride bikes. Whenever I told her I couldn’t because of dinner or whatever she would say, “Oh, ok, cool. Sorry.” She wasn’t ever mad. She wasn’t usually sad either. It was like this vacant look, like all she had now was herself to spend time with. It was loneliness. Her eyes were lonely.
That’s the look she had when I was kissing Daphne. Like I was turning her away because I couldn’t come out and play.
Maybe I should break up with Daphne. It would be a lot easier if her incessant* mouth and hands weren’t so...generous. Man, that makes me sound like an awful person. I should break up with her.
Mr. Chan, what do I do?
* * *
*Also, please note the correct use and spelling of an SAT word.
CHAPTER 10
I HAD THIS TEACHER FOR U.S. History last year that would always attest that Tuesdays are worse than Mondays. I assumed that was only true for responsible, nine-to-five, working adults.
Until today.
I bolt up right like Frankenstein’s monster when my internal clock tells me I overslept. I throw on my skirt, some clean knee-highs and button my shirt while brushing my teeth. When you wear oxford shirts as often as I do, you get pretty good at buttoning them one-handed.
I grab my backpack and take the stairs down two at a time. Running late, stairs and clumsiness are not a stellar combination. Naturally, I trip on the last step. I shout goodbye to Mom as I’m halfway out the door. I don’t know why she didn’t wake me up but I don’t have time to wait for a response.
I throw my crap in the trunk and am speeding down Forest Meadow’s colorful leaf-littered roads in a matter of seconds. I look at the clock on my dashboard and it’s––7:45 AM. It takes me fifteen minutes to get to school. If I’m lucky, I’ll get there before the late bell at 8:05 AM.
My first class is Prayer and Spirituality with Mrs. Novoa. I should be okay because she’s typically...well, a kind and spiritual human being.
In a record breaking eleven minutes, I am speed walking into the doors at Mount St. Mary’s. I would jog but at this point, the difference between on time and a tardy mark isn’t worth it. I hate being late but I hate running even more. The halls are near empty save for a few stragglers. My stomach growls from skipping breakfast and I try to ignore it. I round the corner and…
YES!
The door is still open.
Right as the late bell rings, I am sliding into the last empty desk in the classroom.
I am sitting to the left of Stinky McGee. Stinky McGee isn’t his real name or even his nickname nor is it a name that anyone else calls him; except for me in my own head. It’s incredibly judgmental of me, but nobody’s perfect. I make a mental note to pray for forgiveness for this during prayer this morning.
Stinky McGee’s actual name is Tyler Plaint. He’s a soft-spoken animal lover who loves animals so much that he smells like them. Sometimes I zone out in class and imagine what his house looks like. It’s obvious what it smells like based on the odors that float off of him like the Pig-Pen character from Charlie Brown, but I always wonder what it looks like on the inside. I picture a small ranch house with carpet, clutter, animal cages and fish tanks scattered throughout the halls and living room.
In my mind, Stinky McGee owns a ferret, an iguana, numerous cheap fish, three cats, a gerbil, a hamster and a cockatiel. In reality, I know Stinky could own just a dog and that’s it. I never bothered to ask what kind of pets he has because I want to believe the picture that my imagination created. Sometimes reality isn’t as fun.
After Mrs. Novoa calls roll she begins explaining to us how we are going to start the class off with a group prayer. The directions are given and five minutes later we are all pushing the desks to the sides and back of the room to make a circle in the open space.
I join the circle and sit cross-legged since I am wearing my shorts underneath my skirt. I was in a hurry this morning but I would be a million times late before I would ever come to school without my shorts on. I notice some dirt on my white knee-highs and attempt to rub it out. I guess I grabbed my dirty knee-highs on accident. Hopefully my feet don’t smell. They’ll probably smell as bad as Stinky McGee by the end of the day.
Great.
“Everyone scoot back just a little so we have room for everyone. Let’s try and make a circle and not a kidney shape. Todd, scoot in more, join the circle. Don’t be afraid, we won’t bite.”
I’m adjusting after having just moved back and I bump knees with the person sitting next to me. I look up and apologize when I see that it’s Ryan. He smiles at me and my face goes paralyzed.
“Hey, Scott. How’s it going?”
“Good morning, Mr. Applebaum.” I lean back on both my hands and mentally give myself a pat on the back for being so smooth.
He leans a little closer and whispers, “Please, call me Ryan. We know each other better than that.” He winks and copies my stance except his fingers land directly on top of mine. Blood rushes to my cheeks. He slides his thumb over my pointer finger. I’m staring at Mrs. Novoa trying to maintain my poker face despite Ryan repeatedly playing with my fingers. I swallow so hard that Veronica can probably hear me in her class down the hall.
I cave and suck my bottom lip into my mouth to hide my excitement. I refuse to look at him but I can tell out of the corner of my eye that he is pleased with himself.
“I’m going to take us through a guided group prayer. Please take the hands of the people sitting next to you.”
I sit up straight and grab hands with Ryan who I still refuse to look at.
“Good. Close your eyes and take eight deep breaths...In through your nose and out through your mouth.”
I’ve been holding Ryan’s hand for all of two seconds and my palm already starts to feel sweaty. Not to mention my arm is getting tired from holding it up in between us. I figu
re my sweaty palm will only get worse if I keep holding my arm up so I move our hands to my knee keeping his hand on top of mine.
“Keep your eyes closed throughout the entire prayer. Keep breathing...take your time...good.”
As Mrs. Novoa guides us through what I assume is supposed to be a relaxing and spiritual journey, my heart rate shoots through the roof. Ryan starts loosening his grip on my hand. I’m sure he’s grossed out by my clammy palm.
I curse my genetics.
Thank God everyone’s eyes are closed and can’t see the disappointment on my face. But to my surprise, instead of letting go of my hand completely, he starts drawing small circles on my wrist with his thumb. The movement is so small that Mrs. Novoa doesn’t seem to notice.
His circles continue in the same spot for a few minutes. When he stops I softly squeeze his hand.
He starts circling again, a little above my knee where our hands lay. His simple caressing motions start to get my blood flowing and my thoughts quickly become less than pure. While I’m supposed to be praying for forgiveness for being a judgmental jerk, I’m praying instead that Mrs. Novoa doesn’t notice Ryan stroking my leg.
I begin to get self-conscious thinking about how juicy my thighs are and how disgusted he probably is considering it’s probably the first time he’s ever groped a giant thigh. Despite my panicking, the movement of his finger takes over my body and makes me shiver everywhere. My nipples get hard.
Oh my God, I can’t believe Ryan just made my nipple hard during prayer time.
“Open your eyes and quietly move your desks back. When you’re settled, take out your Bibles. If you forgot yours, there are extras on the back bookshelf.” I didn’t hear a word of that guided meditation. I apologize to God silently:
Hi, God. Sorry my thoughts were impure during prayer. Temptation got the best of me. You know how it goes. Or maybe you don’t. Either way, I’m really sorry. I’ll do better next time. Oh, and I’m sorry about judging Stinky McGee. And for calling him Stinky McGee. Love, Ramona.
I open my eyes and bolt back to my desk. I drag my desk back to its proper spot and sit down before Ryan has the chance to say anything to me. I’m too worried that I’ll say something stupid, so when the bell rings at the end of class, I run out like the room is on fire.
***
“IT’S ONLY FAIR, RAMONA. You made his nipple hard so he made your nipple hard. Seems like a good deal if you ask me. This means he’s a generous lover and he obviously likes your tits,” Veronica teases me with a knowing smile spread across her face. Veronica, Jimmy and I are all sitting at the lunch table.
“It was tit for tat,” Jimmy laughs, pleased at his joke.
“Titillating!”
“You guys, come on. You don’t think he knew he made my nipples hard, do you?”
“No, I doubt it. But...maybe.” Veronica is not being helpful whatsoever.
“I’ll be right back. All this nipple talk is making me thirsty.” Jimmy gets up to get a drink while I give Veronica a pained look.
“Was that a Freudian slip?” she asks.
“Can we not talk about Freud right now?”
“Fine. Sorry. What do you want me to say, Ramona? You should be happy! He’s clearly into you, Bean. Ryan freaking Applebaum is into you. You’ve loved him for all of eternity.”
“What if he doesn’t like me? What if it’s a joke? Or a bet?” I’m getting paranoid.
“This isn’t a teen movie, Ramona.”
“I know. My life would never be a movie." I pause. "It would make a better book.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic! It’s not a joke or a bet. Your life is not a movie or a book. And I hardly think Ryan is a cock tease,” Veronica spews out, trying excruciatingly hard not to laugh.
My face immediately heats up. “Can you not say that word? And you know that’s not the correct usage of that phrase!” I hiss at her, glancing around to see if anyone is noticing us.
“I can’t say cock?” Veronica is enjoying this way too much.
“Oh my god, V, stop! Someone’s going to hear you and get the wrong idea.”
“So I can’t say cock or Freud. Fine, but you need to accept that Ryan is totally into you. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be trying to make your nipples hard.”
I groan and attempt to cover my blushing face with my perspiring palms. “What do I do about it?”
“Stop looking so miserable and be happy. Something that you’ve always wanted to happen is finally happening.”
“I’m not miserable. I’m terrified.”
“Don’t do anything. Just play it cool. Go with the flow. If he approaches you just go with it.”
“Go with the flow? I have no idea how to do that.”
I turn to rest my head on my hand when I spot Brett and Daphne sitting at the same table as Jet and some of Mount St. Mary’s finest. I groan dramatically again. They’ve been dating for over a week now and every time I see them together I have this gut reaction to dry heave. I thought it would get better after the first or second time I saw them together but it hasn’t.
“Why does he have to sit there?” I ask.
“Who? Ryan?”
“What? No. Brett.”
She rolls her eyes and turns to look in their direction.
“Gross. She’s probably just showing Brett off to the girls on cheer,” Veronica explains.
Brett’s still been sitting with the lacrosse guys for lunch––until today. Not that I’ve been noticing where he eats his lunch or anything...
Daphne is hanging all over Brett, resting hear head on his shoulder and feeding him pieces of pizza crust. I didn’t know it was possible for me to feel such disgust toward anything involving pizza––but apparently it is. It’s making me sick to my stomach but Veronica and I can’t stop glaring. Brett turns his head and spots us gawking. We turn away and put our heads down, our chins hovering only a few inches above the tabletop.
“He totally saw us. This is super awkward,” she whispers loudly.
“Welcome to my life.”
“Bean, this awkward moment is happening because of you.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“Ramona, stop staring!” Veronica hisses at me. Without even realizing it, I was back to staring at them again.
“I’m not staring,” I snap, turning back to my food.
“Well, you were staring.”
“I can seriously see you both staring at Brett from two miles away. And are you trying to whisper? Because I can totally hear you,” Jimmy says as he sits back down with a tea and pretzels. “He totally caught you, by the way.”
“Did he look mad?” I ask, panicking.
“Ramona, it’s fine. He looked embarrassed. Now relax, please. Stress is bad for your complexion. You’ll get wrinkles,” Jimmy tells me. I ease up a little. I don’t want premature wrinkles. Chronically sweaty palms are bad enough.
“Besides, you don’t want Ryan to see you staring at another boy,” Veronica says, winking at me.
“Brett’s coming! Everyone, act natural,” I instruct.
Jimmy laughs, throws his hands up in exasperation, leaning back in his chair. “You guys seriously need to relax.”
His reassurance doesn’t stop us from eating our food completely silently, something we never do.
Brett starts filing out of the cafeteria with Daphne and Jet. Jet can’t keep his trap shut as he walks by us. He jumps back and points dramatically at our table.
“Look––the faggot’s drinking tea! Such a bitch drink! And pretzels!” he taunts Jimmy, moving his head closer to his ear, and says, “Congratulations, you’ve just out-fagged yourself.”
We all shoot our heads up––first at Jet in disbelief, who is already passing the table, and then to Brett to see if he’s going to say something––anything––after undoubtedly hearing every word.
Jimmy’s face gets dark as he looks at Brett who returns his gaze, shakes his head and opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, bu
t closes it. Daphne laughs, pulls him forward and he just shrugs his shoulders.
My eyebrows are raised so high that God can probably see them. I tear my eyes away from Brett and see Veronica who is dark red with steam I can almost see shooting out of her ears and nose. She makes a quick move out of her chair and darts at them. Luckily, Jimmy snatches her arm before she can get more than two steps in.
“Veronica, don’t!” He pulls her back––hard.
“Jimmy, let go! He needs to pay for that!” She attempts to wriggle her hand free.
“No! Leave it, Veronica. Sit down!” he sharply commands her.
She stops pulling, but remains standing. Jimmy still has a death grip on her arm. She hastily rips her arm away, leaving a pink handprint in its wake. She stares daggers at Jet and Brett until they’re out of sight. She sits down and slams her fists on the table. I flinch but am otherwise still frozen, unable to process everything that just happened.
“I’m going to kill him! He can’t talk to you like that, Jimmy. You can’t just let him get away with that! And Brett just ignoring it completely! Some friend he is!”
“Veronica, I know, okay? I know. But it’s my problem, not yours. There’s nothing I can do about someone like Jet. He has some kind of...deep seated issues,” he says, sternly. “As for Brett...” he trails off as he looks down at his tea, his normally lively green eyes turn misty and distant.
“BULLSHIT!” Veronica shrieks.
“Ms. Wilder, excuse me!” Mrs. R screeches from behind me.
I spin around to find her. Her legs and hips are bouncing, her arms are waving wildly, and I can tell from here that her apple red lipstick is smeared.
She’s hungry.
Judging by the way she’s speed walking between the lunch tables it’s clear that Veronica’s soul is about to be devoured––the lunch special.
“Watch your mouth, young lady. There is no need for you to be yelling obscenities!”
“Oh really? Where were you only a minute ago when Jet McCoy called my brother a faggot?” Veronica stands back up. I can’t tell if Mrs. R looks more surprised that Veronica is challenging her or because she used the word faggot.
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