Vegan Virgin Valentine

  Bethany and Keith were staring at us like they had no idea what we were talking about.

  “You guys,” Bethany finally said, “are so incredibly related.”

  V smiled at me. I smiled back at her, thinking how I didn’t take that as an insult, not even for a second.

  Chapter Seventeen

  My parents decided to take V to New York City to see a Broadway musical. Partially, it was because they were proud of her performance as Lola, so they wanted to do something special for her. And partially because there was a teachers’ conference on a Monday at the end of April, so school was closed for a long weekend. And partially because their friend, Mike Shreves, was having a birthday bash in Manhattan that Saturday night, so my parents said it would be a good excuse to go.

  But I know my parents well enough to know that there are always hidden motives, especially in the spring of junior year. Lo and behold, my parents did not disappoint. Once V had said yes and my mom had purchased three tickets to Hairspray, they mentioned that, hey, it couldn’t hurt to go on a tour of NYU. After all, they have Tisch School of the Arts, which is one of the most prestigious undergraduate acting programs in the country. And then, a few days later, they said that rather than flying down on JetBlue, why don’t they take off Friday as well and drive to the city? The weather is mild and, besides, they can meander by Hamilton and Bard and Colgate on the way back and check out the campuses.

  I’d been invited to join them, but I said that my statistics final was coming up and senior-class council was consuming the rest of my time as prom preparations kicked into high gear.

  LIE! LIE! LIE!

  My Big and Illicit Reason for not going was that I wanted to spend the night with James. Over the past few weeks, things were really heating up with us. We’d started fooling around on his bed, and he’d been touching inside my bra and sometimes even kissing there. One time, when he was doing that, I pulled up his T-shirt, too, and pressed my chest against his chest. That felt so good that whenever I thought about it, I’d smile uncontrollably, even if I was sitting in physics or pushing back my cuticles or waiting at a stoplight.

  But despite all of this, I felt like there was this constant time pressure with James and me. We had an hour, a half hour, my cell phone might ring, he had to be back at Common Grounds. We always had to be ready to wash our faces and gather our hair into ponytails and think of an excuse for where I was.

  So when my parents mentioned leaving town and taking V with them, it was like a light-bulb-over-the-head solution. I talked about it with James and we came to the conclusion that I couldn’t sleep at his apartment because my parents might call our house late at night to make sure I’m there. But we could pull off having James sleep at my place. If my parents called, I could just be like, Sure, don’t worry about me, everything’s fine.

  And so, on Friday morning, I helped them load the car with munchies and maps and dressy clothing in dry-cleaner bags. As my mom backed down the driveway, my dad told me to leave my cell phone on and always lock the doors.

  “I will,” I said.

  V leaned out her window. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

  I considered that for a second. There’s probably not much that V wouldn’t do, so I waved and shouted, “I won’t!”

  They all waved back and my mom drove down our street. I watched as the Yale bumper sticker got farther and farther away and then was out of sight.

  As it turned out, James had to go to Schenectady on Friday night for his grandmother’s ninetieth birthday party. It’s a four-hour drive, so he was going to sleep over and return the following afternoon. That evening, I went to a movie with Bethany and Lindsey, got home by ten-thirty, called my parents, and then went to bed. As I lay under my covers, I couldn’t stop thinking about how James was going to sleep over the next night. I ran my hand over my hips, slipping my fingers inside the elastic band of my underwear. Sometimes, when James and I are kissing and I’m pressing my body against him, I have this urge for him to touch me down there.

  I was restless the whole next day. I spent forty-five minutes distractedly flipping through the Johns Hopkins course catalog. Even though I don’t have to register for my summer classes until the end of May, my parents keep bugging me to do it sooner rather than later so I can be sure to get my first choices. But I can’t seem to figure out what I want to take. Whenever I think about this summer, I think how I’d rather be spending my last two months before college with James, not pressure-cooking in some classroom in Baltimore.

  I set the course catalog aside and sent some e-mails to various members of the senior-class council about the prom budget. I mined the cupboards for snack foods and left a message with Bethany and opened and closed Elementary Statistics. I took a shower and shaved my legs. I rubbed my mom’s expensive skin cream all over my body. I resisted squeezing a few blackheads on my chin because I didn’t want them to be swollen that night.

  Finally, I put on my sneakers and walked to the canal. I made a serious attempt along the way to appreciate the yellow daffodils and newly budding trees. But all I could think about was that James would be back in a few hours, we’d work together at Common Grounds, he’d come over to my house, and then…

  OH. MY. FREAKING. GOD.

  James and I would sleep in the same bed tonight!

  That evening, James and I kept smiling at each other and bumping hips and drawing hearts on receipt tape. It didn’t help that he wore his faded jeans with the hole in the thigh. And it didn’t help that it was warm and balmy, a perfect spring night. And it didn’t help that my co-worker Josh kept singing “Love Is in the Air.”

  After Claudia quit, James reorganized the schedule to cover her shifts. He decided to separate Josh and Randy, since the two of them together upped the loud ante to a near-deafening pitch. When Josh joined my shifts, we didn’t overtly tell him we were together, but we didn’t hide our affection either, so he’d pretty much guessed it by now.

  But Josh was right about Saturday night. There was definitely a feeling in the air, some blend of love and excitement and anticipation.

  Things got even more exciting as the evening progressed. The chubby older woman/skinny younger guy were sitting at their regular table, drinking their regular decaf cappuccinos and sharing their regular piece of blueberry cheesecake. They’ve been in here almost every weekend since January, when Claudia and I presumed they met on the Internet. They’re always nuzzling and holding hands. I used to think they were a bizarre mismatch, how she’s practically double his age and he’s practically half her size. But over the past few months, I’ve gotten used to them.

  Around nine-thirty, I was unloading mugs from the dishwasher. James was filling a jar with chocolate-covered espresso beans. Josh was singing, “Love is in the air, love is in the air, oh, oh, oh, oh, uh, uh, uh, uh…”

  Just as Josh hit his last “uh” and I stacked my last mug, the skinny guy rose out of his chair, knelt down on one knee, and held out a little jewelry box. The woman slowly set down her forkful of cheesecake. I tapped James’s elbow and pointed in their direction. As soon as he realized what was happening, he turned to Josh and said, “Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

  Everyone in Common Grounds was staring at them. The guy was still kneeling. The woman nodded as she looked into the now-open box. He slipped the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand and they started hugging and kissing. Everyone applauded. I could feel myself tearing up.

  “SEE???” Josh shouted, stretching his arms out to either side. “LOVE IS IN THE AIR!”

  James clapped his hands together and made an announcement that decaf cappuccinos and slices of blueberry cheesecake were on the house.

  More applause.

  As I began making cappuccinos and Josh, who had resumed his singing, served up the cheesecake, I got this sad feeling in my throat. I was thinking about Claudia and how, when the now-engaged couple first came into Common Grounds, I’d joked that the woman wanted a “bling-bling on her fing-fing.” Clau
dia would have gotten a kick out of being here tonight and seeing my prediction come true.

  Once the line of freebie-seekers eased up, I told James I was taking a quick break. I stepped onto the sidewalk and pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. I clicked through until I got to Claudia’s number.

  Unfortunately, Pauline answered.

  “Is Claudia there?” I asked.

  “May I ask who’s calling?”

  “It’s Mara.”

  “Mara from Common Grounds?”

  “Yeah.”

  Pauline cleared her throat. “I thought you understood that Claudia doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  “But I thought—”

  “Don’t you know about Pavlov’s dogs?”

  “What?” I asked. “Whose dogs?”

  “Pavlov’s. It was a psychological experiment where the dogs’ mouths salivated whenever Pavlov rang a bell because they thought they were going to get fed.”

  “I’m not sure what this has to do with—”

  “That’s called a ‘conditioned response,’” Pauline said. “And you should be conditioned to know that if you ring here, guess what response you’re going to get?”

  “What?”

  “Goodbye,” Pauline said, hanging up.

  I slid my phone back into my pocket. I felt like crying. I really needed to talk to Claudia, to tell her I was sorry for going behind her back, to hear that maybe, just maybe, she was willing to forgive me.

  I pulled out my phone again and dialed V’s cell.

  “Mara?” she asked. I could hear voices and laughing and silverware clinking.

  “Where are you?”

  “What?”

  “I said, ‘Where are you?’”

  “It’s too loud in here. Hold on.”

  I could hear V saying something and then my dad saying, “What’s wrong? Is Mara okay?” and V saying, “Yeah, I think she just called to say hi.”

  A minute later, V breathlessly said, “Hey, there! I just ran out to the sidewalk.”

  “Where are you?”

  “We’re at that birthday party for your parents’ friends. It’s a totally fancy restaurant, but get this… They don’t even serve ketchup! Ketchup? Can you imagine a restaurant not having ketchup?”

  I laughed. “How’s it going otherwise?”

  “Oh, fine. We’re going to Hairspray tomorrow night. And we saw NYU this afternoon. G-ma and G-pa are convinced that it’s the school for me.”

  “What do you think?”

  “We’ll see. So how’re you? What’s up?”

  “This is probably going to sound completely out of the blue.” I paused for a moment. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry I was so hard on you … about what happened with you and Travis.”

  V didn’t say anything. The light changed on Main Street and several cars whizzed by.

  “V? Did you hear me?”

  “Yeah,” she said quietly.

  “Did I totally weird you out?”

  “No … I’m just thinking…” V trailed off. “I’m just thinking … you don’t know how badly I needed to hear that.”

  “Really?”

  “It was a shitty thing to do. I don’t know why I’m such an idiot all the time.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Well, sometimes.”

  “We all do stupid things sometimes. But that doesn’t mean—”

  “Not you,” V said.

  Not me?! I’m a Pavlovian dog, a traitorous inflicter of deep psychological wounds.

  “Yes, me,” I said. “Definitely me.”

  At first, it was weird being with James at my house. He’d never been inside before, so I felt kind of nervous. Not in a hostessy way, like I had to dote on him, and not even in a guilty way, like I thought I was going to get caught. My parents were definitely, positively in New York City. And I’d driven James over from Common Grounds, so neighbors wouldn’t see both of our cars pulling in the driveway.

  I think the nerves were coming more from the collision of two worlds. My parents’ house, my report card on the fridge, my childhood. And then James, that sexy smile on his face, that hole in his jeans, the me who I am now.

  I dealt with it by fluttering all over, asking James if he wanted anything to eat (no), if he wanted water (yes), if he wanted ice in his water (no), if he wanted to brush his teeth (maybe later). When I told him how we had extra toothbrushes, he laughed and said he wouldn’t expect less in a dentist’s house.

  I gave him a quick tour. We ended up in my bedroom. James glanced at the framed photos of me with my family and then started looking through my bookshelf. I picked up the phone to call my parents. I decided to dial my mom’s cell since she’s less likely to answer. When I got her voice mail, I said I’m home (true) and going to sleep (false), so tell Dad not to worry and I’d talk to them tomorrow.

  When I hung up, James said, “Wow.”

  I shifted my makeup box so it was aligned with the corner of my dresser. “Wow, I’m becoming an expert liar?”

  “Wow, you’ve organized your books in alphabetical order by author.”

  “I like to be able to find everything. What’s wrong with that?”

  James set his glass on a coaster on my desk and came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Nothing’s wrong with it … I love that about you.”

  “You do?”

  He kissed the back of my neck. “I love seeing how you do things.”

  “And you approve?”

  “Of course I approve.”

  We kissed for a while in the middle of my room. At one point, I glanced into the mirror above my dresser. It was weird to see myself, gangly and flushed, stooping toward James. I reached over and turned off the overhead light. As I did, James took my hand and led me to the bed.

  I only have a twin bed, so we squished together on top of the blanket. After a while, James reached under my shirt. But rather than pushing my shirt up in the front like I usually do, I wriggled it over my head and then took off my bra.

  “You’re so beautiful,” James whispered.

  “You can’t see me. It’s completely dark in here.”

  “Well, I can feel you and you feel beautiful.”

  I kissed James’s neck and ran my hands along his shoulders. Then I pulled up his shirt. He helped me take it all the way off. As he wrapped his arms around me, I was so drunk with the sensation of skin on skin I could hardly breathe.

  “I love you, James,” I whispered.

  “I love you, too.”

  We started kissing again. We were both wearing jeans, but I could feel through our layers that he was hard between his legs. I pressed myself against him and we moved our hips together, slowly at first and then faster and faster.

  We were still kissing and my hips were rotating and my heart was racing and there was this incredible energy in my whole body, like I could do this forever and ever and ever. But then a surging sensation spread to my arms and legs and fingers and toes, leaving me warm and breathless.

  As James stroked my hair, I pressed my face into his neck, closed my eyes, and smiled into the darkness.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Three weeks later, my homeroom teacher sent me to Mr. B’s office. I was talking with Mindy Vance, the girl who sits behind me, about the music for the prom. She’d heard we’d hired a DJ from Rochester and was nervous that the songs would be “all loud and urban.” She spat out “urban” like it was a bitter salad green. I reassured her that there would definitely be recognizable songs. Not necessarily the chicken dance, but the prom theme is “End of the Road,” so it’s not like we’re going to get too obscure.

  “Mara Valentine?” my homeroom teacher called out.

  I glanced toward the front of the room. Mr. Flowers always uses my last name, even though there are no other Maras in my homeroom, and for David Vandusen and David Wolk he just says David and then points to the one he wants. It’s almost like Mr. Flowers has decided that he’s endured enough taunts ab
out his last name, so why not inflict that on someone else?

  “The vice principal sent a note up here,” Mr. Flowers said. “He wants you to report to the main office after homeroom.”

  “Do you know why?”

  Mr. Flowers shook his head.

  When the bell rang, I headed downstairs. I must have been completely spaced out because I couldn’t figure out why Mr. B wanted to see me. But when I walked into the main office and Rosemary, smiling her Cheshire-Cat grin, escorted me to Mr. B’s door and I saw Travis Hart sitting in one of the chairs, it hit me:

  This was it.

  The final score had been tallied and, forever in history or at least on a plaque on the wall outside the main office, one of us was going to be first and one of us was going to be second.

  “Have a seat,” Rosemary said. “Mr. B will be right in.”

  As I sat in the other chair, Travis nodded ever so slightly in my direction. His long legs were sprawled out at a ninety-degree angle and his elbows were rammed into the armrests. He was massaging his temples with his thumbs, his fingers interlaced across his forehead.

  The glass bowl on Mr. B’s desk was full of M&M’s. I pinched up three greens. Ever since that grilled-cheese sandwich at Friendly’s, I’ve been eating dairy again, which of course includes chocolate. I’ve even allowed myself “hidden eggs,” like in cookies and muffins.

  Mr. B appeared in the doorway. His long strands of hair still revealed the comb grooves, like a recently plowed field.

  “Hello, Travis! Hello, Mara!” he exclaimed, patting us both on the shoulder as he made his way to his desk.

  Mr. B sat down in his chair and clasped his hands together, resting them on his Pooh-Bear belly. “I imagine you both know why you’re here.”

  I nodded. Travis flinched.

  Mr. B began twiddling his thumbs together, like he was having a thumbie war with himself. And then he launched into a loooooong monologue that included several words like exemplary and at least three mentions of torch carrying.

  As he talked, Travis’s face got redder and redder. Just as he was saying something about how grades are just numbers, not judges of character, Travis said, “Okay, okay. We’re both great, everything’s great, now who got it, me or Mara?”