Be careful what you wish for, because getting it can be a complete debacle.5 At the camp Kim and Nora went to (“too expensive,” said my father; “too establishment,” said my mother), these were two separate games. Spin the Bottle was just for kissing, and you did it right in front of everyone. And Seven Minutes in Heaven started with people picking names out of a hat and then they went into a closet for the seven minutes. So not only did I have my first kiss with Michael Malone, who grossed me out—if we had been playing the game right, it never would have happened.6 I completely fail the pencil test, now. My pencil stays right up there, tucked beneath my boob. But that summer, my chest was only just starting to grow, so my pencil fell on the floor.7 I wonder if I should look her up on the Internet and send her an e-maiclass="underline" “Dear Gracia Rodriguez. I am sorry I told everyone about you and the pencil test. My own boobs are now saggy and I feel your pain. I never should have done it. Please forgive me, Ruby Oliver.”8 What party? Further proof of my leprosy.
Not only that, she told me about it as if I wouldn’t even be remotely hurt at not being invited. Like it was a matter of course that I wouldn’t even have known about it! Ag.
She should have broken it to me gently. I had only been a leper for nine days. It’s not like I was used to it yet.9 What business did Heidi have being devastated about Jackson and Kim? By this point it had been six months since their two-month thing. And even if Heidi was carrying a torch, which I guess she’s entitled to do, why would Katarina bother telling me about it? It only made me feel even worse, if that was humanly possible. There was Heidi, all upset about a boy she went with ages ago, with all these friends supporting her and being angry on her behalf. And here’s me, the really injured party, and no one worrying at all.10 What? She thought I’d seen Jackson’s thing, as in penis thing? And she thought I’d like to hear that she thinks I’ve seen it?
I swear, I have no understanding of other human beings. Being a leper suits me perfectly, if my only other choice is being friends with Katarina.11 Heidi must have seen it! Otherwise, why would Katarina think I had seen it? She must think penis viewing is the norm for Jackson’s girlfriends.12 So Jackson was getting naked with Heidi and with Kim. But not with me.13 Why not with me? Did he not like me as much as those other girls? Was I less attractive than them? Ruby Oliver, not the kind of girl you’d want touching your penis. Ruby Oliver, not exciting enough to try and get her pants off. Ruby Oliver, good enough to kiss, but not good enough to get naked with.
It just kills me.
Not that I wanted to, but why not me?
10. Angelo (but it was just one date.)
Here is why I’m now a leper. I went to the Spring Fling with Jackson, even though he broke up with me before it and was already going out with Kim. So sue me. My ex-boyfriend that I was madly in love with wanted to take me to a dance, and it was only the second formal dance I was going to with a boy, and I had already bought a dress, and who knows? Maybe he’d see me in it and realize he made a big mistake. Really, I think almost any girl in my shoes would have done the same.
Here’s the other formal dance I had been to: Homecoming at Garfield High, which is the public school we always drive past on the way to the Chinese restaurant my dad likes the best. I went because my mom’s friend Juana (the playwright with the thirteen dogs and four ex-husbands) has a son who goes to Garfield: Angelo.1 He’s a year older than me. I had only met him three or four times before, at Juana’s dinner parties. I think he spends a lot of time at his father’s house, so he’s hardly ever at Juana’s when my mom and I go over there.
Angelo seemed all right. He had big brown eyes and curly black hair; sort of a flat, round face. Serene. He dressed kind of hip-hop, which no one does at Tate.
At the dinner parties, we generally got up from the table early and watched TV. He never said too much, probably because Juana is always talk-talk-talking, and also because no one can ever hear at her house anyway, what with all the barking going on.
So Garfield was having a homecoming dance, and I guess Angelo needed a date, which is a little odd because the school has like 1500 students and he’s definitely not bad-looking. He didn’t even call me and ask directly. Juana called my mother, and my mother asked me if I’d want to go to this thing with Angelo.
I said yes. Not because of Angelo. Because I wanted to go to a dance.
But why was he asking?
Maybe Angelo was such a loser no one at Garfield would go with him. Or maybe he was gay and didn’t want to take a girl at all, and Juana thought she was helping him out when really she just had no idea. Or maybe my mother had told Juana I was unpopular with boys, and so she was making him take me out of pity. Or maybe he was madly in love with some girl Juana didn’t like, and I was supposed to distract him?2
My mom told me he’d pick me up at eight and not to have so much angst—but I worried for the whole two weeks before the dance. I had used my babysitting money to buy a yellow silk dress from the 1950s, with spaghetti straps—but what if I got all dressed up and he never actually showed? What if he really didn’t want to take me, and started being mean, or left me to go off with someone else? What if this was a Stephen King situation?3
My mother told me to stop being so insecure. My father asked me sixteen times if I wanted to talk about my feelings of insecurity.
The day of the dance, Angelo arrived on time, wearing a blue suit. He brought me a corsage of yellow roses. My dad took pictures. Juana was driving us, and she acted all hokey, like she was a chauffeur. There were two terriers and a big hairy mutt in the backseat, so we all three sat in the front, squashed in. Juana didn’t make us wear the seat belt.
The dance was in the gym, with the lights down low and decorations everywhere. Angelo and I didn’t say much. He got me a cup of fruit punch. A lot of the girls were wearing narrow black gowns and high heels. I felt virginal and young and goofy in my yellow dress with the wide skirt. We danced, and the music was good, and we even slow-danced, which was strange and awkward and nice—holding hands and swaying back and forth.