He had to be talking about sex. I mean, guys don’t ask you to go to Camp David with them just for pumpkin pie and board games, right?
RIGHT?
“I don’t know, David,” I said hesitantly. “I mean…I think…I think I’m going to have to think about this. This is happening awfully fast.”
But was it? I mean, really? Considering recent events in the make-out department? Wasn’t “a weekend at Camp David” just the next natural step?
“Come on,” David said, his hand creeping up my shirt. “Say yes.”
No fair. He was using his extremely talented fingers to manipulate my emotions. Or, er, not my emotions so much as my, um, appendages (SAT word meaning “body parts”).
“Say you’ll come,” he whispered.
I would just like to say that it’s very hard to know what the right thing to say is when a guy has his hand up your bra.
“I’ll come,” I heard myself whisper back.
How do I get myself into these things?
I mean, seriously.
Top ten places people commonly lose their virginity:
10. Backseat of his car, like Diane Court in Say Anything (although, considering it was with Lloyd Dobler, this probably wasn’t so bad).
9. Hotel after the prom. This is such a cliché. So many girls think there’s something romantic about losing it after the prom, apparently not realizing that the prom is just another thing the popular crowd invented to make the people in the non-popular crowd feel bad for not getting invited.
8. Your parents’ bed while they’re away for the weekend. Ew. EW. It’s your parents’ bed, the place where you (possibly) were conceived. GROSS.
7. HIS parents’ bed while they’re away for the weekend. And it won’t be at all embarrassing if his mother happens to find your Hello Kitty underwear at the bottom of her sheets.
6. In a tent at summer camp. Hello. It’s a tent. EVERYONE CAN HEAR YOU.
5. On a beach. Sand. It gets everywhere.
4. Anywhere out of doors at all. One word: Bugs.
3. His room. Um, okay, have you ever happened to catch a whiff of his socks? His whole room smells like that. Seriously. Even if he happens to live in the White House. And he can’t tell. He really can’t. It’s like his nostrils have gotten accustomed to it, the way yours have gotten accustomed to the smell of your own deodorant.
2. Your room. Oh, really? You’re going to Do It in front of Raggedy Ann and Mr. Snuffles? I think not.
And the number-one place people commonly lose their virginity:
1. Camp David. Well, okay, maybe this isn’t the place where most people lose their virginity. But it’s apparently the place where I’m going to lose mine.
3
The thing is, I have an ace in the hole (whatever that means. Something good, anyway).
And that ace is Mom and Dad.
Because NO WAY are Mom and Dad going to let me skip Thanksgiving at Grandma’s to go away with my boyfriend.
Even to Camp David.
Even with the president.
Which means no sex. Or Parcheesi, as David apparently calls it.
I won’t pretend like I am too upset about this. About my mom and dad not letting me go away with David. I mean, I’m not all that positive I even want to go. Okay, sure, I want to go when David’s hands are under various articles of my clothing…
But the minute they aren’t anymore, I have to admit, I’m not completely jazzed about the idea.
Because, let’s face it, sex is an awfully big step. It completely changes your relationship. Or at least it does in the books Lucy likes to read, the ones she leaves lying around next to the bathtub that I occasionally pick up to peruse when I’ve run out of Vonnegut or whatever. In those books, whenever the girl and the guy start Doing It, that’s it. That’s all they do. So long going to the movies. So long going to dinner. All they ever do when they get together is…well, It.
Maybe that’s just books and not how it is in real life. But how am I supposed to know for sure? It’s just that I’m not sure I’m ready for that.
So if—although when is more like it—Mom and Dad say I can’t go, it won’t be the worst thing in the world. That’s all I’m saying.
I dropped the bomb the minute I got back from life drawing. I decided that since Mom and Dad were just going to say no anyway, I might as well dispense with the beating-around-the-bush-and-dropping-of-subtle-hints thing. I mean, so what if they say no? David is going to have to learn to live with disappointment.
Mom and Dad were sitting there at the dining room table with Lucy, who looked moderately upset, for some reason. Probably her favorite contestant on American Idol got voted off or something.
“Mom, Dad,” I said, completely interrupting without remorse or preamble, “can I go to Camp David for Thanksgiving with, um, David”—I’d never realized until I said it just then that David has the same name as the presidential retreat. How weird is that? Plus, it sounds stupid to say—“and his parents?”
“Of course, honey,” my dad said.
It was my mom who went, “Oh, God, Sam. What did you do to your hair?”
“I dyed it,” I said. Meanwhile, my heart had totally skipped a beat. “What do you mean by ‘Of course, honey,’ Dad?”
“Is it permanent?” my mom asked.
“Semi,” I said to Mom. “Are you serious?” I asked Dad. “What about Grandma?”
“Grandma’ll get over it,” my dad said. Then he, too, became fixated on my hair. “What are you supposed to be?” he wanted to know. “One of those mango characters you’re always reading about?”
“Manga,” I corrected him. “What are you saying, exactly? That I can go?”
“Go where?”
“To Camp David. With David. For Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving weekend. OVERNIGHT.”
“I don’t see why not,” my mom said. “I assume his parents will be there? Well, fine. Next time you want to do something like this, Samantha, let me know beforehand. I’ll make an appointment with my colorist. That over-the-counter stuff can’t be good for your hair.”
And just like that, it was over. They both turned their attention back to Lucy and whatever her glitch was…probably that she had a cheerleading practice that conflicted with some college tour they wanted her to take. They had been on her case about narrowing down some choices for college for a while now.
Leaving me to be all, um, hello? Remember me? Your other daughter? The one whose boyfriend just asked her to spend Thanksgiving weekend playing Parcheesi with him? And you said yes? Uh-huh, THAT daughter?
I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it. My parents were letting me go away for the weekend with my boyfriend.
And okay, you could see why they would, on account of his dad, being the president.
But just because your dad is the president doesn’t mean you don’t want to play Parcheesi. I mean, had they ever thought of that?
Apparently not. Apparently, my parents are the most clueless people on the face of the planet.
And now, thanks to them, it looked like I was going to Camp David for Thanksgiving, to get an up close and personal look at my boyfriend’s inguinal ligament.
Okay. This isn’t happening.
And yet, apparently, it is.
I was still reeling from the shock of it all when Lucy came flitting past my bedroom door a little while later. I had my headphones on—I was listening to Tragic Kingdom, in the hopes that Gwen’s assurance that she’s “just a girl in the world” would soothe my frazzled soul—so all I saw were Lucy’s lips moving for a minute. When she didn’t give up and go away after a while, I pulled my headphones off and went, in a voice unfriendly enough to startle my dog, Manet, from her sleep, “What?”
“That’s what I was asking you,” Lucy said. “Why do you look as if you just found out John Mayer died?”