End of the Innocence (15 page)

I couldn’t hold out and just started to laugh as loud as I could.

“I hate you so much right now,” he mumbled under his breath.

I jumped up and grabbed him from behind, picking him up in a bear hug as I twirled him around. “Don’t blame me. Your new haircut drives me crazy!” I was rewarded by his laughter as I spun him around a few times. The fact that no one paused or even looked twice at us showed how distracted everyone was about Winter Break.

I put him down and caught my breath.

“You’re crazy!” he said, hitting my back.

“That’s a word for it,” I said, turning toward him.

“Brad,” he warned me, laughing, but I kept coming at him. “
Brad
!” He turned to run as I chased him to my car.

When I got there, I took the time to kiss him a couple more times before letting him go. “You know we can just skip the party and head out to the lake. You, me, the backseat….”

“We are going to that party!” he said seriously. “We promised people that we would—”

I kissed him again. He was so cute when he got worked up.

“We’re going. Calm yourself, spaz,” I replied, pushing him up against the driver’s side door. “I’m just thinking about what we are going to do at the party.” I saw him get all shy for a moment, but then I felt his hips buck against mine.

“Are you sure you want to?” he asked in a whisper, like someone was close enough to hear us.

“I’m pretty sure you can feel how ready I am,” I said, bucking my hips back. That got me a small blush.

“I mean, are you sure we won’t get caught? How do you know someone else won’t walk in or—”

I kissed him again.

“Don’t worry, I got this,” I said, giving him a reassuring smile. I waited for him to come to terms with the decision. The last thing I wanted to do was rush him into sex. Well, I wanted to rush him a
little
, but only if he wanted to do it, because I had a pretty serious case of blue balls going on. “Look, we don’t have to do anything. I’m just saying that a party like that is the perfect place to get some alone time with no parents or anything bugging us. But if you don’t want to—”

“I do!” he practically screamed, his voice cracking from the strain. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I do want to do that with you. I’m just….” He sighed and leaned against my car. “I’m just scared about doing it somewhere weird like that.”

“Then we don’t do it,” I reassured him, trying not to sound disappointed as I did so.

“But I want to!” he protested and sighed again. “I don’t know….” He looked down, depressed, shuffling his feet.

I put a finger under his chin and tilted his face up until he was looking at me. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to or do it anywhere you don’t want to. If you aren’t into it, then don’t worry.”

“But I do want to.” He half pouted. “I’m just chickenshit.”

I laughed and pulled him into a hug. “No, you’re completely normal. Don’t worry about it.” I tried not to make it obvious that my hard-on was killing me.

“No,” he said, standing up suddenly. “No.” He said it stronger. “I’m tired of being scared. You want to have sex, I want to have sex. We are going to that party and having sex!”

A guy walking by our car held up a hand and called out. “Hell yeah, get some!”

I felt Kyle’s head press into my chest as he moaned. “Oh God. I just yelled that out loud, didn’t I?”

I nodded to a few girls who were laughing as they walked by. In a low voice, I said to him. “No, I’m sure no one heard that at all.” I waved to another couple of people who were slowly turning away from where we were standing. Thank God this was the day before the break, or what Kyle had said would have been everywhere by Monday.

“I’m serious, though,” he said, looking up at me. “I’m tired of being scared.”

I smiled and kissed him on the forehead. “Then don’t be scared. I’m here.”

He hugged me back while I tried not to think about the fact I was going to have sex with my boyfriend tonight. I did try, but trust me when I say it had no effect on my junk whatsoever.

“So, are you coming over to change at my house?” I asked after a few minutes of holding him.

“No, I’m changing at my house, and you’re picking me up like a proper date and everything,” he said, smiling. “And you better not be late.”

“Hey, if you’re putting out, I’ll rent a limo and have fireworks ready,” I said, making him laugh.

“I just… this is going to be our first real date, you know?” he explained softly.

And it hit me. Tonight would be. First date. Our first date.

We had been together for months, and I had never actually asked him to go out with me. I was kind of shocked because if it had been a girl, I would have made a big thing about asking her out to a movie and all that, but with Kyle we just… happened. Suddenly I felt really weird about our relationship for some reason.

“Okay, then,” I said aloud, trying to clear the confusion from my head. “Let’s do it right.” I grabbed his hand and slid my ring off his finger. I did it so fast he barely had time to acknowledge it was gone. I put it in my pocket. “Hi,” I said, sticking out my hand. “My name is Brad.”

He looked at my hand for a few seconds, shot a glance at my face, and then smiled and shook my hand. “I’m Kyle.”

I gave him a huge smile. “Oh, trust me, I know who you are. I’ve been watching you for a while now.”

He arched one eyebrow. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound like a creeper at all.”

“I mean, I’ve seen you around school. I’ve just been too shy to talk to you,” I clarified quickly.

“Oh. You, shy?” he said skeptically. “I find that hard to believe.”

I took a half step closer to him. “No really, in public I am like one person, but inside I am a really shy person.” I tried to play it up, looking down as I spoke, sneaking a quick glance at him as I talked. “And I kinda like you.”

“Kinda, huh?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I said, taking another half step.

“I’ve heard that ‘maybe’ before.” We stood face to face now.

“Okay. I definitely like you.” I was so close he could hear me whispering.

“And?” he whispered back. I pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“And go out with me.” I paused for a moment. “Tonight.”

“On a date?” I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Very much on a date. You dress up, I dress up, we go to a party together….” I licked the outside of his ear and felt him shiver.

“Pick me up around six.” He sounded like every ounce of his concentration was focused on not humping me there in the parking lot.

I pulled back and said in a chipper voice, “Six it is.”

He almost fell onto his face. “You’re a jerk,” he growled as he regained his balance before he actually did get parking lot rash on his chin.

“I’m your jerk.” I laughed and gave him a quick peck on the nose. “See ya at six,” I said just before I got into my car and hit the ignition.

“You’re not dropping me off at my house?” he called out to me.

“Isn’t it bad luck to see you before the date or something?” I called over the sound of the engine starting.

“That’s the bride before a wedding, you goof!” he called after me.

I revved the engine over his voice and cupped a hand around my ear. “Huh? I can’t hear you.” He tried again, and I revved the Mustang even louder. Shrugging, I shouted, “Sorry, Kyle, just too loud in here! See you soon!”

I let him think for about five seconds I was leaving before stopping and opening his door. He was laughing when he got in the car. “You are so cruel to me.”

I stuck my tongue out at him and pulled out of the parking lot.

“You are so not getting any tonight with that attitude.” I glanced over at him; he ignored me. I glanced over at him; he ignored me some more. I stared at him with full-on puppy dog eyes. He continued to ignore me.

For those of you coming in late the score is Kyle 1, Brad 0.

K
YLE

I
F
you had asked me one year ago what the chances were I would be getting ready to go to a party with Brad Greymark as my date, I would have calmly explained to you that you were crazy. If you had insisted on making me come up with realistic odds, I would have told you to knock it off. If you had persisted, I probably would have thrown something at your face and run while you were distracted.

What? Did you expect me to actually lie and say I would have hit you?

Once when I was showering and twice while I was drying off, I had to fight the urge to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I settled for a fake slap to the one cheek. Nope, not dreaming.

Robbie had given me a bottle of gel so I could style my hair. “Style my hair,” of course, had meant nothing to me, so he spent another twenty minutes showing me what styling my hair meant. Turns out styling involves a lot of putting some kind of goop in my hair and then moving the hair around with a comb until I liked what I saw in the mirror.

Since I never liked what I saw in the mirror, I just screwed around with my hair until it looked as close to what it had when I walked out of Robbie’s.

Next came the clothes. The jeans were skinnier than the ones I normally wore but weren’t as skintight as the ones I’ve seen on some guys at school. This time the button-up shirt was royal blue with black stripes. Robbie also gave me a pair of dark-brown leather shoes; they were the first shoes I had owned as a teenager that weren’t sneakers. The last piece of clothing was my favorite. It was a black blazer that fit over the shirt perfectly. Robbie told me when I walked in I should have one button closed, but when I started to talk to people I should unbutton it.

I took a deep breath before looking in the mirror. This was going to be the first time I had seen the whole outfit with the hair combined. I prayed I wouldn’t look like some little kid dressing up in his dad’s clothes.

An American teenager stared back at me.

“Who the fuck is that?” I asked myself. Cautiously, I reached out and touched the mirror to make sure it wasn’t an illusion or maybe some high-tech flat screen posing as a mirror. When the surface didn’t pulse, I concluded gleefully that I was staring at me.

If I were a person who valued honesty a little less, I might have skipped over the part where I stayed in the bathroom for almost ten minutes making sure I looked okay from every angle I could manage with my own eyes, but alas, I can’t. I also wish I could claim my ego made me do the whole “Look at me!” thing.

Sadly, I looked and appreciated, but I did it to quiet a deep-seated fear that I had toilet paper sticking to some part of my body I couldn’t see.

I might have stayed in there even longer if my mom hadn’t pounded on the door. “Okay, come on, Cinderella! Some of us have to use that room for its original purpose!”

I counted to ten in my head before opening the door.

And was instantly blinded by the flash of a camera.

“Oh my God! You look adorable!” I heard her enthuse. I rubbed my eyes vigorously, trying to clear the afterimages, and didn’t respond.

“That is a sharp jacket.” Wait. What?

I squinted and blinked a few times. Mr. Parker stood next to Mom. For some reason, I had the impulse to cover myself even though I was fully dressed. “Oh, hey, Mr. Parker.”

“Well, I know you weren’t going to take my word for it that you looked good, so I brought a gay man over to prove it,” my mom explained as she half blinded me again.

Mr. Parker gave me a small smile. “There is no way I can comment on the way you look without sounding like a complete pervert, so I will just say, you look more than presentable.”

For some reason, hearing those words from a man made me feel good. “Thank you,” I replied. My mom clicked and blinded me again, although the third time I was ready for her and got my eyes shut. Mostly. “Mom, I think we have captured this particular Kodak moment.” Mr. Parker cocked his head and chuckled.

“If I remember correctly, Linda, you said something pretty close to that to your mom the night we went to the prom.” She gave him an ugly look in response.

“You took my mom to prom?” I asked, shocked at the idea that there had been proms when Mom had been a teenager and at my incredibly bad poetry.

“No,
I
took
him
because he was terrified the other girls who wanted to go out with him would want him to put out, so he begged me to be his date to protect him from girl cooties.” She grinned slyly at Mr. Parker. He face-palmed.

“Ignore her,” he advised casually. “She lies.”

Mom and Mr. Parker were talking like regular people instead of adults. I could almost see the kids they used to be peeking out as they ragged on each other. It was cool but unsettling as hell.

Thankfully, a knock on the door saved me from further embarrassment.

“Oh God, he’s here,” I said. All the courage I had saved up in my life to spend in a moment like this spiraled down an imaginary drain. “I look like crap,” I said. I spun on my heel, turning to head back into the bathroom.

I did not expect two hands to grab me by my shoulders and do a one-eighty with me. Mr. Parker stared me in the face. “You look great. You do not look stupid. And he is waiting for you to answer the door.” His voice was calm yet stern. His words carried weight, and I could feel myself quieting. “You have made it ninety-nine yards so far. All you have to do is walk to the door and you score.” His smile made him look ten years younger. “Don’t chicken out now.”

I took a deep breath and calmed myself. In a voice that seemed to come from outside of myself, I said, “I understood everything but the ninety-nine yards part, but I will assume it’s a sports reference and leave it at that.” He smiled and nodded.

“Have fun,” my mom called after me as I walked to the door. “But not that much fun!” she added after a second.

I turned the doorknob and held my breath.

You know those moments in movies where the camera falls on the leading man and then pulls back to reveal the rest of the scene? That was exactly what happened in my head. I saw Brad and his smile and all my nervousness fled as quickly as it had come. And then I saw he was leaning against his car, his arms crossed, with a dozen roses clutched in one hand. He wore a pair of khakis that clung in all the right places. His green V-neck sweatshirt over a white T-shirt also did some very right clinging.