Oh, yeah. Your boobs look good in that shirt, btw.
Do you ever think about anything else?
Sorry, I didn’t catch that. I was busy imagining my girlfriend with her clothes off.
“Is he nervous?” Lys asks.
I laugh. “No, I don’t think so.”
You never seem to get nervous. You take all the attention in stride, like it’s your due. I think you’ve probably always been this way. Taking things as your due, I mean.
The first act comes on, a group of three girls singing an old Destiny’s Child song. I’m annoyed by their general lack of clothing. Wonder if any of them flirted with you backstage. Wonder if you flirted back.
“Skanks,” Lys mutters under her breath.
I wish I could say I didn’t laugh, but I did. Nat hits her, though.
“You’re the worst feminist ever,” she hisses. “Didn’t you read The Vagina Monologues?”
Lys flashes an evil grin. “Let the record show that Nat just said vagina—in public.”
When you and the rest of Evergreen go onstage, the entire school’s energy spikes.
That’s my boyfriend, I think, proud, as guys whistle and girls scream. I’m not jealous of the girls this time—you’re mine.
You’re always hot, but with your electric guitar in your hand and your hair in your face as you strut across the stage, you are gorgeous. You really do look like a rock star.
When you get to the center mic, you pull the guitar strap over your shoulder and when you do, your Ramones shirt cinches up a little and for a second I see a swath of skin. Skin that I’ve touched, kissed, licked. Those narrow hip bones, unexpectedly delicate.
You pull your mic closer, then look out over the audience. And I know you’re looking for me. I wave and your face breaks out into a grin and you wave back. It’s like having a neon sign over my head that says GIRLFRIEND. I love it. You’re wearing the necklace I made you—a guitar pick strung on a braided leather choker—and your fingers touch it once, for luck maybe. For me.
You guys launch right into a cover of my favorite song, “California Dreamin’.” You didn’t tell the guys why you chose it, but I know why and it’s the sweetest, most romantic thing anyone has done for me. It’s a great cover—true to the song, but its own thing entirely. You guys went for a real California vibe—Sublime mixed with the Chili Peppers, with a reggae riff here, punked-out Green Day bass there. It’s all my favorite things mixed into one. Every now and then you look out and sing to me, your mouth close to the mic.
I hold my breath the entire time and I know I’m not the only one. I watch your hands on the strings, the way the muscles and tendons strain against the skin. The way you seem possessed by the music, how it takes you and you let it. You launch into a guitar solo filled with longing, desire, a raw need I see in your eyes every time we shed our clothes like second skins.
The way you growl the part Well, I got down on my knees and I pretend to pray is so sexy I can’t stand it. The audience erupts and you smile a little, the same smile you get after we’ve messed around. Satisfied. A knot of longing builds in my belly and I imagine running backstage, grabbing you, and taking you into the nearest empty classroom.
When the song finishes you get a standing ovation—the only one of the afternoon. I scream and wave my hands as the band shuffles offstage, suddenly awkward boys again—the potion of the music has worn off. You’re different, though. You just walk off, like the whole thing doesn’t matter anymore now that the music’s stopped. You don’t even look at the audience again, even though you’re the real deal—no potion necessary.
I feel the lack of you deep in my chest, just like I always do when a door shuts behind you, when I hear the dial tone in my ear.
Later, we go swimming at your house. Everyone’s there, including your mom, whose job, it seems, is to keep the pizza coming. We go to your room after everyone leaves. Your parents tell us to leave the door open and we do, but it doesn’t matter because they’re in the living room watching a movie and the last time you went by there to grab us some drinks from the fridge, they were asleep.
“You were amazing today,” I say against your lips.
I’m sitting on your lap, straddling you, and your hands are busy untying my bikini top. You don’t say anything—compliments make you bashful—but you sing “California Dreamin’” softly as your lips travel down my neck toward my chest. My arms are wrapped around you, my hands in your hair, and I slowly sit up on my knees so that your hand can slip more easily into my bikini bottom.
“I bought some condoms,” you whisper in my ear. “Just in case…”
“We … can’t … Your parents…”
I gasp and you laugh softly as you lay me on the bed and unbuckle your pants. We lie against each other, naked. You press closer to me.
“Are you sure?” you whisper.
I want to lose my virginity to you. I just don’t know when the right time will be. I think I’ll just know. I’ll feel it in my bones.
“Not when your parents are home,” I whisper.
I find the Grace inside me who’s got her head on straight. But she looks nothing like she used to. I roll you so you’re on your back and then I slowly make my way down your torso, past that patch of skin I coveted when you were onstage. Lower and lower.
Your hands snake through my hair and I smile against your skin, feeling powerful, feeling like I’m the only thing that matters to you right now. I’m finally the most important thing in the world to someone.
When it’s over, I wipe my mouth and look down at you. I wish I could paint. No, I wish I could sculpt. I want to turn you into clay, run my hands along every part of you. I want you under my fingernails and stuck on my skin. I want to know exactly what you’re made of, what’s inside.
I look at you and look at you and look at you.
*
WHEN I SEE you in your cap and gown, I cry.
I’m sandwiched between Nat and Lys and they both, as if by silent agreement, wrap an arm around me. This makes me cry harder.
You give me a tiny wave from where the seniors are lining up behind the bleachers.
Lys tries to redirect my attention. “How are things with your parents?”
“They’re still pissed as hell at me,” I say, wiping my eyes.
Which is why I’m grounded from seeing you all summer, your last summer before college.
You tap my window and I’m at my bedroom door seconds later. Underneath my skirt I’m wearing the lacy underwear you bought me.
I’m sliding back the glass door when it happens:
“What the hell are you doing?”
The Giant. Oh god, to be caught by HIM of all people.
My hand falls from the door handle. Your face is nearly as white as the stage makeup for mimes.
I turn and say the first lie I can think of.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I called Gavin. We were just gonna hang out on the porch and talk until I got sleepy.”
“You better get home right now, Gavin,” The Giant says. He turns to me. “Congratulations. You just lost your summer.”
“At least they didn’t ground me from you guys,” I say.