I waggled my head back.
Our mouths weren’t even open, and there was too much spit.
I didn’t want to touch his pimply neck, so I put my hands on the outside edge of his shoulders. He smelled okay, like toothpaste, but when I opened my eyes for a second I saw that big piggy nose right next to my face.
Basically, it was like going to the dentist. Something unpleasant was happening around my mouth, someone else’s face was too close to mine, and the best thing to do was to shut my eyes, breathe through my nose and think about something else. Was my mother sending me a care package? Would she remember I didn’t like potato chips with ridges in them? What color would I glaze my pottery mug in arts and crafts tomorrow?
After what seemed like seven hours, someone yelled, “Time’s up!” and Michael pulled away. “You’re a good kisser,” he whispered, and I felt relieved, even though when I thought about it I knew it couldn’t possibly be true because I had been thinking about pottery and potato chips, waggling my head occasionally and wishing it was over. But at least he wouldn’t go telling his friends I was disgusting.
I managed to get out of playing Spin the Bottle after that. With Gracia mad at me, I became a bit of a leper anyway, so the pressure was off. The next night, I said I was tired, and nobody yanked me out of bed and made me go. I avoided looking Michael in the eye, worked on my pottery and counted the days (ten) until I could go home.
I didn’t kiss anyone else for a year and a half.
I was still a very inexperienced kisser when things started up with Jackson, but once we started going together, kissing became such a normal part of my day that I didn’t even think about it—except that I stopped chewing bubble gum and started chewing mint. Jackson felt me up a lot too. I bought two new bras that clasped in front, so he could open them more easily.
But that’s all. It never occurred to me to do anything more. Jackson seemed happy. He never tried to get his hand down my pants or even take my shirt all the way off.
So imagine my feelings. It was Monday morning—thirteen days after Kim and Jackson got together. I had had the panic attacks, started seeing Doctor Z and become a leper thanks to the Spring Fling debacle and the Xerox horror (don’t worry, you’ll find out all about them soon enough).
I was walking up the steps to school, minding my own business, having done nothing all weekend except watch movies on video with my mother, and Katarina called my name, which she hardly ever does. She was full of news. At her party that weekend8 she and Heidi had walked into the guest room and found Kim and Jackson on the sofa with all their clothes off. Heidi was devastated. Katarina and Ariel were so mad at Kim. Could I believe the nerve? It was so uncool to do that at a party where Heidi was, like she had no feelings at all—and right after Jackson had broken up with me, too.9
“They were naked?” I said, almost choking.
“Completely. His thing was out and everything!” Katarina said. “I think I might have even seen it! Of course,” she added, “you don’t need my description of that.” 10
“What did they do when you came in?”
“We shut the door again, right away,” said Katarina, shrugging. “And like an hour later they came out. Everyone kind of laughed about it, except Heidi was crying in my hot tub and Ariel had to drive her home.11 Anyway, I thought you’d want to know.”12
“Thanks,” I said.13
Katarina hiked her backpack over her shoulder and headed off in the direction of the gym. I stood there, watching her go.
Why did I say thanks, just then? Stuff about Kim and Jackson pressing their naked bodies together was the last thing I wanted to hear.
Naked, naked, naked.
My heart was pounding. I was having trouble breathing. I sat down on the steps and tried to take a deep breath and think about a peaceful meadow and butterflies flitting about happily.
It didn’t help.
I jumped up and ran after Katarina. “Listen, don’t tell me that stuff anymore,” I said, when I caught up with her.
“What?” she said, looking shocked.
“You’re acting like you’re being so nice and informative, but you’re making other people feel like crap.”
“Don’t get all upset about it.”
“I can’t help it,” I said. “If you stopped to think for one second, wouldn’t you guess that telling me about Kim and Jackson would make me insane? That it would poison my whole day and possibly my entire future life with horrible images of nude bodies and penises that I don’t want to think about?”
Katarina sighed. “Don’t jump all over me ’cause Jackson broke up with you,” she said. “It’s not my fault.”
“It’s your fault I have to think about the two of them naked,” I yelled. “Just leave me off your penis information list from now on.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “You can be sure I will.”
She turned and went into the gym.
I felt like an asshole.
But hey: My heart rate was normal, and my lungs felt free and clear.
I took a deep breath.
1 Well, except for Finn Murphy. Kim was his first—and he was fifteen when that happened.
“You devirginized him!” shouted Cricket, when Kim told us about Finn, back in October.
“He started it,” Kim giggled. “It wasn’t me doing anything to him.”
“But you were his first! He’ll remember you his whole life,” laughed Cricket. “Blueberry’s first kiss.”
“Was he good?” Nora wanted to know.
“Hey,” interrupted Cricket. “If he doesn’t know how to kiss yet, I can help you. Because Kaleb was like the worst kisser ever. He slobbered all over me and stuck his tongue in way too far.”
“Gross. What did you do?” I asked.
“I trained him!” giggled Cricket. “Only I didn’t complete the program because he dumped me before I could finish.”
“What was the training?”
“Oh, it was a whole regime,” said Cricket. “Kissing boot camp.”
“Did you tell him he was a bad kisser?”
“No. You have to be subtle. Like, I held on to his head to prevent him jamming his tongue down my throat, grabbing his ears almost. And I tried to kiss him lying down on a couch, so I could be on top. You get a lot less slobber that way.”
“Oh, my god, he must have been awful,” said Nora.
“You cannot imagine the horror.” Cricket rolled her eyes dramatically.
“What else?”
“I kissed his neck a lot, but you can’t go on like that forever. Eventually the lips have to get involved.”
“What else?”
“I can’t tell you,” snickered Cricket. “It’s private. Anyway, I want to hear about the stud-muffin.”
“Oh, he was good right out of the starting gate,” said Nora. “We know that already.”
“Is that true?” I asked Kim.
Kim nodded with a smug, happy look on her face. “No training required. He’s a natural talent.”2 I exaggerate, of course. We went on hikes and did plenty of yarn projects. What I mean is, all we thought about was Spin the Bottle. No one cared about Capture the Flag, or the Rainier Mountain Singers, or woodland safety, or anything else we had been interested in the year before.3 What were the non-Spin the Bottle boys doing? Were they just not interested? Were they totally invulnerable to peer pressure? And why does it seem like there are always more girls than boys in these situations? Girls are always having to dance with each other, or they like the same boy, or they went out with the same boy. Just once, I’d like to see a situation where there were too many boys.4 Oh. That situation with too many boys? I have seen it. It was my actual life at the end of sophomore year. And it was not pretty.