Hyper

by Lawrence Ambrose

  The feel of her fingers and the caress of her words were affecting my body in an embarrassingly obvious way. Her eyes strayed down to the source of my embarrassment.

  "Oh!" she laughed. "Is that all you?"

  I felt my own face flush. I felt as if she was pointing out a spare roll of fat on my stomach. Which was ridiculous, I told myself. Being fat in the stomach wasn't equivalent to being fat elsewhere. Or so I'd read.

  "I need to go," I said.

  "I think you need the exact opposite of 'go'."

  She tugged me away from the door. Outside, her Doberman was yapping hysterically and pressing his demonic face against the sliding glass back door as though he suspected the worst.

  "Shut up!" Mary snarled at him as she hauled me past the kitchen toward the back bedrooms.

  I STAGGERED away from Mary's house on Jell-O legs. I had the feeling of stepping out of some unbelievable, fantastic dream into an equally surreal reality. It was like one of those movies where things seemed back to normal, but the weirdness was just lurking in the background, ready to spring out at the scariest possible moment.

  I kept hearing Mary moaning "No, no, no, no!" even as she cried out in pleasure, as if she were resisting that pleasure or maybe rebuking herself for it. I had little clue about how women thought. Real women, as opposed to my often obnoxious sister. Mary didn't mention anything about her boyfriend, but when I crawled out of bed she said: "Please, Aiden, do not tell anyone about this. It has to stay between us, okay?"

  I'd assured her that I would not tell anyone about her. I knew she could face serious jail time, which seemed grossly unfair to me, and I told her that. I also pointed out that I had violated the law myself, and could be "remanded" to a juvenile detention facility as punishment. I had no idea how strictly they enforced the reproductive safety laws, but I didn't want to find out.

  Mary expressed relief about my attitude, and then suggested with a sly, guilty smile that "maybe we could get together again sometime?" I'd mumbled, "Yeah, maybe," but I was thinking: "How about later today?" But I knew I needed to take some time to think about this and put things in perspective.

  Back home, Melanie slapped me back to reality with the greeting: "You reek!" as I sat across from her with a plate of leftover chicken and a glass of milk.

  "Thanks," I said.

  She wrinkled her nose. "You've been playing basketball all morning?"

  "Yeah." I took a bit of chicken. "What do I smell like?"

  She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "Teen spirit?"

  I laughed. Even Melanie couldn't annoy me at the moment. I was still floating from the last hour and a half, hearing the echoes of Mary's cries of pleasure.

  Now I was, finally, a man – assuming that it hadn't all been some lucid dream. I didn't feel different, exactly. Well, maybe calmer, more confident. Not because I was some great stud. I knew I didn't have a clue; Mary had choreographed my moves like a veteran porn film director. Obviously, it was all chemicals and electric currents – I could just as well been some souped-up vibrator – but who cared? What mattered was the way I'd made her feel. I, Dweeb Aiden (former dweeb?) had made her groan and gasp in ecstasy, as if I were the world's greatest lover.

  Man, the chicken, even cold, was delicious. I found myself gnawing on the bones. I added some toast with butter and honey. Meanwhile, Melanie watched me with a sour expression, twirling her cereal.

  "Jeez, you're eating like a horse," she said.

  "Horses eat chicken?"

  She snorted. I licked some chicken grease and honey from my upper lips, and drained my glass of milk while Melanie continued stirring her cereal.

  "Are you trying to make butter?" I asked her.

  "Funny. No, Mr. Insensitive, I happen to be depressed. I've had some personal setbacks lately."

  "Oh."

  I tossed my dirty plates in the sink. Let Mom wash them, since I went through all the work of feeding myself.

  I sighed. The toast and six chicken wings had filled my stomach, but something was missing. I was a man now. I felt like I needed to celebrate or perform some kind of manly ritual.

  Then I remembered the four remaining bottles of beer in the fridge, never touched after that evening with Ragnar. Yes! But did I dare? Rebellious juices surged in me. My mom was so busy developing her next great wonder drug that she might not notice the missing beer for months.

  I opened the fridge and fished out a Heineken. I left the kitchen, beer tucked casually against my side away from Melanie, but of course she noticed.

  "Busted," she called after me.

  I sighed. "You going to tell?"

  "That depends."

  My sister got up and tossed her cereal in the sink, flushing it down the disposal with disgusted emphasis. As I waited for her to spell out her deal – it had better not involve cleaning her room, like last time – she startled me by pulling a beer out of the fridge herself.

  "What are you doing, Mel?" I asked, apprehension choking my celebratory mood.

  "Don't call me Mel. The same thing you're doing."

  "But I have good reasons."

  "Like what?"

  "Like none of your freaking business."

  I headed toward my room. She followed. When I tried to close my door, she stopped it with her foot.

  "What's wrong with you?" I asked.

  "I guess I don't want to drink alone."

  "You shouldn't be drinking at all."

  "Neither should you." She shoved me back into the room. "You're what – ten minutes older than me?"

  She flopped down on my computer chair while I retreated to the edge of my bed. "I thought you said I reeked?"

  "Guess I'm getting used to it." She sighed voluminously.

  She was struggling with the bottle cap. I twisted it off for her. "Okay. Maybe you should just tell me what the problem is and get it over with."

  "Gee, you're so sweet and compassionate." She took a swig from her bottle, and grimaced. "Ick!"

  I drank from mine. It tasted like a mild poison. I'd had the same impression when Keith and I split a beer at his place when his parents were off somewhere.

  "Do you like it?" Melanie asked.

  "Not bad."

  "Jan broke up with me," she said.

  "Jan?"

  "Jan Marks. You know, the guy I've been seeing all year." Her voice dripped derision.

  "Oh."

  "I thought we were soulmates."

  I drank several more gulps, but not even alcohol could make Melanie's boyfriends interesting.

  "What, uh, happened?" I asked.

  My sister's pout brightened a shade. "I don't know. He said we're too young to be together forever, and he wanted to be free to do other things this summer."

  "I wonder what he meant by that."

  "Getting laid during his rut times, I assume." As I fidgeted, so not wanting to have this conversation, she continued. "He's been sorta pressuring me the last few months, saying that now is the time to, you know, to 'get frisky' as he so charmingly put it. Because in our brave new neutered world boys lose more of their sex drive every year past fifteen or so."

  "True," I said.

  "Which totally sucks."

  I shrugged. She snickered.

  "Except, of course, for those lucky few sex-gods like you and Ragnar."

  "You think of me as a sex god?"

  "I was being facetious, you fucking jerk." She spoke with a slight slur and widened eyes, as if surprising herself. "Sorry. Guess I'm just kinda bitter. Just my luck to be born in a world where the natural balance of nature is so screwed up! One in one hundred and sixty thousand!" She released a theatrical groan. "What are the odds of hooking up with a real man?"

  "Less than one in one hundred sixty thousand, since 10 – 11% are gay," I pointed out.

  She raised her beer bottle to throw at me. I raised my hands in supplication.

  "So," I said, hoping to distract her from sibling homicide, "you didn't give in to his pressuring?"

/>   "Nope." She released a prolonged belch – covering her mouth, eyes startled. "Do you think he would've stayed with me if I had? Speaking as a guy."

  "I doubt it. The Jan I remember was kind of a jerk-off, you know."

  "I can only hope." She sagged onto the other end of my bed. "You didn't like him, then?"

  I finished off my beer and released a belch of my own. Melanie snickered. "No. He seemed awfully full of himself."

  "Like most guys, including you, aren't?" Melanie made a raspberry sound. "You know, I'm really not looking forward to growing up in a world where I have to beg a guy to be with me and who's interested in me only two or three days every three months."

  "I know. If you think I'm all grateful that I'm hyper, you're wrong. I wish we could go back to the way we were, even if it was kinda screwed up. I'm sure they'll find a cure to the virus one of these days."

  "Maybe you'll be the one who finds it?"

  I returned her smile, feeling warm and fuzzy inside. Wouldn't that be something?

  Melanie finished her beer. I leaned back, closing my eyes to savor the warm buzz. I considered having another, but why push my luck? A breeze from my window ruffled over my damp, clinging T-shirt. I felt myself drifting.

  I opened my eyes with a start. My sister was staring at me, a frown forming.

  "You looked like you were ready to fall asleep," she said.

  "I think I was." I sat forward, massaging my eyes, a whiff of my body helping to rouse me. "I'm going to take a shower."

  Melanie didn't take the hint. She just sat there, slowly turning the Heineken bottle in her hands, watching me as if I posed some great puzzle that she should solve.

  I rolled off my bed with a shrug, pulled some clean clothes from my dresser, and headed for the bathroom. Melanie sat as if transfixed.

  The shower felt fantastic. I soaped up, and spent many minutes just letting the spray massage my muscles and my rapidly rejuvenating Andrydox-free skin. I looked forward to spending the rest of the afternoon with Keith and Gertie at Gertie's house. They had a swimming pool, and she'd promised to grill some steaks.

  The soap squirted from my hand as the bathroom door opened. The fuzzy figure of my sister appeared through the frosted glass door.

  "Hey?" I yelped. "What are you doing in here?"

  "Oh, relax. I just brought you some clean towels."

  The door closed. I let out my breath. What B.S. My towels weren't dirty. I gave myself a final rinse, and stepped out.

  The door opened.

  "What the fuck?"

  "Oh, sorry, I forgot the washcloths."

  She started to back out, but she seemed to be wading through wet cement, her wide-eyed gaze fixed on my groin as if tethered to it.

  "Whoa," she whispered.

  "Get out!"

  She jerked backwards as if waking from a dream. The door slammed shut. This time I didn't allow myself a breath of relief. I locked the damn door, and toweled myself off, as angry with myself as I was with my sister. With no Andrydox and then being with Mary, I was probably blasting out pheromones like a supernova. Still, Mel was intelligent enough to know what was going on and show a little willpower, for crap's sake.

  She'd holed up in her room when I snatched my swim trunks and fled the house. Probably too embarrassed to show her face, which was more than fine by me.

  Keith and Gertie were lounging poolside when I entered through the back gate.

  "Hey," Keith greeted me, raising a soft drink bottle in salute. "Now the party can start!"

  "Hi. What are you dudes up to?"

  "Isn't it obvious? We're working our butts off thinking up fun stuff to do for the rest of the summer."

  I dropped down on a lounge chair between them. Gertie lowered her sunglasses to view me. Gone was the chubby Gertie we both knew and loved: Gertie Version 2.0 was slim and long-legged (she'd also grown at least an inch in the last half-year), with a taut jaw line and pretty pert features. In fact, pretty much everything about her was now pert – even her newly permed and dyed blond hair, which rose like a dozen fountains and then splashed downward over her ears.

  "What have you been doing?" she asked. "You look all flushed."

  "I ran over here."

  "Dude runs everywhere," Keith laughed. "Ever since Ragnar came to dinner, he's on a fitness kick. I think he's preparing to be the Kings' starting guard in a few years."

  "I was working out before I met Ragnar," I protested. "Besides, I'm going to be a scientist not an athlete."

  "You could always play pro basketball and then go on to be a scientist," said Gertie. "That way you'd have what you really love waiting for you after you'd racked up a few million dollars."

  "That would be kind of awesome," said Keith.

  "I don't have the talent to be a professional athlete. I think I could kick some serious ass in biology or physics, though."

  Gertie made a point of stifling a yawn. "You're only fifteen, Aid. You can't know what you're going to do."

  "I'll be sixteen in a month."

  "Oh. In that case, you should have your whole future planned out."

  Keith laughed. I cracked a smile.

  I changed into my swim trunks inside, and plunged into the pool along with my friends. We played "Marco Polo" for an hour (some traditions never grow old) before Gertie fired up her parents' grill. Her folks had given her carte blanche on what she wanted to eat – including permission to have us over – so she defrosted some steaks from their deep freeze, threw in some baked potatoes, and we were on our culinary way.

  Gertie and Keith argued over how long to grill the steaks and at what temperature while I swam laps in the pool. The steaks ended up charred, but they still tasted good. I felt a small stab of guilt as I thought of my sister, all alone, probably drowning her sorrows in Death Cab for Cutie.

  Gertie's parents called, and she took the call inside. Keith and I stretched out on the lounge chairs. I could feel the heavy hand of sleep returning.

  "Probably wondering if we're trashing the place," chuckled Keith. "My folks would never trust me alone for a weekend."

  "My mom's trusted us for maybe half of our weekends."

  "Yeah, but you and your sister keep each other honest."

  I grimaced.

  "So you're off the Andrydox?" Keith asked.

  "Yeah. Why?"

  "Nothing. You just told me you were quitting it as soon as school stops."

  "It felt great not to spray that toxic crap all over me this morning." I closed my eyes, soaking up the sun. "I'm really looking forward to a medication-free summer."

  "Couldn't that cause some problems?"

  I opened my eyes. An untroubled cloudless sky hovered overhead. I longed to tell Keith about this afternoon, but I wasn't sure now was the time. Gertie would be coming back out at any second, and no way did I want her to hear about that.

  "I don't know," I said. "Everything I do seems to cause problems."

  "Ha, well, I guess there are worse things than having girls coming after you," he said with a short laugh. "Including Gertie. She sure as heck didn't wear that dental floss bikini for me."

  My smile was uneasy. I couldn't deny noticing and approving of my best girl friend's transformation, or that she'd played a starring role in more than one of my fantasies in the last couple of months. Still, I liked Gertie in that horrible cliché way – as "a friend" – and I was afraid of destroying that. I wasn't sure how Keith would take it, either.

  The triple X-rated memories of this morning had assumed a distant, dreamlike cast, as though it had happened years ago or maybe I'd imagined the whole thing. Instead of feeling satisfied, I felt inflamed. Any stray inappropriate thought threatened to "tent" my swim trunks. Thinking about Mary or the possibilities with Gertie or even my sister staring in wonder could trigger a dangerous inflation.

  "Anyone up for another swim?" Gertie asked, returning.

  "My suit is just starting to get dry," said Keith. "I'd rather not ride home with it sopping
wet."

  "We could skinny dip?"

  "Yeah, right," Keith drawled. He noted Gertie standing there, hands on hips, and his smile folded inward. "You're serious?"

  "I don't know. Maybe. We're all friends here, after all."

  "I think I'll pass." Keith shoved himself out of his lounge chair. "About time for me to head home anyway. The folks are dragging us to a movie tonight."

  We said our goodbyes, and he was gone, the fence gate latching into place.

  "I think I drove him away," said Gertie.

  "Maybe. I don't think Keith is the skinny-dipping type. Not that I thought you were."

  "Are you?"

  "Heck, no."

  "Why don't we just take a swim, then? We could play another round of Marco Polo?"

  "Okay."

  We jumped into the water.

  "You be Marco first," she said.

  I closed my eyes and swam with arms extended, Frankenstein-like.

  "Marco?"

  Silence. That meant Gertie was underwater, since she didn't cheat.

  "Marco?"

  No response. I tread water softly, straining to catch the faintest sound of movement.

  "Marco – "

  My hands met soft flesh. My eyes blew open. My hands were cupping Gertie's breasts.

  "Polo?" she whispered.

  "Oh, sorry – " My hands flew back.

  "Nothing to be sorry about." She issued a nervous laugh. "You were reaching blind."

  I backed off into the shallow end of the pool. Gertie followed.

  "Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  "Hot?"

  "Uh, sure."

  "Okay, I'll take pretty." She made a mock pout, while resting her hands on my shoulders. "Now you – you're hot."

  "Ha." My heart was racing.

  "No, I mean it."

  "I'm sure my pheromones are hot, anyway."

  "Do you think I can smell your pheromones after you've spent half the day rinsing your body with chlorine?"

  "Interesting question."

  She gripped my shoulders. I couldn't tell if she was bracing herself or thinking of drowning me.

  "Gertie," I said. "You're my friend, you know?"