Ted has his hand on my knee. We are in his car, heading for the park, where we plan to slip into the woods and get busy. This is the last Friday to hide behind bushes after Mom has dropped me off for photography class. The last Friday to walk to the Starbucks where Ted waited for me.
Even though the weather has turned cold and there’s no sign of sun, the park is full of people. Kids clamber around the playground while mothers sit on benches and talk. Two girls who can’t be more than eleven practice dance moves near a large oak. They both wear thongs that show above their jeans. I aim my Canon and snap a photo. A few teenage boys play basketball nearby. Dogs chase balls across the length of the lawn. Ted is unfazed. He grabs a blanket from his trunk and heads for the wooded area lining the park. I follow, the Canon in my hand.
At the first clearing he lays down the blanket and grabs me. We roll around, our legs tangled. After a while I get up and grab my camera.
“What are you doing?” Ted asks. His breath is ragged, like he’s just finished running.
I aim the camera at him. Through the lens he looks small and tightly wound, like a balloon about to burst. “Smile,” I tell him.
“Come on,” he reaches for me, but not before I take a shot.
“I don’t have any photos of you,” I say. I lean away from him and take another picture. This time he grabs the camera, and I reach after it.
“You can do this later,” he says. “Right now we’re doing something else.”
When I reach for the camera again, he sets it on the ground next to his crotch. He undoes his jeans. “Come and get it,” he says with a growl.
I bite my lip. I can hear the kids in the playground yelling. He takes my hand and presses it on his skin, against his crotch, which is hard and warm. He sucks in his breath and pulls me to him. And I take his penis fully into my hand. It is not smooth like I thought it would be, but it’s not rough. It’s velvety soft, pulsing with energy. As I stroke it, guided by his hand, I can feel the way it grows. It responds to my hand like something alive. Ted nudges my head down, and before I know it, I am head to head with his penis.
“I don’t …,” I start. I’m not sure how to finish the sentence.
“Please,” he says. I look up and see the desperation in his eyes. He squirms, pushing himself into me. He is like an animal.
Carefully I take it into my mouth. It is no worse than kissing. I just have to keep my mouth open longer. I can still hear the kids yelling, but they seem far away. He presses my head, urging me to go faster. I do. And soon, he moans, and warmth fills my mouth. I try to pull away, but he holds my head firmly. When he finally releases me, I squeeze my eyes and swallow, willing myself not to gag.
Ted zips his jeans and stands. He reaches for the blanket, but I’m still kneeling on it.
“Let’s go,” he says.
I stand, wordless. As he lifts the blanket, my camera tumbles onto the pine-needle floor. I had forgotten it was there.
When I get home, Mom and Anne are sitting on the couch watching a movie.
“There you are,” Mom says. She looks like she used to,her expression airy, the darkness hardly there. Anne is snuggled against her. A bowl of popcorn sits on the coffee table.
“What,” I say. “I told you I would take a cab home.”
Mom looks me up and down. I run my hand through my hair, hoping she can’t see what I’ve just done. My finger catches on a pine needle, so I keep my hand there to hide it.
“I thought you would come straight home,” she says. When I don’t say anything, she says, “I wanted you to watch the movie with us. Like a family, before your father comes to get you.”
I look at them sitting there. A big part of me would like that, to cuddle up with Mom on the couch, like the old days. But I smell like Ted and God-knows-what-else, and there are pine needles in my hair.
“I have homework,” I say, and as soon as I say it, I see Mom’s face clamp down, like a briefcase closing.
“Fine,” she says, and she looks again at the TV. Anne glares at me.
“Forget my homework,” I say. “I’ll shower and come back.”
“The movie will be over,” Mom says. “And then your father will be here.” This time she doesn’t even turn her head.
Upstairs I take a brush to my hair and watch four pine needles fall to the ground. I gather them, fold them inside a tissue so Mom doesn’t see them, and throw them in the wastebasket. On second thought I pull them back out, pick up my Polaroid, and snap a picture. They are evidence that someone wants me, something I may need a reminder of in the future.
At Dad’s that weekend I dress for the party in his tiny bathroom. Some sophomore guy’s parents are out of town. I wear tight jeans, and a top showing my belly button. I carefully apply eyeliner and lip gloss. When I am ready, I emerge from the bathroom to find Dad on the futon in front of the TV. Dana is in the kitchen, and Anne is in the chair in the living room, reading. She eyes me. Dad looks me up and down, a surprised expression on his face.
“Whoa,” he says.
I put up my hand. “No comments, please,” I tell him. I try to move fast, gathering stuff for my purse—money, lip gloss, keys, cell phone—so Dad doesn’t look too long. It feels funny having him see me made up like this.
“Remember those cute overalls you used to wear?” Dad turns off the TV. Oh, boy. Here we go.
“Dad, that was ages ago.”
“No,” he says. “That was last year.”
“Whatever,” I say.
He pats the cushion next to him, and I sit down. I look at Anne, but she seems to be engrossed in her book.
“Dad, what?” I say. “I have to meet Elisabeth at a party.”
“Elisabeth can wait,” he says, looking at me earnestly. Out of the corner of my eye I see Dana move toward the living room, see us talking, and back up again into the kitchen. “I don’t want you going out like this.”
I stand up. “Like what?”
“Jessica,” Dad says, his voice getting louder. “Sit down.”
I do, but I sit at the edge of the futon, ready to spring. Anne marks her place in the book and gets up, giving us an annoyed look. She goes into the bathroom.
“I said I don’t want you looking like this.”
“And I said, Like what?”
“Like some kind of tramp, Jessica,” he says. I stare at him. I can’t believe he said that to me. Part of me wants to tell him how hurtful it is. I mean, he’s supposed to be on my side. I’ve been on his for so long. But the other part, knowing he won’t understand and how hypocritical he is, rears its head. I stand up.
“Why not?” I say, and as I do, I look directly at Dana, who is watching from the other room. “Because I look too much like the girls you date?” I can’t read Dana’s face, but when I look back at Dad, I see a vein protruding from his temple. I feel bad about Dana, especially after our conversation last time, but I knew those words would get him.
“You get changed right now,” he says in a low voice.
I grab my purse and my backpack, and I head for the door. “Screw you,” I say as I leave.
Once outside I can’t control the tears. They rush out in ugly spurts. I sit on the cement stairs and dig into my purse for my compact and a tissue. I listen for Dad to come after me, to not let me go, but he doesn’t. He stays inside with Dana. Probably relieved to have me gone. I do my best to fix my makeup.
A few cars pass on the street. I briefly consider calling Ted, forgetting the party, and having him pick me up, a sure way to feel like someone wants me. But I resist the urge, and I call Elisabeth for a ride.
An hour into the party Jason approaches me. He’s drunk again. I pretend I am too. We make our way into a bedroom. It’s a girl’s bedroom. Yellow walls and a frilly canopy. A teddy bear wearing a hot-pink half shirt is propped against a pillow. Jason pushes me down on the bed, and we kiss. I encourage him to touch me, everywhere, anywhere. Just as long as he touches me. This time I am determined to make him like me.
I get myself on top of him and grab his hair as I kiss him. Then I creep my hand down to his fly and unzip. His eyes are closed, his mouth slack. I kiss my way down to his belly, listening as his breathing intensifies and quickens. Listening as he becomes helpless. All mine. His penis is hard and warm, just like Ted ’s. It is just as velvety soft. I breathe on it, watching it throb a bit. And, before I can take it in my mouth and show off my new skill, Jason squirms and moans and finishes on his boxers.
He swears. Then he jumps up and yanks at his jeans.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Back to the party,” he says. “Where do you think?”
“But we just got here,” I say. I move toward him, and he steps back. He reaches for the doorknob.
“See you around,” he says, and he’s gone.
Then it’s just me and the teddy bear, sitting on the frilly bed. I pick up the bear and hold it to me. I wonder what would happen if the girl who sleeps here came in to find me hugging her teddy bear, curled up on her bed. Maybe she would scream, and the whole party would come upstairs to see what happened. Jason would push his way through the crowd, climb onto the bed, and take me in his arms. I’m sorry, he would say. I shouldn’t have left you here alone. It’s just … it’s just I love you, and the feelings scared me. But I’m here now, and I’m ready to be with you. The crowd applauds. Credits roll.
I’ll have to remember that one when I can’t fall asleep.
Downstairs I can’t find Elisabeth. I check the bathroom, the kitchen, every room of the party. Finally I ask a sophomore guy.
“The flat-chested one with short dark hair?” he asks.
I nod. “She’s not completely flat,” I add defensively.
“She’s been gone for a while,” he says. “I’m guessing she left.”
I go to find my purse. My backpack is in Elisabeth’s mother’s car. I was going to stay the night. Now I’ll have to sneak into Dad’s apartment and pray no one wakes up. My throat gets tight like I’m going to cry. Could this night get any worse?
In the kitchen I call for a cab. Jason and a few others are playing quarters at the kitchen table. As I walk away, he looks up.
“You leaving?” he asks.
I nod. As if you care, I think. But I also consider the possibility that he does. Maybe my fantasy wasn’t entirely off the mark.
“Okay,” he says. “See ya Monday.”
And with that the night is recovered, perhaps not a complete disaster after all.
I slip the key in the lock, turn the knob slowly, and tiptoe inside. Moonlight splashes through the room, and I see Anne asleep beneath the covers on the futon, her body rising with each breath. I close the door and set my purse on a chair. I pull off my boots. As I turn toward the bathroom, Anne turns over.
“I thought you were sleeping out,” she whispers.
“So did I,” I whisper back. “Elisabeth left me stranded.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” I lie. I know exactly why, but I’m not going to tell Anne any of it.
She sits up. Her hair is mussed. Her glasses are on the floor beside her. She looks pretty right now, with the moonlight on her face.
“How has it been?” I ask, a grimace on my face.
Anne frowns. “Jessie,” she says. Nobody’s called me Jessie in years. “It’s not good.”
I come closer. “What?”
She takes the sheet and squeezes it in her fist. “They’re getting married,” she says.
I make a face. “No way,” I say. “He wouldn’t tell you without me there.”
“I overheard them,” Anne says. “Dana wanted to know when he was going to tell us.”
I shake my head. “The perfect end to a perfect night,” I say.
“I don’t know what to do,” Anne says, looking at the sheet in her hand.
“What are you talking about?” I say. “There’s nothing for you to do.”
“About Mom,” she says. She looks like she might start crying.
“God, Anne,” I say. I pull off my bracelets and throw them on the floor. “Mom’s a big girl.”
Tears come into Anne’s eyes. I stare at her, dumb-founded.
“When are you going to get a life of your own?” I ask. My voice sounds mean, and I know I’m stepping on dangerous ground. We don’t talk about this ever. Something about the darkness of the room and the moonlight make me feel brave. Or maybe it’s the events of the night.
Anne looks down at the sheet again. “I have my own life,” she says. Even she doesn’t sound convinced.
“You’re sixteen,” I say. “You should be hanging out with friends and having fun. Not spending all your time with your mother.”
Anne doesn’t say anything. The words tumble inside me, out of control. I could go on and on. It’s a relief to be saying them, even as it’s scary.
“She’s using you,” I say then.
“She is not.”
Anne is fully crying now. I should stop, let her be. But I want her to get it already. I want someone in this family other than me to deal with reality. I’m tired of bearing the weight myself.
“She only cares about herself,” I say.
“That’s not true.”
“Does she ever talk to you about you?” I ask.
Anne is silent, the tears flowing. Stop, I command myself. But I can’t seem to.
“You have one friend in the world,” I tell her. “And she couldn’t care less about you.”
Anne turns from me, sobbing audibly. Happy now? I ask myself. Someone rouses in the other room, and the bedroom door opens.
“Everything okay out here?” Dad asks. He’s wearing a bathrobe, and he looks disoriented, woken from a deep sleep. Just seeing him there, bleary-eyed and ignorant, makes me mad.
“We’re fine,” I say angrily. Anne pulls the blanket up, trying to quiet her sobs. Any fool can see we’re not.
Dad clears his throat. He doesn’t even glance at Anne. “Okay then,” he says. He disappears into the bedroom.
That’s about all I can take for one night. I stomp into the bathroom, no longer caring who I disturb.