A Bad Boy Can Be Good for a Girl (2 page)

FALLING

This boy is slick.
For a few weeks now I've felt like part of me
is watching
a really stupid “teen” movie
thinking,
I can't believe he actually said that!
while the other part of me is
totally soaking it up.

Like when he told me I was so gorgeous
I could wear a burlap sack
and still be better looking than
any other girl in my class.

I hate to admit this,
but I think my actual response was to giggle and blush.

Or when he was waiting for me
at the main entrance one morning
and kissed me for five minutes
in front of the entire school.

I can't help it.
There's just something about him.

Like the way he seems so super confident
about sex,
always saying how good he wants to make me feel
and how his older brother (who's in college)
told him all about how to make a girl really happy
in bed,
and when was I going to let him show me.

So of course I'm wondering what he means by that,
it's a turn-on because he's got me really curious,
but really nervous at the same time,
and I keep hearing that expression in my head
“like a moth to a flame”
and wondering if that's what it means
as I feel myself
totally
out-of-control
falling
for
him.

HOME

How can I feel
so completely
connected
to someone
I practically just met?

Where did this
Oh! There he is!
feeling come from?

He smiles at me
and I'm home.

He touches me
and I'm home.

He kisses me
and I'm home.

BOOSTER SHOT

It's not just how he makes me feel
that's so different.

I mean, I've always been considered pretty cool,
but this is high school,
so my coolness factor was pretty much up for grabs
the second I entered the building.

When I'm walking down the hall with him,
everybody
knows I'm somebody.

Kim and Caroline are puffed up by it too.
We're the freshmeat girls.

Not loving that name,
but I'll let it slide for now.

THE DEEP END

After school
if the swim team isn't using it
the pool is open to anyone.

We could just go down to the beach I guess,
but it's a little too chilly now
and besides, there aren't any
sharp mussel beds to slice your feet on here.

Swimming was his idea.
He has half an hour to kill before football practice.

I've spent half my life
messing around with my friends
in the Sound.

But playing in the water with them
was never like this.

First of all, I'm extremely aware
that I'm practically half-naked
even though I did pick out this ratty old one-piece
instead of a
make-his-tongue-hang-out bikini.
I was trying not to send any mixed messages—
but he's still looking at me like he wants to
eat me alive.

He says things like “You're so soft, you feel so good,”
lame things
that shouldn't work on anybody
but actually work on everybody.

I'm concentrating more on
dodging his hands
than swimming,
since I don't think there's a spot on me
he hasn't grazed
in the name of good old-fashioned water-play.

He pulls a dolphin move,
popping up again near the diving board.
“C'mere, babe. There's no one around.
Come get me in the deep end.”

I shake my head and climb out
on the edge,
sticking only the tips of my toes
in the water.
That's as far as I'm going
today.

PUSHING MYLUCK

I said I didn't want to
cut class
but he was whispering in my ear,
chipping away at
my common sense.
“Yeah you do, honey.
You
really
do.
We'll have a blast. I
promise.
”

Down the hall
around the corner
through the doors
and out.

We're OUT!
We run behind this gargantuan oak tree
ducking out of sight.
He lifts my whole entire body right up in the air
slides me down him
pulls me in
kisses me hard
we stumble to the ground.

But as I fall
I hear a voice rise from deep inside,
hurtle closer, faster,
then slam into my ears,
“What are you
doing
?
This isn't you.”

I untangle myself from his arms,
and run.

I reach the doors
as the bell rings,
slipping into the seat
that is expecting me.

Safe.

But the knot in my stomach
betrays me
to me.

I know
I'm
pushing my luck.

NO-MAN'S-LAND

High school has its own terrain.
When you're in class,
you're in class.
You know where you're supposed to sit.

But when there's free time,
it's harder to know who's supposed to go where.

The caf is the trickiest minefield to maneuver.
Especially when you're a freshman.
The cool kids usually take up the center
and various groups line the edges.
Freshmen need to figure out where they fit in fast,
before people claim spots.
Once that happens, you're pretty much
stuck where you are,
or left out completely,
so you'd better choose well.

Kim, Caroline, and I had a plan.
We would stick together—
under no circumstances would we let any of the team
fend for herself
and end up stranded in no-man's-land.

But when he came over to our table
and leaned in to kiss me
and asked me to join him for lunch,
it was really, really, really, really hard
to say
No.

But I did.
No soldier left behind, right?
Or is it: All's fair in love and war?
I can't remember.

ALL'S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR

Yeah, that's what I'm going with.
I mean, Kim and Caroline
should understand.
Shouldn't they?
When a hot guy invites you to lunch,
you go, right?

Well, I did.
The very next day.
Left them sitting there.

And I was friendly,
it's not like anyone snubbed them.
We walked past their table to say Hi
and even waved a couple of times during lunch.
They didn't wave back.

And they didn't seem to care
when I told them he said,
“Your friends are hot.”

I'll catch up with them later.

I'm sure it will be
fine.

HOT WATER

My parents back out of the driveway.
I peek into my little sister's room—sound asleep.
The knock I'm waiting to hear hits the front door.

He talks me into using the hot tub.
He didn't bring a suit so he says it's not fair
if he's the only one without one.
He says it's dark out anyway,
and he won't look while I get in.
Yeah, like I believe that.

I have actually never used my parents' hot tub.
I didn't think I would like to be in such
hot water
but now that I am,

slippery seal bodies
winding around each other,
I guess I do.

At least the I
who I am
when I'm with him
does.

He pulls me close and kisses me,
then he's kissing my neck and I'm kissing his,
wet and salty,
trying so hard to concentrate only on
how
his
hands feel.

I'm way too scared to touch him down there
but it does feel good
to let him
touch me.
Still, I'm definitely not ready to go
underwater exploring
to see what he has in store for me.
I'm sticking to playing with his gorgeous blond hair
and running my hands all over his
chest
and arms
and back.

This is nice, I'm fine,
I'll just let his fingers wander where they like,
the water's warm and
his hands feel
really, really good,
even though they're going places
no one else's hands but mine have ever gone.

I'm getting really hot,
like I might even pass out,
and I'm not sure if it's the steaming tub
or him
that's making my heart race like this.

His kisses are long
and he's holding me
and touching me
and I'm starting to wonder
what I want
to do
next.

THE PLUNGE

We're in his car.
Let's face it,
there's only one reason to be here—
total privacy.

Most of me wants to be here,
part of me doesn't.
That part turns out to be big enough
to keep stopping him
from unbuttoning my jeans,
pushing away fumbling fingers,
redirecting them under my sweater.

He is
not
satisfied.

“Baby,
please,
don't make me wait anymore.
I don't think I can stand it.
It's not like we haven't seen each other naked.
What are you afraid of . . . ?”

Maybe I should just close my eyes and jump in
Fast.
Like ripping off a Band-Aid
with a smiling scream.
Like shooting down the waterslide face-first,
slipping and sliding until . . .

No.

Even though he says things like
“I've never met anyone like you” and
“I could really fall for you.”

It's still
No.

Not
yet.

TWO WORDS

Phone rings.
“It's me.”

A code.
As if to say,
Who else could it be?
he claims me with
a two-word combination
to my personal lock.

WHITE-HOT

I think his smile must give off all the heat
I'll ever need.
It's hot
like a branding iron
and sweet.

Delicious.

As the weather gets colder
it pulls me in,
his warm cozy fire
growing hotter by the minute, hour, day, week,

I may just spontaneously combust
right here
in his arms.

FAVORITE THINGS

My aunt is over and she's asking me what my favorite things are. Mine are all so boring, but I can tell you all his favorite things. He likes greasy cheeseburgers from Paul's, NASCAR races, playing football with his brothers, taking me to Showcase Cinemas and not watching the movie, playing with my necklace when he talks to me, watching me walk to class . . .

What was the question again?

Oh, right, my favorite things.

I try hard to concentrate
because she's getting this irritated
I-can't-believe-you're-turning-into-one-of-
those
-girls
look on her face.

It's coming back to me . . .
My favorite things?
Uh, let's see, fresh clam pizza from Pepe's;
my musty blue rabbit's foot with one toenail too long;
that photo of the old Chevy completely covered in
all kinds of weird buttons;
the big yellowish boulder in the middle of the jetty
that's the only thing left sticking up at high tide—like
a whale's back, which is why I call it Moby Dick;
that gasp of air you take after popping up from
underneath a huge wave;
a hermit crab scurrying across my foot underwater;
the smack of a puck landing in my hand at my first
hockey game
(no, wait, that one's not mine—
but man, you should see how good he looks
in his jersey).

I'm sorry,
what was the question again?

SLAMMED

My back is up against his locker,
the knob poking me.
He presses into my body
leaning in tight to share a secret
saved for my ears alone.

I barely hear his words,
too dizzy from his lips
on my earlobe,
too distracted by the smell of him
to listen.

His muffled laugh sends
a puff of warm breath
to caress my cheek.

Then BAM!
He takes
two
giant
steps
back
as his too-cool-for-school buddies
come out of nowhere.

Bright blue eyes go dull;
I'm left with an
I-couldn't-care-less face.
Like I'm not even there.

“Later, Jos.”
He's gone.

What was that?

I blink fast to keep the tears from coming,
but some slip through.
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand—
black mascara streaks
matching my black mood.

IN AND OUT

I'm sitting on Moby Dick
thinking about everything that's happened
and it's only been
a few weeks.

The tide's coming in,
the smaller rocks I use
to climb up on Moby
already covered over.

I could sit here until the tide comes
all the way in
and goes back out again
for all he'd care.

Seems like five minutes ago
I was the “only one” he could talk to
the “only one” he felt comfortable with
the “only one” who let him be himself
the “only one” he told stuff to
even stuff you don't tell just anyone.
Like the time his Dad caught his Mom
having dinner with a “business associate”
when she said she was going shopping with the girls,
and how pissed he was that his Dad just stood there,
couldn't believe what a wimp the Old Man was being.
He said that would never happen to him
and clenched his jaw
when he said it.
And even though he didn't say more,
I didn't push it.
I just listened.

And now . . . nothing.

First I'm in
then I'm out.
I just don't get this
hot and cold
thing.

Why does he act like such a jerk every time it seems like we get a little bit closer?

And why do I eat it up
later
when he graces me with his presence
and that smile that
looks like
it's just
for
me?

It shouldn't make everything okay.

So
why
does
it?

TESTING THE WATERS

It's too cold for swimming
so he tosses a blanket
a six-pack
and some chips and salsa
into the dinghy.
We head out
to his parents' boat.

It's anchored pretty close to shore
so it only takes a couple of minutes to reach it.
When you live a few houses from the water
you can tie up pretty much anywhere.

He climbs on first,
reaching his hand down
to help pull me up.

He opens two beers and hands me one.
“Corrupting a minor?” I say, only half joking.
I take a long swig to settle my nerves.

We're totally alone
and I'm not sure how much longer
I'm going to be able to hold out on him.
According to him, he's been
unbelievably ultra
patient.
Plus, I really do have the all-out
hots for him.

He grins.
I think
I'm in trouble.

I've got that tingly sensation again,
the kind where your body is
awake
and you're not so sure if that's a good thing
or a bad thing.

He spreads the blanket
on the deck
we stretch out
under the stars,
literally.

The sky is amazing tonight.
He tries to point out Cassiopeia
all nonchalant and seafaring-like.
I laugh, forgetting for a split second
how stark raving terrified I am.

“You're
so
way off.
Cassiopeia is over
there.
”
I move his hand so his finger points to the right spot.

“Oh, yeah?
Let's see what you really know,”
rolling over in one smooth move
so that he's pretty much lying
on top of me.

Shark attack.