Screwed (17 page)

Snow floated silently past the windows, like feathers from some extraterrestrial pillow fight. Helen’s attic was a cozy refuge from the real world, and Grace and Charlie treated it like a secret clubhouse, sprawling at either end of an enormous and ancient leather sofa. They talked, read, and listened to music, their feet meeting under an antique, moth-eaten striped wool Pendleton blanket. It was heaven, and Grace wished they could stay up there forever. No one could hurt her in this cluttered fortress, and for an hour or so every evening, she could block out the daily torture being meted out by the suddenly high-minded, moralistic students at Silver Lake High School.

“You’re more than halfway there.” With each passing day, Grace seemed a little bit sadder, and Charlie was trying to think of ways to lift her spirits. Pointing out the light at the end of the tunnel couldn’t hurt, although nearly four months seemed like a long time, even to him.

“So what? I’m used. I’m damaged goods. Who’s going to want to get involved with a girl my age who’s already had a baby? I only did it once, but I’m screwed for life.” Grace was too depressed to recognize her own bad pun.

“It’s going to take some time, but you’ll get past this. I know it’s a huge trauma, but once you graduate, no one has to know about it unless you tell them. I’ll never tell anyone. You can go off to college and make a fresh start.”

Charlie was finding himself more attracted to Grace every day. He kept reminding himself that this girl was a walking nuclear disaster. She had a bowling ball under her sweater. And her parents had kicked her out. And she wasn’t Jewish. But he couldn’t help himself. The kiss that they had almost shared on Thanksgiving haunted him. All he could think about was how soft her lips must be, how sweet she must taste. It was sick and perverted to have those kinds of fantasies about someone who was pregnant, not even by him, and yet every time he looked at her, he imagined what she must look like naked — all perfect curves and glowing skin. He should gouge his eyes out for having such wicked thoughts. It had gotten so bad he could no longer wear his shirt tucked in when she was around. Like in middle school, when his body had a mind of its own, and the woman in the hairnet with the wart on her nose behind the counter in the cafeteria would say, “You wanna breast or a thigh?” and he would get a raging boner, even though she looked like a witch and was talking about fried chicken.

What was driving him? Was it Grace’s sweetness in the face of the shit blizzard that was her life that he found so incredibly appealing? Or was he just horny and desperate? Maybe — and he hoped this wasn’t the case — he was falling for a girl who had way more checks in the
cons
column than in the
pros
column. Whatever the reason, he wished he had better control over the part of his brain that controlled his sexual fantasies.

“I don’t just mean mentally. I’ve got stretch marks everywhere. It’s gross, take my word.” Grace held up her hands. “And my fingers look like those sausages that come in the little cans.”

Even her stretch marks and swelling sounded hot to him. Without thinking, Charlie grabbed her hand and lightly kissed each fingertip. “You don’t look disgusting. You’re incredibly beautiful, even with that tiny ball under your shirt. And in a few months, your body will be back to normal, and who cares if it’s not exactly like it was before? Did you plan on joining a nudist colony or making a living as a stripper?”

Grace blushed, wondering if Charlie could actually think about her as something other than the guest of honor at a nine-month pity party. The Thanksgiving almost-kiss might have been an aberration — he
had
drunk nearly an entire bottle of wine. Realistically, what decent boy would want anything to do with her after what she’d done — she was an untouchable, and no purifying bath or magic word could change that. Doing it with Nick had ruined what should have been the most special part of her life. Sex would never be the intimate, transcendent experience she had read about in novels and seen in movies.

And after what had happened with Nick, Grace had been certain she would never feel
that
way again about a boy. Not only did she no longer trust boys in general, she didn’t trust her own feelings about them. Every kiss, every touch would take her back to Nick’s Grand Cherokee. Whatever her future held, it was hard to imagine falling in love with someone, ever actually making love to someone.

But Charlie was different. He didn’t avoid her eyes when she looked at him, and he didn’t seem horrified by what she had done, or that she looked like a monster truck in stretch denim. In fact, when they were together, she felt pretty much like her old pre-Nick self. At first Grace had assumed he was nice to her to please his aunt, and it was obvious he felt sorry for her. Over the last few months, they had spent so much time together, doing homework, taking long walks, and talking about everything under the sun. Sharing a house, sharing Helen, they had become extremely close. He really was like a second Jennifer, but without the sharp tongue, and it was impossible to forget how cute he was.

Now he had said she was beautiful, and such a compliment wasn’t something a guy said if he was just being polite. Or maybe well-mannered, private school boys
did
toss flattering remarks around, and she was reading too much into it. Maybe she was just desperate for a little validation after so many months of self-loathing, and he
was
just the kind of person who would see how needy she was and try to help her feel better. Teenage girls, even pregnant ones, spent a tremendous amount of time worrying about whether or not they were pretty. There were so many reasons for him to be nice to her that were more likely explanations than that he was actually attracted to her.

“You don’t have to say that. I know I’m a whale. But thank you for taking the trouble to lie. It means a lot.”

Since Thanksgiving, they hadn’t talked about their feelings. But the unresolved question still hung in the air, at least for Grace. Tired of spending every waking moment wondering if he truly had feelings for her, Grace needed to know, and she realized she cared about him enough to let him off the hook if he was just trying to be a good friend, trying to build her flagging self-esteem. If he said nothing now, there would be an awkward moment — perhaps a pregnant pause, she laughed to herself — but at least she would know where she stood, and then she could move on, as difficult as that might be.

“I’m not lying,” he murmured.

Placing his hand gently on the mound of her belly, Charlie leaned over and kissed her, his lips barely touching hers. He waited a few seconds. When she didn’t pull away, he pressed harder, caressing her lips with his tongue, coaxing them apart. She tasted even better than he had imagined. Feeling like the world’s biggest degenerate but unable to stop, he moved his hand upward, cupping her breast. He was definitely going straight to hell, but it was worth it. Grace moaned, and he pulled away in a panic. “Did I hurt you? Is the baby okay? I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. I crossed the line, didn’t I?”

Grace didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t hurt me. Just the opposite. I haven’t felt anything like that, ever — not even with, um, you know. You just surprised me. That’s all.”

In his chinos and crisp button-down shirts, Charlie looked like someone who spent all his free time reading the
Wall Street Journal
and polishing his penny loafers. Apparently not. Gentle but assertive, respectful but passionate, he was everything that Nick was not.

Trying to slow his breathing and erase the sensation of her lips on his, Charlie said, “I really wasn’t planning on doing that. It just kind of happened.”

“Don’t apologize. It just wasn’t what I expected.”

“Was it that bad?” Having grown up overseas and made out with girls of many nationalities, he considered himself an above-average kisser. Apparently all those girls had only been exceptionally polite, or American girls had an entirely different set of standards.

“No, it was amazing. But boys like you aren’t supposed to kiss like that.” Grace’s heart was still thundering.
Could this be bad for the baby?
she worried.

“Boys like me?”
What did she mean? Was this a Jewish thing?
He hoped not.

“Yeah, polite, preppy, smart. You look so clean, but you kiss so, um, so dirty. You know what I mean?” Totally tongue-tied after what had just happened, Grace knew her attempts to explain herself were beyond clumsy, and she blushed mightily.

“I’m not sure, but if dirty is good, then I’ll take it.” This girl was insane, but she was also funny and sexy as hell.

“Dirty is definitely good. But I’m afraid. Kissing leads to touching and that leads to …” she said, pointing at Exhibit A, which seemed to have grown even bigger in the last hour.

“There’s no law that says you have to get naked with every boy you kiss. Nick was your first, but he wasn’t your first kiss, was he?” Charlie asked. Grace shook her head. “You obviously have self-control, even if it briefly went AWOL. You’ll never forget again.”

Charlie was in a tough spot. Though he knew she had every reason to be gun-shy, he hoped that she wasn’t going to run away from him, from any possibility of a relationship, because she had been so badly burned her first time out. And starting a relationship with her in the middle of her second trimester smacked of poor judgment — not to mention what his parents would say if they ever got wind of this. Hopefully Aunt Helen was either unaware of his feelings or good at keeping secrets.

“I know. It’s just that I can’t stop thinking about everything. And I feel like a, well, like a slut. Pregnant with one guy’s baby and kissing someone else.” Grace desperately wanted Charlie to understand that she didn’t want to push him away. It was just that she didn’t know what to do, didn’t want him to think she was
that
kind of girl, didn’t want to have a baby on board when she fell in love with Charlie, which she could easily see happening.

“Are you in love with him?”

It hadn’t occurred to him before, but if Grace was in love with that slimeball, Nick, then Charlie had seriously misjudged her. Anyone who could care about someone who had used and discarded her was majorly fucked up, and as attracted as he was to Grace, Charlie was no masochist. That he was sure of.

“No, of course I don’t love him. I hate him. I hate him for tricking me, for luring me in with his voice and his looks, for not considering anyone’s feelings but his own.”

“Guys are assholes. I won’t deny it.”

Nick was a bastard, but that overwhelming urge to see a girl without her clothes and touch her all over was a feeling every guy could relate to. The difference was that
nice
guys had self-control and empathy, and they actually thought of girls as more than just tits on a stick. As much as part of him wanted to push her back onto the ancient Chesterfield sofa and run his hands over her tantalizing curves, make her moan again, he liked her too much to do that. Both of them had to be ready; otherwise they would be over before they got started.

“Not all of them,” Grace said softly, tapping Charlie’s shoulder. “And it’s not just that I hate Nick. I hate myself for being shallow and shortsighted, because I didn’t think that’s who I was. I’m afraid of what I’ve become, and whether I’ll ever be able to go back.” Something about Charlie’s face made her want to tell him her deepest, most frightening thoughts, knowing that he would understand exactly what she meant.

“You’re going to be fine. Underneath, you’re still you. The last thing I want to do is make things more difficult for you.” Charlie was sad but sincere. This clearly was a mistake, at least for now. “But you’re going to have a life after you give birth. You can’t torture yourself forever.”
Or me
. Unconsciously, he licked his lips. For him, there was no going back, but he kept that to himself for fear of spooking her. She was even more brittle than he had thought. If he handled her the wrong way, she would surely break in two.

“Stop apologizing. That kiss was the most amazing thing you could have done. You made me feel almost normal again, and I can’t tell you how much that means to me. But ….”

Charlie grimaced. The big but. “But you’re not ready. I get it. I promise to control my less than honorable thoughts. You tell me if … and when. I’m not going anywhere.” It felt good to be candid with her, and to hear her being honest with him.

“Thank you for understanding. Promise me you won’t forget those thoughts. I like you, so much, and I don’t want to ruin it by starting a new chapter before I finish this one. Does that make sense?” She held her breath, hoping Charlie had a lot of time and patience. Talking openly and honestly to a boy after such an earth-moving kiss was incredibly weird, but also really exciting. This was how it was supposed to be.

“Very good sense. Until you give birth, I promise to keep it completely platonic, as far as you know.” Smiling, he reached over and kissed Grace lightly on the forehead. “In my mind, that was lower.” The baby was due on April third, and not that he wished for it to be born prematurely, but he didn’t know how he was going to wait that long.

Now that he had declared himself to Grace, instead of feeling relieved that she seemed to reciprocate at least some of what he was feeling, he was obsessing about her more than ever. No matter where he was, no matter what he was doing, she invaded his every thought. Even standing at a urinal in the boys’ bathroom, reading the nonsense scrawled on the tile wall —
ken q. is a motherfucker
, and below it,
ur mother says hi, ken q
. — and other equally eloquent observations about life, Charlie couldn’t stop thinking about Grace. He wondered if she would ever be ready for a real relationship with a normal guy. While he knew
he
could get past the Nick thing, he wasn’t sure she ever would. At the sound of another guy peeing, Charlie woke from his daydream. Glancing to the left, he saw Nick Salter.

“What are you looking at, homo?” Nick said, glaring at Charlie.

“Studies show that the more homophobic a man is the more likely he is to possess latent homosexual tendencies.”
Did I just say that out loud? How gay did that sound?
Charlie thought, wishing he could retrieve his words.

“What?” Nick looked genuinely puzzled. “Are you calling me a fag, faggot?”

“Your command of the English language is impressive.” Biting his tongue, Charlie knew he sounded like a creepy college professor, which wasn’t helpful when talking to someone like Nick. Recovering, he said, “I’m not calling you anything, man. Just leave it.”

As much as Charlie wanted to get into it with this scum, defend Grace’s honor in some small way, he couldn’t bring himself to pick a fight with this loser. Ultimately it would accomplish nothing, except possibly getting him suspended, which could really screw up his college applications. Wishing he didn’t think so much, he longed to be more emotional, less cerebral, so he could just go whale on this jerk.

“What the fuck’s the matter with you? You sound like my grandfather.”

“You want me to talk like a regular guy? Okay, here goes. Just because you’ll stick your dick in anything that moves, you think that makes you special? Just because every other word you say is ‘fuck’ doesn’t make you special.” Charlie zipped his pants and walked over to the sink, turned on the water, and stared at his reflection in the filthy mirror.

“And what does, you prissy prick?”

“Definitely not screwing as many girls as you can just to prove how macho you are … and then abandoning them when they get pregnant,” Charlie said quietly.

“So that’s it. You’ve got a hard-on for that chick Grace. Pretty fucked up to be chasing after someone in her, um, condition. But I don’t know why you’re talking to me about it.
I
never fucked her.” Lying had become like breathing for Nick. “Not that it’s any of your business.” Nick glared at Charlie’s starched shirt and V-neck sweater, wondering how such a poof had the guts to talk to him and whether it was Grace or Jennifer who had ratted him out.

“That’s not what I hear, you pathetic excuse for a human being. You got her pregnant and walked, no, ran, away.” At that moment, Charlie wanted to kill this douchebag who had stolen something precious from Grace and left her with permanent scars.

Suddenly Nick was standing behind him, looking over his shoulder, smiling dangerously at Charlie’s reflection. “Don’t you say that out loud ever again, you fucking queer. You understand me?”

“Which part? The part about how you knocked up Grace or the part about you being pathetic?” Before he could turn around, Nick punched him in the kidney and Charlie grunted, doubling over in pain. “Shit,” he groaned. This was not how his fantasy attack on this asshole was supposed to go.
He
was supposed to be the one doing the sucker punching.

“You think you’re funny? I’ll beat the living crap out of you.” Nick couldn’t believe that he’d come in for a simple piss, and now he was trading punches with some shithead who had the hots for Grace.

“You think?” Charlie spun around, fist up, his punch landing squarely on Nick’s exquisite nose. Blood gushed, staining Nick’s pristine white T-shirt and dripping onto the tile floor.

“You stupid fuck. Now you’ve done it.” Nick’s flawless profile that had escaped injury in spite of years of contact sports was ruined.

Three minutes and two black eyes later, the newly elected president of the freshman class wandered into the bathroom and discovered two bloody, bruised seniors flailing around on the blood-smeared floor. Doing a quick about-face, in spite of the fact that he really needed to use the bathroom, he ran to the principal’s office to report the crime in progress.

“So what were you two geniuses fighting about?” Principal Stanley stared impassively across his desk. Based on their appearances, there was no clear winner. Pushing a box of Kleenex towards Nick, he said, “You’re dripping on my new carpet.”

Nick grabbed a handful of tissue and held it up to his nose, which was running like a faucet.

“It was just a misunderstanding, Mr. Stanley,” Charlie offered. “We worked it out.”

“Yeah,” Nick echoed in a nasal voice, grateful that Charlie didn’t seem eager to share his secret about Grace.

“I have your files in front of me, and I see that you, Mr. Salter, are being recruited by a few powerhouse schools who would like to exploit your athletic abilities. And Mr. Glass, you’re Ivy League all the way. Fighting in the bathroom like a couple of thugs is not the smartest way to achieve either of your goals. Would you boys agree with that assessment?”

“Yes sir,” the boys said, staring straight ahead.

Mr. Stanley was in a tough position. Helen Teitelbaum had written a large check with no strings attached to the PTA when she enrolled her nephew at Silver Lake, and hoping that her generosity was not an isolated incident, the principal was reluctant to inflict a punishment that might cause her to slam her checkbook shut. Besides, from what he knew about Charlie Glass, he was a good kid — a straight-A student with English boarding school manners. Nick Salter was what the kids called a “playah,” who was constantly being oohed and aahed over by a gaggle of adolescent girls in tight jeans. He wondered how the kid could make his way down the hall through the throngs of admiring females; it was an enviable predicament. Neither one was a troublemaker, so there was likely a good reason the two had come to blows, but after thirty years of listening to children either spill their guts or lie like thieves, he was losing interest in getting to the bottom of things. At the moment, all he cared about was surviving until June, when he could retire with a full pension and spend his days building ship models in the glorious solitude of his basement.

“Today’s your lucky day, gentlemen. It’s my wife’s birthday, and I’m feeling festive. So in the spirit of giving, I’m going to let you off the hook with a very stern warning,” the principal said, peering over his reading glasses at two kids who in a few months would be old enough to vote and defend the United States in a war, but now, as they slumped in their chairs in their torn and bloodied clothes, looked like a couple of little boys fresh from a schoolyard skirmish.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Stanley. I don’t know what I was thinking, and I promise it won’t happen again.”

Charlie had never been called into the office of the principal or headmaster of any of the many schools he had attended all over the world. Never before had he allowed his emotions to trump his good sense. That could mean only one thing: he was definitely in love with Grace.

“I’m sure you are, Mr. Glass. Mr. Salter, do you echo your compatriot’s sentiments?” Mr. Stanley looked expectantly at Nick, tapping his pen as he waited for a response.

“Yes, sir,” Nick mumbled.

Barely able to see out of his right eye, Nick was fuming less over getting into a fight with the pansy-assed prepster who was mooning over the one girl he regretted fucking than he was over the fact that his perfect face was going to be considerably less perfect for the foreseeable future. Although, if he really thought about it in a glass-half-full kind of way, girls were nurturers, so he was fairly certain he would be able to find a few biddies willing to take off their clothes and nurse him back to health.

“You two are so close to the finish line, I’m fairly confident that you’ll find the wherewithal to control your caveman urges in the future. But if you don’t, be warned, I’m going to throw the book at you. And you know what that means — no Division One, no ivy-covered halls.”

“Yes, Mr. Stanley.”

“Why don’t you two take the rest of the day off? And next time, use your words instead of your fists.”

“Yes, Mr. Stanley.” Both boys shuffled out, heads down, and walked quickly in opposite directions down the hallway outside the principal’s office.

When Charlie walked into the kitchen, Helen and Vera were sitting at the table, heads together, doing the crossword puzzle. Vera looked up and screamed, causing Helen to spill coffee all over the newspaper. Both women jumped to their feet and started babbling at once.

“I don’t look that bad, do I? Vera, could I have a bag of peas to put on my eye?”

“That kind of shiner needs a steak, young man,” said Vera as she went to find just the right cut of meat.

“Charlie, what happened?” Helen asked, wondering how she was going to tell Charlie’s parents that he had gotten beaten up on her watch.

“I got in a fight. It was nothing. Vera, I’m not putting a piece of raw meat on my face. A bag of ice or frozen peas will be fine.”

“You, a fight? Who would start a fight with you? You’re the most civilized young man I’ve ever met,” Helen said as she stood in front of Charlie, smoothing his wrinkled, bloodstained shirt and gently patting his swollen cheek.

“It was kind of mutual, actually. I ran into Nick in the bathroom, and we got into it.” Now that it was all over, Charlie wasn’t sure whether he was proud of or embarrassed about his bathroom scuffle.

“Nick? Grace’s Nick? Got into what?” Helen was completely confused. Silver Lake had the reputation of being the kind of town where you didn’t need to lock your doors, and at midnight you were as safe on Main Street as you were in your own bed. Apparently that was a falsehood.

“Oh my gosh, Charlie. What happened? Who did this to you?” Grace cried as she walked into the kitchen.

“You should see the other guy.” Charlie, who had never traded punches with anyone in his life outside of the week they learned how to box in PE class in the seventh grade, had always wanted to say that. He tried to smile, reopening the gash in his lip, sending a trickle of fresh blood down his chin.

“
That’s
hard to believe,” said Grace, although she regretted her words as soon as they were out of her mouth. Telling a guy he didn’t look like someone who could hold his own in a fight was more than a little insulting.

“Thanks, buddy,” Charlie replied, as Vera handed him a bag from the freezer. Unfortunately, Grace didn’t see him as the knight in shining armor, riding to the rescue of the fair maiden.

“We’re out of peas. Are blueberries okay?” Vera was still convinced that a New York strip would be more effective, but she wasn’t in charge.

“Perfect. Thank you, Vera.” Charlie sighed with relief as the icy balls of fruit numbed his throbbing eye.

“So what happened to you?” Grace had a sneaking suspicion that Charlie’s run-in with someone’s fist somehow related to her.

“I saw Nick in the bathroom and we started talking, and the next thing I knew we were rolling around on the floor trying to kill each other.”

“But why? You don’t even know each other, do you? What could you two possibly have to talk about?”

“I may have said something that set him off,” Charlie said.

“Like what?” Feeling like a lawyer trying to tease information out of a reluctant witness, Grace wanted to reach down Charlie’s throat and yank the words out.

Helen interrupted. “Are you sure you don’t need to go the doctor? How do you know you don’t need stitches?”

“I’m fine, Helen. A few minutes with these blueberries and a hot shower and I’ll look like myself again,” Charlie answered.

“Come, Vera, help me find the first aid kit. I think it’s on the top shelf in my bathroom, so you’ll have to reach it for me.” Helen took Vera’s hand and led her out of the kitchen, whispering, “I think they need to talk,” loud enough for both Grace and Charlie to hear her.

“So what did you say that made him want to rearrange your face?” Grace asked again once Helen and Vera were out of earshot.

“I told him he was a loser because he’ll screw anything that moves and he abandoned you when he got you pregnant. Please don’t be angry, Grace. The words just came out. I couldn’t stop them.” How could he explain to her that seeing Nick Salter standing next to him with his dick in his hand, the same dick that had defiled the girl that Charlie was head over heels in love with, was more than he could take?

“Damn it, this is all my fault. Charlie, you don’t have to avenge my lost honor. We’re not living in medieval England.”

“But it’s so unfair. He’s still out partying, having the time of his life, and you’re ….”

“Screwed. True enough, but he’ll get his someday. Good looks and good luck can’t last forever. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.” Revenge fantasies in which Nick lost his junk in a freak masturbation accident, or crazier ones where Nick himself got pregnant, had become a regular part of Grace’s daydream rotation.

“You’re being awfully philosophical about all this. Don’t you want to kill him every time you see him? I don’t even know him and I want to kill him,” Charlie said, fists clenched, wishing he’d landed a second punch in Nick’s mouth, forever ruining the smile that had probably hustled a hundred gullible girls.

“I did, but not anymore. What choice do I have? Ultimately, don’t I have to take responsibility for my own behavior? I can be angry at Nick for being a total creep after I got pregnant, but I’m as much to blame as he is for everything that happened up to that point.”

“But you’re so … and he’s so … from what I hear he’s done it with half the girls in school. Did he know you’d never done it before?”

Grace reddened. “I told him I was still a virgin on our very first date. I knew he had lots of experience, and I didn’t want him to think I knew what I was doing when I didn’t.”