arcade games and carnival rides.
Have you two done the dirty yet?
I swear, she’s panting. I could
make her day—her month, even—
by inventing something juicy. But
where would that leave what’s left
of my reputation? Do I care? Jeez.
My reputation might just improve
if people believed I was having
regular sex with someone
as delicious as Lucas. One thing
for sure. Whatever I tell Paige
will most definitely get around.
She’s not very good at secrets.
Maybe I’ll just keep her guessing.
I attempt an air of mystery. “C’mon,
Paige. You wouldn’t want me
to screw and tell, would you?”
We Both Know
She would, and we both know
the way I’ve circumvented
her question means I’m still
a virgin. Technically, anyway.
It’s the “technically” part that
has now piqued her interest.
Okay, then. How far have you
gone? I want every single detail.
Ah, what the hell? “We almost
did last week. In fact, we were
just about naked. …” I tell her
the story about not quite getting
busted, right there on my living
room couch. “You’ve never seen
two people get dressed so fast.
I didn’t even have time to put on
my bra. Good thing Daddy dropped
his keys. Gave me time to hide it
under the cushion. Things had to
look pretty suspicious, though.”
Paige giggles. Oh, yeah. Messy
hair and smeared makeup.
Been there, done that. But what
about yesterday? Did you …?
“Nah. Everything but. Wrong
time of the month and all.” Now
that was a big slice of truth. I don’t
usually talk about my periods.
But Paige wants even more.
Did you, like, use your mouth?
Her eyes light up. Is she waiting
for a (ha!) blow-by-blow description?
“Why? Need instructions? ’Cause
you can get tips on the Web, you know.”
I am something of an expert there,
because I checked ’em out myself.
She laughs. Nah. That’s okay.
I think I’ve got it figured out.
Just wondering if you have.
Anyway, it’s not rocket science.
Now I have to laugh. “Except the part
where it goes off like a rocket.”
We both bust up, and now she knows
I’ve got it figured out too.
Capitola Mall
Isn’t huge, but it’s big enough.
And, it being Sunday, it’s pretty
crowded. I don’t mind crowds.
People watching is a fun pastime.
Paige cruises the parking lot slowly,
waiting for someone to vacate
a spot close to an entrance. “There’s
probably room in the garage.”
Probably. But you never know
what kind of weirdo might be
lurking in a parking garage.
Mom says it’s safer out here.
Is there more than one kind
of weirdo? Okay, I can’t let
that one slip past. “How many
kinds of weirdos are there?”
She doesn’t laugh. Lots. And
the worst are the ones you
don’t suspect. They’re the ones
you invite inside your front door.
Inside the Mall
I can’t help but go on a weirdo
watch. Paige is right. Potential
freaks loiter everywhere, and
they come in all shapes, sizes,
genders, and ages. “Hey, Paige.
Check that out.” I point to a boy,
maybe six, staring, drop-jawed,
through the window of Victoria’s
Secret. “Future weirdo, for sure.”
We crack up, but when we’re well
down the aisle I glance back over
my shoulder. He’s still there.
Paige doesn’t notice, could
care less anyway. Let’s go
to the Gap. I need some jeans.
Her focus shift is immediate, intense.
Mind on her goal, she picks
up her pace. So much for people
watching. Faces, bodies, and packages
blur. Motion sickness threatens.
Finally, Gap in sight, she slows
a little. Enough for me to notice
a really cute guy sitting outside
the door, waiting for someone,
at least that’s my guess. As we
approach, he notices us, too, and
the smile he gives me could melt
an entire iceberg in two seconds flat.
Weirdo? Maybe. I mean, he’s at least
ten years older than me, and he’s def
taken an interest. Do weirdos come
this hot? My guess is no, but I’m not
here to pick up a guy (yeah, Lucas,
remember him?), especially one who
could be my—what? Big brother?
Wow, it might be cool to have a big
brother hot enough to be a rock star.
No, wait. All my friends would want
me to introduce them. Then they
wouldn’t be my friends any more,
because they’d be doing it with my
brother. Scratch all that. Don’t want
a hot brother, or any brother at all.
Don’t even want my sister, and why
the heck am I thinking all this,
anyway, just because some pervert
guy sitting outside the Gap might
or might not have checked me out?
Warped
But who’s warped, him or me?
Okay, I’m pretty sure I know
the answer. Pretty sure I’ve gone
from appreciating some nice-looking
(hot) older guy to imagining
I have some fictional brother who
is doing unmentionable things with
my best friends. I steal a covert glance
at Paige, who is def not noticing
the guy (who is def not my brother)
at all, let alone having sex with him.
I need food. Haven’t eaten today.
As Paige and I go inside, I can feel
not-brother’s eyes crawling all over
my back. I nudge Paige. “Psst. Did
you see that cute guy checking us out?”
What guy? She turns, and I follow
her eyes, only to find his eyes
locked on me. Well, he’s def
checking you out. Talk about
robbing the cradle, or wanting to.
Like, totally tasteless. C’mon. There’s
a pair of skinny jeans with my
name on them right over there.
Someone Should Tell
Paige that “skinny jeans” are
most def not her best friend.
She and I are the same age,
and about the same height.
But she’s got a lot more
curves. In a way, I envy that.
Paige looks more like a woman.
I, on the other hand, look like a girl.
Skinny jeans work better for girls.
Still, Paige manages to pour
herself into a pair. Do they
make my butt look big?
Well, duh. But I’m not
about to say so. Friends
don’t tell friends they look
fat. Or even curvy. “Nah.”
Cool. So what are you waiting
for? Try some on. Check it out:
Thirty percent off. She stands,
hands punctuating well-defined hips.
Debate is useless. I slip into
a pair and have to admit they
look pretty good. Oh, why not?
What’s a trip to the mall for?
Shopping with Paige
Reminds me of that TV show:
TLC’s What Not to Wear.
Paige has spent big bucks, and
what does she have to show for it?
A couple of pairs of too-tight
jeans, three blouses guaranteed
to show too much tummy and/or
cleavage, and a pair of hot pink
sneakers with soles as thick
as six hundred-page novels.
Now we’re leaving Claire’s,
where I’m pretty sure Paige
took advantage of a five-finger
discount. Not that she can’t afford
a cheap pair of earrings. But ripping
them off gives her a total rush.
Hurry up, she urges, glancing
nervously over her shoulder
as we hustle toward the food
court. Talk about obvious!
Still, by the time yummy scents
of fat-laden foods entice our noses,
we see no sign of security on our
tail. Way to “borrow,” Paige.
What do you want to eat? asks
Paige, sniffing the air. Subway?
Pizza? Hey, you know what sounds
delish? A hot dog on a stick.
The built-in joke is just too good to
pass up! “Damn, girl. You really do
need a boyfriend, you know?” We both
snort into gut-busting, pee-your-pants
laughter. “Oh … my … God!”
I stutter. “I have so got to pee.”
I turn, ready to run. And who’s
sitting at a table nearby, grinning
like an orangutan—a very hot
orangutan? The guy. The cute
not-my-brother weirdo. And he’s checking
me out again. Is he, like, stalking me?
I Still Have to Pee
But before I do, I have to say
something to the hot monkey.
Ooh. That was a very bad thought.
Wonder how hot his monkey is.
Okay. Way worse thought.
What’s up with me? “That guy
is over there, staring,” I tell
Paige. “Let’s go talk to him.”
She pulls her eyes away from
the Hot Dog on a Stick sign.
What? Hey. No. That’s stupid.
He might get the wrong idea.
Or exactly the right idea. “Yeah,
maybe. But don’t you want to
know where he’s coming from?”
I don’t wait for her to answer.
I pull myself up very tall, take
dead aim at my stalker. Behind
me comes the sound of Paige,
scrambling to catch up. Wait.
Almost to his table, my courage
dissolves and I think seriously
about turning around, grabbing
Paige, and hauling buns out of there.
Too Late
The guy looks up, and the warmth
of his smile melts all thoughts of
running. Hello. One word out of his
killer mouth, I think I’m lost.
“Oh. Hey.” Now what do I say?
“I … uh … just wondered if you
were looking at anything special.”
Totally brilliant. Set myself up.
But he knows just what to say.
Well, actually, yes. I was looking
at you, wasn’t I? You’re quite
special. But then, you know that.
Is he saying I’m stuck-up?
Beside me, Paige chokes on
a half laugh. Guess that’s what
she thinks he was saying.
He studies my face with amazing
eyes, the blue of robin eggs. You are,
in fact, the most special young
woman I’ve seen in a long time.
He so is a stalker. But a stalker
who knows how to make a girl feel …
uh … special. “I’m sorry, but
I don’t get it. What do you want?”
His grin widens. Now that’s
a loaded question. I want more
than you’ll probably give me.
But I’ll settle for your name.
Paige elbows me and clears
her throat, like I don’t have
enough sense not to give my name
to a stranger. A totally luscious,
completely random, too-old-
for-me-to-even-consider-him,
somehow hypnotic stranger.
I find myself saying, “Whitney.”
Whitney, he repeats, nodding.
The name fits you. Well, Whitney,
pleased to meet you. I’m Bryn.
Care to sit down for a few?
This Is Insane
For some stupid reason,
I really, really do want to
sit down with him for a few.
What is the big attraction?
It’s not like a guy has never
put the moves on me before.
And I’m pretty sure that’s what
this is, even though he’s smooth.
But Paige isn’t taking the bait.
We were going to get something
to eat, remember? And I thought
you had to go—She catches herself.
Fact is, I do have to go. Now.
“I’d like to sit, Bryn, but Pai—
uh … my friend is hungry.
Maybe another time?”
His smile slips a little. But
he says, Of course. Then he
reaches into his pocket. Here’s
my card. Call me sometime.
A Poem by Ginger Cordell
Reach
They say you should
reach for the stars,
and I’d like to, but
my arms
are much too short.
They say to reach
don’t
understand what hope
is. They say to reach for
goals, but I don’t
know
how to define mine,
and so I won’t listen.
But if you only tell me
how to
love you, I’ll reach
into the depth of me
and find a way to
hold you.
Ginger
School Sucks
Don’t even know why I try.
We’ve moved around so
much, I’ve always been behind.
I’m not going to graduate without
a hella lot of summer school
or something. And I don’t plan to
spend summer vacation locked up
in Barstow High, trying to figure
out algebra. Who needs it, anyway?
Not like I’m going to college. I’ll be
happy waitressing. Minimum
wage and tips isn’t such a bad life.
Would be nice to settle into a town.
(Not that Barstow’s the one—it’s
not!) Have a nice, steady job. A friend
or two. Maybe even fall in love,
if there is such a thing, and if
I can ever get past … Anyway,
we’ve never stayed in one place
long enough for me to make friends.
All I’ve had to hang with are sisters.
Actually, I’ve Kind of Connected
To one girl, Alex. She’s in my
creative writing class, and
she’s totally goth. Black clothes,
black fingernails. Heavy black
eyeliner, which somehow
makes her seem innocent,
like a little girl, trying too hard
to look all grown up. There’s
something about that—something
about her—that is really
attractive to me. More than
once since I’ve gotten to know
her, I have thought about
what it might be like to hold
her. I’ve even fantasized about
kissing her. It’s major weird
and kind of messed up, I guess.
I’ve never kissed anyone,
guy or girl. Been kissed,
but it was never my idea,
and I hated it. Hated them.
I want to know what a real
kiss is like. But why I keep
thinking about doing it with
Alex is a mystery. She has
never even halfway come on
to me. That’s cool. Who needs
complications? It’s good
enough to have a friend.
And anyway, I’m guessing
it isn’t easy for her to get
close to people. She has
had a tough life, maybe
tougher than mine. Her mom’s
doing hard time for armed
robbery, and she lives with her
loser stepdad, who’s a bartender
at some sleazy club out on
Old Highway 58. Wonder if
I should try to set him up
with Iris. A pair of low-life
druggies. The perfect couple.
Alex and I
Are hanging out downtown,
scoping out people, scoping
us out. I take a deep drag off
a bummed Kool, cough like a
dweeb on the exhale. “Does
your stepdad have a girlfriend?”
Alex keeps watching people
walk by. She rarely looks you
in the eye. Nah. No one special,
not since Lydia boogied on
down the road. Guess he has
fuck buddies, though. Why?
“I dunno. It just came to me
that maybe he and my mom
should hook up or something.”
She doesn’t miss a beat.
You kidding? You don’t
like your mom or what?
I laugh. “Not much, actually.
But she’s easier to deal with
when she’s got a man in her life.”
Really? Seems to me life is a lot
easier without getting attached
to someone. Too complicated.