My Soon-To-Be Sex Life (12 page)

“Roach, we have a problem. Call me as soon as you get this.” I left about the tenth message on Roach's voicemail, with little real hope she'd get back to me. Brother Preston had officially trumped me in the Roach's attention department.

I watched Monty feed Mona for the second time in thirty minutes.

“Are you starving, my dear girl?” he said, tipping a heavy dog food bag out over her dish which quickly overflowed, kibbles and bits spilling onto the floor. The beagle descended upon the offerings, tail wagging as she gulped her way to yet another chin.

No wonder her ribs had expanded near the breaking point. Who knew how many meals Monty fed her each day? Or when ten bowls wouldn't be enough and she'd start craving human flesh. I added one more thing to my watching-out-for-Monty list. As soon as he turned to put the bag back in the pantry, I scooped up the dish and placed it on top of the fridge.

I did a little dance, avoiding Mona's snapping jaws. My stomach growled back at her. I opened the fridge. Inside were four half-empty cans of Diet Coke (Monty's favorite) and a pot full of spaghetti sauce that hadn't been edible on the
first
day, let alone the sixth. A few weeks of living with Monty had shown me where my mother's aversion to junk food came from. After a while, processed food left you craving something grown on trees. Like an apple. Or a tomato. Not that tomatoes grew on trees, but you get what I mean.

“Monty,” I called out. “We need food.”

“Got it covered, supper's on the way,” Monty said, patting the thick phone book on the counter. “Tomorrow we'll take the bus to the wholesale place.”

“The bus?”

Monty scratched Mona's head, oblivious to the snarls she gave whenever she glanced in my direction. “My car's on the fritz and I won't waste good money on cabs. We got two feet, don't we?”

The doorbell rang. In a mom-like move, Monty pulled out a bill from his wallet, folded it around his finger and offered it to me. I sighed, snatched the moolah and went to door.

Mr. Pizza looked at me, squinted, took a step back and examined the outside of Monty's step.

“What the hell you doing here, kid?”

We made the exchange, cash for grub. “I live here now.” I balanced the two-liter bottle of cola on top of the pizza box.

Behind me, Monty shuffled across the hall into the kitchen, calling, “Get on in here with those pies, I've worked up an appetite.”

Mr. Pizza's baggy eyes widened. “You're with that old man?” He shook his head sadly. “I will never offer advice again. Kid, you got me all wrong. Go back home, stay in school.”

“
With him?
You mean like,
with
him?” I made a face. “That's sick. You're the one who's got it wrong…” But he just hightailed it to his car and squealed away from the curb.

I entered the kitchen, tripping over one of Mona's bones and yelled bloody murder. My arms dipped, sending the pop rolling off the pizza boxes right into Monty's hands before it could crash to the floor.

“Nice save,” I said, putting the boxes on the kitchen table.

Monty grunted. “Everyone's in such a hurry,” he said. “That's why I gave up driving, too many yahoos out there on a deadline.”

“You gave up driving?” I selected a piece with the appropriate arrangement of toppings. “I thought you said the car was on the fritz.”

“Needs some damnfangled computer looked at. Why the hell does a car need a computer, that's what I want to know? Does a car have to balance its checkbook? Type up family recipes? No.” He also felt the need to talk with his mouth full. “A car has to get from point A to point B. They make everything so complicated. A man can't even fix his own wheels anymore. No wonder you kids are a generation of morons – they want to keep you stupid so they can take your money.”

I ate in silence, letting him have that moment, because I knew, deep down, that Monty was scared to get behind the wheel. Scared he'd hurt someone.

I thought it was a good thing, that kind of fear. So I played along. After we ate, I called Roach one last time.

“If you don't call me back in five minutes, I'm going to the mall and doing the first guy who moderately meets my standards.”

Three minutes later, Roach got back to me. Good thing, because I needed to pick her brain about the Ty situation and spill my guts about how I think I was starting to feel about Eric.

Also, I needed her wheels.

A few hours later we were risking our lives in the mall's dark, empty parking lot.

“You can go faster, there's no one around.” Roach patted the bulky dashboard, so wide Mona could have stretched out comfortably on its surface. “Bernie likes a bit of speed.” Roach may be driving a rusted old boat, but she treated it like a BMW.

I stepped on the gas. Hard. We shot back into our seats. I panicked at the burst of speed and slammed my foot down on the brake peddle.

Our bodies flew forward.

“Oh, Jesus,” Roach said and groaned as our seat belts locked, stopping our momentum with the force of a brick wall.

“Sorry,” I muttered, pressing tentatively on the gas once more.

“Okay, do a left turn at the shopping cart over there.” Roach pointed. “Signal…good. Brake and then turn…left, Charlie. Left, I said. Your
other
left!”

I cranked the wheel. I heard Roach's body bash against the passenger door, followed by her muffled groan. The car spun out on a patch of black ice.

“Turn into it, turn into it…” Roach screamed.

When we finally stopped we were inches from the cart, and now facing the opposite direction.

“So, what do you think?” I wiped my sweaty palms along Roach's pink furry steering wheel cover. “Not bad, eh?”

Roach cleared her throat. “Well, I definitely think we'll need a few more lessons before you go for the driver's test.”

I turned off the car and handed Roach her keys. “Same time tomorrow?”

Roach nodded. “Same time this whole month. If you want your license by spring, we've got lots of work to do. If you can learn to drive in the winter, summer will be a breeze.” She cleared her throat. “Are you sure you want to confront Ty tomorrow?”

I'd filled Roach in on the nasty scene at the restaurant. She agreed he seemed to be fixated on making my life a living hell.

“He's not giving me much choice. It's only a matter of time before he comes at me again. He's in predator mode, circling the perimeter, looking for the kill shot.”

“Yeah.” I closed my eyes for a second imagining the disgust on Eric's face as Ty told him some lie about me wanting that boob shot spread around school, or that I went around getting guys hot and bothered with no follow-through. That wasn't what I was about, I
wanted
to do it, and after all I had deliberately set out to rid myself of my virginity.

But I had the right to say no if it didn't feel…right.

I had a feeling that wouldn't be a problem with Eric.

I got out of the car, my rubber chicken legs barely holding me up. If I was going to be staying at Monty's – one of us had to be able to drive. “Next time the ride will be smooth. Like butta.” I slammed the driver's door shut, ignoring Roach's wince. We traded spots, shuffling like penguins as we rounded the front of the car.

“We better get going before my parents find out I let you drive,” Road said as I dropped the keys into her hand.

I glanced around the deserted shopping center parking lot. “How could that happen?”

“They have access to a higher power.” She flashed a look skyward. “Sometimes I think Mom's got a direct line to Jesus and he outs me every chance he gets.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “So she must know about your
prayer meetings
with Brother Preston?”

“Of course. Well, she knows I'm helping out at the youth ministry, which I sort of am. And that the band practices there.” We got in the car. “It's not like it's a secret. We hang out. That's all. Preston's a perfect gentleman.” Bernie started up for her with no complaints and we drove out of the parking lot.

Roach flashed me a look, wagging her eyebrows. “I gotta say, this year we have perfect timing.”

I frowned. “Meaning…?”

“It's February 14th tomorrow and this time our boyfriends might not be some pictures we nab from the Internet and proudly wave around Science class.”

Good lord.

Eric had asked me out on Valentine's Day.

The most socially awkward day of the year for single folk the world over just got a bit more so thanks to Mr. Adams. He paced at the front of the class, giving quite the performance, a long-stemmed red rose in one hand and grandly gesticulating with the other. He'd affected a thick Scottish brogue and lilted his way through classic Robert Burns. “'O my Luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June
…'”

Clearly my mother had fired up Adams' sexy-time receptors and he was dealing with horndoggedness in the only way he knew how – with sappy sentiment. The man now earned the scorn of the entire eleventh grade.

“If he puts that rose between his teeth,” the girl beside me muttered to herself, “I'm outta here.”

Agreed. There was only so much sentiment a kid could take.

“Now that I've given you an oral reading,” Mr. Adams said, pausing for the laughter to stop after he spoke the word
oral
. “I thought we'd examine Mister Robert Burns' work together.” He slipped between desks and approached the overhead projector located at the center of the classroom. He flicked the switch and the engine began its dull rattle, heating the bulb. “Just an FYI, while today we think of this piece as a poem was actually lyrics to a Scottish folksong. I challenge our more creative types to come up with a modern melody and present it to the class for bonus marks.”

Thomas Gladden, the biggest gleek known to man, applauded at the back of the room.
Wonderful.
Just what we needed, another GarageBand sampling nightmare of Thomas', his voice so over processed with effects he sounded like a possessed chipmunk.

Adams slapped an overhead slide onto the projector. The bulb flared to life, illuminating the typed-out Burns poem, but also something Adams wasn't expecting.

The hand-drawn outline of a massive penis. An excited one at that.

The class gasped in shock, then burst into collective squeals of laughter. Adams frantically lifted his overhead slide from the projector, but the penis only now stood alone in all its glory, projected onto the large white screen at the front of the room. Flushing, Adams ran his palm over the glass, trying to rub the penis from existence. Fresh laughter sprang from the class while the penis remained proudly erect.

“Very funny, guys,” Adams said, spitting in his frustration. He cranked open the lifted the glass top and flipped it over but the penis wasn't drawn on its surface. “Quite ingenious, I'm sure.”

I squirmed in my chair. A few weeks ago I'd have been laughing with the rest of the class, but now that I had this weird personal connection to Adams, I was actually feeling his keen embarrassment. I was just about to get to my feet and come to his rescue, when Adams manned up in a way I hadn't expected the poetry-reciting teacher capable of.

He slapped his overhead back on the project, straightened his shoulders and began to analyze the poem line by freaking line, with the penis glowing underneath the black text. When a student arrived late to the class and caught sight of the penis, his laughter was short-lived as Adams just waved him to his desk and continued his impassioned lesson as if the penis never was.

Twenty minutes later the bell rang. I was sure none of us would ever forget Robbie Burns, but more importantly we'd never underestimate Adams again. The guy had staying power. Students filed out of the class. I paused at Adams' desk, snatched a few pieces of tissue paper, strode to the projector, turned it off and popped the lid.

“Ta da,” I said, pointing to the tiny mirror inside the projector upon which some genius had drawn the dick. Using the tissue, I wiped the mirror clean and then closed the lid.

“Thank you, Charlotte.” Adams sat behind his desk. “That wasn't how I intended the lesson to go.” His smile was strained. “I appreciate your assistance.”

I crumbled the tissue and fired it into the trashcan beside his desk. “No problem.” I shuffled toward the door, and then paused. “That took guts,” I said. “Last time they pulled that trick the substitute burst into tears and dismissed the class early. They'll think twice about pulling a stunt like that again.”

“Thanks.” Adams swiped a hand down his tired face.

I started for the hall. And lunch.

“One moment, Charlotte…” At my eye roll, he amended, “…Charlie, there is something I'd like to discuss with you.”

Uh oh. “It's perogie day at the cafeteria, if I don't leave now, there won't be any left.”

My distraction ploy failed.

“One of the custodians brought something to my attention.” Adams cleared his throat and fidgeted with a ballpoint pen on his desk. “Apparently copies of a certain photograph were found in several garbage bins around the school. Do you know the photo to which I'm referring?”

I flushed. “If you tell my mother…”

Adams sighed. “That isn't my intention, although you may want to speak with her, or perhaps her friend, Grace?”

“That photo is nobody's business but mine.”

“And the rest of the school population.” Adams set the pen down. He shuffled some papers. “You're a smart girl, Charlie. I know the pressure to conform, to be cool. If someone is bullying you…”

“Bullying?” I laughed. Why did everyone call it that? “That is one freaking weak word for the shit that goes down in these halls.” I pointed to the other inspirational quotes and positive message posters Adams had on his classroom walls. “You can pretty it up all you like, Mr. Sex, Lies and Shakespeare. Make banners about tolerance, and acceptance, and being true to your inner space cadet, but let's call a spade a gravedigger when we need to.”

“Was it Tyler Gribbons?” Adams wasn't deterred by my rant. “That boy is treading on a fine line as it is. Say the word and I'll see he's properly dealt with.”

“You may be screwing my mother, Mr. Adams, but you're not my dad, or anything to me, so don't go thinking you can dish out advice I didn't ask for.”

“I would never presume…”

“Good.” I exited the room. “Keep it that way.” I glanced over my shoulder, half expecting him to follow me, but he stayed put. Adams stared at the rose he'd placed on his desk as if the thought of picking it up again for the next herd was a monumental task. I looked away, not wanting to see him as human. Vulnerable. Fallible.

Likeable.

But I already did.