my mouth, gross and eel-like. Our teeth were clacking together. He pressed against me harder, and it was crushing. It hurt. I gasped, but the weight of him was too much, and his mouth was hard and mean.
He bit me.
I pulled away, a tiny bead of blood oozing on my lower lip — and that was when I began to cry. Jimmy laughed a hard, mean laugh. His eyes were narrow and hard.
“Don’t worry,” he said coldly. “I’m not going to date rape you or anything.” He laughed again, another hoarse, empty laugh. “Yeah, right.”
He sprang off the bed. My eyes were spilling hot, fat tears. He turned his back to me and changed the music. There was a knocking on the bedroom door.
ANTHROPOLOGICAL
OBSERVATION #11:
A public weeping and gnashing of teeth represent the traditional ceremonial climax of the high school bash
.
Jimmy opened the door. I was so jangled that for a moment I couldn’t process anything. I took two deep breaths, and then my anthropological training kicked in — my observational skills, distancing me from the scene. I was merely an observer. And it was Margo standing there. She looked beautiful.
ANTHROPOLOGIST’S NOTE:
A man in rural Zimbabwe often still must pay a
roora
, or bride price, typically ranging between five and ten cows, to the family of the woman he marries. The way she looked tonight, Margo would have gone for eleven cows at least.
From where she stood in the doorway, she couldn’t see me. I sat crying silently.
“Hey,” she said, leaning against the doorway and jutting out one hip. “Casey said you wanted to ask me something.”
Jimmy looked at Margo, then back at me, and then back at her again. And Margo saw me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked her, sniffling. “You told me you were sick.”
She hiccupped and turned her head away. “I felt, uhh, better,” my former best friend responded, “so I went to dinner with TR and Casey and Tabitha. You’d already left, Janice. I called your house. And we hadn’t really even planned to come by the party. It was a last-minute thing.”
“You could have called my cell phone,” I said.
Margo held up her hands in a gesture of exaggerated helplessness.
I wanted to throw up. First Jimmy had scorned me, and now my best friend had gone to dinner with all my sworn enemies? I couldn’t decide if I was more disgusted by Margo’s deceit, or by how impossibly clichéd it was — ditching me for a chance to hang out with the Beautiful Rich Girls. And then she happened to show up at Jimmy Denton’s bedroom door?! In the history of classic teen betrayals, how utterly unoriginal.
I swallowed and said the following words to Margo very carefully:
“I hate you.”
She looked at me for a few seconds. “Whatever,” she finally said.
Jimmy walked out of the room. Margo and I just stared at each other. My head was starting to hurt. I looked at the door and saw Margo wobble a little in her heels.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Dumbly, I followed her back downstairs, back to the blurredglow of loud voices near the bonfire. As we went by the keg, someone handed Margo another cup of beer, which she drank quickly. We passed faces I knew. A bunch of soccer guys chatting up two cheerleaders. Some Student Council Types and a few Softball Huskies ambling over for more drinks. A freshman in a pink skirt vomiting quietly by the bushes. Across the bonfire, Jimmy Denton hooked his arm possessively around some other nondescript girl in a skimpy dress. Everything flickered with firelight, the images drifting in and out of focus. It was unbearably sad.
Tripp Duffy, the captain of the MHS baseball team, sidled up to Margo and me, spitting dark tobacco juice on the ground between us.
“Ladies. You’re lookin’ lovely this evening.”
Margo and I stared at him. Tripp was good-ol'-boy handsome, with a nose slightly crooked from a baseball that had hit him in the face, and the collar of his pink shirt popped.
“My buddies and I, we were
He bit me.
I pulled away, a tiny bead of blood oozing on my lower lip — and that was when I began to cry. Jimmy laughed a hard, mean laugh. His eyes were narrow and hard.
“Don’t worry,” he said coldly. “I’m not going to date rape you or anything.” He laughed again, another hoarse, empty laugh. “Yeah, right.”
He sprang off the bed. My eyes were spilling hot, fat tears. He turned his back to me and changed the music. There was a knocking on the bedroom door.
ANTHROPOLOGICAL
OBSERVATION #11:
A public weeping and gnashing of teeth represent the traditional ceremonial climax of the high school bash
.
Jimmy opened the door. I was so jangled that for a moment I couldn’t process anything. I took two deep breaths, and then my anthropological training kicked in — my observational skills, distancing me from the scene. I was merely an observer. And it was Margo standing there. She looked beautiful.
ANTHROPOLOGIST’S NOTE:
A man in rural Zimbabwe often still must pay a
roora
, or bride price, typically ranging between five and ten cows, to the family of the woman he marries. The way she looked tonight, Margo would have gone for eleven cows at least.
From where she stood in the doorway, she couldn’t see me. I sat crying silently.
“Hey,” she said, leaning against the doorway and jutting out one hip. “Casey said you wanted to ask me something.”
Jimmy looked at Margo, then back at me, and then back at her again. And Margo saw me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked her, sniffling. “You told me you were sick.”
She hiccupped and turned her head away. “I felt, uhh, better,” my former best friend responded, “so I went to dinner with TR and Casey and Tabitha. You’d already left, Janice. I called your house. And we hadn’t really even planned to come by the party. It was a last-minute thing.”
“You could have called my cell phone,” I said.
Margo held up her hands in a gesture of exaggerated helplessness.
I wanted to throw up. First Jimmy had scorned me, and now my best friend had gone to dinner with all my sworn enemies? I couldn’t decide if I was more disgusted by Margo’s deceit, or by how impossibly clichéd it was — ditching me for a chance to hang out with the Beautiful Rich Girls. And then she happened to show up at Jimmy Denton’s bedroom door?! In the history of classic teen betrayals, how utterly unoriginal.
I swallowed and said the following words to Margo very carefully:
“I hate you.”
She looked at me for a few seconds. “Whatever,” she finally said.
Jimmy walked out of the room. Margo and I just stared at each other. My head was starting to hurt. I looked at the door and saw Margo wobble a little in her heels.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Dumbly, I followed her back downstairs, back to the blurredglow of loud voices near the bonfire. As we went by the keg, someone handed Margo another cup of beer, which she drank quickly. We passed faces I knew. A bunch of soccer guys chatting up two cheerleaders. Some Student Council Types and a few Softball Huskies ambling over for more drinks. A freshman in a pink skirt vomiting quietly by the bushes. Across the bonfire, Jimmy Denton hooked his arm possessively around some other nondescript girl in a skimpy dress. Everything flickered with firelight, the images drifting in and out of focus. It was unbearably sad.
Tripp Duffy, the captain of the MHS baseball team, sidled up to Margo and me, spitting dark tobacco juice on the ground between us.
“Ladies. You’re lookin’ lovely this evening.”
Margo and I stared at him. Tripp was good-ol'-boy handsome, with a nose slightly crooked from a baseball that had hit him in the face, and the collar of his pink shirt popped.
“My buddies and I, we were
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