Authors: Lesleá Newman
When a commercial for Doublemint gum featuring two sets of identical twins comes on, I clear my throat. “I'm going to the library,” I announce to the Rents, since I can't exactly tell them where I'm really going: to the store to buy some condoms.
“Want me to drive you?” Fred asks, half rising off the couch.
“Let your father take you, Andrea,” Shirley chimes in. “It's awfully cold out.”
“It's not that cold,” I say quickly. “And besides, I could use the exercise.”
“That's certainly true,” says Shirley.
“Are you sure?” Fred asks with hope in his voice. “I feel like taking a little ride.”
“I'm sure,” I say, turning to go before he can join me.
Since it's all cloudy out and feels like it might snow, I put on my parka and head out to Jacoby's Drugs. I don't know where else to buy condoms, and I don't know if I'll even be able to buy them there. Mr. and Mrs. Jacoby both know me because their daughter, Horseface Hillary, is in my class, so what am I supposed to do, bring a box of them up to the back register where Mr. Jacoby works and say, “These are for my mother?” Yeah, right. Mrs. Jacoby usually works the front register
and sometimes, like now during the holiday season, the Jacoby kids help out too: David, who's older than Mike and always wears this huge silver peace sign on a leather cord around his neck like he's stuck in the sixties; Steven, who graduated high school two years early because he's a total genius and is already in college so he probably won't be around; and of course my dear friend Horseface.
When I get to the drugstore I see good old Lucy ringing her Salvation Army bell out front like she does every year. Lucy's lived around here forever, and even though she's an adult, she has the intelligence of a child. No one knows her real name but everyone calls her Lucy because she has this beagle named Snoopy after Charlie Brown's dog in the Peanuts comic strip.
Usually Lucy spends her days walking up and down the street holding Snoopy in her arms, rocking him like a baby, poor puppy. Today, though, Snoopy is lying down by Lucy's feet because she can't hold him and ring her Salvation Army bell at the same time. And she is just ringing that bell like there's no tomorrow, let me tell you. She puts her whole arm and shoulder behind it. The problem, though, is that she rings her bell so loudly that no one will come near her to drop a quarter or two into her bucket. I don't know how Snoopy can stand it. You'd think Lucy would figure it out and let up a little, but like I already said, she's not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree.
Well, I can't stand here forever trying to figure Lucy and Snoopy out, so I head into the drugstore. It's pretty
crowded because there's only seven more shopping days left until Christmas, as it says on this gigantic banner hanging right over Lucy's head in front of the drugstore in case you happen to forget. And inside right when you walk in, there's this huge Christmas display of a cardboard Santa Claus holding a million candy canes, ten thousand tubes of red and green wrapping paper, and two hundred packages of tinsel, all next to a plastic reindeer with a blinking red nose. I pretend to be completely fascinated by all this, but what I'm really doing is casing the joint. And just as I suspected, Mr. Jacoby is manning the back register and Horseface Hillary is working up front with some girl I don't know. Mrs. Jacoby is nowhere in sight, but after a little detective work, I spot her in aisle fourteen. I walk past her trying to look like I know what I'm doing, because the last thing I want is Mrs. Jacoby saying, “Can I help you find something?” I suppose I could just casually say
Yes, the birth control, please
, like it's no big deal. Yeah, right.
I continue strolling around, looking up at the signs that say what's in each aisle. Aisle one: hair care. Aisle two: makeup. Aisle three: soap, deodorant, toothpaste. It doesn't say birth control or condoms or rubbers or raincoats anywhere, so I just start going up and down every aisle, browsing a little so I don't look like I'm loitering. Though anyone who really knows me would be suspicious immediately, because unlike the kind of girl you usually find in a drugstore, I'm not the hair-curling, mascara-wearing, nail-polishing type.
I head down the makeup aisle and pretend to look at
lipsticks with names like
Timeless Red
and
Endless Rose.
Then I go down the next aisle and sniff some gross-smelling bottles of perfume. After that I turn up the
feminine hygiene
aisle which I walk through pretty quickly. The next aisle brings me face to face with a hundred different kinds of aspirin: Bayer, St. Joseph, Excedrin— just reading all the names is enough to give me a headache. Then I round another corner and pass the vitamins section, the bandages section, and the foot-care section, you know, the stuff to remove bunions and corns and other gross things that grow on people's feet. And then, right there next to the Dr. Scholl's Original Foot Powder are condoms, condoms, condoms, as far as the eye can see.
After looking up and down the aisle to make sure the coast is clear, I step toward the display. Thank God no one's around, but still, I have to be quick. But the problem is, there's a million different brands. And sizes. And guess what? There's no small. Just large and extra large, I guess because most guys like to think their thing is really big. I bet Frank thinks his is the size of Yankee Stadium. I definitely better get extra large so I don't insult him.
I just stand there for another minute trying to pick out the best kind and finally decide to get some Trojans. I reach out to grab a pack but before I can even get my hands on one, I hear footsteps and guess who turns up the aisle? Diane Carlson, of all people. With her mother. Diane catches my eye and looks away fast, probably because she's totally mortified to be seen in public with a
parental unit. I take the opportunity to slide a few steps to my left and pick up a box of Band-Aids, which I study like it's the most interesting thing in the world.
“Ma, I don't need them,” I hear Diane say behind me. “I'll be fine. It's just a little blister.”
“If you didn't wear those ridiculous shoes,” Mrs. Carlson says with a sigh. “Your feet are very important, Diane. If you don't take care of them now, you'll be sorry later on, believe me.”
I look back over my shoulder and Diane rolls her eyes at me. I roll mine back in sympathy and Diane even gives me a little smile before she and her mother leave the aisle clutching Diane's blister remedy.
As soon as they leave, I sidestep back to the condoms, but then someone else comes up the aisle. Two women I don't know, thank God, but still, I have to wait it out while they discuss the merits of Flintstones vitamins versus some other brand. Finally, after an unbelievably long and boring conversation about how constipated vitamins make you, they leave empty-handed, and I scoot back down the aisle.
Finally I decide, what the heck, I'll just grab some. But then I have to figure out how many to get because they come in packs of different amounts: three, twelve, and thirty-six. Three doesn't sound like enough and thirty-six seems a little over the top. So I guess I'll get twelve. But they're kind of expensive. I guess I could ask Frank to give me money, but then again, I did just get all that birthday loot. See, things always work out one way or another. Except, stupid me, what am I thinking? I
can't go up to the counter and pay for these like they're a box of Milk Duds. Old Horseface Hillary would spread this all over school in two seconds flat. What am I supposed to tell her, they're for a science project? No, I'm going to have to steal them.
This is a first-class, major problem, so if I'm going to rip off the raincoats, I better go for the package of thirty-six. Otherwise, if I get the twelve-pack, I'll just have to come back here in two weeks and steal more all over again.
Well, here goes nothing
, I think, reaching out to grab a pack. But just as my hand makes contact, a voice whispers in my ear, “Get the lubricated. They work better.” I drop the package fast and turn around just in time to see Diane Carlson disappear around the corner at the end of the aisle. Oh my God, I can't believe she saw me. My face is so hot, I'm sure it's as red as the suit the cardboard Santa Claus is wearing at the front of the store, and I can feel drops of sweat collecting under my armpits. Of all people, Diane Carlson. Well, at least she wasn't with Cheryl Healy when she saw me. Cheryl would probably find a way to sneak into the principal's office and broadcast this over the loudspeaker to the entire school during homeroom right after we say the Pledge of Allegiance. Diane isn't so bad. She doesn't have anything against me. I don't think. And she just gave me a little free advice, so maybe I don't have anything to worry about.
Well, what's done is done
, I think as I take a package of Trojans and drop it into the pocket of my parka in one smooth motion. I wait a minute so I don't look too
suspicious and then move up the aisle, stopping at the bandages again like I have all the time in the world.
On my way out of the store, I stop at the comic-book rack and pick up a
Mad
magazine with Alfred E. Neuman grinning on the cover, a thought bubble with the words
What
—
me worry?
hovering over his head. You'd think I'd be in a hurry to scram before I get busted and thrown in jail for shoplifting, but since I've been in here for a pretty long time, I figure it will look less suspicious if I buy something. So I take my reading material up to the cash register and hand it to good old Hillary, who pretends she doesn't even know me, like I care. I throw in a pack of Dentyne, hand her some dough, and wait for my change. And when Horseface hands it to me, she says, “Merry Christmas,” which is completely stupid since we're both Jewish, and then finally I am out the door, safe and sound.
S-U-C-C-E-S-S, that's the way we spell success!
Our school's stupid cheer goes round and round in my head for some reason as I stop to put my gloves on. Then before I head for home, I drop all the change I just got from Horseface Hillary into Lucy's Salvation Army bucket, and since I paid for my magazine and the gum with a twenty, it's definitely above and beyond the call of duty. But I don't care, since I just saved myself a mint on the condom caper. Just call me Andrea Robin Hood, I guess.
I bend down to scratch Snoopy between his poor, aching ears, and then, I don't know, the holiday spirit seizes me or something, because I straighten up and give
Lucy my gum and the
Mad
magazine without even thinking about it. And she's so surprised, she actually stops ringing her bell for a minute, which makes the street so quiet it's like everyone has gone completely deaf at the same time. Which is kind of creepy, like we've all just entered the Twilight Zone or something. But then Lucy starts up again, and everyone hurries away covering their ears, including me as I hustle my bustle home.
It starts the minute I walk into school, before I even have
a chance to open my locker.
“Hey, Dee-Dee,” Donald Caruso yells. “I'm writing a paper on the Trojan war and I hear you're an expert on Trojans. Can you help me out?”
Diane Carlson and her big fat mouth. I should have known she wouldn't keep what she saw to herself. I turn my back on Donald and open my locker without responding to him, but of course he doesn't let up. “Got a pair of rubbers in there?” he asks, peeking at the floor. “You never know when they might come in handy.”
“Lay off, Donald,” I say, slamming my locker shut.
“Lay?” he cracks up.
“Lay
off? God, Dee-Dee, is that all you ever think about? Man, I never knew you were such a sex maniac.”
“Move aside,” I say, elbowing him out of my way so I can get to homeroom.
“You don't have to knock me over with your knockers,” he says, pretending to fall back. I give him the finger over my shoulder and round the corner.
“Blow me,” Donald calls after me. God, can't he at least think of something original to say?
I could just kill Diane Carlson, but I know saying anything to her would just make it worse. The best I can do is avoid her and her crew all day, which I somehow manage to do, plus guard my knapsack with my life. I would die if anyone knew what I have in here, but luckily no one bothers to look. Donald teases me all day long, and when the last bell finally rings, I rush to my locker, grab my coat, and vacate the premises before he can start in again and I do something I know I'll regret.
As I walk down Farm Hill Road, I try to put it all out of my mind because I don't want to be in a bad mood when Frank gets here. He's exactly on time and boy, am I glad to see him.
“So, you think it's going to rain today, Vanessa?” Frank asks the minute I get into the car.
It would be a weird question if you didn't know what he meant because first of all, there's not a cloud in the sky, and second of all, it's only about thirty degrees out, so if anything was going to fall on our heads, it would definitely be snow. But Frank's not talking about the weather.
“I don't know, but I brought a raincoat just in case,” I tell him, and Frank doesn't say anything but he smiles this smile—it's more like a grin, really—and my whole awful day at school just melts away. I'm so totally happy I feel like laughing or singing or, I don't know, rolling down my window and screaming my stupid head off.
Frank even starts whistling when we get out of the car and head up to the house. We go inside and I'm a little sad that my birthday decorations are gone but—get this—now there's a heater upstairs in the sleeping bag room. Oh sure, now that Frank's taking off his clothes too, we have a heater. Why couldn't we have one before, when it was just me freezing my butt off? I guess it doesn't really matter anymore, since the point is we finally have one. It works on kerosene, and it kind of smells, but I don't dare complain. Anyway, there's no electricity in the house, so I guess there's no other choice.
“So, let's see what you got.” Frank turns on the heater and flops down right next to it on one of the sleeping bags. I flop down too and open my knapsack.
“Here.” I hand him the package of Trojans.