I mean, who hasn’t,
but I don’t think he ever noticed me
until I saved his butt
in biology class last week.
We were cutting up dead frogs
and he didn’t have the first clue what to do.
Some of the girls were going, “Ooh, so disgusting,”
but I think it’s pretty amazing to be able to peel back
the skin of this
frog and actually see how all its insides work.
And I probably shouldn’t admit this,
but even though that smell of formaldehyde
kind of smacks you in the face at first,
I kind of like how the sweet & sour smell grows on you,
sticking to the insides of your nostrils.
I bet years from now
I’ll be able to close my eyes and still smell it.
So anyway, my frog was neatly
pinned to the pan
and I was just about to make a nice clean cut
with my scalpel
when he comes over to my lab station
looking like one of those stray dogs that
hang around the boathouse
looking for scraps.
“Hey, Aviva, how’s it goin’?”
He knows my name?
“Fine, thanks. How’s your frog coming along?”
“Not too good, actually.
I was wondering if you could help me out.
You seem to be sailing along,” he says,
just as I slice through the top layer of skin,
pull the veiny skin back, and reveal a perfect,
beautiful little froggie chest and abdomen.
“Cool,” he says.
“Way,” I say.
HIPPIE BY-PRODUCT
It’s weird to call my parents hippies
since I don’t really think there are actual hippies
anymore,
but they are.
Dad’s Birkenstock sandals
pre-date me,
and if I need money
for new jeans
you can bet I have to earn it
sorting the recycling
turning the compost heap
and packing a bag of canned nonperishables
for the Food Shelf.
It’s no big shock, then,
that the dating situation is
pretty go-with-the-flow.
When my parents heard about the beach party,
it was just, “Okay, honey.
Act responsibly. We trust you.”
And they should, actually.
PARTY
Amazing, amazing, amazing!
Did I say it was amazing?
Last night was amazing.
This crowd’s music choices are, well questionable,
but they really know how to have fun.
And this boy,
I mean, I’ve dated boys before, but not like this one.
He lives for the rush of stuff like
sneaking his grounded friend out of the house,
driving too fast with the windows open, radio blaring,
turning off his headlights so it’s like flying in midair,
crazy, daring, stupid, exciting stuff.
He has a way of sliding out of trouble,
plays the innocent really well.
Grown-ups seem to think he’s such a good boy.
They are so wrong.
This boy gets any girl he wants.
Why does he want me?
From what I hear
he’s been hanging out with a pretty wild girl
named Nicolette.
I’m not wild, but I am different.
Maybe that’s why he wants me.
Maybe he’s ready for something different.
MONDAY MORNING
“Someone need rescuing?”
I can’t get my locker open and here he is.
He didn’t call me on Sunday, but here he is.
“Sure.”
He pops the lock and opens the door,
Mr. Knight in Shining Armor.
“So, did you have fun at the party Saturday night?”
“Yeah, I did, thanks.”
“Y’know, I didn’t get a kiss goodnight.”
“Yeah, tough break.”
“You’re funny, I like that,” he says.
“Maybe if we go out again, I’ll get another chance.”
“Maybe,” I say.
“How about what?”
“You wanna go somewhere this weekend?”
“Okay, sure.”
He leans in to kiss me,
but I lean away,
a reflex response.
He grins.
“I’ll call you.”
“Okay.”
SIGNALS
The buzz in the caf was that Nicolette
made a scene that morning.
It’s all the jocks were talking about.
“Did you see her screaming? Man, she went off
on him,” one guy says.
“Dude, I’d hate to be him right now,” another says.
“Oh please, he already moved on to that Aviva chick.”
An alarm goes off in my head,
like the sound you hear on TV right before
a storm warning
flashes along the bottom of the screen,
but I shut it off.
“He moved on to that Aviva chick” is all I’m left with.
ALONG WEEK
I don’t really get it, he came on so strong,
and now . . . what?
If this is his way of piquing my interest,
well,
unfortunately,
I guess it’s kind of
working.
I thought he asked me out for this weekend, but
we don’t have any plans yet
and it’s Friday already.
Wait, here he comes with his friends.
“I’ll call you, okay?” is all he says
as he walks past me and out of the school.
That’s kind of rude.
What, does he think he’s God’s gift?
Am I just supposed to sit around and wait?
I’ve got a life.
Nicolette
FOREVER
I see Josie coming down Blue Hall.
She smiles and mouths the word
“for-ev-er”
to me on her way past.
That girl really has it together for a freshman.
For anyone. I mean, I’m older, but I’m sure as shit
not wiser.
Might as well just get it over with.
I take the book to a quiet corner of the library
where nobody is hanging out,
and open it to the back.
There’s Josie’s warning:
TO THE GIRLS OF POINT BEACH HIGH: BEWARE!!
There’s a boy at this school who’s only out for
one thing. . . .
Josie described him dead-on,
all except for the Terrible Lay part, sad but true,
he so proves the point of “practice makes perfect,”
from the looks of how many girls have
added major complaints about him to this book!
They took Josie’s lead and ran with it.
I soak up every single word.
Then I add some stuff of my own.
I curl up in the corner
and start to read the actual book
from the beginning.
Might as well see what else there is
to learn
between the covers.
Aviva
PRINCESS FAMILIAR
Saturday afternoon, I’m practicing my guitar,
working on that song by
Alanis Morissette,
“Princess Familiar,”
trying not to think about if I have a date t
onight or not,
when the doorbell rings.
I get a knot in my stomach.
My father answers it.
“Aviva, you have a visitor.”
I don’t want to be excited.
I want to be annoyed.
But here he is. On my doorstep. Smiling.
Mr. I’m Too Sexy for My . . .
“Hey.”
“Hello,” I say, as casual as possible.
“Can I come in?”
I shrug.
“I guess so.”
“So, do you want to go out tonight?”
“Kind of short notice, don’tcha think?”
“Well, it just got thrown together at some guy’s house over by Gulf Pond. You know how these things are. Do you want to go or not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh come on, Viv, don’t be like that,
what’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter. I just don’t like it
when people say
they’re going to do something
and then they don’t,
that’s all.”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?” He smiles that crocodile
smile.
“Yeah, you’re here all right.”
“So, whaddya say?”
“Yeah, all right,” I say, trying my best to sound like
I’m doing him
a huge favor.
Does he even notice how annoyed I am?
“Cool, I’ll pick you up at eight.”
Flash of white teeth and he’s gone.
I hate being called Viv.
I pick up my guitar and go back to Alanis,
“Papa respect your princess . . .
she will find respectful princes familiar . . .”
And that last line of hers,
“please be,
just like my . . .”
and the song ends.
I just know she sings the word
“father”
to herself
every
single
time.
I know
I do.
MY DAD
“A party—tonight? Kind of last-minute, isn’t it? Is this the same boy you went out with last week?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“You know we trust you, honey. But it just seems to me like he could have given you a bit more notice. A little more respectful would be nice.”
And I hear Alanis croon.
THE KISS
The party is fun, your usual mix of the “in” people,
dancing, listening to mainstream music,
drinking too much, being too loud.
I used to hear parties like this from my bedroom
window once in a while,
when they would spill out onto the street.
I remember one time last winter it was really cold, and kids were running around outside screaming. I thought it was so stupid they thought that was fun.
Now I’m the one in the middle of the street,
a little high
way too loud,
yelling and laughing
and singing at the top of my lungs.
No doubt someone’s peeked through window shades
to see what’s going on out here
but it’s just little old me
feeling free.
It is fun.
“I never did get that goodnight kiss last week.”
“Yeah, we’ve been over this.”
“How about now?”
“Is it time to say goodnight already?” I tease.
“Very funny, get over here.”
With one hand, he pulls me in to him.
With the other, he brushes the hair away from my face
and puts his mouth on mine.
We stay that way, in the corner of the yard,
my back against a stone-cold tree,
for quite a while.
All we did was kiss, but by the time we stopped
it felt like we had taken things pretty far, pretty fast.
And everything that was nagging at me melted away.
A SHORT WEEK
People always say
Time Flies When You’re Having Fun.
It must be true, because this week really flew.
It’s partially because I’m hyped up
from all this attention. It’s not just
all the attention he’s paying me either.
It’s like suddenly I’m not just a
Criss-Crosser.
Suddenly I’m major Mainstream.
I never really thought I cared about that, and
I’m still not
sure I do,
but the perks aren’t bad.
The cool kids saving you a seat at lunch,
being in on the weekend scene, stuff like that.
So now—another Saturday night, another party.
And WE are going.
POOL PARTY
What a scene!
Strictly A-list, something I’ve never made in my life.
I’m not exactly sure whose house this is,
but I’ve never seen anything like it.
It’s near Point Lookout. Major bucks.
Huge, beautiful indoor pool. Changing rooms.
Very steamy. Very nice.
The only thing I would change is the music.
Really bad techno-pop crap.
I leave him for a few minutes to change
into my suit.
When I come back, he’s talking
to a few of his friends. They’re having a good laugh.
Then he waves and makes a beeline right for me.
I like that. The power of the string bikini.
Like white on rice. Stuck fast.
I laugh.
“What’s so funny, gorgeous?”
“The look on your face, that’s what!”
“Oh yeah, well, you won’t be laughing for long!”
He pulls off his shirt, and pulls me into the pool
with him.
I come up for air, my wet hair flings around slapping him in the face. We are still laughing. I catch a quick glimpse of one of his boys giving him the thumbs-up before I dunk him under the water.
TENSION
Some of my friends think I’m heading for trouble. They say I don’t hang out with them anymore. I guess that’s true, but I’m a Criss-Crosser, I go where I like.
Amanda, she’s the most ticked off.
We’ve been friends since the fifth grade.
Amanda plays a mean French horn. And she’s always
reading books by feminists like
Betty Friedan and Gloria Steinem.
I bet none of the jock crowd even knows
who they are.
Amanda and I were supposed to do something
over the weekend
and I kind of
forgot.
Saturday there was that pool party.
Sunday I watched the guys shoot hoops.
Monday morning
she’s waiting by my locker.
“I never would have pegged you for a girl who
ditches her friends the second a hot guy comes along,”
Amanda says.
I’m not one of those girls.
But he is hot, and I love hanging out with him.
I guess I do sound like one of those girls.
Amanda and I make plans for next weekend.
YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND
Uh-oh.
There’s Amanda by her locker in Orange Hall.
It hits me that the weekend came
and went
without her
again.
She’s glaring at me.
“I’m really sorry, Amanda.”
“Forget it. You obviously had more important
things to do, I get it.”
“No, Amanda, that’s not it. You don’t understand. When I’m w
ith him, it’s, it’s,
I don’t know,
like nothing else.
You don’t know what he’s like when we’re alone.
He talks to me. He opens up.
He even told me about this girl Ashley
who kind of broke his heart.
You should have seen him, Amanda,
he can be so sweet and sensitive sometimes.
When it’s just us.
He’s so different from the guy you see with
his buddies—”
“Aviva!
Do you
hear
yourself?
Do you have any idea how many millions
of women
in the history of relationships
have spouted the
exact
same
crap?
He’s not different. He’s playing you.
And on the tiniest off-chance this guy really is
so different when it’s
just the two of you,
why would you want to be with such a
screwed-up phony?”
“Amanda, I’m sorry to say this, but . . .
it just hasn’t happened to you yet,
that’s why you don’t understand.
But I really am sorry about the weekend.”
“Save your sorries, Aviva.
Call me when you get your head out of the clouds.”
She slams her locker shut and leaves.
GROSS
We are walking down Yellow Hall after class,
his arm around my waist,
hand comfortably tucked into my back jean pocket.
“Did you know there’s an old art-supply closet