me, and hooting and making these nasty faces. Then he did it.” Her face crumpled again, and I winced, realizing what was coming.
“He held them up. My panties. Like a trophy. And then he smiled at me, winked, and said it was the best addition to his collection yet.”
And this cheerleader started crying again, except that now she gave herself over to it in the fullest sense of the word. Her knees gave, and she fell against me, and she was weeping like her heart was broken and would never be whole again. I hesitated for a moment (but only a moment), and then I wrapped my arms around her and held her as she cried. Right there on the tile, I hugged this stranger and whispered into her hair, told her it’d be okay.
After a few minutes, the sobs died down to sniffles, and then the sniffles stopped as well. She pushed off me and wiped her face. She couldn’t look at me, and I realized she was a little embarrassed.
“Hey, I have an idea,” I said. It was a from-the-hip decision, unexplainable, but somehow undeniably right. “Let’s get out of here. Cut the rest of the day.”
She looked at me, and squinted. “Play hooky?”
I nodded and smiled. “Yep. Just a day. I think you’ve earned it, don’t you?”
I’ve always thought her decision in response was probably as sudden as mine had been in asking her. I mean, she didn’t even know my name at that point. She smiled back at me, a slight smile.
“Okay.”
That’s how we met. She smoked her first joint that day (something I introduced her to), and about a week later she quit being a cheerleader. I’d like to say that we got revenge on David Rayborn, but we never did. Despite his reputation as an asshole, girls continued to fall for him, and he continued to take their panties as trophies. He went on to become a star quarterback, which continued through college and even a 46
C O D Y M C F A D Y E N
few seasons second-stringing for an NFL team. One could say this was proof of no justice in the world, but you could also say that he brought Annie and I together, something that was to have such beauty and value that I could almost forgive him for what he did. We’d bonded at the molecular level, the way only combat soldiers and teenagers do. We spent all of our time out of school together. She encouraged me to quit smoking pot, advice I followed, since my grades had been dropping. I got her to start dating again. She was there for me when Buster, the dog I’d had since I was five years old, had to be put to sleep. I was there for her when her grandmother died. We learned to drive together and spent time getting into and out of scrapes, growing up, becoming women.
Annie and I shared one of the most intimate relationships a person can have: friendship while you go from child to adult. The types of experiences and memories you take with you through life, all the way to the grave.
What happened after was what happens all the time. We graduated from high school. I was with Matt by then. She’d met a guy and decided to ride around the country with him before going to college. I didn’t wait and went straight to UCLA. We did what everyone does, swore to stay in touch twice a week and forever, and then did what everyone does, got caught up in our own lives and didn’t speak for nearly a year. One day I was walking out of class . . . and there she was. She looked wild, and beautiful, and I felt joy and pain and longing twang through me like a chord plucked from a Gibson guitar.
“How’s things, college girl?” she asked, eyes twinkling. I didn’t respond, but I gave her one hell of a long hug. We went out to lunch, and she told me all about her adventures. They’d traveled through fifty states on almost no money, seen and done a lot, had enough sex in enough different places to last a lifetime. She smiled a secret smile, and then placed her hand on the table.
“Check it out,” she said.
I looked, saw the engagement ring, gasped like I was supposed to, and
“He held them up. My panties. Like a trophy. And then he smiled at me, winked, and said it was the best addition to his collection yet.”
And this cheerleader started crying again, except that now she gave herself over to it in the fullest sense of the word. Her knees gave, and she fell against me, and she was weeping like her heart was broken and would never be whole again. I hesitated for a moment (but only a moment), and then I wrapped my arms around her and held her as she cried. Right there on the tile, I hugged this stranger and whispered into her hair, told her it’d be okay.
After a few minutes, the sobs died down to sniffles, and then the sniffles stopped as well. She pushed off me and wiped her face. She couldn’t look at me, and I realized she was a little embarrassed.
“Hey, I have an idea,” I said. It was a from-the-hip decision, unexplainable, but somehow undeniably right. “Let’s get out of here. Cut the rest of the day.”
She looked at me, and squinted. “Play hooky?”
I nodded and smiled. “Yep. Just a day. I think you’ve earned it, don’t you?”
I’ve always thought her decision in response was probably as sudden as mine had been in asking her. I mean, she didn’t even know my name at that point. She smiled back at me, a slight smile.
“Okay.”
That’s how we met. She smoked her first joint that day (something I introduced her to), and about a week later she quit being a cheerleader. I’d like to say that we got revenge on David Rayborn, but we never did. Despite his reputation as an asshole, girls continued to fall for him, and he continued to take their panties as trophies. He went on to become a star quarterback, which continued through college and even a 46
C O D Y M C F A D Y E N
few seasons second-stringing for an NFL team. One could say this was proof of no justice in the world, but you could also say that he brought Annie and I together, something that was to have such beauty and value that I could almost forgive him for what he did. We’d bonded at the molecular level, the way only combat soldiers and teenagers do. We spent all of our time out of school together. She encouraged me to quit smoking pot, advice I followed, since my grades had been dropping. I got her to start dating again. She was there for me when Buster, the dog I’d had since I was five years old, had to be put to sleep. I was there for her when her grandmother died. We learned to drive together and spent time getting into and out of scrapes, growing up, becoming women.
Annie and I shared one of the most intimate relationships a person can have: friendship while you go from child to adult. The types of experiences and memories you take with you through life, all the way to the grave.
What happened after was what happens all the time. We graduated from high school. I was with Matt by then. She’d met a guy and decided to ride around the country with him before going to college. I didn’t wait and went straight to UCLA. We did what everyone does, swore to stay in touch twice a week and forever, and then did what everyone does, got caught up in our own lives and didn’t speak for nearly a year. One day I was walking out of class . . . and there she was. She looked wild, and beautiful, and I felt joy and pain and longing twang through me like a chord plucked from a Gibson guitar.
“How’s things, college girl?” she asked, eyes twinkling. I didn’t respond, but I gave her one hell of a long hug. We went out to lunch, and she told me all about her adventures. They’d traveled through fifty states on almost no money, seen and done a lot, had enough sex in enough different places to last a lifetime. She smiled a secret smile, and then placed her hand on the table.
“Check it out,” she said.
I looked, saw the engagement ring, gasped like I was supposed to, and
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