have bad luck just so I could have good luck.
Before I could scream, the fog opened more and I saw only the top of the head on the person carrying Macy. It was even more wet and dripping drops down through her hair. I realized she was kissing the face underneath it.
Tony Clementi was swatting her foot and saying, "Told ya nothin' would happen."
8
I trudged up to the bus terminal the next morning, trying not to limp from my bruised hipbone, but the pain made my eyes water. I was still very sure I would not go with Lani. But the bruise where I rolled with Tony was huge. My heart had fallen through the floor when I saw it that morning.
Leukemia bruise.
It scared me enough to make me go to the bus station, hoping for something to overcome my fears about going.
It would have to be miraculous, because the whole concept of this trip was freaking me out. I was getting on my first bus
and
cutting school. My mom had gotten stuck next to a drunken horn-toad on a bus trip to the casinos once. She forbid me to ever get on a bus. If we got caught, I'd hear from all four of my mother's sisters, who would want to know what drugs I was on. Beyond that, Lani had talked about being able to get answers right away at a research clinic, and I was freaked by how fast my life could come crashing down.
I saw him first thing when I came up to the Hackett bus terminal. It's just a huge tin roof on steel legs, with four benches underneath. He sat on a bench, staring off to the side at a Greyhound pulling out. Its sign read, NEW YORK CITY/ATLANTIC CITY .
He looked funny to me again—hair of a girl; shoulders of a guy; hands of a girl, folded across the chest of a guy; crossed, skinny legs dangling army boots. It seemed strange that all these mismatched parts could be topped off with rosy, Indian-like skin and deep chocolate eyes. The sight stopped me cold, but I trudged on after a minute.
Lani finally looked at me, and I could see his eyebrows shoot up. He shook his head, giving me a "dad" look, despite his dimples showing up.
"Don't pass judgment." I eased myself down beside him.
"Okay. But, uhm, your bangs are standing straight up in three spots. Looks like a crown."
I could read amusement on his face as I tried to flatten them for the tenth time since last night. "It's a butterfly bandage that's caught in my bangs," I said, feeling humiliated.
"Have some fun last night?"
"I ...
yeah.
It was fun. Nothing happened. To anyone except me. I'm the bad-luck queen. I ... uhm..."
I looked for the words to tell him I was too freaked out—I wanted to go home and crash out on my bed as soon as my mom left for work. He was staring at that Atlantic City bus for all he was worth. It pulled onto Hackett Boulevard. He let out a sigh, like he was relieved.
"A few people on that bus just got off to use the soda machine, take a potty break. I saw some guy I hadn't seen in ... a lot of years."
There was an urgency in his voice that made me stare. "Old friend?"
"Not exactly. It was some guy from one of the schools I used to go to. He was, like, three years older than me. Can I ask you something? Did you know what
oral sex
was in eighth grade?"
He leaned over and almost whispered the
oral sex
part. I could feel my eyebrows shooting up, scrunching my butterfly. His face turned kind of red, like he was embarrassed by the terminology.
"Yeah. Didn't you?"
He shook his head.
I had to laugh in spite of myself. "Everyone knows that by eighth grade."
Then I remembered him telling me how he avoided the street corners and locker rooms and spent more time in the library. I looked him up and down, thinking,
How in hell could somebody understand the theory of relativity but not know about oral sex?
"Anyway, the guy who told me what oral sex was just got off that bus for a minute. I really, really wish I hadn't seen him. He used to flip out on me in the school yard, you know,
'You're gay, you stupid faggot,'
and then if he saw me alone, he'd try to get me to do
Before I could scream, the fog opened more and I saw only the top of the head on the person carrying Macy. It was even more wet and dripping drops down through her hair. I realized she was kissing the face underneath it.
Tony Clementi was swatting her foot and saying, "Told ya nothin' would happen."
8
I trudged up to the bus terminal the next morning, trying not to limp from my bruised hipbone, but the pain made my eyes water. I was still very sure I would not go with Lani. But the bruise where I rolled with Tony was huge. My heart had fallen through the floor when I saw it that morning.
Leukemia bruise.
It scared me enough to make me go to the bus station, hoping for something to overcome my fears about going.
It would have to be miraculous, because the whole concept of this trip was freaking me out. I was getting on my first bus
and
cutting school. My mom had gotten stuck next to a drunken horn-toad on a bus trip to the casinos once. She forbid me to ever get on a bus. If we got caught, I'd hear from all four of my mother's sisters, who would want to know what drugs I was on. Beyond that, Lani had talked about being able to get answers right away at a research clinic, and I was freaked by how fast my life could come crashing down.
I saw him first thing when I came up to the Hackett bus terminal. It's just a huge tin roof on steel legs, with four benches underneath. He sat on a bench, staring off to the side at a Greyhound pulling out. Its sign read, NEW YORK CITY/ATLANTIC CITY .
He looked funny to me again—hair of a girl; shoulders of a guy; hands of a girl, folded across the chest of a guy; crossed, skinny legs dangling army boots. It seemed strange that all these mismatched parts could be topped off with rosy, Indian-like skin and deep chocolate eyes. The sight stopped me cold, but I trudged on after a minute.
Lani finally looked at me, and I could see his eyebrows shoot up. He shook his head, giving me a "dad" look, despite his dimples showing up.
"Don't pass judgment." I eased myself down beside him.
"Okay. But, uhm, your bangs are standing straight up in three spots. Looks like a crown."
I could read amusement on his face as I tried to flatten them for the tenth time since last night. "It's a butterfly bandage that's caught in my bangs," I said, feeling humiliated.
"Have some fun last night?"
"I ...
yeah.
It was fun. Nothing happened. To anyone except me. I'm the bad-luck queen. I ... uhm..."
I looked for the words to tell him I was too freaked out—I wanted to go home and crash out on my bed as soon as my mom left for work. He was staring at that Atlantic City bus for all he was worth. It pulled onto Hackett Boulevard. He let out a sigh, like he was relieved.
"A few people on that bus just got off to use the soda machine, take a potty break. I saw some guy I hadn't seen in ... a lot of years."
There was an urgency in his voice that made me stare. "Old friend?"
"Not exactly. It was some guy from one of the schools I used to go to. He was, like, three years older than me. Can I ask you something? Did you know what
oral sex
was in eighth grade?"
He leaned over and almost whispered the
oral sex
part. I could feel my eyebrows shooting up, scrunching my butterfly. His face turned kind of red, like he was embarrassed by the terminology.
"Yeah. Didn't you?"
He shook his head.
I had to laugh in spite of myself. "Everyone knows that by eighth grade."
Then I remembered him telling me how he avoided the street corners and locker rooms and spent more time in the library. I looked him up and down, thinking,
How in hell could somebody understand the theory of relativity but not know about oral sex?
"Anyway, the guy who told me what oral sex was just got off that bus for a minute. I really, really wish I hadn't seen him. He used to flip out on me in the school yard, you know,
'You're gay, you stupid faggot,'
and then if he saw me alone, he'd try to get me to do
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