Forbidden Fruit by Erica Spindler

I am.”
    â€œI’m two years older than you.”
    â€œBut I’m a boy.”
    She glared up at him. “Big whip. I’m still older than you are.”
    He stuck out his lower lip. “You promised.”
    â€œOh, all right. But don’t blame me.” Glory handed him the book. He looked at the page, his expression blank. “What?”
    â€œThat,” she said, reaching up and pointing.
    He tipped his head, studying the image. “What?” he said again.
    Cheeks on fire, Glory stood on tiptoe and pointed to the exact place in question, the rolled kernels of flesh at the apex of the man’s thighs. “That!”
    â€œYou mean, his penis?”
    Glory stared at him aghast. A penis? It was called a penis?
    â€œI have one, too. All boys do.”
    All boys had a…penis. Dumbfounded, she climbed back onto the chair and took the book from Danny’s hands. Admittedly, she’d had little contact with boys. She attended an all-girls school, and other than Danny and a couple of distant cousins, she had never been allowed to spend time alone with boys.
    Her mother had told her that was because nice girls didn’t associate with boys. But Glory knew that other boys and girls went to school together, that they played together. She had seen them over the estate wall, she had seen them get on the streetcar together, had seen them riding their bicycles, side by side, down the avenue. And she had listened to the other girls at school talk, girls who she had always thought were nice.
    Glory frowned. But still, it smarted that little Danny, just out of kindergarten, was privy to this important information. It smarted, too, that he acted so casual about it, as if everyone knew about penises. Everyone but her, that was.
    Danny was a boy, Glory remembered suddenly. That’s why he knew. He probably had no idea what girls had. She drew herself up to her full forty-eight inches and told him so.
    â€œGirls have vaginas,” he said, nodding his head for emphasis.
    She made a choked sound. “How do you know that?”
    â€œMy mom told me. Boys have penises, girls have vaginas. That’s the way God made us, special and unique.”
    She drew her eyebrows together, confused and annoyed. “Then, it’s not a secret?”
    â€œHeck, no.” He shook his head. “Everybody knows about ’em. Well, almost everybody,” he amended. “And my friend Nathan, he calls his penis a hooter.”
    â€œHooter,” she repeated, trying to adjust to all this new information. Why, she wondered, had her mother kept this from her? And why, when she had pointed to the man’s penis at the museum and asked about it, had her grand-mère acted so weird, then dragged her off? It made no sense.
    Glory looked at Danny, an idea coming to her. “Can I see yours?” she asked, surprising herself. “I mean, I’ve never seen a…a penis before.” The word felt strange on her tongue, and she blushed. “If you show me your penis, I’ll show you my vagina.”
    â€œI don’t know,” he said, pursing his lips. “You might make fun of me. An’ what if we get caught?”
    She shook her head. “I wouldn’t make fun, I promise. You’re my friend, and that wouldn’t be nice. And we’re not going to get caught. I just want to see.”
    He thought a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”
    He pulled down his shorts and underpants. Glory made a sound of surprise and crouched in front of him to get a better look. He did have one. But it looked different than the one in the art book, and not like fruit or a cannoli at all. She narrowed her eyes and leaned closer, studying it. It was much smaller. And bumpier. Like a bumpy little cocktail frank.
    A horrified gasp broke the quiet. Glory jerked her head up. Her mother stood in the doorway, her face pinched and white, her eyes wide and wild-looking. Even from across