to get out, get out, right now .
“I’ve never watched porn,” says Pete. I figure looking at a magazine isn’t the same thing as watching , so I don’t drink, and neither does Shawna.
“How?” I ask after Pete finishes his sip.
“There was an X-rated theater in Boston. A friend and I went. You were supposed to be eighteen to get in, but no one asked for our IDs or anything. It was pretty gnarly. There were guys jacking off in their seats.”
“Gross,” says Shawna. She swats at a mosquito that lands on Pete’s thigh.
“I’ve never gotten hard at school,” I say, and then immediately regret my words. They are going to think I’m so weird.
“Ew!” says Shawna, but she looks delighted as both Pete and I drink.
“Are you kidding?” she asks him. “When? How? Oh my God. Sick!”
“It happens,” says Pete, shrugging.
“Admit it,” says Shawna. “It was the first time you saw me walk into math class, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, right,” I say, the bourbon tea making me looser and looser.
“Well, it’s happened more than once,” says Pete. “But one time was pretty funny. Weird funny.”
“Tell! Tell! Tell!” demands Shawna.
“It was the day we were dissecting frogs in Dr. Floyd’s class. AndI really didn’t want to do it. I know it sounds dumb, but I had a pet frog when I was a kid and I just did not want to go slicing into a dead one. But I couldn’t figure out how to get out of it.
“I couldn’t object on moral grounds because Leslie Kaplan had already tried doing that and Dr. Floyd told her to ‘shut her mouth or get an F.’ I thought about trying to pass out but decided I couldn’t because A) I might actually hurt myself and B) I’d look like a total pussy. I wondered if maybe I could throw up, blame it on a bad burrito or something, and get sent to the nurse’s office during dissection time. All of those thoughts were churning through my mind when, bam ! Dr. Floyd plops a dead frog onto the little plastic cutting board in front of me and just like that, I’ve got a boner.”
“For Dr. Floyd?” asks Shawna, incredulous.
“No, for the frog! I mean, not for the frog, but because of the frog.”
Shawna laughs from some deep place inside her. “You are going to so regret having told me that story, Monsieur Froggie Boner.”
“We can’t help it,” I say. “They just pop up.”
“Literally,” says Pete, giving me an exaggerated, yuck-yuck wink.
“Do you have one right now?” asks Shawna. Her cheeks are red, probably from the alcohol, but she looks prettier than I’ve ever seen her.
“Are you kidding? No,” says Pete.
“I never went to the Granite Rock Laser Show Extravaganza,” I say.
We all three drink.
“Nice retreat,” Shawna says.
Pete slaps at a mosquito. When he lifts his hand there is a spot of bright blood on his forearm.
“I’m not retreating. I’m just playing the game. Oh, what I would give for an Oatmeal Caramelita right now!”
Shawna and Pete look at each other and start laughing hysterically. “I’m sorry, an oatmeal-caramel what-the-fuck?” asks Pete.
“Shut up. They’re good. Buttery and a little salty with chocolate chips and a layer of gooey caramel. You’re really missing out if you’ve never had one.”
“I’ve never had an Oatmeal Caramelita,” says Shawna.
“I thought you couldn’t say ‘I never’ if you really never have,” I say.
“My mom makes them,” she says.
She and I both drink.
“Then why’d you make fun of me for bringing them up?”
“Because you sounded like Gomer Pyle.”
Two purple lasers flash, indicating that the show is about to begin.
“Oh, goody, goody gumdrops!” says Pete. He kicks off his shoes and lies on his back in the middle of the blanket. I lie on one side of him, Shawna on the other. “Classical Gas” comes on over the speakers. I guess they’re starting mellow.
With “Classical Gas” the lasers just sort of swirl around, but when it ends and “Spirit in the
“I’ve never watched porn,” says Pete. I figure looking at a magazine isn’t the same thing as watching , so I don’t drink, and neither does Shawna.
“How?” I ask after Pete finishes his sip.
“There was an X-rated theater in Boston. A friend and I went. You were supposed to be eighteen to get in, but no one asked for our IDs or anything. It was pretty gnarly. There were guys jacking off in their seats.”
“Gross,” says Shawna. She swats at a mosquito that lands on Pete’s thigh.
“I’ve never gotten hard at school,” I say, and then immediately regret my words. They are going to think I’m so weird.
“Ew!” says Shawna, but she looks delighted as both Pete and I drink.
“Are you kidding?” she asks him. “When? How? Oh my God. Sick!”
“It happens,” says Pete, shrugging.
“Admit it,” says Shawna. “It was the first time you saw me walk into math class, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, right,” I say, the bourbon tea making me looser and looser.
“Well, it’s happened more than once,” says Pete. “But one time was pretty funny. Weird funny.”
“Tell! Tell! Tell!” demands Shawna.
“It was the day we were dissecting frogs in Dr. Floyd’s class. AndI really didn’t want to do it. I know it sounds dumb, but I had a pet frog when I was a kid and I just did not want to go slicing into a dead one. But I couldn’t figure out how to get out of it.
“I couldn’t object on moral grounds because Leslie Kaplan had already tried doing that and Dr. Floyd told her to ‘shut her mouth or get an F.’ I thought about trying to pass out but decided I couldn’t because A) I might actually hurt myself and B) I’d look like a total pussy. I wondered if maybe I could throw up, blame it on a bad burrito or something, and get sent to the nurse’s office during dissection time. All of those thoughts were churning through my mind when, bam ! Dr. Floyd plops a dead frog onto the little plastic cutting board in front of me and just like that, I’ve got a boner.”
“For Dr. Floyd?” asks Shawna, incredulous.
“No, for the frog! I mean, not for the frog, but because of the frog.”
Shawna laughs from some deep place inside her. “You are going to so regret having told me that story, Monsieur Froggie Boner.”
“We can’t help it,” I say. “They just pop up.”
“Literally,” says Pete, giving me an exaggerated, yuck-yuck wink.
“Do you have one right now?” asks Shawna. Her cheeks are red, probably from the alcohol, but she looks prettier than I’ve ever seen her.
“Are you kidding? No,” says Pete.
“I never went to the Granite Rock Laser Show Extravaganza,” I say.
We all three drink.
“Nice retreat,” Shawna says.
Pete slaps at a mosquito. When he lifts his hand there is a spot of bright blood on his forearm.
“I’m not retreating. I’m just playing the game. Oh, what I would give for an Oatmeal Caramelita right now!”
Shawna and Pete look at each other and start laughing hysterically. “I’m sorry, an oatmeal-caramel what-the-fuck?” asks Pete.
“Shut up. They’re good. Buttery and a little salty with chocolate chips and a layer of gooey caramel. You’re really missing out if you’ve never had one.”
“I’ve never had an Oatmeal Caramelita,” says Shawna.
“I thought you couldn’t say ‘I never’ if you really never have,” I say.
“My mom makes them,” she says.
She and I both drink.
“Then why’d you make fun of me for bringing them up?”
“Because you sounded like Gomer Pyle.”
Two purple lasers flash, indicating that the show is about to begin.
“Oh, goody, goody gumdrops!” says Pete. He kicks off his shoes and lies on his back in the middle of the blanket. I lie on one side of him, Shawna on the other. “Classical Gas” comes on over the speakers. I guess they’re starting mellow.
With “Classical Gas” the lasers just sort of swirl around, but when it ends and “Spirit in the
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