Anatomy of a Boyfriend (14 page)

Judgment Day arrives the same time Wes does. During second period he sends me a text message:

Just flew in and checked apps. Fordham no, but Miami and NYU yes! NYC here I come!

Will be at track till 7. Will pick you up after.

Of course I‘m so curious about my schools I can‘t concentrate. But I refuse to check at Shorr, where a bunch of the competitive seniors and nosy teachers will pester me about my results, as if it‘s any of their business. So I hurry home after last period and check on my computer.

Mom‘s already home since she doesn‘t teach afternoon classes on Mondays. Dad‘s home, too, which is unusual—I guess he took off work to be here for this. Ten minutes after I go to my room, my parents knock and ask to come in. They wear the same hopeful, helpless expressions they did the day I received my SAT scores last semester.

After they sit down on the bed, I announce, ―Stanford didn‘t accept me. Didn‘t even put me on the waiting list.‖

Dad looks like he‘s restraining an impulse to kill. ―Those assholes!‖

My mom glares at him and says to me, ―It‘s their loss, Dommie. California gets earthquake after earthquake, anyway. Your father and I didn‘t want you living on a fault line.‖

―As if the hurricanes that hit University of Florida and Tulane are any safer,‖ I mutter, feeling bitchier by the second. ―By the way, I got into U of F, like I was expecting.‖

―Congratulations!‖ Dad explodes. ―That‘s a damn fine school.‖

―Oh, congratulations!‖ Mom parrots. ―And that‘s only four hours away.‖

―And I got a Distinguished Scholars scholarship to Tulane. That covers about half of tuition.‖

My mom jumps to her feet. ―You were granted a merit scholarship? Oh, Dommie.‖ As she hugs me, Dad‘s dumb-founded expression transmutes into a grin.

Mom continues, ―Do you know how rare and prestigious that is? Tulane‘s practically rolling out the red carpet for you. And you worked so hard for it. You deserve it.‖

Then Dad adds, ―And all the money left over from your college fund can help pay for med school, if you go.‖

I unwrap myself from Mom and lay my head on the desk. I‘ve never felt so numb before, but I force my mouth to move. ―I‘m not going to take the scholarship.‖

After a beat Dad says, ―What? Why not? I thought you wanted to get out of state.‖

―I do. I want to go to NYU.‖

Dad thunders, ―NYU? When the hell did you apply to NYU?‖

My head is still on the desk. ―Last minute. In January. I used my Stanford essay and changed a few words. I paid for the application fee with some of my bratsitting money.‖

―Why the hell didn‘t you say something, goddamn it?‖

―Sweetheart, please,‖ Mom urges Dad.

―Because I didn‘t think I‘d get in. But I did.‖

―What‘s wrong with you, Dom?‖ Dad fumes. ―Since when do you go around applying to colleges on the sly? Since we‘re going to pay for it, don‘t you think you should have had the crappin‘ common courtesy to discuss it with us first?‖

―Dominique,‖ Mom says reprovingly, ―isn‘t NYU one of the schools Wesley applied to?‖

―What?‖ Dad shouts. ―Don‘t tell me you were dumb enough to apply somewhere because you want to be a groupie to a wishy-washy teenage track putz! You‘re going to Florida or Tulane, and that‘s the end of it!‖

I lift my head and look at him. I have never seen Dad this angry at me before, and I hate that it has to do with Wes. I start talking softly but gradually intensify to a scream.

―No, Wes isn‘t the reason behind any of this. New York City is the capital of the world, the school is very prestigious, it has a great premed program, and I‘d be stupid to turn down this opportunity. And so what if it costs more? I got in. I got in! You should be happy for me, not yelling at me! And Dad, if you ever say anything bad about Wes from now on, I‘ll never talk to you again!‖

―Dom! Come back here!‖ Dad bellows behind me as I sprint out of the apartment.

22

I
pedal furiously for twenty minutes until I reach my favorite stretch of Fort Myers beach. I throw my bike down on the ground so hard I‘m lucky it doesn‘t break. I‘m relieved no one‘s around except for a few kids too far away to see clearly.

It‘s chilly out, and there‘s a light mist in the air. I walk to the edge of the surf and watch the muted sunset, jumping back whenever the waves threaten to lick at my loafers. Then I stretch out on the cool sand and look up overhead, hoping to calm my nerves by watching the clouds glide by, but my mind is spinning.

Just four months ago I
never
would have believed that a boy would play any part whatsoever in my college decision. I cared only about the academics, the size of the student body, the location, and the weather. I used to think of college acceptance letters as emancipation proclamations, but now they‘re like divorce papers.

I wish I could turn back the clock so I wouldn‘t have to deal with this mess, with all its variables and uncertainties. Every option seems so costly, and no matter what I choose I‘m going to disappoint either my parents or myself. Even going to NYU is no guarantee things will remain as they are now. Maybe Wes doesn‘t want to have me as a college girlfriend. He never suggested I apply to NYU, and I never told him I did. What will he say? Maybe our relationship won‘t even survive another day now that we‘re being forced to consider the future.

The Stanford rejection? It used to be my biggest nightmare. But now I don‘t care that much.

Let‘s say they did accept me; would I choose Stanford or would I choose NYU? I know what the answer is.

I stand up, run back to the water, and scream at the top of my lungs like a madwoman. I‘m so furious at Wes. He single-handedly screwed up my direction and priorities. Because of him, I‘m scared of change for the first time in my life. Now, I actually want high school to continue indefinitely. And this is what I‘ve been reduced to. Yelling incoherencies at the Gulf of Mexico.

Soon I‘m too out of breath to yell anymore, and I just buckle over and sob. The sand swallows my tears as soon as they hit, as if reassuring me my breakdown will stay secret. Suddenly my mom‘s reaction to Tulane runs through my head:
You were granted a merit scholarship? Do you
know how rare and prestigious that is?

My cell phone rings. I lie back on the sand and pressTALK .

―Hey, Ames.‖ My voice breaks before I can even get out her name.

―Uh-oh. What‘s wrong? Was Stanford stupid?‖

A half hour later my bike‘s on the roof of Amy‘s Camry as she drives me home.

―Thanks for getting me. I don‘t think I could have pedaled anymore, the way I‘m shaking.‖

―Dom, I don‘t get it. Why didn‘t you tell me?‖

―I didn‘t tell anyone. If I didn‘t get in, then no one would‘ve had to know.‖

―But why—?‖

―Because I wanted to have the option open of being in New York next year, in case something happened between us.‖ My eyes well up again at the thought of being separated.

―When are you going to tell Gersh?‖

―I guess I‘ll have to tonight. He‘s at stupid track practice for another hour, and I don‘t know how I‘m going to keep it together when he picks me up.‖

Amy hugs me at the next red light. ―Look, I don‘t want to push you one way or another. The selfish part of me wants you at NYU since it‘s just a train ride from Amherst. But if you go to Tulane, the money you‘ll be saving on tuition can buy a lot of plane tickets.‖

―Yeah. But still.‖

As Amy pulls up in front of my apartment building, I get another text message, this time from my mom, which makes me choke up again.

We love you and will support whatever decision you make. Just come home. Mom and
Dad.

23

“Y
ou‘re going to NYU?‖ Wes asks quietly. We‘re on our way to Captiva, and he tightens his grip on the wheel as he responds to my announcement. I can‘t tell whether he‘s pleasantly surprised or silently horrified.

―Well, yeah, probably. I can‘t just end up thirteen hundred miles away from you without putting up a fight.‖ I venture a smile, but Wes is grimacing.

―Did they give you a scholarship too?‖

―No, but my parents have already saved enough for tuition, so why not spend it?…Are you okay?‖

―Yeah, just a little confused. A half ride—well, I‘m surprised you‘d give that up. I wish I had a scholarship. As it is, I‘m going to have to get part-time work to pay room and board.‖

I try to ignore his lack of enthusiasm and keep arguing my side. ―If I go to Tulane, I‘ll need to maintain a B-minus to keep my scholarship anyway, and I don‘t need that added stressor in my life.‖

―Um, Dom, you‘ll be able to maintain a B-minus blindfolded, at Tulane or NYU.‖

―Jesus, Wes!‖ I glare at him angrily, but all I‘m feeling is fear. ―Wouldn‘t you be happy if I went to NYU?‖

―Well, yeah. But, Dom, you need to be realistic.‖

―Oh God,‖ I moan as the tears come and I fall back into my seat. He must think I‘m completely obsessed. How could I think it was okay to be this clingy? I turn toward the passenger side window, too hurt and humiliated to face him. ―Wes, I can‘t deal with this now. I don‘t want…I don‘t think I can handle breaking up tonight. I can‘t tonight, please?‖

―Who said anything about breaking up?‖ His voice just jumped about two octaves.

―Well, you just said…‖ I look back at him.

―What did I just say? Do
you
want to break up?‖

―God, no!‖ I shout. ―Of course I don‘t want to. Not ever…‖ My words dissolve into more bawling.

Wes veers over to the side of the road, stops the car, and reaches over to hold me. I choke through my tears. ―I don‘t know what‘s right or what to think.‖

―Dom…this is what I want to say. Whether you go to NYU or Tulane is beside the point because I know you‘d do great at either. But I‘ll feel really guilty if I‘m why you turn down this great deal at Tulane. And…it just seems that you never would have considered NYU if I weren‘t in your life.‖

But you are in my life! Why do you want me to act like you’re not?

―Wes, I‘m not saying that I‘m going to, but if I do go to Tulane…do you want to, like, try to keep things the way they are now? I mean, if you find someone you could be potentially interested in, then sure, we‘ll break things off and still be best friends. We‘ll always be friends no matter what.‖

―Dom.‖ Wes laughs while stroking my head. ―No one at NYU will compare to you.‖

I hug him tightly. ―You really wouldn‘t mind doing the distance thing if I went to Tulane?‖

―Yeah I‘d mind, but I‘d deal with it.‖

―And if I go to NYU, will I, you know, cramp your style? I don‘t want you to feel like I‘m stifling you.‖

―In a city of eight million people? Don‘t be ridiculous.‖

I sit back up in my seat, wipe away the remnants of my tears, and give Wes my best sexy look.

―I think we need to relieve some of this tension. How quickly can we get to Captiva?‖

I swear the tires leave skid marks, and once we get to the condo, college is the last thing on our minds. Unfortunately, though, neither of us is in the best shape. My nose is stuffed from all the crying I‘ve done today, which makes breathing while kissing tricky. And Wes, just off a transatlantic flight and fresh from track practice, reeks of BO, and his breath is awful. I don‘t complain, because the only thing that matters is we‘re together again.

He reaches to pull down my undies, and I lie back next to him. His left arm is around my shoulders, and his right hand is between my legs. He‘s much gentler and slower than last time.

But as he bobs in and out of me, I don‘t really feel anything. Soon he thumbs my clitoris simultaneously, which feels…okay. I fake some moaning noises every few seconds so he‘ll keep going, but I wouldn‘t say I‘m enjoying it. If an orgasm doesn‘t feel much better than this, I don‘t know what all the hoopla is about. I can tell Wes is getting discouraged.

After ten minutes of nothing, I say, ―You can stop now. I absolutely love this, Wes, but I just need to relax more.‖

―I want to make you come.‖

―You will. Let‘s just rest awhile. I‘m sure I‘m just too emotional right now to get into it.‖

―All right,‖ he sighs, resting his head on my chest. ―Oh, I forgot to tell you. My mom made an appointment at Charles‘s Formal Wear next week. Prom will be the first time I ever wear a tux.‖

―Well, prom will be the first time I ever wear an evening gown. I bought mine at the mall last week.‖

―Cool. Can‘t wait to see you in it…and not in it.‖

I playfully pinch his arm. ―Mom thought it was so pretty that she made me bring it to Grandma‘s to try it on for her. I was expecting her to shoot me down like she always does, but she actually liked it. It was great seeing her satisfied for once. Then she started reminiscing about going to her prom with Grandpa and wearing her white lace prom dress. And she was showing me old pictures, and, um, I couldn‘t help but think of all the…traditions that go with prom.‖

―Yeah. Like slow-dancing. I hate slow-dancing.‖

―Me too. But what I meant was prom
night,
you know?‖

―I think so.‖ He gulps through his grin.

―I mean, only if we‘re both ready. Prom‘s still a whole month away.‖

―Oh, I‘m ready. You‘re sure you are?‖ He lifts his head up and looks at me hopefully.

I smile at his enthusiasm. Then I shut my eyes as I hear my grandma‘s grating voice warning me to abstain until marriage. I don‘t think that‘s bad advice. But I want to have sex when the time is right
for me,
and how could it feel more right than with Wes, at his prom? The only thing making me hesitate is we haven‘t said ―I love you‖ yet. But really, what‘s the point of declaring it when we imply it every day?

I open my eyes and nod at him. ―I just want to be as physically close to you as I possibly can, you know? I want nothing separating us.‖

―I guess I should go buy some condoms.‖

―Way ahead of you,‖ I giggle as I reach into my purse. ―I took a trip to CVS this week. I thought maybe we could practice putting it on.‖

Wes looks at me in awe, and he gets hard again just by studying the box and reading the instructions. After tearing off the wrapper, Wes holds the condom about a half inch away from the head of his penis. Then he pinches the tip of the condom to get the excess air out, and with the other hand he rolls it all the way down.