DRAWN (12 page)

          “See you,” I say, all the while feeling foolish for being so disappointed that he’s not going to kiss me again.

          Yuki smirks.

          My eyes widen.

          He knows.

          “Piss off,” I snarl.

          He laughs as he gets inside his car. “Come here,
senpai
, and I’ll kiss you goodbye.”

          I dig my feet into the ground, telling myself that I’d die before---

          “Please,
senpai
.”

          It’s no use.

          I go around his car and the moment I reach his side, Yuki’s hands shoot out of the window, cupping my face and pulling my head down for a kiss that brands every inch of me until my head is whirling and I’m gasping at the sensations battering my body.

          When he pulls away, I have to grip the edge of the roof of his car to keep me steady.

          “Are you hot for me now,
senpai
?”

          “F-f-f-piss off!”

          “Mmm…I think you are.”

          “Piss off,” I say more firmly this time.

          He smiles his angel’s smile. “Good night,
senpai
. I hope that’s enough to give you---”

          “Good night,” I cut him off hurriedly, knowing what he’s about to say and not wanting to blush any harder than I’m already doing.

          As I turn back to our house, Yuki calls my name.

          When I look back I’m surprised to see a brooding frown on Yuki’s face. “What is it?”

          “I need you to be honest with me,
senpai
.”

          “What is it?” I ask again.

          He takes a deep breath. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Yuki this…unsettled before.

          “You can ask me anything,” I say gently.

          “Then…did you ever fantasize about Stanford
that
way?”

          Oh, shite.

Yuki looks into my eyes and say, “I understand what happened. I forgive you. I don’t think you’re a slut.”

Yuki grabs my hand. “I’ll forgive you on one condition. That you let me take your body. All night long.”

Yuki smiles a heartbroken smile, a smile that tells me how much I’ve hurt him, a smile

          Nobody has to tell me that I write like shite. I know it for a fact, but writing is a lot less noticeable than drawing full-scaled strips on blank pages of my notebook. Lately, I’ve been trying out writing make-believe scenes that have Yuki and me enjoying a mess-free existence. In
Japanese.
Because I’m paranoid and all.

          As Ms. Chambers continues to talk and Yuki still goes on ignoring me, I quietly but ruthlessly yank the page from my notebook, folding it carefully into eights before I tear it into tiny unreadable pieces. Another page wasted on crap that I
need
to say to Yuki but can’t.

It’s just been three days that Yuki and I haven’t talked, and I’m already at my limit
.
He really must be a god. Why else would I miss him so much when just a few days before the most words I’ve said to him was “Mr. Saunders says you’re to report to him after class”?

I’ve tried calling, texting, and I’ve even tried “accidentally” bumping into Yuki in school like before but he’s so slick – like a bloody eel – I end up bumping into the wall instead.

Yeeargh!

I’m so desperate I think I’m even going to do the worst thing I can do, and that’s to ask advice from a misandrist.

“When I told you about setting boundaries, I was kinda thinking
he
would be the one who’s going to need it,” Lace muses to me later at lunch. 

We’re at the topmost row of the bleachers again, with the first ten minutes of our break consumed by me spilling out all the bloody details of my time with Yuki and Lace alternately cursing and laughing her head off.

          I cringe at Lace’s words, and the spaghetti I was enjoying seconds ago suddenly tastes like dried, stomped-upon, insect-munched weeds. I set the cardboard container with my barely-eaten pasta down, troubled now by not only a heavy heart but an empty stomach as well.

          “You know Jace and I have nothing going on.”

          “But you still lied about it.” Lace finishes her sandwich and, crumpling her sandwich bag into a ball, she stretches her arm back and throws it into the court. “Catch, bozos!” It’s her affectionate way of calling sophomores in her team.

          “You know it’s because I just didn’t want him to know about my work---”

          Lace’s tone is uncompromising. “You
still
lied about it.”

          I think about arguing but I don’t in the end. She’s right, after all. About all things. I should have had that talk with Yuki about boundaries. If I had known that he’d get mad this much, then I probably would have told him about Jace and my work.

I miss Yuki – more than his kisses. I just can’t get him out of my mind. And it’s really
him,
and not just his body.

          “Are you sure you’re not in love with him?”

          “Totally.” I don’t even have to think about it. “I don’t get jealous when I see him with other girls.”

          Lace rubs her chin, but her eyes dart to me once in a while.

          “What?”

          “I just find it impossible to think that you agreed to be his
toy
.”

“Can we just skip that part?” I beg, flushing at her still-incredulous tone.

          Lace looks like she’s swallowed poison.

          I roll my eyes. “It’s not that pervy between us.”

          “Like what?”

          “Like…” I almost fall for the trap until I see the wily look on Lace’s face. ‘Lace!”

          “Up to what base did you do it with him? Just give me a number.”

          “I’m going,” I say huffily and get to my feet.

          She pulls me down laughingly. “Sheesh, fine. I’m not going to ask any more so get off your high horse.”

          Tucking my hair behind my ears, I say, “Let’s just please focus on Yuki. Please, Lace?”

          “Well…” Her tone turns admiring. “You gotta admit, KC, he holds grudges really good, doesn’t he?” She likes her guys tough, is all I can say.

          I look at her miserably. “You’re supposed to
help
me, not torture me.”

          Lace opens and closes her mouth before falling silent for a few moments. “Sorry,” she mumbles.

          I give her my pasta. “Do you want it?” I’m hoping that more food will get Lace’s cunning mind to produce a solution to my problems.

          “But you’ve barely eaten a thing!”

          “I’m not really hungry.”

          Lace takes the pasta. “I’ll probably get five pounds fatter for this,” she says even as she feeds herself a forkful.

          I roll my eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you, Lace? You’re
not
fat. Curvy’s the word.”

          “So curvy I never go below Size 6.” She wags her fork when I open my mouth to argue further. “No more. I’m not the depressed one here.”

          “I’m not---”

          “Did you try calling or texting him?”

          “Yeah, lunch time and at night.”

          “How many times?”

          “Next question. And stop smirking.”

          Lace covers her mouth with a fake cough. “What about Jace?”

          “He’s out of town with Liz, remember?” Liz is Jace’s high-society girlfriend, a brunette who – even at sixteen – is already making headlines in Florida’s society pages. Half the time, she’s photographed more than half tipsy, but hey, free publicity is always good publicity, right?

          “He’s out of town on a
school
week?”

          “Stanford,” I remind her. Jace comes from a family of politicians. They get away with
everything.

         
Lace gnaws on her lip. “I’m stumped.”

          Is my situation that hopeless?

Every time her players are down by several points and there seems no hope, Lace always rallies them around. She keeps saying the game ain’t over till it’s over.

But she’s stumped now?

Is the game between Yuki and me…over?

My fists clench in helpless frustration. “Come on, Lace. You’re supposed to be really good at analyzing. You’re the future first female NBA coach and---”

          Lace glares at me. “Pressure, much?”

          “Please, Lace? I’m out of ideas.” I throw away my pride. I miss Yuki
that
much. “Even a basketball analogy would do.”

          Seven forkfuls of pasta later, Lace says, “I got it.”

          I hold my breath.

          “So, you know how the Celtics had their Big Three with Kevin Garnett, Ray Allen, and Paul Pierce, right?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “People keep saying that Coach Doc Rivers---”

          This part I know so I say quickly, “---who happens to be the smartest coach in NBA history because his powerful vision is what catapulted Boston Celtics back to stardom, reclaiming what has always been theirs.”

          Lace says that
all the time
whenever someone talks about the Celtics’ Head Coach – enough for me to quote her, word for word.

          “The solution, please,” I beg.

          Lace is visibly disappointed that she doesn’t get to indulge in her usual spiel. “You’re not a lot of fun when you do that,” she grumbles.

          “If you figure things out for me,
I
will watch a game with you. My treat.”

          Lace perks up, and her voice becomes excited once more. “OK, so, the Big Three wins a championship and everyone’s, like, oh my God, they’re amazing. Then they start to lose some and everyone starts telling Coach Rivers to look for another solution, especially when Ray--” She coughs ‘traitor’ under her breath. “---Allen signs up with Miami Heat.”

“So the naysayers are having a field day, they’re saying that Garnett’s too old and ridden with injuries, yadda, yadda, yadda, it’s time to have a new strategy for the Celtics. But Coach Rivers doesn’t listen to them. He doesn’t give a fuck about what other people say. He sticks with Garnett and Pierce and just puts up Rajon Rondo to make up the New Big Three. And so far, it’s showing promise. It’s doing really good, and I won’t be surprised if they’ll start winning championships again.”

          She looks at me expectantly.

          “I’m lost, Lace.”

          Her look turns disbelieving. “Can’t you see? Doc Rivers, who’s the---”

          I scowl. “Don’t.”

          Lace mutters something under her breath.

          “Lace!”

          “Okay, fine. So things are going well with the Celtics because Coach Rivers stuck with the Big Three. It’s what worked before, and it
will
work again because he believes in it wholeheartedly. Everyone in the team believes in it wholeheartedly.”

          “I am still lost.”

Lace actually starts shaking me. “For heaven’s sake, KC!
Yuki
saw something in
you
– something that made him choose you over all the other girls after him. So whatever that is --- milk it. Exploit it. Own it.”

          Oh.

          “Got it?”

          “Got it.”

          I’m supposed to embrace my pervy side.

          With that thought topmost in my mind when I get home, another tedious Yuki-less school day over, I sneak into Scott’s room, making sure to lock the door behind me. Accessing my brother’s laptop is easy. He’s never changed the password he started out with when he was in middle school and started embracing his pervy side, too.

          As expected, Scott still has his usual porn stash in a secret folder that’s not much of a secret.

          I play the first video,
Vintage – Tarzan.

         
Oooooh….aaaah….yeeeeaaah….

         
I nearly send the speakers to the floor, in the grip of a threatening heart attack as I scramble to twist the volume to mute.

I glower at the screen while Jane and Tarzan act more like Adam and Eve in their first attempt to discover the meaning of procreation. Either Scott’s saved the only bits he feels are worth watching or the concept of foreplay was born
after
the golden era of vintage porn.

          Fifteen minutes of hardcore action later, and I give up. I don’t think I’m made for this stuff. Some of the videos were bearable, like foot jobs – which I never would have thought possible – but the other ones were too much, even for me.