According to [[You]] We’re {Definable}
Amy Tuso
Published by Amy Tuso at Smashwords.
Copyright 2011 Amy Tuso
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Chapter 1
I love the first of anything, maybe because surprise is my favorite feeling or because it feels like getting a fresh start or a new chance. Whatever the reason I got up early [a huge accomplishment], dressed in new shorts, [peach ones ‘cause they look good with my tan] and a black tee [black keeps it plain and a tee keeps it causal]. I always want to look good, but I never want to look like I’ve tried. If I look like I’ve tried, then it would mean people matter and I care what they think, and I don’t. Therefore, I look good for me and plainly casual for them.
The house is quiet, either my mom’s still asleep or she’s at work. I’m sure she told me if she had to work, but I can’t ever keep it straight. After I peek into her room, I realize it must be work – her bed’s empty. Her room is across the hall from mine. Our house really is too big for the both of us and way too big for my room to be so close to hers, but we like it this way. We are close when we want to be and have the space to get away from each other.
It’s just my mom and I – my parents weren’t ever married and my dad was never interested in being a parent. I guess other kids would care about not having a dad. For me, this is how it’s always been so I don’t think about it too often. My grandma died when I was about three and left my mom a bunch of money – that’s how we were able to get this house. Since my family is so small, I have made family out of my friends.
I wonder what it would be like to have one of those “mothering” moms. You know the type: around when you need ‘em – they cook and clean and make sure you’ve done your homework. My mom was 20 when I was born. She hadn’t really planned to have kids. In my biased opinion, she hasn’t done too bad a job with me. She’s a blast. We can talk about anything and she is cool with my friends. She totally gets the “angst” part of being a teenager – sometimes she is more rebellious than I am. All that makes her fun; my friends love her and so do I, most of the time.
Shrugging I headed to the kitchen to get my keys and the messenger bag I got ready last night. I guess its best that my mom and I were put together. I tend to be over organized and really a bit on the anal side – so it works for both of us. I tend to run the house. She doesn’t have the need or desire to be “in charge” so I take the reins and parent the both of us. I notice a note taped to the back of the storm door as I head out. “Have a great first day. Love ya, Ma” I head to my car, smiling, to go get Becca.
Becca, my best friend, has to be a mess. She hates firsts. She has to be perfect. She cares what everyone thinks. I’ll most likely have to pull her away from her mirror. For god’s sake, she separates her eyelashes with a safety pin after she puts on her mascara. Who can possibly be close enough to truly appreciate that effort?
I had better get moving or she’ll have frizzed hair because she messed with it too much. Then she’ll not only be an anxious mess, she’ll be bitchy.
“Where the hell have you been? Don’t you own a clock?” I got here too late; Becca is bitchy.
“Sorry Becs the coffee’s on me.” I back out of her drive as she closes the door. I know any wasted time will only increase the volume and pace of Beccas nagging. “You look great. Where did you get that skirt?”
“I look like crap. My hair is so flat; I put too much product in it. If you would have been on time I wouldn’t have kept messing with it,” Becca had the visor down and was checking her make-up, again, just in case something changed in the thirty seconds since she last looked at herself.
“Sorry Becs, I got caught in my head. You didn’t tell me where you got that skirt,” I knew if I can get her to focus on that skirt she would relax. Until then, I was going be flambéed.
“You wouldn’t know anything about flat hair with your curls,” she sulked and flipped the mirror up with excessive force.
I decided not to comment on the mirror, since she had moved to the pouting portion of the show, I knew we were on shaky ground and I do not do tears. I also know better than pointing out that her blonde hair is just as thick as mine, and the envy of many. She might see flat hair, but everyone else will see a slick, smooth, cascade of gold. Self-deprecation is the best angle at this point, “My hair looks like a perm gone very wrong, you know it’s not really curly, just exuberantly wavy.”
“Whatever. Just buy my coffee, okay?” She knows my lateness has earned her a coffee. I figure its minimal payment when tears were on the bill. I can do tears when it is something worth crying about, like your dog got hit by a car or your favorite aunt died, but not because you have missed out on ten minutes of social interaction. Then the tears just annoy me and make me more callous than usual.
She sat in the car while I went in to get the coffee. She was looking in the mirror again. It’s no wonder some car dealers make you pay extra for that mirror. As if the driver should pay to ensure the passenger is happy with their appearance. Something I would never invest in and something Becca would think is as essential as a steering wheel.
My mom gave me her old car when I turned 16 – last year – since the car is only slightly younger than me it sounds a bit like a broke down lawn mower. It’s a brown Chevy four door with rusty quarter panels. All the mirrors came with it, no extra charge. I probably should be embarrassed by it; it is really ugly and very noisy, but I really don’t care. ‘Course I would love one of the new cars some of the kids in my class have, one got a frickin’ beamer for his birthday and another one got a rehabbed bug. Okay, so I covet the bug a bit, but I have a car and it runs.
I also have a parking spot on campus. Becca and I don’t have a far walk on the first day of our junior year. I had a spot last year too, for about half the year. Becca was dating a twin – she does that a lot (date) –he shared a car with his brother so he gave me his parking permit. I got busted. Who knew parking in someone else’s spot can bring the “wrath of God;” at least according to Principal Dickface. No, that’s not his real name; it would be fitting if it were. He is really Dr. Difact, but doctor makes him sound a whole lot smarter than he really is, so we just call him Principal. He told me I would “face the wrath of God if I parked with someone else’s permit again.” Apparently, there are not enough real problems in the world if God is getting involved in high school parking violations. I did stop myself from saying as much to Principal Dickface. I also stopped using his permit, just in case God didn’t have anything better to do. This year God can pursue other ventures as I am legally, and righteously, parking in a spot registered to me, with a permit in my name. Alleluia.
Becca had the car door opened before I even stopped in my blessed spot. She wants as much see-and-be-seen time before first period as possible. I am not so much into the social aspects of school. I guess it’s good she is or I might truly become the hermit of my dreams. She’s on a mission and I have to jog a bit to catch her. I don’t want to follow her – we have to walk in at the same time – I’m not a follower. Once in, Becca beelines for a group of girls at the back of the commons. I hold back, I can’t do girl drama this early in the morning. The girls are reserved for lunch when I am fortified with food and have had a chance to power on all my senses.
I find the vo-tech guys at their usual table in the commons. They are your total stereotype, especially when you only look at the surface, as most do. A good majority of them are on the weight extremes – too fat or too thin – bad skin and not real great hygiene. They all get clumped into the socially awkward, lower rungs of the social ladder. Matt, the one currently talking about some seniors rack, has grease under his nails, his love of auto mechanics reaches beyond the walls of the career center.
“Seriously Matt, her rack is all wonder ‘cause it goes away with the bra,” I tossed in as the guys ogle the passing prey. Laughing, one of the guys I don’t know mentions he would still like to get to know her “secret.” Get pun, I think sarcastically. Yeah, boys really are all the same, no matter what their social standing.
The guys have never noticed, at least they haven’t mentioned, that I am the only girl who sits with them. I have joined them every morning for the last two years. Sometimes I’m not sure they even realize I’m a girl. My neighbor, Joseph, is one of them, so he gives me the “in.” I endearing call this my “bull shitting with the boys’ time.”
Joseph sat next to me, smiled at a comment about ‘the chicks in this school’, and said, “Well Zo, the beginning of the end for me. I bet your gonna miss this next year.”
“Naw, I’ll still have the pretty ones to look at and I won’t have to steel myself for your ugly mug so early in the morning. Plus, I won’t be here this early next year. I will only have third through sixth, ‘cause this brainiac took summer school. So, I bet, even the pretty ones here will miss me.” I smile sardonically at him and he returns the look.
The warning bell sounds and we all move toward our respective classes like cows in a shoot. I have always thought it interesting how we are told, “not to do what everyone else is doing”, to “be individuals,” “not succumb to peer pressure” and then they have us follow the sound of a bell like a bunch of Pavlov’s dogs. In addition, in the height of our rebellious period, we just get up and move without a thought. Okay, so the couple I pass in the hall, the lip locked ones, apparently are more rebellious than I. Maybe not more rebellious, but definitely less concerned about the privacy of a physical relationship. I know that makes me sound like a prude, and maybe I am a bit of one. But yuck, really, I don’t want to see your tongue halfway down someone’s throat and I really don’t want you to see mine in a similar situation. It’s about boundaries and self-respect folks.
First period’s pretty lame. Trig with Mr. Twink, course we don’t call him that to his face. A few years back it's rumored that a guy walked in on him having physical relations with a Twinkie in the bathroom. No one really believed it, though we tell it like we do, and since then the name stuck. It’s mean and very immature, but well, it’s high school. He’s nice enough, and probably not a bad teacher. He just teaches a sucky class. I’m not too bad at math so I don’t find it too painful. Math makes sense to me. Once you learn the rules they never change; the pieces can change, but as long as you follow the rules, you get the right answer. If only life were really that simple.
Second period is English –literature specifically – I love to read [my nerd’s showing] so this should be an easy class. I tend to have an opinion about everything so that should make an “A” a given with little-to-no actual work. No one special is in this period with me either; it seems I am doomed to social isolation in my classes. Xander has class next door and I see him walk past.
So how pathetic is it that that just seeing him makes my mouth water? Again, I am Pavlov’s dog – you know the one whose mouth waters when the bell is rung cause he thinks he’s gonna get fed. Somehow, Xander has become as basic as food, and I have never even had a nibble. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I know that gives him a distinct advantage, so I have no plans to let him know he meets a basic, very fundamental need for me. Anyway, we’ve been friends for so long he doesn’t even see me like that. He and I are buds; you know the kind that rags you when you screw up and cheers you when you do something great. We hang out together with all of our friends and occasionally do stuff just him and me. I am a friend, forever.
Seems I have that effect on guys; they all tend to forget I’m a girl. Sure, they see me as a girl when they need advice about some chick they’re hard up over, but I’m just a friend, or the dreaded “like a sister.” Not that I want, or need, guys falling at my feet, but I would like Xander to look occasionally. He can see how I’d be “just great” for other guys, why not for him? I guess our romance will only be in my head. He is looking for more than I will give, so I guess, its best that he doesn’t see me.
At lunch, I found Becca and the girls at a table near the back of the cafeteria. Becca’s strategic location. This way everyone walking to and from the tables can see her. Becca’s talking about the guy she dated over the summer, more accurately, one of the guys she dated over the summer.
“He played soccer, and was a starter, which is amazing since he is only a freshman. He’s a sophomore this year, but he was a starter as a frosh,” She’s engrossed with her story and both of her audience members are interested. I was able to sit without either of her audience catching my laugh. They, of course, are assuming he is a college freshman, now sophomore, but I know he is still in high school. I do not intend to change their assumptions, Becca would be hurt and I would have gained nothing.
Sitting here listening to Becca go on and on about this “totally hot goalie” I can’t help but think how sad it is – we’re sitting with our two other best friends and we can’t be real. At least, not completely honest, the trust isn’t deep enough. I love all of the girls at the table, but some days, it is hard to like them.
Becca and I are the closest of the quartet, but that is another one of our secrets. Julie and I are pretty close as are Becca and Dahlia. That would be how outsiders would pair us off. Julie and me, Becca and Dahlia, really it is how our outside personalities fit best. Becca loves attention and works for it. Dahlia loves attention and will do whatever it takes to get it – indeed, whatever it takes –she is quite popular with the boys. They are the louder, more in your face, members of the quad.
Julie and I are the education portion of the show, as opposed to the social. Julie is the good one. I mean, with everything, good all the way through. She always makes the right choice, is usually happy, and is nice to everyone. She goes to church every Sunday and is active in their youth group. She is athletic and freaking smart. The bitch is even cute. So really, you would like to hate her, sometimes I even try, but you really can’t help but love her. We’re both brunette, well, I am naturally, and Becca and Dahlia are blonde. Figures, I know. I have suggested we bring in a redhead for balance, but they all think I have the rainbow covered so there isn’t a need. My hair is a bit like a mood ring, as my moods change so does the color. Anyway, in summary, Becca is energy; Dahlia is sex; Julie is perfect; and I’m change. Nothing at all alike, but somehow we fit together quite well.
Apparently I have been in my head all lunch, ‘cause it’s over and I didn’t catch more than the initial discussion about the hottie frosh soccer goalie Becca dated. The rest of the day is pretty uneventful. I have no classes with Dahlia, which is not surprising. We view school as having completely different objectives. For me the purpose is to get something out of it and move on to bigger [college] and better [the future] things. For her it’s an all-you-can-eat buffet of the total male faire. I guess she is lucky we go to one of the biggest high schools in the state. She takes cute classes; I take college prep. Really if she wasn’t friends with Becca and Julie, we wouldn’t be friends. Becca and I have gym together because we have both put off the requirement as long as possible. We took life sports for the requirement, that way, we get the challenges of badminton and bowling for the semester rather than running. It’s at least a fun way to spend the period and we don’t have to sweat much. Julie and I have AP Biology and French together – both of which we love and are in total nerd heaven.
After school, the three of them go to shake what their mama gave ‘em. Yes, as shameful as it is, my three best friends play with poms. Julie is a varsity football and basketball cheerleader, because somehow, it matters what sport you cheer for, and Becca is a junior varsity football cheerleader and a varsity-wrestling cheerleader. Yeah, I laughed too when she told me they actually cheer during wrestling. Dahlia is a dancing cheerleader, they are the “Lionettes,” and are “a pompon squad,” but they look like dancing cheerleaders to me. Again, I love them all, in spite of their dumb skirts and fluffy shakers.
Since I am rhythmically challenged and have no inclination to yell a goofy rhyme to a bunch of sweaty guys, after school I head to Joseph’s to watch him get greasy. Joseph goes to vo-tech for auto mechanics. Because he spends most of his day at the career center, we typically bond after school. He’s buried waist deep in a hood by the time I get to the curb, the typical spot on nice days. If it’s cold or rainy, I camp out on his bed while he’s getting dirty. As bad, as that may sound it’s a whole lot less exciting. His room is in the basement and the garage is under the house. So really, his bedroom and the garage are like one big studio apartment with a couple of short walls to separate the space.
Today it’s hot so I sit on the curb and lean back on my elbows. He’s shirtless, smudged in grease.
“I can see why Becca made a pass at you. You’re looking pretty good there muscle boy.”
“Yeah well, I was too much man for her. She moved on about as fast as she came on. Seems to be her style, she chatted me up quite a bit today. I guess the pain of moving on has eased for her,” Joseph didn’t come out from under the hood. Typically, we talk without looking at each other. He is usually too engrossed in whatever surgical procedure he is inflicting on whatever engine or transmission is in front of him.
“I think it was your pain, I seem to recall some pouting. And like any guy, you’re happy as long as you get some attention, now you can date elsewhere and still get her attention.”
“True enough, kinda the cake and the eats. She’s not seeing anyone right now?”
“Not right this minute, but with Becca you never know. You can ask her out again I’m sure she’d go, she likes you.” I lean back further and let my face warm in the sun. It is so relaxing to just be. There are so few people in my life I can just be with and not think or worry. This conversation has replayed so many times I don’t really even have to think about it. Joseph and Becca dated for a while last school year and then they just petered out. They have stayed friends, and even get googlie-eyed over each other and touchy-feely when they are both single, but neither of them seem to want the connection that’s there. So they dance around it and see other people.
“Naw, I’m not looking for that. I heard Luke talking about her so I thought they were a thing.”
Sitting-up, I laugh, “You know for a vo-tech grease monkey you sure know a lot about what goes on in the social strata. Becca has been looking Luke’s way; she’ll be interested to know he’s been looking back. How do you know so much when you are barely there and you are so not a part of all the drama?”
“I just listen. Tell Becca to watch out for Luke, he’s not what he shows. Oh and Zo’ don’t tell her I said anything, she’ll just jump at him with her eyes closed to spite me. It’s not all about my jealousy that wants her to keep both eyes open.”
I knew better than to ask what Luke was if it wasn’t the super cool, super-hot, super perfect soccer star. Joseph rarely says more about other people then he has to. I figured it was a big deal since he even mentioned it. I’ll let Becca know when the time is right and I’ll leave Joseph out of it - he’s right she would be all over Luke if she thought he didn’t approve.
“Dahlia is single again; you can take a shot at her.”
“She is hot. Has a great body and knows how to show it off, but I only want my cars fast.”
“Yeah and those greasy fingers eliminate you. I can’t see her dating a vo-tech guy. Imagine, Princess Dahlia and the pauper.” I laugh.
“Different planets.” He agrees. “So you gonna miss me when I’m gone?”
“Where you going? Planning winter break already? School just started.”
“Forget winter break, I’m talking about next year. This is it for me. Thank freaking god, I don’t ever have to go to school again, never again in my whole life.”
“Today is the first day of your senior year; you’ve got a whole year left. I will be ready for you to go. Trust me.”
Joseph considers himself the best kind of senior – the kind that is done with school forever. By the time he graduates he’ll be ASE certified [mechanic speak for qualified] so he’ll be able to get a full time job after graduation.
“Yeah, you’re just jealous. Have you decided where you’re headed?” He pulled his head out from under the hood and started wiping his hands.
“I can’t even figure out what part of the country I want to go to, let alone, what state. So, as far a finding a college, I have no idea. I hope to have a top ten by Christmas. I wish I was like you and just knew what I was. I want a passion, of course not something that gets me that dirty, but something I love.” Standing I wipe the grass off my shorts. “See you later, I gotta get some dinner and finish my math and bio. Who gives homework on the first day?”
“Nerd. See you later.” Waving he heads to the back of his house and I head across the street to mine.
My mom isn’t home. She left tater tot casserole in the fridge for me to heat up if I got hungry and reminded me to get in bed early since the first day of school is exhausting – all of this was left on a note under the “Look What Zoe Did” magnet we’ve had since I was in kindergarten. I figure she’s out with Mike, so she most likely won’t be home tonight. I heat up dinner to eat while I do my homework in bed. I start drifting off during the last part of my biology homework and I am asleep before I even thought about getting ready for bed.
The second day of school has no value. Especially when it’s a Thursday – who thinks starting school on Wednesday makes it any better? Like we are somehow tricked into enjoying the return. I hate Tuesdays and this Thursday has been turned into an imposter Tuesday. I’m automatically bitchy before I even roll out of bed. I’m running late, of course, so Becca’s bitchy too. This is pretty much our status quo for day two of our week. Fortunately, we have a rhythm now and both of us stay quiet and listen to music. Engrossed with these thoughts I didn’t notice Xander as he caught up with us on the way in from the lot.
“Hey there hotties. How was the return to hell?” He asks as he steps between Becca and me throwing his arms over our shoulders. “I tried to catch up with you guys yesterday, but I got caught talking to some freshman about the band. Did you get enough sleep last night Zo?”
I turn to look at him, unsure what he was talking about, “uh, yeah, why?”
“I tried to call you three times last night. You didn’t answer your house or cell. I texted you and never got an answer. I figured if you were out with Captain Football you would have at least called back when you got home.” He had called Trevor, my boyfriend, Captain Football since we had started dating. I know Xander doesn’t really like him, but I have never asked why. I figure some things are better not talked about.
“Oh, no, Trev had practice. I was at Joseph’s for a while, then went home. I fell asleep at like eight. I was reading my bio chapter for today.”
Becca went to the front doors to head toward the morning girl drama; Xander and I found a bench outside. It isn’t weird to be with Xander like this. We have been friends forever and my crush slash obsession has never interfered with it; I won’t let it. Xander was telling me his schedule when Jason came up and plopped down on my other side. Jason is Xander’s best friend and Julie’s boyfriend. Jason is also a good friend of mine. He is so funny and see’s the life’s contradictions like I do. We can entertain each other for hours and annoy those around us the entire time. We laugh at the rest of the world – most people just don’t get it. We’re not judgmental; we’re critical – we love you, even though we magnify, study and discuss all your strengths and faults. The great thing is that neither of us are exempt from the magnifying glass. We examine, dissect and criticize each other more than anyone else. It is because of the teasing and critical banter that I make sure Jason has no idea how I feel about Xander. Honestly, no one knows how I feel. I can’t even talk to Becca about it because my obsession with him makes me feel weak. It’s the lack of control I have of my feelings for him, more than the feelings themselves that make me feel so weak. I know the damage he can inflict on my heart if I were to give it to him and it would be unfixable. We stay friends and I keep my emotional space so that it’s not obvious.
As I journey out of my head and back to the conversation I hear Xander talking about some girl he went out with this last weekend. She’s from another school and isn’t putting out. Xander’s love for girls is a lot like Dahlia’s love of guys. He loves girls, all of them, everything about them, but unlike Dahlia he has a lot of respect and caring for them. Yet, much like Dahlia, he goes through them like most people go through gym socks. That’s catty huh, comparing Xander’s girls to gym socks.
Anyway, he’s telling Jason, his latest conquest has made it through the fourth weekend of dates and has managed to keep her clothes on. This, of course, is a strike against her in Xander’s book. He has this scoring process when it comes to dates and sex. If she puts out the first weekend, she’s done there. He isn’t interested in a girl who has nothing but her body to offer. If she waits until the second weekend, she is booty call material. He doesn’t want a girl who would use sex to try to get or keep a guy, but he’s willing to use her if she’s mutually using him. The third weekend can earn her causal dating status or as Jason and I term it, friends with benefits without any friendship. She’d be worth spending some time with, to have fun with, but he’d never make her a priority. A fourth weekend girl gets a real shot at being the “girlfriend” and if she hasn’t put out by the fifth weekend, she is replaced and the process begins again with a new girl. He doesn’t want a girl to change how she feels about sex for him and he’s worried if he stays with them too long they’d want to use sex to keep him around longer. I would consider this arrogant if it wasn’t sadly true. There are quite a few girls who will do anything, including compromise their values, just to get a gorgeous guy to stick around.
Xander is gorgeous, actually he’s hella hot, and he knows it. He’s just over six foot with dark hair and eyes that vary from golden brown to charcoal depending on the day. He is built solid but not weight lifter hard. He is athletic even though he doesn’t play any school sports. He says he likes sports too much to ruin them with competition. I think he just doesn’t want to do anything that takes real effort and that he might lose at. Can be why he deals with relationships the way he does; he is a commitment-phoebe.
“No Jason, I’m telling you she might be worth a fifth or even sixth weekend. She is gorgeous.” I missed something Jason said that had Xander laughingly, “I don’t know if it’s more than skin deep, I can’t get my hands on the skin to see how deep it goes.”
“Whatever – if she doesn’t get it then she isn’t worth it – no matter how hot the package. Let me know what she thinks, if she can think, about them. We might want to replicate their sound, so pay attention and not to just her attributes while you’re there.” The passion I heard in Jason’s voice meant only one of two things, he was talking either about music or Julie. Since he wanted Xander’s opinion, it had to be music.
Xander shrugged away Jason’s seriousness and started listing his current dates attributes. Midway through the detailed description of attributes Joseph walked by; I didn’t want to hear any more, can’t bear hearing anymore, so I got up to walk in with him. It was time to join him and the vo-techies for some male bonding. It doesn’t hurt near as much to hear what they would like to get their hands on as it does to hear Xander talk about who he’s dating.
At lunch, Julie reminded me we’re hanging out at Jason’s after school. It’s weird to hang out with them. Actually it’s weird how not weird it is. I don’t feel like a third wheel with them like when I’m with one of the other two girls and whoever they are dating. I guess it’s because Julie and Jason fit so well they’re pretty much one person. They are kind of sickening in their perfectness, but it feels good rather than annoying like it should.
Becca’s talking about Luke when I mentally rejoin the lunch conversation. She’s going on about what a great all around guy he is. I have to agree he does seem like a great package, but I’m concerned about what Joseph said. It seems his package may only be wrapping deep. One of his parents, his dad, I think, is a “who’s who” in town. He’s a doctor, lawyer, or something that impresses people. Luke is good in school and killer at soccer. He has dated a few girls, but has never had anything serious, at least not with anyone from our school. He doesn’t seem available like that, but what Becca wants – Becca gets. I hope that she knows what she’s getting into.
I’ve decided I need to tell her that I am worried. When I tell her that my concern is about what people say about him not being as he appears. She unfortunately, and so like Becca, is more intrigued, rather than being turned off. I guess we all find the bad boy a bit sexier than we should.
“You’re friends with Ben and Matt and they’re both potheads – I can’t believe you care what other people think.” Becca got more defensive that I anticipated and was starting to vibrate with drama. She always gets jazzed when drama gets started.
“Ben and Matt are my friends, you’re right, I don’t care what people think – but there is a huge difference between friends and boyfriends. What they do isn’t going to hurt me, it isn’t going to break my heart.” Unlike Becca, I get tired and annoyed with drama so I am ready to end the conversation.
“People think you’re a pothead ‘cause you hang out with them, so why does it matter what people say about me?” Becca is getting in full swing. “You worried I might tarnish your rep?”
“No, I’m not worried about my rep, I’m worried about you and your over feeling heart. If Luke is a dick, you’ll pay for it, not me. I can handle it, you can’t. You hurt too easily.” I was passing annoyed and getting pissed.
“I can handle my heart and thinking he’s hot and having some fun with him has nothing to do with my heart. I’m not that flakey.” I can tell her non-flaky heart was hurting already. Damn, why did I even mention anything?
“Fine Bec, but don’t come crying to me when he’s as big a dick as I warned you he can be. Enjoy your conquest.” I got up and headed to my next period. By sixth hour – gym – we had both calmed down and were back to our same old. I reminded myself she can date whoever she wanted. I didn’t have to like it or like him. I had to just be her friend [and silently pray he goes away soon].
Trevor stopped me on my way out to my car after seventh period; he wanted to go grab something to eat and then watch a movie at his place. Trevor and I have been dating for the last few months – since the end of last school year and through the summer. I was tired and had homework, but pleased to get a chance to spend some time with him. Trevor plays football so I haven’t seen much of him with the two-a-day practices happening for the last month. I texted my mom to let her know I’d be home by 11:00.
On the way to get food Trev tells me the coach gave them the evening off since tomorrow will be their last Friday without a game until the end of the season. If they make it to state, the season won’t end until after Thanksgiving. The coach didn’t want to give them Friday off because he wants them to get used to being busy on Friday evenings. None of this sounds like fun to me – I would never be willing or able to kill myself just to play a game.
Trevor loves it so I support him. He is great at it, making it a whole lot easier to support. I have never been the clingy type so seeing so little of him during football season hasn’t been a big deal. We aren’t real committed – the talk-to-each-other-all-night and spend-every-waking-minute-together relationship isn’t us – we see each other when it works and this afternoon it works.
“How about Burger King for some pie?” I suggest. They have great apple pie – it comes in the funniest triangle box. Trevor doesn’t get my fascination with the box, Jason does, so I always save him the pull off part – you know the part that sounds like a zipper. Oh, crap I am supposed to be with Julie over at Jason’s house.
“I was supposed to go over to Jason’s with Julie this afternoon.” I exclaim.
“Well if you’d rather be the odd one out over there we can get together this weekend.” Trevor doesn’t understand why I would want to hang out with them. He isn’t annoyed; he just doesn’t get it.
“My being odd has never been an issue for you before.” I said laughing as I leaned in to kiss him. “I’ll call Julie and let her know I won’t be there.”
I called and apologized for forgetting, and in perfect Julie-style she says no big deal and to enjoy Trevor since I have to share him with the pigskin tomorrow. I really do love her, even in spite of her perfection.
After pie and ice cream we head to Trevor’s, his parents are at some community event so we have the house to ourselves.
“I can’t believe Coach gave you guys the night off. He must be getting soft. Who is your first game against?” I sat on the couch and flipped on the TV. Trevor went to his room to drop his bag.
“Yeah, we were surprised. We play Schmidt High first. I can’t believe you don’t know who we play.” He sat next to me and took the remote to find something other than the news I had on.
“Why would I need to know who, when or where you all play? My best friend is a cheerleader and my boyfriend is a tight end, I only need to follow.” I stretched my legs out and he mindlessly rubbed my feet and calves.
After a riveting hour of Sports Center, I suggested we eat. Trevor put on some pasta to boil and warmed a jar of sauce. This is his kind of romance and since food is a favorite part of my life, it works for me. I set the table and get us drinks. He does get me Coke even though he drinks Pepsi, so I guess that has some romance. He’s a thoughtful guy, Sports Center and packaged dinner considered, I wouldn’t hang around long if he wasn’t.
We talk about our classes and some about our families as we eat. His mom and my aunt have worked together for years. Our families have always traveled in the same circles. My mom was more excited than I was when he first asked me out. It’s why I enjoy being with him: it’s easy and comfortable. We have a history and an understanding of how deep [well, shallow] we want this relationship to be.
After dinner, we put in a classic movie about a teenage street urchin who falls in love with a princess. We both love the movie and can quote it. Fortunately, the movie doesn’t take all of our attention because Trevor has a great mouth. Our relationship doesn’t set me on fire but his hands can. We’ve made out before, lots of times. Actually, that tends to be the focal point of our dates.
He is a lot bigger than I am and is weightlifter built. He can pick me up with one arm. At the street dance, this summer, he carried me on his shoulders for over an hour. I know it’s shallow to love his body and only like his personality. I also know that many feminists are rolling over in their graves because I enjoy how his size and strength give him a physical advantage – it makes me feel little and feminine – so shoot me. When you are over five and half feet tall and built solid, few high school guys are larger. Now I am not fat, I take great care of my body, but I am not skinny either. I wear a size nine and even if I quit eating [which will never happen] I can never be a three or five. I am too muscular and my boobs are just too big to ever look willowy or thin. My pom-toting friends are thin and Becca is willowy. I let it be their gig. I am not willing to work at it. I stay fit because I enjoy being outside and doing things that are physical. I will never be a gym member and I like to eat. Food makes me happy. I can probably be a size seven if I really wanted it, but I don’t really want it and I probably never will.
The friendship Trevor and I have lets me trust that he won’t use his size and strength to take our physical relationship further than I choose. The friendship lets me like him, have fun with him, and totally enjoy the way he makes my body feel. I enjoy it; actually, I totally dig our physical relationship. However, there is a point, and that point is pants. As old fashioned, frigid, teas-ish, [trust me I’ve heard them all] as that sounds the hands and mouth stop at the pants. One of my magazines had an article about the last American virgin, sometimes that’s how I feel. Fortunately, Trevor gets it and respects it. I don’t love him so there is no way he can have what no one else has. Sometimes he gets, shall we say, frustrated with the barrier on the pants, but he never pushes the issue. Sometimes I think about changing my limit – especially when we’ve had our hands and mouths all over each other for hours. Something always stops me – probably my Jiminy Cricket.
Just after ten Trevor took me home and was great, we kiss at the door for a while, and then he leaves. I really don’t deserve him. I often feel like I am using him. He knows the rules, but I wonder why he would agree to them. He is a great looking guy, football player and all; he is relatively smart and almost too nice.
Okay, so maybe that is the problem.
He’s a nice guy, that’s about as bad as being a leper in high school.
What is wrong with those girls? They just don’t appreciate the good ones, instead they chase after the users like a bunch of hungry wolves. How can they fall at the feet of guys like Xander and totally forget about the great ones like Trevor and Joseph. If they can only hear about what a joke they are to Xander. How he counts the days and boots them after the countdown has happened. Their value to him is center around the physical and guys like Joseph and Trevor actually care about what they think and how they feel. They spend time to listen and to really hear, not just look. Both of them can tell you my favorites, be it food, or color or even my favorite shirt or pair of jeans.
Damn it.
Why can’t I love them? Why do I have to be just as shallow, petty, and downright stupid as all the other girls? I have prided myself for so many years in being different from them. But deep down I really am no different. Damn that makes me mad.
I close the front door again and head to Josephs. I knock on his bedroom door – must be nice to have a door leading from your room to the outside so you can come and go as you please. Not that my mom cares where I am at night. Like she is even around enough to care where I am.
Wow, I am nasty tonight. Of course, she cares where I am; she just trusts me and knows I will ask her when I need something. She always tells me where she is. Poor Joseph, he is letting a total bitch into his home – kinda like the little pig opening the door for the wolf.
After he opens the door and he walks back to his bed. He’s in cotton sleep pants and no shirt. How can I appreciate his body so much and have no desire to put my hands on it? How can I think about how much I love him and know that I will never be in love with him? Oh, well shit, now I’m crying.
“Com’er baby,” Joseph mutters and pats the small portion of pillow not covered by his face.
Unable to respond I crawl into the bed next to him and bury my face in his shoulder. I hate to cry, really, it’s more than that, I hate to be weakened so much that I cry. I hate to feel anything big enough to bring tears. I normally only cry when I’m angry or frustrated, tonight I’m both.
“Just tell me know one hurt you,” Joseph whispers as my tears dry.
“Would you go beat them up if they had?” I smile.
“No. I would congratulate them; I’d be impressed to find someone strong enough. Guess you’re just beaten’ up on yourself.” He sighs. “I can whip your ass if it’d make you feel better.”
“In your dreams. You know I’d whip you, but for tonight I’d just like to whip myself.”
“Wha’d you do now?” He shifts his position to wrap his arms around me.
“I’m a bitch”
“And it bothers you today? Because?”
“You’re imply’n I’m a bitch every day?” I pull back to look at his face.
“Baby you are a bitch, the day doesn’t have anything to do with it.”
“I don’t need this, I can make myself feel shitty without your help,” pulling out of his arms I grab for my shoes. Unfortunately, his muscled body isn’t just for show; he pulls me back with little effort.
“Zoe, shut up, go to sleep.”
“I can’t sleep I’m too mad and my mom will wonder where I am. She’ll think I’m still at Trevor’s and she’ll get pissed if she thinks I’m sleeping there. You know how his mom can be.”
“Oh so he’s the problem. Musta left the boys a bit blue then, huh. Text your mom, tell her you’re here. Then tell me what happened. I know you will keep me up until you have let it go, so let’s get it over with,” he rolled over to get another pillow and grab some sweat pants off the floor for me.
I guess it’s a statement to our friendship that I wear sweat pants off his floor and that I change into them while still in his bed. But somehow, it’s not weird, uncomfortable or really even noticed by either of us.
“And I was feeling bad about how I treated you,” I mutter as I pull out my phone and let my mom know I’d be home before school to get a shower and some clean clothes.
“What is there to feel bad about? I get to have a hot underclassman in my bed and she is even wearing my pants. I’d say this is a pretty sweet deal,” he laughs, rolling to pull me next to him. “Trevor finally got tired of the pants Nazi and give you shit about not letting him have the goods? I can call him and let him know whose bed you came running to.”
“Trevor is a good guy, of course he didn’t complain. That’s the problem. Why would he be willing to take the little I give him and not complain? He can have his pick of girls with poms and yet he wastes his time with me. It’s been three months. How many guys would wait three months, ‘specially with as hot as we get together.
“Thanks for sparing me the deets.” Joseph interrupted. “I’d guess he has feelings bigger than his goods. So here is the problem - you know he has big feelings, at least in relation to his other attributes – and you got nothing but appreciation for his outer, above the waist attributes. That doesn’t make you a bitch; it makes you a girl, drama and all.”
“Fuck you Joe. I’ll go home if you keep calling me names.” I can feel my whole body go hot with anger, how dare he make me feel worse than I do already.
“I love that you’re a girl, Zo’. I don’t know why it makes you so pissed,” he can’t help but laugh at me, though I can tell my use of his dad’s name hit where I aimed.
“You don’t love that I’m a girl you like that I have female attributes. I hate the drama part of girls. I hate realizing that I am shallow and dumb just like they are,” somehow saying it to Joseph made it less frustrating. Maybe because I know he really does appreciate that I am a girl and I know that most of the time he forgets that I am. He appreciates my physical attributes but knows I have far more to offer.
The mad deflated as I realized I was the one with the problem. I was the one frustrated that I wanted what all the other girls wanted, but I wasn’t willing to give what they were and that barrier was one of my own making. I wanted Xander so bad that it made me furious; I wanted him, just like all the other girls, but unlike them, I wasn’t willing to trade my body for his time and attention. At times like this, I wonder what makes me more frustrated – the fact that I can have his time and attention or that even he isn’t worth it to me. I have the love of great men; I just have to make Xander’s less important. I wiped my tears.
“Night, Joseph, thanks.”
“Night babe, anytime.”
I rolled into him, with my head on his shoulder and my arm across him, I settle to sleep. Then he pinches me so hard I yelped. “Next time you call me Joe – bitchy girl will be the nicest thing that comes from my mouth.”
“Sorry ‘bout that. I wanted you as pissed as I was, it was low,” now I’m disgusted in myself, and the anger and frustration are gone.
“Yeah, I know you love me when you treat me like family.” Kissing my head. “Night babe, love you too.” He gave me a quick squeeze and began to float into sleep. It only took a matter of minutes before I heard his breathing change as sleep took hold of him. I love him dearly – like family – some things are better than sex and my deep sleep punctuated that fact.
Chapter 2
I hate mornings, even after a great night, or in this case, half night’s sleep. My mom was home when I got there. She made coffee and was in her bathroom. I got a cup and headed up to make sure she got my text last night. She was finishing her makeup.
“You and Trevor breakup?” She asked looking at me thorough her reflection in the mirror. She paused mid eye-line. Funny that it made me feel good that she was worried enough to pause in her make-up ritual to check for the possibility of heartbreak.
“No,” I said marveling at her assortment of beauty products – or torture devises, depending on your perspective.
“Oh I figured since you slept at Josephs something had happened. Trevor’s ok with you sleeping with other guys?” She’s smug now that she knows my heart isn’t in shambles.
“Well, I guess what Trevor doesn’t know.” I felt smug now too. It’s the girl-power she wields; it deserves respect, especially since she can even make me enjoy being a girl, on occasion. “I gotta shower; if I’m late Becca is a hag.”
“Okay. I’m doing half a shift today and then I’m gonna spend the weekend at Mikes. Do you need anything? Want to go to dinner with Mike and me?”
“Na, I’m gonna go to Jason’s afterschool. I’ll probably stay at Julies tonight and then hang with Becca tomorrow. We’ll crash here tomorrow night; her dad is laid off again so we won’t be at her house. Her mom is enough without trying to tolerate her dad. Damn, I’m gonna be late. Love you mom, have fun, see you at church.” I rush into my bathroom and shower as fast as I can. I throw on a pair of jean shorts, a tee and flip-flops; slapped some gel in my hair and flicked on mascara and lip-gloss. I might not look great, but it’s worth it not to face the wrath of Becca. I toss a change of clothes and something to sleep in into a duffel bag and rush out.
Somehow I beat Becca. I didn’t want to go into her house in case her parents were up. So I honk and pull out my trig homework. I might as well get it done while I wait. I was able to get nearly all of it done before she comes out. She’s moving slow and doesn’t have a smile, course she looks great, but even my telling her so doesn’t make her smile. I offer a coffee stop and get a shrug. The coffee will be on the house, I decide, and we won’t be late. Two of Becca’s favorite things in life: coffee and pre-class girl drama gossip. Since I owe the Friend God for last night, I figure I can even suffer through some pre-class girl drama with her.
Julie is the first we see. She’s in her cheerleading uniform. She has to wear it to school on game days. I can’t help but point out that the matching ribbon in her ponytail makes her look five. She flips me a finger. I also admire her matching shoes. Really, do they have to always look like monochromatic Stepford teens? She’s not amused with my admiration.
“Wait a minute, why are you wearing your uniform. We don’t play tonight.” I comment.
Julie smiles and raises her eye brows slightly. I can read the question on her face, but she doesn’t say a word. She covers her inquisitive expression quickly.
Oh, damn. It hit like a truck. He lied to me. Why?
He had to know I would figure it out. I mean really, one of my best friends is a football cheerleader for god’s sake. The mad from the night before is back, full on. He not only lied to me but I spent the night feeling bad about how I treated him. I’m relieved it’s Julie with me when I found out. She seems to know a comment isn’t necessary and that I don’t do sympathy or questions when I’m mad. She’s friend enough to draw Becca into a conversation before her realization dawns. Becca would spaz and feel “just awful” for me and my drama would energize her and make her bounce off the walls. Not what I need right now.
I didn’t have a chance to find Trevor until after third period. It’s interesting that the more I think about it the more intrigued I feel rather than mad that he lied to me. I thought about texting him, but this is something that has to be dealt with face to face. I’m able to get out of homeroom – we have it for like a half hour before fourth period. I told my teacher that I had my period and needed to go to the nurse. Since my teacher’s a guy, it’s all the explaining that’s necessary. It’s too bad that I only have two guy teachers – I can only get out of two classes a month.
On my way down the hall I text Trevor and tell him to meet me at the bench out the side door. He has the football excuse so he can typically get out of any class at any time. By the time he walks up, I’m trying to work up a mad again. He’s looking at the ground wearing his jersey. I should be pissed he totally lied to me. But I’m not sure that I am really even annoyed – unless being annoyed for not being annoyed counts. As usual, my feelings are making no sense.