"What do you mean he loves you?" Anna demands.
A giggle escapes my lips. "What do you mean what do I mean?" I ask and giggle again. It's Saturday, late morning, and I'm stretched across my bed, talking on the phone to Anna. She's at school, of course. I've been calling her all day. It took forever for someone to track her down.
"You sound...giddy," Anna says, disdainfully. "Are you completely off your nut?"
I stop giggling and roll onto my back. "I'm happy, Anna. How often am I truly and totally happy?"
"Never," Anna replies. She pauses. "You don't think it's weird? Shannon, you've been dating this guy for three weeks and already he loves you? Are you sure he's not insane? He could be a psychopath. You don't know."
"Because someone would have to be insane to love me?" I demand.
"Of course not! But honestly, Shannon! Are you sure he's sincere? Maybe he's just trying to get you to sleep with him. You told him you're a virgin? I heard some guys like deflowering virgins."
"Wes isn't like that," I argue, sitting up. I kick my pillow. Anna doesn't understand. She doesn't understand at all. "Wes is practically perfect."
"No one's perfect, Shannon."
I sigh, leaning against the wall. My earlier happiness has quickly subsided. "Okay, he isn't perfect," I relent. "He is extremely disorganized. I don't know how he gets anything finished on time. He's obsessed with his cat. That's a little weird. He's always telling me stories about the cat. And the cat hates me. I think it's mentally disturbed. He's also really close to his parents, but I haven't met them, so I don't know if he's overly-attached or not." I pause for a breath and it occurs to me that I've made Wes sound much less than perfect. Like a cat-crazed slob and mama's boy. That isn't Wes at all. "But his good points far outweigh his imperfections," I assure Anna. I list for her all the wonderful things about Wes, how he is thoughtful and gentle and funny in a sort of dorky way, and he understand me, and apparently loves me. "What's wrong with wanting to be loved?" I ask Anna.
"I love you, Shannon," she replies.
"That isn't the same."
Anna's silent on her end. In the background, I hear girls running down the hallway, calling out and laughing. There's only one phone on the floor of Anna's dorm. It's in the center of the hallway. I always wonder if other girls are hanging around, listening in on Anna's side of the conversation. "Shannon," she says, breaking her silence. "I think it's time to bail out. You're in over your head. This isn't simply running around, having a good time anymore. This guy is obviously looking for a serious relationship. And he's moving at breakneck speed. Next week, he'll be asking you to move in. He's probably already put a down payment on a diamond engagement ring for Christmas!"
"I'm ready for a serious relationship," I protest.
Anna sighs, exasperated. "You're seventeen-years-old, Shannon. You aren't ready for a serious anything. Plus, you are lying to him."
"Not about the things that count."
"There's no talking to you, is there?" Anna says with another sigh. Anna can be so melodramatic.
"Is there any talking to you?" I reply in a slightly challenging tone. "Have you spoken to your mother lately?"
"We weren't talking about me!" Anna snaps, voice rising.
"You need to tell your mother the truth."
"And you need to tell Wes the truth."
We are silent.
My breath is heavy in the receiver, heavy like Anna's on the other end. "I'm sorry, Anna," I say and I am.
"I'm sorry, too," she replies, much quieter than before. "I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want you making any regrettable mistakes. No more than you've already made."
No one ever worries about me. "I know you are," I tell Anna. "I'm happy right now. Isn't that enough?"
Anna doesn't answer. I hear whispering on her end and her hand sliding over the receiver. More muffled whispers, then Anna comes back on the line. "My time's up, Shannon. Someone else needs the phone," she says. "Please be careful."
"I'm always careful," I assure her. "Please come home soon."
Anna and I hang up. I lay back on my bed, stretch out my legs so my feet press against the wall. Thanksgiving. That's when Anna claims she'll be back. Maybe. I'll be back for Thanksgiving. Maybe. Almost three weeks. That's the best she can promise me. And her promise includes a "maybe".
At one o' clock, I walk over to Kristy's. She called earlier and informed me today was a day for everyone to hang out and we would hang out in her room since that's the only place we ever hang out. She didn't invite Greer. She made a point to tell me that. Kristy hasn't forgiven Greer either.
Lindsey's just pulled into the driveway when I reach Kristy's side of the street. Now that Lindsey's finally off grounding, she has her car back, as well as her television and phone. Lindsey climbs out of the car wearing a mid-calf gray skirt and powder blue sweater set.
"Classy," I tell her, stopping beside her car.
Lindsey slams the car door, then turns around to face me. She's wearing her sour lemon expression. "I know," she says, irritably. "I look like a moron. I didn't have time to go home and change. I know how Kristy is whenever anyone's late. I had to go to Shabbat services with Sadie and George. Of course, Sadie can't attend the synagogue in Stoneybrook. No, we have to go all the way to Stamford because it's a conservative synagogue. I said to her, 'Sadie, how conservative can you really be? You married a Methodist!' Doesn't that make her a bad Jew? Of course, she doesn't agree. She just says to be quiet and enjoy listening to Rabbi Bernstein drone on for three hours. Three hours. For some reason, Sadie and George think that's a fabulous way to spend Saturday morning. And then tomorrow, I have to get up and do it all over again at First Methodist with George. Because we can't just go to one religious service a week. No, we have to be freaks."
I press the heel of my palm to my forehead. Lindsey talks so fast I don't catch half of what she says. Dear Lord. It's starting again. It's just like all the other times. When was the last time? The last time she was really bad? Tenth grade. Spring of tenth grade. Kristy was persecuting her then.
"Are you taking your medication?" I ask, briskly.
"Of course!" Lindsey snaps. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"
If she's taking her medication, shouldn't she be acting, well, normal? "Did you see Dr. Petrinski yesterday?" I ask.
"Yes. She's screwing with my medication again. Everyone's always screwing with my medication," Lindsey says, tossing her braid over her shoulder. "I'm not sleeping well lately. I think it's because everyone's always on my case. You know how Sadie and George nag me. They're always breathing down my neck. Yesterday, I went to the mall and I saw these shoes and..."
Lindsey talks the entire way into the house and up the stairs.
Kristy and Abby are in Kristy's bedroom, sitting side by side on the bed, propped up against some pillows. They stop talking as soon as Lindsey and I enter. Abby's scowling.
"What's wrong?" I ask, although it's not unusual these days for Abby to be upset. I sit down in Kristy's desk chair. It's soft brown leather. I lean back and prop my feet on an overturned laundry basket. Lindsey flops down across the room in Kristy's old beat up recliner. Thankfully, she's stopped chattering incessantly.
Abby continues scowling. "Greer Carson," she spits out.
Of course.
"What has Greer done now?" I sigh.
Abby sits up straighter and wraps her arms around her knees. She sighs, heavier than I. "First of all, she brought Sally White along last night."
I smack myself in the head. Greer, Greer, Greer.
"Yeah, that's how I felt," Abby says. "I was waiting at the train station and here they came. Can you believe Greer invited her to come have dinner with me and my mother? What is wrong with Greer these days?"
"I told you, you should have refused to let her come," Kristy says.
"What was I going to do? Throw Sally from the train? Tempting, I know, but not exactly legal," Abby replies. "So, we're on the train for fifteen minutes and Greer picks up a guy. Some college guy going home from UConn for the weekend. So, Greer ditches us! I mean, literally ditches us! Not just on the train. She leaves Grand Central with him!"
My eyebrows shoot up. I glance over at Lindsey. Even she, who has the worst judgment regarding guys ever, looks shocked.
"She left with him?" I repeat, eyebrows still raised. "Just ran off into New York City with some random guy from the train?"
Abby nods, furiously. "Yes! And left me alone with Sally White! I had to spend the entire evening with her!"
Lindsey suddenly can't decide whether to continue looking shocked or turn green with envy. "So, what was it like hanging out in New York with Sally White?" she asks, casually. She would die to have switched places with Abby. That worries me. Worries me almost as much as the fear that we're embarking on another of Lindsey's "episodes", as her grandparents call them.
Abby and Kristy share a brief glance. Kristy purses her lips very tightly and looks disapproving.
Abby shrugs, looking a bit embarrassed. "Oh, well...it wasn't that bad. I mean, with Sally White, it could have been so much worse. She called me Abigross the whole time, except when we were with my mom, and made snide remarks about my hair and my decision to eat at the Hard Rock Cafe, which Sally insists isn't the coolest restaurant in New York - "
Kristy snorts.
"But well..." Abby continues, "it was mostly okay. We spent most of the train ride making fun of the other passengers. Then while we were waiting for Mom's assistant to pick us up at Grand Central, we were following behind people, mimicking them." Abby laughs. "There was this one lady with this enormous calculator. It was bigger than my head, I swear. And she was walking through the station, punching in numbers and bobbing her head side to side like this." Abby begins punching on an imaginary calculator and bobbing her head with a strange pursed expression on her face.
Kristy looks absolutely disgusted. "Would you please tell them the worst part?" she says, crabbily.
Abby stops laughing and punching her imaginary calculator. "What? Oh, yeah, Mom likes Sally White."
I wrinkle my nose. Despite all her negative attributes, I consider Mrs. Stevenson to be a mostly practical, grounded woman. That she could exhibit such poor taste is appalling. Of course, she doesn't have the best track record where good judgment is concerned.
"Did you tell your mom what Greer did?" I ask.
Abby hesitates. "Well...no. She would have called the Carsons and gotten Greer into trouble. I mean, Sally and I were both pretty pissed at Greer, but we agreed not to tell. Of course, Sally said that when the police call in the Carsons to identify the Greer pieces in a duffel bag, I get to be the one to take the blame."
Startled, I tip back up in the desk chair, dropping my feet from the laundry basket. Why didn't that occur to me before? "Has anyone spoken to Greer today?" I demand, my heart starting to pound.
Kristy and Abby exchange another glance. "We called right before you arrived," Kristy says. "No one's answering at Greer's house."
"Greer's fine," Lindsey insists. She's reclined as far back as possible in the recliner, her blonde braid hanging over the back, gathering on the carpet.
My current feelings toward Greer notwithstanding, I fill with worry and dread. Greer has poor impulse control when it comes to cute guys. She's too trusting and cocky. What if something happened to her? And what would be the last thing I ever said to her? Oh, yes. It was Thursday, eighth period and I said, kindly move your backside off my study table, then I swatted her with my Italian book.
"Where's your phone, Kristy?" I ask, looking around on the desk.
"Who are we calling?" a floaty voice asks from the doorway.
Meg.
I spin around in the desk chair to see Meg enter the room. She's wearing a raspberry-colored tennis dress and a matching visor. She drops her bag and racket on the floor. "Sorry that I'm late. I know tardiness upsets you, Kristy. We went to the pro shop after my lesson to buy a new racket. Who are we calling?" Meg asks again. She walks over to the recliner and kicks Lindsey's right shin until Lindsey sits up and makes room for her in the recliner.
"Greer," I answer. I've just found the phone sitting on the windowsill. Before I dial, I spin the chair around to face Meg. "Have you spoken to Greer today?" I ask Meg.
"No," Meg replies and so I start dialing, as Meg continues, "She left a message on our answering machine this morning, though, while Penn and I were at equitation class. I didn't understand it. Something about bagging number six."
I press the off button and drop the phone on the desk.
Kristy looks horrified. "Greer slept with the guy on the train?" she exclaims.
"She had sex on a train?" cries Meg.
Greer Carson is the most irresponsible girl I have ever known.
It takes awhile to get Meg caught up on the story. Abby's version of events has slightly shifted now that there is no fear that Greer may be dead. She adds details about Greer's leather miniskirt and how she hung over the back of her seat, so Mr. UConn could have a perfect view of her breasts, which were barely covered anyway. I'm wondering what Greer was thinking, dressing like that for dinner with Mrs. Stevenson.
"This is disgusting," Kristy says. "She doesn't even know this person and she sleeps with him? Didn't she listen during sex ed.? She's going to get a disease. And I'm not sure I'll feel completely sorry for her when it happens."
"We don't have sex ed. at Stoneybrook Day," Lindsey points out.
"Maybe she's in love with him," suggests Meg.
Kristy shoots Meg an are-you-totally-stupid? look. "After four hours?"
Meg shrugs.
"I think Tiffany's going to have sex soon," I blurt out. I hadn't intended to tell anyone. It seems disloyal to Tiffany. She is my sister. I don't like others thinking poorly of her. But Kristy, Abby, Meg, and Lindsey are my closest friends. I would have told Anna. That's who I should have told.
No one looks very surprised.
"You mean she hasn't already?" Kristy asks.
"Kristy!" I exclaim.
"Well, it is Tiffany," Kristy reminds me. "She isn't exactly...virtuous."
I ignore Kristy. "What am I supposed to do?" I ask, directing the question to everyone but Kristy, who would probably suggest a chastity belt. Or a contract, like Meg's mother made her sign. "Am I supposed to buy her condoms, like I'm giving her my blessing? She's only fifteen. But I don't want her getting pregnant or contracting a disease."
"Giving her condoms would only make her think it's all right to have sex," Kristy tells me. She takes a tablet and pen off her night table and flips to a blank page. She begins writing. She's taking notes. "It's like giving her permission."
Abby shakes her head. "I disagree, Kristy. If kids are going to have sex, they're going to have sex. I think SDS should distribute condoms. Better safe than sorry."
"That would go over real well with Dr. Patek," I say.
Lindsey laughs. "My grandparents would pull me out of school. They're so old-fashioned. Send Tiffany to Sadie, she loves to lecture about sex and self-esteem and body image," Lindsey says, then puts on a high, fake voice, "'Sex is a physical expression of love. That's why it's referred to as making love. Wait until you're married. I did.'" Lindsey rolls her eyes.
"That doesn't sound anything like your grandmother," Meg tells her.
Abby's looking over Kristy's shoulder at the notes she's making, but turns her attention back to me. "Honestly, Shannon, there isn't much you can do, except talk to Tiffany and listen. Tiffany doesn't need permission for anything. She has a mind of her own. And I don't think Tiffany would be exactly shy about going out and buying her own condoms."
I frown at Abby, even though I know she's right. Tiffany would have no qualms about purchasing condoms. In fact, she'd probably go to the A&P and buy them from Sam Thomas.
Kristy stops writing. "Okay," she announces, loudly, "I've compiled a list of alternatives to having sex. I'll read them aloud then everyone can add to them." Kristy clears her throat. "Number one, bowling."
Lindsey tosses her head back and laughs. "You are so my grandmother!" she cries. "Add 'join Shabbat Youth Choir' to your list. That's what I had to do when Sadie and George caught me and Karl Schmauder on the couch with my shirt off freshman year."
Kristy looks at her, reproachfully. "This isn't a joke," she says, seriously, then looks at me for confirmation. I shrug, even though Kristy and I made our own extensive list over the summer when Mick started pressuring me to have sex. I took it seriously then. "Never mind. I'm not reading any more," Kristy tells us, flipping the tablet closed and tossing it onto the night table.
I don't particularly care to discuss Tiffany and sex anymore. I turn to Meg. "How did you like your future husband?" I ask her. Last night was the first meeting of the Jardins and the Irvings. Mrs. Jardin organized a big, fancy dinner at their house. I'm sure it was way more pretentious than my mother's.
Meg's picking at her fingernails. The raspberry-colored polish is flaking off. Mrs. Jardin won't be pleased. "He was all right, I guess," she says with a shrug. "My mother wasn't as thrilled with him as expected. He showed up wearing a navy blue sports coat over a red Hawaiian-print shirt. And he was wearing these white wrap-around sunglasses that he wore all through dinner. My mom didn't like that." Meg chuckles. "But I like Dr. Irving and Mrs. Irving and their younger kids are nice. I'm sure Price is okay, too."
Kristy holds up her hand. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Price Irving? Your mother's making you date Price Irving? Ew!" Kristy grabs her stomach and falls forward, retching.
Abby looks like she just ate something truly disgusting. "Ew is right! Price Irving is a major creepazoid! And I say that having hardly known him!"
Meg shrugs. "I thought he was kind of funny."
It sounds like Mrs. Jardin has found Meg a real winner. I look over at Lindsey, who has been oddly quiet. I know that last night she had Ross Brown over for dinner. She ranted quite a bit to me before school yesterday about her grandparents' constant oppression of her freedom to date. They insisted on having Ross for dinner before Lindsey could go on an actual date with him. They've decided Lindsey has been too irresponsible lately. But Lindsey doesn't interject anything about her night. Instead, she listens to Meg while twisting her braid around her hand. At least it's not in her mouth.
At four o' clock, Mrs. Jardin calls looking for Meg and orders her to come home. I start gathering my things, as well, as do Lindsey and Abby.
"I have a ton of homework still," Abby tells us. "And Claudia and Erica are picking me up at six. We're going to watch the SHS production of Dracula. Apparently, the drama club built this huge, elaborate set and last night, Jessi Ramsey tumbled off the parapet and landed on Barbara Hirsch. We're hoping it happens again tonight."
Abby runs ahead of us, so that I walk Lindsey to her car alone.
"Do you think Meg's mad at me?" she asks.
"Meg?" I repeat, surprised. "No. Why?"
"About Ross. Did she actually like him?"
I remember Sally White's words, Meg couldn't tell you what she likes to eat for breakfast. "I don't think so," I reply, although with Meg, I never know.
Lindsey frowns and leans back against her car. "I don't want Meg to be mad at me. I mean, Ross didn't like her like that. He told me. It isn't like with you and Greer and Mick."
I purse my lips. I'd almost forgotten about that. Greer can sleep with any random guy she meets on a train, but refuses to pursue my ex and I'm supposed to appreciate her sacrifice. What a wonderful friend Greer turned out to be.
"Lindsey, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
I take a deep breath. There's no one else I can ask. "What was it like to have sex?" I ask.
Lindsey's eyes widen in surprise. "Oh..." she says, then frowns. "I don't know. It only took about a minute and a half. It hurt a lot."
That's not how Greer ever described sex. She makes it sound like something out of a movie. I've never really believed that. But her stories are all I have to go on, aside from things I've read in books and magazines. My mother gave me the bare facts and nothing more. Lindsey's never said much about losing her virginity that summer at camp. She never mentioned anything about a minute and a half. "Did you ever hear from him again?" I ask her.
She shakes her head. "No. He didn't speak to me for the rest of camp. And he didn't come back this summer."
"I bet your grandmother's right," I tell her. "You should care about the other person. You should be in love."
Lindsey stares at me, perplexed. "I guess," she says, slowly. She tilts her head to the side. "Are you planning to have sex?" she asks.
"No," I reply, which is the truth. I'm not planning anything. I'm only thinking.