sitting on the toilet there and feeling dirty as a skank (I mean, a public toilet !), I emailed my girl.
Leora: I need your help. Big time!
-4-
"You pushed him away ?" Kayla's eyes looked like she'd smelled a skunk.
"I couldn't let him —"
"Aw, c'mon, Leora. The guy sounds cool."
"The guy is a player!"
"Same thing. But, look, don't interrupt me. He sounds like a cool player, a clean player. You know, none of that herpes and shit. I mean, that shit stinks!"
"Thanks for the picture."
"Keep it mind. It don't all run like they say in books. I mean that stuff is nasty! You know half your book boyfriends probably have that shit!"
"Kayla? Can we stay on topic?"
"Yeah, look, he sounds hot ! And decent. You say he canceled a half-a-mil deal? For me ? Hell, I'll do him. What's his number?"
"No, Kayls...."
Kayla sat back on my pink beanbag. "Whatever. So what help do you need?"
"I need to go to Europe with you! I'll be eighteen by then..."
"Wow, one whole year. No, you'll be eighteen in a month. So one whole month older! Shew!" She wiped her forehead mockingly.
"Older is older. I don't want to risk it."
"Girl, you live in a fuckin dream world, do you know that?"
"Kayla, I like him."
"Shit, sweetie, you need to get laid ! You'll like anything with legs and a tight ass for crissakes. I mean, you're even going nuts for that loser from Bushwick."
"Who?"
"Brad! The one you..." She waggled her finger at me and the bed.
"Stop it!" I threw my pillow at her.
"Look, Leo, I know you've got this whole romantic notion about 'saving yourself' and 'the one' and all that bull —because trust me, sister—it's bullllllll -shit! So long as two people are semi-compatible (and not riddled with disease) why, let them screw, you know? If it's good it's good. If not, move on! No harm done."
And when you're fat, you're fat. And no one will want you. So why risk it without love? But I said nothing.
"Damn it, Europeans don't give a hoot about age. Legal age is sixteen in Britain. Hell, you could even get your rich mom to get one of her boyfriends to fly you over for a weekend and shag him there for all I care. If it makes you feel better. There you'd be two years over legal age."
"How do you know this stuff?"
"How do you know the caloric content of every food they sell in the supermarket?"
"Touché."
"England: Sixteen (Except Northern Ireland which is seventeen, Like New York.) Croatia: fourteen. Disgusting, but whatever. France: fifteen. Need I go on?"
"No, please, you're grossing me out."
"So, anyway, if you're scared of 'hurting him'"—she really did make the air quotes—"then, by all means, go do him in his country estate. Fucker probably even plays polo..."
"God! Why am I friends with you!?"
"Because I can rattle off the Age of Consent for every country in Europe?"
"Urgh!" I stormed off to splash my face.
"...called Brad..." I heard being said from my room.
"What?"
She opened the door, stuck her head inside. "I said, I called Brad."
"Oh, you did..." I swallowed a dry lump. "An—and?
"I told him you like him."
"What?"
"Nah, fuck that. I told him I wanted to see him again. So he picked me up. We had it on, in his bedroom, several times."
My mind drifted.
"Are you listening?"
"Yeah, yeah, wow. You don't stop, do you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing." I walked past her and fell on my bed.
"No, c'mon, it's not nothing. What is it?"
I turned onto my stomach. "It's...nothing."
"You do like him, don't you? I asked you, damn it! I would've laid off!"
"No!" I rolled over. My mind was so confused! "Kayla, why...why am I like this? All I think about is guys but I don't do anything with them. Then, when I get the chance, I run away. I'm hoping for some true love and yet... I don't know."
Kayla eyed me up and down as I lay there. I could feel her glare strongly upon my skin as if she were touching me. I turned to her. "What!?"
She looked away. "Nothing."
I sat up, grabbed her hand. "What? What is
Leora: I need your help. Big time!
-4-
"You pushed him away ?" Kayla's eyes looked like she'd smelled a skunk.
"I couldn't let him —"
"Aw, c'mon, Leora. The guy sounds cool."
"The guy is a player!"
"Same thing. But, look, don't interrupt me. He sounds like a cool player, a clean player. You know, none of that herpes and shit. I mean, that shit stinks!"
"Thanks for the picture."
"Keep it mind. It don't all run like they say in books. I mean that stuff is nasty! You know half your book boyfriends probably have that shit!"
"Kayla? Can we stay on topic?"
"Yeah, look, he sounds hot ! And decent. You say he canceled a half-a-mil deal? For me ? Hell, I'll do him. What's his number?"
"No, Kayls...."
Kayla sat back on my pink beanbag. "Whatever. So what help do you need?"
"I need to go to Europe with you! I'll be eighteen by then..."
"Wow, one whole year. No, you'll be eighteen in a month. So one whole month older! Shew!" She wiped her forehead mockingly.
"Older is older. I don't want to risk it."
"Girl, you live in a fuckin dream world, do you know that?"
"Kayla, I like him."
"Shit, sweetie, you need to get laid ! You'll like anything with legs and a tight ass for crissakes. I mean, you're even going nuts for that loser from Bushwick."
"Who?"
"Brad! The one you..." She waggled her finger at me and the bed.
"Stop it!" I threw my pillow at her.
"Look, Leo, I know you've got this whole romantic notion about 'saving yourself' and 'the one' and all that bull —because trust me, sister—it's bullllllll -shit! So long as two people are semi-compatible (and not riddled with disease) why, let them screw, you know? If it's good it's good. If not, move on! No harm done."
And when you're fat, you're fat. And no one will want you. So why risk it without love? But I said nothing.
"Damn it, Europeans don't give a hoot about age. Legal age is sixteen in Britain. Hell, you could even get your rich mom to get one of her boyfriends to fly you over for a weekend and shag him there for all I care. If it makes you feel better. There you'd be two years over legal age."
"How do you know this stuff?"
"How do you know the caloric content of every food they sell in the supermarket?"
"Touché."
"England: Sixteen (Except Northern Ireland which is seventeen, Like New York.) Croatia: fourteen. Disgusting, but whatever. France: fifteen. Need I go on?"
"No, please, you're grossing me out."
"So, anyway, if you're scared of 'hurting him'"—she really did make the air quotes—"then, by all means, go do him in his country estate. Fucker probably even plays polo..."
"God! Why am I friends with you!?"
"Because I can rattle off the Age of Consent for every country in Europe?"
"Urgh!" I stormed off to splash my face.
"...called Brad..." I heard being said from my room.
"What?"
She opened the door, stuck her head inside. "I said, I called Brad."
"Oh, you did..." I swallowed a dry lump. "An—and?
"I told him you like him."
"What?"
"Nah, fuck that. I told him I wanted to see him again. So he picked me up. We had it on, in his bedroom, several times."
My mind drifted.
"Are you listening?"
"Yeah, yeah, wow. You don't stop, do you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing." I walked past her and fell on my bed.
"No, c'mon, it's not nothing. What is it?"
I turned onto my stomach. "It's...nothing."
"You do like him, don't you? I asked you, damn it! I would've laid off!"
"No!" I rolled over. My mind was so confused! "Kayla, why...why am I like this? All I think about is guys but I don't do anything with them. Then, when I get the chance, I run away. I'm hoping for some true love and yet... I don't know."
Kayla eyed me up and down as I lay there. I could feel her glare strongly upon my skin as if she were touching me. I turned to her. "What!?"
She looked away. "Nothing."
I sat up, grabbed her hand. "What? What is
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