A Bad Boy Can Be Good for a Girl Read online

  HOME

  How can I feel

  so completely

  connected

  to someone

  I practically just met?

  Where did this

  Oh! There he is!

  feeling come from?

  He smiles at me

  and I’m home.

  He touches me

  and I’m home.

  He kisses me

  and I’m home.

  BOOSTER SHOT

  It’s not just how he makes me feel

  that’s so different.

  I mean, I’ve always been considered pretty cool,

  but this is high school,

  so my coolness factor was pretty much up for grabs

  the second I entered the building.

  When I’m walking down the hall with him,

  everybody knows I’m somebody.

  Kim and Caroline are puffed up by it too.

  We’re the freshmeat girls.

  Not loving that name,

  but I’ll let it slide for now.

  THE DEEP END

  After school

  if the swim team isn’t using it

  the pool is open to anyone.

  We could just go down to the beach I guess,

  but it’s a little too chilly now

  and besides, there aren’t any

  sharp mussel beds to slice your feet on here.

  Swimming was his idea.

  He has half an hour to kill before football practice.

  I’ve spent half my life

  messing around with my friends

  in the Sound.

  But playing in the water with them

  was never like this.

  First of all, I’m extremely aware

  that I’m practically half-naked

  even though I did pick out this ratty old one-piece

  instead of a

  make-his-tongue-hang-out bikini.

  I was trying not to send any mixed messages—

  but he’s still looking at me like he wants to

  eat me alive.

  He says things like “You’re so soft, you feel so good,”

  lame things

  that shouldn’t work on anybody

  but actually work on everybody.

  I’m concentrating more on

  dodging his hands

  than swimming,

  since I don’t think there’s a spot on me

  he hasn’t grazed

  in the name of good old-fashioned water-play.

  He pulls a dolphin move,

  popping up again near the diving board.

  “C’mere, babe. There’s no one around.

  Come get me in the deep end.”

  I shake my head and climb out

  on the edge,

  sticking only the tips of my toes

  in the water.

  That’s as far as I’m going

  today.

  PUSHING MYLUCK

  I said I didn’t want to

  cut class

  but he was whispering in my ear,

  chipping away at

  my common sense.

  “Yeah you do, honey.

  You really do.

  We’ll have a blast. I promise.”

  Down the hall

  around the corner

  through the doors

  and out.

  We’re OUT!

  We run behind this gargantuan oak tree

  ducking out of sight.

  He lifts my whole entire body right up in the air

  slides me down him

  pulls me in

  kisses me hard

  we stumble to the ground.

  But as I fall

  I hear a voice rise from deep inside,

  hurtle closer, faster,

  then slam into my ears,

  “What are you doing?

  This isn’t you.”

  I untangle myself from his arms,

  and run.

  I reach the doors

  as the bell rings,

  slipping into the seat

  that is expecting me.

  Safe.

  But the knot in my stomach

  betrays me

  to me.

  I know

  I’m

  pushing my luck.

  NO-MAN’S-LAND

  High school has its own terrain.

  When you’re in class,

  you’re in class.

  You know where you’re supposed to sit.

  But when there’s free time,

  it’s harder to know who’s supposed to go where.

  The caf is the trickiest minefield to maneuver.

  Especially when you’re a freshman.

  The cool kids usually take up the center

  and various groups line the edges.

  Freshmen need to figure out where they fit in fast,

  before people claim spots.

  Once that happens, you’re pretty much

  stuck where you are,

  or left out completely,

  so you’d better choose well.

  Kim, Caroline, and I had a plan.

  We would stick together—

  under no circumstances would we let any of the team

  fend for herself

  and end up stranded in no-man’s-land.

  But when he came over to our table

  and leaned in to kiss me

  and asked me to join him for lunch,

  it was really, really, really, really hard

  to say

  No.

  But I did.

  No soldier left behind, right?

  Or is it: All’s fair in love and war?

  I can’t remember.

  ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR

  Yeah, that’s what I’m going with.

  I mean, Kim and Caroline

  should understand.

  Shouldn’t they?

  When a hot guy invites you to lunch,

  you go, right?

  Well, I did.

  The very next day.

  Left them sitting there.

  And I was friendly,

  it’s not like anyone snubbed them.

  We walked past their table to say Hi

  and even waved a couple of times during lunch.

  They didn’t wave back.

  And they didn’t seem to care

  when I told them he said,

  “Your friends are hot.”

  I’ll catch up with them later.

  I’m sure it will be

  fine.

  HOT WATER

  My parents back out of the driveway.

  I peek into my little sister’s room—sound asleep.

  The knock I’m waiting to hear hits the front door.

  He talks me into using the hot tub.

  He didn’t bring a suit so he says it’s not fair

  if he’s the only one without one.

  He says it’s dark out anyway,

  and he won’t look while I get in.

  Yeah, like I believe that.

  I have actually never used my parents’ hot tub.

  I didn’t think I would like to be in such

  hot water

  but now that I am,

  slippery seal bodies

  winding around each other,

  I guess I do.

  At least the I

  who I am

  when I’m with him

  does.

  He pulls me close and kisses me,

  then he’s kissing my neck and I’m kissing his,

  wet and salty,

  trying so hard to concentrate only on

  how his hands feel.

  I’m way too scared to touch him down there

  but it does feel good

  to let him

  touch me.

  Still, I’m definitely not ready to go

  underwater exploring

  to see what he has in store for me.
<
br />   I’m sticking to playing with his gorgeous blond hair

  and running my hands all over his

  chest

  and arms

  and back.

  This is nice, I’m fine,

  I’ll just let his fingers wander where they like,

  the water’s warm and

  his hands feel

  really, really good,

  even though they’re going places

  no one else’s hands but mine have ever gone.

  I’m getting really hot,

  like I might even pass out,

  and I’m not sure if it’s the steaming tub

  or him

  that’s making my heart race like this.

  His kisses are long

  and he’s holding me

  and touching me

  and I’m starting to wonder

  what I want

  to do

  next.

  THE PLUNGE

  We’re in his car.

  Let’s face it,

  there’s only one reason to be here—

  total privacy.

  Most of me wants to be here,

  part of me doesn’t.

  That part turns out to be big enough

  to keep stopping him

  from unbuttoning my jeans,

  pushing away fumbling fingers,

  redirecting them under my sweater.

  He is

  not

  satisfied.

  “Baby, please, don’t make me wait anymore.

  I don’t think I can stand it.

  It’s not like we haven’t seen each other naked.

  What are you afraid of . . . ?”

  Maybe I should just close my eyes and jump in

  Fast.

  Like ripping off a Band-Aid

  with a smiling scream.

  Like shooting down the waterslide face-first,

  slipping and sliding until . . .

  No.

  Even though he says things like

  “I’ve never met anyone like you” and

  “I could really fall for you.”

  It’s still

  No.

  Not

  yet.

  TWO WORDS

  Phone rings.

  “It’s me.”

  A code.

  As if to say,

  Who else could it be?

  he claims me with

  a two-word combination

  to my personal lock.

  WHITE-HOT

  I think his smile must give off all the heat

  I’ll ever need.

  It’s hot

  like a branding iron

  and sweet.

  Delicious.

  As the weather gets colder

  it pulls me in,

  his warm cozy fire

  growing hotter by the minute, hour, day, week,

  I may just spontaneously combust

  right here

  in his arms.

  FAVORITE THINGS

  My aunt is over and she’s asking me what my favorite things are. Mine are all so boring, but I can tell you all his favorite things. He likes greasy cheeseburgers from Paul’s, NASCAR races, playing football with his brothers, taking me to Showcase Cinemas and not watching the movie, playing with my necklace when he talks to me, watching me walk to class . . .

  What was the question again?

  Oh, right, my favorite things.

  I try hard to concentrate

  because she’s getting this irritated

  I-can’t-believe-you’re-turning-into-one-of- those-girls

  look on her face.

  It’s coming back to me . . .

  My favorite things?

  Uh, let’s see, fresh clam pizza from Pepe’s;

  my musty blue rabbit’s foot with one toenail too long;

  that photo of the old Chevy completely covered in

  all kinds of weird buttons;

  the big yellowish boulder in the middle of the jetty

  that’s the only thing left sticking up at high tide—like

  a whale’s back, which is why I call it Moby Dick;

  that gasp of air you take after popping up from

  underneath a huge wave;

  a hermit crab scurrying across my foot underwater;

  the smack of a puck landing in my hand at my first

  hockey game

  (no, wait, that one’s not mine—

  but man, you should see how good he looks

  in his jersey).

  I’m sorry,

  what was the question again?

  SLAMMED

  My back is up against his locker,

  the knob poking me.

  He presses into my body

  leaning in tight to share a secret

  saved for my ears alone.

  I barely hear his words,

  too dizzy from his lips

  on my earlobe,

  too distracted by the smell of him

  to listen.

  His muffled laugh sends

  a puff of warm breath

  to caress my cheek.

  Then BAM!

  He takes

  two

  giant

  steps

  back

  as his too-cool-for-school buddies

  come out of nowhere.

  Bright blue eyes go dull;

  I’m left with an

  I-couldn’t-care-less face.

  Like I’m not even there.

  “Later, Jos.”

  He’s gone.

  What was that?

  I blink fast to keep the tears from coming,

  but some slip through.

  I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand—

  black mascara streaks

  matching my black mood.

  IN AND OUT

  I’m sitting on Moby Dick

  thinking about everything that’s happened

  and it’s only been

  a few weeks.

  The tide’s coming in,

  the smaller rocks I use

  to climb up on Moby

  already covered over.

  I could sit here until the tide comes

  all the way in

  and goes back out again

  for all he’d care.

  Seems like five minutes ago

  I was the “only one” he could talk to

  the “only one” he felt comfortable with

  the “only one” who let him be himself

  the “only one” he told stuff to

  even stuff you don’t tell just anyone.

  Like the time his Dad caught his Mom

  having dinner with a “business associate”

  when she said she was going shopping with the girls,

  and how pissed he was that his Dad just stood there,

  couldn’t believe what a wimp the Old Man was being.

  He said that would never happen to him

  and clenched his jaw

  when he said it.

  And even though he didn’t say more,

  I didn’t push it.

  I just listened.

  And now . . . nothing.

  First I’m in

  then I’m out.

  I just don’t get this

  hot and cold

  thing.

  Why does he act like such a jerk every time it seems like we get a little bit closer?

  And why do I eat it up

  later

  when he graces me with his presence

  and that smile that

  looks like

  it’s just

  for

  me?

  It shouldn’t make everything okay.

  So

  why

  does

  it?

  TESTING THE WATERS

  It’s too cold for swimming

  so he tosses a blanket

  a six-pack

  and some chips and salsa

 
; into the dinghy.

  We head out

  to his parents’ boat.

  It’s anchored pretty close to shore

  so it only takes a couple of minutes to reach it.

  When you live a few houses from the water

  you can tie up pretty much anywhere.

  He climbs on first,

  reaching his hand down

  to help pull me up.

  He opens two beers and hands me one.

  “Corrupting a minor?” I say, only half joking.

  I take a long swig to settle my nerves.

  We’re totally alone

  and I’m not sure how much longer

  I’m going to be able to hold out on him.

  According to him, he’s been unbelievably ultrapatient.

  Plus, I really do have the all-out

  hots for him.

  He grins.

  I think

  I’m in trouble.

  I’ve got that tingly sensation again,

  the kind where your body is awake

  and you’re not so sure if that’s a good thing

  or a bad thing.

  He spreads the blanket

  on the deck

  we stretch out

  under the stars,

  literally.

  The sky is amazing tonight.

  He tries to point out Cassiopeia

  all nonchalant and seafaring-like.

  I laugh, forgetting for a split second

  how stark raving terrified I am.

  “You’re so way off.

  Cassiopeia is over there.”

  I move his hand so his finger points to the right spot.

  “Oh, yeah?

  Let’s see what you really know,”

  rolling over in one smooth move

  so that he’s pretty much lying

  on top of me.