Skater Boy (5 page)

“Whoo hoo!” I cry, jumping up. “I did it!” Unable to stop myself, I throw my arms around Sean in celebration. He laughs and hugs me back, carefully, so as not to bump the piercing.

“No sex for twenty-four hours,” Todd instructs, causing both of us to pull away from our embrace and blush deep red.

“We're... not ...I mean, um,” I stammer. Ah, hell.

 Todd nods knowingly and I get the feeling he's thinking the lady doth protest too much. But “That'll be twenty bucks,” is all he says.

I pay him and the four of us walk out of the shop. We hit the diner next door and order burgers, fries and Cokes. (Starr orders a yogurt smoothie to numb her tongue.) We chat and joke and laugh during the meal. Starr and Eddie get into a big debate about the current economy and who's respoinsible. While they banter and bicker, Sean and I poke fun at them from across the table.

We're having such a blast, I lose track of time. For a few blissful minutes, I totally forget about my commitments. About The Evil Ones and the torture they will have planned for me if I get home late with no good explanation as to where I have been.

We walk out of the restaurant and I realize it's now nearly six o'clock and I
have
to get back home. Starr grudgingly agrees to go with me, after she says her good-byes to Eddie. I'm a bit disturbed to realize her good-byes include jamming her tongue down his throat at the bus stop. After all, she just met the guy! Not to mention that said tongue was recently traumatized by a large needle.

I laugh a little, embarrassed, and turn from the major PDA-age. Sean rolls his eyes and takes me by the shoulder, leading me a few yards away.

“Looks like Eddie finally met his match,” he says with a chuckle.

“He's not a jerk, is he?” I ask. I don't know why I feel the need to worry about Starr. Of all people, she doesn't need a protector, that's for sure. Especially not someone like me. But I can't help being a mother hen.

Sean shakes his head. “Nah, he's cool. Just loud.” He smiles. “That's nice of you, though. To look out for your friend.”

I shrug. “She's not even really my friend. In fact, I'm not even sure she likes me much.”

“No?” Sean asks, reaching over to brush a lock of hair out of my eyes. “Why wouldn't she like you?”

His sudden close proximity starts doing funny things to my pulse. Does he want to kiss me? I swallow hard and drop my gaze to the dirty sidewalk. I'm such a wimp.

He puts a finger under my chin and tilts my head up so I'm looking into his eyes. Gulp, this is it. He is going to kiss me! I'm going to be kissed by the gorgeous Sean. I can feel his warm, peppermint breath on my face.

“Well, I like you,” he says with a grin. “I mean, just FYI.”

“Do you?” I ask, regretting the words the second they leave my mouth. What a dork. I should have said, “I like you, too.”

“Dawn, the bus ith here,” Starr calls. “Hurry upth!”

Sean releases my chin and steps back. He looks a bit dazed. Then he laughs it off.

“Can I get your number?” he asks.

I nod, pulling a marker from my purse. Feeling brave and saucy all of a sudden, I take his hand and scribble my cell number across his palm. Then I smile, toss my hair, and run to catch the bus. I don't look back.

I make my way to the rear of the bus, where Starr is waiting for me.

“Ooh, lovahh girl,” she teases.

“Speak for yourself,” I retort. “I'm not the one with my tongue down a boy's throat an hour after getting it pierced.”

Starr laughs and sticks out her pierced tongue at me. “It already feels better,” she says. “How's the belly button?”

“Still sore.” I yank down my skirt so the wool doesn't rub against the sensitive skin.

“Regret it?”

“No way. It was great.” And it was. There was some kind of power in it. Hard to explain, but it was there. Like I'd broken the chains of good-girlism and would never be the same. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat.”

I look over to catch Starr studying me, a thoughtful look on her face. “You know, Barbie,” she says. “You may be okay after all.”

“Gee, thanks,” I say sarcastically.

But deep inside, I'm dancing.

Chapter Six

 

“Dawn, where have you been?”

I drop my book bag on the hallway floor and drag my feet into the living room where The Evil Ones are glaring at me, expecting me to provide some kind of reasonable explanation for my absence. Evidently the Japanese tutor called and ratted me out.

But I'm prepared. “Yearbook ran late,” I say. I worked out the perfect excuse on the bus ride back to the proverbial “right side of town.” “We were having so much fun picking out photos we completely lost track of time. Tell Hoshiko I'm sorry.”

Dad furrows his bushy eyebrows at me, as if trying to tunnel into my brain and determine whether I'm lying. Honestly, I get the feeling he can do this sometimes. But in this case, evidently my mental shield is too tough to penetrate ‘cause all he says is, “You need to call if you're not going to make your tutoring. Those classes cost money, you know.”

As if he's worried about money. Thanks to my grandparents, we have enough to last two lifetimes. I could miss Japanese lessons from now until next Christmas and it wouldn't put so much as a dent in his bank account.

“Yes, Dad,” I say. “I'm sorry.”

“We got a note from your gym teacher today, Dawn,” my mother breaks in. “How come you didn't tell us you got detention?”

Oh, great. I'd nearly forgotten about that.

“You were out last night at the Save the Whatever party,” I say. “I was going to tell you tonight.”

“Detention!” My dad rages. He wags a finger at me. “Do you think Harvard accepts students who get detentions?”

I'm not sure about that one, but if the answer turns out to be, “No, they turn them down flat,” I might have to score a few more this year, just to ensure I'm completely blacklisted from the Ivy League nightmare.

“Jeez, Dad, it's not like I'm some juvenile delinquent or something,” I protest. I've worked this one out, too. “It's simple. I had major crampage so I skipped gym.”

This makes my dad's face go all red, as I knew it would. He doesn't like to think about his fifteen-year-old daughter's monthly feminine functions.

“Well, don't let it happen again,” he grunts, turning back to his book. Heh. I should play the period card more often.

“Don't worry,” I say, grabbing my book bag from the floor. “I'm going up to do my homework now.”

I dash up the stairs and into my room before they can bring up any of my other shortcomings. After all, it's not often I win a battle with them and I'm so going to take all the victory I can get.

 I lie back on my bed and lift my shirt a few inches, rotating the belly-button ring as Todd had instructed me to do. It looks so cool and I'm way proud of myself for going through with it. The old wimpy Dawn would never have been able to bear all that pain. And I'm willing to bet none of the Ashleys would have, either.

I've got a big test tomorrow and I know I should start studying, but all I want to do is close my eyes and think about the dreamy Sean. I pull my knees up to my chest, hugging them close, feeling that warm squishy feeling you get when you first meet someone yummy.

You know, I think if that bus hadn't come right then, he would have kissed me. I wonder what it'd be like. I'm a bit ashamed to say I've only kissed three guys in my entire fifteen years on the planet and one of those doesn't count ‘cause it was during Spin the Bottle. I wonder if Sean kisses more with his lips—like you see people do in the movies—or with his tongue—like you see everyone doing in the school hallways.

Well, one thing's for sure. I'm bound and determined to find out, firsthand.

 

*

 

I can't believe I slept ten hours last night. I thought I'd just close my eyes for five seconds and then start studying for my test. Instead I fell asleep and only woke up when my alarm started blaring at five A.M.

To make matters worse, it's raining, so crew practice on the river totally sucked. Now I'm in school and completely unprepared for my Chemistry test. The Evil Ones are going to kill me if I flunk.

But for some reason, that doesn't make me feel as creeped out as it normally would. Not when I still have the Sean warm-fuzzies tickling my insides. I wonder when he'll call me.

I'm in English class when my cell phone starts vibrating. As the teacher turns to write something on the blackboard, I surreptitiously pull it out of my bag. There's a text message.

>Hey Dawn!

Hmm. Don't recognize the number it's from. I glance up to make sure the teacher is still distracted and then text back.

>Who is this?

>Sean. Remember? From the parking deck?

I nearly drop the phone. As if I could forget. My fingers are literally trembling as I type my reply.

>Of course! What's up?

>Not much. Just bored in school..

Luckily, I rock at texting. I can do it underneath my desk without the teacher catching me. Though she's so wrapped up in the saga of Hamlet and how he can't seem to make the simple decision of whether “to be or not to be,” she probably wouldn't notice if I had a full-on voice convo at the back of the classroom.

>What are you doing after?

After school? Is he just making conversation or asking me out on a date? It is Friday, after all. And if he is asking me out, should I tell him the truth? That I have gymnastics and then tutoring and then homework? That I can't possibly skip out on my life for a third day in a row without getting grounded for a millennium? Even though it is a weekend night?

Nah.

>Not much. You?

>Sk8ing.

Oh. I slump in my chair. Guess he wasn't asking me out after all. Now he probably thinks I'm a loser with no life. I'm not sure what to text back, but before I can decide, another message pops up.

>Llater we're going to a rave. You & S want to come?

A rave? He wants us to go to a rave? Like one of those all-night, techno dance parties held in warehouses? I try to imagine myself announcing to The Evil Ones that I'm going to a rave and won't be home ‘til morning.

Can you say “No effing way?”

>Can't. Sorry. Will ask S tho.

I reluctantly hit send and beam the disappointing message to Sean's cell phone. This sucks. I've probably totally blown my chances with him now. He's going to think I'm some goodie-two-shoes type. But what else can I do? There's absolutely no way I can go to a rave, as much as I'd like to.

Did I mention how much my life blows?

Chapter Seven

 

“If you could buy only one kind of makeup—I'm talking lip gloss, eyeliner and mascara even—where would you buy it?”

Ashley #2: “Stila, definitely.”

Ashley #1: “Really? I would have said Hard Candy. They have the coolest shades and the best glitter eye pencils known to mankind.”

Ashley #3: “I just really like Cover Girl.”

Pause. Turn to stare in sync.

“I wouldn't be caught dead wearing Cover—hey, Dawn, where are you going?”

I've had enough. I can literally feel brain cells dying as I sit next to these self-absorbed makeup morons. I sense their burning stares as I leave the table without a word and head down to the other half of the school lunch-room. The half I thought I'd never be forced to sit in, never mind make the conscious choice to do so. I know for a fact, I've just sealed my high-school fate. Fallen off the wrong side of the fence that I've been straddling, but for some reason, I don't care much.

“Hey, Starr,” I greet as I approach her lunch table. Her fellow tablemates glare at me, perhaps wondering if I'm here on some nefarious scheme like the popular kids always seem to be hatching in the movies. Befriend the loser kid, trick her into going to the dance with the popular boy so you can pour pig's blood on her or whatever. Like the real-life popular kids are really all that creative or bored.

Starr looks up, raising a pierced eyebrow. “What's wrong, Barbie?” she asks coolly.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” I ask, praying she'll say yes. I suddenly realize I've just walked away from my high-school social standing with no concrete idea of where I belong. If Starr's crowd rejects me, where do I go next?

Starr seems to ponder my question a moment, then moves her canvas book bag off the stool. “Free lunch-room,” she says with a shrug.

Not exactly a welcoming invitation, though not a rejection either. I understand her and her tablemates' lack of enthusiasm. They know for a fact that if the situation were reversed, if Starr wanted the empty seat at my regular lunch table, there's no way the Ashleys would let her sit down, no matter how much I begged.

Bleh. High-school.

I decide to play it friendly. “Thanks,” I say in a grateful voice. “I just couldn't stand one more fashion convo.”

Starr and several other tablemates break out into giggles.

 “What?” I demand, a little annoyed. Are they making fun of me?

“Sorry,” Starr says, regaining control of herself. “But before you came we were actually talking about who makes the best combat boots.”

“Were you?” I shake my head in amusement. “Whoops.” And here I thought they'd be debating the president's justification of the Iraq war or the continuing relief effort for the tsunami victims in Asia.

“What did you expect us to be talking about?” demands a boy from across the table. He's cute, if a bit on the nerdy side, with black-rimmed glasses and sandy brown hair. Sort of Clark Kentish. “Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Stuart, be nice,” Starr reprimands. For a new girl, she certainly seems to have the crowd under her thumb. “Dawn's trying. But you can't completely break free of Barbiedom in one afternoon. She's made an important first step, though. And we should support her.”