Bratfest At Tiffany's

BOCD
HEALTH CLASS

Tuesday, September 8th
1:07 P.M.

A pamphlet called The Complete Guide to Menstruation whizzed by Claire’s head. “Okay, health class with boys should be illegal.”
“Fear not.” Layne placed her hands on her hips like a brave superhero. “I’m protesting after school.”
Giggles erupted from the back of the classroom, where a group of eight students were ransacking the shelves, searching for dirty reference books. Only five others were in their seats, but no one dared make eye contact. Simply being there, surrounded by posters of teens with sexually transmitted diseases, as well as ceramic uteruses, was awkward enough. Actually acknowledging one another heightened the embarrassment factor to an unmanageable degree.
Layne checked all three of the multicolored Swatch watches on her arm. “Where’s our teacher? Day one and she’s already late. We should get our money back.”
“I hear ya,” Claire said to the nude male and female mannequins by the blackboard that posed in a proud-to-be-naked sort of way.
Layne unhooked a turquoise mesh sack from the back of her wooden chair and fished around inside. “I wish Dempsey Solomon was back.” She pulled out a tin of citrus sour Altoids and popped an orange candy in her mouth. “You want?”
Claire shook her head no. Tart anything reminded her of the ex-gifts ex-Cam used to give her. And her taste buds weren’t over him yet.
“Dempsey got me into these.” Layne shook the tin. “They’re curiously sour.”
“Where is he?”
“On an eco-adventure tour in Bali with his parents. He’ll be back Friday. I can’t wait. He’s like the only cool guy I know.”
“He is?” Claire asked, picturing the blond, green-eyed chubby gamer who worked the lighting board for the Young Actors’ Program (YAP) at the community playhouse. “Isn’t he the one who presses dollar bills in his textbooks to make them vending-machine ready?”
“Yeah.” Layne beamed. “Isn’t that so smart of him?”
“The one Massie calls—”
“Humpty Dempsey?” Layne rolled her eyes. “Yeah. But trust me, he’s cool. You should go for him. It might take you mind off Ca—”
“I told you already, I’m on a boyfast.” Claire blurted, grateful for the excuse.
“Your loss.” Layne shrugged.
“Why don’t you go for him?”
“Onstage romances are cursed. We decided to keep our relationship professional, except at birthday parties and dances. It’s for the bes—”
“Ew!” yelped Krista Bassett, the pale blond who insisted her green contacts were natural. “This one’s called Safe Sex and it actually shows you how to put on a condom.” She whipped it at the guys, who jumped back, as if touching the pamphlet, even by accident, made them condom users.
Krista and her thick headband-wearing friends squealed in delight.
Claire slid her desk an inch closer to Layne’s, then muttered, “Massie was so right. Girls do act lame around boys.” She sighed. “My year is going to be so much better now that I’m on a boyfast. In my last class, I didn’t think about Cam for four whole minutes.”
“Wow, impressive.” Layne pulled a pink Hello Kitty pen out of her right hair puff and began drawing a daisy-shaped ring on her index finger.
“And I would have lasted to at least five if my French teacher hadn’t mentioned the color noir.”
Layne giggled. “What does the word for black have to do with anything?”
“Cam’s cologne is Drakkar Noir.”
“Ahhhh.” Layne returned to her finger art. “I’m sure it will get easier.”
Claire gripped her new charm bracelet. “Hope so.”
“Check this out!” called a curly-haired guy in camo cargos and a navy hoodie. He held open the gray metal door of the Hygiene Closet.
Krista and the Hairbands raced over to see what was inside.
A burst of male laughter erupted as Cargo Pants paraded around the room on his tiptoes. “Do you like my new jewels?” he asked in falsetto, while lovingly caressing the tampons that dangled from his ears. “Daddy brought them back from Pair-eeee.”
“Ewwwwww.” Krista and her crew covered their eyes in shame. “That’s soooo gross!”
Layne stuffed the pen back in her hair puff. “They’re acting like they’ve never seen a T before, even though Krista got her period at the sixth-grade carnival.” She lowered her face into her hands and shook her head back and forth in an I’m-so-over-this-place sort of way. “The classrooms are overcrowded, locker rooms are being raided, and the quality of our education is going to suffer big-time.”
Just then, a tiny travel-size sample of Secret deodorant flew across the room and nailed the naked female mannequin’s left boob. Everyone cracked up.
“Take your seats please!” shouted a big-breasted pregnant woman dressed in tight white Hudson jeans, a gold chain-link belt, and a white V-neck stretch T-shirt that strained to cover her many humps and bumps. If it hadn’t been for the dark brown roots and the overprocessed strawberry-blond Shakira curls, she could have passed for a heaping dollop of Cool Whip.
“I’m Gina James.” Her round butt bounced and shook as she hammered her name on the blackboard with a pink piece of chalk.
The boys raced for desks at the front of the room.
“But you can call me Gina.”
“Va,” snickered a boy in a green army cap.
“That’s Jeeeena.” She turned around and smile-blinded the first row with her bleached veneers. “Not Jy-nah.”
The boys burst out laughing.
Layne and Claire exchanged an eye-roll.
“It’s going to take a lot more to embarrass me than that.” She leaned against the front of her desk and crossed her ankles. “And probably very little to embarrass you.” She grinned. “So watch it, or I’ll have you stand next to Adam and Eve and make you name their body parts.”
Army Cap slid down the back of his seat.
“Since it’s a mixed-gender class this year, I thought it might make sense to teach you what happens when a man and a woman—” She was interrupted by a round of embarrassed giggles.
“No, not that.” Gina waved away the ridiculous thought. “I know you already know about that. I’m talking about what happens next.”
Everyone was silent. For the second time that morning, Claire’s mind was not on Cam. All she could think about was the brutally uncomfortable sex talk her parents had had with her, seconds after she’d downed her third slice of Baskin-Robbins mint chocolate-chip ice-cream cake on her ninth birthday. They cornered her at the picnic table once all the guests had left and asked her if she understood the dirty jokes her older cousin Debbie had been telling. She shook her head and stuffed handfuls of jelly beans in her mouth while they went into disgusting detail about what happens when two people love each other. Minutes after they were done, Claire puked green in her new sandbox and still, to this day, had no idea if it was the ice cream cake or her father saying “penis” that had made her so nauseated.
“This is what happens.” Gina reached under her shirt and pulled out a freakishly real-looking nude baby doll.
Everyone gasped and exchanged shocked glances while the teacher hurried into the hall and returned with a playpen filled with crying toy babies. She gently placed hers inside the pen. She smoothed out her shirt, which clung to her now-flat Alba-abs. “Since I am assuming you all know how babies are made …”
A few of the boys exchanged high fives.
“… I am going to spend this semester teaching you how to take care of them,” she announced over the mounting hysterics coming from the playpen. “Which is no fun at all, trust me. Especially when your husband and au pair leave you with the twins so they can go diving in Fiji.”
Gina twisted open her half-liter bottle of Poland Spring water and took a long, cleansing sip. “Lucky for you, these babies are synthetic. But other than that, they will look, act, sound, and smell like the real thing. They cry, go to the bathroom, sleep, and eat. They need to be held, changed, clothed, burped, and loved.” She shook a baby bottle filled with crumpled-up pieces of paper. “Each doll has been implanted with a microchip that not only makes the baby act like a baby, it sends data to my computer, telling me how you are responding to its needs. We will spend each class learning how to care for your children. The good news is, there will be no tests. I will know how you’re doing by logging onto my Mac.”
A sigh of relief blew through the room.
“The bad news is you will have to care for this baby all semester.”
Murmurs and moans came from every corner. But Claire welcomed the challenge. The project would definitely take her mind off—
The classroom door clicked open. Think of the devil!
Cam mouthed, “Sorry,” to Gina and hurried to the back of the class. Olivia Ryan entered behind him; the ivory cashmere hood on her tight, sleeveless sweaterdress was pulled down over her head like it might make her invisible and keep her from getting in trouble. She grabbed the empty seat beside Cam.
Claire could sense Layne glaring at her with pity. And suddenly it felt like the entire class was watching her, waiting for her to start bawling. Which she easily could have.
The temptation to turn around made Claire’s skin itch. She was desperate to study him. Study Olivia. Study them together. Desperate to know if the heat on the back of her neck meant he was eyeing her. Or maybe it simply meant she remembered how it felt when he did. But she wouldn’t dare look. Massie would have been proud.
Still, the possibility of being watched by Cam at this very second was creepy. It made Claire feel vulnerable and exposed and pathetic. Like naked Eve. But worse. Like naked Eve if naked Adam left her, alone and bare at the front of the room, so he could go hang with another, prettier mannequin.
Claire gripped her charm bracelet, begging it to give her strength.
“Names?” Gina demanded once the latecomers were seated.
Everyone turned around but Claire.
“Cam Fisher.”
His voice sounded different. Harder. Colder. Weighted with experiences she knew nothing about. More like a hotel, less like home.
“Annnnnnd?” Gina asked.
“Olivia Ryan.” She giggled nervously.
“Great.” Gina smiled. “Cam Fisher and Olivia Ryan, I expect to see you both here tomorrow morning at seven a.m. for detention.”
Layne looked at Claire as if they had just won a major lawsuit. But Claire hardly saw Cam and Olivia’s punishment as a victory. All the detention meant was that her ex-crush and his new crush would be alone in a room covered with naked pictures and pamphlets on sex. Um, who was really getting punished here?
Gina click-clacked up and down the rows. “Each girl will reach inside this bottle and pick out a piece of paper. Her partner’s name and baby’s gender will be on that piece of paper. And both will be yours to deal with for the rest of the semester. No trading. Believe me, if I could have traded partners, I would’ve. But unfortunately, life doesn’t work that way.”
Gina stuck an Avent bottle in front of Krista’s face. Trembling, Krista reached her silver-manicured fingers inside and pinched out a piece of paper. Slowly, she leaned back and opened it in front of her friend Mara, a stringy-haired brunette with a face full of freckles. They tittered with delight.
“As soon as you pick a name, please join your partner and select the appropriate baby from the playpen. From that moment on, you will sit together.”
Hands reached into the bottle, unions were formed, and babies were selected. One minute Claire prayed she’d pick Cam, and the next she prayed she wouldn’t. The thought of him raising a baby with someone else made her feel like puking green all over again. But raising a baby together would be too difficult. What if they rekindled their love? What if they didn’t? Either way, it would be impossible to get over him if they had to spend every second together. And that would jeopardize her place in the NPC, not to mention her sleep, her grades, and her entire digestive system. The best she could hope for was that Layne picked him. That way Claire could rest knowing he wasn’t falling for his partner. Nothing against Layne, but if Dempsey Solomon was her idea of cool, she’d never like Cam Fisher. He wasn’t nearly ew enough.
“Yes!” Olivia blurted. “Wha$$$[MS PAGE NO 55]$$$ssup, my baby daddy?” The unmistakable slap of a high five forced Claire to turn.
Cam and Olivia were palm to palm, gushing like perfect valentines. They strolled to the front of the class and hovered over the playpen, in search of the perfect baby girl.
Layne slapped Claire’s arm. “Don’t stare.”
“Next.” Gina waved the bottle in front of Layne’s face.
Claire stood, desperate for a secluded bathroom stall and a tube of waterproof mascara. “I have to get out of here.”
“Not now!” Layne whisper-begged. “Don’t you want to see who I get?”
Claire wiped her stinging eyes and sat while Layne fished out a name.
“Pete Ehrlich?” She searched the room until she spotted the only guy left in his seat. His dirty blond shoulder length hair was parted down the middle, framing the sides of his oily face like soiled motel curtains. Layne mimed barfing in her mouth and then flipped the paper. “What does ‘T’ mean?”
“Twins.” Gina snickered. “G’luck with that.”
“But—” Layne tried to protest, but Gina had already moved on to Claire.
Gina held out the bottle, her liquid brown eyes fixed on the back of the room, where Olivia and Cam were cracking each other up with baby-name suggestions.
“How about we call her the Pied Pooper?” Olivia suggested as she fanned the air.
Cam laughed, even though a silly joke like that was beneath him. At least it used to be.
Claire returned her attention to the bottle, which Gina was waving under her chin. “Um, Gina? It’s empty.”
“Huh?” The teacher’s gaze remained fixed on Cam and Olivia.
“There aren’t any names left.”
“I know!” Layne called from halfway across the room. She was balancing two crying babies on her lap while Pete picked a patch of dry skin off his droopy lower lip. “She can help us. We need it.”
“I’d rather you join those two in the back.” Gina tilted her head toward Cam and Olivia, who were in the middle of jamming their crying daughter into Olivia’s yellow Kate Spade tote. They twisted and turned the baby until her chin rested on the lip of the bag like a teacup Chihuahua’s. “They need help staying focused. Go be the stepmom.”
“But—”
“That’s not fair!” Layne shouted. “We have twins.”
“Don’t you ever use the F-word in my classroom,” Gina snapped. “As far as I’m concerned there’s no such thing.”
“Why don’t I become a single mother?” Claire tried, desperate for a way out.
“Cute.” Gina rubbed her ringless wedding finger. “Now go.” She pointed to the back of the room. “I have a few announcements to make before the bell rings.”
Claire’s forehead began sweating; her mouth went dry and her vision blurred. The sound of her thumping heart beat out her steps like a metronome. Leftright … leftright … leftright …
Without its steady tempo guiding her forward, Claire’s legs would have noodled, and she would have collapsed.
Cam and Olivia didn’t even look up when she approached. They were too busy marveling at how cute their baby looked with her bald head poking out of the bag.
“Hey, I know!” Olivia beamed. “Why don’t we call her Kate? After my tote.”
“Hmmmm.” Cam closed his green eye and his blue eye. “Kate, clean up your room. Kate, time for bed. Kate, turn off the video games,” he ordered with a playful smile, then opened his eyes. “Works for me.”
“Yippeeee!” Olivia offered her palm.
They high-fived again.
“Um, hey.” Claire stuffed her hands in the pockets of her khaki cargos to keep them from shaking.
The happy couple looked up as if she had woken them from a beautiful dream.
“Um, Gina told me to join your family and be the stepmom or something.”
“What?” Olivia swung her yellow bag back and forth like a wrecking ball, attempting to soothe the crying baby.
“I’m the stepmom.”
Claire side-peeked at Cam, who was watching the swaying bag in horror.
“Lemme try.” Claire reached for the baby and lifted her out of the canvas tote. “There you go. It’s okay. See? Everything is going to be fine,” Claire cooed, more to herself than the baby. Kate stopped crying.
“How’d you do that?” Olivia asked in a hushed tone.
Claire shrugged the way a modest person would. But on the inside she was dancing circles around Olivia chanting, I’m a better mother than you. I’m a better mother than you. …
And then Kate threw up a cottage cheese-like substance all over Claire’s back-to-school blouse.
Cam and Olivia burst out laughing, finally giving Claire the perfect excuse to run to the bathroom and sob.