Corliss

  His house was a two-story light pink stucco, Spanish-style, similar to most in the neighborhood, with a cocoa-tiled entryway. There was a short, straight stairway with carpeted steps up to the bedrooms. His was the first on the left. Like everything else about him, it was all perfectly put together, the bed made, nothing out of place, and his books and magazines were organized. He had no posters on his dark-wood-paneled walls.

  “When was the last time you used this room?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “It’s very neat, Jackson. Very, very neat. I’d be afraid to show you mine.”

  “Oh.” He smiled and shrugged. “Maybe I have OCD.”

  I looked into his closet and saw how well organized that was as well.

  “Maybe.” I sat on his bed. “Comfortable.”

  “It’s a new mattress . . .”

  I kicked off my shoes and lay back against the pillow. Closing my eyes, I said, “You left some dreams in your pillow.”

  “What?”

  I smiled. “Didn’t you ever wonder where dreams go? They pop like bubbles, but sometimes a part of one lingers. At least for me.”

  He stood there, looking down at me.

  “Did you dream of me last night?” I asked.

  His cheeks turned a shade of rose.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you dream of me being here in your bed?”

  He started to shake his head but stopped and smiled. “Yes,” he confessed.

  “Well, I’m here.”

  I reached up for him. He took my hand slowly, his face full of disbelief and surprise. I held his palm tightly. Then I shifted over, and he lay beside me. When I brought my face closer to his, he kissed me.

  Feelings that had been twisted and knotted inside me began to unravel. When I moaned softly, keeping my eyes closed and my hand on his shoulder, he kissed me again, then on the neck and the chin, before pressing his lips to mine. I moved my hips and brought my body close enough to press against his growing excitement. Then I pushed myself up and began to unbutton my top.

  He looked so helpless, at the mercy of his libido.

  Lily Putney’s derogatory words in the girls’ room before they drugged me returned. I knew what she meant. I’d probably ruin it by telling him exactly what was going on in his body and what was going on in mine while we were doing it.

  Lily wasn’t completely wrong. My mind filled with knowledge of what was happening in both our bodies. All this information occurred to me, but I smothered it just as quickly as it had come. This was a time for feelings, not thoughts. I rushed at them, embracing them. They made me more aggressive than he was, but I was tired of being cautious and wise, brilliant and correct.

  It was time to be a woman.

  I undid my bra and brought my breast to his lips. I had fantasized this scene. Yes, I was a virgin, and maybe he was, too, but the rush of our pleasure was as overwhelming as a strong ocean wave.

  Within moments, I was down to my panties, he was in his underwear, and we were kissing and caressing. How much further would we go?

  “I really like you, Corliss,” he said.

  Oh, don’t justify your desire, I thought. Embrace it.

  Our kisses became more demanding. He pulled back and stepped off the bed, gazing down at me. But he wasn’t retreating. I sensed what he wanted, and that built even more excitement in me.

  Yes, I wanted it, too.

  I got off the bed, too, and we pulled back his blanket. Then he slipped out of his underwear, and I slipped off my panties. How ready was he? Had he ever done this with someone else? Was it part of his dream? Had he gone too far? Was it up to me to stop it now, to let the sensible part of me return? I wasn’t going to be another statistic.

  “Jackson,” I whispered.

  He put his finger on my lips, and then he surprised me when he opened the drawer of his night table. He paused before reaching in and turned to me. “We could stop now.”

  I saw the condom in his hand. I wasn’t about to ask him why he had one at the ready. I knew that some boys had them as a sign of their manhood, even though they had yet to use one. It was enough to carry it in your wallet like a badge. I once overheard Ted Scott refer to it as his loaded gun.

  Jackson was waiting for my permission. Was he being polite, considerate, or was he trying to avoid any sense of guilt? Did he think of it as sin? Did he think I would hate myself afterward and then hate him for tempting me? Why was it right for a boy to experience it, many times, in fact, and never suffer an iota of regret but instead feel he had accomplished something important, become an adult, become sophisticated, pound his chest and roar?

  I hated having to think at all about it. That was what the old Corliss Simon would do, the Corliss Simon who hadn’t been baptized with the nasty drug trip that had crushed her innocence.

  “It would be a worse sin to stop,” I said.

  His smiled broadened. I got under the blanket, and after a moment, he got under it, too.

  Yes, I knew exactly what to expect. I could take the teacher’s place in sex-education class, but nothing I’d read could bring the understanding that came from doing it. No textbook description of an orgasm could do it justice. No feeling could overwhelm and seize the core of my being as much. I was afraid he would rush through it and rob me of my expectations, but Jackson had lived his life fighting selfishness. Of course, I wondered if he was more experienced than I had thought, but I laughed to myself, thinking of one of my father’s favorite expressions: Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Don’t be ungrateful when you get a gift.

  I wasn’t going to be.

  Especially this time.

  4

  What I wondered most about myself afterward was whether my mother especially could take one look at me and know. Could my father? How changed was I, really?

  I thought Jackson was as stunned by how far we had gone as I was. Afterward, when he walked me home, we were both equally silent, equally thoughtful. Once we left his neighborhood, he held my hand the remainder of the way. He seemed quite nervous again as we approached my house. I didn’t want to hear any note of regret or smell even a whiff of an apology.

  When we reached my front door, I could see the hesitation in his face. I understood; he didn’t want to confront my father just yet.

  “Thank you for dinner.”

  “Yeah, it was great. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  He kissed me quickly and started away like a thief in the night.

  “Jackson,” I called.

  “Yes?”

  “Keep dreaming.”

  He laughed, nodded, and walked off.

  My parents were still watching television. I told them how good the restaurant was and suggested they try it. I studied their faces. Even my father looked a little amused. Both were happy that I was pleased. It occurred to me that they were probably still concerned about how the drug would affect me. The fact that they had suffered and were still suffering from so much anxiety revived my anger. How pleased Lily and Marsha must be with themselves, I thought. They had bested the school genius; they had shown her who was superior. What angered me the most was that I wasn’t going to sleep submerged in the pleasure of warm and exciting lovemaking. I was going to toss and turn with rage again.

  The following day, I concentrated on a research paper on the human genome for my biology class, a subject far beyond the normal curriculum. I didn’t realize until nearly two hours after lunch that Jackson had not called. When he did, he sounded frightened and troubled. He was on his mobile and asked me to meet him at a Starbucks in a strip mall three blocks west of my house.

  “Why?” Why wouldn’t he just come over?

  “I’ll tell you when I see you,” he said.

  Irritated, I hurried out without telling my parents I was leaving and walked to the Starbucks. He was already
there, sitting at a table near the front window. I had a feeling he had called me from there. He was hovering over his coffee and didn’t look up until I said his name.

  “Hey. Thanks for coming. You want something? Coffee, tea . . .”

  “No. Why did I have to come here? What is it, Jackson?”

  He waited for me to sit. “I didn’t tell my parents I was taking you out last night,” he began.

  “So?”

  “One of our neighbors, Mrs. Goshen, who’s in my mother’s book club, saw you and me go into the house.”

  “So?”

  “There was a whole to-do about it. My mother called my uncle, who came over, and they all gave me lectures and warnings.”

  “Warnings? About what?”

  “They don’t completely understand what happened to you. I mean, why it happened, and . . .”

  “And now they think I’m exposing you to a dirty, illegal, and immoral world full of sex and drugs,” I said bitterly. “Sounds like a good Christian family meeting.”

  “I told them how wrong they were, but my mother gets hysterical easily, and . . .”

  “And you want to cool it for a while,” I said. “At least, until you get your awards, like the citizenship award and scholarships.”

  He stared at me. “Sure you don’t want anything?”

  “No, Jackson. What are you saying, exactly?”

  He shrugged. “I thought maybe if we’re a little more discreet . . .”

  “You mean, have a secret romance, avoid each other in school, something like that?”

  “I really like you, Corliss. This is just a temporary glitch.”

  I stood up. “I have some serious work to do. I have this theory that evil is inherited in our DNA. As soon as I’ve completed the research, I’ll get it to you so you can give it to your family.”

  “Corliss . . .”

  “Relax,” I said. “Don’t you know the good guys always win?”

  I walked out quickly. All I could see was Lily Putney’s smiling face. Ripples of trouble were still forming from the disaster at the school dance. Those girls would have another victory over me to claim. As I continued home, the plan of revenge came to me quickly. By the time I was at my front door, I knew exactly what I was going to do, but to do it, I had to violate a trust.

  My mother had her rainy-day fund stored in an old teakettle that had belonged to her grandmother. None of us, not even my father, knew how much was in it. On Sunday night, while my parents were out and after my brother and sister had gone to bed, I went to the kettle and plucked out a fifty-dollar bill and a twenty. I didn’t think my mother counted the money. She simply put in the dollars when she could, occasionally took some out, especially for things my brother and sister needed, things my father would say they could do without, and left it at that.

  It was fascinating how quickly students at my school got to know things. It seemed to me that before homeroom was over, most of the girls in my class knew that Jackson had taken me to dinner. What stirred their interest even more was how Jackson and I avoided each other. I knew it would. At lunch, I sat at a corner table by the window and read a copy of a Stanford University research paper regarding the human genome. However, I was keenly aware of the gossip around me.

  Jackson was sitting practically on the other side of the cafeteria, with Ted and two of their other friends. Marsha Bloom apparently had volunteered to find out the nitty-gritty between Jackson and me. She sauntered over to my table and plopped into the seat across from me. I had anticipated this but pretended to be surprised.

  “Are you here to confess?” I asked.

  She laughed. “Everyone thought you and Jackson Marshall were hooking up. Two brains.”

  “Yeah, well, so did I,” I said. I leaned toward her. “I should have listened to you guys.”

  “Huh?”

  “Everyone’s idea of perfect. Turns out, I might contaminate him.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing. That’s the problem,” I said, and looked at my paper.

  She laughed and started to stand.

  “Got to get him to loosen up. Know what I mean?” I said.

  “Yeah. Well, good luck with that.”

  “Hey,” I said. She turned back to me. I glanced around and then reached between the last pages of my paper to expose the fifty and the twenty. “What can I get for this? Next chance I have, I’d like to turn him on.”

  She stared at the money and then sat again. “You serious?”

  “We’re seeing each other secretly tomorrow night at his house. His parents have a thing to go to.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “What’s the difference? His parents think I do it anyway, thank you very much.” I shrugged. “Maybe this time, I’ll have a good time.”

  She laughed again and eyed the money. “You want to spend all that?”

  “When?”

  “Let me talk to Lily,” she said.

  She walked back to her table, and I went back to pretending I was reading. Out of the corner of my eye, however, I watched them debate. Lily finally nodded, and Marsha returned to my table.

  I looked up.

  “Be in the girls’ room next to the music room ten minutes into the last period,” she said.

  I nodded and returned to my paper. Indifference was always more convincing. But they weren’t the brightest bulbs on the Christmas tree. They had gotten away with it once; they were sure they could again. As far as they were concerned, I couldn’t compete on their playing field. I was no threat. I was a naive bookworm, and now I wasn’t credible anyway.

  When the bell rang, I made sure to take my time leaving the cafeteria. The girls from hell went to their classes. On my way to mine, I took a quick detour and stopped to see Mrs. Turman. Then I went to class and acted no differently than ever. If anything, I was more energetic than usual, developing a new conversation with my English teacher about Huckleberry Finn while the rest of the class sat idle.

  Ten minutes into the last class of the day, I asked to go to the bathroom and sauntered down the hallway as casually as ever. When I entered the bathroom, Lily and Marsha weren’t there. I tried not to panic. Standing in front of the sink and the mirror, I toyed with my hair, my heart racing. Almost a minute later, they entered.

  “Where’s your money?” Lily asked.

  “Where are the pills?” I countered.

  She looked at Marsha, who nodded. Then she unbuttoned her blouse, reached into her bra with her left hand, and came out with a packet. She held out her right hand.

  The first stall door opened, and Mrs. Turman stepped out. She blew a whistle, and Dean Becker and the school’s security guard entered the bathroom.

  “You bitch,” Lily said. “We’ll get you for this.”

  Afterward, Dean Becker had me write out what had occurred in the bathroom, not that he needed it. Mrs. Turman had seen and heard it all. I hurried home at the end of the day and put the money back into my great-grandmother’s teakettle. I looked after Andrea and Randall, helping them with their homework, and then set the table for dinner. My mother was very pleased when she came home.

  I waited until after dinner, when Andrea and Randall were watching television, before I told my parents anything. Contrary to what I had been anticipating, my father did not look happy about it.

  “I don’t like that you were involved with drugs again,” he said. “No matter what. It wasn’t your job to catch those girls.”

  “They hurt me; they hurt all of us,” I said.

  “I don’t like it.” He rose and went into the living room.

  “I guess I can never make him happy now,” I told my mother.

  She didn’t say anything. She looked confused and afraid. Twenty minutes after I went to my room to read, my phone rang. It was Jackson.

 
“Everyone’s talking about what you did!” he began.

  “Did you tell your parents?”

  “It won’t change things. They’ll think you turned state’s evidence or something.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I’m happy they got theirs.”

  “But?”

  “I don’t know if it really solves anything.”

  “You mean, for us?”

  “Some of the guys think I was in on it,” he revealed.

  So that’s it, I thought.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure everyone knows you weren’t.”

  “You get called things—narc, snitch—stuff like that.”

  “Is that why you were so equivocal when you were first questioned about what happened to me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You told the dean you hadn’t seen them do it, but you knew they had.”

  “I told him what I thought. That’s all I could tell him. It’s a sin to bear false witness.”

  “Sins can become quite convenient sometimes.”

  “I always believed you, Corliss.”

  “I just decided what you should go to school to become.”

  “What?”

  “A politician.”

  “Ha, ha. Look, I want you to know that deep down, no matter what, I’m proud of you,” he said. “And when I can . . .”

  “You’ll prove it. I know. I’m tired. It’s been a big day. See you.”

  “You will,” he assured me. Or he was assuring himself.

  However, he wasn’t too far off with his concerns, nor was my father with his fears.

  5

  They didn’t wait for me to get to school. My sister, Andrea, saw it first when she opened our front door that morning. Her scream resonated through the house and was so shrill that it made my spine vibrate and stole my breath away for a moment. I was just finishing brushing my hair. I froze and listened, and then I heard my mother shout for my father. I rushed to the front door and found my parents, Andrea, and Randall staring at the short front portico.