After school the next day, I sought solace at the side of my best friend. Roach and I had been hanging out since the fourth grade. Before the Dunmores moved to town I hadn’t bothered making friends. Or rather, the few girls I’d tried to be friends with had ended up hating me and avoiding me in the hall. Good thing I was an only child and used to relying on my own twisted sense of humor to keep me company.
Then I’d stumbled in on Roach stealing dry erase markers from Mrs. Healey’s desk. She hadn’t tried to hide what she was doing, she even offered me one, but I declined. I also hadn’t ratted her out, although I’d been debating on doing exactly that when I overheard Jonas Michaels telling some other boy that Rachel Dunmore’s father was a minister.
Imagine that. A preacher’s daughter stealing from the teacher on her first day of school. I’d caught up with Roach as she walked home. We were headed the same way.
“Why did you snag those markers?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I like to steal little things here and there, for the challenge, you know? Keeps life interesting.”
I matched my steps to hers. “But I heard you were religious.”
“What’s wrong? Scared it’s catchy?” She stopped and faced me. “I heard you’re a real bitch.”
It was my turn to shrug. “I don’t mean to be. Not all the time. My mom says I don’t have filter. It gets to people after awhile.”
“It won’t get to me.” Roach started walking again. “And if it does, I’ll just tell you to shut up.”
“My family isn’t into organized religion.” I confessed. “I’ve never been to church.”
Roach laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t try to convert you.” She pursed her lips. “But if I do, just tell me to--”
“Shut up,” I finished her sentence.
We’d been best friends ever since.
Now I paced the confines of Roach’s Jesus-loves-you inspired bedroom while she reclined on her bed and stroked a third coat of Prudish Pink onto her ingrown toenail.
“I don’t think you’re really as eager to lose it as you think you are.” Roach swiped at a gloop of pink that dropped onto her comforter. “You could even be knocked up by now if you applied yourself.”
I could always count on Roach to call me on my bullshit, but today, that wasn’t what I needed. This was my time to regroup, regain some clarity, and proceed as planned. “Squeezing out puppies isn’t the goal here, Roach, stay focused. Once, Ty was too drunk. Then, Aunt Flow was visiting and when you think about it, the act itself is going to be messy enough without gratuitous bloodshed. There are reasons this mission has gone awry. Valid reasons.”
“THE DEVIRGINIZERS”
OUTTAKE #1: JEDI CAN’T KISS
INTERIOR. BOWLING ALLEY. NIGHT.
COLIN, 16, flicks the “Sorry We’re Closed” sign on with a wide grin. He kills time stacking neon glowing balls onto a rack while CHARLIE removes her rent-a-foot-disease bowling shoes and puts on her own clunky boots.
She stands.
Colin approaches, leans in to plant a sloppy kiss. There’s a lot of tongue. Charlie pulls her face out of reach.
CHARLIE
Okay, that was not pleasant. We have to stop.
I’m really sorry about the chip in the lane.
I hope your boss doesn’t notice. I don’t think I’m cut out for intense sports like neon bowling.
COLIN
(Yoda voice)
Do or do not. There is no try.
CHARLIE
Still with the Star Wars references. Doesn’t that get old after a few hours?
Colin smiles, then whips out a foil packet from his back pocket. The thing is already glowing under the black lights.
CHARLIE
Is that what I think it is? You fanboys have a shitload of confidence.
COLIN
My lightsaber is yours. Do with it as you will.
(waves hand with grave intent)
You want the lightsaber. You desire it with every fiber of your --
She ducks under his arm and beelines for the exit.
CHARLIE
Your Jedi mind tricks don’t work on me, remember?
(pauses at door)
See you in drama?
COLIN
(opening package anyway)
Sure, whatever.
END OF OUTTAKE
“In the movie of my life,” I said, “I’m going for an R rating, not a snuff film. Besides, you can’t question my commitment.” I paused as Roach held up her foot and admired her polishing skills. “My timing? Now that’s debatable. ”
Before Roach could get a word in, I held up my hand. “I could go to any house party, get totally shitfaced and let the first guy I stumble over do the deed, but then I’m just letting it happen to me. I want more than that. There’s so much in life we can’t control.” Like parents cheating, getting themselves killed, or having to go to rehab. Like being shuffled around to live with someone who has been on the outside of your life for years. Or giving your heart away and then having it smashed to bits. “But this? I want full awareness and ownership of that moment.”
Roach leaned back on her pillows and wriggled her toes for some air-dry magic. She didn’t have to say anything. It was all there in her scrunched up nose and the tightening of her lips. She rebelled from time to time, hated the rules and good-girl expectations her parents heaped on her, but you couldn’t grow up around that stuff without buying into some of it.
And the purity issue was a great debate of ours.
“You think I should save myself for my true love, and fork over the goods on my wedding night?” I asked. “Well, sorry if I’m tromping on your religious hymenical beliefs, but my mom travelled that road and she’d do it a whole lot differently if a time vortex do-over landed in her lap.”
Roach’s toes froze mid wriggle. “She’d go back and screw the entire football team. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yeah, maybe.” What was I saying? Ugh. I waved away the icky mental images. “Scratch that. But what good did all the waiting and saving herself do when it turned out that during their entire marriage my dad was servicing the neighborhood desperate housewives, as well as being a gold card member at Hookers-R-Us massage?”
“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” Roach sat up, fixing me with a knowing stare. I hated her damn knowing stares. “Your dad made mistakes, big ones. But that doesn’t mean you have to.”
“Do you see what you just did right there?” I slapped my hands against the sides of my jeans. “You’re coming awful close to the edge of preachy, Roach.”
“God forbid.”
Time to hit her with my supporting argument. The one I’d told myself again and again. “Leading Google searches say most girls lose it by the age of sixteen. I’m seventeen, Roach. If it’s going to happen any second anyway, I just want to be smart about it. I want to do it on my terms. Hell, if a guy was out to lose it, there’d be friends cheering him on, making bets, and lots of the wink, wink, nudge, nudge.” I sucked in an offended breath. “A girl wants to and everyone suddenly needs to know, why? Didn’t we already have a sexual revolution?”
For a second, Roach held her tongue and I thought I had her convinced.
She began plucking the tissue out from between her toes. “I’m just saying, maybe this is a sign from God,” she said with that I’m-not-preaching face she gets when that’s exactly what she is doing. “Maybe He doesn’t want you to do the funky pickle with Tyler. He might have someone more worthy in mind, at some later date, like when you’re married.”
“You don’t honestly believe that.”
“I might.”
“Is your mom making you go to those prayer breakfasts again?”
Roach stood and smiled down at her feet. “They’re not so bad.”
I remembered the one and only Faith Community breakfast Roach had conned me into attending. “Hey, if people yipping in tongues, passing out and twitching on the floor brings you closer to your Maker, who am I to judge? At least the food’s to die for.”
“I might struggle with my faith, but I’m well fed. They had ham and cheese croissants with chocolate cheesecake last week.” Roach gloated.
“Heavenly.” I sighed, envious.
There was a hard knock on Roach’s bedroom door.
“The vile marauders are away!” Owen, Roach’s younger brother, bellowed the words that signaled their parents had left the house, leaving the TV unsupervised.
Watching the Dunmore children rush to flick unfettered through the smut, foul language, and pop culture advertising was a thing of beauty. But I could only handle their naivety for so long. Plus, their TV sucked. The screen was smaller than my laptop’s.
After a while, I nudged Roach. “Did you finish my diorama for English?”
She pointed to two shoeboxes on the stairs by the front entrance.
“Yours is the size twelve.”
For Twelfth Night. How fitting.
“Thanks,” I grabbed the box and headed for the door. “What do I owe you? A few packs of Winegums?”
“At least fifty,” Roach shot back. She hadn’t once shifted her eyes from Family Guy. “You still haven’t paid up for our video project. Or the poster assignment in social.”
“I’ll get you thirty packs. But that’s it.”
“Tyler Gribbons is on steroids.” Owen’s voice broke over the last few syllables. Thirteen years old, asthmatic, and scary smart, Owen kept the school bullies in top shape.
“So are you, diaper breath.” I glared at the kid, but he didn’t notice.
“I am not!”
“Oh, yeah? What do you think’s in that puffer of yours?” The door slammed shut behind me. I stood on the porch, shoebox between my knees, and pulled on my hat.
“And put some salt out here, someone’s gonna kill themselves…”