Hello Groin (17 page)

Because I also refused to clean my smooch mark off his office door, Mr. Brennan gave me a lunch and after-school detention. School policy required that parents be informed of all student detentions, so I had a lot of explaining to do later that evening, after Keelie had been put to bed. Mom and Dad heard me out, then sat quietly, floating in their thoughts. My guess was that they were slightly dumbfounded. I mean, they weren’t exactly strangers to my temper, but I’d never thrown it at a school principal before.

“Well,” said Mom, glancing at Dad, who was sitting beside her at the kitchen table. “I don’t know what to say, really. I can see Mr. Brennan’s point, but I can also see yours.”

“It was really that important to you?” asked Dad, watching me carefully.

I nodded. Even now, twelve hours later, a rush of anger hit me when I thought about it.

“He didn’t ask first,” I said. “He just assumed it was dirty and obscene.”

“Maybe he was concerned
other
people might think it was obscene,” Mom said hesitantly.

“No,
he
thought it was obscene,” I said decidedly. I was sure of it. “Maybe he changed his mind later, but that’s the conclusion he jumped to right off.”

“I wonder why Ms. Fowler didn’t warn you this could happen,” Dad said slowly. “She must have known there could be problems with it.”

“She did, Dad,” I said, not wanting her to get into trouble. “She said something about wondering what Administration would think of it, but I didn’t really clue in. Because she understood what I meant by the display, I figured everyone would.”

My parents sat quietly, still not sure what to make of it. And as I sat there watching them, I got a sudden warm burst of wanting to connect, wanting them to really
get
it.

“It’s like everyone thinks that what goes on between a teenager’s legs is dirty,” I said, letting the words out in a rush. “I mean, whether you’re having sex with someone or not. That part of your body is automatically indecent
because
you’re a teenager, and everyone just assumes teenagers are wild and on the edge of losing control at every moment. You’re never allowed to just
live
in that part of your body. It’s a forbidden zone, a place you’re never supposed to think about, and adults are always lecturing you about saving sex for marriage, or STDs and how they can shrivel your brain to a peanut. And the whole time you know half of
them
were having unsafe sex in the back of a car when
they
were teenagers. Anyway, why does that part of your body have to be treated like a wild animal that should be caged and controlled? Why can’t it be about decency and honor and what’s true and good?

“
And
wise,” I added defiantly, crossing my arms over my chest. With a deep breath, I made myself look straight at Mom, then Dad. There, I’d said it. They would probably jump on me for it, but not too bad. They were pretty decent as far as the parent thing went. There would be some sighs, stern looks and mild finger-waving, and then a hug to round things off.

To my surprise, I saw tears in their eyes. They glanced at each other, and then Dad leaned toward me.

“Dylan, honey,” he said quietly. “If there’s anywhere in your body that I want you to feel truly wonderful about yourself and your whole life, it’s in your groin. That’s as important now, when you’re young and still living with your family, as later on, when you’ll be married and raising children of your own. The groin is a central part of life and love—we all come from there, don’t we? And I can’t tell you how important it has been to me to be loved by your mother.”

He hesitated, then grinned sheepishly. “Well, I also had a few girlfriends before her,” he added, glancing at Mom, who smiled wryly. “They were all important to me, and each one of them taught me something different. When you love someone,
truly
love them and are loved back, you learn so much about yourself, and life and what it’s really all about. Your sexuality is a core part of that, whether you’re sexually active or not. And you’re right, you should feel completely free to live in that part of your body—you think and feel and
are
in your groin, just as much as in your heart and mind.”

Stunned by his honesty, I just stared at him. Then I blurted, “So d’you think I was wrong? To get angry, I mean?”

Glancing again at Mom, Dad took a long thinking breath. “Anger isn’t wrong, Dylan,” he said. “It’s an important warning signal that tells you when you’re being crowded or invaded in some way. What you have to figure out is how to handle your anger, what’s the best way to communicate it.”

One of my power blushes kicked in and I ducked my head. “I guess I didn’t really do that,” I said, staring at my hands.

“Oh, you communicated,” Dad said wryly.

“I was just so
mad
,” I said, glancing at him, then away. “I still am.”

Dad leaned across the table and took my hand, making me look at him. “I think you had a right to be,” he said. “The display could’ve been covered until Mr. Brennan had a chance to talk to you. I’m sure he’s thought of that since. He’s probably learned as much from this as you have.”

When he’d finished speaking, Dad continued to hold my hand, not letting go, making me feel his warmth and how much he loved me. I gripped his hand tightly and he squeezed back. Suddenly I wanted to bawl my head off.

“A picture,” said Mom, her voice wavering as she wiped her eyes. “We have to get one of your display for our photo album.”

“I’ll take one for you,” I said, freeing my hand from Dad’s and rubbing my own eyes. “I’ll bring the camera to school tomorrow and take a bunch before homeroom.”

“No, I want to see it for myself,” Dad said firmly. “I’ll drive you to school and take a few pictures with you standing in front of the display. I can call into work and let them know I’ll be late. I’ll just go check the batteries in the camera.”

Jumping to his feet, he hurried off to check, while I sat at the table thinking about what we’d discussed. Neither Dad or Mom had said straight out that I’d done the right thing, but they
hadn’t criticized me either. It left me feeling in limbo, sort of, but then I realized they were letting me work it out for myself. They were trusting me with it.

Taking a shaky breath, I smiled at Mom. She smiled back.

“Yup,” said Dad, bustling into the kitchen with the camera.

“The batteries are fine and the memory card is only half full. Should be able to get in quite a few pictures.”

“Hey, can I be in one?” asked Danny, following him into the room. Right away I knew my brother had been listening in at an air vent in the upstairs hallway that was handy for eavesdropping on kitchen conversations. I raised an eyebrow, and he gave me a quick grin.

“Everyone’s talking about it, y’know,” he said. “The library’s been crowded with kids looking at your display. I know some guys who’d absolutely love to get into a picture with those censor strips.”

We all just split. I mean, after the tearful melodrama we’d been through, we needed it.

“Oh god,” I spluttered. “Major Kodak moment.”

And I was right. Danny must have gotten the word out later that evening on the phone because the next morning it looked as if half the school had shown up for the photo shoot. Dad was kept busy shooting pictures of Danny and his friends and the censor strips, Cam and his friends and the censor strips and Joc and Dikker and the censor strips. Then, of course, there had to be shots of the watching audience of kids and the censor strips. And finally, a few of Ms. Fowler and me, grinning our fool heads off as we stood under the now thoroughly photographed silhouettes and their infamous strips of black.

As Dad lowered his camera, the warning bell rang and the library began to clear. Joc, Cam and Danny waved goodbye and left for homeroom, and Dad and I also headed out of the
library. But to my surprise, when we reached the hall he turned left instead of right, the direction of the parking lot.

“No, Dad, it’s that way,” I said, pointing.

He shook his head. “Pit stop on the way,” he said, starting down the hall.

Immediately my radar went up. So
that
was why he was on the phone so long before we left the house. I’d assumed he was calling the city transit office where he worked.

“You’re going to talk to Mr. Brennan,” I accused, running after him. So much for my parents letting me work this out on my own.

With a smile, Dad put an arm around me. “Yes, I am,” he said. “I’m your father, and I have some concerns about how this was handled. But I give you my word—I’ll fill you in on everything we discuss, okay?”

A wave of relief hit me. So, my father really did think I had a right to be angry. I wasn’t a complete zero.

“Okay,” I said, bumping my forehead against his chest.

His arm tightened briefly. “Go on now,” he said. “Or you’ll be late for homeroom.”

When I reached the end of the hall, I turned to see him standing in the same position, watching me. A grin crossed both our faces, and we raised a hand simultaneously to wave at each other. Then a rocket-launch burst of energy hit me and I took off through the empty halls, racing to beat the final bell.

Just as Danny had said, everyone was talking. For the rest of the day I couldn’t go anywhere without getting comments—in the halls, my classes, or catching a smoke with Joc at midmorning break. I hadn’t realized yesterday what a stir the censor strips were causing because I’d spent so much time in detention, but today I was a free woman and everyone I met seemed to
have something to say. The guesses kids made about the censored titles were mind-boggling:
The Titanic. The Encyclopedia Britannica. The Edible Woman. Freddy the Pig Goes to Mars. On the Brighter Side, I am Now the Girlfriend of a Sex God
.
Hamlet.
(I bumped into Dikker again between classes.) And, of course, everyone wanted to know what the actual offending titles had been, even Cam’s buddies. Well, especially Cam’s buddies. When I sat down with the senior jock crowd in the cafeteria at lunch, the comments didn’t let up.

“
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
,” suggested Julie, and everyone snickered.

“
Temptation
,” said Deirdre. “Or how about
The Tycoon’s Virgin Bride
?”

“
The Tycoon’s Virgin Bride
?” repeated Len. Letting his jaw drop, he bugged his eyes at her. In two seconds flat, Deirdre was severely rattled.

“Duh, let me guess,” Len added smugly. “Harlequin, right?”

“I read it last week,” Deirdre said defensively, throwing a french fry at him. “And stop looking at me like that. Some of the scenes were pretty hot.”

Len rolled his eyes, then opened his mouth, about to reply, but was interrupted.

“
Superman
,” crowed Gary, stretching out his arms and pretending to fly. “You put my favorite book right over the guy’s dick, and Brennan saw it and got pissed.”

As screeches of approval erupted from Julie and Rachel, a girl at a nearby table turned to look at us. A flash of guilt hit me as I saw that it was Michelle Allen, who obviously should have been sitting at this table, laughing at Gary’s comment along with the rest of the jock crowd. But she wasn’t; in fact she hadn’t sat with us for weeks—not since the first few days
after she’d made the senior girls volleyball team. It looked like Julie and Rachel had found a way to make it
very
clear that she wasn’t welcome.

Completely oblivious, Cam pulled a sandwich out of his lunch bag. “She couldn’t use
Superman
, Feeb Brain,” he grinned at Gary. “It had to be a real book with real words. Y’know, more than POW, BAM, SLAM and exclamation marks.”

“Superman Pooperman,” agreed Len, turning his gaze on me. “It was probably
War and Peace
. Now that would really jerk Brennan’s chain.”

“Maybe,” I shrugged, ducking a direct reply. All morning I’d been answering kids’ questions the same way—with a shrug and a grin. Let everyone think what they wanted. The only people who knew the actual titles were Mr. Brennan, Ms. Fowler, my parents, Danny and Cam, and obviously they hadn’t let anyone else in on the secret. Even Joc didn’t know what I’d placed into the girl silhouette’s groin, because she’d left my house last Friday before I’d finished writing all my titles onto their construction-paper outlines.

“
Treasure Island
,” persisted Len, between guzzles of Pepsi. “And
Sweet Valley High
. C’mon, Dylan—admit it. You used my suggestions, and Brennan pulled them.”

About to manufacture another shrug, I was saved by Joc. “Hey, Dyl,” she called from the end of the table where she was standing with Dikker, and I waved them in to sit in the open space across from me.

As they squeezed into place, Gary reached across Rachel and punched Dikker’s shoulder. “What’s the matter, Dik?” he smirked. “Too cold in your car?”

Dikker gave him a slow grin. Most of his reputation came from his nickname, and the rest lay in that grin. I mean, no one could have survived the number of lays he was rumored to have
pulled off. At least not
and
eat, sleep and get in a few favorite TV shows.

“Hillo, ho, ho,” he said mysteriously. “We are arrant knaves all, believe none of us.”

“Oh, shut up about Hamlet,” moaned Joc, giving him a shove. “And yes, Gary, for your information, the car’s heating system is broken.”

“What’s the matter?” drawled Len. “Can’t you make your own heat?”

Joc shrugged. “I’m sensitive,” she said, rubbing her cheek against Dikker’s shoulder.

Gary snorted loudly. “That’s not what I hear,” he said.

A raucous guffaw swept the entire group. “Hey, just a sec,” I said, seeing Joc stiffen, but she was way ahead of me.

“Just because I’m getting it more regular than you are,” she snapped, looking Gary right in the eye. “
And
in better company.”

Gary straightened, about to shoot something back, but then Cam broke in with an uneasy, “Okay guys, knock it off.” After a few more snorts and giggles, everyone calmed down. In the ensuing quiet, I glanced sideways at Cam, studying his face. I mean, the question was there in my mind—whether he’d intervened because Gary had been picking on Joc, or because I happened to be sitting right next to him and he’d realized that I’d seen him laughing with the others.