My Boyfriends' Dogs (13 page)

“Amber,” I whined, “why can't
I
have a boyfriend? I miss having someone to hold my hand like that and gaze at me like he thinks I'm wonderful.”

Amber sat up on her towel, looking perfect in her two-piece. “Didn't you learn anything from breaking up with Went? Get real! You wanted a boyfriend so much that you wore blinders the whole time. He hit on Big D, for crying out loud.”

I sat up to face her. “I know. And this time, no blinders. I promise. Plus, I'm holding out for a gecko, who only has eyes for me. See? I have, too, learned from my Went relationship.” I plopped back down on my towel. “Which is why I am
so
ready for a mature boyfriend.”

 

I tried. I really did. But my junior year turned into a blur of short-term, no-dog boyfriends. Short-term, because I meant it when I told Amber that from now on, I was a Madagascar day gecko. The boy I'd choose to love had to love me back—just me. No longer would I overlook the transgressions of a player. I deserved better.

So when No-Neck, my first football boyfriend, got too friendly with a Tri-County cheerleader, I dumped him. It almost felt good. Truthfully, it had only taken one date for me to realize that No-Neck couldn't talk coherently about anything except football, and not so much that.

No-Neck was followed by Switch, as in Switchblade, not because he carried one, but because he looked like he could. He was almost as sexy as Went . . . and about ten times as stuck on himself. When I refused to have sex with him—after the second date!—he broke up with me and found his solace in good ol' Carly.

I'm pretty sure King Hairy came next—don't ask. He was definitely single-minded, though not about girlfriends. He would have been perfectly happy to have a dozen girlfriends simultaneously. His single-mindedness was on the subject of sex—he wanted it. I really don't think he had any other hobbies, goals, or interests.

My relationship with Mom seemed to get worse with the passing of each dogless boyfriend. I blamed it on Mom's having totally lost her cool. Before and after my dates, she'd give me the third degree of stock questions, and I'd dutifully supply her with stock answers.

We didn't fight all the time. But we did fight a lot, and most of the fights could have been prerecorded:

The last few months of my junior year, I had dated Mediocre Mark, whose sole purpose in life was to find the easiest classes and sleep through them. Amber didn't like him because he never spoke in complete sentences. But I saw his potential, and I went for it. Mark, who, as it happened, was head-turning hot, proved to be my biggest challenge. I wore him down with a series of ego-booster tactics culled from
Cosmo,
including one about asking for a man's help. Mark's help in my intro to creative writing class brought down my grade from an A- to a C+, but it was worth it—for a while. I had a loyal boyfriend, a potential gecko. We did everything together. We even took our PSATs together, and I pretended not to notice when he copied my math section.

It was because of Mark that I enrolled in the “College Now!” summer school program at the University of Missouri. Amber, of course, signed herself up for the AP course in writing and journalism the day we heard about it. Going to summer school my last truly free summer of my life—because I couldn't count the summer before college with all that impending stress—appealed to me about as much as attending reform school before going to prison. But Mark was going to Mizzou to get out of working at his dad's car wash all summer, so what choice did I have? Mizzou it was.

Three days before school ended, Mark brought up the subject of sex. It wasn't that we hadn't discussed it before. Usually, Mark lacked the ambition and follow-through to make a big issue out of it. But this time it was different. We were parked in my driveway after having sat through the worst movie I'd ever seen, in which at least seventeen teens got slashed to death. Mark loved it. “You are so sexy, Bailey,” he said, his hand grasping for second base.

“Mark,” I began, removing his hand and scooting back a few inches on the clean plastic seat of his dad's car. Mark looked so good. True, the boy had lousy taste in movies. But he was loyal and never looked at another girl, as far as I could tell. “We need to have a serious talk about the Madagascar day gecko.” I proceeded to explain to him the concept of a lifelong commitment to one person.

“Know what else I found out about the gecko?” I'd done a report on geckos for my science class. “Scientists at the University of Akron are working on a superglue based on gecko feet. They're studying the incredible way geckos can hold on to anything with their feet.”

Mark said, “Huh?”

Once again, I explained to my boyfriend the high concept of mating for life. “Sex is a lifelong gift,” I concluded. “It's because I think sex is so great that I've decided to wait until I'm married and mate for life, like the gecko.”

Mark's forehead wrinkled. “You mean you're not gonna have sex with me?”

“No, Mark,” I answered.

“No sex?” he repeated.

I reduced language to primitive gesture and shook my head.

“Ever?”

I repeated said gesture.

“Why didn't you say so before?” Mark asked, right before he broke up with me.

Mom drove Amber and me and a van filled with our stuff to Columbia for Mizzou's “College Now!” orientation. I'd tried to back out of it, of course. But it was too late to get our money refunded. Unlike Amber the Great, I didn't have a scholarship. What I did have was a summer job at Grady's Gas and Snack in Columbia, which Mom's friend Sarah Jean had pulled strings to get me. There was no backing out. I was doomed to take a precollege French class, which I'd signed up for simply because Mark was supposed to be in it and he thought French sounded sexy.

Amber and Mom were so psyched about this “college experience” and getting a head start that I chose to ride by myself in the backseat, where I stared out the window and brooded and wondered if everyone in summer school would already have boyfriends.

“I still can't believe we're actually on our way to college!” Amber exclaimed, as enthusiastic as she was annoying. She and Mom talked about college all the time. It wore me out. How could I make up my mind where I wanted to go to college? What if I signed up for Mizzou and then got a great boyfriend who was going to KU? People have to think ahead about these things.

Amber planned to go to Mizzou and become a journalist. That's why she was here at the great J-school of the Midwest. I, on the other hand, had signed on because I'd wanted to be with my boyfriend, who was now my ex-boyfriend.

I knew my deep sadness wasn't all about Mark. I think I missed Went more than Mark, really. In the middle of the year, I'd heard that Went and his dad had moved back to California. Without saying goodbye. Now, staring out the dirt-smudged window, I thought that if Went hadn't moved away, I just might have overturned my vow about not shopping at my own garage sale. I missed having someone.

“Amber,” Mom said cheerfully, ignoring the fact that her own daughter was sniffing back tears in the backseat. “I'm so proud of you for getting that scholarship. You'll be hitting the ground running when you enroll here.”

“Thanks, Big D. And thanks for the ride, too. You don't think Bailey and I have too much stuff, do you?”

“If you do, you can always have a garage sale,” Mom advised.

 

Mom stopped at two garage sales and one roadkill funeral before we made it to campus. Mom always stopped and buried roadkill. She was the only person I knew who did, except for Amber and me. We even carried a shovel in our van, and we had a special blessing to say over the makeshift grave. But this time, I sat in the car for the event.

Mom stopped twice for directions before we found the “high school” dorm. Couples were everywhere—strolling hand in hand, sitting on dorm steps, lounging under trees. A lot of them were obviously college students, although why
they
would go to summer school was beyond me.

“Well, we'd better get started moving you two college girls in,” Mom said, winking when she said “college.”

Our dorm room was on the fourth floor, and we had to take the stairs because the elevator was broken. “Great start,” I muttered, lugging my biggest suitcase up eight flights. “This is brutal.”

Mom and Amber grunted and groaned as we carried up everything we could conceivably carry, but they didn't complain. Finally, Mom peered into the back of the van at the TV, a trunk of Amber's books, and two unmarked boxes of bricks. At least that's what it looked like when Mom tried to lift one. “That's it for sweating the small stuff,” Mom announced, swiping at the sweat pouring down her neck. “Nothing but the big-ticket items left.”

“Bailey and I can take it from here, Big D,” Amber volunteered. “Bailey, grab that side of the TV, and I'll get this one.”

We managed to wrestle the thing out of the van, but no way could I walk with it. I was already sweating right through my antiperspirant. “I can't hold on any longer,” I warned.

Suddenly, just like in the movies, a tall, dark, handsome stranger came jogging up to us. And I mean
tall
. “You ladies look like you could use a hand.” The guy took the TV out of our struggling arms and carried it like it was a pillow. “Where to?”

“Seriously? Thanks!” I gave Hercules our dorm room number, and we trotted along behind him to the stairwell.

“I'm Steve,” he said, aiming this news flash at Amber.

Amber smiled, but she didn't introduce herself.

“Thanks for the help, Steve,” I said, giving my friend a little nudge. “I'm Bailey, and this is Amber.”

“I'm in for the basketball training camp,” Steve informed Amber. “How about you, Amber? ”

“Journalism,” she answered.

“Cool. I've heard good things about that program. You planning to come here in the fall and major in journalism?”

“One more year,” said my friend-of-few-words.

Ask him about his plans!
I wanted to scream it up to her, but she and Steve must have been in way better shape than I was. They'd moved half a flight ahead of me, and Steve was carrying a television.

“For now, I guess I'll be majoring in basketball,” Steve went on without any encouragement from Amber.

“Can you do that?” she asked.

He laughed. “Not forever, I guess. I thought about taking a journalism or creative writing class this summer, but basketball takes up too much of my time.”

“You could always quit basketball,” Amber suggested.

He laughed again. I, on the other hand, was pretty sure Amber wasn't joking.

Steve helped us carry up the rest of the junk from the van while Mom waited in the dorm room and started unpacking boxes. “Hey, thanks a million for the help, Steve,” Mom called over to the doorway when we were done. “Don't know how we would have made it without you.”

I seconded Mom's motion. “Seriously, thanks a lot.”

Steve nodded at Mom and me. Then he turned a big smile on Amber. “I've got to run to practice. But there's a social, a dance thing, in the Union tomorrow night if you want to go.” He was adorable, all flushed-face shy. “Anyway, I could come by here for you. Like at seven?”

Amber shrugged. “Sure.”

Steve's smile broadened. “Cool!” He jogged backward, not willing to take his eyes off Amber. “I'll see you then. Before then maybe. I'll call you. Or see you. Or both.”

Amber waved. She was grinning, too, now. “Okay.”

The second Steve was out of sight, Mom hustled Amber inside the room with us. She whisper-counted to ten. And then she and I went crazy. “Amber's got a date! Steve loves Amber!” Mom and I sang various versions of this ditty until Amber managed to strategically place her hands over our mouths.

“Stop it!” she pleaded. “He'll hear you.” But she looked as excited as I felt. Our Miss Amber had a real live college date with an extremely cute, almost-college jock.

Mom stayed for a while and helped us figure out where to put our lamps and clothes and stuffed animals. “I have to get going,” she said finally. She grabbed both of us in a group hug, and we hugged her back as if we'd never see each other again.