Ready or Not (4 page)

And okay, his parents were going to be there, and all. But even so, it could only mean one thing.

Couldn't it?

“Of course I'm serious,” David said. “Come on, Sharona. It'll be fun. There's all sorts of stuff to do there. Horseback riding. Movies. Parcheesi.”

Parcheesi? Was that some kind of weird boy code name for sex? Because that had to be what he was thinking we were going to do, right? I mean, have sex? Isn't that what couples who go away for the weekend together do?

“Don't even tell me you don't want to, Sharona,” David was saying. “I know you do.”

But how? How could he know I wanted to? Had I been giving off some I-want-to-have-sex vibe without even knowing it? Because I'm not sure I want to. Okay, sometimes I'm sure I want to, but not
most
of the time. And especially not
now
, having been forced to sit there and look at a naked guy for three hours….

“You said you guys always go to your grandma's in Baltimore for Thanksgiving,” David went on. “And that it's totally boring there. Right? So get out of it. And come to Camp David with me.”

What should I say? I didn't know what to say!

“My parents will NEVER let me go away with you.”

Seriously. That's what came blurting out of my mouth. Not “I'm not sure I'm ready yet, David,” or “Are you talking about what I think you're talking about, David, or do you really mean Parcheesi as in…Parcheesi?”

No. None of
those
things. Instead, I just said my parents wouldn't let me.

Which was sort of a comforting thought, actually. Especially in that it was true, and all.

“Sure they will,” David said, in his usual unrufflable manner. “It's Camp DAVID. You'll be there with the PRESIDENT, and tons of Secret Service. Of course your parents will let you come. Besides, they trust you. Or at least they used to, before you did that to your hair.”

“David. Don't joke. This is…” My heart was beating kind of hard, and not just because of frisson. “This is a really big step.”

“I know,” he said. “But we've been going out for more than a year. I think we're ready. Don't you?”

Ready for what? A weekend sleepover at Camp David, complete with turkey and Parcheesi? Or sex?

He
had
to be talking about sex. I mean, guys don't ask you to go to Camp David with them just for pumpkin pie and board games, right?

RIGHT?

“I don't know, David,” I said hesitantly. “I mean…I think…I think I'm going to have to think about this. This is happening awfully fast.”

But was it? I mean, really? Considering recent events in the make-out department? Wasn't “a weekend at Camp David” just the next natural step?

“Come on,” David said, his hand creeping up my shirt. “Say yes.”

No fair. He was using his extremely talented fingers to manipulate my emotions. Or, er, not my emotions so much as my, um, appendages (SAT word meaning “body parts”).

“Say you'll come,” he whispered.

I would just like to say that it's very hard to know what the right thing to say is when a guy has his hand up your bra.

“I'll come,” I heard myself whisper back.

How do I get myself into these things?

I mean, seriously.

Top ten places people commonly lose their virginity:

  10.   
Backseat of his car,
like Diane Court in
Say Anything
(although, considering it was with Lloyd Dobler, this probably wasn't so bad).

    9.   
Hotel after the prom.
This is such a cliché. So many girls think there's something romantic about losing it after the prom, apparently not realizing that the prom is just another thing the popular crowd invented to make the people in the non-popular crowd feel bad for not getting invited.

    8.   
Your parents' bed while they're away for the weekend.
Ew. EW. It's your
parents'
bed, the place where you (possibly) were conceived. GROSS.

    7.   
HIS parents' bed while they're away for the weekend
. And it won't be at all embarrassing if his mother happens to find your Hello Kitty underwear at the bottom of her sheets.

    6.   
In a tent at summer camp.
Hello. It's a tent. EVERYONE CAN HEAR YOU.

    5.   
On a beach
. Sand. It gets everywhere.

    4.   
Anywhere out of doors at all
. One word: Bugs.

    3.   
His room
. Um, okay, have you ever happened to catch a whiff of his socks? His whole room smells like that. Seriously. Even if he happens to live in the White House. And he can't
tell
. He really can't. It's like his nostrils have gotten accustomed to it, the way yours have gotten accustomed to the smell of your own deodorant.

    2.   
Your room
. Oh, really? You're going to Do It in front of Raggedy Ann and Mr. Snuffles? I think not.

And the number-one place people commonly lose their virginity:

    1.   
Camp David.
Well, okay, maybe this isn't the place where
most
people lose their virginity. But it's apparently the place where I'm going to lose mine.

The thing is, I have an ace in the hole (whatever that means. Something good, anyway).

And that ace is Mom and Dad.

Because NO WAY are Mom and Dad going to let me skip Thanksgiving at Grandma's to go away with my boyfriend.

Even to Camp David.

Even with the president.

Which means no sex. Or Parcheesi, as David apparently calls it.

I won't pretend like I am too upset about this. About my mom and dad not letting me go away with David. I mean, I'm not all that positive I even
want
to go. Okay, sure, I want to go when David's hands are under various articles of my clothing…

But the minute they aren't anymore, I have to admit, I'm not completely jazzed about the idea.

Because, let's face it, sex is an awfully big step. It completely changes your relationship. Or at least it does in the books Lucy likes to read, the ones she leaves lying around next to the bathtub that I occasionally pick up to peruse when I've run out of Vonnegut or whatever. In those books, whenever the girl and the guy start Doing It, that's it. That's
all
they do. So long going to the movies. So long going to dinner. All they ever do when they get together is…well, It.

Maybe that's just books and not how it is in real life. But how am I supposed to know for sure? It's just that I'm not sure I'm ready for that.

So if—although
when
is more like it—Mom and Dad say I can't go, it won't be the worst thing in the world. That's all I'm saying.

I dropped the bomb the minute I got back from life drawing. I decided that since Mom and Dad were just going to say no anyway, I might as well dispense with the beating-around-the-bush-and-dropping-of-subtle-hints thing. I mean, so what if they say no? David is going to have to learn to live with disappointment.

Mom and Dad were sitting there at the dining room table with Lucy, who looked moderately upset, for some reason. Probably her favorite contestant on
American Idol
got voted off or something.

“Mom, Dad,” I said, completely interrupting without remorse or preamble, “can I go to Camp David for Thanksgiving with, um, David”—I'd never realized until I said it just then that David has the same name as the presidential retreat. How weird is that? Plus, it sounds stupid to say—“and his parents?”

“Of course, honey,” my dad said.

It was my mom who went, “Oh, God, Sam. What did you do to your hair?”

“I dyed it,” I said. Meanwhile, my heart had totally skipped a beat. “What do you mean by
‘Of course, honey,'
Dad?”

“Is it permanent?” my mom asked.

“Semi,” I said to Mom. “Are you serious?” I asked Dad. “What about Grandma?”

“Grandma'll get over it,” my dad said. Then he, too, became fixated on my hair. “What are you supposed to be?” he wanted to know. “One of those mango characters you're always reading about?”

“Manga,” I corrected him. “What are you saying, exactly? That I can go?”

“Go where?”

“To Camp David. With David. For Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving
weekend
. OVERNIGHT.”

“I don't see why not,” my mom said. “I assume his parents will be there? Well, fine. Next time you want to do something like this, Samantha, let me know beforehand. I'll make an appointment with my colorist. That over-the-counter stuff can't be good for your hair.”

And just like that, it was over. They both turned their attention back to Lucy and whatever her glitch was…probably that she had a cheerleading practice that conflicted with some college tour they wanted her to take. They had been on her case about narrowing down some choices for college for a while now.

Leaving me to be all, um, hello? Remember me? Your other daughter? The one whose boyfriend just asked her to spend Thanksgiving weekend playing
Parcheesi
with him? And you said yes? Uh-huh, THAT daughter?

I couldn't believe it.
I couldn't believe it
. My parents were letting me go away for the weekend with my boyfriend.

And okay, you could see why they would, on account of his dad, being the president.

But just because your dad is the president doesn't mean you don't want to play
Parcheesi
. I mean, had they ever thought of that?

Apparently not. Apparently, my parents are the most clueless people on the face of the planet.

And now, thanks to them, it looked like I was going to Camp David for Thanksgiving, to get an up close and personal look at my boyfriend's inguinal ligament.

Okay. This isn't happening.

And yet, apparently, it is.

I was still reeling from the shock of it all when Lucy came flitting past my bedroom door a little while later. I had my headphones on—I was listening to
Tragic Kingdom
, in the hopes that Gwen's assurance that she's “just a girl in the world” would soothe my frazzled soul—so all I saw were Lucy's lips moving for a minute. When she didn't give up and go away after a while, I pulled my headphones off and went, in a voice unfriendly enough to startle my dog, Manet, from her sleep, “
What?
”

“That's what I was asking
you
,” Lucy said. “Why do you look as if you just found out John Mayer died?”

Because in Lucy's world, if John Mayer died, people would
freak
. In
my
world if that happened? No one would notice.

“Um, because this year while you're helping Grandma light her pilgrim candle replicas of John and Priscilla Smith, I'm going to be losing my virginity to my longtime boyfriend at Camp David.”

That's what I
want
to tell her.

But since I can't help thinking this isn't the wisest thing to confide to my sister, I just say the first thing that popped into my head, which is, “I don't know. I guess I'm just upset because…because…today, I saw my first, um, you-know-what.”

I saw right away that I should have said something else.
Anything
else. Because this had the opposite effect of what I'd been hoping for—that Lucy would go away.

Instead, she came barreling all the way into my room, not even looking where she was going and knocking over my Hellboy action figures, which I had artfully set up along the top of my dresser to portray the Liz-on-the-sacrificial-slab scene.

“Really?” Lucy asked, all eager. “David's? What'd he, whip it out while he was kissing you good night out there just now? That is so gross. I hate when they do that.”

“Um, no,” I said, somewhat taken aback. Do guys actually
do
this? David certainly never has. But maybe only because he's too polite.

But it sounded like it's happened to my sister a
lot
. And she supposedly has a steady boyfriend! And okay, he's away at college, but still. What goes
on
at those parties she goes to, the ones at the popular people's houses? No wonder Kris Parks had embraced Right Way with so much vigor. She was probably psychologically scarred from guys whipping it out right and left in front of her.

“It was this guy named Terry's,” I said. “He's a nude model Susan Boone made us draw.”

This didn't seem to strike Lucy as any better than David having whipped it out.

“Ew!” she said. “You saw some skanky model guy's penis before you saw your own boyfriend's? That is sick.”

Considering that's exactly how I'd been feeling a few hours before, it was funny that I heard myself replying, “Yeah, well, that's what life drawing is all about. Because you can't learn to draw the human figure if clothes are obscuring the muscles and skeletal frame.”

And then—I can't even begin to figure out why—I found myself confiding in her.

I know. Confiding in
Lucy
. I must have been out of my mind. Obviously ultra-cool Dauntra from Potomac Video would have been the logical person to turn to for guidance in this area. But no. I had to go and let my sister Lucy in on it. It was like my mouth just went running off by itself with no input whatsoever from my brain.

“But that's not all of it,” I heard myself saying, to my horror. “Get this: David asked me to come to Camp David with him.”

“Yeah, I know,” Lucy said. “I was there when Mom and Dad said you could go, remember? Poor you. I mean, God, how boring. He couldn't take you to the mall, like a normal boyfriend?”

This was the perfect opportunity for me to drop it. I mean, considering Lucy clearly didn't understand a word I was saying.

But no. My mouth just kept on going.

“Lucy,” I said. “I don't think you understand.
David asked me to spend the weekend with him at Camp David
.”

“Um,” Lucy said. “Yes, I know. You said that already. And I repeat, ew, how boring. I mean, what is there to do at Camp David? Ride horses? Throw rocks into some lake? I mean, I guess you two could paint, seeing as how you both like that kind of thing. But it's gonna be even more boring than Grandma's. I mean, it's not like there are any good outlet stores nearby.”

“Lucy,” I said, again. I couldn't believe she wasn't getting it. And I couldn't believe I was still trying to make her understand. What was I
doing
? Why was I telling
her
? “David asked me to come away with him
. For the weekend.
And Mom and Dad said yes.”

Lucy sniffed. “Yeah, I noticed. You know, you're lucky they like him so much. Your boyfriend, I mean. They would never let me spend the weekend with Jack. But, of course, David's parents are going to be there.”

“Yes,” I said. It was hopeless. She was never going to understand.

And why should she? I mean, in Lucy's world, people like me—and let's face it, David—just don't, well, Do It. The idea that geeks might possibly have hormones, too, was very clearly an alien one to Lucy.

Or so I thought. I had basically given up on the whole thing and was thinking to myself,
Well, actually, this is GOOD,
since I didn't want her to know anyway
, when Lucy suddenly grabbed my wrist and, her Lancôme-lined eyes very wide, went, “Oh my God. You don't mean…Oh my God. You and David? And at CAMP DAVID?”

And that was that. She knew.

It was strange, but it was actually kind of a relief. Embarrassing, but a relief. Don't ask me why.

“Where else would you suggest?” I asked her, kind of sarcastically, to cover up my complete and utter mortification. “Under the bleachers?”

“Ew,” Lucy said. “With all the wadded-up gum people have spat out? No.” She had sunk down onto my bed—poking Manet, who was collapsed on top of my duvet, to get him to move over—and sat there, looking sort of stunned. “That is a really big step, Sam. Are you sure you're ready?”

“Part of me is,” I heard myself admitting. “And part of me isn't. I mean, part of me really, really wants to, and part of me—”

“—is scared to death,” Lucy concluded for me. “Well, don't be. Just make sure you use two methods of birth control,” she went on, in the same bossy way she always advises me not to wear my high-tops with a skirt or my legs will look fat. “I mean, he should wear a condom, but you should have a backup method, just in case. You have to start the Pill on the first Sunday of your period, and you just had yours last week, so even if you went to Planned Parenthood tomorrow, it wouldn't do you any good for Thanksgiving. I'd suggest spermicidal foam.”

I just stared at her. With my mouth hanging open, I'm pretty sure.

But Lucy didn't seem to notice my shock.

“Don't buy the foam from any place in the neighborhood,” she went on, briskly. “Someone we know might see you. And then it'll be all over school…and, in your case, all over the nightly news. You're bound to be recognized. God, saving David's dad was the worst thing you ever did. I mean, you can't do
anything
without everyone in the world wanting to know your business. Even with the hair. I mean, people can still tell it's
you
. It's just you with stupid-looking black hair. Look, do you want me to buy it for you?”

I just stared at her some more. Honestly, it was like I understood the words coming out of her mouth. I just couldn't believe she was
saying
them.

“You can't count on the guy taking care of it, Sam,” Lucy said, apparently mistaking my stunned silence for indignation that she was poking her nose into my business. “Even a guy like David, who goes to that genius school. I mean, sure, he'll pick up some condoms. But condoms break. Sometimes they come off. Before they're supposed to, if you get my drift. You have to be…what's it called? Proactive. I'll pick something up for you after school tomorrow. Spermicidal foam is easy, you stick the applicator in like a tampon and just plunge it right in. You should have no problems.”

“Ngrh,” was all that came out of my mouth, due to my extreme freaked-outedness.

Lucy patted me on the head. Seriously.
She patted me on the head
. As if I were Manet.

“Don't worry about it,” she said. “What are sisters for? I think you're doing the right thing, by the way. I mean, you guys have been going out forever, and David's a great guy, even if he is, you know, a little weird. What's with all the eighties bands T-shirts? And that whole art thing is a big yawn. But it's not like he has any choice. If he tried to bust out, even a little, it would be all over
Teen People
. And who needs that?”

“But—” I was pleased that I was at least capable of formulating words again. Sadly, I couldn't seem to make them go into a cohesive sentence. “But don't you—I mean, what about…Kris?”

Lucy blinked at me. “Kris who?”

“Um. Parks.”