THE REASON I WAS STILL 80 PERCENT virgin and 100 percent unattached would be easily understood if you spent sixth period with Vic Burrows. Vic is my biology lab partner, and our fifty minutes together every afternoon help to underscore my frustration with our small-town existence. He is the stud of our school—his hotness is in part due to the fact that he drives a four-wheeler or snowmobile to school every day. That doesn’t really do it for me, and I am something of a freak because of it.
“You are … butt ugly … to meeee.” Vic sang this quietly, to the tune of “You Are So Beautiful.” He’d composed this song sophomore year, and it seemed he still found it an awesome vocal masterpiece. It wasn’t a ballad he’d devised specially for me, but as his lab partner I was the sixth-period object of Vic’s affection, and at this moment he was serenading me with his tune as we dissected the leg muscles of a formaldehyde-soaked fetal pig. “Come on, Chaz, sing along.”
“Your voice is so luscious; I wouldn’t want to interfere,” I deadpanned. “Please, carry on.”
He grinned, revealing a chipped front tooth—user error when he’d tried to open a can of MGD with his mouth. “You haven’t been cruising lately,” he said, slicing his knife through a tendon that caused the pig’s leg to flip up against my hand. “I’ve been watching for you.”
“Astute observation,” I replied. Cruising is our town’s favorite pastime: Everyone drives their truck up and down Milton’s short main drag, gaping at the people driving past them going the other way. At the end of town you whip a U-turn in the gas station lot and go back the other way. In the summer people walk up and down the strip a little bit, and then it makes sense—but when they drive up and down the street just for the hell of it, it’s really, really weird.
I was into cruising for a while, back in ninth and tenth grade, when I still thought there were guys with potential in our town. But now that I was a senior, I knew my options, and they weren’t pretty. I was confident that the love of my life—if that kind of thing even existed—did not live here, and thus cruising lost its appeal. “Cruising is bad for our carbon footprint,” I said solemnly.
“You don’t have to walk—don’t worry about your feet,” Vic chuckled. “You could ride in my truck.”
“Oh!” I said lamely. “That’d be super fun!”
Vic looked honestly surprised. “Nice. Come out with us tonight.”
“Oh, shoot.” I snapped my fingers and pouted a little. “I have to work tonight—shift at Matt’s. Another night, I guess.”
“That’s cool. Maybe we’ll stop by and get some fries or something? Will you hook us up?” He winked, and I couldn’t help but smile. He was charming, if you were into a Vic kind of guy. I wasn’t, but as a chick I could see the allure that made him appealing for the rest of the girls in my class.
The bell rang then, and I called out, “I might hook you up, Vic—see you tonight, maybe?”
Vic and I have a good game going. Neither of us is into the other, but it’s nonetheless fun to flirt just a little bit. I’ve known for a while that I don’t fit into my town, but I try to make the most of my time here in Milton. If I had a crap attitude about it, I certainly would be one bitter chica. Bitter and mopey I am not—but that doesn’t mean I’m not ready to hit the County Road and get out of Milton as fast as possible after graduation. To where, I know not.
“I got my letter, Chaz!” Sadie was suddenly next to me, breezing up with a trail of sweet strawberry scent behind her. “I got my letter from Macalester!”
“And?” I watched Sadie’s face and already knew.
“I got in, Chaz!”
I hugged her immediately. Sadie had applied early decision at Macalester, one of Minnesota’s super-cool and super-expensive private colleges. It had been her first choice forever, and she’d been freaking about getting her acceptance letter for the last three weeks. Her future had been planned for years—she even had a little teddy bear wearing a Macalester sweatshirt; she’d named it Mac and still slept with it every night. How cute (yuck) is that?
“When did you go home to check your mail? God, I’m so proud of you!” I hugged her again.
Sades blushed. “I’ve had my dad on high alert—he promised to bring it right away if it came. He pulled me out of calc last period, which was pretty sweet. Chaz, this means we’ll be so close to each other next year! We can have dorm sleepovers and stuff!”
I cringed. Partly because I dreaded the notion of a dorm sleepover, but primarily because I hadn’t yet applied to any schools. I was just about to miss the mid-December priority deadline for applying to the U of M in Minneapolis, but I was keeping that little piece of information to myself. As far as my parents and Sadie were concerned, my application had been completed and shipped off right after Thanksgiving, and I was just waiting for the admissions website to refresh with a big, black “WELCOME” across the top.
In truth I still wasn’t sure I’d be ready for college next year. I had no clue what I wanted to do with my life, and I wasn’t so keen on shelling out thousands to sit around and play beer pong with a bunch of people in a dorm. I knew I’d be stuck in a work-study program to pay my way anyway, so a little part of me wondered if maybe I should hold off on college for a year, save up some cash, check out another part of the country by doing AmeriCorps or something, and try to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. I wasn’t even sure a year would give me the answers I need, but at least it would be a start.
See, the future freaked me out, and I didn’t have any easy answers about what I was going to do with my life. It seemed like everyone else did, and that scared the hell out of me. Sadie and I had never discussed it, and everyone just assumed I’d go on to great things, then return to Milton to pay it forward, I guess. What the hell was wrong with me that that sounded like a living hell? Why did I feel like I was committing a sin by not having a solid plan for myself ?
“Yeah, dorm sleepovers.” I slammed my locker and grinned at Sadie. “I probably won’t find out about the U until May, though, so let’s not buy the sleepover snacks just yet, okay?”
Sadie rolled her eyes. “Chaz, you’re number one in our class—I don’t think you have to worry about getting into the U, you goof!” Sadie is so good. Who uses the word “goof” in real conversation? People who sleep with bears that wear college sweatshirts before they’re even in college, that’s who.
“Well, we’ll see,” I said, heading off in the direction of last-period gym. I didn’t want to talk about college. “I just want to get through this week and enjoy two weeks of blessedly school-free winter break. Then we can talk about college, okay?”
“Beep! Beep!” Sadie was waving her arm in the air. “Warning!” she cried. “Emotional constipation warning!”
I laughed. “Seriously, Sade, chill.” I had jokingly told Sadie a while ago that she could warn me when I was closing myself off à la my mom. I had dubbed my mom’s lack of openness “emotional constipation”—you can never get anything that resembles honest feelings out of her, and it pisses the hell out of me. “I’m not being emotionally constipated. It’s not like I’m keeping something from you.”
LIE! I yelled at myself inwardly. I was keeping a lot from Sadie, and she was the only person I even trusted. I don’t want to be private and secretive, but when it comes to talking about me, I start to get a little freaky. I can easily talk about sex or other people’s feelings or share my advice on just about any topic (granted, my recommendation is usually the opposite of what one should actually do). But talking about me, the deep-down, secret, private me … that’s a skill I’m still working on.
I can be honest with myself to a fault, but there’s a thin plastic shield melded to my body that keeps people out of my emotional private parts. And discussing college or the future or anything that involved a discussion of my life—the real life that would start post-Milton—was the equivalent of discussing my coochie, if I were to continue with that metaphor. I wanted to get out of town as soon as possible, and I knew it was stupid that I didn’t yet have a perfect plan in place for how that could happen. It was eating me up.
“Let’s celebrate after school, okay?” I suggested, eager to steer conversation away from the application process, et cetera. “Come over? I can give you a lift home on my way to work.”
“I’m going to Trav’s after school.” Sadie smiled. “Can we hang out later this week?”
“For sure. Go celebrate with Trav, you little slut,” I purred. She knew I was kidding. Sadie is so not a slut—she’s in loooooove, and sex for her is sacred. She and Trav have been together for two years, and it was, like, a massive milestone when they finally did the deed.
The bell rang, and Sadie practically floated down the hall toward class.
I lingered by my locker for a few more minutes, then hightailed it to class—I had a 4.0 GPA to maintain, and tardiness was a shit reason to risk a grade. Even if I wasn’t going to college.
When Sexy Sebastian showed up at Matt’s that night, I wasn’t surprised. But I did hide under the bar, for just a few seconds, to check myself over. It’s not that I gave a rat’s ass what I looked like (yeah, that is a lie), but I for sure needed a sec to make certain I didn’t have damp pits. Because pit stain isn’t hot, and hot was what I was going for.
Angela had called me out on that instantly when I’d shown up for work that night. “Tight jeans, huh?” She gave me a little wink. She wasn’t subtle, so it’s not like I needed to read between the lines. I knew she’d carry on. “Hoping the cute boy from table six will show again?”
“No.” I lifted my eyebrows at her.
“Liar.”
I didn’t need to get into this with Angela, so I walked away.
I usually tried to work only one shift during the school week, but this week was a little crazy at Matt’s because of the holidays and all. So I’d agreed to take a few extra shifts, and now that Sebastian was in the picture and seemed to like the taste of our meat, I was glad I had. I could only hope they didn’t have food at his dad’s house and he’d be eating with me every night.
“Hey.” I strolled over to his table when he showed up. The girl hormones that suddenly controlled my every move were making my stomach clench and my palms sweaty. I blinked more than usual. I didn’t like my body to mess with me like this—I preferred to make the decision about when to freak, and I definitely didn’t want to be freaking right now.
He looked up slowly, deliberately toying with me. “Hi.” His smile was teasing me with that same subtle sexuality that made me want to scream. Did he feel it too?
“Back for more, huh?”
His grin widened. “My dad’s not used to feeding two, and he seems to think I’m still a kid. The choices were mac and cheese or SpaghettiOs. I chose to go out instead.”
“You’re spending your two weeks of dad custody going out to restaurants alone? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of court-mandated quality time?”
“He works until nine every night. We hang out in the morning before he takes off.” Sebastian laid his menu on the table and looked up at me.
“Right.” I pulled my order pad out of my back pocket and held a pen at the ready. I didn’t want to seem like some sort of leech, even though what I really wanted was for him to invite me to sit down again. Good God, that makes me sound like a girl.
“Any specials tonight?”
That was the end of the chitchat. I took his order and dropped it off for Wolf; then things got busy, and I couldn’t linger around his table, even though I wanted to. Just as I was delivering Sebastian’s order—a grilled cheese and fries with a side of wilted lettuce with oil (aka house salad)—to his table, Vic and his buddies bounded through the front door.
“Hey, Chaz.” Vic pulled off his snowmobiling face mask and brushed the snow off his big, thick jacket. “We came to collect.”
I stole one last look at Sebastian, then walked away to greet Vic and his crew. “That sounds like a mob threat, Vic. You don’t do mob well—your Minnesota accent is an eensy bit thick.” Vic, Casper, and Jacob settled into one of the tables in Angela’s section, but I waved at her to let her know I’d cover. It would be completely unfair for me to make her have to deal with them—Vic was sort of a problem I’d created and invited in.
“Sexy jeans,” Vic assessed loudly. “Your ass looks good in those.” His hand reached out to give me a little pat on the tush, but I wrapped my fingers around his wrist and twisted with all my might. I didn’t want him to be confused about where I drew the line. He cringed, then shot me an apologetic smile. He isn’t a total barbarian—you just have to know how to deal with him.
Tina Zander, who Vic had dated/toyed with off and on since eighth grade, had walked in moments before, and she watched the hand-approaching-my-ass move carefully. She shot me one of her icky looks, and I smiled sweetly back at her. It’s not as if I was trying to get it on with her man. I didn’t want there to be any confusion about that—frankly, I was more concerned about Tina getting the wrong impression than I was about Vic himself. He was mildly intelligent, but Tina had psycho-girl emotions acting as her puppet master, so who knew when she’d go all crazy on me and assume Vic and I were undercover lovers? “Hey, Tina,” I said. “Want a Coke or something?”
“Vic,” she whined, sliding into the booth next to him. “I’m thirsty.”
“Right,” I muttered under my breath. “I’ll get you guys a pitcher,” I said more loudly. “Diet, right? On me.”
I don’t like to give out freebies—they come out of my tips—but I felt like I had to show Tina she didn’t need to freak about me. In a town this small a less-than-ordinary girl does not need enemies. And Less-Than-Ordinary could be my screen name. (Of course it isn’t. I’m not that keen on waving a giant freak flag. Come on.)
While I filled Tina’s pitcher, I glanced over at Sebastian. He had finished eating and was staring out the window, watching snow flutter down on Vic’s snowmobile parked on the front sidewalk. He looked so totally out of place, with his styled hair and the slightly-too-tight cut of his jeans. Vic he wasn’t. When I peeked at him again, I saw him pull a twenty out of his wallet and set it on the table.
Then he stood up, looked over at me, and winked. I set the pitcher of Coke on the bar and cut him off at the door before he could get his coat on. “You need change,” I announced.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said. “Or the next day. You can owe me.”
We were in the corner of the restaurant, right next to the door. It was dark, and the noise of the bar was a little more muted there. I knew he could hear me when I murmured, “I’d be happy to pay you back.” I’m not sure what came over me—those pesky sex genes again, apparently—but I needed him to know what I was thinking. It wasn’t until I’d said it that I realized I sounded like some sort of hooker, but I hoped he realized that wasn’t what I meant. For him I’d do sex for free. For no one would I do sex for money—ick.
Sebastian didn’t respond, but he leaned toward me as he maneuvered his arm into the sleeve of his coat. It meant nothing, but I felt my breath catch as his face passed within a few inches of mine. I longed to reach out and let my lips grab his to suck him up against me. He smelled like cinnamon gum and French fries and sauna soap. It seemed like he could sense my body tensing up as he got close to me—I noticed him pause as he zipped his coat; then he looked at me in that sexy, mysterious way once more.
“Good night, Chastity,” he said; then he walked through the door and into the snowstorm. When I delivered the pitcher of Coke (Drink up, Tina! Regular Coke!) to my classmates, Vic had Tina in his lap and was rubbing her ass. There was something about that scene that fired me up in a way you can’t even imagine.
I wanted Sebastian.
I needed Sebastian.
And all I could think about as I watched Vic’s hand crudely stroke Tina’s thigh was the fact that I would have Sebastian. That sexy, unsuspecting boy from North Carolina had no idea what he was in for.
Neither did I.