Ready or Not (9 page)

Top ten ways to keep yourself occupied during after-school detention at John Adams Preparatory Academy:

  10.   Finish Trig homework.

    9.   Bite nails.

    8.   Attempt to do assigned German reading.

    7.   Wonder what your parents are going to do when they find out you got detention.

    6.   Decide they probably will forbid you from going to Camp David with your boyfriend for Thanksgiving.

    5.   Decide this probably wouldn't be such a bad thing.

    4.   Write personal essay due in English class,
What Patriotism Means to Me.
Write that patriotism means disagreeing with the government without having to go to jail.

    3.   Make your own manga. Only not one of those lame ones with boys who turn into cuddly rabbits or whatever when the heroine hugs them. But a cool one, where the heroine is on a mission to avenge her family, like Uma Thurman in
Kill Bill
, and kills everyone who stands in her way.

    2.   Give up on manga after five frames because it is too hard and try to draw your boyfriend from memory instead, concentrating on the whole and not the parts.

And the number-one thing to do in detention at Adams Prep:

    1.   Wonder if your boyfriend even likes you anymore, after the way you've been treating him. And worry that he may come to his senses and realize he could easily get a girlfriend who is much less of a head case than you.

My parents were uncharacteristically cool about the detention thing. As soon as they heard Kris Parks had been involved, they were just like, “Oh. Well, don't do it again.”

Even Theresa went, “I'm proud of you, Sam, for not dumping the paint over her head.”

Which made me realize I really have made a lot of progress this year, growing as a human being. Because last year, I definitely would have done that. Dumped the paint over Kris's head, not her shoes.

Nobody bothered to ask
why
I'd done it. Accidentally on purpose kick paint all over the gym floor, I mean. Nobody except Lucy, I mean, who came fluttering into my room after dinner, while I was scowling at my German assignment.

“So,” she said, flopping down next to Manet on my bed, without waiting to be invited to do so. “What's up with you and David?”

“Nothing,” I said, feeling a spurt of annoyance toward her. Don't even ask me why. I mean, she'd been nothing but nice to me, what with the condom/foam thing, and all.

Probably it wasn't Lucy I was annoyed with. Probably,
I
was the one I was annoyed with. Because I still hadn't called David back. I just…

I just had no idea what to say to him.

“Well,” Lucy said, rolling over and staring at my ceiling, “then why are you avoiding his calls?”

I stared at her. “Who says I'm avoiding his calls?”

“It's only all over school,” Lucy said, in a bored voice. “Wasn't that why you got so mad and spilled the paint? Because Kris commented on it?”

“No,” I lied.

“Oh,” Lucy said with a little laugh. “Okay. Whatever.”

But she didn't leave. She just lay there, playing with the fringe of hair over Manet's eyes. I knew she'd try to braid it or, worse, put it in tiny butterfly barrettes. I hate when she does that. Sheepdogs have hair in their face for a reason. Their eyes are very sensitive to light.

I looked at Lucy as she finger-combed Manet's bangs into a fauxhawk. The thing is, Lucy
does
have some experience in the boy arena. There was a chance—just a slight one, but a chance all the same—that she might know how to help. After all, she'd been in my same shoes, once.

I swung my German book closed.

“It's just,” I said, sitting up, “I don't know. I mean, I want to Do It with him, and all. But what if…”

Lucy let go of Manet's fur and shifted so that she was propping her head up on Manet's side. Manet didn't appear to notice. “What if…what?”

“What if, like…I don't like it?”

“Well, have you been practicing?” Lucy asked.

I stared down at her. “Practicing? Practicing
what
?”

“Making love,” Lucy said. “Look, it's easy. Get in the bathtub. Turn the water on. Scoot down to the end of the tub, until your you-know-what is under the running water. Then pretend the water is the guy, and let it—”

“OH MY GOD.”

Lucy blinked up at me. “What?” She looked totally surprised that I should be so shocked. “You haven't tried it? Dude, it totally works.”

“LUCY!” I practically screamed. Loud enough, anyway, that Manet lifted his head and looked around sleepily.

“What?” Lucy asked, again. “There's nothing wrong with it.”

“THAT is why you're always in the bathtub so long?” I croaked.

“Sure,” Lucy said. “What'd you think I was doing in there?”

“Not THAT,” I said. “I thought you were…I don't know. BATHING. And reading those romance novels of yours.”

“Well, that, too,” Lucy said. “They totally help, you know. Some of them are really descriptive. Although thinking about Orlando Bloom is supposed to help, too. While you're letting the water do its work. Orlando doesn't do it for me. But I hear he works for a lot of other girls.”

I couldn't stop staring at her. “THIS is what you guys talk about at the popular table in the lunch room? Who you think about while you're—under the faucet?”

“Not at the lunch table, silly,” Lucy said with a laugh. “I mean, there are
guys
there. Guys don't want to hear that you think about anything but them. Believe me. But when there aren't guys around, yeah, we talk about this kind of stuff. I think Tiffany Shore was the first one to figure it out. She read about it in
Cosmo.
She uses a handheld shower nozzle instead, though.”

“OH MY GOD!” I yelled, again.

Lucy looked surprised at my outburst. “Well,” she said, “girls aren't like guys. We aren't born knowing how to Do It. And you can't leave it up to the
guy
. Most of them couldn't care less about whether or not YOU get anything out of it. It's really every girl for herself out there. That's why practice is so important. Also, getting into the right mindset. That's why I usually think about that guy from
The Count of Monte Cristo
—”

“Jim Caviezel?” I interrupted, more horrified than ever.

“Yeah. He's so hot.”

I could not believe I was even having this conversation.

My incredulity must have shown on my face, since Lucy added, “Come on, Sam. You can't expect a guy to know what to do to make you have an orgasm. You have to do it yourself. At least until you can teach him how.”

This was all news to me.

“Did you teach Jack?” I wanted to know. Because I couldn't believe Jack had ever let anyone teach him anything. Even Lucy. I mean, he basically thinks he knows it all.

“Jack?” Lucy got a funny look on her face all of a sudden. Funny like she was going to cry.

Really. Just like that. Just from hearing his name.

And then, next thing I knew, she'd buried her face in Manet's thick gray and white fur.

“Lucy?” Alarmed, I reached out and touched her shoulder. “Are you okay? Are you…are you sick, or something?”

“Yes, I'm sick,” Lucy said, into Manet's hipbone. “Sick of that
name
.”

I blinked down at her. Name? What name?
Jack
's name?

“Did something happen?” I asked her worriedly. “Between you and Jack?”

Even as the words were coming out of my mouth, I realized how stupid they sounded.
Obviously
something had happened between her and Jack. Had he found some other girl, some
college
girl?

Of course not. Jack was besotted with Lucy. He would never cheat on her! So what was wrong?

I gasped, remembering what Dad had said in the living room the other night. What if Mom had finally let Dad have his way, and he'd forbidden Lucy from seeing Jack? And what if Lucy was planning on running away with him, tonight, on the back of his motorcycle, like Daryl Hannah and Aidan Quinn in that movie
Reckless
I saw on the Romance Channel? Oh my God, Lucy's even a cheerleader, like that character Daryl played! And Jack has a leather jacket, just like the guy Aidan played!

But where are they going to live if they run off together? They have no money. Lucy doesn't even have her job at Bare Essentials anymore! They'll have to live—

IN A TRAILER PARK.

LIKE DARYL AND SHARONA.

“Lucy,” I said, tightening my grip on her shoulder, “you can't run off with Jack. You can't live in a trailer park. They get hit by tornadoes all the time.”

Lucy lifted her face from Manet's fur and squinted at me through tear-swollen eyes. “Run off with Jack? I'm not going to run off with Jack. I'm not even going out with him anymore. I Instant Messaged him last week that we were over.”

My mouth fell open. “WHAT?”

“You heard me.” Lucy finally sat up, and I saw the gleaming tracks her tears had made down her cheeks. Not so amazingly, she still looked pretty, even with random strands of dog hair stuck to the tear tracks on her face.

There really is no justice in the world.

“You broke up with Jack?” I felt as if my brain were melting. “Through Instant Messaging?”

“Yeah,” Lucy said, picking fur from her face. “So what?”

“Well, I mean, isn't that…” How could she not know this? “Isn't that kind of…cold?”

“I don't care,” Lucy said with a sniffle. “I couldn't take his pathetic whining a second longer. He was
suffocating
me. I mean, he's in
college
. You think he'd get a life, instead of wanting to come back here all the time and
bug
me.”

“Um,” I said. “Well, Jack really loves you, you know. He can't help missing you.”

“Yeah, but he could help being a controlling freak, couldn't he? God, it's good to have him off my back.
‘I can't believe you're going to the game instead of spending time with me,'
” she said, in a surprisingly dead-on imitation of her former boyfriend
.
“
‘Sometimes I think you care more about your stupid squad than you do for me.'
Like my wanting to have fun with my friends was some kind of personal insult to him!”

I couldn't believe this. Lucy and Jack, broken up? Really broken up, from the way it sounded, not just one of their many fights. Could it really be over between the two of them? That was
it
?

“But you went out with him for years and years,” I said. “You guys were voted couple most likely to get
married
.”

“Yeah,” Lucy said. “Well, it didn't work out, did it?”

“But he was your first,” I exclaimed.

“My first what?” Lucy asked.

“Hello,” I said. “Your first LOVE.”

Lucy made a face. “Tell me about it. If I'd known better, I wouldn't have picked anybody so moody. And so needy. If I'd have known better, I'd have picked someone more like—”

I stared at her. “Like who?”

“No one,” Lucy said quickly. “Never mind.”

“No, I mean it,” I said. “Who? You can tell me, Luce. I want to know. And I won't tell.”

David, I thought. She's going to say David. Of course she wants a boyfriend like David. David made up white-trash names for us. She and Jack never had white-trash names for each other.

And she knows when David calls me, it's never to make sure I'm not out with some other guy, but because he genuinely cares about how I'm doing, and wants to hear how my day went.

And she sees how David walks me to the door every time he brings me home. And okay, this is also sometimes the only opportunity we have to make out, which might contribute a little to David's motivation.

But whatever. Lucy doesn't have to know that. Jack
never
walked Lucy to the door.

She wants a boyfriend more like mine. She has to.

And I can't say that I blame her. God. Now that I think about it, David is like the perfect boyfriend.

So why am I being so mean to him?

“It's just,” Lucy said, with a sudden, hiccupy sob. “It's just that…he's so smart!”

Poor Lucy. David certainly is much smarter than Jack. There's no denying that. It's true Jack's a gifted artist, but that doesn't necessarily make him smart. I remember he once insisted Picasso invented fauvism. Seriously.

“Yes,” I said sympathetically. “Yes, he is, isn't he?”

“I mean, there's something very attractive about a guy who knows…well,
everything
,” Lucy went on, starting to sound close to tears again. “Jack just THINKS he knows everything.”

“Yes,” I said, thinking Poor Lucy. If only David had a brother. “Yes, he did, didn't he?”

“I mean, all that time he was going on about being an urban rebel…how much of a rebel can you be if your parents are paying for everything?”

“True,” I said. “Very true.”

“The thing is, Jack was just a poser,” Lucy said, still teary-eyed.

“Yes,” I said. You could never call David a poser. He is always, solidly, exactly who he is, and no one else. “He
was
a bit of one, wasn't he?”

“I don't want to go out with a poser,” Lucy said. “I want the
real
thing. I want a
real
man.”

Like David. Well, you could hardly blame her.

“You'll find him,” I assured her. “Someday.”

“I already have,” Lucy said. “Found him.”

Causing me to go, “Wait. What?”

“I found him,” she said with a sob. “B-but he doesn't want me!”

Then she buried her head, with a wail, into my lap.

“Wait.” I looked down uncomprehendingly at the red-gold puddle of silk spread out across my thighs. “You found him? WHERE?”

“At s-school,” Lucy wept.

And, even though I'd
known
, deep down, that she wasn't talking about David, this was still something of a relief. That it wasn't my boyfriend she was pining for.

“Well, that's great, Luce,” I said, still feeling confused. “I mean, that you found someone so soon—”

“Aren't you even listening to me?” Lucy demanded, sitting up and glaring at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I said, he d-doesn't want me!”

“He doesn't?” I stared at her. “But why? Does he already have a girlfriend?”

“No,” Lucy said, shaking her head. “Not that I know of.”

“Well, is he…I mean, is he
gay
?” Because that was the only reason I could think of for a guy not liking my sister, if he wasn't already in love with some other girl, like David.

“No,” she said. “I don't think so.”

“Well, then, why—”

“I don't KNOW why,” Lucy said. “I TOLD you that. I've done EVERYTHING I could to make him notice me. I wore my shortest mini last time I saw him—the one Theresa threatened to put in the trash if I wore it outside the house ever again? I spent two hours on my makeup. I even wore lip liner. And what did I get for it?” She pounded a perfectly manicured fist against the mattress. “NOTHING. He
still
doesn't know I'm alive. I asked him, you know, if he wanted to go to the movies this weekend—to the new Adam Sandler—and he said…he said…he said he HAD OTHER PLANS!”