Chapter Two - Teenage Kicks
Two years earlier
They all remembered that summer differently. For Ziggy, it was the summer he kissed Marie, in the starlight, underneath the trees at the back of the sports field. For Stephanie, it was the summer she began to run a weekly dance class for the seven-year-olds, which was so successful that she continued it long after the summer was over. For Pixel and Stingy, it was the summer they went into Smallville, scored and then smoked their first and only joint together, and, in between giggling and admiring the pretty colours of the graffiti in the Metro stations, agreed to set up Six Thousand Ideas Ltd, with an initial investment of five hundred dollars each and three founding principles: 1) we stop when we've launched six thousand products, no sooner, no later 2) we never, ever sell anything to the military and 3) a strict 50/50 profit share.
And for Stingy and Trixie, it was the summer they argued their way into each other's arms, and then back out again; and, in a small town where it was virtually impossible keep a secret for more than a day, hardly anyone ever knew about it.
--
"It's ridiculous," said Trixie firmly. "I am not being called the chairman."
"Why not?" asked Stingy, tacking up posters on the wall with a wooden mallet. "It just means the person who's in charge of the committee, that's all. More pins, please."
"Why not? Because I'm not a man, Boy Genius." She passed him four more pins.
"'Chairman' is a gender neutral term," Stingy said calmly, in between taps of the hammer. "'Chairwoman' draws attention to the fact that you're a woman, and makes it seem more unusual for you as a woman to have a leadership role by requiring you to have a specific, marginalised term to describe you. Hold this for me for a minute, I need to move the ladder."
Pixel and Stephanie, patiently holding stacks of posters for the Spring Formal, looked at each other and shrugged.
"You're suggesting that it's in the interests of feminism to describe me as a man?" asked Trixie, absent-mindedly taking the mallet.
"I'm suggesting it's in the interests of equality for the same term to apply to men and women when they undertake the same role."
"Then why not just call me the Chair?"
He raised his eyebrows.
"You think you're more like a piece of furniture than you are like a man?"
"Aha. So you admit that 'Chairman' is a term that contains an inherent assumption about sex?"
"Gender."
"Pedant."
"That's you having the last word, is it?"
She held the mallet up threateningly.
"Violence is the last resort of the intellectually bankrupt - ow! God, Trixie, that was a bit unnecessary, wasn't it?" He rubbed his kneecap and winced.
"Just striking a blow for the cause," Trixie said, smiling radiantly. Her impish little face was inches from his own, and he found himself noticing, for the first time and with some surprise, the fine, soft texture of her skin and the perfect curve of her lips.
"How about 'chairperson'?" suggested Stephanie, sighing.
"No," said Stingy and Trixie firmly, in unison.
"Why not?" asked Pixel, bewildered.
"Because no-one describes themselves as a person," said Trixie firmly. "You're either a man, or a woman. Either is fine. I just think accuracy is important."
"And anyway, it's a cop-out," added Stingy. "A cheap, politically-correct compromise that stifles debate."
"Oh, it's a debate, is it?" said Pixel dryly. "I thought it was just another pointless argument. My mistake."
--
"I just don't see how you can sneer at me wanting to study economics when you've decided to major in philosophy, that's all. It's an intellectual cul-de-sac. It doesn't lead anywhere. I mean, honestly, what has been the actual contribution of philosophers to the modern world?"
Trixie smiled at him, showing her dimples.
"Karl Marx is generally held to have made quite an impression, Stingy."
"Karl Marx - oh, you are so not claiming him, Trix. He was an economist."
"He was a political philosopher who applied his the fruits of his thinking to contemporary economic policy."
"He was not, he - oh, all right, he was, I'll give you that one. But only because that wasn't actually my point. My point is - my point is - " He paused for a moment, trying to remember what his point was. "Oh, yes…you can't possibly claim the moral high ground because you've decided to study philosophy, that was my point."
"Bean-counting is not a worthwhile use of your talents," she said firmly.
"Firstly, economics is about much more than just counting. Secondly, even if it was, explain to me how any society is supposed to produce the money to fund all these interesting explorations of morality if there isn't someone counting the beans?"
"That's a crappy argument, Stingy. First of all, if you follow that to its logical conclusion, which is that societal value is related to the level to which it enables other functions, we'd all of us be aspiring to a life of subsistence farming. Secondly - "
"Guys," said Ziggy, passing them a bowl of nuts. "You've been standing in this corner arguing for hours. Are we going to play this game of Monopoly or what?"
"Go away, Ziggy," they said simultaneously.
--
"It's a waste of your intellect to read it."
"Just because it's popular doesn't mean it's trashy," she said firmly.
"But it is trashy. It was the very first trashy novel. It defined the genre for the next forty years."
"So doesn't that make it worth reading?"
"There are only so many hours in the day. I just can't believe you're spending one of them reading that, that's all…"
They were sitting on the steps at the back of the high school, leaning companionably against each other, and watching the game of Frisbee. Ziggy threw it wildly into the air and Pixel flung himself across the field to reach it, but was beaten to it by Stephanie, who leapt gracefully into the air and caught it. Sportacus laughed and applauded, and for a moment their eyes met. Trixie watched them consideringly.
He followed the direction of her gaze, and raised his eyebrows.
"I sometimes think," she said after a moment, "that if I got in the way of one of those looks, I'd just sizzle up into nothingness, like a fly in one of those blue-light destroyers."
"Oh, now that's a beautiful image," he said sarcastically. "I take it all back about Peyton Place. It's clearly doing you no end of good."
"But seriously…what do you think?"
"I think I'm not really comfortable talking about it, Trixie, that's what I think."
"Why not? Surely not even you could think there's anything wrong with it, could you?"
"Absolutely not," he said firmly. "But you know who would, and if she even imagined…it's not something to gossip about. Nothing stays private in this town for long once people start talking."
"We're not gossiping. We're taking an interest as concerned friends."
"But still…don't you get the feeling that it's balanced on a knife-edge? They both want to, so much, but neither of them quite dare…it's so fragile...no, definitely not discussing it any more, Trix, sorry." He paused. "What?"
Trixie was staring at him.
"You," she said. "When did you get so sensitive and insightful?"
"Oh, I've always been sensitive and insightful," he laughed. "You just never noticed because you were too busy putting me down to notice all my good points."
"Harsh, but probably true…okay, we won't discuss Lazytown's Perfect Couple any more. Back to business. What's wrong with you studying economics? It's dull, for one thing. And I know you like to hide it away beneath your cold, calculating exterior, but I'm ninety per cent sure there's a heartbeat under there."
"Economics is not dull. It's completely amazing. Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations changed the way the world works for ever…"
"No, Adam Smith documented how the world works…very different. And besides, guess what his degree was in?"
"Ha! Google him. You'll find he's the founding father of economics."
"Oh, well, if Google says so…" said Trixie mockingly.
"Sorry, but you're not going to win that point, Trix. Adam Smith was an economist. Try harder. Come on, what's wrong with it?"
"It's completely in your comfort zone. You've been working up to this since you were a small boy."
"That's not a comfort zone, that's a dream," he protested.
"No-one dreams about bean-counting, Stingy."
"And neither do I! I keep telling you, you're thinking of accountancy." She rolled her eyes. "That's not a come-back, that's a sign of defeat. Have I won the argument yet?"
She smiled at him, her face only inches from his, and he felt his heart beat faster. Leave it, he thought to himself. This is Trixie, one of your best friends. You've known her as long as you can remember. She changes her boyfriend as often Pixel changes his t-shirt. Bad idea. Bad, bad, bad idea.
"You need to challenge yourself a bit more," she said softly. Her lips were faintly tinted with the black lipstick she liked to wear. "Do something that scares you…hey, Mike!" She waved across the field to the football player who was lumbering towards them.
"I thought it was Andy."
"No, he was last month's news…do try to keep up."
"And is that you trying out something that scares you?" Stingy asked mockingly as Trixie stood up. "Oh, no, hang on, that's definitely your comfort zone, isn't it? Pretty boys with great bodies and no brains. I really don't know why you bother with them."
"Don't you, Stingy?" she asked, and kissed him lightly on the nose. "Maybe you should take out one of the cheerleaders and find out. It might loosen you up a bit." And she was gone, dancing lightly across the field to meet her latest dalliance.
--
The living-room of Marie's house was jammed with her classmates, all enthusiastically celebrating her birthday. Marie had insisted that Ziggy bring his "totally cool friends" with him, and he had pleaded so disarmingly with them not to let them down that they had all agreed to come, in spite of the feeling that they were really too old for it. Stephanie and Pixel had appointed themselves the unofficial party chaperones and were discreetly keeping an eye on who was where in the house, blithely gate-crashing the bedrooms occasionally to make sure no-one was getting too carried away. Trixie had brought her make-up box and was obligingly making over some of the younger girls, transforming them from fresh-faced young girls into smudge-eyed minxes. Stingy, openly bored, was sitting apart from the rest of the party, reading a battered copy of Principia Mathematica and counting the minutes until Marie's parents would be home again.
"Your turn, Stingy. Truth or dare?"
"Oh, for God's sake, Marie. This is such a ridiculous, predictable game. I'm busy reading. Do I really have to?"
She looked provocatively at him from under her eyelashes.
"Don't be so miserable. Why did you come to the party if you don't want to join in any of the fun?"
"Is that my Truthful Question?" he asked.
"No, of course it isn't - "
"Yes," interrupted Trixie. "That's your truthful question. Oh, come on, you guys, you know you were just going to ask him Who do you most want to kiss or dare him to take off his trousers and run across the park. Just for once, let's ask a question we don't know the answer to. Go on, Stingy. Tell us all. Why did you come to the party if you don't want to join in any of the fun?"
Everyone fell silent, waiting to hear the answer.
"Because," he said slowly, "you asked me to come, Trixie. Although quite why you wanted me here is honestly beyond me. And that's the exact and total truth."
He looked straight into her eyes, and for the first time she could remember, she was unable to think of a single thing to say. He nodded wearily, as if he had been expecting precisely this reaction. Then, without saying anything, stood up and walked out of the room without looking back.
"We should go after him," said Stephanie immediately, getting to her feet.
"It's all right, Pinkie," said Trixie. "I upset him. I'll go. You stay here. I'll see you in the morning."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course."
She ran down the steps of Marie's front porch, looking down the road. She couldn't see any sign of him anywhere. Then suddenly she felt two arms go around her waist and spin her roughly around. She was immobile with surprise. One hand stayed firmly around her waist, while the other went under her chin and turned her face upwards, and she realised that the boy holding her was Stingy.
"What are you doing?" she whispered in astonishment.
"Something that scares me," he whispered back, and bent to kiss her fiercely.
--
He had thought that the kiss would change everything, but on the surface, everything between them seemed to stay exactly the same. There was no new tenderness or understanding between them; they continued to argue and bicker, to debate every point fiercely, a continual verbal fencing.
But, for six enchanted, secret weeks, there was something else too…
"So," said Trixie breathlessly. "These are the rules."
They were in her bedroom, hiding in there really, he thought; they were supposed to be studying in the library, but had strolled casually off the High School premises, taking separate routes. They were half-sitting, half-lying on her bed, kissing frantically, her hair in his mouth and in his eyes.
"The rules?"
"Yes. The rules are everything. Without the rules, things get out of hand. Rule number one: this is the first time, so we're not going too far, okay? Everything below the waist stays on."
"Does that mean there's a chance we'll be doing this again?"
She laughed, and pushed her hair out of her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, Stingy," she said, but without answering the question. "Rule number two: no faking, okay? I'll promise if you will."
"I don't think it's possible for boys to fake it, Trix," murmured Stingy.
"You'd be surprised. Rule number three…" she sat up for a moment, and set her alarm clock for thirty minutes time. "When the alarm sounds, it's time to stop."
And then she was back in his arms, and there was nothing said between them but faint murmurs and whispers of is that all right? and yes, just there, like that, and not yet, too much and please, just for a minute. It was warm and sweet and good between them, so good that Trixie was astonished to find herself crying out in bliss as Stingy, inexperienced but determined, suddenly found just the right way to touch her, something none of the other boys she had been with had managed without careful direction and the occasional sharp word, and without even needing to think about it she slid her hand beneath his clothes and stroked him firmly and rhythmically, until he gasped and shuddered against her hand, and the noise of the alarm-clock ringing brought them back down to earth again.
"Well," she said, laughing. "That was certainly an unexpected pleasure. Are you sure you haven't been fooling around with the cheerleaders?"
He laid his hand on his heart.
"I solemnly swear," he said mockingly, "that I have not been fooling around with the cheerleaders. In fact - " he hesitated - "that was the most fooling around I have ever done in my life. Sad but true."
"Then you must be a very quick study."
"It's what I'm best at," he said lightly, running his fingers through her hair. "How else do you think I keep my grades up? And…how about you?"
"Cheerleaders aren't really my thing, Stingy."
"All right then, how many other men?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"I want to know what I'm competing against."
"It's not a competition."
"You know what I mean."
"No, I don't know what you mean." She looked at him severely. "Frame your question properly, Stingy, and I'll answer it honestly."
"All right. How many other men have you been…intimate with?"
"Intimate…hmmm. Intimacy doesn't have to come into it, you know. Sometimes it's just two strangers who can't keep their hands off each other for the duration."
He could feel the familiar combative irritation rising in him. "Oh, look, Trix, just answer the question, because I really want to know…how many others have touched you like that?"
With surprising sweetness, she smiled and kissed him.
"None," she said. "No-one else ever touched me like that, because that was you touching me and that made it different. It's different every time, with everyone," she went on pensively, and he felt the joy at her totally unexpected response fade away again. "Besides, why does it matter? It doesn't matter how many, or how few, or how long it lasts for, what's happened before or what happens afterwards. It's all about right now, Stingy, about being alive and being happy and making the most of what there is. Just go with the flow. Let's enjoy this while we can." She checked the clock. "We have to get back for Geometry."
"Oh, yes, Geometry," he said sarcastically, re-buttoning his shirt. "God forbid we miss out on learning how to trisect a circle."
"Are you actually suggesting we skip?"
"It had crossed my mind," he admitted.
"My word, you come across as such an uptight control-freak, but once you let go…" He took her in his arms again, but she pushed him firmly away. "Absolutely not. We have college next year. Come on." She took his hand and led him firmly out of the bedroom.
On the doorstep, she hesitated.
"Look, don't tell anyone about this, okay? This is just for us…"
We've only had half an hour together and already I want you to be just for me, he thought. How on earth am I going to handle this?
--
He handled it because he was clever, and knew how to conceal his increasing desperation to hold onto what he knew would never last.
They met whenever they could; always in secret, never for long. He knew that part of the thrill of it for her was the secrecy, the knowledge that they were getting away with it in front of everyone. The third time they met, she took his virginity; she refused to tell him if he had taken hers, although he strongly suspected he had not. She continued to make the rules.
He tried to think of it the way she thought of it; to tell himself that what mattered was right now, not where it was going the future. But all the old, jealous need that he had so carefully schooled himself to suppress as he grew older was rising up in him again. It wasn't enough to hold her in his arms for half an hour or half a day, he wanted her to be his completely…
Then, one afternoon, she met him in the library.
"Stingy," she said, just his name, no more; but he knew from the regretful sound of her voice what she was going to tell him.
"So who's the lucky man?" he asked her, leaning back in his chair. She looked at him ruefully. "It's all right. Like you said…it's all about right now…and our right now is over." He looked her straight in the face. "I'm right, aren't I?"
She took his face between her hands and kissed him softly on the lips. Without speaking, she turned around and left him sitting there.
He ran his fingers through his hair, and straightened his jacket where it hung on the back of his chair. Then he turned back to his copy of The Prince and the neat, comprehensive notes he was making on the pad before him; but it was a while before he could begin to write again.
--
He was sitting alone on the steps by the sports field, when suddenly Sportacus somersaulted lightly down the steps and sat down beside him.
"What's the trouble?" he asked with a friendly smile.
Stingy looked at him wordlessly.
"Oh…I see. This is not one for me to help with, I think." He thought for a minute. "Mmm. Wait here."
Feeling obscurely comforted, Stingy watched Sportacus cartwheel off across the field. Five minutes later, Stephanie arrived.
"It's Trixie, isn't it?" she said softly, sitting down on the steps.
Stingy considered denying it, but couldn't summon the energy.
"How did you know?" he asked her.
"Do you know how many times I've seen that look on some poor guy's face? You know what she's like, Stingy. She doesn't do long-term, she never has…"
"You know, that doesn't actually help very much."
"I'm sorry." Embarrassed, she ducked her head forward so that her hair fell across her face. "I know I'm not as good at this as - " she stopped suddenly.
"Oh, for God's sake. He knew, didn't he?" He laughed a little. "And she actually thought we were keeping it a secret…"
"I had absolutely no idea until this afternoon," she said quickly. "Sportacus did tell me, I hope you don't mind. He said he thought you'd rather talk to me." She laughed. "Although I don't seem to be doing very well at it."
"It's all right, Stephanie," he sighed. "Actually, Sportacus is right - I would rather talk to you more than him - more than anyone else in the world, actually. You're the only person who knows us both and knows what we're like and doesn't spend their life wiring things together or obsessing about toffee." He smiled at her fondly. "But please don't tell everyone else, okay? It'll be fine, it's just…it's never much fun getting dumped, that's all."
"So what happened?"
"We were together for a while. Now we're not. You're right, I know how she is. I just - I just - " he was embarrassed to find that there were tears in his eyes.
"Do you love her?"
He sighed.
"Oh, I don't know…most of the time we seem to irritate the hell out of each other. We've got completely different outlooks on life. We want totally different things. That doesn't sound much like love to me, not like…" He stopped abruptly. "These things happen, I suppose. Why don't you give me a full run-down of all the hearts she's broken over the last few years, so I don't feel quite so alone in all the world?"
