Ch. 5
"You did it," my best friend said, looking into my face, knowing.
What the hell...
"What?"
"You did it. You and that fool did it," she said smiling now.
"Maybe..." I said, hiding behind my aweful bed hair that I never managed to fix this morning.
"Fine, bitch, don't admit it."
"Was it fantastic? Romantic? Painful? Details," she said after a slight pause.
"It was... scary and new and strange."
Those were not the answers that your very much so virgin best friend wants to hear on a Monday after you've had sex for the first time. She wants me to describe this magical thing, this wonderful fantastic moment where our eyes met, sparks flew, fireworks erupted, multiple orgasms, sweet smells and warm touch. She wanted me to describe some picturesque movie first time... but that's just not real life.
I've become quite the realist.
"Oh..." she didn't say much after that.
She must have sensed my uneasiness on the subject. She probobly decided to wait a bit, till the facts had settled in my head, to ask again.
We climbed out of her car and stepped onto the fresh snow from last night.
"It's almost fucking March," I moan as my pant legs soak up half the parkinglot already. I sigh. Fucking snow.
"I like snow," Ricky says, kicking some snow up with her boot.
Her real name is Miranda, but she she thinks its ugly. She thinks Miranda sounds like some sidekick or a boring old woman. She says she'd rather be called Ricky because it makes people cock their heads at her. She likes to get wierd looks. She likes to get all sorts of looks, and she does. Shes tall and skinny and has crazy colors dyed in her hair. She says sometimes she forgets that having pink or green or blue in your hair isn't normal and that it's a viable reason for people to stare at her. She dresses eclectically. She has no one set style, but teeter totters on the edge of many. She likes bright colors.
I on the other hand do not get looks. I am average height, I have average hair, I have average style, I have average grades. I have a mediocre social life and a boring outlook on life. I just want to get through it at this point. Most people don't know me at all, and the ones who do know me for reasons I wish they didn't.
Every stare I get, I wonder if they've heard the rumors. They're all mostly true and that's the worst part. I try to hide that it hurts, but how could it not? That's my mother they're talking about, but not like normal shit faced teens do. They aren't making your mom jokes and when people accidentally do around me, they apologize and studder and scarcely finish. They tip toe around subjects and avoid words like "death" and "suicide." I just smile and pretend that I'm someone else, that this is someone elses life, and I'm just holding their place for a while, just so they can grab some lunch.
What the hell...
"What?"
"You did it. You and that fool did it," she said smiling now.
"Maybe..." I said, hiding behind my aweful bed hair that I never managed to fix this morning.
"Fine, bitch, don't admit it."
"Was it fantastic? Romantic? Painful? Details," she said after a slight pause.
"It was... scary and new and strange."
Those were not the answers that your very much so virgin best friend wants to hear on a Monday after you've had sex for the first time. She wants me to describe this magical thing, this wonderful fantastic moment where our eyes met, sparks flew, fireworks erupted, multiple orgasms, sweet smells and warm touch. She wanted me to describe some picturesque movie first time... but that's just not real life.
I've become quite the realist.
"Oh..." she didn't say much after that.
She must have sensed my uneasiness on the subject. She probobly decided to wait a bit, till the facts had settled in my head, to ask again.
We climbed out of her car and stepped onto the fresh snow from last night.
"It's almost fucking March," I moan as my pant legs soak up half the parkinglot already. I sigh. Fucking snow.
"I like snow," Ricky says, kicking some snow up with her boot.
Her real name is Miranda, but she she thinks its ugly. She thinks Miranda sounds like some sidekick or a boring old woman. She says she'd rather be called Ricky because it makes people cock their heads at her. She likes to get wierd looks. She likes to get all sorts of looks, and she does. Shes tall and skinny and has crazy colors dyed in her hair. She says sometimes she forgets that having pink or green or blue in your hair isn't normal and that it's a viable reason for people to stare at her. She dresses eclectically. She has no one set style, but teeter totters on the edge of many. She likes bright colors.
I on the other hand do not get looks. I am average height, I have average hair, I have average style, I have average grades. I have a mediocre social life and a boring outlook on life. I just want to get through it at this point. Most people don't know me at all, and the ones who do know me for reasons I wish they didn't.
Every stare I get, I wonder if they've heard the rumors. They're all mostly true and that's the worst part. I try to hide that it hurts, but how could it not? That's my mother they're talking about, but not like normal shit faced teens do. They aren't making your mom jokes and when people accidentally do around me, they apologize and studder and scarcely finish. They tip toe around subjects and avoid words like "death" and "suicide." I just smile and pretend that I'm someone else, that this is someone elses life, and I'm just holding their place for a while, just so they can grab some lunch.