Authors: S. Stevens
Tags: #General, #Fiction
“Tosser equals wanker equals jerk. Okay, I’m good.” Just saying the words made me laugh. “But wait—what about poser, what’s that mean?”
“A poser,” Nigel enunciated, in what I’m pretty sure was an upper-crust British accent, “—by the way, spelled properly it’s p-o-s-e-u-r -- is like it sounds: someone who pretends to be something they’re not. The term was in vogue in the seventies punk scene, describing the young lads who thought sticking safety pins in their ears and noses qualified them to be punk rockers.”
“But it didn’t?” My knowledge of 1970s British culture was shaky.
“Not at all. Being a punk was a state of mind and political belief as much as clothing and mannerisms. So those who dressed or talked like punk rockers but didn’t have the bollocks to back it up – well, those are posers.”
“Thanks for the history lesson,” I smiled, staring into his eyes and feeling like part of a special club. Initial reports to the contrary, his eyes were definitely brown – a nice, light brown like crispy leaves, not dirt brown like mine. (Alex called my eyes “chocolate pudding brown” once, but what did he know?)
While I analyzed Nigel’s eyes, he pulled me closer to him on the couch and kissed me. (Picture that as the first big loop-de-loop of the rollercoaster ride, giving me chills and thrills as I spun and twisted madly through the air, laughing all the way and definitely wanting more.) Ten minutes into a make-out session, my father came home, stomping loudly in the hallway as Nigel and I pulled apart. Of course Dad insisted on shaking hands with Nigel and introducing himself formally, and sitting with us to ask loads of stupid questions like how was Nigel enjoying the U.S., Massachusetts and Crudup High.
Nigel endured it all with great patience, but by the time Dad was forced to stop his inquisition to take a phone call from Mom, Nigel had to leave. So it was an anti-climactic end to a thrilling visit, like the inevitable letdown after the big loop, as the car chugs along the flat track preparing for the next climb.
After dinner, Adrienne called. “Where were you today? I thought we were studying for the Spanish test at my house.” The rollercoaster careened over the edge of a sheer vertical drop, my stomach plunging with it. How did I forget I was supposed to go to Adrienne’s house? In the excitement of Nigel, that’s how. I was a terrible friend. Luckily, Adrienne was a great friend and she forgave me easily enough.
Tuesday, the soccer team played our arch rivals, Cunningham High. Alex posted a shut-out and the team won 1-0, cementing his status as one of the most popular kids in school. I was indifferent – more chugging around the track waiting for the next scary part.
Which came Wednesday, when I was thrown into another loop-de-loop. Nigel came over again, which started as a repeat of Monday. We sang along to some music and practiced the Troy/Gabriella duets from HSM2, perfecting the harmonies after a few tries. But he soon lost interest and swooped me into his arms to the slow music of “Gotta Go My Own Way”, kissing me far more passionately than anything seen in a Disney film. I stopped trying to figure out whether the weak knees I got from Nigel’s kissing meant I was falling in love with him, and gave myself over to the kissing. The thought that I might love him seemed ludicrous at this stage, but I definitely loved kissing him.
He grew kind of frantic as we made out, so when he pulled away from me, I thought it was time for a break. He had other ideas. “Let’s go upstairs,” he whispered, kissing me again.
“Uh no, that’s a bad idea, Nigel. My dad could be home any minute.” I started to kiss him back but he stopped me.
“Sadie, don’t torture me.” His words stunned me. I thought this was the opposite of torture. “Come on, we’re Troy and Gabriella, remember? Let’s go prepare for the auditions another way, if you know what I mean. Let’s get inspired.” He kissed my neck, sending a shiver through me. I mustered all my willpower.
“Nigel, stop,” I said firmly. His arms stiffened around me and let go. His face was blank but his mouth was tight. “And Troy and Gabriella don’t do it, you know,” I said lamely, but I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t have any context for this discussion.
“They do it in real life, don’t they? I heard that somewhere,” he said with a pleading look in his eyes.
“If you mean Zac and Vanessa, yes, but they’re also older than us, and practically married. They even live together,” I said, amazed that we were discussing celebrity love lives.
He sat down on the couch and ran his hand through his brown hair, messing up the orderly spikes. He stared into space while his breathing slowed.
“Nigel, you’re not mad, are you?” I sat down beside him, pulling my foot underneath me and facing him.
“Nope, not mad. Disappointed.” He sounded like an exasperated parent. He even sighed like one before standing up to leave. “Okay, I might as well go.”
“Seriously? You’re leaving?” Is this how it worked, I wondered? You said no once and your boyfriend walked away? No discussion?
“Nigel, give me a little time to think about this--” I stopped before admitting he was only my second boyfriend and I’d never seriously thought about how or when I would lose my virginity, mild daydreaming aside. Maybe Nigel should be the one. I really, really liked him. He was so cute and funny. The sexy accent was a bonus. On the other hand, he was eighteen -- two years older than me, and I wasn’t sure I was ready.
But he wasn’t giving me time to think.
“No, that’s all right. You said yourself your father could be home any minute. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” He was already turning away. I followed him to the door.
“Are you still going to audition?” I asked weakly, suddenly nervous that he wouldn’t show, after I’d bragged to everyone that I convinced Nigel Leightly to join CDC.
“Of course. I’ll see you there.” He didn’t sound mad. But he didn’t kiss me on his way out, either.
I went back to the couch and sat with my face in my hands, a few tears squeezing between my fingers as I crashed to the bottom of the roller coaster track. How had the afternoon gone from super-high to super-low so fast?
I heard my dad on the front porch, but he didn’t come in right away. He was talking on his cell phone, sounding agitated. “Don’t tune me out, Wendy,” I swore I heard him say before he hung up and came inside.
“Hi, Dad,” I said.
“Hi,” he said, looking surprised to see me.
“You okay?” I pried, his words to my mother having switched my focus from my love life to his.
He gave a huge sigh. “I’m fine, honey.” He scanned the room as if he’d lost something. “Hey, how about you and I go out for dinner tonight? Just the two of us, for a change.”
“Where’s Mom?” I asked.
“She’s going to her sister’s after work.” I didn’t know what to make of that. My Aunt Karen lived forty-five minutes away. My mom never went there during the week. “She’ll be home late tonight. Or she might stay over there.”
“Okay. Dinner sounds good. Can I drive?”
He looked annoyed with me. “Jesus, Sadie, it’s not always about you. Would you relax about the driving?”
The rollercoaster twisted into a corkscrew. My shock at his unnaturally mean comment came out as irritation. “How can I relax? I’m way behind all my friends. I’m not even close to the forty hours of driving time I need to get my license, because you and Mom never have time to help me,” I said, tears coming back to my eyes.
His hazel eyes stared as if seeing me for the first time. “I’m sorry. We haven’t been around for you much lately.” He came over and hugged me, his tall, solid frame so much more reassuring than Nigel’s slight frame moments before.
“I have an idea. Let’s go to O’Doyle’s for dinner, and you can drive. That way, you can get in a full hour of practice between the rides there and back.” I smiled. “And at dinner, you can tell me all about this exchange student you’re spending so much time with.” I continued to smile but groaned inside.
That night, lying in bed, I thought about my parents. Dad and I had a nice dinner, but every time I brought up Mom for whatever reason, he looked funny and changed the subject. The more I thought about it, the more I realized they were acting strangely lately. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw them sit on the couch together, Dad rubbing Mom’s feet as he often did after her long day at the PR firm.
Maybe this was a normal married life phase. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was creeping up the rollercoaster track again, this time with no idea what kind of drop waited over the edge.
Thursday, we plunged toward the ground and flew right off the tracks. CDC was dead and gone. Finito. It was unthinkable.
Excitement had buzzed through the school corridors all day in preparation for auditions. Not everyone at Crudup cared about CDC auditions, but those of us who did created so much energy that it rubbed off on everyone else – like the anticipation that hung in the air before a championship game or the state math meet.
But when I entered the theatre for auditions, the energy was subdued. Mr. Ellison and Mr. Lord leaned against the stage and, as usual, we sat in the first few rows of the theatre, their captive audience. Nigel, to my relief, was there, even though he sat between Lindsay and Ben and barely glanced at me.
Mr. Ellison looked more dour than usual. Even happy Lord seemed somber.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to make.” We stopped talking to listen to our English teacher. “As you know, the town and the school are having budget issues, like every other town and school in the state. Mrs. Zowicki has been forced to make another round of cuts in school programs, and the CDC budget has been cut.”
After a collective groan, Ben asked, “How much?”
“If it’s not too bad, maybe we can do a cheaper show,” I offered.
Mr. Ellison sighed and straightened his bow tie. “Completely. We have no budget left. There will be no show this year.” He held up his hand. “And before you say that’s not fair, it’s not just us. Most of the other clubs have been cut, too.”
“But we’re not just a club. We’re an activity! We’re like a sports team!” Lucey countered.
“No amount of arguing or complaining is going to change it. We’re not having a show this fall, and possibly not this school year at all.” Mr. Ellison was giving up so easily. I didn’t get it. Mr. Ellison sent a withering glance Mr. Lord’s way, which I didn’t understand either – it wasn’t Lord’s fault they cut the budget – and then he left. Just like that.
We stared at Mr. Lord as he gathered his things.
“Isn’t there anything we can do, Mr. Lord?” asked Foster.
Mr. Lord took a wide-legged stance, arms crossed over his chest as if preparing to withstand a gale. “Maybe. I’ll see. For now, let’s all go home. But we’ll re-group next Thursday, okay? Even if Ellison isn’t here, maybe we can keep this program going.” He wasn’t convincing, but it was a better response than Mr. Ellison’s.
So ended the stomach-churning rollercoaster ride also known as the third week of junior year, a miserable mess of highs and lows, mostly lows. On the upside, I had a new boyfriend. Maybe. On the downside, he was pressuring me to have sex. CDC was disbanding, Mr. Ellison didn’t care, and Lord and Ellison were fighting. My parents were acting weird. And Alex – well, I didn’t even know how to define what was going on, or not going on, with Alex.
8: Cultural Differences
N
IGEL WAS TOUGH TO FIND the next few days. Ben’s family took up all his spare time showing him New England. He experienced countless scenic drives and two county fairs, begging off a third by claiming exhaustion. In truth, he told me on the phone when he called Sunday night, he didn’t care if he never saw another blue-ribbon heifer or thousand-pound pumpkin in his life.
He hadn’t asked me to the Homecoming Dance yet, but surely he meant to. Then again, I couldn’t wait for him to come around. Time was running out. I desperately needed my fib to Alex to become reality. Otherwise, I would be the world’s biggest poser for pretending the hot exchange student actually liked me. After a long weekend stewing on my options, I decided “desperate times call for desperate measures”. I psyched myself up to step outside my comfort zone and take charge of the situation.
After physics Monday, I cornered Nigel, knowing I wouldn’t see him in the bus line. He had somehow charmed Ben’s parents into letting him drive their spare car to school, which seemed patently unfair to me. He wasn’t a U.S. citizen and he wasn’t used to driving on the right side of the road, yet he got to drive.
I stopped him by the lockers as people filed out of the classroom, and pulled him back into the lab so we were alone.
He immediately snuck a kiss. So far, so good. But I had to get down to business.
“Nigel, I have to ask you something.”
“Don’t worry about the other day. Everything’s good, right?” he turned his full, slow smile on me. “Let’s try again.”
He was coming in for another kiss so I ducked out from under his arms to get some distance, blurting out, “Will you go to the Homecoming Dance with me?”
He stopped in his tracks. “The Homecoming Dance?” He rubbed his chin as if thinking. “Is that the dance next weekend?”
I nodded in anticipation, but he backed up a step.
“Sorry, love, I already told someone else I’d go with her.”