In Ecstasy (3 page)

Ordinarily, I would have fallen over myself to have done that with her. I was on my own looking after Jordie most weekends when we weren't at Dad's, while she went out with Damon. I'd wanted her to get a life, thinking that if she did, maybe I could have one too. It half worked: she created this really busy social life, but I didn't benefit at all, in fact, as the months passed she seemed to forget about me altogether.

I'd watch chick flicks and get on the net. Sometimes Soph would come over, but more and more she'd be at parties on the weekends. I'd be online in chat rooms for hours, only stopping when I heard Mum and Damon pull up in the driveway. I'd have given anything for her to stay home with me then, but now it was my turn to go out and have fun.

‘Sorry Mum, I've got to do this work with Sophie tonight,' I lied, looking her in the eye. She dropped her gaze immediately and I knew it was because she was grateful she didn't have to give up her evening with Damon.

‘Are you staying the night, or do you want me to pick you up?' she asked. ‘We'll probably be back about midnight.'

‘Nah, I'll stay. If we finish early we're going to stay up and watch some movies. No school tomorrow.' I felt bad lying to her, but I was confident she wouldn't check it out with Mrs Spencer. I've never given Mum any reason to doubt me, ever. I reckon I'd lied more today than I had in my whole life.

After Mum left I surveyed my wardrobe again. I wished I had another new outfit. I need all the help I can get. I'm not a standout in the crowd—pretty average looking; shoulder-length brown hair, that I wish was blonde like Sophie's. I want layers and foils, but Mum won't let me. ‘Why ruin its beautiful colour with chemicals?' she says, even though it's nothing-burger brown.

Luckily I have pretty good skin, even if the freckles on my nose seem to get darker every year. And I'm in pretty good shape, though the tops of my thighs are definitely jiggly and my bum is too big. I wish I had Soph‘s boobs. Mine are more like small pimples. Some days I think they'll never grow.

The whole situation was surreal. And scary. Lewis is in year twelve and one of the most popular guys in school. According to Sophie, he is the life of every party. I can't believe he noticed me. Last night was like a dream, talking together for hours, and now he's texting me like I'm his girlfriend. If only
I
could have someone like
him.
I had to look hot—now I had his attention I had to keep it.

Have you ever done something so stupid, the memory of it makes you physically cringe? You wipe your hand across your eyes wishing you could erase the image, but the memory creeps up on you when you're doing something else, and you're experiencing it all over again, as potent as ever.

It was Cherie's birthday party at a Chinese restaurant in Northbridge, early in year ten. Mum dropped Mia and me off, assuming that Cherie's parents would be there. They weren't. It was banquet style, with as much wine and beer as we wanted. You can imagine what happened.

Hokkien noodles and fried rice flew through the air, landed on other diners and up the walls. One girl was vomiting in a potted plant. The restaurant people got really mad, they screamed at us and we all took off in a drunken hurry. We ended up in a park cleaning ourselves up in some smelly public toilets. I was feeling pretty sick; every time I shut my eyes I felt like I was whooshing down a tunnel, really fast. So I sat on the toilet seat and pushed my hands against the walls and tried to slow my head down. I could hear the others outside laughing.

I'd been sitting in there a while when the toilet door opened and I felt a hand on my head. I looked up to see Thomas Westcroft standing there.

He crouched down and asked me if I was all right. ‘I was worried about you,' he said.

The next thing I knew we were pashing in the cubicle. And here is the worst part. I've heard girls say, ‘I don't remember what happened, I was so out of it,' and I've thought, ‘Bullshit. No one's ever so out of it they don't know what's happening.' And the real truth is, I do remember parts of it. But not all of it, or how I got from one thing to the next. But I wasn't forced into it by Thomas.

I'd never done anything more than kiss a guy. In year eight I got a bit heavy with a boy called Marcus, but it was winter and I had on a couple of layers of thick clothes. With Thomas it was flesh on flesh. We didn't go all the way, but I think I would've if he'd pushed me to. That's how drunk I was. I did what I'd heard guys really like, and what most girls at my school think isn't really sex. I gave him a blow job.

I can still smell the foul stink of that toilet. The whole thing was horrible. Once I'd started, I wanted it over quickly. It wasn't what I expected. None of the magazines tell you how hard it is to breathe, how it makes you choke and gag, or how long it would take. My jaw cramped and I wanted to vomit. It's the best-kept secret, how revolting it is for us girls.

When it was over I didn't want to look at him. I couldn't believe what I'd done. I felt so degraded, so completely humiliated. But he was busy zipping his pants up and tucking his shirt in. He seemed so pleased with himself—and suddenly I felt completely sober. ‘Well, let's go back then,' he said.

I couldn't look at him. I didn't want people to see us leaving the toilet together. I didn't want them all guessing what had just happened. Which is funny now, because what girls want to keep private, guys have this need to share. But I didn't know that then. Thomas left, and as I washed my face I heard a cheer from the park. I think my blood actually froze for a second. I stared at myself in the mirror through the graffiti, under the flickering blue lights they use to stop junkies finding their veins, and saw Mia appear behind me.

She put her arm around me. ‘You okay?'

And I knew she knew because she looked at me with such pity. They all knew. Thomas had gone straight out there and told everyone what I'd done. I nodded but I started crying anyway.

So, that was my mistake. I'd always been in control of everything I did. And I hated feeling like I'd lost that control. I always thought girls who'd done it must be sophisticated, mature, knowledgeable. But that's not how I felt. I felt used and dirty, stupid and slutty. And everyone at school knew. Thomas was the big stud and I was that chick who got drunk and gave head. Except for Mia, it felt like everyone suddenly saw me differently. They felt sorry for me, like I was a victim. Weak and pathetic. That was almost the worst thing of all.

And I guess that's what started the lie.

Sophie was sitting on the low brick wall outside the shops. She looked fantastic. She is one of the most beautiful people I've ever met. She has a model's face with perfect skin and teeth. With her face and personality she doesn't have to try hard to get attention. When people meet her, they just stare; her gigantic blue eyes seem to enchant them. Though guys don't often make eye contact with her—they usually can't take their eyes off her breasts.

‘Boys like boobs more than we understand,' she says. And she'd know. She has flirting down to an exact science; she can get any guy she wants. Though maybe that's also because guys know she'll give them what they want.

Soph's been with heaps of guys, starting last year when, absolutely hammered, she gave Thomas Westcroft a blow job. It was around the school in a flash. I was secretly horrified that she'd done it—the thought of putting
that
in my mouth—gross!—makes me shudder. But together we decided that because she was drunk it hadn't been her fault—you can't be held responsible if you're so out of it you don't know what you're doing. Even so, she cried about it for two weeks solid. I felt terrible for her. But then she turned it all around and went from the school's object of pity to the most desirable girl in our year group. Guys virtually queued up to go out with her. Soph had her pick of anyone she wanted. She was in one relationship after another. She told me everything, and one day she admitted to me how she'd finally gone all the way. In that instant things between us changed. We'd always been equal, done everything together—gymbaroo, ballet, rollerblading—now, suddenly, she was way ahead of me. I'd always imagined we'd be the same age when we finally did it, but the closest I'd got was when Peter Brand tried to feel me up in year eight. He'd stuck his hand up my skirt but I was so embarrassed I made him stop. Listening to Sophie talk about it made her seem so much older than me. She went from being my best friend to my older sister. It wasn't so bad. It was just different.

For Sophie, having sex is just a normal part of relationships. I get the impression that once you crack the seal it's hard to go back to hand holding. I was wondering if Craig might be the new guy. I don't know where they went after Lewis dropped them off, but I knew she'd tell me all the goss.

‘So,' she said when I sat down, ‘is Lewis picking us up?'

‘Yep.' It was hard not to be too excited. ‘Can you believe it?'

‘Of course,' she said. ‘Look at you—he's not blind.'

But I couldn't think about him, not when he might turn up at any second. ‘So what happened with you and Craig?' I said to change the subject.

‘He's nice,' she said.

‘Did you?' I asked.

‘No,' she shook her head, ‘it was way too intense. I don't think I could've handled it.'

‘It was wild,' I said, nodding in agreement. ‘The E was amazing.'

‘Yeah,' she said, ‘it was better than I thought it would be.'

‘It was so...' but I couldn't describe the way it made me feel.

Sophie was nodding her head anyway, she completely understood. ‘Yeah, what a night.'

‘Hey, what was up with Dominic? I saw you two talking.'

Soph shrugged. ‘Nothing, really. It was just about nothing.'

I kept looking for Lewis's car, I felt nervous as anything.

‘Are you going to do it again tonight?' Soph asked.

‘I think so. If he offers I will,' I said. The ecstasy had made me so confident. I didn't know if he'd like me if I was just me.

We watched him pull into the car park in his metallic blue car. His parents are mega rich, and have this massive house down by the beach. I've never been there but I know which one it is. All the kids at the school do.

He had the music up loud. ‘Hi,' he said, leaning out the window, ‘you girls want a lift?'

The inside of his car was immaculate. I got into the front and sank into the sheepskin seat, hoping he couldn't hear my heart thumping madly.

‘This is my mate, Glenn.' He jerked his thumb towards a guy sprawled across the back seat. Where Lewis was clean and ironed, Glenn looked like he'd just crawled out of bed. He was crumpled and messy, with dirty black stubble on his face. Sophie squeezed in next to him.

‘Hi,' she said breathlessly. ‘I'm Sophie, and that's Mia.'

I keep procrastinating. I know. I'm an expert at it. I don't want to be, but I do love that word ‘procrastinating'. Once our English teacher was getting really fed up with this guy in our class, Brandon Bent. She was standing out the front trying to get us to draw up charts and Brandon was fiddling with his MP3 player, his bag, his books, anything. He hadn't read the novel. Anyway his hands were rummaging around in his bag, which was on his lap, when she finally lost it and shouted at him, ‘Brandon, stop procrastinating!'

It worked. He stopped and looked at her, horrified.

‘I'm reporting you miss,' he said, his cheeks bright red.

‘What for?' She was laughing then. She's got a pretty good sense of humour, Miss Lawler.

‘What you just said.'

And I reckon that's why she said it—because she knew what he'd think. ‘What was that?'

‘Saying I'm wanking,' he said.

She just laughed again and dropped the dictionary on his desk. ‘Look it up Brandon, then write the definition on the board.'

So I keep procrastinating. But it's not laziness. There's more I need to explain first.

For two hellish weeks after the Westcroft job I could hardly cope. I felt like I'd ruined everything. I even thought about telling my mum—for one insane nanosecond. God, the thought of
that
makes me feel ill even now. When I think about all the times I've heard my mum talk about me to her friends—about how I know myself and would never be swayed by peer pressure, about how strong and smart I am—if she knew, she'd never look at me in the same way again, and that's more than I could handle.

Mia was my life-ring. She told me to go easy on myself. She helped me deflect comments, especially from Thomas and his scumbag mates. She even managed to make me laugh about it.

Once Thomas was standing near us at assembly and whispered, loud enough for people nearby to hear, ‘Fancy another blow, Soph?'

And Mia said, even more loudly, ‘Sorry, Thomas, I've told Sophie not to put small things in her mouth that she might choke on.'

And of course everyone, except Thomas, laughed. Even me.

So here is my secret. Not only am I a procrastinator, I'm a virgin too. A big fat virgin.

If you'd asked Mia, she'd have told you I'd done it with lots of guys. Not that she would've told you anything. She'd have told you to mind your own business. But under a lie detector test, say, that's what she would've said. Because that's what I told her. Of course, you're wondering why, after being publicly humiliated and having my dignity dragged through the mud, would I make up such a thing?

This is how it happened.

A couple of weeks after my little tryst with Thomas, my history class was doing research in the library and I was hiding behind the magazine rack reading
Girlfriend.
I'd already finished the assignment at home. In an ironic twist, my marks had improved because I'd imposed a ban on all socialising—it was possible I might never go out in public again. I was certainly never drinking again. So, study pressure was off, my parents were pleased and my teachers were impressed. In fact, if I could've just erased fifteen sordid minutes from my past, my life would have been perfect. But I couldn't, so hiding from the staring faces and whispered comments was my new plan.

‘Whatchya doing?'

I looked up to see Ryan Windsor leaning against the bookcase watching me.

A quick profile on Ryan Windsor:

Tall and well built.

Blond-tipped hair.

Pale green eyes and golden tan.

White teeth, slightly crooked, but no need for major work.

A year older.

And, to put it as nicely as possible, an IQ of about room temperature.

‘Reading,' I said.

I guess I was expecting some sort of jibe, a prod, a dirty comment, but instead he said, ‘Any good?'

I frowned and glanced up. He looked a bit pinkfaced, and his foot scuffed the carpet. He was nervous. Then I realised why Ryan had come over. And in a second a light rush of electricity surged through my body, a tingling of power.

‘Not really.' I dropped the magazine on the floor and wriggled backwards in my beanbag. The polystyrene rustled loudly in the library's stillness. ‘What about you? What are you doing?' And it wasn't really me, it was this powerful other persona that flicked my hair back and looked up at him through my lashes. I know it sounds corny, but you should've seen it work.

He took a step closer.

‘I was wondering if...' He didn't know what to say. He was embarrassed.

I laughed a soft, encouraging laugh. ‘Yes?'

He crouched down next to me. ‘I was wondering ... if you'd like to go out with me.' His cheeks grew redder. ‘Friday night? To the movies? Maybe, if you're not busy.'

I swear to you, I had no control over the situation. I felt like I was possessed by some kind of goddess because I knew exactly, instinctively, what to do. I also knew that if anything was going to save me from a lifetime of self-imposed seclusion it was this. With my self-esteem around my ankles, it felt like a step in the right direction.

‘Friday,' I said, like I was flicking the pages of a diary. ‘Yeah, okay. That'd be cool.'

‘Cool,' he echoed. ‘Yeah, okay. Shall I meet you at the bus stop out the front of the shops?'

‘Yeah.' I nodded and picked up my magazine, dismissing him. ‘I'll see you then. Say six.'

After he left I pulled myself together. What was I doing? Did he think taking me out was going to get him some action? I had to tread carefully, poised as I was with one foot in slut camp.

And funnily enough, it went well.

Ryan, for all his missing IQ points, was actually really nice. He didn't try anything more than putting an arm around me and a fumbled pash at the end of the night. And when I kissed him I felt it again. He was intimidated by me! It was so weird. I was at the lowest point in my life and a popular, good-looking guy was intimidated by me.

I didn't go out with him again. I didn't have to. Because by Monday I was asked out by Nathan. And a pattern emerged, with a new guy every Friday night. And I didn't have to do anything more than kiss them. All I had to do was move on to the next carefully chosen guy. I wasn't with anyone long enough for them to expect me to do anything I didn't want to do.

As the weeks passed and my popularity grew I began to see myself in a better light. I'd made a mistake that I had no intention of repeating, at least not until I wanted to do it with someone I really cared about. Sober. And here's something else—while guys will brag about what they
have
done, most keep their mouths shut about what they
haven't.
And, unlike Thomas, these guys were nice, so not one of them was prepared to talk about how far they got with Sophie Spencer anyway. Somehow I'd found myself on very desirable ground. It was all to do with which boy you hooked up with. Now I had all the appearances of being cool and popular and none of the hang ups of a bad reputation.

Things changed for me and Mia. Now we got invited to join groups of older guys. And it seemed really cool. Other girls' looks of pity were replaced with looks of envy. And Mia started to look up to me, like I knew so much more than she did. I felt like a worldly older sister. She thought I was brave. And experienced. Mia really believed me.

Then I went out with Tony. He was a totally hot guy in year eleven—great looking, funny and smart—and when he asked me out I was so excited. For the first time I broke my rules and I went out with Tony again and again.

I met his mum and dad and his sister Isabella and then before I knew it we were celebrating our one month anniversary. But by now Tony was getting impatient with just kissing.

‘Soph,' he'd whisper in my ear and press himself against me, hard. ‘Soph.' He was practically begging, and though I really liked him, the thought of going further terrified me. It was like I was in that filthy toilet stall again. I'd wriggle out of the clinch, ignore his plea, but every time we went out, he just put more pressure on me.

The only way to stop it was to break up. It nearly killed me. But I just couldn't go any further. So I dumped him.

Mia and I were round near maths, where we always used to sit when it was just us. I was pretty cut up, telling her that Tony and I'd split. I cried. Mia didn't understand why I was so distraught when I was the one who'd dumped him.

‘So why, then?' she asked, squeezing my hand. I wanted to tell her how I felt pressured to have sex, but I didn't want her thinking badly of Tony. And as I tried to figure out how to tell her that I was still freaked by what had happened with Thomas Westcroft, she said, ‘I guess I don't understand what it's like to split up with someone you've done it with.'

I nearly choked. Mia was looking at the ground and her cheeks were pink. How could she think that of me?

And then, without looking up, really softly, she asked, ‘What was it like, Soph? Was it what you thought?'

She handed it to me. That feeling of power you get when you know something other people don't. That feeling of importance. And I took it. I liked having her look up to me. I'd felt so low I never thought anyone would respect me again. And here it was—though in retrospect it isn't something I want to be admired for. But I took it. Everything on offer I took. And as the words came out of my mouth it was that other me talking, the self-confident and experienced me. I opened my mouth and out came this new self.

And that was my big stupid lie. Almost immediately I wanted to drop it, but I just couldn't. How could I admit to that? It would've made me seem like the biggest loser ever. So I became the lie and the lie became me. I even—and this is so pathetic to admit—researched stuff on the internet so that what I told her was credible. I know I acted badly. But this is the nature of the liar. The world they live in is like quicksand—once you've put a toe in there, you're a goner. And then I really turned into that girl. I forgot what I used to be like—a bit shy and a lot insecure—and I became the confident person my mum always thought I was. A self-assured girl that guys really liked. And not one of them got anything more than a kiss out of me. Except Dominic. I fell in love with Dominic Cimino.