Ready or Not (7 page)

Oh my God. My sister bought me a box of condoms.

Feeling a little sick, I looked at the other box. It had curly writing with flowers on it. Inside, I found a canister and a plastic, tampon-like applicator, along with an insert.

HOW TO USE CONTRACEPTIVE FOAM
, the insert said.

Oh my God.

OH MY GOD.

I shoved everything back into the box, and then the boxes back into the bag, and the bag under the bed.

This was not something I was ready for. No, no, no. Not ready. SO NOT READY. So very, very not ready.

I mean, was I, Samantha Madison, really going to do this? Was I really going to have sex with my boyfriend?

I couldn't help thinking about that girl Kris had mocked earlier in the day…Debra, or whatever her name was. She had had sex with her boyfriend. Allegedly, anyway. What if David and I Did It, and word got out, like it had about Deb? Would people call
me
a slut behind my back?

Probably.

Although it would hardly be worse than what they
already
call me (Freak, Goth, Satan Worshiper, Punk, Psycho, etc.).

But it wouldn't just be people at school. I mean, with my uncanny ability to get my picture in magazines (mainly their Fashion Don'ts lists, but whatever), news of my sex life would probably be spread all over the tabloids. Not that I'd ever made it a point to go around telling everyone I'm a virgin or any of that. But, you know. It would be embarrassing if my grandma read about it….

It was right then that Lucy came barging into my room, without knocking, of course.

“Hey,” she said breathlessly, having clearly just run up the stairs. “Can I borrow your calculator?”

I glared at her. “What happened to yours?”

“I loaned it to Tiffany the last time we were at The Cheesecake Factory and were trying to figure out how much tip to leave, and she forgot to give it back. Come on, just let me borrow yours for tonight. I'll get mine back tomorrow.”

I handed her my calculator. It was actually the least I could do, considering the
present
she'd left me.

“Oh, thanks,” she said. And started to leave.

“Wait—” I said.
Thank you for the condoms and spermicide.
That's what I
wanted
to say. What came out instead was, “How's it going? I mean, with, um, Harold?”

“Oh,” Lucy said, smoothing a silky strand of titian hair behind one ear. “Fine. You know, Harold thinks it isn't because I'm not smart that I did so poorly. He thinks I suffer from test anxiety.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Harold thinks if I apply myself, I can raise my score by a hundred points—maybe more—just by practicing some breathing exercises before I go into the examination room.”

“Wow,” I said, wondering if that's why Harold always seemed to need his inhaler. You know, from all the breathing exercises he must have to do to keep up his perfect GPA.

“Yeah,” Lucy said. “Harold's really nice, you know. Once you get past the stuff about
Deep Space Nine
and how mad he is that they canceled
Angel
.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I know. I've always liked Harold. He's nice. Like when you mess something up in computer lab, he doesn't get all
, Well, did you make a back-up disk?
the way some of the TAs do.”

“Aw,” Lucy said. “That's sweet. I can't believe he's not more popular. I mean, how come I've never met him before, like at a party or something?”

“Um,” I said. “Because guys like Harold don't get invited to the kind of parties your friends throw.”

“What are you talking about? My friends aren't exclusionary.”

I raised my eyebrows. This was clearly an SAT word, courtesy of Harold.

“Um,” I said, again. “Yeah. They kinda are.”

Lucy didn't like hearing that. I could tell, since she looked right at me and went, “Well, thanks for the calculator. I better get back to Harold.”

Then she left, before I even had a chance to thank her for what she had loaned me. Well, not loaned me, exactly, since I highly doubted she wanted any of it back….

It was right as I was thinking this that my cell phone went off.

I so wasn't expecting it to happen—my cell phone to ring and all. I'm still not completely used to it—that I totally screamed, causing Rebecca, in her room down the hall, to call, “Do you mind, Sam? I'm at a really crucial stage in this larvae dissection.”

Which, actually, I would rather not have known.

I could see from the caller ID that it was David calling. David, with whom I hadn't spoken—sort of on purpose—since last night's discussion beneath the weeping willow in my front yard. I had already ignored two of his messages. I
had
to pick up.

Only…what was I going to say?

“Hi,” seemed like a good way to start.

“Hey,” David said.

Except that this was no simple “Hey.” Never, in fact, had more been conveyed in such a short word in the entire history of time. All of David's happiness that I'd finally answered, as well as his frustration over not having heard back from me in over twenty-four hours, and—I really don't think I'm imagining this—even his lack of certainty about how I felt about his invitation to “play Parcheesi” with him over Thanksgiving weekend was in that
Hey.

I'm pretty sure.

That's lot of stuff in a single word.

“Where have you been?” David went on to ask. Not in any sort of angry way. Just curious. “I left two messages. Are you all right?”

“Um,” I said. “Yeah. Sorry. Things have just been crazy.” I noticed the brown bag containing Lucy's “gifts” to me sticking out from under the bed and quickly toed it back so that the dust ruffle covered it. Don't ask me why. I mean, it wasn't like David was there in the room with me. Except that he was. Sort of. “With school, you know. And work.”

“Oh,” David said. “Okay. Well, what did they say?”

For one second, I honestly forgot what he was talking about. “What did who say?”

“Your parents,” he said. “About Thanksgiving.”

And it all came flooding back.

“Oh, Thanksgiving,” I said. Oh my God. Thanksgiving. He wanted to know about Thanksgiving.

Well, of course he did. I mean, that was why I'd been dodging his calls for the past twenty-four hours. Because I knew he wanted an answer about Thanksgiving.

It was just that I wasn't sure I was ready to give him one.

“Um,” I said, glancing at Manet, who as usual was collapsed across my bed, completely oblivious to the fact that his owner's life was being turned completely upside down and inside out. Dogs have it so easy. “Yeah. Sorry. I…I haven't had a chance to ask them yet.”

Okay. Just lied to my boyfriend. For the first time ever. More or less.

“Oh,” David said.

Just like with his “Hey” a few minutes earlier, that “Oh” conveyed a lot. It actually had been less of an “Oh,” than an “Oh?”

I was so dead.

“It's just,” I said, suddenly speaking a mile a minute. “It's Lucy. She bombed her SATs and now my parents have made her quit cheerleading and get a tutor and everyone is freaking out.”

“Whoa,” David said. He sounded as if he believed me. Well, why shouldn't he? That part was the truth, anyway. “How badly did she do?”

“Really badly,” I said. “So now isn't the best time to ask. If you know what I mean.”

“Totally,” David said. “I hear you.”

The thing was, for a guy who was waiting to find out whether or not he was going to, you know, get to have sex with his girlfriend next week, he sounded awfully…calm. I mean, not like the guys in those books of Lucy's, who are always all,
“Phillippa…I
must
have you. My loins burn for you.”

I was fully not getting any burning-loin vibe from David. Like, at
all
.

Which I guess I can understand. I mean, it's good he isn't getting his hopes up too much. Because it's not like, when we Do It and all, I will actually know what I'm doing, in spite of having read up on contraceptive foam usage.

Of course, he won't know what he's doing, either. Because it's not like he's any more experienced in the boudoir than I am.

But still. There's a much stronger possibility of me messing things up than him. I am not the world's most coordinated person. I barely passed P.E. (well, to be fair, that's because I'm so non-competitive that I refused to participate most of the time. I just didn't see the point.
Catch the ball, chase the ball, throw the ball
. Who cares? It's just a stupid ball.).

I guess I was just going to have to trust that, when—or if—the Big Moment came, my body would tell me what to do. I mean, it hadn't let me down so far.

Except for that whole rope-climbing thing in P.E.

“Well, listen,” David said, still not sounding like a guy whose loins were aflame, or whatever. “Just let me know. Oh, and about tomorrow night?”

Tomorrow night? What about tomorrow night? Were we supposed to be doing something tomorrow night?

Oh, that's right. Tomorrow was Saturday. Date night. Oh my God, were we going to go out? If we went out, would he bring it up? The whole Thanksgiving plan, I mean? Tomorrow's too soon! I can't decide about all of this by tomorrow! I'm still getting used to the idea! I don't know! I don't know what I want!

“Um,” I said, amazed I could sound so calm about the whole thing. “Oh, right. Tomorrow. What about it?”

“My dad's got a thing all day at the Four Seasons. It's a Return to Family thing, to garner support with some special interest groups, and so he wants me there, because…you know.”

“Right,” I said. “Family and all.”

“Right. But you can totally come, if you want to.”

So I can sit next to you in front of a plate of gross congealing hotel food I didn't even order myself while listening to another one of your dad's boring speeches on the off chance that we might get a chance to make out in my front yard later? Um, no thanks.

That's what I wanted to say. Instead, I said, “Gosh, that sounds fun. I think I'm busy, though. Have a good time.”

David laughed. “I thought that's what you'd say. Okay.”

And just like that, I was off the hook. For the whole Thanksgiving discussion.

“I know things must be weird,” David said, “with Lucy and all of that. But call me, will you? I really miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” I said. That wasn't a lie, either. I did miss him.

“Love you, Sharona,” David said.

“Love you, Daryl,” I said. And hung up.

And thought, God. I am the worst girlfriend on the entire face of the planet.

Top ten ways you can tell that your boyfriend really loves you:

  10.   He puts up with your weird mood swings, even the one where you have PMS and you accuse him of liking Fergie of the Black-Eyed Peas better than he likes you, although you know perfectly well he's never actually met Fergie.

    9.   He lets you pick the movie most of the time.

    8.   Ditto what dessert you guys are going to share.

    7.   He knows your friends' names and asks how they're doing (although in David's case this isn't exactly hard, since I basically have only one friend).

    6.   He makes sure (to the best of his ability) that when you come over for dinner, the White House chef is serving something you will actually eat.

    5.   He calls, often, just to see what you're doing.

    4.   He thinks you look great even when you don't have any makeup on.

    3.   He listens when you whine about your problems and tries to offer you viable solutions for them, even if most of the things he suggests are totally stupid and would never work because he's a guy and he just doesn't understand.

    2.   He doesn't get upset when he overhears you going on with your best friend about how hot you think that new guy on
Gilmore Girls
is.

And the number-one way you can tell that your boyfriend really loves you:

    1.   He doesn't make a big deal out of it when you opt to spend your Saturday night in front of the TV instead of with him.

Except that I didn't get to. Spend Saturday night watching
National Geographic Explorer
with Rebecca, I mean. Because at around three o'clock, the phone rang, and when I picked it up, I was surprised to hear Dauntra on the other end.

“Sam?” For some reason, she was yelling. I soon realized why. Wherever she was, it was
really
noisy in the background.

“Dauntra?” I was kind of surprised to hear from her. Dauntra had never called my house before. I didn't even know she had my number. I mean, all of the Potomac Video employees' phone numbers are posted on the bulletin board in Stan's office, but I didn't know Dauntra had copied mine down. “What's all that noise? Where
are
you?”

“Some police station,” Dauntra yelled. I heard someone in the background going, “Put that down, or the cuffs are going back on.”

“A
police
station?” I echoed. “What are you doing in a police station? Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” Dauntra said cheerfully. “I'm just under arrest.”

“Arrest?” I nearly dropped the phone. “You mean…you're calling me from JAIL?”

“Uh-huh,” Dauntra said. “Because I don't think I'm going to be out in time to make my shift at the store tonight. Can you do it for me? Four to closing? I promise I'll make it up to you someday!”

I was still in shock over where she was. Also, I was glad neither of my parents or Theresa was around to overhear my end of the conversation. I wasn't sure how excited they'd be over someone from work calling me from jail.

“What did you get arrested for?” I asked her.

“What?” Dauntra moved the phone away from her mouth and yelled, “You guys, SHUT UP, I can't hear her.” Then she said, into the receiver, “What'd you say, Sam?”

“I said, What did you get arrested for?”

“Oh, that,” Dauntra said. “A bunch of us did a die-in. In front of the Four Seasons, you know, where your buddy the president is having his big fund-raiser. Boy, was he ever surprised!”

Um, he wasn't the only one. I couldn't believe what I was hearing, either.

“So, can you take my shift or not?” Dauntra wanted to know. “And if you can't, can you call around and see if anybody else can? I only get one phone call, and I really don't want to lose my job.”

“You only get one phone call, and you called me?” I was shocked. “Dauntra, shouldn't you call a lawyer?” Then I remembered something. “My mom's a lawyer. Tell me where you are, and I'll get her to go down there and—”

“I don't need a lawyer,” Dauntra said. “Somebody'll be posting my bail soon. But not in time for me to make my shift. So will you do it?”

“Sure,” I said. “I mean, of course. I mean—” I heard someone on Dauntra's end of the line shout an obscenity. “Oh my God, Dauntra. Be careful!”

“Careful?” Dauntra laughed. “I'm having a blast! Thanks, Sam!”

And then she hung up.

Which was how I found myself, an hour later, manning the cash register at Potomac Video and trying to find a channel on one of the shop's overhead TVs that was showing the demonstration where Dauntra got herself arrested.

Sadly, the TVs at Potomac Video aren't hooked up to cable, since they're just supposed to be used to show whatever movie we're trying to promote that week. So all I could get was snow. Finally, Stan made me quit and put in the latest Jason Bourne DVD. He hadn't seemed too surprised when I showed up for Dauntra's shift.

“I don't even want to know,” he said, when I attempted to feed him my (made up) excuse for where Dauntra was (visiting a sick aunt). “Just watch out for shoplifters. We get a ton of them Saturday nights. Stupid neighborhood kids with nothing else to do. They think it's hilarious to rip off an Xbox game or two.”

I was at the cash register watching for stupid neighborhood kids when the overhead bell on the front door to the store tinkled. But instead of Mr. Wade or one of the other regulars coming in to complain about our lack of selection, my sister Lucy walked in.

This was a huge surprise, because so far as I knew, Lucy hadn't set foot inside Potomac Video for years. Popular people like Lucy don't have time to watch DVDs, as they are much too busy going to parties and making out with their boyfriends. True, Lucy did spend the occasional Friday night at home, but she always let the video-choosing be done by someone else. Potomac Video, with its life-size cardboard cutouts of Boba Fett and Han Solo, open duct work in the ceiling, and hand-printed signs (
RESTROOM FOR EMPLOYEES ONLY
.
EVERYONE ELSE JUST HAS TO HOLD IT
), was hardly Lucy's kind of place.

You could totally see that she was thinking as much herself as she made her way past the New Releases shelf—attracting the admiration of just about everyone in the place, most of whom were college-age guys in Kiss the Geek T-shirts, arguing over which
Star Trek
movie to rent. When she finally saw me at the register, her face crumpled in relief, and she came hurrying up to the counter—oblivious of the jaws she caused to slacken along her way—and went, “Hey, Sam.”

“Um,” I said. “Hey. What are you doing here?” Because I would have thought she'd have been out with Jack, or some of her girlfriends, at the very least.

Then I remembered.

“God,” I said, horrified on her behalf. “Did they ground you, too?”

Lucy looked confused. “Who?”

“Mom and Dad,” I said. “You know. For the SAT thing.”

She went, with a laugh, “No, they didn't ground me.”

I stared down at her. On the TVs all around us, Matt Damon's image flickered as he said, “They killed the woman that I love!” The geeks over in Sci-Fi, I noticed, were staring at Lucy with the exact same look of intense longing that Matt wore.

“Well, then,” I said, a little confused myself, “what are you doing
here
?”

“Oh.” Lucy shifted her tiny little Louis Vuitton bag (a gift for her birthday from Grandma) from one shoulder to the other. “I thought I might rent a DVD. You might have heard of it. Something called
Hellboy
?”

I stared at her. “
Hellboy
,” I said.

“Yeah.” Lucy looked around the store. As soon as her head moved in the direction of the geeks over in Sci-Fi, they ducked, and pretended to be engrossed in the cover of the new
Alien
movie. “Do you guys have it?”

“
Hellboy
,” I repeated. “With Ron Perlman and Selma Blair. Made in 2004. Based on the Dark Horse comic of the same name. THAT
Hellboy
?”

“I guess so,” Lucy said, looking blank. “I don't know. Harold recommended it.”

I stared at her even harder. “Harold MINSKY?”

“Yes,” she said. “He said it's one of his favorite movies of all time. I thought I heard you talking about it, too. Didn't you like it? I thought so.” She'd reached out to touch one of the
Nightmare Before Christmas
action figures Dauntra had wrapped around the
Need a Penny? Take a Penny. Have a Penny? Give a Penny
tray. “So. Do you have it?”

Without taking my eyes off my sister, I said, to the geeks in Sci-Fi, “Hey. One of you grab
Hellboy
and throw it over here.”

A second later, a copy of
Hellboy
landed in my hands.

Lucy glanced over at the geeks and smiled. “Oh,
thank
you,” she said.

The geeks, mortified, scattered for the safety of Documentaries.

“Here you go,” I said, and handed Lucy the DVD.

She looked at the cover and said, “Oh. My. So that's
Hellboy
, there, with the bumpy things on his head?”

“They're horns,” I said. “He files them down.”

“Oh,” Lucy said. “Is he, um, nice? Because he looks…not nice.”

“That,” I said, “is the conflict. Hellboy is a demon constantly at odds with his own nature. He is Satan on Earth, yet was raised with loving care by people who had the good of mankind at heart, and now, as an adult, Hellboy has pledged to fight his own nature and save the world from evil. He is redeemed by his love for Liz, who is at odds with her own genetic destiny as a firestarter.”

“Oh,” Lucy said. “That's nice. Okay, well, I'll take it. How much do I owe you?”

“A buck,” I said. “I'll give you my employee discount, since you're family.”

“Great,” Lucy said, and dug around in her purse. As she did so, she asked casually, keeping her gaze on the gum-blackened floor, “You know Harold, right, Sam? I mean, socially?”

I blinked at her. This wasn't exactly flattering, considering the social circles in which Harold travels. Also…where was this sudden fascination with Harold Minsky coming from?

“Um,” I said. “Not exactly. I mean, he's my computer lab TA. But we don't exactly have the same friends. I'm a nerd. But not
that
big of a nerd.”

“Yeah, but you collect comic books like he does, and stuff,” Lucy said.

“Manga,” I corrected her. “Harold collects manga. I like to draw it.”

“Whatever.” Lucy found her dollar and handed it over. “The point is—have you ever heard about him having a girlfriend?”

I was so shocked, I nearly fell over.

“HAROLD? HAROLD MINSKY?” What girl would
touch
him? I mean, with that hair? “No. Harold doesn't have a girlfriend.”

“I didn't think so,” Lucy said, looking thoughtful. “That's what makes it so weird.”

“What makes what so weird?”

“Well, the fact that he doesn't seem to like me,” she said. “I mean, he likes me, I guess. But he doesn't seem to
like
me. What I mean is—”

“I know what you mean,” I cut her off. “You mean he hasn't hit on you.”

“Well, yeah,” Lucy said. “It's just so…weird.”

The thing is, you can't even get mad at her, really, for saying something like that. She genuinely doesn't know any better. Lucy is the kind of girl guys
always
hit on—all guys, except ones who are gay, or taken, like David. Having a guy not hit on her, the way Harold apparently hadn't, was a whole new experience for her.

And evidently, not one she particularly relished (SAT word meaning “to appreciate or enjoy”).

“Lucy,” I said. “Mom and Dad like Harold because they think he's the type of boy who
won't
hit on you. So unless you want someone even worse”—although to tell the truth, there really isn't anyone worse than Harold, nerdiness-wise. Except maybe someone from Rebecca and David's school—“I wouldn't complain, if I were you.”

“I'm not going to complain,” Lucy said, giving me a look that clearly said, “Are you crazy?” “It's just
weird
, is all. I mean,
all
boys like me. Why doesn't he?”

Now I felt a burst of irritation with her. True, Lucy can be the coolest of sisters—case in point, the contraceptive foam she'd gotten me.

But she's also one of the vainest people on the planet.

“Not everybody judges people on how they look, Luce,” I said to her. “I mean, I'm sure in your circle of friends, that's
de rigueur
”—(SAT word meaning “conventional or fitting”)—“but Harold has probably learned to judge people more on their insides than their outsides.”

When Lucy just looked at me blankly, I tapped the cover of the DVD she was renting.

“Like
him
,” I said, pointing at Hellboy. “He looks evil, right? But he's not. You can't always judge people by how they look. Ugly people might be beautiful inside. And beautiful people might be ugly inside. That's all I'm saying. Maybe Harold thinks your insides leave something to be desired.”

“Why?” Lucy demanded tartly. “I'm not
evil
. Or stupid, either, if that's what you're thinking. Just because I don't know what waggish means is no reason—”

“Why do you even care, anyway?” I asked her—just to make sure, you know, that she wasn't, against all laws of nature, falling for Harold. “Don't you already have a boyfriend? Where
is
Jack, anyway?”

“Oh,” Lucy said, keeping her gaze on the floor again. “He didn't come down this weekend. I told him not to. You know, on account of how Mom and Dad are so upset about this SAT thing.”

“Yeah,” I said, a little more sympathetically. “I heard about Bare Essentials. And cheerleading. That must suck.”

“Whatever,” Lucy said with a shrug. “I was kind of over cheerleading, anyway. It isn't as much fun when you're the one in charge. I mean, now that I'm a senior, I'm supposed to help make up the routines and stuff. It's way too much responsibility. Know what I mean?”

I wasn't sure I'd ever heard anyone refer to making up a cheerleading routine as too difficult of a responsibility. But I figured I had to take her word for it. I mean, God knew I had never made up a routine. Maybe it
was
hard. As hard as integrating the subject of a drawing with its background. Who knew?

“Was Jack mad?” I asked her. “I mean, how did he take it?” Because Jack is the sort of person who expects to be treated like he's the most important thing in everyone's life.

“Oh, he had a cow,” Lucy said cheerfully. “He wanted to know why he couldn't be my tutor…like
his
scores were that much better than mine. Mom and Dad put the kibosh on that right away. They were all,
How much studying will you two do, anyway?
Plus Dr. and Mrs. Slater want him to concentrate on his own school stuff. He hasn't really been paying much attention to it, coming down here every weekend, and all of that. He got an F on some project, and they were all bent out of shape about it.”