how second base led to my first boyfriend

The air was thick with pollen suspended in the rays of the setting sun. The sweet smell of barbecue settled inside my nose. Fireworks fizzled and popped around the neighborhood. Summer was coming to a close.

“Guys, guess what?” RJ cackled, his voice a rusty razor.

“What?” Alex asked.

“Last week, in the pool, Noreen let me feel her up!”

“Did not!” I defended, smacking at RJ’s face but only grazing his grime-encrusted neck.

“You know you did. You sat on my lap in the kiddie pool and I reached up and tweaked your nipples.”

“Cool!” Alex pumped his fist at RJ in approval.

“Liar!” I screeched.

“Nuh uh! I pinched ‘em, and you let me.” RJ maneuvered his fingers like he was turning the dial on a car radio.

“They’re big and hard like dice. And then you let me squeeze your boobs. They felt smooshy like a roll of Charmin. Oh, man….” He opened and closed his fists just inches in front of my breasts.

“Stop it!” I shouted, swatting away his sweaty palms.

“Come on. Gimme another squeeze!”

As RJ lurched at my chest, Steve stepped in front of me and pushed RJ’s pudgy little frame into a parked car.

“Ow!”

“Leave her alone, fuck face,” Steve commanded as he saddled up to me.

“You okay?” he asked, flashing deep dimples at me. I wanted to push my pinky into them and see how far in I’d get.

“Uh huh,” I squeaked, as Steve slid his arm around my shoulder. Was this really happening? The only other time a boy had put his arm around me was in a football huddle.

Warmth spread out through my shoulders and oozed down my body like melting chocolate.

Steve pulled me closer to him, and I cuddled into the crook of his arm. I had to suppress a giggle of glee as I realized how perfectly we fit together. He was just the right height for me to comfortably rest my head on his shoulder. Should I do that now? Would it be weird to walk that way? How about my arms? Should I throw my right arm behind his back and let it rest on his hip? I scanned the streets for couples, hoping for a clue as to what to do next. But we weren’t a couple, were we?

Moisture collected on my skin like the sweat from a soda can. Could he feel it? Would he pull away in disgust? I began to breathe like a woman in labor, keeping my arms rigid at my sides so I didn’t screw this up.

“You’re a liar, and you know it!” RJ’s Doritos breath was back in my face. I huddled closer to Steve’s chest.

“I’m not gonna tell you again. Leave her alone.”

Steve grabbed RJ’s collar with his free hand and shook it hard. He didn’t even break his stride or lessen the pressure of his arm on my now-soaked shoulder. RJ sulked and mumbled, dropping back behind us and snickering to Alex, who was enjoying the spectacle.

I glanced at Steve, reassured by his wide smile and the heat of his body against mine, making me feel feverish. I knew, in that instant, that he would be my first boyfriend.

The thing is, I had let RJ feel my boobs in the pool. I don’t know why. I hadn’t even kissed a boy, and yet I had let this crusty little creeton feel me up. RJ was almost two years younger than me, and a whole head shorter. Did that make me a pervert? If word got around that I had let RJ touch me, I feared that mothers everywhere would clutch their young sons to them, terrified of the dangerous older lady who wanted to look at their sons’ boy parts. I had to keep this under wraps.

It had started innocently enough. RJ and I were wrestling in the kiddie pool, and he suddenly pulled me onto his lap. I could hear a wheeze in his chest, and I asked if he needed his inhaler.
“Nah. I’m cool,” he insisted, taking a deep breath. “Let’s just rest for a minute.”

We floated like that for a while, and I felt the weight of his hands like pockets on my hips. His fingers slowly inched their way towards my waist and waited there. I rested my palms over his hands, wondering where they would go next. His fingers crawled up my ribcage like caterpillars, and my hands went limp and floated lifeless to the surface of the pool. I stared straight ahead and held my breath, blinking away the blinding glare of the sun reflecting off the water. I pretended it wasn’t happening, waiting to see how far RJ would go, and wondering why I wasn’t stopping him.

A little girl drifted by on a raft that looked like a dragon. Wet pigtails dripped above both of her ears, and she flashed a wide grin at me. I flushed with shame. Did she suspect our underwater activity? How could I set such a horrible example for the children in the kiddie pool? I should be banned from the pool forever. What was wrong with me? My Catholic school training had been complete. At this stage, I should be screaming rape and bending RJ’s fingers backwards while chanting Hail Mary’s. But a burning sensation below my belly button said, wait. Now, just what is this?

RJ’s fingertips grazed over my nipples, almost accidentally. I felt something poking me in the back like a billy club, and realized it was his erection. When I didn’t react by wrenching off his penis and tossing it into the deep end of the pool, RJ became more brazen. He poked my nipples with his fingertips, as if checking to see if they would bite. The sounds of splashing and laughter faded into the distance. My heart thump-thump-thumped in my ears as electricity rippled through me.

My nipples fought against the fabric of my bathing suit as RJ pinched them. It hurt, almost, but in a way that wasn’t quite pain. He finally cupped both of my breasts in his pudgy bear claws and pulled me tighter towards him. A tormented moan escaped his lips. My brain felt like cotton candy and I had trouble focusing my eyes. I was certainly destined for hell.

And that’s when I saw him. The lifeguard was poised in his tower, biting his whistle between his teeth. He was glaring directly at us and reaching for his megaphone. His toned and tanned chest glistened with sweat. Bicep muscles bulged as he slowly brought the megaphone to his sun-chapped lips. My sexual deviance was about to be broadcast to everyone. I would be chased out of the pool, pelted with nose plugs and goggles, while mothers covered their children’s eyes from my hardened-nipple shame. I tried to pry RJ’s hands off of my breasts, but they were crazy-glued to my bathing suit.

Three sharp whistles assaulted my ears as a sudden wave knocked me off RJ’s lap. I slipped underneath the surface, sucking in chlorinated water and sputtering like Dad’s old Chevy. A bony elbow rammed into my throat as a talon-like toenail tore into my shin. Not knowing which death would be worse – one of shame or the other of drowning in a four-foot deep kiddie pool – I resurfaced and greedily sucked in air, ready for my public execution.

“Out of the pool! Now!” the lifeguard barked, pointing angrily. I shielded my eyes from the white sun spots dancing in front of me and stared at RJ’s mammoth back.

“No cannonballs in the kiddie pool. You three – out now!”

I looked to my right and saw three sunburned boys holding their reddened bellies and spitting water at one another. RJ waded breathlessly in the water, his chest rising and falling with effort, waiting for me to return.

What had I done? I awoke from my nipple-pinching stupor, doggie paddled my way over to the ladder and pulled myself out of the pool. My legs felt like licorice as I sprinted to the shaded safety of my towel. I hid behind my wet bangs, waiting for the revving of my heart to slow down and settle back into my chest.

RJ shifted uncomfortably in the kiddie pool, surveying his surroundings. When he was finally able to get out of the pool, he lumbered over to his mother and huddled close to her lounge chair. I watched as she patted his back and handed him his inhaler. RJ shook his inhaler and took two long pulls from it, waiting for the air to enter his lungs. His mother looked concerned, as the inhaler didn’t seem to be working.

“Come on, breathe!” I whispered from my towel, wondering if I had just killed RJ. Could the excitement of fondling real breasts have caused his lungs to seize up? Having just had my first remotely sensual encounter, I wasn’t certain of my own power.

Finally, the color returned to RJ’s cheeks and I sighed a deep breath of relief. His mother handed him a soda and a sandwich, and he bit into the bread greedily. I was happy to see that my breasts had not produced fatal effects.

It happened a week after Steve had defended my honor against RJ. Steve and I walked to the playground in the bright midday sun. His arm brushed up against mine. It felt like a thousand ladybugs crawling up and down my arms.

“Wanna sit on the swings?” he suggested.

“Okay.”

We approached the swings in the shapes of animals that I had been riding on since birth. There were four – the caterpillar, the squirrel, the bird and the skunk. As kids, we would race to the swings, trying to reach our favorite animal first. No one ever wanted to sit on the skunk. It was always empty, unless some unsuspecting new kid came to the park and made the mistake of sitting on it. Then, the rest of us would shun the new kid, insisting he smelled like farts for having sat on the stinky skunk.

“Which one’s your favorite?” Steve asked as we approached the swings.
“The caterpillar,” I responded reflexively, wishing I could suck the syllables back down my throat the minute they reached the air. I was 14! I wasn’t supposed to have a favorite swing. Was this a trick question? Was Steve trying to decide if I was mature enough to be girlfriend material?

“Mine too!” he responded.

Steve was 15, and was about to be a sophomore at the boys’ prep school a few blocks from my high school. He knew about cool – he smoked and played guitar. If the caterpillar was good with him, then I was in.

“Yeah, caterpillars are cool. Cause they change, you know? Become something beautiful,” he explained.

“Butterflies,” I nodded, blushing at having stated the obvious.

“Exactly! Wow. We have so much in common. We really think alike.” He smiled into my face and his dimples deepened.

Steve held onto the chain of the caterpillar swing and helped me onto it. I straddled the caterpillar and rocked it back and forth, unsure of what else to do.

“The bird is my second favorite, but I’ll sit on the squirrel to be close to you,” Steve said as he lowered himself onto the squirrel. The eyes of the caterpillar seemed to wink at the squirrel. I wondered how many times they had witnessed this.

Steve licked his lips and leaned off of his squirrel towards my caterpillar. This was it! He was about to give me my first kiss. My body tensed as questions ricocheted around my brain: When was I supposed to close my eyes? How was my breath? What did I do with my hands? Was I supposed to make any sounds, like the moaning and grunting on late-night cable movies? And what was I supposed to do with my tongue? I closed my eyes as the warmth of Steve’s breath floated out to me.

For years, I had daydreamed about my first kiss. It went like this: a faceless boy and I were walking alone in the woods. It was fall. Apple-colored leaves were drifting down from the trees, crunching under our feet. Birds chirped and butterflies flitted about. A cool breeze rocked the branches, and I shivered with a chill. The boy removed his heather-gray wool sweater, and slipped it over my head. It smelled like wood shavings, and I snuggled into its warmth. My hair was bouncy and perfect. My skin shone like porcelain. He rested his hands on my shapely hips and drew me in to him. His lips were soft and his mouth was juicy like a plum. His hands cradled my face, and my fingers met behind his neck. We kissed in the middle of the woods for an eternity, until a park ranger came and told us to mosey on along. It was perfection.

Steve’s teeth bouncing off my own brought me back into my body.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“It was my fault. Let’s try again,” Steve offered as my heart drag-raced inside my chest.

I opened my mouth wide as if I were about to have my teeth cleaned. His cold tongue poked around the inside of my dry mouth, testing the water. It felt like a giant wad of bubblegum. Steve tasted like watermelon jolly ranchers, sticky sweet. His head rolled back and forth as his tongue searched out my tonsils.

I tried to keep my tongue and my teeth to myself, afraid I’d accidentally bite the tip of his tongue off. Steve’s hands were resting on my thighs. My palms ached from gripping the chain of the caterpillar. Holding my breath, I counted the seconds and tried hard not to laugh at what suddenly seemed so ridiculous. Kissing was no longer a mystery. And I wasn’t even sure if I liked it.

I was grateful for my first kiss to be out of the way, but I had expected more. Steve’s tongue jamming past my teeth felt like an invasion of privacy. There was no ripple in my belly and no music in the trees. It was just me, sitting on a caterpillar waiting for the oral excursion to be over.

Mister Softee’s ice cream truck rumbled up the street, manic music blaring out of his speaker. Children shouted and begged for money from their mothers, feet pounding the pavement as they raced toward the truck. For the first time, I realized we were not alone in the playground, and I pulled free of the suction from Steve’s vacuum kiss.

Steve’s lips made a wet smacking sound. He nodded his head with confidence, waiting to hear what I had to say.

“Thanks?” I offered, not sure what the proper response was to my first actual kiss.

“No. Thank you!”

Steve wiped his mouth on the back of his arm, nuzzled into my neck and kissed me softly. There it was! The tingle in my tummy that I had been craving all along. I wondered if there was something wrong with me. What if my mouth was desensitized and the only way I ever got the ripple feeling was to convince Steve to nibble on my neck? That is, assuming Steve wanted any part of my anatomy ever again.

Steve took out a pack of Marlboro Lights and shook a cigarette free.

“You want?” he offered.

I shook my head. First, I had let a boy feel me up. Then I had let Steve put his tongue in my mouth. I was growing up too fast. Who knew what else I was capable of if I allowed myself to smoke?

“So? Wanna go with me?” Steve asked as he sucked on his cigarette, looking like he already knew the answer.

“Sure!”

I bounced off the caterpillar and had to restrain myself from doing a cartwheel. A boy actually wanted to be my boyfriend. He wanted me to be his girlfriend. I was going to start high school with a boyfriend, as someone’s girlfriend. A mushroom cloud of nuclear waste could not have erased the smile from my face.

“Cool. Let’s get some ice cream. My treat.”

Steve stood up and laced his fingers through mine, leading me towards Mister Softee. My head swiveled like a lighthouse light, spreading my smile in every direction. I wanted as many people as possible to witness my new status as a girlfriend.

“What’s your favorite?” Steve asked as we stood on line behind mothers and their whiny children.

“Chocolate with chocolate sprinkles,” I said, holding tight to his hand.

“Mine, too! Wanna split a double cone?” Steve suggested.

I had always wanted a double cone, but I had never had anyone to share it with before. I had always envied couples that split double cones, taking turns licking the melting ice cream and wiping sprinkles off of each others’ chins. I now had someone to wipe my chin! I couldn’t think of anything more romantic.

Steve held out the chocolate with chocolate sprinkles double cone. I dipped my mouth into the coldness, hoping to get some sprinkles somewhere on my face. Feeling an ice cream moustache on my upper lip, I batted my eyes at Steve. His tongue poked out of his mouth and licked the ice cream off of my lip. Bees buzzed inside of my head, and I felt faint.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered into my ear.

“I am?”

No one had ever told me that before. Sister Roberta had once said I had beautiful penmanship, but that wasn’t the same thing.

“Yes, you are.”

“I like your dimples,” I responded, kissing each dimple quickly.

“I like your lips,” he kissed my lips and pushed his tongue back inside my mouth. My legs felt woozy beneath me. I wished I still had the caterpillar beneath me for support. Kissing while standing seemed a little problematic. I could see while people preferred to do it lying down

“I like your hair.”

Steve looked confused. I didn’t know what else to say. His tongue in my mouth had taken away my good sense.

“It’s really – curly,” I added.

“Thanks.”

We walked towards my house, holding hands and taking turns licking the melting cone. My temples began to pound, either from brain freeze or the extra-wide smile plastered to my face.
We stopped in front of my house, the last bite of our cone stuck in my throat. Other couples might have “a song”, but Steve and I had “a cone”. I could never again eat a chocolate cone with chocolate sprinkles without thinking of him.

“I’ll call you tonight, girlfriend.”

“Okay, boyfriend,” I beamed. I had just called someone my boyfriend! I bit the inside of my lip to keep from laughing.

Steve’s eyes focused on mine. He lowered his head and my eyes fluttered shut. My lips parted slightly. I was determined to get this open-mouthed kiss right.

A loud “thwack” stopped us both in our lust-filled tracks. I looked up at my window on the second floor. Erin was standing in the window, in her underwear, banging on the glass. At 6-years-old, we could not keep clothing on Erin. The second she entered the apartment, she stripped down to her skivvies and stayed like that. She repeatedly banged on the glass, jumping up and down like a monkey.

“Ma!!!” I could hear her ear-splitting shout through the pane glass. “I’m telling Mommy!”

“I gotta go!” I sprinted up the steps away from Steve. I had to get to my mother before Erin did.

“Sorry!” I shouted over my shoulder.

“Call you later,” Steve called out.

“Why are you screaming like that?” I heard my mother walking down the hall towards Erin.
I wasn’t too late! I would get to tell my mother before Erin did.

“Get out of that window with no clothes on! What’s the matter with you? You want the whole neighborhood to see you like that?”

“I don’t care,” Erin answered.

“I know you don’t, but I do. Out of the window. Now!”

I rushed breathlessly into the living room as Mom was scooping Erin out of the window.

“Mom,” I gasped.

“What?”

“Mommy, guess what I just saw Noreen doing?”

“What?

“Shut up, Erin.”

“Don’t tell your sister to shut up,” Mom admonished.

“Mommy, Noreen was….”

“Boogedy boogedy boo!” I shouted at Erin.

“No! No! Please! Mommy, hold me!” Erin clung to my mother’s neck, terror freezing her face and stealing her words.

Boogedy boogedy boo brought out the Boogey Man. Chris and I would routinely lock Erin in the bathroom with the light off and chant “boogedy boogedy boo”, which would make him appear to her. We usually reserved this tactic for times when Erin was bugging us, or was about to tattle something that Mom absolutely could not know. It worked better than any bribe we could ever concoct.

“Noreen! Why do you insist on torturing your sister? What did you do that you don’t want me to know about?” she asked, trying not to be suffocated by Erin’s death grip around her neck.

“I didn’t do anything,” I shouted over Erin’s wailing. “But I need to tell you something.”

“Get your sister to stop screaming, please! I can’t hear myself think.”

“Come on, boogedy boogedy boo. Time for you to go. Leave Erin alone.”

I opened the door and shooed the Boogey Man out of the apartment. Erin watched through her fingers as hiccups shook her skinny little body.

“Okay, he’s gone,” I assured her, shutting the door and turning all the locks.

“You sure?” she asked, still clinging to Mom’s throat.

“Yes, I’m sure. Just don’t make me call him back,” I threatened.

“No, don’t. I promise. You won’t have to call him back.”

“Okay, no more B-Man,” I said, handing over her favorite teddy bear.

Erin squeezed the teddy bear and wiggled free of Mom’s arms.

“Put some clothes on,” Mom shouted after her.

“No!” she screamed, running down the hall to our room.

“Why do you do that to your sister? Her screaming is like knives in my ears.”

“Steve is my boyfriend,” I exhaled it all out before losing my nerve.

“What? Since when?” Mom scanned the room nervously for her cigarettes.

“Since now. Today. He just asked me.”

“Don’t you think you’re too young for a boyfriend?”

“Are you kidding? All of my friends have had boyfriends since sixth grade. I was the only one who had never been kissed.”

“Whaddya mean ‘was’? Has that changed?” Mom’s nostrils flared like a bull’s.

I smirked and shrugged my shoulders coyly.

“So, what? You’re kissing now?”

“Yeah, I’m kissing now.”

“Oh, boy. Oh, Jesus!”

“What’s the big deal? He’s my boyfriend. It’s not like I’m gonna get pregnant.”

“Why would you say such a thing? What do you know about getting pregnant?” Mom had located her cigarettes, but was still searching for her lighter. The cigarette trembled between her lips, having its own nervous breakdown.

“Enough to know that kissing won’t lead to a baby.”

“No, but it can lead to other things,” she whispered ominously.

“What other things?” I tested.

I had once asked Mom about sex after I started hearing rumblings about it at school. Her face had turned gray and her eyes glazed over. Her only words about sex had been: “You don’t do it until you’re married.” I had had to rely on friends and scrambled cable channels to teach me the rest.
“Like, like….” Mom stuttered nervously. “Like you know what. Don’t get smart with me.”

“I’m not! I just wanna know.”

“What does this mean? He’s your boyfriend?” Mom spit out the word “boyfriend” as if it were a piece of rancid meat in her mouth.

“I don’t know. He’s my boyfriend. I’m his girlfriend. We do things together.”

“What things?”

“Movies, parties, stuff like that I guess. It’s my first day as a girlfriend. Give me a break!”

“I don’t know, Noreen. You’re going to have to tell your father about this. See what he says.”

I hadn’t really thought about that. Dad was at work so often, I figured he didn’t need to know about it. I didn’t want to give Mom any hint of weakness on my part, so I feigned bravery and smiled.

“Fine,” I nodded.

“Does Steve’s mother know about this?” Mom asked calmly, having found her lighter. Smoke blew out of her nose as she exhaled deeply.

“I don’t know. It just happened now.”

“Well, maybe I should call her and we can talk about it?”

“Don’t you dare! Talk about what? We’re not planning a wedding.”

“God forbid! Don’t even joke about such things.” Mom’s hand clutched her chest.

“Just trust me, okay? Don’t call his mom. Please.” I begged, wondering if a boyfriend was really worth all of this trouble. After about six seconds of deliberation, I decided it was.

“All right. But behave yourself. And tell your father. Tonight!”

“Thanks, Mom!” I pecked her cheek and ran into the bedroom, where I proceeded to call everyone I knew to spread the news. Of course, I may have fudged some of the details of the kiss, but wasn’t that part of the fun of having a boyfriend - telling not entirely true details to your girlfriends?

“His tongue tasted like honey.”

“That kiss was the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt!” “Fireworks went off in my stomach.”

“He said he thinks he could marry me.”

“It was just what I always dreamed it would be. Better.”

After the hours of phone conversations had ended, I waited nervously for Dad to come home. He had been working for two days straight, with probably an hour or two of sleep stolen somewhere along the way. This could either work for or against me. Sometimes he came home so exhausted that he passed out on the couch fully dressed without eating a bite. Other nights, he came home cranky and cross, with a few Budweisers floating around in his belly. On those nights, we tiptoed around him, not wanting him to bark out complaints at us.

When I finally heard his key turning in the lock around nine o’clock, I sat frozen in my room. Should I attack him with the news before he had a chance to settle in, or ply him with Budweiser and spaghetti, getting him good and sleepy first? I glanced over at Erin, asleep in the bottom bunk. At least I wouldn’t have to contend with her snitching. I decided to wait it out in my room for a while.

Apparently, I waited longer than a while. Dad’s snores sounded like waves pounding the shore in the living room. I tiptoed into the living room, where Dad was marooned on the couch. His mouth was open wide enough for me to count his silver fillings. The remote control was tucked into the waistband of his pajamas, and the Honeymooners was on TV. A half-eaten bowl of spaghetti sat next to an empty Bud on the side table. It was now or never.

“Dad?” I whispered, barely loud enough to hear myself.

“Dad. Wake up,” I said slightly louder, pushing my pointer finger into his cheek.
Thunderous grunts and groans rolled out of his throat. His lips smacked together as if he still tasted the spaghetti sauce that dotted his white undershirt.

“Dad!” I shouted. “I have to tell you something. Dad!”

“Wha?” he shouted back, not quite opening his eyes.

“Are you awake?”

“Yeah, what?”

“Open your eyes.”

“I don’t wanna. Whaddya want?”

“I have to tell you something.”

“Go ‘head.”

“Are you listening?”

“Yeah. I’m listenin’.”

“But your eyes aren’t open.”

“My eyes don’t have anything to do with my ears. Whaddya want?”

“Steve asked me to be his girlfriend.”

No movement from Dad. His breathing started to deepen and I thought he had fallen back asleep.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah. Steve’s your boyfriend.”

“That’s right. Well?”

“Well, what?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I need some sleep before I have to get back up and go to work.” His eyes were still sealed shut.

“No. What do you think about me and Steve?”

“You and Steve? Yeah. Good for you.”

“That’s all?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. I just thought….”

“If you don’t let me get some sleep, I might have something else to say about it.”

“Okay. Good night!”

“Night,” Dad mumbled before the rumble of his snores took over again.

I did it! Racing back to my room, I shut the door just as my phone started to ring. I picked it up before Dad heard it and reconsidered his position on my dating life.

“Hello?” I whispered into the phone.

“Hi, it’s me,” Steve answered. We were already at the place in our relationship where he referred to himself as “me”! I couldn’t believe how well this was all going.

“Hi. What are you doing?”

“Nothing. I have a surprise for you.”

“What kind of surprise?” I asked.

“Close your eyes,” Steve demanded.

“Why?”

“Just close your eyes and listen. Please?”

“Okay,” I sighed, lying down with my eyes closed and the phone pressed against my ear.The tinny noise of a guitar being tuned floated over the phone. Then, Steve broke into a familiar heavy metal tune with his guitar. I squealed into my pillow, dazed by my very first serenade. It was almost better than getting my first kiss.

I listened breathlessly for a full four minutes. When the song ended, I could hear Steve panting on the other end.

“Well? What did you think?” Steve asked breathlessly.

“Def Leppard?” I guessed.

“No! I wrote that. I wrote it for you, baby.”

He wrote me a song! And he called me baby! I couldn’t believe this was all happening.

“I loved it. I really really loved it. I can’t believe you wrote that for me.”

“Yeah. I worked on it for hours. It’s called ‘Double Cone’. I’ll never play it for anyone but you.”

“Do you mean that?” I swooned.

“Just for you.”

“Noreen! Is that you still on the phone?” Mom called from the kitchen.

“No!” I lied.

“Well, hang it up. Now.”

“Sorry. I gotta go.” I sighed to Steve.

“Wait. Don’t hang up the phone. Let’s fall asleep together,” Steve suggested.

“Reall”

“Yeah. Let’s just keep the phones by our heads on the pillow. That way we can say we slept together.” Steve chuckled into the phone.

“Okay. Good night, Steve. Thank you for my song.”

“Thanks for being my girlfriend.”

“Thanks for asking me to be your girlfriend.”

“Thanks for saying yes.”

“You’re welcome,” I relented, realizing the gratitude could go on all night.

“Night.”

“Night.”

“Noreen,” Dad called to me as he stood next to my top bunk.

My neck hurt from falling asleep with the phone pressed up against my ear. I rolled over to Dad, blinking into the darkness.

“Dad? What’s wrong?” I grumbled.

“Just cause I was half asleep when you talked to me doesn’t me I didn’t hear you.”

“Oh. Okay.”
“I’m not thrilled about you having a boyfriend, but I know Steve and he seems like a nice kid.”

“He is. He really really is, Dad.”

At that moment, I wanted to tell him about our double cone and about my song. But mostly, I wanted to tell him how Steve had called me beautiful.

“Yeah, I know that. But even nice kids can forget themselves. So, be careful. And make sure he treats you right.”

“I will.”

“All right. That’s all I wanted to say.”

“Okay.”

“Go back to sleep. I gotta get to work.”

“Bye.”

“See ya later.”

I lay awake in bed, reviewing the events of the day. In the past, if I had wanted to let a boy know I liked him, I would crank call his house and disguise my voice.

“Noreen likes you,” I would whisper into the phone as Felix or Todd or Keith picked up.

“What? Who is this?” they would respond. I would then hang up the phone and wait for their return call, proclaiming their love for me. I reasoned that they just needed some prodding, and once they knew I felt that way about them, their romantic feelings for me would blossom. I even enlisted Erin’s help, though I never told her whom she was calling. A six-year-old could not be trusted with secrets of the heart.

Erin did a great Freddy Krueger impersonation. I would dial the number, and she would mumble in a deep, guttural voice, “Noreen likes you,” and I would slam the phone down. If she even looked like she might tattle, I would simply whisper, “Boogedy,” and she would run screaming out of the room.

The phone would always ring right after the call. I would let it ring a few times before answering.

“Hello?” I would grunt, disguising my voice with sleep.

“Hey. Did you just call here?” Felix or Todd or Keith would ask.

“What? No. I was sleeping. Why?” I quizzed groggily.
“No reason. Thought it might have been you.”
For some reason, this technique had never succeeded in snagging me a boyfriend.
My underwater groping with a 12-year-old toad had, however, eventually led to my first love. I couldn’t figure out the way the world worked, but I was happy with the results. Maybe Dad was right. Maybe everything did happen for a reason. Maybe I had participated in slightly slutty behavior so that Steve and I could have our very own cone. Maybe RJ’s grimy little fingers pinching my nipples were the price I had to pay for starting high school with a boyfriend. I replayed Steve’s guitar solo in my head and let the memory of the day fade as I fell back asleep.

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hot oil treatments and other signs from god

“Do you believe in signs?”

Shivers danced up my spine and my breath caught in my chest. Since the death of the Accutane dream, I had spent the rest of eighth grade squirreled away in the library. In the dusty old books, words whispered secrets to me, and I was bursting to share them with someone. I saw signs in books by Hemingway and poems by Thoreau. I didn’t understand most of what I read, but I knew it was important. I even wrote stories inspired by Hemingway. My characters were dark and tortured, but nothing much ever happened. Could Alyssa be the one to share my stories and signs with?

“Yes,” I croaked, trying to control my voice. “I believe in signs.”

Alyssa sat up on her bed and scooted closer to me. I leaned in, anxious to compare the signs we both saw all around us.

“Look,” she whispered, opening up the magazine she was holding and tapping her purple-painted finger on the page.

I took the magazine in both hands, wanting to fully appreciate the importance of the sign Alyssa was sharing with me. I searched the page for something significant, but came up empty. All I saw was an ad for a hot oil treatment. Two beefy football players had a pretty cheerleader hoisted on their shoulders. They looked up at her adoringly as she ignored them, beaming at the camera while running her fingers through her thick head of blond hair. The ad read: “Has your hair had a lift lately?”

“I don’t get it,” I confessed.

“Don’t you ever just see something again and again and then finally say to yourself, wow, this must be a sign. I should definitely do something about this.”

“I guess,” I shrugged, watching Alyssa buzz around the room as she brushed her wavy blond hair, spritzed perfume on her neck and applied lip-gloss in her vanity mirror.

“It’s settled. I’m going to do it.” Alyssa asserted as she grabbed her purse. “Come on, we’re going to the store.”

“What for?” I asked, starting to feel really dense.

“Look. I’ve seen this ad everywhere lately. On television, on the side of a bus, and now in this magazine. What does that tell you?”

“I don’t know. This company spends a lot on advertising?”

“No! It means my hair needs a lift. We have to go buy that hot oil treatment right now. Don’t you see? It’s a sign!”

I took this as a sign that Alyssa was crazy. She already had perfect Prell hair, which she brushed dutifully every night before encasing each curl in a fat roller. Her heart-shaped face was delicately framed by soft, bouncy curls. The girl was a walking shampoo commercial, and now she wanted to improve upon her perfection. This I had to see. I avoided the mirror and followed Alyssa out the door.

Walking the streets with Alyssa, I felt prettier and uglier all at the same time. I imagined that people looked at me differently when I was with her. Sure, I had the skin of a swamp toad, but there must be something special about me if a girl as pretty and popular as Alyssa had picked me to be her friend. On the other hand, I often felt like a warty wicked witch dwarfed by Cinderella at the ball.

Everything about Alyssa was perfect – even her name. All of the prettiest girls had names like pastries: Alyssa, Tiffany, Amber. The letters blended together, producing a gooey sweetness that tickled the tongue. My name sounded like an industrial strength cleaning product. Noreen. Gets your floor shining every time. Eats the grime off your tiles. Cleans the gunk out of your drain. What were my parents thinking?

Freckles peppered the bridge of Alyssa’s nose like cinnamon flakes, and her coffee brown eyes popped against the milky white of her skin. Trying to improve her appearance would be like putting one extra light on the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. What was the point?

“I just read this really cool article in the magazine,” Alyssa said as we headed towards the store.

“About what?”

“Identifying your best and worst features.”

“Great,” I enthused.

“Let’s do it!” she demanded, bouncing along beside me.

I would rather store pieces of burning coal in my mouth, but I decided to play along anyway.

“You go first.”

“Okay,” Alyssa agreed, needing little prompting. “My best feature…. God, I don’t know. Which one should I choose? I really like the shape of my face. But then again, Roger once said I had kissable lips. They do pucker nicely. My eyebrows have a natural arch. My skin is super soft. I really don’t know. Oh wait! My nose. Definitely my nose. Everyone says I have a button nose. That’s cute, right?”

“Yeah, sure. It’s cute.” How could I not agree? The girl oozed cute. The snot that shot out of her nose during a sneeze was probably cute, with its own bouncy blonde hair and freckles.

“So what do you think? Is my nose my best feature?”

“Sure. I’d go with the nose.” I assured her as she slid her finger down the bridge of her best feature.

“Okay, cool. Now you.”

“Now me, what?”

“What’s your best feature?” Alyssa asked, studying my profile as I squirmed uncomfortably under her gaze.

“I don’t have one.”

“Of course you do. Everyone has at least one. Look at me. I have a bunch.”

“Lucky you,” I responded with an involuntary eye roll.

“Fine, party pooper. If you won’t pick, I will.”

Alyssa scrutinized the deep craters and red ridges of my skin as if I were a topographical map. I fidgeted during the inspection, watching her button nose scrunch up like a bunny’s. She was right – her cute button nose was her best feature.

“Hmm. I can’t decide,” Alyssa said softly as she continued her quest for my best feature.

“Just forget it, okay? I don’t have a best feature.” I almost shouted as I pulled away from her.

“You do too, dummy. It’s just a close call between your eyes and your smile.”

“Really?” A wide smile invaded my face, but then faded as I wondered if Alyssa was making fun of me. Could I possibly have two whole good features? And both of them displayed prominently on my face?

“Sure. See – when you smile your lips look really full and your whole face lights up.”

“It does?”

“Totally. But your eyes…. First of all, your lashes are super long and thick. You don’t even need mascara! I’m so jealous. My lashes are short and thin. Totally lifeless. I practically spend a fortune of mascara.”

“Bummer.” I tried to empathize, but I was too ecstatic over my luxuriously long lashes that made Alyssa feel bad about her own. Who knew?

“Plus, your eyes are huge and full of different colors. Like today, they’re really green. But yesterday, when you wore your blue top, they were gray. That’s so cool!”

“Wow. Thanks!”

“But, you do have a killer smile.”

“If you say so.”

I let my stride match Alyssa’s as I batted my long-lashed eyes at strangers passing by.

“Okay. On to the bad news.” Alyssa frowned.

“What’s that?” I asked, my killer smile still stuck to my face.

“What’s your worst feature?”

“My face,” I responded reflexively. I wished I could swallow the words the second they came out, but they were already out in the atmosphere like a big, belching burp.

Alyssa studied me as she walked by my side. I wondered, would now be the time to finally reveal what it felt like to be stuck living behind my skin? After all, Alyssa had been the first person to stare straight into my face and not projectile vomit. Would she understand what that meant to me?

“Yeah, I guess your face is pretty bad,” she agreed, not unkindly.

The little bit of confidence that her previous words had inspired crumbled like stale crackers. Alyssa didn’t notice, though. Her words were waiting to dive off her tongue and out into the open.

“Okay, on to me. My worst feature, by far, is my feet,” she confessed, biting her bottom lip and stomping her feet on the ground as she walked.

“Your feet?”

“Yeah. Well, actually, my foot. The right one. On the bottom.”

“The bottom of your right foot is your worst feature?” I asked, incredulous.

“Totally. It’s so gross. I have the worst scar from my surgery. Remember?

Of course I remembered. It was how Alyssa and I had become friends.

I had always known Alyssa, though we had never really been friends. We went to the same grammar school and lived a few blocks from each other. Alyssa was a year ahead of me, but she wasn’t snotty like most of the older girls. She always said hi and was nice to everyone.
As I was walking home from one of the last days of eighth grade, I saw Alyssa limp off the bus with crutches and a heavy book bag. She was just finishing her freshman year of the Catholic girls’ academy I would attend the next year. My own book bag was light with a lack of homework, so I walked over to Alyssa and offered to carry her book bag home.

“Seriously? That would be awesome. Thanks!”

“So what happened?” I asked, shouldering her burden of a bag.

“It’s too gross to talk about. You couldn’t handle it,” Alyssa assured me in a throaty voice.

“Do you have a cold or something? You sound really hoarse.”

“No. It’s from the surgery.”

“If you had surgery on your throat, then why do you need crutches?” I asked, unable to make the connection.

“Are you sure you want to hear this?” Alyssa whispered in her throaty new voice.

“Absolutely!”

“It was a planter’s wart.”

“In your throat?” I asked, covering my neck protectively with my free hand.

“Eww, no! Gross! On the bottom of my foot.”

“Yuck!” I agreed. “Exactly what is a planter’s wart?”

“I don’t know, exactly. It’s this big painful thing that grows out of your skin, and it hurts so bad you can’t even put a sock on. It’s really gnarly, actually.”

“Sounds awful.”

“It is. Wow, you really get me!”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it sounds super painful.”

“You have no idea!”

“So, how did you lose your voice?” I asked.

“The only way to get rid of the wart is to have surgery and cut it all out. The doctor didn’t give me enough stuff to numb me or something. My foot was open and he was scraping the thing out, when all of a sudden, ahhh! Oh my God! It hurts! It really hurts! Oh my God get that thing outta me!” Alyssa squealed and screamed and dug her nails into my arm, her face flush with pain.

“Oh my God! What can I do? Should I call for help?” I panicked, supporting her arm and looking up and down the deserted block for someone to call 911 before she fainted dead away.

“No!” I’m totally fine now, ding-dong. That’s what happened during surgery.” Alyssa explained calmly as she continued to limp with her crutches. I exhaled in relief, marveling at her acting ability while blushing at my own stupidity.

“Oh,” I responded dumbly.

“I screamed so loud and so long because of the pain, my voice changed just like that. The doctor says it’s probably permanent.” Alyssa said with a shrug.

“Wow. That sucks.”

“Not really,” she smirked.

“What do you mean?”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“Promise you’ll never tell anyone, and I’ll be your friend forever.”

“Of course!” I promised, thinking it was an easy trade-off to gain a pretty and popular friend just by keeping a secret.

“I like my voice like this. It’s sexy, don’t you think?”

“Um, yeah. I guess.” I lied. I had no idea what sexy was. I only knew that I wasn’t it.

“You know what else? The boys like it, too. They try to get me to say words like ‘hard’ and ‘stiff’, because they like the way it sounds with my sexy new voice.”

“Really?” Were boys that easy? Could a silly voice get them that excited? I hoped I would get a cold really soon so I could try it out myself.

“Sure. They love it. So I play dumb and say all sorts of words, just to torture them some more.”

“What other words do you say?”

“Lots of things: tight, wet, nipple.”

“Nipple? How do you work the word ‘nipple’ into a conversation with boys?” I asked suspiciously.

“Easy. I say something about cleaning a baby bottle or something. Only I say it really slow and low. Like this – it’s really hard to clean the nipple of a baby bottle. It gets so stiff. See?

“And that does it? Just like that?”

“You should see the reactions! They melt like butter. Boys are totally easy.”

I peered at Alyssa with a new level of respect, wondering about all of the other boy things she could teach me.

“I got this,” a rough voice barked as Alyssa’s book bag was lifted off of my shoulder. It was Tony, a jock that played on Alyssa’s father’s football team.

“Oh, okay,” I said as he cozied up to Alyssa.

“How’s your foot?” Tony asked in a voice very different than the one he had used to address me.

I watched, mesmerized, as Alyssa’s limp worsened and her big brown eyes blinked out a secret message to Tony.

“It really hurts, but I’ll be okay. Eventually.” Alyssa’s voice suddenly became deeper and lower, causing Tony to lean in even closer to catch each syllable. This was exactly the kind of maneuver that should be taught in school. It seemed much more useful than equations.

“See ya later,” I waved at Alyssa, feeling like a fly buzzing around a birthday cake.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Alyssa called after me as I walked away.

“Home, I guess.”

“No way. You’re coming home with me.”

“Why? Do you need help or something?” I asked, confused.

“Yeah. Let her go home. I can help you.” Tony offered without even looking at me.

“No. I want her to come over. Please, Nor?” Alyssa batted her eyes at me, and I found it just as difficult as the boys to say no to her.

“Okay,” I smiled, walking back towards Alyssa and Tony.

“Thanks, Tony. See you later!” Alyssa swung her hair, batted her eyes and flashed her smile effortlessly, as I resumed possession of Alyssa’s book bag. We walked up Alyssa’s steps while Tony pouted after us.

Alyssa and I had spent nearly every day together since that first day two months ago. We usually hung out in her room, where we sang along to her karaoke machine, made crank phone calls and experimented with make-up. Alyssa was very sensitive about my skin. She never said I had pimples or zits. She called them “blemishes”.

“Every woman has blemishes. You just have to know how to deal with them,” Alyssa instructed as she dabbed cover-up on my most stubborn “blemishes”. I liked that she referred to us as women, even though I knew for a fact that she still stuffed her bra with shoulder pads.

As Alyssa helped transform me into a woman with the help of some blush and eyeliner, she advised me on what high school would be like.

“Don’t let Mr. Romo get you alone. He’s a total perv. But unbutton your blouse and show some cleavage in his class. You’ll get an A without ever turning in a paper.”

“Is that allowed?” I asked.

“Duh! Of course not. But everybody does it. And watch Miss Avery in Algebra. She’s always drinking Diet Pepsi. But it’s a well-known fact that she mixes rum in it every morning.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! My parents were going to pay good money, money that they didn’t have, to send me to a school full of drunks and pervs. If the teachers were that messed up, what would the students be like?

Alyssa had one very big flaw – Roger, known privately to me as “Bubble Butt”. Bubble Butt was the boy she was in love with. He had a space between his front teeth wide enough to stick a match into, and his butt bubbled out behind him. Bubble Butt never called me by name. No matter who I was with or where I was, he would shout, “What’s up, crater face?” I ignored him, of course, but I daydreamed of siccing a pack of rabid dogs on him, then watching them shred his bubble butt to ribbons.

Alyssa made me spend countless hours walking around Bubble Butt’s block in the hopes that he would come out and talk to her. I held my breath each time we passed his house, praying he wouldn’t show his face. I tried to warn Alyssa that Bubble Butt was a waste of lip-gloss, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the name he called me. I was sure she would detour around his block if she knew how mean he was to me.

“He’s really nice, Nor,” she assured me. “He’s just shy.”

“Yeah, right.” I rolled my eyes as Alyssa smirked and fluttered her mascara-laden lashes.

As Alyssa and I walked back into her house with the hot oil treatment, we tripped on a mountain of muddy cleats.

“Oh my God!” Alyssa squealed, shoving the hot oil treatment into my hands.

“What?”

“It’s the football team. They’re here!”

“What’s the big deal? They’re always here.”

Alyssa’s father regularly invited the team over for cookouts and team meetings. Alyssa usually loved to bask in their testosterone, but she was panic-stricken.

“Hide the hot oil treatment. Pronto!”

“Why?”

“You should never let a boy know your beauty secrets. It adds to the mystery.” Alyssa instructed as she shook out her hair and plumped her lips.

I didn’t know what mystery Alyssa was referring to, but I deferred to her expertise and hid the bag behind my back.

“Smell me,” she demanded, shoving her armpit uncomfortably close to my nose.

“Yeah, you’re good.” I assured her.

“Breath?” Alyssa blew a hot breath into my face.

“Peppermint,” I nodded my approval.

“Good. Let’s go.” I followed Alyssa into the sweat-soaked den, fretting over the state of my own pits and breath.

The boys were a heaped mass of lanky limbs on the couch, shoving fistfuls of popcorn into their mouths as they watched an old football game on TV. I hung back behind Alyssa and watched her survey the group. Her eyes had the confidence of a fisherman shooting fish in a barrel.

“Hey, Alyssa!”

“We didn’t know you were here.”

“Missed you at practice.”

“I always play better when I know you’re watching.”

“Did you see the last game? That pass was for you.”

“Nah, she didn’t see it. She was too busy cheering for me.”

“You wish, lame ass.”

Alyssa glided into their midst as the boys tripped over themselves to make room for her on the couch. She was only a few feet away from me, but her voice had taken on that breathy whisper and I couldn’t make out a single syllable.

I lurked in the doorway, watching the scene unfold like a sitcom. I might as well have been home on my couch in front of the television. None of the boys acknowledged my existence, and Alyssa seemed to have forgotten me as well. I wondered if boys, or even a boy, would ever orbit around me in the same way.

Alyssa was comfortably encased in boy bubble wrap, and I knew it was just a matter of time before the tickling ensued. The boys loved to tickle Alyssa, producing that squeal that apparently made their neck hairs, and other boy bits, stand at attention.

Confident that my absence would go unnoticed, I made my escape to Alyssa’s bedroom. I tucked the hot oil treatment safely under a teddy bear on her bed, and then sat at her vanity mirror and stared at myself.

Scrunching up my face, I tried to replicate Alyssa’s cute little bunny button of a nose. I succeeded in flaring my nostrils, and looking as though I were smelling a dirty diaper. Next, I attempted to swing my hair seductively from side to side. Had anyone been watching from the window, they would have assumed I was fighting off a swarm of bees. Finally, I forced an open-mouthed laugh and squealed Alyssa’s throaty scream. Sadly, I sounded like a dying dolphin.

Resigned to the fact that I was as un-Alyssa as was humanly possible, I spritzed some of her perfume on and headed out the door. I resolved to practice my hair swing the whole way home.

“Well?” Alyssa waited expectantly in front of her house. Her shoulders were tense and she clapped her hands excitedly.

“Well, what?”

“What do you think?”

This was one of Alyssa’s favorite games. She would change something slight – a different shade of pink lip-gloss, beige eye shadow instead of brown – and she would expect me to notice.

“Of what?”

“I know! It’s subtle, right? But you can really see a difference, can’t you?”

“New mascara?” I ventured.

“No!”

“Hair cut?”

“Close.”

“I give up.”

“I did it! Can’t you tell?”

I gasped for air, wondering whom on the football team “it” had been with.

“You had sex?”

“Oh my God no! Are you crazy? It’s my hair, dummy! I did the hot oil treatment.”

“Oh! Okay.”

“Okay? That’s all you have to say? Doesn’t it look bouncier and shinier? I feel like a new me. You’re next!”

“Whatever,” I shrugged, knowing I would never let Alyssa anywhere near my hair after the home perm disaster. Clumps of my hair were still falling out.

“But not now,” Alyssa whispered, grabbing me by the shoulders and bringing me close to her face.

“It’s Roger.”

An audible groan of disgust escaped my lips.

“I scouted out his block, and he’s outside right now playing basketball in his driveway. I just couldn’t go up to him alone. You have to go with me or I’ll die!”

“I don’t know, Alyssa. That guy’s a real jerk. Can’t you go alone?”

“You’re supposed to be my friend and support me. Please? I promise we won’t stay long. We’ll just walk by and see if he says hi first. If not, we’ll just walk really quick and pretend we’re late for something.”

“Late for what?”

“I don’t know. Your doctor’s appointment.”

“Why does it have to be my doctor’s appointment? He’s your crush. Let it be your doctor’s appointment.” I pouted.

“No! I don’t want him to think I have something contagious!”

“Fine. Babysitting then.”

“Okay. If he doesn’t say hi, then I’ll say, ‘Hurry up. We’re late for babysitting.’ How’s that?”

“Yeah, that’s good.”

“Cool. Let’s go.”

Alyssa subjected me to another inspection of her odors, and we were on our way.

I heard the basketball bouncing against the pavement before I saw Bubble Butt on the sidewalk.

“Oh my God there he is!” Alyssa squeezed my arm.

“Great.”

“Quick! Act like I said something funny. Start laughing.”

“Say something funny and I’ll laugh.” I challenged.

“I can’t think of anything right now. Just laugh. And laugh loud so he looks up.”

I tried my best to fake a loud laugh but it came out sounding like a snort. The snort tickled my throat and produced a choking fit. As I gasped and wheezed for air while choking on my own saliva, Bubble Butt looked up and stopped bouncing his ball.

“Okay. You can stop now,” Alyssa demanded through her clenched teeth.

“Can’t. I’m…choking,” I gasped.

“Enough!” Alyssa whispered, pounding me roughly on the back. I swallowed a big gulp of air and managed to quiet my hacking cough just as we approached Bubble Butt.

“Hey,” he nodded at Alyssa, spinning the basketball on top of one finger.

“Oh, hi Roger. I didn’t know you lived on this block,” Alyssa lied in her lowered voice.

“Yep. All my life. What are you up to?”

“Nothing much. Just going for a walk. It’s so hot out here.”

“You should come swim in my pool some time,” Bubble Butt offered, keeping his eyes on the spinning basketball.

“Sure. That would be cool. I just got a new bathing suit. It’s a bikini.”

“Bet you look good in it, too,” Bubble Butt finally stopped spinning the ball and looked Alyssa up and down. I looked up at the trees, hoping for a bird to swoop down and carry me away. A long sigh of aggravation escaped my lips and filled the silence.

Bubble Butt looked over at me for the first time. His lips turned back like a dog about to bite.

“What’s up, crater face?” he snarled.

I looked at Alyssa, waiting for her to react. I could almost hear the echo of the slap I was sure she would deliver across Bubble Butt’s face in my defense. Then she would grab me by the hand and we would stalk off together angrily. She would agree that Bubble Butt was a total jerk, and I would help her pick her new crush out of the batch of boys vying to fill the position.

But there was nothing but silence. I waited and Bubble Butt waited, until finally, Alyssa’s perfect lips parted. Her throaty laugh landed like darts in my chest. She slapped at Bubble Butt’s arm playfully, letting her hand linger on his bicep.

“Oh, Roger! You’re so bad,” she giggled. Bubble Butt laughed along with her, and once again it was like I wasn’t even there.

“So, are you going to the game this weekend?” Alyssa asked, batting her stubby little lashes at Bubble Butt.

I stared hard at Alyssa until my eyes no longer focused on any one feature. Just like that, she didn’t seem pretty to me anymore. All I saw was a glob of lip-gloss and blush and liner making one big mess. It was too much work to be Alyssa – hair rollers and hot oil treatments, fake laughs and batting eyelashes. I had been looking for signs all around me. This sign came in loud and clear. Alyssa was not my friend.

The anger sitting in my chest lifted and I felt lighter. It was time to go.

“Later, Bubble Butt,” I waved as I walked away from them.

“ I do not have a bubble butt!” Alyssa screamed after me, her voice shrill and sharp like a whiny child’s.

I turned around and saw Alyssa inspecting her ass, frown lines etched deep into her usually smooth forehead.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” I smiled, shooting my finger in Bubble Butt’s direction before turning back to walk down the block.

My killer smile blossomed wide as Alyssa's voice reverted to its throaty whisper. I imagined her muttering apologies to Bubble Butt, blaming my behavior on my menstrual cycle. She might have called after me a few times; I couldn't be sure. Not that it mattered.

I wasn't listening anymore.

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