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SLOPPY FIRSTS

January pt.3

The Tenth

Earlier tonight Naraku came over to snap me out of my pissy mood at the request of the Clueless crew. An interwenchion, so to speak. It had taken less than two words for them to come to the conclusion that I'm (in their words, via Naraku) "Milking the whole Sango-is-gone misery for way too long." This was hilarious, considering how much I've been holding back. They had no Idea how much worse I could be.

"They think you need to stop acting like a gee bee and get over it."

Naraku in the most self-censoring foul mouth I know. Like every other jock, he worships Opie and Anthony-the afternoon talk radio duo and misogynist masterminds behind "Whip them out Wednesdays" (Female motorist and encouraged to titty-flash male drivers with a wow sign on their cars) and "Guess What's in my pants" (female caller rubs a phone against her most private of areas and male callers guess whether she's sporting a "Brillo,"a"Traingle"a "Hitler, or a "Wood Floor".) Like O and A, Naraku has gotten into the habit of substituting curses with initials. So "a gee dee bee" means "a goddamn bitch." Its kinda of endearing in a way, when I'm not in a foul mood. And I've been in a particularly foul mood lately for the obvious reasons, plus a protracted case of PMS that's two weeks in the works.

"What do you think?" I asked.

He hesitated for a second, rubbing his jaw before answering. "I don't thinks it's a bad Idea…"

That pissed me off. So I went on how Sango is not so easily forgotten because I'd have more fun with her pinkie toe then with anyone else because it alone had more kick-ass qualities than the whole school…

This made no sense.

But I was too upset to think straight, and even though I knew I was sounding psycho, I resented the idea of having to explain myself. And with Naraku, I always have to explain my self.

My tears came all of the sudden, catching us both off guard. Naraku stood there watching me for a few more moments with a panicked look on his face.

"Muther effer," he said to himself.

But then he sat down next to me until I calmed down. This was better than screwing up the moment by saying something corny.

Despite my antisocial tendencies, I don't' want to be the sophomore class pariah. While I'm feeling less then warm and fuzzy about the Clueless crew, I promise to make an effort. After all, you can only be in a bad mood for so long before you have to face up to the fact that it isn't a bad mood after all. It's just your sucky personality.

I'm grateful to Naraku for helping me come to this conclusion. He means well. I just wish he hadn't told Sango about his feelings for me before she left. He knew she would tell me. And it was so classic Naraku for him to be so serious about it, all, "Now that your gone, Kags and I will grow closer and she will finally realize that we're meant to be together. Ack. So every time he does something nice like coming over to my house for the sake of preserving my social status at Shikon high-I think, "you're doing this because you like me" That pretty much trashes it.

I have no idea why Naraku insists on carrying a torch for me. I got to know him much too well in middle school for anything to happen between us now. He was my first and only boyfriend. We went out for exactly eleven days in eight-grade. I if I had ignored him back then; I might be able to see the bulging biceps of a stud in bloom. But I just see Naraku. I see the chronic bed head that made his black hair branch off like a bunch of twigs. And how he would blow his nose and point out all the colours in the tissue. And the hard-ons (!) that used to poke through his sweat pants whenever he saw me in my track and field uniform. Jesus Christ!

And then there's the infamous Frenching incident. I can still feel that. We were in the parking lot right before the buses were about to pull away and Naraku totally tried to ram-jam his tongue down my throat during an "innocent" goodbye kiss. Thank god the bus driver slid the door shut on me before Naraku swallowed me whole. Up to that point, we had simple pecked good-bye. But without any warning, he decided to put an end to the hassle the baseball team was giving him to "slip me the tongue." I had no idea he was going to do it until I suddenly felt this wet thing flip-flopping around my mouth like a landlocked fish. So saliva-sloppy. And bescent mustache on my upper lip. Ew! It was as prickly as a daddy longlegs. I can't imagine kissing him again. No way. Never.

The thing is, I don't want to go out with Naraku just to guarantee that I'll have something to do on Saturday nights now that Sango is gone. Of course, everyone-my mom, my sister, the clueless crew, to name a few-thinks I'm insane for not jumping to the chance top become his girlfriend of the future captain of the football, basketball teams. He's already made varsity as a sophomore. (Well, baseball season hasn't begun yet, but the varsity coach is already body checking him into lockers whenever they meet in the halls. I'm told this is a good sign.) It's given that when he's a senior he'll be the SH role model for strength, spirit, and sportsmanlike conduct. And like his predecessors, Naraku is sure to make empty promises about persuading the administration to et rid of our "embarrassing" mascot: The Seagull.(I'm apparently the only athlete who thinks it's hilarious that our founding fathers chose a rat with wings as our school symbol.)

Personally, I find it a bit scary that Naraku is following in the Nike-clad footsteps of Rob Driscoll, his close personal friend and this year's captain of the überjock triumvirate. Rob's recent claim to fame is that he celebrated an away-game victory by persuading a freshman cheerleader to hide under his seagull's varsity jacket and suck him off in the back seat of the bus. Go team, go.

But the biggest reason I can't go out with Naraku is because I'm way too busy being obsessed with a senior who doesn't know that I even exist.
Sessho-maru Wada and I have spoken exactly once. (He bumped into me on the buffet line at last year's indoor track banquet. He said he was sorry. I giggled like an idiot, then dropped my plate of macaroni and cheese on the floor-too long after for the fumble to be the result of the collision.) Yet, I knew he is the only one worthy of my virginity. He's been accepted by early decision to Tokyo University, so he's super smart. And when I see him without a shirt at the track practice I'm overwhelmed by the urge to lick the sweat off his six-pack. Yum-yum.

Lately, I've been having a special Sweet Sixteen variation on my standard Sessho-maru-Wada-and-I-get-suck-in-an-eclosed-space-together-and-the-trauma-bonds-us-sexually-and-otherwise daydream.

In this one, Its my birthday and Sessho-maru and I have gotten locked inside the gym closet. (As always, how we got trapped is inconsequential.) At first, he's none too happy to be there with me of all people. And though I'm secretly thrilled, I pretend to be totally bummed out because it's my sweet sixteen and who wouldwant to spend a Sweet Sixteen trapped in a gym closet full of athletic equipment?

Eventually, he talks to me because we've been trapped in there for hours, and he's already juggled the soccer ball long enough and there's nothing more for him to do. Sessho-maru and I end up having what is the most fun, enlightening, intelligent, and all-around awesome conversation of both of our lives. Then, after a brief silence, he says

"So is this still the worst birthday you've ever had?"

And I say, "No, not anymore."

And he says, "I can think of one way to make it even better."

And then he slowly walks over to me, cups my (totally zit-free) face in his hands and ever so gently kisses me on the lips. We break away for a brief moment, look at each other in the eyes, and then smile. We start kissing again, but with more passion. Then we Tumble onto the gymnastic mat that is conveniently lying in the floor and have the sweetest sexual experience ever to occur within the hallowed halls of shikon high.

What's even more twisted is that if I pry, acknowledging that I know it will never happen, it will somehow up the odds that this daydream will come fruition.

I am hopeless. (Ha in more ways then one.)

But I don't need demented daydreams to tell me that my obsession with Sessho-maru Wada has gotten out of control. Today at track practice, I couldn't take my eyes of him. He was jumping the hurdles. He was all smoothness and grace. He made it look so easy- a sign of pure genius. One Two Three AIR…One Two Three AIR. I got so distracted by his poetry in motion that I wasn't ready when my teammate

Carrie W. came at me in a full-on sprint to hand off the baton. She crashed into me and I dropped it. Coach Kiley was pissed. Thank God Kiley thinks he can't scream at girls, otherwise Sessho-maru Wada would have heard his embarrassing Stop Gawking at the guys! Lecture.

Later, in the locker room, Carrie W. brought me back to reality in the straight-talking way that only she can.

"Kags, if you keep torturing yourself, I'm gonna kick you fucking ass."

I think maybe she should. Kick my fucking ass, that is. I am hopelessly in love with a guy I barley know. If this doesn't qualify me for an ass kicking nothing does. As a senior, Carrie W. has seen this kind of lame behaviour a bazillion times before. I suspect she's figured out how I feel about him even though I've never said a word to anyone besides Sango. In accordance with alphabetical destiny, Sessho-maru Wada and Carrie W. have sat by each other in nearly every class since seventh grade, so I can't ever confirm her suspicions.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." I said.

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