Teen Angel (26 page)

“Ruben, I just don’t feel like it.”

“Listen, it won’t hurt you. And it’ll make me feel so good. I need you,” he said, drawing her close to him. “So bad.”

“No. I said no. All you ever want is sex. We never talk or do anything. NO!” Sonny said, crossing her arms like an Indian chief.

“If that’s the way you feel about it,” Ruben said, moving away from her, “we can forget the whole thing. I’m not gonna beg you.”

“That’s okay with me.”

“Well, that’s okay with me too.”

“Ditto.”

“Ditto for me too.”

“Double ditto,” Sonny said finally.

“Why don’t you give me my tie clip and it’ll be all over.”

“Oh,” Sonny said. She hadn’t thought of that. “Would you consider selling it?” She wanted to lighten things. If he took it back, she’d have nothing. She’d be all alone again and he wouldn’t be her boyfriend. And she’d be as lonely as she used to be with no one to talk to. Sonny backed down. “Hey, um, your epidermis is showing!” she joked. For a moment, Ruben looked down at himself.

“You always act so high and mighty. Like you don’t give a damn about anyone else but yourself.”

“That’s not true!” Sonny cried out. “I love you. I’ve given so much of myself to you.”

“If a girl really digs a guy, she wants to give all of herself to him. She belongs to him.”

“You don’t love me,” Sonny said. “You don’t care what I feel. You just want what you want. But I do love you.”

“Well, you don’t act it.”

“I do too,” she insisted. “I think about you all the time.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Ruben said, his face still screwed in an expression of anger. “Prove it.”

“How?” she asked. As if she didn’t know. When D.B. was still her best friend, she had warned Sonny about the ultimatum.

“You know,” Ruben said. He was about as subtle as a snake. He looked down at his fly. “If you love me, you’ll want to make me happy.”

She’d give him back his crummy tie clip. It wasn’t even 14K gold. It was just a piece of metal painted gold with a glass stone. She started to unfasten it but could not continue. She felt like she might stop breathing. She had grown so accustomed to the tie clip sitting on whatever she wore like a reminder that there was someone who cared. It felt essential, like her ears. How could she return it?

“I can’t. Ruben, I just can’t,” she said.

“Yes, you can. If you love me and you know I really want it, you can do that for me.”
Put up or shut up
.

She bit her lip.

“Sonny, I really dig you. It’s not just for the sex. I could get that anywhere. But you’re special to me. I want you. Please do something for me. You have to. Please.”

He took her hand and placed it over the fly of his black chinos. Her hand looked to her like some wounded bird, shaking to be
free. But he held it tight, moving it up and down so she could feel
it
.
No!
She didn’t want to.
This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. He didn’t love her. And she didn’t love him
. He continued to move her hand, pressing so it would come down harder.
She wasn’t a prude
.

“That’s it,” Ruben whispered. “Yes …”

“I don’t want to,” she began.
Or frigid
.

“Sonny, it’s okay. Yes …”

Up and down. Up and down. He moved her hand faster and faster, pushing harder until her hand began to turn red from the pressure. She tried to pull it away from him.

“Just a little bit longer,” he whispered. “Please.”

Then he opened his zipper and forced her hand to touch it, in the flesh.
Please. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want
– He pulled it out and then, in what seemed like several seconds, he sprayed. In her hair. On her sweater.

“Oh, Sonny,” Ruben moaned. “That felt so good. You made me real happy.” He hugged her.

Sonny said nothing. She sat stiffly.

“Hey, Sonny–” Ruben poked her in the ribs.

Slowly, she removed the tie clip from her top. Holding it in the palm of her hand, she examined it. It was fake. So was he. She dropped it in front of him and stood up.

“Where are you going?” He tried to grab her hand. She pulled it away from him. “Sonny–”

“Jerk yourself off next time.”

She ran down the stairs to the third floor. He was still calling after her. “Sonny, don’t be like that.”

She pushed open the bathroom door and ran into her stall. With a black magic marker, she crossed out everything she had ever written about Ruben. R.O. + S.P. went. So did L.B. & P.S. And she drew as many lines as she could through the saying above the bowl: “How do I love thee. Let me count the ways.”

She would have given herself to him. All of herself, even her virginity.
What do a virgin and a hemophiliac have in common? One prick and it’s all over
. For love.

As she wiped his “stuff” off her sweater with a soaked paper towel, she could feel hot tears running down her cheeks. But she brushed them away impatiently. His lousy come had caked up in her hair and looked like dandruff.

Sonny grabbed one of the sofa pillows and threw it on the floor. “BITCH!” she screamed, jumping up and down on it. “You’re gonna feel sorry you ever tangled with Palovsky!” She wrestled it to the floor.

Her mother walked into the living room. “May I ask what you are doing to my sofa? Have you gone crazy?”

Sonny looked up at her and then down at herself. She lay on the floor with the pillow in a headlock. “Me? Well, you see, I was just about …”

“Shra bah!
” her mother screamed. That meant baloney. “Are you going to tell me another one of your cock and bull stories?”

“We have this Phys Ed class at school, you see and we’re supposed to practice at home.”

“On my good sofa for company?” her mother said, grabbing the pillow away from Sonny. She shook the dust off of it and laid it down. “Thank you very much. Go practice on your own bed.”

We’ll continue this outside. Come on, keep walking. One false move and I’ll mow you down
. Sonny pretended she had a machine gun like Al Capone’s and raced down the hallway.

Mike peeked out of his room. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Come here.” Sonny dragged him into her room. “I’m going to teach you how to fight. So you don’t get beaten up. Okay, now put up your dukes. Like this, stupid!” She set up his little fists. “Now come on, killer. Let’s see you slug ‘em.” She had dropped to her knees so they were the same height. “HIT ME ALREADY!”

Mike threw a couple of pathetic punches at her arms and shoulders, but Sonny intercepted them. “Not like that,” she said, rearranging his fists. “You’re telegraphing your punches.” He punched her again.

“HARDER!” Sonny yelled.

“I can’t,” Mike whined, continuing to tap her with his little fists. But whenever she tried to punch him, he began to laugh.

“THIS IS SERIOUS!” Sonny screamed.

“I can’t help it,” he giggled.

She threatened, “I’ll give you something to laugh about.”

“Please, no tickles!”

“Then fight.”

“I will.” Mike put up his dukes but closed his eyes tightly.

“Stupid,” Sonny said, “how are you supposed to fight with your eyes closed?”

“I was just waiting for you to hit me,” he said. He forced his eyes open but when Sonny went for a right jab on his shoulder, he broke into gales of laughter.

“Forget it. You’re no fun at all.”

“Who are you going to fight?” he asked, sitting down on the floor next to her.

“How do you know I’m going to fight anyone?”

“I heard you talking on the telephone. You said how scared you were and all.”

“You are the nosiest, lowest shit. Don’t you know you’re not supposed to listen to other people’s telephone conversations?”

“Who’s the Gook?”

“Gooch, asshole.”

“How come she has such a weird name?”

“How am I supposed to know? Now get out of here, pain.”

“Are you going to get beaten up?”

She picked Mike up bodily and deposited him outside her door. “STUPID!” she screamed, slamming the door in his face.

“Can’t you two play without fighting?” her mother yelled from the kitchen.

Mike had a talent for figuring out what she least wanted to hear. Then he said it so it would hang there like a piece of snot on the wall and make you nervous.

Sonny grabbed her stuffed dog named Dr. Buster Hymen, Hymie for short, and slugged its felt nose.
Aim for the shnazola!

Actually she had hoped she wouldn’t have to wipe the street with the Gooch. But she had said in front of everybody in the school hallway, “You jerked Ruben off. So don’t go acting like you’re Miss Purity no more.”

“You must be kidding,” Sonny retorted. “I wouldn’t touch his thing for a million dollars.”
He couldn’t have told her
.

“Bullshit. You touched it,” the Gooch jeered.

“You better not say that–”
Could he?

“Says who?”

“Me,” Sonny said weakly.
The shit
.

“Chickenshit Palovsky? You can’t wipe your ass and breathe at the same time.”

She had to do something.
What could she do?
Lots of people surrounded them by this time and everyone was adding his own two cents.

“You ain’t gonna let her say that, are you?”

“Yeah, Sonny.”

“Hey, chickenshit … cluck, cluck.”

She couldn’t just stand there like a terrified shmuck, which she was, but this would prove it. “Okay,” she said slowly, “you want to fight, don’t you?”
Say no
.

“With you? That’s a laugh. You’re full of shit.”

Sonny interrupted her. “You scared or something?”
Say no
. The Gooch grabbed Sonny by the collar. “Who are you calling scared? Tomorrow after school. Across the street. But you better call an ambulance because you’re gonna need it.”

“Don’t count your chickens before you’ve been laid,” Sonny said, throwing the Gooch off of her.

Several teachers had joined the circle around them. Mrs. King gave Sonny a very dirty look and dragged her away. “I know this one,” she said. “She’s in my class.”

Mr. Bernard, who had chalk marks all over his jacket, said, “She’s in the SP? I don’t believe it.”

“You wouldn’t, would you?” Then Mrs. King whispered something about how she was emotionally disturbed. Sonny made a retarded face with her tongue hanging out and her eyes crossed as Mrs. King marched her back to Homeroom.

Before going to sleep, Sonny did twenty-five touching-your-toes, ten sit-ups, seven pushups and fifty jumping jacks besides her regular bust exercises. But she didn’t sleep a single second. By morning her pillow was warm as a douche bag. She swallowed eight One-A-Day vitamins.

5
A.M.
She selected dark clothes that would not show blood stains. A navy blue pleated skirt so she could kick without splitting seams. And Sonny made sure to put on a clean pair of underwear. Her mother would kill her if she landed in the hospital with a dirty pair. “What will they think of me? That I don’t care, that I let my daughter wear dirty underwear?” She fastened her beehive with extra bobbypins and sprayed it for five minutes straight. 7:30
A.M
. Her mother’s alarm finally went off. Sonny slipped into bed and pulled the cover over her clothes.

“Sonny,” her mother called, opening the door. “Up up up!”

“Okay, I’ll get up.” She feigned sleepiness.

“Don’t you believe in taking off your makeup when you sleep?”

“I read how makeup is good for your skin and–”

“Hurry up and use the bathroom. Your father will be up soon.”

After she left, Sonny leaped out of bed. In the full-length mirror, she addressed herself sternly. “All right, did you hear what the Gooch called you in front of everybody? Chickenshit. You have to do this. No running away and acting scared, no matter what she does. Show them what you’re made of.” She was already shaking. “None of those stupid tears, do you hear me? If you want to make an ass of yourself, you can go right ahead. But I won’t.” Her stomach felt like shit too.

She got to the breakfast table ahead of everyone else. “Could I eat right now? I have to get to school early. We’re having this play and there’s a rehearsal before school.”

“A play?” her mother said. “How nice. Now why can’t you tell us anything so we can come and see you? Don’t you think that would be nice?”

“Well, it’s not that kind of play, Mom. You see, we just perform it at assembly.”

“Then what kind of play is it?” She set a bowl of Special K in front of Sonny.

“It’s for, um, Brotherhood Week. All the colored kids hold the white kids’ hands and sing, This land is your land, this land is my land!’” Sonny couldn’t finish her cereal. “I gotta go.”

“You hardly ate anything, skinny
shledge
” which was a herring. She looked bewildered. “It’s getting so I can’t tell when you’re lying or not.”

“I swear,” Sonny crossed herself.

“For your information, we don’t swear around here. And where did you learn to cross yourself? Not at the synagogue, I’m sure.”

“Bye!” Sonny ran back to her room to grab her bag.

Mike stumbled in sleepily. “Put up your dukes, slugger,” he said, holding his hands up in fists.

Sonny whispered to her mother, “This child is emotionally disturbed.” She ran out the door and down the stairs so fast, she did not hear her mother call after her, “SONNY! YOU FORGOT YOUR LUNCH!”

“You’re not really going to fight the Gooch, are you?” Dot said as they walked up Broadway. “You don’t have to, you know. She’s always picking fights.”

Sonny looked ahead of herself and said stoically, “There are times in one’s life that test your character, when you have to stand up for what you believe.” She thought of Gary Cooper.

“But she’s going to kill you!” Dot exclaimed.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Sonny shadow-boxed, almost tripping over her own footwork.

Dot pleaded, “You don’t know her. She fights dirty.”

“Then so will I,” Sonny said, walking faster. “Did you hear about the guy standing in front of the curb holding his car keys. This cop asks him what happened. ‘Someone stole my car,’ he wails. ‘It was brand new.’ The cop looks down at him and his fly is open. So he says, ‘Everything’s going to be all right, fella. Er, your-uh-fiddlecase is open.’ The guy looks down at his pants and cries, ‘Oh, shit, they stole my girl too.’ “