A Bad Boy Can Be Good for a Girl Read online

There, I said it. But I’d also just left myself

  wide open.

  Instinct kicks in,

  I fold my arms across my chest quick.

  What was I thinking,

  letting some guy get to me like this?

  “What are you talking about?” he says.

  “Every time I see you at lunch

  you won’t look at me.

  What’s the matter, I’m not good enough

  for your friends?”

  “Nic, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

  I just didn’t see you.

  I swear.”

  I so

  want

  to believe him.

  I uncross my arms.

  “Really?”

  “Of course, honey. What kind of a jerk do you think

  I am?

  C’mere.”

  The “honey” got me.

  And now he’s

  kissing me slow

  touching me sweet

  sliding my skirt up

  making me

  want

  him

  all over

  again.

  “Nice skirt. Easy access. A little tip I picked up

  from my big brother.”

  “Smart brother.”

  “You still mad at me?”

  I manage an “Uh-uh.”

  “Good. I’m taking you on a date tomorrow.”

  One more wet kiss

  and off he goes.

  PIZZA AND BEER

  “Wanna get some pizza later?”

  “Is this that real date you promised?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Pizza’s not much of a date.”

  “It’s what I’m in the mood for, that’s all.”

  “Okay, but come by my house and pick me up.

  You can meet my Mom.”

  At 6:45 he honks his horn.

  “Come on in and say hello,” I yell from the window.

  “Nah, I’m hungry, let’s go!”

  I grab my bag and slide into the seat next to him.

  “Mmm, you look good enough to eat,” he says.

  “Maybe we should skip the pizza.”

  “No, c’mon, I’m hungry too, take me OUT.”

  I toss my head back, shaking my hair.

  I know I look good.

  I’ll make this boy so proud to be seen with me

  and so happy

  he won’t know what hit him.

  Twenty minutes later I’m sitting on his lap,

  steering wheel molded into my back,

  feeding him a slice.

  I lick the sauce from around his lips.

  He tips a beer bottle into my mouth,

  lapping up what spills down my chin with his tongue.

  He starts unbuttoning my top,

  one button, then two, three, four.

  Fixing his eyes on mine and smiling that smile,

  he cups my boobs in both hands

  and squeezes them

  rubbing his thumbs back and forth against my nipples,

  sending lightning bolts through my body.

  He pulls my bra off to the side

  leaning his head into my chest.

  I want him to swallow me whole.

  We’re both warm and sweaty.

  I’m dizzy.

  The heat from his pants is rising

  right through my skirt.

  He reaches down to slide the seat back

  giving us more room

  unzips his jeans

  and out it springs,

  like an animal that’s been waiting to be let out,

  which is pretty much true.

  I suck my breath in fast

  as he slips on a condom.

  Then his hands are on my thighs, under my skirt,

  my whole body is unfolding to him,

  I lift my hips up—“Yes,” he whispers.

  I can feel him move through me

  all the way up to the top of my head

  and all the way down to the soles of my feet

  as we melt into each other

  over and over and over

  until I think I’m hollering

  and he’s yelling

  “Yes, Yes, Yes, YES!”

  I collapse into his shoulders

  and everything goes quiet.

  I’ve never felt happier in my whole life.

  So this is what love feels like.

  CLOSE ENCOUNTER

  Blue Hall is crammed with people:

  The Lunch Hour rush.

  I’m trying to grab some stuff from my locker.

  There’s a hand on my butt.

  Hey!

  It better be him, or somebody’s getting slugged.

  It is him.

  He’s never touched me in front of other people before

  “Cut it out,” I tease.

  “Nobody can see anything in this traffic jam,

  chill out,” he says, with a little edge in his voice

  I haven’t heard before.

  Then he locks his eyes on mine

  reaches down

  and touches me right there. I can’t breathe.

  “Meet me at Red Light.”

  And he’s swallowed up into the crowd.

  NEW FRIENDS

  I’m walking to Red Light and I see a group

  of his friends walking toward me.

  I’m not sure if

  I should say anything,

  because we’ve never

  been introduced.

  “Hi, Nicolette,” one guy says.

  “Hey, Nic.” Another tosses his chin my way.

  The girls look in the opposite direction.

  “Hey, guys!” I say, probably a little too enthusiastically,

  but c’mon, I’m trying to make an effort here.

  The boys grin at each other as they all keep walking.

  NEW ENEMIES

  Before I get to our place

  here come some more.

  Just girls this time.

  These are the picture-perfect girls

  who only go out with jocks,

  they probably don’t like that I’m taking

  one of their own.

  As if they could get him.

  They wouldn’t know what to do with him.

  He’s probably already worked his way through them

  and figured that out,

  which is why

  he’s

  with

  me.

  I’m thinking all of this when they walk by

  and one of them says to the other, like I’m not

  even there, like I can’t even hear them, like I’m not

  even a person,

  “Can you believe he’s wasting his time with her?

  She must be as trashy as she looks

  to keep him coming back for more.”

  If she hadn’t already gotten a few yards down the hall

  I’m not sure I could have stopped myself from

  slapping her.

  I spin in their direction and yell.

  “Trashy! I’m not trashy, I’m a

  woman, unlike you little girls.

  If you want a guy like him, you’ll have to get a clue.”

  They laugh to each other, all superior. One says,

  “You’re the one who needs to get a clue.

  I mean, hello, Red Light? Are you that stupid

  you don’t even know when

  someone’s calling you

  a whore?”

  ALL BETTER

  I make it to our closet and hope he got there first.

  He did, he’s waiting.

  “Nic.” He pulls me in and starts kissing my face, my

  ears, my neck, my chest . . .

  I push him away.

  “Stop it, LOOK at me, can’t you see I’m a mess!”

  I’ve got to tell him how they hurt me, but

  this is so not cool, and not sexy.

  I
’m blubbering like a baby.

  I repeat the whole nasty thing anyway, word for word,

  leaving out the whore part.

  He smooths my hair away from my face,

  wipes my tears, so tender.

  He really does care.

  “Don’t cry, baby. They’re just jealous. Don’t waste your time thinking about them. C’mere, baby, let me make you feel all better. . . .”

  AVIVA

  “WHO the HELL is Aviva?”

  I walk right up to his locker

  parting the circle of jocks.

  “Don’t make a scene, Nic,” he says.

  Some of his friends laugh.

  “Are you laughing at ME?”

  My words fly out like so much spit.

  “Good luck, man.” And they walk.

  “What’s the big deal?” he says.

  “What’s the big DEAL?”

  “We never said we couldn’t see other people.

  I thought we were just having fun.”

  I’d be lying

  if I said I couldn’t believe what I was hearing,

  It’s not like I’d never heard it before,

  but it still felt like someone just

  knocked the wind out of me.

  “Oh, we were having a lot more than FUN and you

  KNOW it! I thought you cared about me. But you

  were just playing me the whole time, WEREN’T

  YOU?”

  “C’mon, Nic. You know you wanted it as much as I did.

  You’re a blast, but let’s face it,

  we were just messing around.

  It’s not like we ever really went out.

  I never even met your Mom.”

  “YOU WOULD NEVER COME IN!”

  “Nic, I’m sorry, really, I am,

  I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.

  Of course I care about you. I just took her to a party,

  it’s no big deal.”

  “It IS a big deal. You never even THOUGHT

  about taking me to a party, did you,

  introducing me to your friends.

  I wasn’t good enough, right?

  But Aviva, you asked.

  Aviva, what kind of a stupid name is that, anyway?

  Josie told me you were no good. She got that right.

  I should have listened to her.”

  I turn to leave.

  As soon as my back’s to him,

  the tears slip out of my eyes

  and run down my cheeks,

  but they just keep falling

  because there is no way

  I’m going to let him

  see me

  wipe

  them

  away.

  FADE TO BLUE

  I run.

  I want to get as far away

  from him

  as fast

  as I can.

  Far away from the almighty jock-filled Orange Hall.

  I run and run

  tripping down the stairs,

  bursting through the doors to Blue Hall,

  racing to my locker to grab my stuff.

  I can see the patch of white halfway down the hall:

  another note.

  I get my things, slam the door, and crumple the paper.

  I’m so outta here.

  If I was never anyone’s girlfriend

  I’m not going to read some stupid note so I can be

  dumped in writing

  by some boy who never came close

  to being a boyfriend.

  DOG

  I don’t even have a dog to curl up with, to drown my tears into his shaggy fur. Not even a damn dog around to help me get over the human dog-faced piece of crap I just gave my whole heart and soul and body to. Mom says it’s hard enough to take care of ourselves, let alone have time for any mangy mutt. But even a mangy mutt might help me believe I’ve got some kind of friend in this world.

  NO MORE TEARS

  I don’t think there’s a drop of salty water left

  in my whole body.

  I cried walking home, I cried trying to fit my key into the front door, I cried climbing the steps to my bedroom, I cried looking in the mirror at my pathetic self, I cried pulling off my “trashy” clothes, and I cried in the shower. I cried so hard in the shower I slunk right down and sat on the floor, and just let the hot water wash me away. It could have washed me right down the drain for all I cared.

  Made

  me

  disappear.

  FOREVER

  Later,

  I think, Enough’s enough.

  Pull yourself together,

  get dressed,

  get some air.

  I shove my hand in my coat pocket

  and feel the crumpled note.

  Fresh tears flood the corners of my eyes but

  I’m not hiding.

  I’m smoothing it out.

  Bad news travels fast.

  You never checked out Forever, did you?

  It was signed,

  Sorry he got you too,

  Josie

  LIGHTBULB

  It was low, what he did, leading me on like that.

  He meant something to me.

  He had to pick up on that.

  No way he didn’t.

  And for once, I thought I meant something

  to somebody else.

  Were those girls right?

  Am I that stupid?

  I thought Red Light was just a name he made up, but after what they said, I thought I better look it up and I went back inside. Turns out, it’s a place in Amsterdam for prostitutes. A whore sits in a glass-front room with a red lightbulb. If the light’s lit, she’s ready to do it. Men go to the red-light district just to screw their stupid brains out.

  I wanted to find the deepest, darkest hole there was and climb in it when I read that. Here I was thinking how great it was that we had our own secret place with a nickname and all the time he really was calling me a whore.

  AmIawhore because I like sex? Or because I did it too soon? Or too much? Nobody ever calls boys whores.

  Why is that?

  LONELY

  I am way too young

  to feel this used up.

  This lonely.

  I wish I was little again

  and Mom

  could make me some noodle soup

  brush my hair

  tuck me in

  and tell me

  everything is going to be

  okay.

  BEING HEARD

  Mom walks in the door after work

  and sees me slumped into the couch,

  staring at nothing.

  She’s at my side in a second.

  “Baby, what’s the matter?”

  I tell her,

  not even trying to fight

  this new round of tears.

  She sits next to me,

  wraps her arm around me,

  rocking us gently back and forth

  as I talk.

  She hasn’t done that

  in a million years.

  She’s listening

  hard.

  Not yelling

  or looking mad

  or disappointed

  or saying

  I taught you better than that

  or

  how could you be so dumb.

  Just rocking me

  and listening

  as I

  spill

  everything.

  I finally stop.

  She’s quiet for another minute

  or so,

  like she doesn’t want to interrupt

  by asking

  but wants to make sure I’m done

  with my

  emotional

  heave.

  Then she

  smooths my hair

  off my face

  like she used to.

  “What do you say we take tomorrow off?

  A Mental Health Day. And
we can talk,” she says.

  “We could get our hair done

  or do some shopping

  or just take a drive along the coast,

  how does that sound?”

  I smile.

  I nod.

  I guess

  for a while there

  I forgot

  I do

  have a

  friend

  in this

  world

  after

  all.

  Aviva

  CRISS-CROSS

  I’m what you call a Criss-Crosser.

  That’s a kid who doesn’t belong to any one

  group in particular,

  but is by no means a loser.

  I’ve got friends in pretty much all the cliques.

  I criss-cross my way through the school.

  I think it’s because I’m pretty, but not cheerleader

  pretty,

  and smart, but not brainiac smart,

  and artsy but not freak-show artsy.

  I play the guitar,

  which people think is pretty cool—as opposed to,

  I don’t know,

  the bassoon or something,

  which they’d probably think was geeky.

  And I’m kind of funny, too.

  My Dad likes to say I’m good at

  finding the funny.

  Anyway, somehow I get away with being

  a Criss-Crosser.

  And I get the feeling it’s a hard thing to get away with

  in high school,

  even though I’ve been doing it all four years.

  STILL

  It’s not a normal, everyday

  occurrence

  when one of the hottest jocks at P.B.H.

  asks me out.

  I’ve certainly noticed him over the years,