song list. But they were obviously determined to keep us from having
any fun. It’s like they knew the room was full of hormones and they thought
that playing the least sexy music on the planet was the only way they could
keep us from copulating on the dance floor.
Or maybe they had consulted my Mom. I mean, the Macarena? The
Chicken Dance?
It was so ridiculous. After all, it didn’t matter how hard they
tried to keep us sober, upright, and clothed. Nothing could change the fact
that as soon as we left, we were going to get drunk, horizontal, and naked.
And listen to some decent music while we were at it.
So we killed a few hours sipping juice by the bleachers and
gossiping about how much we were going to drink at the after party. Then we
left and went back to Ian’s.
When we got to his house, a few of the girls and I took it upon
ourselves to perform an enthusiastic and detailed retelling of the dance. This
kept Ian’s parents in the kitchen long enough for the guys to sneak all the beer
into the basement.
Once that mission was accomplished, everyone changed out of
their fancy clothes. Then we spent the next few hours drinking and sneaking out
the basement door for smoke breaks.
And Ian’s parents didn’t come downstairs a single time. Which
was cool. It made me think that maybe they were teenagers with healthy social
lives once upon a time.
Unlike my parents. The only time I’ve ever seen my Mom drink was
two sangria’s at the neighborhood block party a few years ago. My Dad basically
had to carry her home. Of course, she was mortified even though all the other
housewives were trashed an hour later and no one gave a shit.
But she doesn’t have a clue. She thinks that anyone who’s ever
gotten so drunk that they had the thought I’m never going to drink again is an alcoholic. Which means everyone I know has a drinking problem.
Anyway, I was pleasantly buzzed after a healthy amount of beer,
and I really wanted to be alone with Ian since I hadn’t seen him in weeks. At
least not outside of school. Or his clothes.
Eventually, he asked if I wanted to go check something out in
his room. I think he thought he was being smooth, but everyone who heard him made
whoo noises.
He told them to shut up and then took me by the hand and led me
upstairs. We snuck right past the den where his parents were watching a super loud
action movie with an open bottle of wine.
The first thing I noticed when I walked in his room was all the
lacrosse trophies. Then I saw a pile of laundry in a chair that he obviously
didn’t fold himself. It all looked pretty normal. Until he closed his bedroom
door.
Hanging on the back of it was a large poster of some busty, tan model.
Her stars and stripes bikini top was straining to hold her breasts in place. It
looked like they were lucky to get the shot before it snapped off.
It caught me off guard.
I don’t know why. It’s not like I expected him to have a poster
of the cast of Glee like my brother did. Still, her looming presence didn’t
exactly set me at ease. I mean, if that was his dream girl, I was fucked.
Compared to her, I looked completely average and forgettable. And pale. And
fat.
When I finally looked away, Ian was sitting on the edge of his
bed watching me.
“She’s got nothing on you,” he said.
I could barely keep from rolling my eyes at the bold faced lie. But
I have to admit, it was a nice thing for him to say.
“Come here.” He patted the navy bedspread beside him.
I took a seat next to him and wondered how many other girls had
sat on his bed.
“What did you think of the dance?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It was… tough to be honest.”
“Tough?” I turned my head towards him.
“Yeah.” He put his hand under my chin. “I’ve wanted to kiss you
since I first saw you tonight.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t think I’d be able to stop if I started.”
I blushed and looked down at my feet.
“Maybe we could pick up where we left
any fun. It’s like they knew the room was full of hormones and they thought
that playing the least sexy music on the planet was the only way they could
keep us from copulating on the dance floor.
Or maybe they had consulted my Mom. I mean, the Macarena? The
Chicken Dance?
It was so ridiculous. After all, it didn’t matter how hard they
tried to keep us sober, upright, and clothed. Nothing could change the fact
that as soon as we left, we were going to get drunk, horizontal, and naked.
And listen to some decent music while we were at it.
So we killed a few hours sipping juice by the bleachers and
gossiping about how much we were going to drink at the after party. Then we
left and went back to Ian’s.
When we got to his house, a few of the girls and I took it upon
ourselves to perform an enthusiastic and detailed retelling of the dance. This
kept Ian’s parents in the kitchen long enough for the guys to sneak all the beer
into the basement.
Once that mission was accomplished, everyone changed out of
their fancy clothes. Then we spent the next few hours drinking and sneaking out
the basement door for smoke breaks.
And Ian’s parents didn’t come downstairs a single time. Which
was cool. It made me think that maybe they were teenagers with healthy social
lives once upon a time.
Unlike my parents. The only time I’ve ever seen my Mom drink was
two sangria’s at the neighborhood block party a few years ago. My Dad basically
had to carry her home. Of course, she was mortified even though all the other
housewives were trashed an hour later and no one gave a shit.
But she doesn’t have a clue. She thinks that anyone who’s ever
gotten so drunk that they had the thought I’m never going to drink again is an alcoholic. Which means everyone I know has a drinking problem.
Anyway, I was pleasantly buzzed after a healthy amount of beer,
and I really wanted to be alone with Ian since I hadn’t seen him in weeks. At
least not outside of school. Or his clothes.
Eventually, he asked if I wanted to go check something out in
his room. I think he thought he was being smooth, but everyone who heard him made
whoo noises.
He told them to shut up and then took me by the hand and led me
upstairs. We snuck right past the den where his parents were watching a super loud
action movie with an open bottle of wine.
The first thing I noticed when I walked in his room was all the
lacrosse trophies. Then I saw a pile of laundry in a chair that he obviously
didn’t fold himself. It all looked pretty normal. Until he closed his bedroom
door.
Hanging on the back of it was a large poster of some busty, tan model.
Her stars and stripes bikini top was straining to hold her breasts in place. It
looked like they were lucky to get the shot before it snapped off.
It caught me off guard.
I don’t know why. It’s not like I expected him to have a poster
of the cast of Glee like my brother did. Still, her looming presence didn’t
exactly set me at ease. I mean, if that was his dream girl, I was fucked.
Compared to her, I looked completely average and forgettable. And pale. And
fat.
When I finally looked away, Ian was sitting on the edge of his
bed watching me.
“She’s got nothing on you,” he said.
I could barely keep from rolling my eyes at the bold faced lie. But
I have to admit, it was a nice thing for him to say.
“Come here.” He patted the navy bedspread beside him.
I took a seat next to him and wondered how many other girls had
sat on his bed.
“What did you think of the dance?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It was… tough to be honest.”
“Tough?” I turned my head towards him.
“Yeah.” He put his hand under my chin. “I’ve wanted to kiss you
since I first saw you tonight.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t think I’d be able to stop if I started.”
I blushed and looked down at my feet.
“Maybe we could pick up where we left
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