“What have you been doing?”
“Oh, nothing much.
Just lying around on my bed.”
Which is the God’s honest truth.
In a way.
I Get Off the Phone as Fast as I Can
And race back down the hall
to my bedroom.
But when I get there—
Sophie’s wearing
her I AM SUCH A STEIN shirt,
and she’s slipping her jacket on over it.
She hands me my own shirt
and gives me a sheepish grin.
“I think maybe we should take a little break from …”
She looks over at the bed and blushes,
not even finishing her sentence.
But I get the idea.
“Want to go to the museum?” she asks.
No! I think to myself.
I don’t want to go to the museum.
I want to stay right here
doing lots more of exactly what we were doing
before the phone rang!
But I just pull on my I’M WITH STEIN shirt,
slap a smile onto my face,
and say, “I’m there.”
Before We Leave
I call back my parents
to tell them where I’m going.
Because if they called the house
and I didn’t pick up the phone,
and then they tried my cell
but they couldn’t get through
because Verizon sucks so bad,
they’d probably call Mrs. Jeffries again,
not to mention the local police and the F.B.I.
And my picture would be on
every milk carton in the country
before Sophie and I even got back to the house.
So I tell them I’m going to the museum,
but I don’t tell them
that Sophie’s going with me,
and that afterwards,
we’re gonna be here alone together
for hours and hours
before her mother comes to pick her up.
Because not telling someone something,
when someone’s not even asking,
is not the same thing as lying. Is it?
Besides,
I don’t have to tell my parents
about every single thing
that’s going on in my personal life.
In fact, I don’t have to tell them
about anything that’s going on
in my personal life.
That’s why they call it
personal
And Even if I Did Tell Them
They’d probably just say something like,
“We trust you implicitly.”
And you know what’s really annoying about that?
They actually do trust me.
And, frankly, that pisses me off.
Because, I mean, I’m a teenager.
They aren’t supposed
to trust me.
But it’s like they think I’m such a loser
that I’d never do anything wrong.
Which sort of makes me feel
like doing something wrong.
Just to show them.
When Worlds (Almost) Collide
Sophie and I are sketching, talking quietly,
and sneaking kisses on the wooden bench
in front of Le Bal à Bougival,
when I happen to glance down the corridor
and see Honk and Eve
heading right toward us!
I pull Sophie up and tell her it’s time to go,
tugging her away with me
in the opposite direction.
Because if they see me,
I’ll have to introduce them
to Sophie.
And I mean, what if I do that,
and she says something that sounds …
I don’t know … sort of immature or something?
Not that Sophie’s immature.
Well, I mean, she is immature.
But not for a fourteen-year-old.
I mean, she’s just right for her age.
But what if she happens to mention
that she goes to Cambridge High?
Honk and Eve might figure out that I do, too!
We Stop Off for Pizza at Pinocchio’s
Then we catch the bus back to my house
and end up going online
to try to figure out how long it’ll take my parents
to drive home in the morning.
So we start looking at maps of Vermont,
and, somehow,
we end up downloading this amazing program
called Google Earth.
It’s got about a zillion
photos of the world on it
that must have been taken
by satellites and airplanes and stuff.
It’s hard for Sophie and me
to believe what we’re seeing,
because when you type in an address,
it starts zooming in,
all the way in from, like, outer space,
right down to your own country,
and then to your own state,
and your own city,
all the way down
to your own neighborhood,
until you can actually see
the roof of your own house!
So we zoom down to Sophie’s house.
And then over to my house.
And pretty soon we’re zooming
all around the world—
to places like Paris and London and Rome,
dreaming about someday wandering
through the streets of those far-off places
together…
Then We Start Making Out
And for some reason,
just knowing that there’s zero chance
of my parents walking in on us,
makes every kiss twice as intense.
It doesn’t take long
for my heart to start
racing around in my chest
like it’s trying to win the Indy 500.
Then—click!
It’s like somebody aimed
the remote control at my head
and somehow put my mind on “pause.”
Because,
all of a sudden,
I can’t think.
I can only feel …
There’s nothing but Sophie and me
and the way her arms feel wrapping around me,
the way our tongues feel swirling together,
the way her hips feel pressing against mine …
nothing but Sophie and me
and my hands gliding across her stomach …
my fingers bursting into flame
as they slide up under her T-shirt …
But before they even reach the bottom of her bra,
Sophie grabs my wrists, whispering, “No. Wait.”
Then, she scoots away from me
to the other side of the bed—
the other side of the world.
A Few Seconds Later
She reaches for my hand,
saying, “I’m sorry, Robin.”
“That’s okay,” I say.
Though my body’s not so sure that it is.
My heart’s still
thundering against my ribs
like a pissed-off prisoner
trying to break out of jail.
“It’s just that it all felt so good,” she says.
“Too good.
I’ve never felt that out of control before—
like I could just blink and end up pregnant.”
“You can’t get pregnant from blinking, silly,” I say.
Then I wag my finger at her accusingly, and add,
“Someone hasn’t been paying attention
in health class …”
Sophie laughs,
but a second later
she gets this
real serious look on her face.
“I want to do more than just kiss you …” she says.
Whoa. She does?
My heart starts doing jumping jacks.
“… But I’ve never done any of that stuff before.
So I need to take it slow. Okay?”
“Slow” wouldn’t have been my first choice.
It wouldn’t have even been my second choice.
In fact, “slow” isn’t even on my list.
But “slow” is definitely better than “never.”
So I say, “Sure, Sophie. There’s no hurry.”
And she flashes me a smile so devastating
that it could even make an atheist
believe in God.
I Do Not Have a One Track Mind
Yeah, right. Yeah, right. Yeah, right. Yeah,
h, right. Yeah, right. Yeah, right. Yeah, right. Yeah,
right. Yeah, right. Yeah, right. Yeah, right. Yeah, right.
Yeah, right. Yeah, right. Yeah, right. Yeah, right. Yeah, rig
Yeah, right. Yeah, right. Yeah, right. Yeah, right. Yeah, right,
eah, right. Yeah, right. Yeah, right. Yeah, right. Yeah, right. Yea
right. Yeah, right. Yeah, right. Y eah, right. Yeah, right. Yeah, ri
ght. Yeah, right. Yeah, right. Y eah, right. Yeah, right. Yeah,
right. Yeah, right. Yeah, rig ht. Yeah, right. Yeah, righ
t. Yeah, right. Yeah, rig ht. Yeah, right. Yeah,
right. Yeah, right. Yeah, right. Yea
We Spend the Next Couple of Hours
Trying not to even think about sex.
Which is not an easy thing to do,
under the circumstances.
But we end up having a great time anyway,
looking through my stacks of Weekly World News,
and laughing at headlines like:
AGING BURGLAR
RIPS OFF OWN HOUSE BY MISTAKE.
And: MAN KILLS MIME AND NOBODY CARES.
We crack up over: HOW TO TELL IF
YOUR PROSTITUTE IS AN EXTRATERRESTRIAL.
And: ALIENS ARE HERE FOR OUR KRISPY KREMES.
Then we start cutting the headlines into bits and pieces,
rearranging them to create time-honored classics like:
HOW TO TELL IF YOUR KRISPY KREME IS A PROSTITUTE.
But some of the headlines are impossible to improve on.
Like this one, which we both agree is trés hysterical as is:
POO LA LA! MAN SPEAKS FRENCH OUT OF HIS BUTT.
“Here’s an intriguing one …” I say,
holding it up for Sophie to see:
TOUCHING BREASTS MAKES MEN LIVE LONGER.
She grabs the newspaper out of my hands and swats me.
“I predict you’ll have a good life,” she says,
“but a short one.”
We Tack Our Best Creations Up onto My “Wall of Lame”
That’s what I call the big wall next to my bed—
the one that I’ve covered
with all my favorite sketches and paintings,
plus cartoons and photos and funny postcards,
and tons of other miscellaneous weird-but-cool stuff.
“You’re so lucky,” Sophie says.
“My mom would never let me do this to my wall.”
And, as if on cue, Sophie’s cell starts ringing.
She checks the number and rolls her eyes.
“Speaking of my mom …” she grumbles. “Hello?
… Aw, come on, Mom … No!
You can’t come yet… It’s not even ten …
Can’t you just… Can’t I just—”
But Sophie’s mom hangs up.
“Sweet,” Sophie says,
glaring at the phone like she wants to murder it.
“She’ll be here in ten minutes.”
“Then we’d better make the best of them,” I say.
Sophie wiggles her eyebrows at me lewdly
and says, “Great minds think alike.”
And a second later,
we’re practically kissing each other’s
faces off.
Just Before Her Mom Arrives
Sophie and I make up a secret handshake.
It’s more like a goof on secret handshakes—
because this one’s actually
a footshake.
We start out
by walking toward each other
with our right hands stuck out in front of us,
like we are getting ready to shake.
Then, at the last second,
we reach down and grab hold
of the other person’s right ankle instead,
shaking it in midair, as though it’s a hand.
That probably sounds easier to do than it is.
But, really, it’s pretty hard,
because the timing has to be perfect,
and both of us have to balance on one foot.
So the first few times that we try it,
we fall over on top of each other.
Which, of course,
is half the fun.
At School on Monday
Sophie and I meet by the water fountain
right before lunch.
Just like we planned.
We do our secret footshake, and crack up,
even though there are tons of people around,
staring at us like we’re the scene of an accident.
But there’s no way
we’re gonna let them get to us.
So we just pull off our sweatshirts—
revealing that Sophie’s wearing
her I AM SUCH A STEIN shirt,
and I’m wearing the one that says: I’M WITH STEIN.
Then I take hold of her hand
and we shove open the double doors to the cafeteria
like a couple of gunslingers entering a saloon.
And everyone reads
what it says on our shirts,
I’m not sure if a hush is falling over the crowd
or if it just seems that way.
A few people snicker.
But most of them
just stand there blinking at us,
like we’re some kind of bizarre mirage.
When we pass by Zak and Danny and Henry,
they sneak these sidelong glances at each other,
like each one’s scared to react until he finds out
what the other two guys are gonna do.
When Dylan reads the words on our shirts,
he looks like he wants
to say something real nasty to us,
only he’s so stupid he can’t come up with anything.
And when we walk past Rachel and Grace,
Grace looks like she wishes she could
fall right through the floor.
(Or like she wishes Sophie and I would.)
And Rachel looks like … like …
Well, I’m not exactly sure what she looks like.
So many different emotions are flashing across her face
that you’d have to be a speed-reader to catch them all.
When We Get to Our Usual Table
Sophie and I take out our lunch bags
and start joking around with each other,
trying to appear oblivious to the fact
that everyone’s still staring.
And suddenly—
Rachel’s standing right next to us!
She hesitates for a second,
then sits down on the bench beside Sophie.
She points across the table at me,
right at my I’M WITH STEIN shirt,
looks directly into my eyes,
and with this quivery-chinned little grin, says,
“I am, too.”
Whoa
This must be
how the Red Sox felt
when th
e Curse of the Bambino
was finally
lifted.
Everyone’s Really Staring at Us Now
So I usher Sophie and Rachel out of the cafeteria.
On our way to the door,
we walk right by the table where Grace is sitting,
her face looking whiter than a vampire’s.
She’s pretending not to see us,
but she’s laughing real loud, too loud,
at something Henry’s whispering in her ear.
I whisk the girls past her
and bring them over to Schultz’s room,
so that they can make up with each other in private.
As soon as we get here,
I say good-bye and turn to leave.
But Rachel asks me to stay.
And a second later she bursts into tears
and starts apologizing.
To both of us.
Then Sophie’s hugging Rachel,
and Rachel’s hugging Sophie,
and both of them
are hugging me.
We Spend What’s Left of the Lunch Period
Teaching Rachel the secret footshake,
writing I’M WITH STEIN on her T-shirt,
and drawing OUTLAWS RULE! tattoos
onto each other’s arms.
And the entire time,
Rachel’s filling Sophie in
on every single thing that’s happened to her
in the last month.
Including the fact that at lunch today,
when Danny refused to come over to our table with her,
Rachel did something she’d been wanting to do
ever since winter break: she broke up with him.
Which, I’ve got to admit, is kind of impressive.
But even if it turned out
that Rachel was a complete ditz,
I still wouldn’t mind chilling with her.
Because Sophie hasn’t looked this happy in weeks.
She’s lit up so bright
that it almost hurts my eyes to look at her.
Except that she’s so beautiful,
I can’t keep from looking at her.
Just Before the Bell Rings
Schultz walks in.
And when he finds us hanging out in his room,
he does this little double take.
But then he just grins at us,
saying, “Hey there, kiddos.
Glad to see you’re making yourselves right at home.”