Rapture Practice (21 page)

After the girls leave, Bradley and I head into the kitchen to grab some leftover pizza. As we pass through the living room, Mrs. Westman peers over the edge of her reading glasses and smiles at us.

“Who are these handsome men coming up my stairs?”

“Shh! Mom, quiet! The paparazzi will hear. We gave ’em the slip.” Bradley speaks in a loud whisper, then grabs the pizza box and a couple of Cokes out of the fridge.

Bradley’s mom seems sleepy but happy, not unlike Benny, the long-haired Persian cat curled on her lap. She is reading a thick, hardcover novel and holds a large wineglass with a small amount of red in the bottom. Soft piano jazz plays over speakers I can’t see. Bradley plops down on the floor next to the overstuffed chair where she is sitting, takes a bite of pizza, then puts his nose against Benny’s and scratches the cat gently behind the ears.

I join him on the floor, and watch Benny open his eyes. He regards Bradley with mild disdain before shaking his ears and issuing an expansive yawn. His pink tongue unrolls slowly, and I notice a blank space in his mouth.

“Is Benny missing a tooth?” I ask.

Bradley immediately begins to laugh, and his mom reaches out and playfully bats him in the head. “Bradley, you stop that this instant. It’s not funny.”

Bradley snaps into a false composure. “You’re right, Mom. It’s not. It’s not funny at all. Go ahead. Tell Aaron what happened to Benny’s tooth.”

Mrs. Westman takes the last swallow of wine from her glass and flips her book closed, then gingerly places both on the marble-topped end table at her elbow, and buries her nose in Benny’s fur.

“Oh, my poor little prince,” she says to the cat. “It was an accident. Benny was a show cat—he’d been winning awards and everything.”

“He’s too sexy for his tail,” Bradley says, giggling.

“He was doing
very well
regionally,” Mrs. Westman says.

“Doing so well he got worn out and decided to take a nap in the dryer,” Bradley says.

Bradley’s mom reaches down to smooth Benny’s tail. “I was in a hurry, and I didn’t see him there when I tossed in a load of sheets.”

Bradley bursts into another fit of giggles, and laughs until there are tears in his eyes.

Mrs. Westman is shaking her head, and starts laughing, too. “Poor, Benny,” she says. “I heard the
thumpity-thump
right away and ran back down the stairs, but he’d already snagged an ear and lost a tooth.”

Bradley is gasping with laughter. “You’ve never lived until you’ve seen… a cat come out of the dryer… and try to walk…”

I’m laughing now, in spite of myself.

“My poor little Benny. It’s not funny.” Mrs. Westman kisses Benny between the ears, laughing. “Okay,” she admits. “Maybe it’s a
little bit
funny.”

“At least he doesn’t have to do those damn cat pageants anymore.” Bradley wipes his eyes. “I’m glad he’s okay, but god, those cat shows were boring. Besides—he looks tougher now.”

“Did the girls go home?” Mrs. Westman asks, brushing her white bangs out of her eyes. Her hair is a beautiful silver color, the cut short and stylish—it gleams in the soft lamplight.

“Yeah, Angela had to be home by midnight,” says Bradley.

“And who was the other girl… Ashley?” Mrs. Westman asks, a question in her smile.

“She’s in Aaron’s math class,” Bradley says.

“I took algebra one and two back-to-back at Blue Ridge, so I’m taking geometry with the sophomores this year,” I explain.

“A younger woman.” Mrs. Westman arches a playful eyebrow. “And you only met this week? You don’t waste any time.”

“Well… Bradley sort of… arranged for her to come over,” I admit. “I wasn’t sure if she was really into me.”

“Oh, please!” Bradley rolls his eyes. “She’s done nothing but follow you around all week. And she’s not the only one, Mom. Aaron’s the new stud on the block. Megan Swift is about to throw herself under a bus for him, and Erica Norton almost cries every time he talks to her.”

“Erica Norton. She’s the blonde girl in the vocal ensemble, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I nod, and Bradley looks at me like I’ve suddenly sprouted antennae.

“What did you say?” he asks.

“Bradley, he said ‘yes, ma’am’ because he is being genteel, something
you
wouldn’t know anything about.”

Mrs. Westman tousles Bradley’s curls playfully, then moves Benny off her lap. She grabs the big round bowl of her empty wineglass and pads toward the kitchen. “Aaron, that’s a lovely habit. Your mother obviously has good breeding.”

Bradley and I follow and sit on the stools at the large island while she pours another glass of wine from the bottle on the counter. She swirls the crimson liquid, holding her nose over the glass.

“Mmm… this merlot your father brought back from his trip is fantastic,” she says, sighing in Bradley’s general direction.

“Lemme try it.” Bradley reaches across the island.

“Oh, all right, but only a little sip.”

Bradley takes the glass and downs the contents in a single swallow.

“Fantastic,” he says, smacking his lips with an evil smirk.

“Bradley!” Mrs. Westman shakes her head. “You didn’t even ask Aaron if he wanted to try it.” She turns to me. “Shall I pour you a little sip?”

I am trying not to fall off the stool. I’ve never been offered even a sip of alcohol in my life. At our church even the communion cups are filled with grape juice.

“Try some!” says Bradley.

“I’m okay.” I smile at him. “Thanks, though, Mrs. Westman.”

“Have you ever had a drink?” Bradley asks.

“Actually, no,” I admit.

“That’s a good plan.” Mrs. Westman rinses the glass in the sink. “You paying attention, son?”

Bradley moans.

“I’ll bet you have straight As don’t you, Aaron?”

“I do, too,” Bradley protests. “Well, As and Bs.”

“It’s no wonder the ladies like you,” Mrs. Westman says to me.

“Yeah! How’d it go with Ashley tonight, anyway?” Bradley
fixes me with the kind of grin associated with devious schemes. “You guys were out in the driveway for a long time.”

“It went… well.”

“Are you blushing?” Mrs. Westman laughs and reaches over the island to pinch my cheek. “Oh, my God, I could just eat you up.”

“Mom! Gross!” Bradley is protesting, but I can tell he loves this. “Besides, Aaron can’t go too far with the girls. He’s got that ring.”

I am leaning on the island, and spread out the fingers on my left hand. “Oh,
my
, that’s a
lovely
ring. Let me see that.”

I stretch my arm across the island and she takes my hand in hers. Her fingers are slender and warm. She peers at the ring in the soft light of the pin spots mounted on the vaulted ceiling in the kitchen.
I wish we had lights like this in our kitchen.

“Oh, there’s an
A
on it. That’s beautiful. Was it a gift?”

“Tell her what it means,” Bradley urges. I shake my head and laugh at him. He’s truly fascinated by this ring, but I hesitate. I know my parents meant well when they gave it to me, but it seems sort of embarrassing and old-fashioned now—especially in light of the Westmans’ living situation.

“You don’t have to tell me, Aaron,” Mrs. Westman says gently. “It’s good to have a few things that are only for you.”

Something about her smile makes me want to tell her the whole story about the ring. So I do. I tell her how it makes me feel a little silly. How I wasn’t really asked if I wanted to pledge to save myself until marriage. How Mom and Dad
assumed I was going to. It didn’t feel like I was talking to a parent. It felt like I was talking to a wise, older friend with lots of experience—someone who was interested in how I felt about all of this. It was a lot like talking to Nanny when I was a little boy.

Later, Bradley and I stay up for a long time talking about Ashley and the pros and cons between her and Megan and reading a pile of Drake’s
Penthouse
magazines. Well, I was reading. Bradley is definitely a pictures guy, but I found the stories in the “Forum” section way more interesting. There are these letters that guys write in about these girls they have sex with. Sometimes it’s sex in a crazy place, like a van in the mall parking lot, or sex with more than one girl.

Bradley’s dad keeps this stack of
Penthouse
s on his desk in the office downstairs—in plain sight. Not hidden, but neatly stacked on the corner next to the printer. It’s like he doesn’t think pornography is wrong—something else that would not fly with Dad and Mom. I can’t really tell what’s making my heart race faster—the stories I’m reading or the fact that I’m holding a
Penthouse
in the first place.

Later, when I crawl into bed next to Bradley, he turns off the light and then props himself up on his elbow.

“Spill it, Romeo.”

“What…?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. How’d it go?”

“With Ashley?” I ask.

“No, with Mariah Carey,” he scoffs. “Yes. With Ashley.”

I am blushing and smiling, and glad it’s a little dark.
I’ve never really talked about girls with a best friend before except with Jason at camp a couple summers ago—and he was the one with all the experience. This time I have something to say.

“We kissed a lot,” I begin.

“Have you ever kissed a girl before tonight?” Bradley isn’t making fun of me; he’s really curious. Something about the way he asks lets me tell the truth.

“Not really,” I admit. “There were never tongues involved.”

“I mean, I’m guessing your parents wouldn’t be so happy about you getting to second base with Ashley.”

“How’d you know I got to second base?” I ask him.

“I didn’t, but I do now.” I can hear his smirk in the dark, and I laugh. I sort of feel embarrassed, but mainly, I feel good—like I’m finally one of the cool guys.

“Mom and Dad wouldn’t be too thrilled with
Penthouse
, either,” I say. “They don’t like me even reading
GQ
. I have to hide the ones my friend Jason gave me in my bottom dresser drawer under my jeans.”

“Wait. What’s wrong with
GQ
?” Bradley is amazed.

“They say the women in the cologne ads are dressed immodestly, and that I put too much emphasis on my outward appearance.”

Bradley laughs. “Oh, my
god
, man. Your parents are hard-core.”

“You’re lucky,” I say. “Sometimes I feel really guilty.”

“For
what
?” Bradley asks.

“For… everything,” I say. “Going to movies, listening to
music, reading your dad’s
Penthouse
, even being around your parents while they’re drinking. I really like your parents. They treat you like an adult. I wish my family were that way. It feels… easy.”

“It’s not always a cake walk,” says Bradley. “But they’re pretty cool for the most part.”

We lie there quietly for a minute. I feel so close to Bradley, lying here, talking about stuff that’s so private, so personal.

“Do you believe in all that ring stuff your parents do?” he asks. “I mean, are you saving yourself for marriage?”

“I’ve never had anybody ask me if I believe it or not,” I tell him. “They assume I am on board because it’s the right thing to do.”

“The right thing for who?”

“I’ve never really thought about it that way….” I say. “It’s weird. My dad would say Satan is using you and your house of booze and porno to lure me away from the One True God.”

Bradley laughs into his pillow. “Do you think I’m corrupting you, Hartzler?”

“I hope so.” I say it as a joke, but maybe I mean it. “It’s really nice not to have to put on an act around you.”

“That’s what I hate most about Tri-City,” says Bradley. “I mean, why would a God create all of us and put us here if we were supposed to go around feeling bad about ourselves and pretending to be somebody we’re not? How is hiding who you are telling the truth?”

“But what happens when the truth inside me feels different from what my parents say is the truth?” I wonder aloud. I
don’t expect Bradley to have an answer to this question, but he does.

“I think that’s called growing up,” he says.

I’m still considering these words when I hear a light snore from Bradley’s side of the bed and realize he has drifted off to sleep.

The next morning at rehearsal, while Bradley is onstage rehearsing with Heather in the church auditorium, I join Megan and Angela in the back pews under the balcony. Everyone is trying to catch up on homework between scenes.

“A certain sophomore I know had a really fun time with you last night.” Angela’s smile is a honing beacon, and I instantly realize I’m sunk.

Megan narrows her eyes and shoots lasers in my direction. “Oh, really?” she says. “Do tell.”

Angela is breathless with details. “All I know is that while Bradley and I were on the couch watching TV, Aaron and Ashley took a
very long walk
outside.”

“Where’d you guys go?” Erica whispers as she plops down on the pew in front of us and leans over the back to get in on the conversation, and my misery is complete.

Hell. I’m in a church auditorium and hell at the same time.

“Nowhere,” I say, desperate to change the subject.

“That’s not what Ashley told me when we walked to our cars,” says Angela.

Shut up. Please. Shut. Up.

“Ashley who?” asks Erica.

“Ashley Steele,” says Megan with a too-kind smile. “The sophomore? She’s in Aaron’s geometry class.”

“Oh, yeah,” says Erica, still not catching on.

“Apparently, while we’re in Algebra II, Aaron is working all kinds of angles down the hall,” Megan says, gathering her bag, her purse, and her chemistry book.

“Where are you going?” Angela asks.

“I’ve got homework to finish. I have a date tonight.” Megan smiles fiercely in my direction, then turns and walks down to the end of the next row.

Erica tucks her hair behind her ear. “Are you…
dating
Ashley?” she asks.

“What? No. No—we hung out for the first time last night at Bradley’s.”

Angela opens her mouth to say something. I shoot her the look my mother used to give me when I was a kid and talked during the sermon in church.
You’re about to cross the line.
Angela closes her mouth.