How to Ruin My Teenage Life (16 page)

“Eww.” I'd be flunking combat training for sure. I'm not into physical pain, inflicting it on myself OR others. It's no surprise Mutt isn't neutered.

“It's not the torture that'll mess with people. It's the mind games.” Leaning back on my dresser, he catches his bottom lip with his teeth and looks straight at me.

He looks so adorable I just want to run over to him and hug him tight until I feel all safe and secure in his arms. “What?” I say, totally self-conscious that he's staring at me as if he's memorizing my face.

“I think of you. During the toughest training, when my mind gets weak and I have dark thoughts, I've thought of you.”

“Me? I'm Disaster Girl, remember?”

“No. You're the only girl I know who expects life to be perfect and gets pissed off when it's not. You're the girl who's not only beautiful and has a kick-ass body, but you're funny when you don't mean to be and would rather eat dirt than back down from a fight.”

“I hate most things.”

“Give me one thing you hate.”

“Olives.”

“But you love sushi.”

“I'm not fond of my stepdad, Marc.”

“But you're close with your dad now.”

“My room is messy.”

His eyes rest on my closet and the clothes bursting out of it. “Yeah, it is.”

Taking my Care Bear, I throw it at him. He catches the stuffed animal with one hand. “Be careful who you throw things at, Amy.”

“Why? What're you going to do?” I take one of my pillows and fling it at him. With his free hand, he catches it without flinching.

He cocks an eyebrow. “You're just asking for trouble.”

“I'm already trouble.” Picking up my last pillow, I pull it back. “You have no more hands,” I tell him. “What are you going to do now?”

Before I have a chance to fling it, Avi pounces on the bed and pins me down while holding my hands at my sides and my legs with his feet.

“Is this what you learned in combat training?” I ask him, laughing and trying to escape so I can best him, but no such luck. The guy is pure, lean muscle. I'll bet he has, like, zero percent body fat. I'll bet my boobs alone have more body fat than his entire body.

He's sitting on top of me, but with just enough weight for it not to hurt. “Judge your enemy's strengths … and weaknesses,” he says.

“Am I the enemy, Avi?”

“Are you? Because right now I can sense you're scheming. That overactive mind of yours is planning an escape.”

“How did you know?”

“I can see it in your eyes,” he says. “And I feel the adrenaline radiating off your body.”

My heart is beating fast and I'm anxious, but not because I want to escape. I haven't been this close to a boy since this summer, when Avi and I went touring through Israel. I want him to kiss me now, like before. But he doesn't. Why?

“Amy, I'm back!” I hear my dad's voice yell from the foyer. Avi jumps off my bed faster than he got on it and reclaims his position leaning on my dresser.

When my dad peeks his head in the doorway of my room, he looks from me to Avi. I've managed to sit upright, but my comforter is all messed up and I'm sure my hair isn't much better.

“Avi, why don't you wait in the living room while I talk to Amy a minute.”

Avi rubs his hand over his crew cut, stalling, and I can tell he wants to stay and be my protector.

“Dad, you're embarrassing me,” I say after I tell Avi to wait in the living room so he doesn't have to hear my dad's lecture.

“This won't take long, Amy. Just cool it.”

“If it's about sex, Mom already told me about it.”

“Yeah, well now you're going to get the Dad version, okay?” He rubs his hands together as if he's about to do some heavy weightlifting. The noise of his dry hands making sandpaper sounds makes me wish I'd forced him to buy the hand cream the manicure lady suggested he get. He clears his throat and says, “No sex.”

“Got it. Thanks for the talk, Dad. Totally helped. Glad we're on the same page.”

“Amy … ” he says in a warning tone.

I moan, situate my pillows which are strewn across my bed, and lean back on them. “What?”

“Avi is eighteen, a man. You
just
turned seventeen—”

“Over a month ago,” I interrupt.

“Yes, well, guys are different than girls. Guys, um, have urges and, um, so you have to be careful, and uh, your own body is changing and, uh, you know. You might be having, um, feelings, too … ”

All those ums and uhs are making my brain twitch.

“
Aba
, maybe you should have gone to that seminar our school had last year about talking to your kids about sex. Mom went. She said to be careful; there's a lot of diseases. And to protect myself at all times, no matter what. And that if a guy tells me I have to do something in order for him to like me, then I should give him the old heave-ho. And that the risks of having sex at my age
so
outweigh the benefits. And that I can still be a teenager and liked without exploiting myself or my values. Does that cover it?”

He looks stunned. “I guess so.”

“Don't you trust Avi?”

“Honey, I don't trust any guy with my daughter. And something funky was going on here between you two before I came back.”

“
Aba
, nothing was going on.”

My dad bends down, picks up my Care Bear from the floor, and tosses it to me. “You can't pull the wool over these Israeli eyes.”

“You're an Israeli with paranoid eyes,” I tell him.

“That's a good thing. Call it an occupational hazard. We need to set up a few rules now that Avi's here.”

I hate the word “rules.” It diminishes your fun, freedom, and spontaneity. “Hit me with 'em,” I say, knowing it's no use arguing.

“No boys in your bedroom. You and Avi can hang out in the family room, living room, and kitchen.”

“
Aba
, I was just giving him a tour of the condo.”

“Sure,” he says, obviously not believing me. “Rule number two: no sneaking out to the living room to visit Avi in the middle of the night.”

“Why don't you just lock me in the room so I don't escape,” I say sarcastically.

“Don't tempt me, Amy.”

I roll my eyes. “Dad, a lot of my friends are more experienced than I am.”

“That's their parents' problem, not mine.”

I stand and face him. “I mean, if I wanted to do something I'd have done it. I'm not ready. Don't worry.”

Before he can continue his lecture, I open the door and find Avi. He's going through his duffle in the living room.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“I got the sex lecture,” I tell him.

“Avi,
boyenna b'vakasha
,” my dad calls out.

Oh, no. “What did he say?”

Avi stands. “I think I'm about to get the sex lecture, too.” He walks to the back of the condo, where my dad is. Oh, great.

Why doesn't my dad trust me? I mean, I'm not the kind of kid who usually rebels by hanging out with druggies and drinkers. I'm clean cut. Okay, so I've stolen my dad's credit card and this summer I had feelings for Avi that surprised me … and I tested those feelings. But isn't that what teenagers are supposed to do?

I eye Avi's open duffle. Not much in there besides jeans, socks, shirts, and underwear—those tight boxer-ones like the ones in the Calvin Klein ads.

Behind me someone's clearing their throat. I jerk myself up, startled, and turn to Avi.

He nods, then says, “I got the sex lecture.”

“Was it harsh?”

“Let's just say your dad tried to convince me he has the knowledge to kill me with one finger.”

My dad walks into the room, looking pretty smug I might add. Sure, he just threatened Avi's life if he probably so much as looked at me.

“Arg!”

Mutt is oblivious as he takes a squeaky hamburger in his mouth and drops it at my feet. I pick it up and throw it down the hallway. He bolts after it and brings it back for another round.

“I met with Mr. Obermeyer downstairs when I took Mutt for his walk,” my dad informs me as he watches Mutt slide past him. “We had a long talk, which seems to be the theme of my day.”

“And?”

“And he said he's taking Princess to the vet tomorrow to see if she's pregnant. If she is, we'll deal with the consequences then.”

“Thanks,
Aba
.”

“It'll all work out; don't worry. Listen, I've got some work to do and you've got school tomorrow, so I think you should both say your goodnights and go to bed.”

Since Avi's bed is the couch, I pull out of the hall closet bed linens and a blanket. I feel Avi's eyes on me as we make the bed together. “I wish we were back in Israel,” I say. “This summer we had no rules to deal with, nobody telling us what we can and can't do … it was awesome.”

“This is your dad's territory, his house, and his rules.”

“Goodie for me.” Isn't this my territory and my house, too? When can I start making my own rules up? Or be trusted enough not to have any rules?

When the couch is transformed into a bed, I turn to Avi. “You can use the bathroom to get ready first.”

“
Todah
,” he says, grabbing a toothbrush, toothpaste, and blue flannel pants.

“You're welcome.”

I hurry into my room and dress in a tank and shorts, my usual pajama attire. I sit on my bed and stare at the picture of Avi on my nightstand and can't believe he's really here . . . in my house, in my life again. It's not as perfect as it was in Israel, but there's something about Avi that calms my soul.

At the same time, I try to warn myself that he's only here for a week and not forever. He's leaving soon and I'll be left alone again … no date for the Valentine's Dance, no date for New Year's Eve, no date for Valentine's Day, and no date for the Fourth of July fireworks if the summer trip to Israel doesn't go through.

Nathan'll be around, though. Every day.

Why am I thinking about Nathan when Avi is here? I don't even like Nathan, or his emerald eyes.

Surely I gave Avi enough time to change and brush his teeth. But the door to the bathroom opens just as I reach it and Avi comes out … shirtless, with his hair wet from showering.

Bronzed skin, chocolate eyes, hair that looks almost black when wet. “Hi,” I say.

He rakes his fingers through his wet hair. “Sorry I took so long. I needed a shower. I felt dirty from the flight and all.”

“I think I'm gonna need that sex talk again,” I whisper, then give him a self-conscious smile and move past him to lock myself in the bathroom.

Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, I wonder what makes Avi think I'm on the same level looks-wise as him. My teeth aren't perfect, my top lip disappears when I smile, my hair is too frizzy, and my boobs are a cup size too big. I even kept my bra on with my pjs because I don't want Avi noticing how much my
boobage
sags when I unleash “the girls.”

He said that he likes me because I expect life to be perfect. Who doesn't fight for things to go their way? I guess some people, even Jessica, settle for the status quo. It's in my nature to fight. I guess I can blame that trait on my dad.

I've also come to realize that with turning seventeen, I've become boy crazy. I think about them all the time. It started when I met Avi, and hasn't stopped. Sometimes I'll think about boys at the strangest times, like in conversion class or even when I'm shopping. Last week when Jessica was telling me about her dance competition, my mind wrapped around the word “dance” and my thoughts wandered to when I was in Israel this past summer at a disco and I watched Avi dance. He's an amazing dancer, so comfortable moving his body to music, unlike most guys I know.

Maybe the rules are a good thing, after all.

I peek into the living room before I go to bed. Avi is laying on the couch, the blanket covering his bottom half but his toned chest is exposed. He's got one arm resting behind his head, which makes his bicep tense up.

“What?”

“Are you on steroids or something?”

He laughs. “You ever try holding a Kalashnikov assault rifle over your head while walking five kilometers in water up to your waist twice a day. Your arms would be just as big. The gun touches the water, you get another kilometer tacked on.”

No thank you very much. “I thought you trained in the desert.”