Sloppy Firsts (11 page)

"Oh hey, Jess," called Scotty from the screened-in porch. "You know Kelsey Barney, right?"

I said "yes" and smiled and she said "hi" and smiled and all three of us stood there and smiled and everything was swell.

"She drove me home from this morning’s crack-of-dawn practice," he explained.

"It’s on my way home," she said.

"Buttcrack," I said.

"Huh?"

"Buttcrack-of-dawn practice," I explained.

"Huh?"

"Buttcrack … uh, because it sucks to get up so early."

"Oh."

This was not what I had in mind at all.Not at all. My first step to being a normal high-school sophomore was down a manhole, on a land mine, off a cliff, Wile E. Coyote–style.

"Do you want to come in?" asked Scotty

I was still on the opposite side of the screen.

"Uh, sure," I said.

"I was about to get going anyway," said Kelsey.

Scotty got up and swung the door open. He let her out and me in.

"See ya," Kelsey said.

"See ya," Scotty said.

"Good-bye," I said.

Scotty and I didn’t say anything until after Kelsey started her car, pulled out of the driveway, and drove off with a honk and a wave. He sat down next to me on the porch swing.

"So what’s up?"

"Are you guys going out, or what?"

He looked shocked. "Who, me and Kelsey? No. No way!" he said, as if he had honestly never considered it. "We’re just friends."

"That’s not how she sees it."

"Stop being ana hole . No way."

Guys are total morons.

"Scotty, she wants you."

"Well, I don’t want her," he said matter-of-factly.

"Fine."

"Fine."

I pushed the swing back and forth with my foot.

"So why did you come over here?" he asked.

Why did I come over here? Oh, yeah.

"Are yousure you guys aren’t going out?" I asked.

He laughed. "I think I would know if we were going out."

Valid point. I took a deep breath. "Well, you know Bethany is getting married, right?"

"Is that thing finally happening?"

"Yeah. The thing is, I kind of need a date because I’m the Maid of Dubious Honor …"

"Huh?"

"Maid of Honor," I corrected, opting not to explain the joke. "It’s kind of a high-profile position, I guess. And if I go alone Bethany and my mom said it will look ’conspicuous,’ whatever the hell that means. So I was wondering …"

"Are you asking me if I’ll be your date to your sister’s wedding?"

"Well, not mydaaaaaate ," I said, feigning grade-school disgust. "The guy I go with."

"Well, when you put it that way, how can I resist?"

"You know what I mean."

He stopped the swing. "So it’s like a prom. Only with free booze."

"Yeah. And I’ll be wearing a really ugly yellow dress."

"Ooooooh, now you’re talking all sexy."

I like that Scotty and I can joke like this. Scotty is the only boy my parents let me hang out with in my bedroom. Alone, with the door closed. Not that I have tested this by bringing many strange boys home. But one time P.J. came over to work with me on a science project and my parents insisted that he stay in the kitchen. It’s almost as though my parentswant me and Scotty to have sex because then they could catch me and punish me for anormal teenagery reason instead of for my vaguely misanthropic behavior.

"Sure, I’ll go with you."

And we hugged. I was happy. And I was still happy when I called my sister to tell her the news. She was nicer to me than I can ever remember her being. Amazing, considering I called her a bitch the last time we spoke. And when I told my mom, she just about burst out of her twinset with excitement.

Everything is going to be okay. Normal.

the twenty-first

I wasn’t surprised that the Clueless Crew was beyond thrilled that I had asked Scotty to the wedding.

"Omigod! You must tell me everything!" said Sara.

"That’s what I like to see, a woman taking control!" said Manda.

"We can double date!" said Bridget.

"¡Viva la revolución!"joked Hy, to the collective confusion of the Clueless Crew.

And for a few days, I felt like I belonged. That’s why what happened today sucker-punched me in the gut.

"When is your track season over?" asked Manda after homeroom this morning.

"Not until June."

"And you have games every Saturday, right?"

"Meets," I corrected.

"Meets, games, whatever," said Manda, waving away the mistake mindlessly with her hand. She was clearly tired of this conversation, and no wonder. I had explained the intricacies of my track schedule whenever a crucial social opportunity popped up.

"Do you have one this Saturday?"

"Yes. I have two duals a week, plus a relay, invitational, or championship meet every Saturday."

"Oh," Manda said, glancing at Hy.

"Why?"

"Well, I’m taking them shopping in the city this Saturday …" Hy explained.

"To look for prom dresses …" said Manda.

"And other stuff," said Sara, defensively.

I couldn’t believe it. After all the smack-talk about the Clueless Crew, Hy was willingly hanging out with them? And without my sane brain to bounce off of? Sure, I talked about the Clueless Crew behind their backs and then went out with them on weekends, but that’s because I’ve got history with them. Ihave to. But Hy is under no such obligation.

At first, I was cool with it.You don’t even like shopping, remember? And New York City is a dirty, disgusting, dangerous place. But as soon as we got to history class and I saw them going over the New Jersey Transit bus schedule, I felt sick to my stomach. I told Bee Gee that I had to go to the girls’ room, giving him the conspiratorial raising of the eyebrows that implies "feminine problems." The teacher gave me a pass, no questions asked.

I sprinted to the bathroom. I was so upset, I forgot to give the code as I burst through the door. Uh-oh. When I hit the tiles, I saw three Hoochies slicing up a cloud of cigarette smoke with their pastel-painted talons. One of them was Marcus’s girlfriend, whose synthetic pants wereobscenely tight in the crotch.

"Fuck! It’s just an IQ," grunted Camel Toe when she saw me.

"Fuck! I just lit that cigarette," griped her friend.

"What the fuck?" asked the third, murdering me with her black-lined eyes. "Why didn’t you give the fuckin’ code?"

I apologized for forgetting to say "It’s cool" as I walked in.The code. The fuckin’ code.

"You better be fuckin’ sorry," said Camel Toe. "You made me waste a fuckin’ cigarette."

I wasn’t sure where wasting a fuckin’ cigarette fell on the Hoochie brawling scale, but I wasn’t about to find out.

"I’m sorry," I said as I quickly hightailed it out of there.

Their whoops and cackles echoed off the walls, loud enough that I could still hear them as I headed back to history class.

I never get to be alone when I want to.

A period later, I was still fuming. So I decided to confront Hy. I followed her to her locker, and tried to get some answers as she applied her lip gloss.

"What’s going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"You knew I had a meet and planned the trip anyway …"

"Girl, I must have been trippin’," she said in between puckers. "You’re not mad at me are you? Ain’t no thing."

Iwas mad. And hurt. And confused. Since when did I become "no thing" in Hy’s eyes? Since when did I even care?

"I’m not mad."

"You better not be. That’s some triflin’ shit."

I watched her looking at herself in the mirror and a strange feeling passed over me. Stranger than I already felt.

"What is it?" Hy asked.

I said the first thing that came to mind.

"Did you know that when you look in the mirror, that’s not what you really look like? Your image is actually reversed."

Hy laughed, but it wasn’t a legit ha-ha funny laugh. "Girl, you don’t even know the half of it," she said softly, almost to herself.

the twenty-fourth

Scotty called me tonight. We’ve been talking to each other a lot more on the phone since I asked him to the wedding. But tonight’s phone call was different.

"I think you’re right," he said. "I think Kelsey likes me."

No kidding. Jesus Christ, I was tired.

"She booked a room at the Surfside Hotel for post-prom …"

This was one ballsy phone call. I know that he likes me. So was I still expected to take this conversation at platonic-female-friend face value? I don’t think so. He was doing this just to make me jealous. I have to admit, it was working.

"She wants to devirginize you, huh?"

"Gee dee, yeah. I guess."

I was so tired—of this and everything else.

"Are you going to let her pop your cherry? Oh, wait. Guys don’t have cherries. Traditionally, it’s the guy who is the popper,not the popee.So what do you a call it when a guy getstouched for the very first time?" I sang the last six words, of course.

"You make it sound like I’m gonnaeff theess out of her."

"Well, aren’t you?"

"I told you I don’t like her."

"Mutual like isn’t always a prerequisite for fucking the shit out of someone."

"Gee dee, Jess. Why do you have to put it like that?"

"You said it, not me."

"That’s not how I said it."

"Fine. I guess if you can’t say it, you can’t do it."

Scotty sighed. "You’re doing this on purpose."

"I’m not doing anything." My dulcet voice, innocent.

"Yes you are. You’re pissing me off on purpose."

"Me? No,you’re doing this on purpose."

"Doing what?"

Here it was. My chance to get this thing—thisus thing—out in the open. "Trying to make me jealous."

He sputtered into the receiver. "W-w-why would I try to make you jealous?"

Get ready. Here it comes. "Because you like me. Because you want me to be your girlfriend again."

Silence.

"Did you really think Hope wasn’t going to tell me?"

More silence. A barely-there groan, maybe.

"You give me aneffing headache. Good night." Scotty hung up the phone.

And I was tired, tired, tired, tired.

the twenty-ninth

Today was Hy’s trip to N.Y.C. with the Clueless Crew. Big whoop.

It turned out that I didn’t have a meet. Coach Kiley pulled us from today’s relays to rest us up for the more important meets coming up. I didn’t intentionally lie to them. But once I realized my mistake, I didn’t correct it either. Too demoralizing.

So I could’ve been on a bus to N.Y.C. this morning. Instead, I was downing coffee and Cap’n Crunch while my mother yapped about making table favors forthe big day. But I was too tired for tulle talk.

"Spare me, Mom."

"I am sick of your bad moods," she said.

"It’s notmy fault I’ve been PMS-ing for five months."

"What?!"

I informed her that I hadn’t had my period since December. And that’s when she freaked out. Her eyes immediately shot down to my abdomen, looking for signs of life.

I laughed out loud. "Mom! There is no possible way I’m pregnant."

Mom wanted me to go to the gyno but I told her I wasn’t getting in the stirrups until I was eighteen or sexually active—and let’s face it, we know which one of those is going to come first. So she called up our family doc, Dr. Hayden. To tell you the truth, I was incredibly relieved. It was about time I found out what was wrong with me.

As soon as I got there, I remembered why I’d held off. I hate waiting rooms in doctors’ offices. First of all, they’re full of sick people, spreading their germs all over the place. I found this particularly annoying today because I wasn’t sick. I wasgetting all the contamination without giving any. Secondly, the magazines suck. I guess they figureHighlights will appeal to both ends of the drooling spectrum: children and senile senior citizens. Everyone in between can just die of boredom, or of whatever disease you’re at the doctor’s office for, since they make you sit there so damn long.

After an eternal wait, I was finally called into the examining room.

"Do you want me to go with you?" my mom asked.

"No."

First I got measured (5 feet 5 inches) and weighed (105 pounds in my clothes). Then I put on the gown and got my blood pressure and temp taken. The nurse drew some blood. I gave a urine sample.

Then I waited for another twenty-five excruciating minutes.

Dr. Hayden finally came bustling into the room and got right down to business.

"So Jessica, what’s the problem?"

"Well, let’s just start off with the one that brought me here. I haven’t gotten my period in five months."

"I see. Jessica, I’m going to ask you some sensitive questions that I need to know the answers to. You can be sure I won’t tell your mother."

"I’m not sexually active, if that’s what you want to know."

"Yes, that’s one thing I wanted to know."

He looked over my chart. "You’re very thin. Are you familiar with the female athlete triad?"

Jesus Christ! My own doctor thinks I’m anorexic.

"Perhaps you don’t eat enough and exercise too much, which contributes to the absence of the menstrual period.…"

"Amenorrhea," I said.

"Amenorrhea," he repeated, surprised that I knew the technical term. "Which, over time, leads to a third problem.…"

"Osteoporosis."

"Correct!" His enthusiastic affirmation reminded me of a combo of my professional counselor, Brandi, and Regis in the $32,000 round ofMillionaire . "So you’re familiar with it?"

"Yes, I’m familiar with it. Not only have I had months to think about this, but my coach has warned us all about it around a bizillion times. But I know that’s not the problem because I eat more food than any girl I know."

"I see."

"And I don’t vomit it up either, which is more than I can say about the girls I eat lunch with every day. Only they don’t eat. They sit there and worship anorexic models in magazines."

"I see."

"I hate them."

"Who? The models in magazines?"

"No," I said, picking at the fresh Band-Aid the nurse had just stuck on the crook of my arm. "My friends."

As I sat there with my butt hanging out of the paper gown, I told him about how I stopped sleeping when Hope moved away. Then I told him all about how Hy and the Clueless Crew were blowing a bundle in the Village. Next I was revealing how my dad is obsessed with my running career and the pressure he puts on me to win every race andNotso Darling’s Agony of Defeat, Volume One. Then I exposed my mom’s obsession with my sister’s wedding. It got even more personal as I went on and on about asking Scotty to the reception, and how Kelsey is closing in on him, and to top it off, how I don’t have a boyfriend, probably because I’m too busy being in love with a guy who doesn’t know my name.

But for some reason, I stopped short of telling him about the Marcus Flutie situation. I guess at the time I thought that would’ve been a bit too much information. I already knew that it was kind of needy and desperate and insane that I was spilling my guts to my doctor. But he was the first adult to treat me like I was one, too. Unlike my parents, he didn’t trivialize my feelings by trying to talk me out of them. He just sat there silently and let me go off, which I really appreciated. It was all very weird.

Afterward, Dr. Hayden called my mom into his office so they could talk privately about me, which was very annoying. But I knew he couldn’t go into the details because of doctor-patient privilege and all. Five minutes later, my mom came out with a very tight smile.