"You look nice tonight. Want to dance?" I don't wait for his answer; I yank on his arm and drag him away from Sarah and the banner hanging over the doorway.
"Sure," he says, shrugging his shoulders.
We walk out onto the dance floor. Flo Rida or Usher or one of those artists who can sing and dance like a robot at the same time beats in the background as people gyrate all over the gym, air-humping each other.
"Do you like this song?" Alex asks swerving his hips back and forth. Sarah stands against the gym wall staring at us, jaw dropped. I turn my back to her.
"Sure," I say and mimic his hips. I don't even know the song, but anything is better than listening to Sarah and her mean words.
"You look nice tonight." Alex puts a hand on my hip.
"Thanks." I take a step closer.
"I like your dress," he yells over the music and puts his other hand on my hip.
"I like your shirt. It matches your eyes." My mom always says if someone gives you a compliment you give one back. And Alex's baby blue button down does look great next to his eyes.
"Thanks. My mom picked it out." I stop, my jaw dropping without me thinking, and Alex smiles. "I'm kidding. Not about your dress. The part about my mom."
I laugh a little, but then wonder if he has a sleeveless undershirt on underneath. My mind pictures armpit hair sticking out in every direction, little beads of sweat dripping off the ends. I cringe. What am I doing? I move to step back from Alex, but the song changes. A slow dance.
He pulls me closer and wraps his arms around my waist. "And you smell good, too. It's my lucky night." He smiles at me and I force a smile in return. I wanted to get away from Sarah, but I didn't want this. Me wrapped in Alex's arms when all I want is Matt. But I'm here and I can't be rude to him. Not when he's been so nice. So I rest my cheek on his chest. Alex is the perfect height for me. The top of my head fits right into the crux of his neck.
I close my eyes and try to find something, anything that will take my mind off his armpit hair and my sloppy banner. I feel his hips swaying with mine, his hands on my back, his heart beating hard through his shirt. Hard ... Hard ... Oh my God!! He's hard!
I pull back, my face on fire. Alex looks at me, his jaw slacked wide, his eyebrows raised above his blue eyes that look like they might pop right out of the socket. I want to tell him it's okay. I'm flattered. But all I keep hearing is Lil's voice in my head, screaming Alexander the Great Big Boner!
"I need to go to the bathroom," I say. I rush out of the other side of the gym to the furthest open hallway, away from Sarah and Alex and Alex's boner. I don't take a breath until I'm alone. Oh my ... Oh my ... I can't wrap my head around what just happened. Or maybe I can and I don't want to. All I'm seeing are scenes from Health class about anatomy and men and sex.
I lean up against the wall, my head in my hands. Pulling out my phone, I check for a text from Lil. Nothing.
"Be still My Hart," a silky voice says behind me.
End Health scene. Enter wild-beating heart and sexy guitar-callused hands. Matt Three-Last-Names.
My hands drop from my face. He's wearing dark jeans that hug his hips and a green and blue flannel shirt rolled up to expose his arm accessories. I throw my rule about flannel shirts out the window.
"Hi," I say, taking a breath.
"Hi." He strolls over to me and the air gets hard-to-breathe tight but I don't seem to care because all thoughts of male genitalia are gone from my head and I'm staring at Matt's kissable, pouty lips.
"When did you get here?" I ask.
"Just a bit ago. Taking a breather already?"
"Something like that," I say. I play with my hair, unsure of what to do with his body so close to mine. "Did you come with a date?" I almost have to choke out the words. I'm not sure I want to know about the other girl he'll wrap his arms around tonight.
"No. You?" he asks.
"No," I smile.
"I like talking to you." He leans against the wall next to me.
My insides jump a thousand times and I say, "I like talking to you, too." Even though we've barely said a word to each other in weeks. Somehow my brain manages to block it all out.
"It's like I can say whatever I want and know you won't judge me, you know?"
It's because your voice is like honey coating my entire skin in sugar and deliciousness, I think to myself.
"I think about singing a lot now," Matt says, his green eyes so magnetic my knees buckle, the kind of buckle where your whole body changes. "Want to dance again?" He extends his hand to me, palm up.
"Right here in the hallway?" I ask.
"It's too crowded in there. Plus, I hate this song."
"Wonderful Tonight" by Eric Clapton wafts into the hallway from the gym.
Matt wiggles his fingers and I giggle a little as I take it. He pulls my body against his. I might die right here and now. A wonderful death, my heart exploding from too much ecstasy. I'm glad Alex got a boner because it led to this.
"Nice bracelet," he says, running his fingers over the one he gave me.
"I thought it went well with my dress." I take another breath.
"You look good," he whispers in my ear.
"Thanks," I say into his shoulder, and hope my knees don't give out.
And then Matt sings, "Many have I loved, many times been bitten, many times I've gazed along the open road."
His voice is off-key and gruff and if I were judging him for an audition I'd demand he be placed in the chorus so we could stare at his face, but not hear him. Yet I don't care. I would swear what he's singing is a lullaby. The most beautiful song I've ever heard.
"That's my favorite," he shrugs.
"It's beautiful."
He puts his hand on my face, cupping my cheek so it fits perfectly into his palm. "You're really pretty," he says. A chorus of angelic voices goes off in my head, booming around us like it's the show-stopping number at the end of Act One of the musical entitled Meet Me in St. Marty's Pants. "You still haven't come to see me play at Vinyl Tap. I'll be there over the holiday break, if you want to come by."
I nod. Actually speaking would ruin the moment; even if I tried, all that would come out would be a squeak.
Matt drops his arms and steps back from me. "Well, we'd better get back in there. I wouldn't want people starting rumors about us." He winks at me and turns his back, walking into the gym.
Why must these moments end? Why can't life be one long slow dance?
I wait until he's disappeared through the doors before I move. Right as I walk back into the blaring music and the smell of sweat that permeates the air, my phone buzzes.
Lil:
I'm here.
My stomach flips. I look around the gym, trying to find her. I can't wait to tell her what just happened. It's crowded and people are jumping up and down to the heavy beat of the music. My eyes scan the crowd. Sarah is grinding with Tony Pisano, a pimply boy in our grade whose parents own the only pizzeria in town. Alex is sitting on the bleachers alone. My heart pinches when I see him leaning, elbows on his knees, and tapping his foot to the song.
And then I see Lil standing on top of a speaker at the DJ podium. I don't know how she got up there. The skinny, middle-aged DJ is frozen in shock—probably cause on the top of Lil's head is a pair of antlers with red lights twinkling on the ends. And she's wearing a shirt that says in all-capital letters, OPEN SEASON, with an arrow pointing down to her crotch.
Slowly, everyone turns to see her standing there, like a hunting trophy on display for the whole school. I laugh, a deep freeing chuckle from the bottom of my gut, and without thinking about the eyes that might watch me or the words that might be said, I walk over to her.
"Nice shirt," I yell over the music.
"Thanks, Pollyanna." Lil jumps down off the speaker. "Bitchin' decorations. 'Shot through the heart'. Solid."
"Don't say things you don't mean," I smile. "They suck."
"I'm sorry, girls," Ms. Everley comes up to us at the DJ table. "But Lil, I can't have you here in that shirt."
She shrugs. "Want to get out of here? These songs suck."
The eyes of everyone in the gym are on my back. I feel them for the first time as Lil speaks. I look over my shoulder at Sarah, who's standing still and staring at me, her eyes narrowed. At Alex, who's smiling.
And Matt. He winks at me. Again.
"Absolutely."
I walk out of the gym as the music beats louder, hand in hand with Lil, her antlers twinkling above us.
CHAPTER 11
"Led Zeppelin!" Lil yells. "His favorite song is a Led Zeppelin song!" She laughs so hard it shakes the walls of the trailer.
"What's wrong with Led Zeppelin?" I ask.
"Why didn't he just sing you a Rolling Stones song, or better yet, the Beatles? What a guitar-playing dick."
"I can't believe you're focusing on the song and not the fact that he sang to me. It was so romantic," I say.
"Romantic? It's cheesy and so fucking lame."
"I think it sounds very romantic," Lil's mom says as she checks her makeup in the cracked mirror, running her finger along her bottom lip. She doesn't even flinch when Lil says fuck, whereas I'm so uncomfortable, like my insides are squirming in a heap of dirty words. I want to grab Lil's mouth and clamp it shut. You can't say things like that in front of adults. Not until you're in college, anyway. I can't even say "tampon" in front of my mom without her clicking her tongue and pretending to wash the dishes.
"And I never want to see you in that shirt again," Lil's mom adds.
"It was just for effect and it worked." Lil smiles. "Don't encourage her, Mom."
Lil's mom told me to call her Maggie, but it seems wrong. I've never called a grown-up by their first name before. My dad has a strict rule against it, even though I think he just likes having people call him doctor when he's really a dentist.
"What's wrong with a little crush?" Maggie asks.
"Because they crush
you
in the end."
"Don't listen to her, Marty. She's a Grinch this time of year." She kisses Lil on the top of her head, a quick, affectionate peck, and I smile. It's as if every time Maggie touches Lil a light glows brighter in the trailer.
"I'll see you in the morning," Maggie says, putting her pink and blue apron on, and walks out the trailer door.
"Seriously, Marty," Lil says, turning to me, face serious. "This isn't a Disney movie. Matt is not some prince in tight pants with good intentions. He likes sex. Probably raunchy, bend-you-over sex and you are one-hundred percent vanilla. You can't like him."
"Maybe I want to swirl my vanilla with his chocolate."
"Life doesn't work that way, Pollyanna."
"Why can't you be happy for me?"
"Happy that you like a douche with long hair who wants to ride your Lazy Susan two ways from Sunday and leave you? Look, I told you there were two kinds of people in the world. People like you … and people like me and Matt. Don't be naive."
I hate feeling like I'm not in their club. Like because I haven't had sex and can't say fuck without squirming I'm not allowed in their world.
"Maybe I want to be more like you and Matt," I say. I've been trying to understand all the changes that are happening with the music and the dancing and the writing. Is all this truth telling me becoming more like Lil, or me figuring out I had parts of Lil inside me all along, parts that I never knew existed because they were camouflaged in lip gloss and manners?
"No, you don't," Lil snaps.
"Then why doesn't anyone want to kiss me?"
"It's just a kiss."
"This coming from the girl who said I had virgin stink and told me all
she
wanted to do was get laid." I cross my arms over my chest. Lil couldn't understand. She knows what it feels like to have a boy want her. She knows what it feels like to say whatever she wants. I couldn't say fuck casually like she does. I've tried. I end up saying it with too much emphasis on the F and it comes out sounding like a passionate "yuck" or "luck". When Lil says fuck, she sounds like a rock star.
"Look, do whatever you want. I'm just saying you deserve better."
Better? What does that even mean? Better like Alex? Better like what my parents have? Or is better just a way of saying I'll never fit in? I'll be stuck, lost on a road with no end, and I'll never have sex. I'll die a virgin with a dried-up vagina all because I deserve
better
.
I want to change the subject. My brain is getting tangled in curse words and deep fears I'm not sure I want to face here in Lil's trailer where the world feels brighter, so I ask, "What song is acceptable for a boy to sing?"
Lil shakes her head. "No song."
"Come on. I know you have one," I say.
Because tucked behind all the black is Lil's heart and I know it's big and probably broken.
I'll catch her in English class, staring at Ms. Everley but not really seeing her. She's going past the teacher and the classroom and the blackboard to a place I don't know. It makes her blue eyes murky and sad. When I see Lil like that, I want to tell her everything is going to be all right. That she can curse at the moon all night long, but it won't bring back the sun. Then she'll snap out of it and make a sharp comment about how Ms. Everley probably bangs frat boys on the weekend, and we're back to normal.
"If you can't tell your friend, then who can you tell?" I say.
"No one. That's the point."
"Just do it." I say the words flat and strong. I want them to sound the way Lil did when she told me to scream. "Sing it to me."
"Sing? Birds die when I sing."
"Sing it."
Lil grumbles, but she can't walk away from me like she did before. If too many people walk away in your life, eventually you start leaving before they do so it won't hurt as bad. But I'm not going anywhere and I won't let Lil turn her back either.