The Chocolate Money (16 page)

We look up at him, incredulous. We’ve been tricked. Even if mine is a lie, I don’t want the cute boy next to me to read it. He will probably think,
What’s the big deal? You don’t have boobs anyway.

Nobody passes on a card and Donaldson says, “I know this might seem difficult, but all of you are taking the same risk.”

The cute boy and I swap cards. His reads:

Lowell Stillman
New York, NY

I was playing basketball with my friends when I tripped and fell. It hurt so much I cried.

Not so bad. I regret I wrote about my body. Now, at this very moment, I am really uncomfortable.

Donaldson gives us some time to look the cards over and then adds, “Write something positive on the card and hand it back. You’ll see it’s not as big of a deal as you might have thought.”

It doesn’t seem that Lowell needs to be shored up, he is so composed. But I write:

No biggie to cry with your buds there. They probably felt bad you fell.

I hand it back to him. He smiles and gives me mine. He’s written:

Sounds hot! Wish I’d been there.

I wonder if he is making fun of me and I blush. I look at him and see to my surprise that he is smiling in a nice way.

“Nice to meet you, Lowell,” I say.

“Likewise, Bettina,” he says, holding out his hand.

Maybe Lowell can be my Cape and I can share stories about him with Meredith. All of the details of fooling around. I’m pretty sure he’s not major needy, though I have no proof of this.

Seeing Lowell in his blue blazer, white oxford, and rep tie makes me miss Mack in a way I haven’t in years. Mack’s preppy way of dressing, his tendency to rub his hands through his hair to make sure it’s still there, it’s all replicated in so many boys here. I thought my desire for Mack would have abated a bit by now. It has not.

I thought Lowell and I could chat some more after class, maybe even flirt a bit, but everyone except me quickly packs up his or her stuff when the bell rings, no lingering. I have a free period after Donaldson, and I can think of nothing else to do but smoke.

I go back to the same bench. This time there’s a boy sitting there. He strikes me as the antithesis of Lowell. He wears a coat and tie, as school rules dictate, but pairs them with ripped jeans that have lyrics from the Grateful Dead scrawled on them. According to the C-book, boys are allowed to wear jeans with their ties and blazers. He is also smoking. Marlboro Reds. He has green eyes, and a mop of dark curly hair. He’s not handsome, but he is approachable. He has a cool vibe that spills into me. He holds out his hand.

“Hello, beauty,” he says, which takes me aback, because of the confidence with which he says it and because I’ve never been called this in my life. I shake his hand and feel the calluses on his palm. He smokes with his left hand, which makes me believe he is left-handed, like me. A plus.

“And you would be . . . ?”

“Jake Kronenberg,” he answers affably. “Have a seat. Plenty of room. Want a smoke?”

At least I have an answer to this.

“Thanks. I have my own.” I sit down on the bench, go to work lighting my cigarette with my Cartier lighter. I’ll simply join him, as if we were shooting hoops together. Killing time.

“I see you are committed to the endeavor,” he says easily. “So, gorgeous, what’s your name?”

Now I wonder if he’s always this easy with the compliments and roll my eyes. “Bettina.”

“Bettina,” he says, “don’t be so cynical. I’m not bullshitting you. I have high standards, and you more than clear the bar.”

“We just met,” I say. “How the fuck do you know?”

“I can just tell. See, you said
fuck,
and we haven’t known each other two minutes.”

“Whatever. I just came to smoke.” But I am intrigued by our little game.

He puts his hand on my bare knee and starts rubbing it lightly, using his thumb to make small circles. I’m surprised by how pleasant the feeling is. His fingers begin to trace their way up and down my inner thigh. I am aroused but scared. If he starts to kiss me on the bench, right there, I might even kiss him back. Despite the fact that I’m even less experienced than Holly and have never kissed anyone. And I barely know him. But I can tell he takes what he wants, does not ask for permission.

He reaches my underwear and this jolts me enough to grab his hand, make him stop.

“Jake, I’m sorry, but no. I’m just not . . .” Not what? Not ready? Not it. Not interested? No. Afraid? Maybe.

“No worries. But I can wait. Another time, Bettina.”

I don’t know what to say.

I look at my watch. Time for biology. I finish my cigarette, throw it, still burning, onto the grass. Maybe this will make me seem daring, show I’m not a prude or a tease.

He grabs my wrist and kisses it. “See you soon,” he says.

“Sure,” I say.

The day’s long with light. When I finally finish my classes, which promise to be hard but doable, I go back to Bright, still tired from the jet lag. I want to skip dinner again but know I can’t. I decide to lie down for a bit, refresh myself before walking around the campus and making more of the first impressions that may or may not be important during my Cardiss career. I climb the steps at the house. The door to Meredith and Jess’s room is open, and I’m surprised to see that Holly has ventured in there without me.

“Bettina, come in!” Meredith says. I know her enthusiastic greeting doesn’t necessarily reflect a fondness for me. She just needs a crowd to be more of who she is. I hesitate but know not going in would be socially fatal. I pull the door shut behind me.

Jess sits on her bed, pulling at a bunch of green grapes and sucking on them like they’re decadent candies. Holly and Meredith are on the floor. I think I will just make a pit stop, and then take a shower.

“So I talked to Cape today and he said he wanted to take a walk on the lacrosse fields after dinner.”

I reach for a cigarette. Now that I have met him, I am curious as to how this is going to play out.

“That’s so exciting!” Holly says. Meredith’s now her favorite TV show and she’s just happy to sit on the floor and watch the drama unfold.

“Too bad about the dumb poems,” I say, trying to untether Meredith from Cape, challenge her on the breakup she claims to want.

She glares at me.

“What are you going to wear, Meredith?” Holly says, trying to get the conversation back to the excited pitch it had before I walked in.

“Oh, just something that shows off my boobs.”

Holly blushes, but I am eager to see them. Meredith must have at least a C cup.

She takes off her top. Meredith’s wearing fancy lingerie: a white lace bra with a peach bow at the base of her cleavage. The bra pushes her breasts together, two smooth, sweet cupcakes of flesh. I have the odd desire to lick them, they are so beautiful.

It’s brutal for me to think about Cape handling them. He’s come to represent the standard Cardiss boy to me. If this is the case, I have no chance of ever fooling around with Lowell. I’ll have to settle for an outlier like Jake.

Meredith pulls on a white baby-doll tee and another Laura Ashley skirt. She must have a dozen. The tee can barely hold up to her breasts, and I imagine they might push through any minute.

Jess puts the grapes back in a zip-lock bag and stores them in a minifridge they have snuck into the room and hidden under a large scarf.

I don’t see Lowell at the dining hall. Dinner runs from six to seven thirty, so I guess we’ve missed him. Meredith makes herself a large salad and some Crystal Light from a packet she has brought from the dorm. Holly helps herself to the hot entrée: chicken with Tater Tots. She eats as if she were still in Iowa. We form a little clump in the table by the window, and no one joins us.

I can tell by the deliberate way Meredith holds her fork and scans the room that she is looking for Cape. He isn’t there. I do see Jake. He is sitting by himself, reading the
New York Times.
He doesn’t seem to be clued in to the fact that you’re supposed to eat with other people. Or at least pretend to have friends. His indifference makes me think of Babs. I wish I could be like them. I stare at Jake a bit, and he lifts his head to meet my gaze. Waves at me. I nod back.

This does not go unnoticed by Meredith.

“So you know Jake?” she says, almost laughing.

“Not really—we met over a smoke this morning,” I say defensively.

“He’s a total slut with major attitude. He’s from California and seems to think the East Coast is lame. He’s slept with over fifteen people.”

“How do you know?” I wonder.

“I know almost everything,” Meredith says, pushing a piece of romaine into her pretty mouth. “Seriously, his roommate from last year is a friend of mine and that’s what he told me.”

“Sounds unlikely.”

“Whatever,” Meredith says. “Just be careful. Besides, he’s not even hot. You could ruin your chances with other boys down the road. Also, he’s Jewish.”

Did she really just say that? Is everyone in Meredith-land WASPy?

“So am I,” I say, just to fuck with her. But maybe I’m not lying after all. For all I know, my father could be.

“No, you’re not,” she replies confidently. “Bettina isn’t a Jewish name.”

Huh? Part of me just loves hearing what Meredith considers cast-iron logic.

“Anyway, way more important,” she continues, “is that last year, Jake gave this girl, Riley Sayler, a black eye. She dropped out after that.”

Jess says, “Mere, Riley said she ran into a door. Also, she was really depressed all year and had to go on meds.”

“Whatever. I’d be depressed too if Jake Kronenberg hit me. But I guess it’s your call, Bettina. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Holly seems concerned all of a sudden. “Bettina, you should listen to Meredith. What if he really does hit girls?”

I don’t believe Jake is violent, not really, but a dark part of me wants to find out. I also wonder if he really slept with so many girls.

Jake’s hand on my thigh earlier did indicate a certain expertise, but where would he find fifteen girls to sleep with? Would I be number sixteen? Kind of a scary thought. I feel like once you lose your virginity, you’re in sexual free fall. Open for business. But sleeping with him would give me a leg up on Meredith. And it seems like Jake doesn’t give a fuck about pedicures or lingerie.

I decide to go back to the house and take a shower. Meredith looks at me strangely when I stand up. You do not leave the dining hall alone, but seeing Jake has given me just a tiny bit of confidence.

Back at Bright, I go to my room and carefully remove my clothes. Shower. I feel physically dirty, and also somewhat sad, because the adrenaline of defying Meredith is starting to wear off. Why haven’t I made more of an effort to be her friend? Why am I so insanely bothered by her relationship with Cape, a boy I don’t even know?

I decide to do what I always do when I feel bad. Chase the smash. I’ve never done it in the shower, but if I tilt my hips toward the stream of water and hold my me with both hands, I know the shower will provide enough pressure. Get me where I want to go. If I have one, two, three smashes, I’ll feel better. Will be able to focus on my homework and go to sleep. I close my eyes and think of Lowell, of touching his hair, kissing the sweet spot behind his left ear. Licking his eyelids, grazing his fingers with mine as I do. I am just approaching a smash when I hear the curtain ripped back, feel cold air penetrate the steam. I try to reposition my body, but she sees exactly what I’m doing. Meredith.

No doubt she’s come to get ready for her walk with Cape. Apply more makeup. Spritz herself with the L’air du Temps perfume she keeps on her dresser. Why she pulls the shower curtain back when I am clearly in there is a mystery. Maybe it is a bizarre form of hazing? Who knows, but what she finds, me chasing the smash, must be better than whatever she expected.

“Hey, Bettina! That game is much more fun with two players!” she says, laughing so hard I wish I had something to throw at her head.

Babs never once caught me chasing the smash, and it takes Meredith less than forty-eight hours. She’s not going to let this go.

There’s this girl in my dorm who plays with herself in the shower. Can you believe it?
She won’t even dirty her lips with the word
masturbate.
Will probably even tell Cape about it tonight. I bet the only times she touches her vagina is when she wipes it after going to the bathroom and sticks a tampon in it during her period.

I want to run out of there and ignore her, but I don’t. I calmly step out of the shower and look her right in the eye.

“It’s always good to get warmed up before the real thing. You know what I mean, Meredith? I’m surprised you’re not doing the same thing.”

I don’t know where this came from. A total Babs line, but it seems to work. Meredith takes a step back. Like she has new respect for me. But of course she pretends otherwise.

“And who could you possibly be preparing yourself for?”

“Jake Kronenberg, of course,” I answer, surprising both of us.

I
GET DRESSED, DRY MY
hair, and go outside. I walk across campus to the bench where I saw Jake earlier. As I’d predicted, he’s sitting there, smoking. It’s still light out. He doesn’t seem at all surprised to see me.

“Bettina, my lovely. This is getting to be a habit of yours.”

“Hello, Jake,” I say. Fooling around with him should not be too hard, and now I have no choice. I should’ve locked the fucking bathroom door.

“Why so glum?”

I’m surprised he is able to tell what a dim mood I am in. I decide to risk it. See if he’s as sexually sophisticated as Meredith says.

“The alpha girl in my dorm caught me masturbating.”

“Meredith? Ha! Seems like you did her a favor. Frigid bitch.

“What?” he says in response to my embarrassed reaction.

Talking about sex with Jake is harder than I thought it would be. I am faking it, and this is all going so quickly. I don’t doubt that Jake sees this as some kind of invitation.