The Brittanys

by Brittany Ackerman

  When we get home, Jensen calls and asks where I was and I tell her my mom picked me up to leave early and she says I’m lucky. Her grandparents won’t bend the rules; they don’t believe in early dismissal. She calls me a truant and then asks if I know about Kenzie and how she’s dating Charles Bates from the junior class. She also says that Brittany Gottlieb slept over at Leigh’s house last weekend, and they all smoked weed with some freshman boys.

  I’m still too high off my mall purchases and getting out early to care, so it’s not until later that I think about our conversation and start to long for these types of things. I want a boy to like me, to want to date me. Kenzie’s got it made if she’s dating a junior, because that means he has a car and can take her home from school and go out on the weekends without parents around. I also still can’t believe Jensen and I are almost the only ones of our group who haven’t smoked yet. Kenzie’s tried it, obviously, and now Gottlieb and Leigh. We know Rosenberg hasn’t. Her parents are the strictest of all, and she rarely even gets to leave the house. She lives all the way out in Weston, and if we want to see her we have to make the pilgrimage there. She never comes to Boca. And Tomassi is new. For all we know, she tried it at her last school, a public school, and it’s old news to her to get high. She seems innocent, though. We make a plan to ask her the next time we’re all together.

  * * *

  —

  My main motivation for showing up at school now is Brody. Every day during last period, I ask to go to the bathroom and sneak outside the library to meet Brody at exactly 2:45 p.m. School gets out at three o’clock, so we can talk for four or five minutes before anyone notices; then I still have enough time to slide back into my art class, put away my supplies, and pack my bag.

  I barely talk when we see each other. He always gives me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek and tells me I’m pretty. I started getting up at 6:30 a.m. instead of 7:00 so I can do my hair and makeup to last the whole day. I have a mirror from Sephora that Jensen’s mom got me last year for Christmas. It came with a gift card. I use it to look at myself before meeting up with Brody each day. One day, he gives me a CD that he made for me. I have to hide it in the waist of my skirt until I get to the art room and can slip it into my backpack. I listen to it when I get home. The first song is “Maps” by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

  When I was little, I used to watch Grease 2 and dance around my room when the “Cool Rider” song came on. I pretended I was Stephanie Zinone, with red lipstick and sultry stares at nothing, no one. That’s how I feel when I listen to Brody’s CD. I feel wanted, and it feels good to pine for someone. Jensen doesn’t know how much we’ve been talking and seeing each other. We instant message late into the night, and he says he really wants to come over one day. He keeps talking about wanting to make me come, and I’m not sure what it means.

  I get the courage to ask Katherine Bennington at volleyball practice one day. Junior varsity and varsity practice at the same time, so I’m in luck. Katherine has long blond hair that she pulls up in a ponytail and thin legs with a slim waist; everyone says she looks like Kirsten Dunst. She has abs and eats a lot of Taco Bell. She’s a sophomore, and her boyfriend, Anthony Damon, is a junior. He’s on the baseball team and hates that she smokes weed. But they have a lot of sex, apparently. I find time to ask her when Jensen’s out of practice for a doctor’s appointment.

  “ ‘Come’ means, like, an orgasm,” Katherine says.

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Do you know what that is?” Katherine is setting a ball to herself. She sets it up really high once and then spikes it at another girl on the team. She laughs.

  “Not really,” I say.

  “That’s okay. I didn’t know anything until Anthony. He was my first everything. He’s the first guy who ever went down on me. That’s the most amazing thing ever, by the way.”

  “What does it feel like when you have an orgasm?”

  “Flying.”

  I look around the gym, girls in blue and white and yellow with their hair in messy buns and high ponytails. I get hungry all of a sudden, and tired, overwhelmed with all the things Brody wants to do to me. Maybe I’m not ready.

  “Who do you want to hook up with?” Katherine asks.

  “Brody MacIntyre.”

  “I thought he was dating Hannah Abrahams?”

  “He gave me a CD last week.”

  “That’s so cute. Well, whatever he wants to do, you should let him. Everything feels good. Trust me. Just tell him not to use his teeth.”

  Katherine runs back to the varsity team and I make my way to the locker room. That was the only time I ever really talked to Katherine Bennington. Even later, when we saw each other at parties, it was sort of understood that she was above me because of her age, her coolness, her way with people. She got along so easily with everyone, in a way I could only dream of. I needed to think about everything all the time, and it drove me crazy, but she seemed like the type of person who “goes with the flow,” as my mom says, who could let life happen to them and not make a big deal of it. It’s no surprise that she dropped out of college to travel the world and follow her favorite bands. Her profile picture: her in a neon-pink bikini with a flower crown and Hula-Hoop, smiling ear to ear—a free spirit.

  As I take off my socks and change into flip-flops, I feel like I could let Brody do whatever he wants. I want to feel like I’m flying. It sounds nice. It sounds like what should happen.

  * * *

  —

  My parents are taking my brother to a math competition in Jupiter, so I have the house to myself for a night. They trust me on my own, because I’m a good kid. I have an essay on The Scarlet Letter due Monday, so they must assume I’ll be writing, writing, all day and all night. They leave Saturday morning and are staying in a hotel for the night, so they won’t be back until the next day.

  I eat a bowl of Apple Jacks and wander around the house. I start in my parents’ room, the master bedroom, and take the Thigh Master out of my mom’s bottom drawer. I lie on my back and do a few exercises with it until there’s a burn. I put it back and move into the den, which is what we call my dad’s office, in the very front of our house. I sit down on the brown leather couch in there and put up my feet. I pretend I’m in a therapist’s office and talk to myself for a minute.

  “Well, yeah, like, I know my family’s crazy, but what am I supposed to do about it?” I say to no one.

  I go upstairs and into my brother’s room, a room that’s forbidden without permission. But he’s not here, so it’s fair game. There’s a CD player on his desk, and I open it. The words Underneath the Fruitless Mulberry are written in Sharpie on the burned disc, and I shut the lid and put on the headphones. I listen to a few different tracks, most of them wordless, sad songs. But I like them. I look in his desk drawer, and there’s a stack of printed papers with the same title as the CD. Brad would kill me if he knew I was in here, so I try to memorize the way the pages were placed inside the drawer before I take them out to read. It’s a script about a family, our family. The main character goes to a prep school and falls in love with a girl from his class, but she doesn’t know it. Unrequited love.

  Listening to the CD as I sit on the floor of Brad’s room, reading, I remember something I’ve forgotten, which is how similar we are. We were always really close growing up, but lately I feel like we’re drifting apart. He’s become so quiet, staying in his room and playing video games, preparing for his tests and competitions. He got a perfect score on the PSATs, but he has the most terrible handwriting, so bad he almost didn’t finish in time because he had to write so slowly to make it legible. My mom says that’s just what happens when you’re a genius, that social things and common sense fall by the wayside, but he can ace any test and memorize the periodic table.

  I wish I was as smart as him. I have to study so hard to get good grades, and to him it comes so naturally. I
wonder if he wishes he was better with people rather than textbooks. I think I’d rather be a genius, though, and just make a bunch of money and outsmart everyone. Maybe that’s his plan.

  I put the papers back where they belong and place the CD player in the same spot where I found it. I look at the LEGOs he’s built that are displayed on shelves next to his desk. Pirate Island, Space Land, a castle. Then I leave Brad’s room and close the door behind me. I shuffle my feet on the carpet to erase the footprints of where I’ve been and clear all evidence of my trespassing.

  It’s time I stop snooping around and actually do something with this rare occurrence of being left home alone.

  * * *

  —

  I call Brody and tell him to come over. He has to take his little brother to a friend’s house, and then he’ll drive over here to Boca from Coral Springs. I have to call him into the guard gate and give the passcode. It’s 2723 and spells out B-R-A-D on the keypad.

  I take a long shower and shave my whole body in anticipation that something will happen. I’m not entirely ready, but I need to get myself together anyway. I straighten my hair and do my makeup. I put on a pair of red underwear that are booty shorts but look sexy, the hottest pair I have. I throw on shorts and a tank top over a push-up bra, a lacy red one from Victoria’s Secret. The guard gate calls me, and I know Brody will pull up in a few minutes. I go downstairs and wait in my dad’s den. I can see outside to the driveway. He pulls up in his white Honda, and I open the front door. He gives me a hug, and I ask if he wants anything to drink. He asks if I have beer. All we have are my dad’s Heinekens, which he drinks only on special occasions, but I say no, because I don’t want my dad to notice if one’s gone missing. Brody settles for a bottle of water, and I grab one, too. My mom has a weird thing about reusable water bottles and refuses to let me have one. She always keeps dozens of cases of Zephyrhills in the garage, even though we have a water filter in our kitchen faucet. All my friends have cute water bottles that they bring to school, with stickers and stuff all over them, but my mom says those carry bacteria and will give me stomach problems or something. Leigh always points out that my bottles are bad for the environment, and I worry Brody might say something, too, but he doesn’t. Hopefully he’s not thinking it, either, and has other things on his mind, like me.

  We go up to my room, and he’s brought Rushmore for us to watch on my TV. He says it’s his favorite movie. I worry that Brody may think my room is too girlish or babyish, especially with the giant tree painting on the wall, so I’ve already decided I will lie and tell him it’s the room I’ve had since I was a baby. It’s true I haven’t updated the layout much since sixth grade: my bed is in the corner, a daybed with a white, flowery-patterned railing around it that matches my floral bedsheets and comforter. I have a couch against the wall that faces my TV, which is part of a light-colored wooden entertainment unit. My desk is in the other corner, with my pink swivel chair. Then there’s the white bookcase, the picture frame that’s a gumball machine on my wall, my closet in the third corner, and my bathroom. The door is in the final corner and opens into the room, which is really annoying because it blocks my corkboard wall of pictures.

  The couch pulls out to a bed—this is where Jensen usually sleeps because she hates sleeping in the same bed as another person—and I’ve set it up with blankets and pillows so we can watch the movie. I keep sipping my water because I’m nervous that my mouth will get dry. Then I get scared I might have to pee, so I stop drinking. A few minutes into the movie, Brody starts making moves. He kisses me, and his lips are big and nice, like candy fish. He runs his hands all over my body and takes off my shorts. He stares at my red panties.

  He lays me down and kisses my neck, starts moving my underwear over with his hand, and sticks a finger into me. It feels good, and he asks me how it feels, so I say good. He keeps going and gets deeper, tries two fingers, and I back away a little, so he goes back to one. For a second it feels like I have to pee really bad, so I stop him.

  “What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?” He has to catch his breath.

  “No, I just feel like I have to pee or something.”

  “That means you’re going to come.” He smiles. “Let me keep going.”

  He continues, and it doesn’t feel good anymore. It feels like I’m going to pee, but then it subsides and it just kind of hurts. It feels like pressure. It feels medical. A few minutes go by, and then he stops. He doesn’t seem like he expects me to do anything back. The movie’s in a different place, and I’m not sure what’s going on. He holds me, and I see my shorts on the arm of the couch above us.

  I lie and tell him my parents are coming back at 10:00 p.m. so he has to leave. It’s just starting to get dark when he drives away. I think I want to lose my virginity to him. I’ve already gone this far.

  I spend the rest of the night making Kraft macaroni and cheese and writing my English essay, like a good kid.

  * * *

  —

  At school the following week, I’m walking to meet Brody at our usual place and time when Joey Fratinelli corners me in the stairwell. He runs his hand up my skirt to my thigh and tells me to kiss him. His eyes are so green.

  Joey and Brody are friends. I see them playing Hacky Sack after school sometimes.

  “I like Brody,” I say, turning my head.

  “Brody’s dating Hannah. Are you stupid?”

  “No” is all I can say.

  “You’re so stupid. He’s in love with her.”

  Joey runs away and slams the door to the stairwell on his way out. I can barely move, so I decide not to meet Brody at all. I know the only thing to do is to ask Hannah to her face.

  The next morning I get to school early and go to the 500 Building, where the sophomores hang out in packs. Hannah has short orange-blond hair and wears a lot of eyeliner. She’s drawing something in a notebook when I walk over to her. She probably has no idea who I am, but I need to know. Brody’s never early, so I know he won’t be around.

  “Hi. I know you don’t know me, but I have to ask you something.”

  “Uhh, yeah?” Hannah looks up from her drawing. There are a few girls around her who have the same kind of punk style. They scatter and leave her alone with me.

  “Are you dating Brody MacIntyre?”

  “Yeah, for like two years. Why?”

  I start crying and run back to the 400 Building and into the bathroom. Tomassi happens to be in there, and I ask if I can use her phone. I suppose the sight of me crying is enough, because she hands it over without asking for an explanation. I dial my mom and ask her to come get me, and she asks why. I tell her I left an assignment at home, and she says she’ll bring it to me so I don’t have to leave. I hang up on her and she calls back right away and says she’ll come in an hour. I hand Tomassi back her phone and thank her. She’s fixing her braid in the mirror. It’s hard feeling like everyone is at peace when my world is a disaster.

  I get called out during my second hour, English, which I actually like, but I need to get out of here. My mom’s waiting right outside the office, in the hallway.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, and I immediately begin crying. “I know you didn’t leave anything at home—that’s not like you. I think this is about a boy.”

  I don’t respond. I just cry and stand in front of her.

  “You can’t let whoever this is do this to you. You have to be strong. I’m not taking you home. You have to get through this.”

  “Mom, please!” I yell in the hallway. I don’t care how loud I am or who hears.

  My mom crosses her arms and looks around the hallway. She knows she can’t win this one. She takes me with her, and I sleep the whole ride home.

  “This is the last time I’m doing this,” she says when we pull into our garage.

  I take my bag upstairs and immediately press eject on my CD player. I
try to tear the CD in half, but it’s too hard. I try cutting it with scissors, and that doesn’t work, either. I keep trying to tear it, and eventually I fold it in half and it shatters. Shards of CD are all over the carpet, and I have to pick them out and throw them away before my mom sees. I cut my hand in the process and put a Band-Aid over it. I take a nap and sleep through dinner. When I finally go downstairs, there’re only a few soggy raviolis left, and they’re cold. I eat them anyway.

  Upstairs, Brad is playing GoldenEye 007. I stop in his room. The medals he’s won from various scholastic competitions hang over the kicking figures of his karate trophies. I love the way the golden plastic legs kick in the air at imaginary enemies.

  “Do you know anything about boys?” I ask.

  “You’re too young for that stuff,” he says, without looking away from his game. His character has a sniper rifle aimed at his opponent. He’s in “the Facility,” my favorite level when my brother lets me play with him.

  “I’m fourteen!” I say, defending myself.

  “So what’s wrong with boys? What did they do?”

  “They’re just mean,” I say, and sit down on the floor with my back against his blue bed.

  “Kick ’em in the balls,” he offers. I watch my brother kill people and win, and it makes me feel better.

  * * *

  —

  The next day, I wait outside Brody’s first period, geometry, in the 500 Building. My heart races when I see him walking toward me in his blue-and-white-striped polo. He’s smiling and unaware of what’s happened, what’s about to happen, of what I know. He tries to hug me and I push him away.