Cherry Bites by Alison Preston Page A

experiments. It was revolting in the locker room, mostly because of the unholy stink. And we got caught, so it was hardly worth it. We had to apologize to Miss Mott, the gym teacher, and run laps every day after school for one week. Miss Mott got to pick the punishment.
    Anyway, that’s where Duane led me, away from Myrna and her talk of cadavers, to that stinky grey bed. That’s where we did it. It wasn’t that I wanted to; there were other times I wanted him more, like the night when I came through my clothes. But he wore me down; I wore myself down with thoughts of being him.
    It hurt at first and then it didn’t.
    “Does that feel better now?” he asked.
    “I guess so,” I said.
    “How’s that?”
    “Okay.”
    It didn’t hurt anymore, but it didn’t feel good either. It felt like nothing. And I wondered why I had given in. I knew we would never go back to necking now and that was what I loved. That was what I wanted to do for my whole long life. And with him. No one would ever be better than him.
    “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling” was on the record player over and over that night. I never hear that song without the ache that goes along with it.
    “I’ll go get us a couple of smokes,” he said after he had come all over me.
    No, don’t go . I didn’t say it out loud.
    I wiped myself off as best I could with a corner of the sheet and pulled my underwear and shorts up over my sticky body. I longed to go for a swim in cool clean water. After five minutes I knew he wasn’t coming back. I knew it even before that, but I waited a little longer because I didn’t know what to do.
    Something—fire maybe—electric fire, licked at the inside of me, pushed its way out through my face, through my eyes. It came close to blinding me as I looked for another way out of the room. There wasn’t even a window.
    When I opened the door to the rec room no one was looking my way except for a boy alone in a corner by the records: Pete. He had a beer in his hand, one of those stubby bottles that beer came in in those days. He was thirteen years old; what the hell was he doing there? I was almost certain he looked at me that night, through heavy-lidded eyes, although I couldn’t prove it. He had a half-smile on his face.
    The air in the basement was saturated with smoke and stale beer and sweat.
    I ran up the stairs and out the door to the breezeway. It was packed tight with bodies. I closed my eyes and pushed through them to get away. My bed was too good for me that night. I ran to the river.
    It was windy but it was a warm wind and I welcomed it against my face. I listened to the laughter coming from the boats moored at the marina across the way. Sleep didn’t come but I wasn’t expecting it.
    When the sky paled in the east I walked home and slipped in the back door, up the stairs to my room. I took off my filthy clothes and lay down on the hard wood floor next to my bed. I covered myself with a sheet and longed for Henry Ferris to come home and save me.
    The next afternoon I started my period, so at least I wasn’t pregnant. I set out for the Norbridge Pharmacy to get some Tampax. I’d never been able to insert it properly with its stiff cardboard applicator, but I figured for sure I’d be able to get it in now. Maybe I could salvage something from the night before. Usually Joanne came with me to buy my supplies of that sort because it embarrassed me so much, but today I couldn’t face Joanne.
    As I passed the flood bowl by the community club I saw two boys playing catch in the distance on one of the baseball diamonds. Pete and Duane. I had never seen them together before and thought it must be a mistake. But it wasn’t. Against my will I walked closer.
    “Go long!” yelled Pete and Duane ran long.
    Duane shouted, “Go short!” and they laughed together.
    They threw grounders and hit pop flies. They had a bat—Murray’s old bat, I guess. They didn’t see me. I hid from them before they had a