Second Helpings (41 page)

Notice how Im playing games instead of writing about the most important thing in my life. Its because I havent found a way to say it yet. Not right, anyway, which is why Im glad Marcus did not buy a yearbook. He says hell just look at mine whenever hes compelled to remember these people, which he does not anticipate happening very often. This spares me the humiliation of writing something sticky-sweet sentimental and trite.

This is what he wrote in mine:

Jessica:

There is nothing I can write in here that I wont be able to tell you in person.

Forever,

Marcus

the fourteenth

Tonight, when I came home from Marcuss house, I went upstairs to my bathroom. Showered. Dried off. Towel-squeegeed my hair. Put on boxers and the COMINGHOME T-shirt that still smells like him. Meticulously applied zit crap to my facial landmines.

All of this before sitting down and writing about an emotion I cannot express.

I cannot write about love. Its harder than writing about sex.

I found it even more impossible to talk about it with Hope on the phone, but I had to. I needed to know that she was okay with all this. I needed her to believe in Marcus and me as much as I do.

If I didnt want you together, Hope said, I wouldnt have gone through all that trouble.

That made perfect sense, of course.

Are you okay with, you know, me not being a virgin anymore? I asked.

Hope cackled into the receiver. You were the one with the virgin complex, not me. Ill do it someday. But until then, Ill just have to live vicariously through you. You little vixen, you.

Im so relieved that my relationship with Marcus wont come between me and Hope. Still, there are things that I will keep to myself. Like how I cut Senior Cut Day and spent it with Marcus instead. In his bed. Not the whole day, but the afternoon hours before his parents came home from work, which, quite frankly, was about as much as I could handle, as I am afraid of turning into a nymphomaniac.

As happy as I was to be alone with him, I couldnt stop myself from asking the question that needed to be asked.

If I ask you to tell me the truth about something, will you?

Marcus propped himself up on his elbow so we would be eye to eye. I have never not told you the truth about anything, he said.

Thats subject to debate, I said.

What subject isnt up for debate? he countered.

An honest answer to the question Im about to ask you is not subject to debate, I replied.

Okay. Ask me.

What about the girls? I asked.

The girls he replied.

How many girls before me?

He buried his face in my neck and groaned. Why do you need to ask me that?

Why do you need to keep the truth from me?

His mouth was still on my neck. Because I dont like to talk about it.

Why? Because you feel guilty?

Not exactly.

Then why?

Im at peace with my moral failings.

So you didnt think that anything youd ever done is wrong? I was about to gather my clothes and leave at this point.

I just dont see the point in beating myself up. I think its more productive to concentrate on being a better person right now than punishing myself for who I was in the past.

This was it. Id been holding back for years about this. Hope may have forgiven him, but it was time for me to get it out of my system.

How can you not feel any guilt when my best friends brother your best frienddied because of all the stupid things you did?

Heath is He caught himself. Was not me. I was never into the heavy shit he was.

You werent?

No, he said. I smoked up every day, did quite a bit of E, a little acid, some shrooms. Not that any of this stuff was healthy, but I never shot up. Ever. It just wasnt my thing.

I knew it was the truth.

Why did you feel the urge to do anything?

To heighten my senses. Or to feel numb. Depending on the day, and the drug.

Do you miss it?

Never, he said.

Really? Not ever?

Never, he replied. Life is actually more interesting without it.

Why did you let people think you were hard-core when you werent?

Because Ive learned that you cant control what other people are going to think about you. The best you can do in life is not piss yourself off.

That was a very profound observation, I thought. I would be much better off if I lived by it.

Then I started thinking. If the drug stuff wasnt true, maybe the stuff about the girls was all hype.

So going back to my original question

Jessica he said, biting into his pillow.

How many girls? Or was that highly exaggerated, too?

He gritted his teeth in an embarrassed smile that made it clear that the stuff about the girls hadnt been exaggerated one bit.

Oh, Christ.

He took my hand.

Jessica, since the first time we really spoke, that time in the Cadillac outside your house, you are the only one who has ever mattered. I dont want to talk about the girls before you because none of those girls matter to me now, just like Len doesnt matter to you now. Fortunately for us all, love does not work on an exclusive first-come, first-served basis. Think of Gladdie and Moe, and everyone else out there who wouldve missed out if it did.

He wanted to say more, I could tell.

What?

I knew what he wanted to say. And I needed to hear him say it.

So you arent the first girl Ive slept with. But its the first time I felt like it was more than just fucking, it was making love, as hackneyed as it sounds.

It was totally the cliche of the perfect thing for a reformed male slut to say to the girl hes recently devirginized. But this time, I actually I wanted to hear it. I needed to hear him say it because I knew it was the truth. I finally believed it. I believed him .

Knowing that you waited for so long, then picked me He stopped again. He pressed his face into the space above my navel, his hands grasping my hipbones, as it to brace himself for what he was about to say. It means more than you will ever know that you picked me to be your first.

He moved up and up until our bodies fit together like a living, breathing ying-yang symbol.

I just wish I hadnt been such a moron, I said.

What do you mean?

We couldve been together all year, I said. Think o( all the time we wasted.

Its like I said before. Theres no point in dwelling in the past, he said.

But we couldve spent so much more time together

Jessica, he interrupted, pausing to lightly kiss the tip of my nose. By going through what we have, we helped each other be the people were supposed to be.

But

As complicated and confusing as our courtship was, it happened the way it had to.

But

Jessica, we were perfect in our imperfection.

But

We are the way we are supposed to be.

I placed my lips on top of his head, running my lips over his velvety crew cut. I breathed in his earthy and sweet scent and I needed to do more than kiss him. I needed to drink him. I needed to gobble him up. I needed

Jessica Darling.

Marcus Flutie.

I want you to be the first and the second and the third and the last, I thought.

And then we looked at each other and started laughing. I loved that we were lying there naked and laughing for no reason other than the fact that weand nobody elsewere us.

Together.

The entire universe as an interconnected whole.

Samadi.

the fifteenth

One last edition of Pinevile Low . WHAT NOBODY FOOLED YOU ALL YEAR LONG?

TARYN BAKER, THATS WHO. SEE YOU NEXT YEAR IN THE SEAGULLS VOICE.

I called Taryn to congratulate her on her very brave confession.

Remember, dont just slam people for the pure enjoyment of slamming them, I said. Its fun for a while, but it gets old. And it isnt good for your karma.

Right.

Try to do some good. Try to make a difference in this crappy cesspool we call school.

Ill try, she said. Because someone has to be the next you.

The idea of anybody wanting to be the next me was, of course, laughable. Especially when I had tried so hard to be the first me all year.

I was ready to hang up when Tarynapropros of nothingsaid, You and Marcus.

Me and Marcus . I still wasnt used to hearing others saying that out loud.

Youre together now.

Yes, I said distractedly. I mouthed the words silently. Me and Mar cus. Marcus and Me .

That was a long time coming.

Yes, I replied, without really thinking about what I was saying. Yes, it was.

There was a thoughtful pause before she said, I dont know how I didnt see it until now.

As soon as those words came out of her mouth, I knew that she knew the truth. I knew she knew that I had peed in the cup to cover for Marcus. But I also knew, just as confidently, that our secret would never be revealed in Pinevile Low, The Seagulls Voice , or elsewheremy reward for being the first person to listen to Taryn Baker, to treat her like a real person, to earn her trust.

Thanks, Taryn, I said. For everything.

No, Jess, she replied with a tiny, tinny laugh, the first Id ever heard escape her thin, repressed lips. Thank you .

the twenty-first

It was strange, meeting Marcuss parents tonight. They werent any weirder than your average parents, it was simply hard to believe that someone like Marcus even had parents. It seemed much more logical for Marcus to have been the result of a lab experiment, to see what really happens when you mix snips, snails, puppy dogs tails, and Viagra.

I was nervous, of course, because I still havent recovered from the knowledge that Mrs. Levy loooooooves Mandaa certified whoreyet wouldve had me drawn and quartered if the opportunity had presented itself. I was afraid Marcuss parents would automatically and inexplica bly hate me, too. Before my arrival, I tried to find out something, any-thing, about them that would aid in the conversation. All I knew was that his dad refurbished old cars and his mom worked in a day-care center.

My dad likes speed, Marcus said.

Speed? Like meth?

No, like stock cars and motorcycles, he said. Its impossible for him to sit still.

Uh, okay.

And my mom is into quilting and crafts and stuff like that.

It was interesting to think about how these traits manifested themselves in their son. The restless way he rattles coins in his pocket, or flicks open his lighter, or taps the table, etc. And how he personalized his T-shirts all year. I pointed this out to Marcus.

I never really saw the connection before, but youre right, he said. Now let me point out all the ways you are exactly like your parents.

Thats one analysis I really dont need to hear, I said before quickly hanging up the phone.

Mr. and Mrs. Flutie are indeed real people. They are also abnormally tall. Even Marcuss mom tops six feet, which kind of shocked me. I was expecting a delicate china doll wielding a Bedazzler or something.

Finally we get to meet the famous Jessica Darling! she exclaimed, crushing me with a hug.

Mr. Flutie was zipping around the room, barbecue tongs in hand. We kept waiting for you to shoot on over here, he said in a rapid-fire rat-a-tat-tat tone. I kept on saying to Marcus, Whens this new girlfriend of yours gonna shoot on over here? Just the other day we shot past your house and I wanted to pop in for an introduction, but my son here said that wouldnt be cool, and the last thing I would ever want to do to my son is be uncool, so I said wed just shoot on over there another time.

I learned very quickly that Mr. Flutie is always shooting to or from one place or another.

Marcus just stood there, massaging a wrinkled brow. I was seeing him in the midst of a brand-new emotion: total parental humiliation. It was very endearing to see that even the cool, calm, and collected Marcus Flutie could lose his shit in his parents presence.

During dinner, I discovered where Marcus inherited his schizophrenic conversational style. Over hot dogs, burgers, baked beans, and corn on the cob, Marcus, his parents, and I discussed, among other things, Crossing Over , pedophiliac priests, drilling in Alaska, Jews versus Palestinians, obese babies, and the New Jersey Nets.

The whole time, I was totally, completely myself. Whats more, I didnt even have to concentrate on being myself. I just was. And you want to know the goddiggitydamnest thing? They loved me. Let me rephrase that: His parents LOOOOOOOOOOVED me. I know they loved me because, as I was getting ready to leave, Mrs. Flutie turned to her husband and said, I just love this girl, dont you?