“Remember the time when this happened?”
and “Remember the time when that happened?”
(Which, of course,
I never do,
because I wasn’t there.)
Well, okay—
it is that bad.
It sucks, even.
But if I can just make it through
to the end of the day,
I’ll finally have Sophie
all to myself.
When She Runs Up to Me at the Goalpost
Our mouths are drawn together
like two supercharged magnets.
And we get so carried away,
so fast,
that we just barely
manage
to stop making out
long enough
to race over
to my house
and start
making out.
As Soon as We Get Upstairs to My Room
It’s like there’s
no future,
no
past,
only
now.
Right
now.
The greatest
now
I’ve ever
known.
Only
now—
this
kiss,
this
wow!
Then, Without Any Warning
Sophie’s cell starts ringing!
Jolting us
out of the spell we were under.
We try to ignore it for a while,
but our kisses start fizzling,
then stop altogether.
Both of us groan
as Sophie yanks herself out of my arms
to dig her phone out of her backpack.
Only the thing is,
when she finally gets her hands on it,
she doesn’t switch it off—
she answers it.
Guess Who’s Calling?
But Sophie isn’t telling her
that she’ll have to talk to her later.
She isn’t hurrying to hang up the phone
and throw herself back into my arms.
She’s just pressing it to her ear,
listening intently,
with her eyes getting bigger by the second,
oblivious to the fact
that she’s totally ignoring me.
“Omigod … omigod!” she says. “I’d love to!
But are you sure it’s okay with your parents?”
Sophie keeps her ear welded to the phone,
hanging on Rachel’s every word,
completely forgetting that I’m even
sitting here—sitting here fuming,
waiting for her to hang up the freaking phone.
Then she says, “No way … no way!
You mean my mom already said I can go?
I can’t believe this.
I can’t believe it!”
“That makes two of us,” I growl under my breath.
I Sit and Seethe
Listening to Sophie jabber on and on and on.
And when she finally does hang up,
she’s got so many stars in her eyes
that she doesn’t seem to notice the daggers in mine.
She leaps off the bed
and starts dancing around the room,
telling me that Rachel’s taking her to Bermuda
with her family this weekend.
“I never get to go anywhere.
And now I’m going to the Caribbean
to stay in a fancy condo right on the beach!
Isn’t that amazing?”
“Yeah,” I say. “It is amazing.
Amazing that you’d rather
talk on the phone to Rachel
than make out with me.”
That’s when the stars in Sophie’s eyes
disappear behind a cloud bank.
“Wait a minute, Robin,” she says,
“that’s not true. I—”
“Yup,” I say. “It’s pretty amazing, all right.
Amazing that my own girlfriend
couldn’t care less that she’s gonna
be away from me all weekend.”
Sophie’s eyes fill with tears.
“I thought you’d be happy for me,” she says,
making herself sound all pathetic.
“Well, I’m not!” I shout.
And my words reverberate
in the sudden silence,
like the slamming
of a door.
Sophie’s Cheeks Look as Red as if I’d Slapped Them
“I’d be happy for you,” she says,
in a voice as quiet as the eye of a hurricane,
“even though you obviously don’t care about
anyone but yourself.”
“Look who’s talking!” I say.
“I wasn’t expecting you to turn down Bermuda.
But you could have at least pretended to feel
a little bit sad about going away without me.”
“And you could have at least pretended
to be a little understanding about it,” she says,
“considering that it’s your fault
I haven’t seen Rachel practically all winter!”
That hits me like a blow below the belt.
And suddenly, it’s like we’re having a fistfight,
only instead of flinging punches,
we’re flinging words at each other.
And a few minutes later,
when Sophie stomps down the stairs
and storms out the door,
I’m literally hopping mad.
I mean,
like I’m actually jumping up and down,
pounding the air,
screaming at the empty hallway.
Later
When I get to my drawing class,
I’m still so pissed at Sophie
that my heart’s clenched in my chest
like a lead fist.
There’s a new model tonight—a milk-skinned goth
with more piercings than a pincushion,
and a shiny snake of pink-and-black-striped braid,
swirling down her back like a question mark,
a question mark
that reminds me
that I still don’t have any answers
to some very pressing questions.
Like what is wrong with Sophie, anyway?
How come ever since she started
hanging around with Rachel
she’s been acting like an entirely different person?
Felix tells us to be archaeologists,
to dig deep into the paper.
“Scratch it,” he says. “Gouge it.
Run over it with your mopeds.”
Which is exactly
what I’m in the mood to do.
Only I was thinking more along the lines
of a Mack truck.
My Charcoal’s on a Rampage
Tearing into the paper
like a bull ripping into a matador’s cape.
This isn’t just a drawing,
it’s a brawl—
a knock-down drag-out
free-for-all.
I smear it, smudge it,
wrinkle it, tear it,
scrawl all my rage out
onto the page.
During the Break
When Honk comes over
to check out what I’ve done,
he lets out a low whistle.
When Richard sees it,
he gasps and ducks behind Eve
for cover.
Eve makes the sign of the cross with her fingers,
like people do in the movies
when they’re trying to ward off vampires.
But Tessa just grins at me
and says, “Feel better now?”
And I have to admit—I do.
At Finale
T
he five of us are tucked into a dimly lit booth,
licking the last crumbs
of Dark Chocolate Decadence off our forks,
when I happen to notice
that my left thigh is pressed against Eve’s thigh,
and my right one is pressed against Tessa’s.
This causes me
to have an impure thought.
A couple of impure thoughts, actually.
I can feel the heat
from both of their legs
penetrating right through my jeans.
Did the girls press their thighs
against mine?
Or did I press mine against theirs?
Is it possible
that they could be
flirting with me?
And, right at that moment, as if both girls
heard me ask my question out loud,
each of them shifts her leg against mine,
applying just a little more pressure.
But real or imagined, it’s turning me on.
And I find myself wishing I could slip a hand
onto each of their thighs and—
That’s when I realize that Eve is talking to me.
“So,” she’s saying,
“are you up for doing it with us, Robin?”
“Up for … doing it with you?”
My heart starts thumping in my chest
like I’m running the Boston Marathon.
“Please,” Tessa says, “I need you.”
Gulp.
“You … do?”
“Sure she does, bro,” Honk says. “Tessa needs
all four of us to chill with her on Saturday
and help her celebrate her birthday in style.”
Tessa’s birthday?
That’s what they were
talking about?
“So, are you gonna grace us
with your illustrious presence?”
Richard says.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I say.
It Isn’t Until a While Later
After we all exchange cell numbers
so we can firm up
the plans for Saturday,
after Tessa leans her head against my shoulder
and tells me how glad she is
that I’ll be with her on her birthday,
after I sling an arm
over each of the girls’ shoulders
and give them both a squeeze,
that I start thinking about Sophie,
thinking about how she’d feel
if she could see me right now,
thinking that it would
serve her
right!
On Thursday
I spend the whole morning
doing whatever I can
to keep from bumping into Sophie at school.
I even sneak upstairs to the second floor
to get from my health class to math class,
just so I’ll be sure not to run into her.
Except I do run into her.
Because Sophie’s up here, too.
She must have had the exact same idea.
And when our eyes meet,
I look away so fast
that I almost get whiplash.
During lunch,
I hole up in Schultz’s room,
avoiding the cafeteria completely.
And after lunch, when Sophie
walks into the room for art class,
both of us act like the other person
is invisible.
When I Get Home After School
I find my mom cramming clothes into the dryer,
with her hair wrapped up in a towel.
“How come you’re home so early, Mom?”
“Well,” she says, heaving an exhausted sigh,
“first you have to promise me
you won’t shoot the messenger.”
But before she can explain what she means by this,
my dad staggers into the room,
carrying a pile of laundry that’s taller than he is.
Uh-oh.
His hair’s wrapped up in a towel, too!
“Oh, no …” I say, “not again”
Right away,
my scalp starts itching like crazy.
And so does my beard.
“Yep,” she says. “Second time this year—
your father and I just found out that
both of us have lice.”
“And so, apparently,
do half the kids at Happy Time,” Dad says,
dumping an avalanche of laundry onto the floor.
“But we’re thinking of changing the name,”
Mom says with a grim little chuckle,
“to Unhappy Time.”
My Heart’s Trying Real Hard
To exit my body through my throat right now.
Because my dad’s checking my beard and my scalp
to see if I’ve got lice.
And if I do,
then I’ll have to inform Sophie.
Since those nasty little bugs could have easily
jumped right off of me onto her.
I can picture the whole excruciating scene:
“Sophie,” I’ll begin, “I know we aren’t exactly
on speaking terms right now,
but there’s something I need to tell you …”
“Oh, just go ahead and spit it out, Robin,” she’ll hiss.
So I’ll brace myself and continue.
“Okay, then. You know the other day,
when we were making out on my bed?”
And Sophie won’t say anything,
but she’ll sort of shudder,
like she can’t believe
she ever wanted to make out with me.
“Well…” I’ll say,
as alone in that bed
as we thought we were …”
I’ve Been Spared!
Dad’s just pronounced my entire head
a “louse-free zone”!
“Thank God!” Mom says.
“But be careful not to touch anything, Robin.
The house is probably still crawling with them.”
Then she shivers convulsively,
turning to my dad
with this wild sort of gleam in her eye.
“And it must be ten times worse at the school.
You’ve got to get over there right now
and bag up all the things from the dress-up center.”
“I do?” he asks wearily.
“Yes! Please!” Mom says. “Every scrap of it!”
“Don’t worry,” Dad says,
trudging toward the door.
“There’ll be no tutu, no cape, no hat left behind.”
“And watch out how you handle that stuff,”
she calls after him. “It must be positively infested.
Especially those hats.”
And just thinking about the hats,
with all those lice running rampant all over them,
sends a chill down my spine—
and gives me one of the best ideas
I’ve ever had in my life.
So I Wait Until My Mom Takes a Martini Break
(She’s not much of a drinker,
but I guess today’s an exception.)
Then,
like a skilled criminal mastermind,
I set my plan into motion:
I pull on a pair of plastic gloves
and start searching through
the lice-infested laundry pile.
I’m looking for my dad’s Red Sox cap—
the one he’s worn every single day
since they won the World Series.
And when I finally find it,
I slip it into a jumbo Ziploc bag
and sneak it upstairs to my room,
where I take off my own hat,
put it into the bag right on top of my dad’s cap,
and zip them up together, real tight.
Then I toss back my head
and shout, “Mwa-ha-ha-ha!”
And Suddenly I’m Thinking About Sophie
Thinking about how much she’d love this plan,
and about how much more fun
this whole thing would be
if she were doing it
with me …
And for a minute there,
I get this real strong urge to call her—
to just call her up
and act like nothing’s happened
and ask her if she wants
to help me execute my plan.
But then I remember
all the awful stuff she said to me,
and all the awful stuff
I said to her,
and the urge
passes.
On Friday Morning
I sneak my dad’s cap back down
into the laundry room.
Then I zip up the bag with my own hat still in it,
and hide it inside my backpack.
I feel sort of naked
heading out of the house
with a bare head,
but it’s all for an evil cause.
When I get to school, my thoughts shift to Sophie—
maybe she’ll be waiting for me
outside of health class,
like she was the other day.
Maybe she’ll
throw her arms around my neck
and kiss me
and tell me how sorry she is.
Maybe she’ll tell me
that she’s decided not to even go to Bermuda,
that she’d rather stay home
and spend the weekend with me.
Then again,
maybe she won’t.
Because I can see the door to my classroom now,
and Sophie isn’t anywhere near it.
It’s Basically the Same Drill as Thursday
Sophie and I try to avoid each other all day.
And when avoiding each other can’t be avoided,
we try not to look at each other.
The only time my mood improves
is right before English,
when I see Dylan waiting to pounce on me.
I make sure he’s looking right at me,
then I slip my hat out of its plastic bag
and shove it behind my back
like I’m trying to hide it.