Going Under (21 page)

I nodded again. He started towards his desk,
and I grabbed his arm.

“I didn’t tell you where I live,” I
said.

“Oh, I know where you live,” he replied.

I didn’t like that one bit, but I refrained
from asking him how.

After Cal walked away, Lucy turned to me, a
look of betrayal on her face.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“What do you mean?” I asked, playing
dumb.

“I said to stay away from him.”

“Why?”

Lucy shifted in her seat. She was irate.

“Why, Lucy?”

She ignored me when the teacher walked
in.

“Why?” I persisted.

She covered her ears with her hands.
Seriously?

I was going to make her tell me. If I had to
go bowling, and go out to eat, and go to the movies, and make out
with the son-of-a-bitch right in front of her, I was going to make
her tell me.

***

Tara proved much more difficult to find than
Melissa. For a full week I didn’t see her anywhere and feared she
no longer went to Charity Run. I actually attended another football
game, thinking I’d spot her tumbling down the field in a
cheerleading uniform. After all, she was a cheerleader last year
according to the picture I saw in the yearbook. But no such luck. I
didn’t see her on the field and promptly left before the end of the
first quarter.

I did spot her late Friday afternoon
strolling the junior hall dressed in black, sporting black hair,
black lips, and black Dr. Martens. Suddenly it was 1994 and I
didn’t get the memo. What the hell? Last year, this girl had
strawberry-blond hair, wore a cheerleading uniform, and sported
glossy pink lips. I immediately feared the worst. No one changes
personas so drastically unless something awful happened to them. It
took me a minute to remember she was on Tim’s team.

How on earth would I be able to talk to her?
I didn’t come across as the type of girl she’d be friends with, let
alone speak to. It would have to be another accident like
Melissa’s, but I knew I couldn’t go running my mouth about a
boyfriend who’s pressuring me to have sex. It just wouldn’t work
with her. I’d probably have to spy on her, but how? I was no
detective. I wouldn’t know where to start, and I wasn’t even sure
what I was looking for.

I surreptitiously watched her at her locker.
She was alone changing out her books, and suddenly I had an
idea.

I walked up to her and introduced
myself.

“Hi, I’m Brooke,” I said, extending my
hand.

She looked at my face and then my hand and
then my face again.

“I’m on the school paper, and I wanted to
know if I could interview you about the cafeteria food.”
So
incredibly lame.

“Are you kidding me?” she asked.

“I know. It’s totally stupid, but I’m new
here, so I get assigned the stupid stories,” I said, chuckling.

“Just don’t do it,” she offered.

“Oh,” I replied. “I guess I never thought
about that. But then my grade would be affected.”

“Who cares?”

Okay. This one wouldn’t be easy at all.

“Well, I do,” I said. “I want to make good
grades.”

She looked me up and down. “Yeah, you look
like one of those.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a goody-goody.” She started walking
down the hall, and I followed after.

“I am?” I asked.

For a second I forgot about my mission. I
was intrigued. Was I a goody-goody? Tara thought so, and she didn’t
know me from Adam’s housecat. I couldn’t help but feel a little
proud. After all, I’d been working my ass off for months trying to
come across that way. Maybe that’s why I was given a “Good Girl”
ranking by the Fantasy Slut League. They didn’t have to spy on me.
It was blatantly obvious my sexual status. Virginal. Sweet.
Naïve.

I swelled like a damn peacock.

“Yeah,” she snorted. “Just don’t let the
wrong people know how good you are.”

Cryptic. Snarky. This girl was a bitch.

“What do you mean?” I asked, but I already
knew.

She stopped cold and whirled around to face
me. I nearly ran into her.

“People take advantage of good people.
That’s what I mean. So don’t be a sucker.”

“Did someone take advantage of you?” I
blurted.

“Fuck you,” she spat, and headed down the
hall once more.

Well, that was settled. Someone did a number
on her. But I couldn’t move Tim into the “Rapists” pile just yet.
I’d have to do more digging.

Thirteen

I needed a Ryan fix before my date with Cal.
I felt so guilty about going, and I had a lot of nerve thinking
Ryan wouldn’t find out, but Cal didn’t strike me as the type of guy
who went around bragging about his dates. At least not in a loud,
obnoxious way. Maybe he told his close friends, but I suspected
that was only if he got a sexual perk out of the girls. Plus, Ryan
and I hadn’t established anything yet. We weren’t technically
dating, so I could always say that I wasn’t sure what was going on
between us.

Dad was working late Friday night. He called
me to let me know, and as soon as I got off the phone with him, I
called Ryan to invite him over. He was at my door in fifteen
minutes.

“Would have been here sooner, but you caught
me in the middle of homework,” he said.

I grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled
him into the house.

“You and homework,” I said, planting my lips
on his. “Such a nerd,” I said against his mouth.

He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me
harder. And then he pushed me against the door we’d just closed,
trailing his mouth down my cheek to my neck. I cried out when I
felt his teeth on my skin.

“Too much?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Wanna see my bedroom?”

“Yes,” Ryan said into my neck, and when he
pulled away, I took a long, satisfying gulp of air. I had to
remember to breathe around him.

I took his hand and led him up the stairs. I
had no intention of having sex. I was sure he’d tell me we weren’t
ready, and I was surprisingly content with that. I forgot how
satisfying kissing could be, though I must admit that when he
touched me the other day, it ignited a dangerous desire for sex.
Rough sex. I wondered what Gretchen and psychologists would say
about that.

I opened the door to my room.

“Oh my God,” Ryan said, walking in dazed. He
scanned the entire space from floor to ceiling, then turned in my
direction.

I smirked. “Like it?”

“Are you eighteen?” he asked. “Please don’t
tell me you’re one of those child geniuses who skipped a bunch of
grades, and you only look older than you actually are.”

I sauntered over to him and snaked my arms
around his waist.

“I’m twelve,” I said, then kissed his neck.
“Is that okay?”

“Not funny, Brooke. Disturbing more like.
What the hell kind of room is this?”

I laughed and walked to the bed. “My dad,
okay? He decorated my room for me before I moved in. I didn’t have
the heart to change it. Plus, it’s kind of growing on me now.”

Ryan sighed relief then furrowed his brows.
“He doesn’t know you’re eighteen?”

I shook my head and smiled. “He’s my dad. He
doesn’t know what 18-year-old girls like. The last time I lived
with him, my room
did
look like this. He’s stuck in the
past, I guess.”

Ryan sat down beside me on the bed.

“This purple cheetah print comforter sure
does make a statement,” he said, running his hand over the bed.

“My favorites are the matching throw
pillows,” I replied.

“Oh, yes. Matching throw pillows,” he
observed.

We looked at each other for a moment.

“Oh, just throw me into the throw pillows
already!” I cried, and Ryan laughed, pushing me onto the bed and
kissing me roughly.

“I wanna make out so hard,” I said into his
mouth. As usual, I didn’t think before I spoke. I never did around
Ryan and thought that was okay. He seemed to enjoy it, and I
couldn’t help myself anyway. He buried his face into my neck,
laughing.

“What?” I asked. “Kiss me again.”

“Oh, Brooke,” Ryan said. “I plan on kissing
you all afternoon.”

I liked the sound of that and didn’t protest
when I felt his hand slip up the front of my shirt to cup my
breast. And then my shirt was off altogether along with my bra.
There was nothing practiced about it, and I liked it. Ryan stared
at my nakedness as though studying me. I thought he was burning the
image into his brain.

“I plan on kissing you here,” he said, and
kissed me lightly on my lips. “And here.” He planted a soft kiss on
my cheek. “And here.” He nibbled my earlobe. “And here.” He kissed
my neck. “And here.” He kissed me in between my breasts. “And
here.” He kissed the curve of my breast.

“And here.”

He fastened on to my nipple, and I moaned.
Actually, I had been moaning the whole time, but it came out deeper
and fuller when he drew my nipple into his mouth. I arched my body
up to his lips inviting him to kiss me and suck me harder. He
wouldn’t, though. He kept up his gentle assault until I was begging
him to make love to me.

“No, Brooklyn,” he said. “We’re not
ready.”

“The hell we aren’t!” I cried, and pushed
him off of me on to his back. I sat on top of him, straddling his
hips. He drew in his breath, eyes glued to my breasts.

“What are you trying to do to me?” he
asked.

“I’m trying to get you to have sex with me,”
I replied. “And it’s clear you want to,” I said, moving my hips
from side to side on him.

He grunted. “You were more than happy to
wait before.”

“Yeah. That’s
before
you took my top
off and played with my breasts!”

Ryan laughed.

“I want to . . .” But I couldn’t say it out
loud. I felt my face blush a deep crimson.

“You want to what?”

“It’s just that you’ve done things to me,” I
said. “And I thought maybe I should—”

“What? You think everything’s supposed to be
even?” Ryan asked.

I shook my head. “No, I just mean that I
want to do stuff to you. Not because I think I’m supposed to but
because I want to.”

He studied my pink face, like he was making
up his mind about something. Then he shook his head.

“You’re not ready, Brooklyn,” he said.

“What?”

“I said you’re not ready.”

I huffed. “I’m not a virgin, you know. I
mean, I’m no expert in that area, but I’ve done it before.”

Ryan smiled wearily. “I didn’t say it had
anything to do with being an expert.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem. You’re just not ready
yet.”

Before I could argue, he rolled me over
again, pinning me to the bed.

“Now, there are some things you’re ready
for,” he said, sliding his hand up my stomach and to my breast. He
rolled his thumb over my nipple eliciting breathy cries. “Like
this.” He watched me squirm, arching my back, pushing my breast
into his hand.

He moved his hand down the front of my body,
slipping it underneath my yoga pants until his fingers were between
my legs. I drew in my breath sharply. “And this.”

He rubbed me gently, watching my face as his
fingers explored my sensitive flesh. I twisted my body, pumping my
hips, asking him silently to slide his finger inside me. He seemed
to know it, and refrained, playing a game with me I wasn’t sure I
liked. I turned my face to the side, determined not to beg him.

“Look at me, Brooklyn,” Ryan said. His
fingers continued to tease me mercilessly. I ached and wanted to
scream for it.

“No.”

“Why not?”

I squirmed, fighting for or against his
hand. I wasn’t sure, but the sexual frustration was starting to
turn me bitchy. I needed him to stop toying with me and get on with
the program!

“Please?” Ryan asked softly.

“No.”

He chuckled at my petulance, slipping his
finger inside of me as I moaned relief for finally getting what I
wanted. I turned my face to him once more, and he kissed me deeply,
muffling my cries, swirling his tongue with mine while his finger
did something quite similar down below. I bucked.

“Lie still,” he ordered.

He was asking the impossible from me. I
shook my head.

“I can’t,” I argued.

“I want you to lie still, Brooklyn,” he
said, staying his hand until I obeyed. “And when I make you come, I
want you to keep still.”

“I can’t!”

“Try,” he said, and kissed my lips once
more, touching me, rubbing me tenderly until I felt the inevitable
build, a pregnant ball of electricity, one in each of my ankles,
shooting sporadic sparks up my legs.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” I cried, trying
desperately to hold still as the sparks kept coming. More of them
and faster.

“You can,” Ryan said, watching me intently
as he continued his incessant touching.

I was ripped in two. Paralyzed. I couldn’t
move if I tried. I opened my mouth to make a sound, but even my
vocal chords were paralyzed. At least for the first explosion. The
second had me screaming until my throat went raw. The third had me
begging him to stop. The explosions soon petered out until I was
left lying numb in a state of semi-consciousness, dazed and
stupid.

“What was that?” I asked. My throat hurt,
and the words came out scratchy like sandpaper.

“That was you having an orgasm,” Ryan
replied. It was so matter-of-fact that it made me laugh.

“How did you do that to me? What? Are you
some kind of expert or something?” I asked. I needed water.

“Hardly.”

“
Hardly” my ass. I think the whole
neighborhood heard me.

“I think it’s just you,” he said, and leaned
down to kiss my cheek. “Is that cheesy?”

No. Not cheesy. Too hot for words.