filled the room and made it difficult to breathe. “I don’t go in your room and wave your gigantic underpants around, do I? What right do you have to come in here with your friends and look at my stuff? What the hell kind of person are you? Get out. Now.”
“Wait just a minute, young man. You can’t …” My voice trailed off. There was no way I could deal with so much negative emotion. I’d only make things worse for Grace. I reached down and tugged at her hand.
Still glaring at us, Ryan slowly moved away from the doorway and Grace and I silently hurried out. We were both terrified of this angryoutraged young man that neither of us really knew. We stumbled down the stairs.
As we stood in the living room, she looked me in the eye. “I don’t want to stay here. I need to get out,” she sniffed, fighting back the tears. “I’m afraid Tamsen. Look how much he hates me. I’m afraid of that t-shirt and what it means. Please, help me pack. I’m going to stay at the bookstore.”
“Grace, you can’t stay at the bookstore. You have to come home with me. We have loads of room and you shouldn’t be alone. We’ll sort it all out.”
She enveloped me in a huge hug worthy of Perry Many Paws and we hastily packed her suitcase and headed out into the autumn sun, the sound of angry pacing over our heads.
sat on a stool at the kitchen counter downing diet soda and watching Cam prepare our dinner. There was salad and lasagna, one of Cam’s specialties, in the oven, and garlic bread sticks ready to dip into an oil, pepper and rosemary mixture. Oh, and there was chocolate cake for dessert. Ice cream, too.
I’d told Cam about our adventure in Ryan’s bedroom several times in several ways by now and he kept assuring me that there must be some reasonable explanation.
“It could be some kind of initiation,” Cam suggested, pulling the lasagna out of the oven to set before we cut it. “Teenage boys can get into some really weird stuff.”
“Did you get into weird stuff when you were fifteen?” I asked.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” he said.
“You’re avoiding my question.” I gave him a gentle punch in the rear end. “I promise I won’t tell Claudia.”
“Well, I don’t recall any blood being involved, but we did go through a period of dares as part of an initiation into a club when I was a freshman in high school. Just stupid stuff. I hope this lasagna is firm enough.” He stuck his finger into the hot pan and then jerked it away.
“Don’t put your finger in the lasagna, especially when it’s just come out of the oven. What kind of stupid stuff ?”
He ran his finger under the cold water and pretended that he had to delve deeply into his memory to recall some of the stupid things he’d done when he was fifteen.
“Mmm. Let me think. It was a long time ago …”
“A mere thirty-five years, sweetheart.”
“I seem to remember having to steal a pair of my sister’s underpants to add to the collection …”
“Ryan mentioned underpants, too. What is it with you guys and women’s underpants?”
“Oh, girls’ underpants are very important in the life of a fifteen-year-old boy. Didn’t you ever read
Portnoy’s Complaint
?”
“Gross. Don’t talk about that before dinner,” I admonished. “I don’t remember my friends and I ever talking about or being interested in boys’ underwear. Did you say you had a
collection
of underpants?”
“Not me, personally. The guys, the club, had a collection and to join the club you had to add to it. The sexier the underwear the more status you had. I was lucky because I had an older sister. Some of the guys had to resort to stealing their mom’s underwear which was decidedly
not
sexy.”
“Did Cassandra know you filched her underpants?”
“Naw. She had so many clothes she never missed them.” Cam took the wine and wine glasses into the dining room and I followed him with the salad. As I headed up the stairs to get Grace, I thought of one
“Wait just a minute, young man. You can’t …” My voice trailed off. There was no way I could deal with so much negative emotion. I’d only make things worse for Grace. I reached down and tugged at her hand.
Still glaring at us, Ryan slowly moved away from the doorway and Grace and I silently hurried out. We were both terrified of this angryoutraged young man that neither of us really knew. We stumbled down the stairs.
As we stood in the living room, she looked me in the eye. “I don’t want to stay here. I need to get out,” she sniffed, fighting back the tears. “I’m afraid Tamsen. Look how much he hates me. I’m afraid of that t-shirt and what it means. Please, help me pack. I’m going to stay at the bookstore.”
“Grace, you can’t stay at the bookstore. You have to come home with me. We have loads of room and you shouldn’t be alone. We’ll sort it all out.”
She enveloped me in a huge hug worthy of Perry Many Paws and we hastily packed her suitcase and headed out into the autumn sun, the sound of angry pacing over our heads.
sat on a stool at the kitchen counter downing diet soda and watching Cam prepare our dinner. There was salad and lasagna, one of Cam’s specialties, in the oven, and garlic bread sticks ready to dip into an oil, pepper and rosemary mixture. Oh, and there was chocolate cake for dessert. Ice cream, too.
I’d told Cam about our adventure in Ryan’s bedroom several times in several ways by now and he kept assuring me that there must be some reasonable explanation.
“It could be some kind of initiation,” Cam suggested, pulling the lasagna out of the oven to set before we cut it. “Teenage boys can get into some really weird stuff.”
“Did you get into weird stuff when you were fifteen?” I asked.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” he said.
“You’re avoiding my question.” I gave him a gentle punch in the rear end. “I promise I won’t tell Claudia.”
“Well, I don’t recall any blood being involved, but we did go through a period of dares as part of an initiation into a club when I was a freshman in high school. Just stupid stuff. I hope this lasagna is firm enough.” He stuck his finger into the hot pan and then jerked it away.
“Don’t put your finger in the lasagna, especially when it’s just come out of the oven. What kind of stupid stuff ?”
He ran his finger under the cold water and pretended that he had to delve deeply into his memory to recall some of the stupid things he’d done when he was fifteen.
“Mmm. Let me think. It was a long time ago …”
“A mere thirty-five years, sweetheart.”
“I seem to remember having to steal a pair of my sister’s underpants to add to the collection …”
“Ryan mentioned underpants, too. What is it with you guys and women’s underpants?”
“Oh, girls’ underpants are very important in the life of a fifteen-year-old boy. Didn’t you ever read
Portnoy’s Complaint
?”
“Gross. Don’t talk about that before dinner,” I admonished. “I don’t remember my friends and I ever talking about or being interested in boys’ underwear. Did you say you had a
collection
of underpants?”
“Not me, personally. The guys, the club, had a collection and to join the club you had to add to it. The sexier the underwear the more status you had. I was lucky because I had an older sister. Some of the guys had to resort to stealing their mom’s underwear which was decidedly
not
sexy.”
“Did Cassandra know you filched her underpants?”
“Naw. She had so many clothes she never missed them.” Cam took the wine and wine glasses into the dining room and I followed him with the salad. As I headed up the stairs to get Grace, I thought of one
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