Dancing with Molly (15 page)

Today was one of the first days it was over eighty degrees, so it was a perfect day to hang out by the pool. We changed in his bedroom. That's another thing I like about him—he's not shy. Not that he should be. His body is off the hook from football and track. He's totally comfortable in his own skin. And something about him being so comfortable pulling off his T-shirt and then kicking out of his shorts made me totally comfortable too. Carson wasn't wearing any underwear under his gym shorts and
he didn't act like a little boy and turn around to try to hide his front side from me. He picked up his shorts and folded them and put them on the bed, then walked over to his dresser and pulled out a pair of swim trunks. As he did, he glanced over at me and caught me full-on staring at him.

He paused for a second and smirked. Then, as he rummaged through his drawer for trunks, he told me that he only had one rule in his bedroom: If he was naked, everybody had to be. I laughed and pulled off my top and unhooked my bra right then and there. He stepped into these black swim shorts with a red stripe around each leg. They're short—not like board shorts, but nylon and like something you'd see a grown man swim laps in. They weren't a Speedo or anything, but they were trim and tight like him. When he caught sight of me topless, he got this lazy, goofy smile on his face. He said, Damn, these shorts had more room in them before you took off your shirt.

We both collapsed on the bed for a second laughing, and then we kissed and he rolled over on top of me. He kissed my neck and then my breasts and then I pushed him off and said, We have plenty of time to fool around after molly gets here.

And you know what? He said the sweetest thing. He said, You're the only girl I need. I kissed him again on the lips, and
then shimmied out of my shorts and into my bikini. As I tucked everything into its proper place up top, Carson just laid on his bed watching me, and when I was all done he said, That's gonna look so good on my floor later. I laughed, arched an eyebrow, and said, If you're lucky.

Then he went over to his nightstand and pulled out a little plastic baggie that had four hits of molly in it. They were the same little capsules that we had taken the other night. He glanced at the clock and did some math. He said it was noon now, so we'd probably just take one and save the other two for another time because his mom would be home by six, and Kyle had said this stuff should give us a good four-hour roll and then we could come down for the last hour from four to five. Then he asked, Swallow or snort?

I tapped my nose, and Carson opened up two capsules and crushed out two beautiful smooth lines on his glass desktop. Then he rolled up a twenty-dollar bill and held it out to me. We both snorted our doses, and then we went into the living room, where he plugged in his iPhone and hit a couple buttons. Music flooded through the house and spilled out into the pool area. Carson handed me a bottle of spray-on waterproof sunscreen, then grabbed a couple of waters from the refrigerator under the bar next to his dad's immense grill.

As soon as we were done with the sunscreen, Carson did a little dive into the deep end of the pool, then swam the length to the shallow end underwater. The sun glinted off his body and he looked like a painting. At the far wall in the shallow end, he did a flip turn like he was an expert swimmer and pushed off the wall, gliding up to the surface in the middle of the pool. He did that thing guys do when they toss their hair as they come up, and the water flinging off his head and sparkling in the sunlight made me feel the first
whoosh
of the molly. It was like he'd tossed diamonds into the air instead of water droplets, and my eyes wiggled with them as they danced across the blue of the sky.

I felt so sexy, standing there in my bikini—like that night at prom. I walked slowly to the edge, and then, without any warning, I did a cannonball off the side with a big yell. When I surfaced, Carson was laughing . . . and holding my bikini top, which had come off as soon as I hit the water. He grinned and said, You're missing something. I kissed him on the lips and took it from him, then tossed it over my shoulder onto the side of the pool and said, How nice for you.

Rolling during the day, outside in the bright sunlight, was different than it usually is. Molly makes me want to dance when there's loud pulsing music and a crowd and a dark dance floor with beautiful lights flashing, but during the day, with Carson,
it was a new experience. We floated on the rafts with our bottles of water and smoked a couple cigarettes. We took turns jumping off the side of the pool and feeling the difference on our skin between the hot sun and the cool water. Carson fished a couple of these water cannon tubes out of a bin under the bar. They work like big foam syringes. You suck water into them and then plunge it out. We played with those for at least an hour, lying on rafts watching the trails of light sparkling off the streams of water that he shot into the air. He got really good at doing swirls and curls, and at some point, he kicked off his swim trunks and tossed them onto the side of the pool next to my top. As I write all of this down, I know that it sounds like sort of boring stuff to do, but I can't exactly explain how absolutely exquisite the molly made each of these little things. The visuals created by the sun and water, the light as it played across Carson's body; all of it made me feel completely drenched in pleasure.

I don't remember how long we were out in the water, but I noticed his cheeks—the ones on his face!—were getting a little pink and I said that maybe we should go inside for a while. We toweled off and carried our water bottles and stuff inside. My hair smelled like chlorine so I asked if I could take a shower, and Carson went into his bathroom and started the water. His shower is beautiful. It's not a typical showerhead over a tub; it's
a walk-in glass stall with a skylight, and plenty of room for two people. There's a rain-shower showerhead above, and then two additional jets that come out of the wall.

The sex started in the shower, and at some point, we got out and moved onto Carson's bed. When he suggested that we dry off and go someplace more comfortable, I remember feeling relieved because I had the thought that we could get a condom. But when we got onto Carson's bed, the soft sheets against my skin took my breath away, and also the thought of getting a condom. He was kissing me between the legs, and it felt so amazing I couldn't think about anything else. The molly heightened every sensation and seemed to warp time. How it all happened is a little fuzzy in my head now, but at some point, I realized he was inside me. We'd been fooling around for a while, and he is really talented with his tongue down there, so it wasn't this horrible horror story that I'd heard about from other people's first times. Still, it hurt a little and I bled a little even though he went really slowly.

I wonder if I would have said no if I hadn't been rolling. I mean, now, looking back at it, as much as I am into Carson, I'm not sure what's happening with us. It seems silly to pretend that we're going to be together forever in that sort of wide-eyed way that Ashley talks about boys. He's leaving for college in a couple
months, and . . . well, I'm not. Also, I didn't want my first time to be on drugs. Something about that felt weird. Plus, I really wish he'd used a condom. Still, he's the sexiest guy I've ever been on a date with—the only handsome one, really—and I would be insane to say no to having a first time with somebody when we have a connection like this, right? It's not that I wish we hadn't had sex. I just wish I hadn't been on molly during it. If I hadn't been, I think I would've at least made sure that he was wearing a condom.

As I was sitting across from Carson at dinner and he was joking around with my dad and making up details about our search for his mom's birthday present, it hit me that Carson didn't even pull out when he finished, and I suddenly got really scared that I might get pregnant. After a minute, I realized that I'd been staring at Ashley. She saw the look on my face, and got this self-satisfied, smug little grin that made me want to reach across the table and smack it off her.

I walked Carson out to his car when he left, and he told me that he had such a good time with me today. Then he said that he loved me. He actually said it. I said that I loved him too, but something really troubles me about the whole experience. I mean, if he really loved me, wouldn't he have worn a condom? Wouldn't he have listened to me when I asked him if he had any
instead of just continuing? I don't want to make it seem like he's a bad guy—he's not. I just wish that we hadn't been high.

For the first time, I wish I hadn't done molly.

I had a really hard time getting to sleep last night. Carson texted me a couple times to say he was thinking about how much fun he had yesterday afternoon, and I guess I finally drifted off sometime this morning around two. When I woke up, I heard Mom walking around the house in her high heels and remembered that she had a meeting with a client early today. She left the house at the same time Dad went to work. As soon as I heard both of their cars pull out of the garage, I went outside and got into mine.

I drove directly to the pharmacy—but not the one we usually go to. I went to one over by the mall, and finally found the Plan B One-Step pills. I had heard about these pills that you could take after you had unprotected sex that would keep any fertilized egg from implanting in your womb, but I couldn't remember what they were called or any of the details about them. I know there was a big fight about it to get them approved because a bunch of people thought they caused abortions. They don't at all. They just keep you from getting pregnant. Anyway,
these pills are EXPENSIVE. The ones at the pharmacy by the mall were $49.99 for a single dose. But what choice did I have? I used my debit card to pay for it and was just glad that I was doing this right away. It works best if you take it within seventy-two hours of having unprotected sex, and it hadn't even been twenty-four hours yet.

You'd think that it would be bad enough that I'm having to spend money on this, but as I was walking to the self-checkout register (which I was really glad they had so I didn't have to hand my Plan B pill to a checker and be like, Hi. I'm a huge slut . . . ) I came around the corner and ran into Mr. Peterson. Literally. Full-body check. It was possibly the worst experience of my entire life. As I hit him, I of course dropped the Plan B box, and it hit his shoe. He didn't even see who I was before he bent down to pick it up. He was apologizing for running into me, even though I clearly ran into him, and then he froze when he saw what he was picking up.

I probably should have just turned around and run out of the store right then, but it all happened so fast, and before I knew it, I was staring into Mr. Peterson's eyes, or trying not to actually, while he handed me my morning-after birth-control pill. When something this horrifying happens, why can't adults just leave it alone? Why do they have to make it 100,000 times
worse? I tried to just head toward the register, but Mr. Peterson reached out and touched my arm and launched into this whole speech about how it was really good to see me and how he has been worried about me, and how sorry he is that the school came down so hard on me. He said that he could probably try to pull a few strings to get me back onto the trip to New York in the fall so I could march in the parade. Finally I just held up my hand and stopped him.

I told Mr. Peterson that I didn't miss band. That I didn't need his help. That I just needed him to stop talking so that I could go home. He blinked at me and nodded, then got all flustered and red-faced and turned around and walked away. I paid at the self-checkout and bought a bottle of water, too. When I got outside, I tore open the box, swallowed the pill, glanced over the instructions, then threw away all the evidence: packaging, receipt, everything.

As I got into my car, Carson texted me. He asked if I wanted to meet him for a coffee and a doughnut. I'm smiling just remembering how sweet he was to me this morning when I got there. I told him what had just happened, and he felt really terrible. I said I'd had my embarrassing trip to the pharmacy and now it was his turn. He blushed, and apologized, and promised to get condoms on the way home.

I can't believe all of this has happened. I mean, if you'd told me two months ago that the band geek with the clarinet would be rolling her ass off and taking Plan B because she had unprotected sex with her hot boyfriend—or whatever he is—I'd have told you that you were nuts. And yet, here I am. The wild child. Mom would be so proud.

It was Derrick's birthday last night and Reid and Carson decided that we should all roll together. Sara was there with Reid, and Kelly joined us even though Jess is boycotting. It was fun to be back at Derrick's house with the whole gang, but I really missed Jess. Kelly and I talked about it a little bit, and she seemed to think that it would all work out eventually. They haven't really been hanging out so I asked if they were officially broken up, and Kelly told me that they'd never officially said that they were girlfriends.

I know what that feels like for sure.

Carson and I have had sex a couple more times since that day we rolled—both times not on drugs, and using condoms. Having sex is fun, and I think I am pretty good at it—or at least getting good at it. Carson says it's the best sex of his life. Of course, he's only had sex with three other girls—or at least
that's what he says. He says he loves me, but I'm not sure what our relationship is really about. Part of me is fine with that—realistic about it. The other part feels myself growing more attached and sort of depressed about it. I guess that's why it feels so nice to be on molly with Carson. When we're rolling together, nothing else matters. It's just him and me and there's no problem. I get the overwhelming sensation that everything will be just fine between us—no matter what. That even if he goes off to college, and we both fall in love with other people, things will work out just fine.