The doughnuts don’t help me with my history final. By the time I make it out of the two-hour test (which is cruel and unusual punishment, if you ask me), my brain is fried. We have a half hour before final number two of the day; luckily I’ve never had a big problem with English. I skip reviewing the study packet and sit down beside Jonas in the lunchroom.
“Okay,” I say, anxious to get the French Revolution off my mind. “This is our chance. Who is LOVIN plan material?”
“This is still the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” Jonas mumbles, and pretends to read his history study guide.
“Come on,” I plead. “I don’t want to choose people without your opinion, Jonas. You know them as guys. You’ve got insight. You’ve got secret knowledge!”
“The only thing I’ve got is a serious headache from all this. Come on, can’t it wait till after finals?”
“Nope. I’ve only got five weeks, remember?”
Jonas sighs and sets down his packet, then helps me scan the lunchroom. I’m looking with anticipation; Jonas is looking nauseated.
“Maybe we should take this table by table,” I say when I realize that looking at the entire school at once is a little intimidating. Anna Clemens sits down beside Jonas and glances around to see what we’re staring at.
“What’s going on with you two?” she asks.
I quickly give Jonas a small shake of the head; I don’t want anyone else knowing about my LOVIN plan. I may be going through with this, but it doesn’t mean I’ve lost sight of how crazy it is. Jonas sighs and doesn’t answer Anna, who turns her questioning gaze to me.
“I was asking Jonas,” I begin, realizing just how helpful a girl like Anna could be, “if he thought any guy in school is particularly sexy.”
“You asked Jonas that?” Anna asks as Jonas’s face turns beet red. “And you were looking, Jonas?”
“Something like that,” Jonas says with a scowl.
“He was just helping me out,” I say.
Anna shrugs it off and scans the room. “I don’t know about sexy, really. Why?”
“I was just trying to figure out how many of them have actually had sex, you know?”
“Oh! Well, hell, Shelby, I can tell you that,” Anna says, face lighting up. If Anna doesn’t know about a hookup, it simply didn’t happen. And if that hookup involves the marching band she knows if it happened, the size of all body parts involved, a time frame, and underwear colors.
“Let’s see, the entire football table, pretty much, though I don’t know if I’d ever call one of them sexy. But then, I’m not into jocks,” Anna says with a shrug. “The theater table—Jason and Mike play for the other team, but the rest are straight. I think they’ve all gotten to the last levels, but only Mark and Nick are on the high-score list. I’d also say most of the horn line has played the game, and the majority of the drum line has gone hot and heavy with a girl or two—usually from the woodwind section. People always figure it’s the color guard, but seriously, it’s the woodwinds you’ve got to look out for.”
“Good to know,” I say, almost sincerely as I analyze the maze of metaphors. Jonas seems to have zoned out, focusing intensely on loose threads at the bottom of his T-shirt.
“Anyway, it’s kind of random. Sometimes it’s the guys you’d never expect, truth be told,” Anna says, looking at Jonas and me with a shrug.
“Right…” I eye the drama table carefully. The king of the drama department is Ben Simmons. He’s the sort of guy who is incredibly popular despite not being a jock, but there’s nothing quite like playing Romeo to win the heart of every high school girl (and maybe a few young teachers). We were friends in middle school when we were both in drama club; I dropped out when I realized my lack of acting skills would always relegate me to celebrated roles like “Cowboy #6” or “Eager Fan.”
“What about Ben Simmons?” I ask. Jonas’s head jumps up.
“Oh yeah. He’s kind of the man whore of the drama department. I made out with him at a party once, actually. Probably the most popular I’ll ever get,” Anna says with a sigh.
As soon as the bell rings, I tug Jonas aside. “Put Ben Simmons on the list.”
“Are you crazy? I thought you were just entertaining Anna. Ben is an arrogant asshole. You wanted my opinion and—”
“But there’s not a rule against jackasses, remember? And besides, he’s probably got standards that I can meet without going to the football players. Jonas, come on…. He’s just an option. Maybe I won’t even need him.”
Jonas rolls his eyes but nods. “Fine, but he can’t be the number-one pick.”
“Deal.”
I meet up with Jonas at the end of the school day and make him pull out the LOVIN List so I can see Ben’s name, which is sitting halfway down the page. Still, having one name makes me feel better, like I’m making progress instead of just accepting my eternal virgin fate.
“Think of anyone else?” Jonas asks as we walk to his car, a defeated sound in his voice.
“Sort of.” The name occurred to me in the middle of my English final. He’s not the person I’d most like to sleep with, but there are worse choices.
“Who?” Jonas asks.
“What about… Daniel?”
“Daniel? Costume Daniel? Ex-boyfriend Daniel?” Jonas asks.
“Sure. I mean, I know he doesn’t have any creepy disease or whatever. And besides, we already fooled around a little bit. He’s an okay guy.”
Jonas studies me for a moment. “Daniel. Really?”
“You sound surprised,” I say as we approach the door to the parking lot. People bottleneck here, smashed together like cattle.
“I am. Daniel…” Jonas says as he ducks to avoid getting hit in the face by a girl’s giant frizzy hair.
“I’ve got a better shot with him than Ben, I imagine.”
Jonas sighs. “Lord, what fools these mortals be,” he quotes as we break out of the cattle herd and emerge in the heat of the day. We squint in the bright sunlight, and the scent of cut grass from the baseball field is heavy in the air.
When we get to Lucinda, Jonas pulls out the LOVIN List and scribbles Daniel’s name at the top. “If you’re actually going through with this, I guess it’s better Daniel than Ben,” he mutters.
We’d promised Ruby we would drop by Flying Biscuit after school, and by the time we’re there I’m already considering my options for a third guy. Jonas seems sick of hearing about it, so I keep quiet as I race through guys in the marching band. Steven what’s-his-name? He’s not entirely unattractive. Maybe. But then there’s also Alex, a trumpet player who has a reputation….
“So have we come up with a better loophole for the ball? Tell me fast. I’ve got a table of those Red Hat Society ladies waiting on a messed-up order,” Ruby says with a grin. She slides into our booth, braided pigtails swinging back and forth. Her skin looks even more elaborate in the afternoon light, a watercolor of peach tones.
“No, we’re still going with your plan, unless you’ve got a better one,” I say. “I have five weeks to find someone—”
“Five weeks? Man. I thought you had more time,” Ruby says. “So, who is the lucky winner of your virginity, Shel? Because the new waiter here asked about you. Jeffery? And all I’m saying is, I wouldn’t throw him out of bed.”
“We’re making the list,” I say, “and at the top is Daniel Caulfield. He’s the perfect candidate. We aren’t friends anymore, and as far as I know, he’s STD-free. No offense to Jeffery—I’d just rather start with people I somewhat know.”
“Daniel Caulfield,” Ruby says, flipping her order book back and forth as she thinks. “The guy you dated last year, right?”
“Yeah, that’s him,” Jonas interrupts with a defeated tone. “And that was also the guy she broke up with last year.”
“That’s only relevant if they broke up for a sex-related reason,” Ruby says, leaning back to eye the order-up counter. “I mean, if they split because he’s all, like, ‘Oh, baby, I want to have hot carnal relations with you now in this beanbag chair,’ then he’s perfect for this—”
“I so don’t want to hear this,” Jonas cuts her off, then clamps his lips down on his soda straw and slouches, letting his shaggy hair fall in front of his eyes.
I turn to Ruby. “We broke up after only a few weeks because I couldn’t compete with his love for cosplay. I refused to miss Jonas’s birthday to go to some ginormous costume convention with him. But we did, um… fool around a few times. So I don’t think sex is too far out of the question.”
“How ‘around’ was this fooling?” Ruby asks. Jonas puts his head down and groans.
“Removal of shirts, reaching under other… um… articles of clothing,” I say like I’m explaining a medical condition.
“That’s not very ‘around’—oh, wait, hold that thought,” Ruby cuts in as the cook slides a plate heaped with pancakes under the heat lamps. She hurries over to deliver it to a table of impatient-looking women in elaborate red and purple hats. They look like a bunch of oversize berries.
“I didn’t know that,” Jonas says, sighing as he sits back up.
“Huh? That Daniel and I—”
“No, I figured that. He was always staring at your boobs—no way he wouldn’t cop a feel. But I didn’t know about why you and Daniel broke up. I thought it was just the cosplay thing. I didn’t know the thing about my party.”
I prop my feet up on the opposite side of the booth, trying to keep my sundress tucked under my legs. “Well, it was really just convenient timing. The cosplay thing was freaking me out, and your mom told me you’d be getting the car, so… you know. I couldn’t miss the unveiling of my primary mode of transportation.” I smile, and Jonas laughs, yet shakes his head.
“Fair. But promise me that if he wants you to dress up like Wonder Woman in order to have sex, you’ll bail.”
“Okay,” I say. “He’s more of the anime-loving-fuzzy-ear-wearing-girl type anyhow.”
“Naturally,” he says, grabbing for his glass again as Ruby slinks back over.
“So how and when are you going to get him into bed?” she asks with a candied gleam in her eyes. I blush a little.
“I’m thinking Saturday, just because I can usually get the van on Saturday nights. I’m not sure how, though. I figured I’d just, like… you know, hit on him, and then… I figured I could just—”
“Are you going to tell him you’re still a virgin?” Jonas interrupts.
“I don’t think so,” I say. “What if he gets cold feet?”
“What if he doesn’t know and is… rough?” Jonas asks, folding his arms across his chest and raising a bushy eyebrow.
“Good point, Jonas,” Ruby says. “Seriously, Shel. If you’re hoping he’ll tell from your face that he’s hurting you, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“Maybe,” I say. “I’ll just tell him to be careful. I’m not going to explain the whole plan and ball and everything, though. That’d definitely scare him off.”
“Good idea. And what about the panties?” Ruby asks.
“Oh, God,” Jonas groans.
“The panties?” I ask.
“Yes. I know the kind of panties you wear, Shelby, and if you think those are going to get the deed done, you’re putting way too many eggs in the ‘He’s after what’s underneath them’ basket.”
“Ugh, stop saying ‘panties.’ That word is totally unacceptable—but besides, I wear cute underwear!” I say. “I’m wearing ones with little flowers—”
“Do they have lace?” Ruby asks, folding her arms so that she looks like Jonas.
“No, but—”
“Exactly. This isn’t a guy you’ve dated for ages who will think you’re adorable no matter what. Trust me on this one, Shelby. A matching lace bra and panty set will make you impossible to resist. It’s like guys have some sort of irreversible programming when they see them. ‘Ah! Lace bra and panties! Allow me to sex you up, please!’ ” she proclaims in a robot voice.
“That’s so not true,” Jonas says. “We’re not animals—”
“Please, Jonas. Men got brute strength and size. Women got hot bodies and steel-trap minds. It’s our leg up in your little male-dominated society.”
Ruby has a point. A sexist point, but a point.
By the time I get home, I’m so freaked out about the panty requirements that I’m prepared to run straight to my underwear drawer and try to scavenge for something lacy and presentable. I think the best I can do might be some blue ones with happy-face rainbows, honestly. But as soon as I hit the door, Dad is there.
“Hey, Shelby!” he says, using up every ounce of his enthusiasm and conversation ability on the greeting.
“Hey, Dad.”
Silence. We stand in the hallway, staring at each other.
“So, I wanted to talk to you about the ball plans again…. It was really helpful last time,” he says. He sounds nervous.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Well, um, Madame Garba’s School for Dance is sponsoring the ball by giving discounted formal dance lessons.”
No. Oh God, no, say it isn’t so.
“What do you mean?”
Don’t answer that, Dad, please don’t answer it.
“Well, as Princess Ball organizers, we should probably take the school up on it. Especially since we don’t know how to waltz.”
“Dad… um…” What am I supposed to say? That I’d rather walk through a rubbing-alcohol river with feet full of fresh paper cuts?
“I was thinking… just one or two lessons. Nothing big,” Dad says.
“When is this?”
“The first would be Sunday evening. Are you busy? If you’re busy—”
“No.” I sigh. “I’m not busy.”
“Oh, good. Good.”
We stare at each other a moment longer. I silently plead for an interruption, something to keep me from having to continue discussing ball plans, and to my surprise and delight, my phone beeps with a text from Ruby: Dont forget to shave your legs!!!!
I smile a little, and Dad rocks back on his heels. “Well, then, I guess I’ll go work on my questionnaire. It’s really… big!” he says.
I nod, and we brush past each other, him sprinting for the dining room and me for my bedroom.
I try to push the prospect of dance class with Dad out of my head—ballet class with fourteen other four-year-olds was bad enough, but with Dad? Focus, Shelby. You’re in control, you have a plan—a plan involving panties and leg shaving that will make the entire ball—waltz lessons and all—just an act. I yank open a dresser drawer. Somehow, picking out underwear calms me, reassures me that I’m the one in charge here.
Lots of white, lots of stripes and flowers and other decidedly unsexy things. Toward the back I find the pair with rainbows; they match a camisole I have. Anna got them for me as a set a few Christmases ago. We aren’t close, but all her female friends got camisole sets in snowflake-shaped tins that year—probably spoils of an after-Thanksgiving sale. I don’t wear either piece of the set too often. I wonder if the camisole counts as a matching bra. Probably not. I just won’t tell Ruby.
I try them on in front of a mirror, trying to look sexy—apparently, the lips-parted, sexy faces those Victoria’s Secret models make are an acquired skill, because I just look like I’m about to drool. The AC is on high, and it gives me chill bumps, making me look more like an uncooked turkey than sexy. Whatever. I have to call Daniel. No way around it. I might as well do it while I’m wearing my sex gear.
Daniel’s number is still in my cell phone. We didn’t have a rough breakup, but we definitely haven’t called each other since. I scroll down to his name, inhale, and dial, staring at the little rainbows on my underwear. This is crazy. This is so crazy.
Daniel answers on the third ring.
“Hello?” he says, and I can tell by his confused tone that his cell’s caller ID has already told him it’s me.
“Hey, Daniel!” I say, sounding like my dad a half hour ago.
“Shelby? What’s up?”
I could get out of this. I could just ask him for directions somewhere or if he still has my favorite bracelet or something. But the Princess Ball pamphlet is peeking out from underneath my history book, screaming “You’ll be a thirty-five-year-old virgin!” and it’s very persuasive.
“I um… I dunno. I just wanted to talk, I guess.”
“About what?” he asks. I hear a few clicks of the computer mouse in the background.
“I just… we haven’t really hung out or anything since we stopped dating, and you know… that sucks. I was thinking maybe we could get together Saturday night and watch a movie or something?”
Daniel pauses. “Sure… I’m busy Saturday, though. What about Sunday?”
“Um…” I sigh. “Can it be later? Like, after eight?” I can’t believe I have to schedule a dance class and a sexual experience on the same day.
“Yeah, no problem. Any specific movie? What theater?”
“Oh, not a theater,” I say, a little too excitedly. I rein myself in. “I was thinking you could come over here or I could go there….”
“Okay,” Daniel says, his voice still framed with doubt, like I’m going to pull some sort of huge practical joke on him at any given moment. When I don’t speak, he continues. “Want to meet here Sunday night, then? Maybe eight thirty or something?”
“Sounds good. See you then.”
And we hang up. Was that all it took for me to schedule a LOVIN date?
Well, maybe LOVIN date. Who knows if he’ll actually do it. Who knows if I’ll actually be able to do it, for that matter. I sigh and stare at myself in the mirror. I can do this. It’s not a big deal. I speed-dial Jonas and flop onto the bed.
“Did you talk to him?” Jonas asks.
“Yep. We’re meeting up Sunday night. I was thinking I’d have my dad drop me off on the way home from dance class.”
“There are two things incredibly wrong with that sentence—one, your dad driving you to a sexcapade, and two, dance class?”
“I have to learn to waltz. Princess Ball thing,” I say. “But anyway—tomorrow night, can you take me to the grocery store? Target? Walmart? Some place like that?”
“Yeah, there’s a new video game I want to grab anyway. Why?”
“I’m going to need condoms,” I say. “And some new razors. Ruby sent me a text earlier threatening me with death if I didn’t shave my legs, and I’m all out.”
“Wait, seriously? I have to drive you to get condoms?”
“Either that or I try to buy them at a gas station by the school, and I don’t trust the ones that have been hanging behind the cashier for a year and a half.”
Jonas sighs. “Fine. After school.”
“Thank you, Jonas. Seriously. I owe you so big. Like, huge. Whatever you want.”
“Sure,” Jonas says, and I know he’s rolling his eyes at me. “I have to go.”
“To do what?”
“Play video games for four hours so I can forget about your imminent de-virginizing,” he says.
I laugh and we hang up, but as soon as the phone is off, my laughter stops.
Jonas said it. It’s real. I’m imminently going to be de-virginized.
Well, hopefully.
I lie back in bed and stare at the ceiling. When I was making lists with Jonas and thinking about panties and everything, it was just an idea, nothing more. But now there’s a date planned, a time, a person. This isn’t the way you’re supposed to lose your virginity. Not that I really know how you’re supposed to do it—marriage bed, one-night stand, backseat of a car—but still. I wish I could ask Mom what to do. Part of me even wishes I could ask Dad what to do—a small part, and a stupid part maybe, yet there it is. I wish someone knew the answers.
But my heart is more attached to the Promises than it is to my virginity. It’s not a big deal. I repeat the phrase over and over in my head until I’ve almost convinced myself. Don’t think about it too hard, Shelby. Like Ruby said—I’m not trying to make love. I’m just trying to get laid.
I hurriedly look around for something to occupy my mind and grab the questionnaire. What would Dad say if I just refused to finish it? No, no, it’d hurt his feelings. I don’t want that, even though this whole thing is his fault…. I sigh and grab the pink pen off my nightstand, then turn to the second page.
6. What do you feel you have in common with your father?
This is an easy one. We have nothing in common, except maybe that we loved Mom. I leave the answer space empty, then fold the questionnaire into crooked halves and throw it across the room.