Boy in a Band (A Morgan Mallory story) (2 page)

Chapter 2

I was eight the summer Gayle moved in across the street
, and we became best friends. We used to hang with all the kids on the block, and now they think we’ve gotten stuck up since Gayle and I turned thirteen this summer and prefer to be alone together. They call us the
tween bitches
. We could give a shit; we’re into other things now, boys for one. Gayle and I talk about the boys and school a lot: who is after who, who’s kissing or having sex, who’s into what kind of drugs. There are girls in our grade who already have boyfriends or huge crushes.

Being in j
unior high has made it easy for us to spend time alone. School is so overcrowded that we have split sessions. Gayle and I have the early session, so we're out by noon and at Gayle’s house in time for lunch. Both her parent’s work, so no one is home and we can do what we want. Actually we have a lot of freedom between her parents working, my mom's charity work, and my dad's traveling.

“W
hat do we want for lunch, the usual?” Gayle asked, setting her backpack on the counter.

“Sure
,” I answered.

She pulled out the bread and bologna and started
making us a sandwich. I jumped up and sat on the counter, watching as she spread the mustard.

“Keri t
ried smoking pot last weekend,” I said, thinking about my conversation with Keri during sewing class.

Keri
was one of the more popular girls at school unlike me, but since we both hated sewing and sat right next to each other, she talked to me. She was shorter than me, but she had thick, straight blonde hair that fell to her waist and almond-shaped green eyes. She had a cute figure and did her best to flaunt it. The boys all thought she was hot, and she knew it. She was a total flirt. I wouldn’t go as far as to say I wanted to trade places with her, but I sure wished I could get some of the attention she got.

“Did she like it?” Gayle asked
, slapping the sandwich together.

“She said she did
. Asked if I wanted to try it; I told her I would.”

“You did?” s
he asked in a worried tone, handing me my sandwich.

“Why not?” I
asked. “She says it’s sort of like being drunk, but you laugh more.”

I paused, sandwich in hand, waiting for her to answer.
As long as Gayle and I have palled around she’s never considered herself pretty. I think she is in her own way, her face is heart shaped and she has pretty brown eyes and light brown hair. The boys notice her because she’s very developed with big boobs and shapely hips. I on the other hand am developing slowly, too slowly for my liking. I am tall and thin with long legs. I have sandy blonde hair, which is curly. It makes me stand out as most of the girls are wearing their hair long and straight. It’s thick and sometimes unruly and hangs halfway down my back.

One of my best feat
ures is my eyes. They are blue, surrounded by thick lashes, and I get complements on them all the time. I also have nice lips, kissable, my older cousin tells me. My boobs are still pretty small and I have narrow hips. My body looks a lot like the new model Twiggy. My mom says I’m a beauty, my grandmother says I look like Brooke Shields. I don’t believe either of them.

“When are you going to do it?” Gayle finally asked
with her mouth full.

“Do what?” I
asked.

I had lost my train of thought.

“Smoke pot?” she said with a bit of disgust.

She had never made it anything but clear she didn’t like
Keri much. “Too full of herself” Gayle said. They knew each other because we shared the same bus stop, but Gayle wouldn’t talk to her.

“I’m meeting her on the golf course by the d
rainage tunnel tomorrow morning,” I said.

The drainage tunnel was large enough to walk into
, and it sat halfway between Keri’s house and the bus stop. We’d smoked cigarettes there together more than once.

“You’re smoking pot before school
? Are you nuts?” she exclaimed, looking at me dead on.

“I’ll just try a little
. Keri says it’s no big deal.”

“You’re crazy
,” she said, positioning herself on the counter to eat her sandwich.

“Yeah, so
…” I said, taking a bite of mine.

This year at school, it seems like a lot of kids are getting into alcohol, drugs, and the opposite sex. Or maybe everyone’s just talking about it more. Gayle and I drink now and again, as well as smoke cigarettes on occasion. We sneak small amounts of liquor from our parents' liquor cabinets and put the combination in a washed-out mayonnaise jar. We only take little bits of each kind so they don’t notice. Once we have enough, we go to the creek and mix it with Coke. It’s pretty nasty stuff, but we can get a buzz. My mom and dad smoke, so getting cigarettes is easy.

At school, Gayle and I hang out in different groups. She's athletic and on the swim team; I sort of hang out with a mixed group of popular and
not so popular. The real popular kids at school hang together and generally ignore everyone else. Talk about stuck-up. Keri’s in that group. I hadn't noticed the cliques until we got to junior high. We never had much division in our neighborhood when we hung out with each other. We could act stupid and no one cared, and it never got back to school. Now I try to be nice to everyone, but it’s hard sometimes.

              “Where’s Keri getting the pot from, her brother?” Gayle asked.

“I’m sure.”

We all knew he dealt it.

“Morgan, you doing this so you can hang with Keri and her friends?” she asked, not looking at me.

“No,” I answered, laughing. “I don’t think just 'cause I smoke pot with her, I’ve made my way to popular.”

She finished her sandwich and hopped off the counter.

“She seeing anyone?” Gayle asked.

“She’s been talking about a guy named Brett; he’s a junior. I don’t know him. Not sure if they are dating or not, but she definitely likes him.”

“Think she’s gone all the way?”

“I don’t know,” I answered, surprised she would ask.

“You two talk.”

“We talk in sewing, sewing, Gayle. Like, ‘you like my pattern, how about ripping out this seam for the third time’. We laugh 'cause we are both so bad. Neither one of us will ever be Suzy Homemaker, that’s for sure. I get a few bits and pieces of gossip now and then. No best-friends-spill-your-guts kind of talk. But to answer your question, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

I met Keri on the golf course next to the tunnel, early before the bus. We ducked inside the tunnel and shared a joint. The weather was getting warmer and it was close to the end of the school year and I was feeling adventurous. It also had to do with fitting in, I wanted the popular kids she hung out with to think I could be part of them, do what they were doing.

“Inhale it like a cigarette, but don’t blow it out right away. Hold it in,” she instructed.

The first hit I coughed until my eyes watered, and she laughed. Keri and I laughed on the bus when we looked at each other with Gayle shooting me dirty looks. When we got to school, she hurried off the bus without saying
boo
to me. I guess she didn’t like that I was venturing out without her.

I soon found out why smoking pot before school was a bad idea in my first period math class. As I sat and watched the teacher do problems on the board, I felt paranoid. I couldn’t focus on what the teacher was saying. The more I tried to concentrate the more my heart raced and my palms felt sweaty. I glanced around the room at the other students and I felt like everyone knew I was stoned. I crossed smoking-pot-before-school off my list.

Didn't mean Gayle had stopped giving me shit about it at every opportunity she could find. It was late in the day, and the sun was warm on our bodies, we were at the creek, lying in the tall grass under the oak tree. A couple of birds were chirping at each other in the tree, and I squinted, looking up through the branches to try and find them.

“Gayle, did you see Keri and Brett making out against the lockers between second and third period yesterday?” I asked, rolling onto my side and elbow, propping my head up with my hand.

Gayle was on her back, playing with a blade of grass, tying knots in it like a chain. I watched her bend the blade, loop it through, and tie another one.

“Yeah, who could have missed it? Keri wants everyone to see her. ‘I’m popular, I’m pretty, I’ve got a boyfriend, look at me',” Gayle mimicked Keri’s voice.

“It’s stupid at school,” I laughed.

Gayle finished the last knot and then admired her chain against the blue sky. A few dried pieces of grass stuck to her hair. I fluffed out my own knowing I certainly must have some in mine too.

“Tell her.”

“Yeah, right, tell her. She doesn’t care what I think.”

I picked a piece of grass, stuck the root end in my mouth, and chewed on it. The texture was crispy and the taste sweet, like honey.

“She’s fucking him,” I said absently.

Gayle sat up quickly and looked at me.

“No shit? She tell you that?”

I pulled the grass from my mouth and threw it away. I smiled a big shit-eating grin at her.

“Yeah, in fact, since they started, that’s all she talks about. ‘How fine’ he is.
How his dick is so big and how she likes to suck on it. So your question is answered, and I didn’t even have to ask.”

“Gross, really? She talks about his dick?”

“Yeah,” I laughed.

A cow mooed in the distance and a second one responded to his sound.

“You ever think of a boy that way? I mean think about a boy actually putting it into you, let alone your mouth?” she asked.

“From everything Keri has said, it’s nothing but good.”

I’d thought about it plenty, liked the thought actually. I’d fantasized about having sex, even had an orgasm by myself, at least I was pretty certain that’s what the shudder was.

“She’s too young. Don’t you think?” Gayle questioned.

I thought about some of the boys in our class. I couldn’t think of one off hand I even wanted to kiss, let alone fuck.

“Probably, but some of the girls are starting to go there. Especially the one’s with older boyfriends.”

We were silent for a few minutes; quiet enough I could hear a bullfrog in the creek. The deep rib-bit gave him away.

“Would you do that with a boy?” Gayle finally asked.

“No,” I said loudly, then laughed. “Who would you think I would even consider? No one.”

I gave her arm a shove.
I didn’t think Gayle had the same thoughts as I did about sex.

Chapter 3

“Morgan,” my mom shouted impatiently.

“Coming
,” I answered as I grabbed a light jacket.

I’
d agreed to go to work with her since it was Saturday. We’ve been trying to stay out of each other’s way and haven’t been talking much. In a way, I know she's reaching out to me, making an attempt to get along. At The Butter Paddle, her charity job, we help customers together, and it sort of forces us to talk to each other.

“Grab a book in case you get bored
,” she shouted up the stairs again.

I could stay home and not be bored
, I thought as I hastily opened my closet to get a book,
go over to Gayle’s and not be bored
. I usually shopped or went to the park next to the store if I was bored, but it’s raining today so I won’t be doing that. We drove to the shop in silence. I had agreed to go so I knew I shouldn’t be irked at my mom, but I was. At least it was raining so I had to be inside some place anyway.

Mom parked and we hurried through the rain to the front door of the shop. It creaked slightly as she opened it and the smell of coffee and spices assaulted us. It was strong, but I liked it. We stood and sort of shook the water from our coats as we pulled them off. I ran my fingers through my hair brushing the water off.
A pretty woman with blonde hair came out from behind the curtain that separated the back room.

“Morgan
, this is Mrs. O’Conner,” mom said, introducing me.

Mrs. O’Conner was carrying the
cash register tray and she continued to the register sitting on the check out counter.

“Oh
, no, please call me Ann,” Mrs. O’Conner said, fitting the tray into the register and starting to count the cash.

I watched as
she flipped through the twenty bills and then the tens, her long fingers separating each from the other as she counted. Mom grabbed my coat and headed towards the back room.

“No
, it’s proper to have her call you Mrs. O’Conner. It’s how I’ve taught my children to address adults,” my mom replied.

Proper, whatever
, she sounded uptight to me, like she didn’t think her child was old enough to address an adult person to person. That there had to be a title.

“
I understand that, but I’d prefer Ann, when I hear Mrs. O’Conner I think of Brad’s mom” she said, smiling.

Ann looks to be my m
om’s age or younger, and she looks like a model with her blonde haircut into a sassy bob and intense light blue eyes. Her makeup is perfect and her clothes very stylish. I think she’s beautiful, and she obviously thinks I’m old enough to address her by her first name.

“
I guess it’s okay, if it’s what you really want,” my mom says, backing down.

“It is. Call me Ann, Morgan.”

I silently watched the exchange, and now they both looked at me. I swallow hard and feel put on the spot, like I’ve been asked to read out loud in class.

“Nice to meet you
, Ann,” I said, feeling awkward.

It was the first time an adult had
asked me to call them by their first name, and I thought
what a classy lady she was
. I decided when I was an adult I would respond in the same way and have everyone call me by my first name. The
Mr
. and
Mrs
. crap made people seem old, like Ann said.

Despite the weather
, the store was busy, and it seemed like we never stopped until closing time. Ann and my mom closed out the register while I cleaned up the wrapping table in the back, winding the various ribbons back neatly on their spools. When I finished, I sat down and read my book until it was time to go.

“Thanks
, Morgan, you were a great help today. You should come with your mom more often,” Ann said as she locked up the cash drawer in the safe.

“Thanks, it was fun,
” I said, glad she thought I had been useful.

“Patty, can you stop by my house on your way home
? I would love you to meet my family, and I have an invitation for your family that I’ve been meaning to get to you.”

“An invitation
to what?” my mom asked.

“Some friends of ours h
ave a ranch in Old Almaden and they asked Brad and me to join them and bring some friends along for a picnic. Several of the gals are from Eastfield; you'll know many of them from The Butter Paddle—probably worked with some of them. They have a Jeep tour planned, and apparently, Pam Brenner puts on quite a spread for a picnic,” Ann answered.

“Sounds like a good time
. Yeah, we can stop by your house quickly on our way home,” my mom answered, looking at me for a reaction.

I scowled at
her, which she ignored, and she looked back to Ann.

“Steve’s home for a change,
so Pat’s not alone. I’ll call him when we get to your house. How exactly do I get there?”

While Ann gave my m
om directions, I shoved my book back into my backpack. I wasn’t thrilled we had to stop, and mom knew it. I wanted to get home to my friends—Gayle and I had planned to hang out. I waited by the front door with my coat on and my arms crossed in front of me, as they shut off the lights. The sky had gotten dark when we walked outside and Ann locked the door. The rain was coming down pretty hard.

“See you in a few
,” Ann said.

We all raced out from under the shop
's awning into the rain and scurried to the cars. When I reached our car I opened the door quickly and flung myself inside. The rush hadn't helped; mom and I still managed to get fairly wet. When she started the car and turned on the defroster, the car smelled of wet clothing and wet hair.

“Mom, I planned to go over to Gayle’s for awhile,” I complained.

“You liked Ann?” she asked ignoring me, as she adjusted the heater controls.

I could raise a stink, but it would just ruin the day so I didn’t.

“She’s really nice and really pretty,” I answered.

She looked over at me an
d then in the rear view mirror. She pushed her black hair back away from her face and checked her makeup. She was pretty too, but I wasn’t going to say it. Most of our words these days were harsh, not kind, I couldn’t say
you’re pretty too
and sound sincere. I was annoyed we had to stop at Ann’s, met her family, keep me out longer.

“She used to model
,” mom said with a sideways look at me.

“I thought she looked like one
,” I said frostily, looking out the front windshield, not wanting to look in her direction.

“I hope you’ll lose the attitude before we get there,” mom said.

I could feel the anger rise up as I watched the wipers go back and forth, sweeping the water away. Ann’s house was on the way home so at least we weren’t going a long ways out of the way. I tried to push down my feelings, letting the wipers mesmerized me, and instead thought about what Gayle had confessed to me last night. She’d gone to a friend’s house for a sleepover last weekend and some boys had showed up. They snuck out to meet with them, and ultimately, she had ended up making out with one of the guys.

             
“Oh, Morgan, it was sort of weird how it happened. We snuck out Michelle’s window to meet the guys around the block at this vacant lot, and the four of us were just sort of hanging out and talking. Mike had a couple of bottles of Boone's Farm and a pack of cigarettes, so we were drinking and smoking. I was catching a small buzz when Michelle and Mike sort of walked off together. I figured they went off to make out 'cause everyone knows he likes her.”

“Yeah, so she leaves you alone in the dark?”

“No, with Alex and we’re sitting there like stones, and it felt so awkward. He starts talking about friends we both know, and ends up, he seems pretty normal away from school. Then he leans in and kisses me. I’m kinda like
whoa
, but I’m buzzed so I kiss him back. Then he goes for it and we're
making out all tongues and shit. He brushed his hand across my boob like it was an accident, but I know it wasn’t.”

“No
!?”

“Yeah
, and I’m liking it, so I let him.”

“What was it like?”

“The kiss, or the feel?”

“You know I mean the kiss
,” I said.

We
had talked about French kissing, but neither of us had done it, until now.

“Not as bad as it sounds
,” she taunted teasingly. “I’ve done something before you have nana, nana, nana."

“Yeah, yeah
,” I said.

I
’d had some of those
like
feelings for boys at school, although that was the extent of it. I wanted boys to be interested in me, but they didn’t seem to be in that way. I was jealous Gayle had gotten to try before me, but I didn’t say anything—she already knew.

“Are you really that miffed about stopping by Ann’s?” my mom broke into my thoughts. “Because if you are, I guess I can drive back over tomorrow to get the invitation.”

She was adding a dash of guilt
, her tone one of defeat.

“No
, it’s fine,” I lied.

Sometimes I w
anted to be able to talk to my mom about things, but I didn’t know what to say or where to start. I too often felt trapped between my new teenage world and being a kid. I was afraid to confide in her, was afraid she would be angry or think my thoughts were silly. Hell, if she knew half the stuff we did, I’d be up shit creek. I went back to being hypnotized by the water and the wipers. I thought about who I knew, who I would want to kiss.

I couldn’t come up with any great candidates.