Teen Angel (6 page)

“If you don’t know what to do with your ball–”Sonny taunted.

“I know what to do with my ball,” he answered. “I just have to find someone who’ll do it. How about you? You got the biggest mouth around.” He made a farting noise with his mouth.

“Bet you can’t do that with your mouth,” Sonny said,

“Why don’t you go
zits
a blackhead on your ass.”

“Why don’t you sit down and take a load off your mind.”

“PLAY BALL ALREADY!” Ruben shouted.

“Did you hear about this guy who wants to take a shit,” Steve said, holding the ball. “Well, he goes into the bathroom and opens the door of the first stall. Some pig has crapped all over the seat. ‘I ain’t gonna sit on that seat,’ he says. So he opens the second stall door and it’s even worse. ‘Somebody must have had diarrhea real bad–”

“HEY DIARRHEA MOUTH!” Ruben interrupted. “Are we gonna tell jokes or finish the game?”

“Anyway,” Steve continued, “so this guy opens the door to the last stall and is relieved to find that the seat is clean. So he pulls down his pants, and just as he’s about to sit down, he looks into the bowl and there’s–”

“A real mean shit,” Miguel said.

Sonny giggled. “A dinosaur with a hernia.”

“Your mother,” the Gooch muttered.

“There’s a pair of eyes staring up at him. Well, you never saw a guy leave a bathroom so fast. He passes the attendant and tells him. ‘Oh don’t worry about that,’ he says. ‘That’s just Sonny Palovsky. Everyone shits on her.’”

They all cracked up. Even Sonny couldn’t help it. “That’s about as funny as a basket of dead babies with pins in their eyes,” she said. Then turning to the girls, she asked, “You mean you’re all cutting out of school tomorrow to go to the party?”

“Well, all of us except anyone who’s goody-goodying it,” the Gooch said. “Hey Rube, you coming?”

She ran her tongue over her lips like she was licking salt off a potato chip.

“Maybe,” he said, slamming the ball into Steve’s box and getting him out again.

“What about Crystal?” Dot asked. “She’s not coming?”

“Those nuns at St. Francis will kill her if they catch her cutting again. She said she’d try to sneak out during lunch,” D.B. said. “You going?” she asked Mary.

“Thure. If everyone else goes.”

“I’ll go,” Marilyn said.

“Me too,” Hansy chimed.

The Gooch nodded her head.

“Count me in,” Sonny said.

“Okay,” Hansy said. “I’ll try to get some guys. What time?”

“Noon?”

“Great.”

“Boss.”

“And Dot can bring her records.”

Sonny sat down on the stoop of the building where the guys were playing.
Ruben was so adorable
. He always wore black shirts which made his eyes look dark and shiny like licorice drops. And she loved his black hair that shone like patent leather, piled high in a pompadour over his forehead. Even though he didn’t say much, Sonny knew he had soul. He had to.
He looked so much like George Chakiris in
West Side Story
that she could die
. Her crush on him had started that day she saw him carrying his tray in the lunchroom. After that, she peeked into his class at least once a day. Sometimes it got so bad it hurt like she had a chest cold. No one, of course, knew about it, although there had been inquiries about the entry in the girls’ room, second stall to the right. Sonny had offered a dollar for information leading to the discovery of who did it. She
swore she’d kill them. Her and Ruben. They had some nerve.
I love you. With all my heart and soul
.

“Hey, Ruben,” Sonny yelled. “How come your hair’s so greasy. You been using Crisco again?”

Ruben turned and looked at her. “How come your pussy smells like rotten
egg
salad?”

Sonny stood up and walked over to where he was standing. Then she punched him in the stomach with all her force.

“Bitch!” he screamed, dropping the ball to the ground. He chased Sonny into the alleyway that led out to St. Nicholas. As she ran, Sonny could feel bobby pins fly out of her hair and she tried to catch them as they fell. Ruben was close behind her. Right before she reached the other side of the alley, he grabbed her and held her with his arm across her chest. She lifted her knee. Just as she was about to slam him in the groin, he stepped firmly on her other foot.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” he said threateningly.

“Let go of me! You scumbag! Asshole! PRICK!”

“Be nice. Come on. I’ll let go of you,” Ruben said, removing his arm. She slapped him across the face. He grabbed her arm and began to twist it. “You’re a wild one, huh? Listen, I could break your arm. Now knock this shit off, okay?” He stopped twisting her arm but held it tightly. “You going to Crystal’s tomorrow?”

“Not if you’re going to be anywhere near the scene,” she said, desperately trying to pin her hair back in place with her free hand.
I must look awful
.

“Damn it! You don’t stop, do you?” Ruben said, rubbing the side of his face where Sonny had slapped him. It was beaming like he had put on rouge. “If anyone else pulled the crap you do, I’d murder them.” Sonny knew this was true. When Ruben was warlord of Black Puma, there was a lot of switchblade action. She tried to walk away from him but he still had a hold on her arm.
Don’t hurt me
.

“Let go, will ya,” she said. “I want to go back.”

“What’s your hurry. You know you wanted me to run after you.”

“You must be high!” Sonny said. “You’re so conceited.” She tried to pull away from him but his hold on her arm became stronger. “WILL YOU LET GO!” she screamed, becoming frightened.

“You made me leave my game. Now what do you want?”

“Nothing from you. Leave me alone,” Sonny said, feeling very close to sissy tears. “Not a fucking thing.”

“You have a mean mouth. You know that? I want to see if it’s always so mean.”

He pulled her face to his and kissed her on the mouth.
Mon Dieu!

It was the first time anyone had ever kissed her besides family or once when she and Gerry practiced. She resisted him until all the tension dropped out of her body. Then she returned his kiss shyly, and when he let go of her wrist she put both of her arms around his shoulders.
I’m yours
.

“Mmmm,” Ruben said, kissing her again. He pressed a little closer to her and his tongue darted around her lips but she kept her mouth shut tight. “Have you ever frenched?” he whispered.

“Oui
,” she said. She didn’t have the vaguest idea what he meant despite her two years of French in the SP. She only hoped it didn’t mean a blowjob because she was not ready for that.

“Open your mouth.”

Sonny’s mother had always told her to keep her mouth shut or she’d swallow a fly. But she opened up and suddenly felt something wet and fleshy wiggling around in her mouth. She pushed him away. “That’s gross!”

“I thought you said you frenched.”

“I did, but the other times I did it, it felt different. Anyway I don’t like it.”

Ruben kissed her again, and this time she kept her mouth firmly closed. But his lips felt so warm and soft on top of hers that soon she forgot whose mouth was doing what. They held each other until they heard the click of heels coming down the alleyway.

“Aren’t they cute!” the Gooch jeered. “What are you two up to?”

“It’s a free country,” Ruben said.

“It’s a free cunt, don’t you mean?” the Gooch said, glaring at Sonny with homicide in her eyes. “Little Miss Smartass. Why, sugar wouldn’t melt in her mouth.”

“Cool it,” Ruben said, hastily disengaging himself from Sonny. “We just had to settle something here.” He walked toward the Gooch, but turned around for a moment to look at Sonny. They walked out together.

Sonny felt breathless.
He kissed me. On the lips. With his lips
. Her heart was revving like the motor of her mother’s Mixmaster but she wasn’t going to show it. No way. She returned to where the Teen Angels were waiting for her. “Hey, anyone got a comb and a mirror?” she asked nonchalantly.

Dot gave her a compact and a brush. “No, I need a comb with a rat’s tail. Anyone?” No one had it. “Okay, anybody got a pencil?” She puffed her beehive with D.B.’s Bic.

“Don’t hold out on us,” D.B. said.

“Tho what happened?”

“We made out. That’s all,” Sonny said. “Ruben’s an idiot.” She headed into the building without waiting for the others.

“Who the hell does she think she is?” the Gooch said, joining them. “We should never have let her in. I told you. If that was real come, I’m Annette Funicello.”

“And I’m Cubby,” Hansy said.

“If she thinks she can fool around with my old man, she’s got a lot to learn. I’ll fix her snotty little ass.”

“But you two don’t go steady anymore,” Dot said.

“That don’t matter,” the Gooch said, walking away from Dot.

Steve caught up to Ruben, who was walking toward the school building. “Hey, did you get any?” he whispered. “Did Sonny go down on you? Huh?”

“Shut your hole. Okay?” Ruben said. He entered the building, leaving Steve standing by himself.

“Hey, Dot,” he called out as she crossed the street alone. “What has crossed eyes and walks like a constipated pigeon?”

Dot pretended not to hear him.

“A doodoo bird,” he said, laughing hysterically.

“Is that like the Foo bird whose shoe fits?” Dot wondered aloud.

Sonny strutted into Homeroom like her ass had a rainbow painted around it-past Mrs. King, who raised her eyebrows above the silver frames of her glasses, past Ronnie Stevens, who turned her snot face away, and all the other brown-nosing jerk-offs in her class to the back of the room where she plopped down at her desk in a big, romantic mush.
Ruben loved her … He did! She could tell by the way he looked into her eyes like Troy Donahue looking into Suzanne Pleshette’s eyes in
Parrish …
No, he hated her. He thought she had bad breath and couldn’t kiss … Right now, he was making out with the Gooch, who would murder her in the hallway … She hated Ruben’s guts … Ruben hated her … But he looked at her like Richard Beymer looked at Natalie Wood when they sang “One Hand, One Heart” … He was only using her … Blah, blah, blah. SHUT UP! YOU’RE GIVING ME A HEADACHE!
Her lips tingled, her arm was killing her where he had twisted it but it felt beautiful.
He thought she was flat as a tombstone
.

“How nice of you to join us,” Mrs. King said sarcastically. As usual, she had a lump of brownish lipstick caked on her teeth. Her skin was so black it looked purple but she was whiter than Mr. Clean. Her hair was ironed. She wore white gloves, ate English tea biscuits, and read
The New Yorker
.

Sonny took off her jacket and walked to the closet in the back, passing an oaktag poster which had the words OUTSTANDING NEGROES printed with photographs of Harry Belafonte, Ella Fitzgerald, Paul Robeson, George Washington Carver, Marian Anderson, Ralph Ellison, and Sidney Poitier. She hung her jacket on a hook and passed the GOOD CITIZENSHIP and HOW MANY BOOKS HAVE YOU READ THIS MONTH? charts on her way to her seat.

“Why don’t you go back to the closet and
get
your jacket, Miss Palovsky,” Mrs. King said.

“I don’t understand,” Sonny said, not stirring.

“You heard me,” she said and then turned to the class. “It’s a disgrace …” She wrinkled her nose as if there was some cheese tied on a string under her chin. “Would you please stand up, Miss Palovsky?”

Sonny stood up and felt hundreds of eyes like bees buzzing around her face and body. She leaned on one leg, squirming uncomfortably.
What has a hundred teeth and holds back a whopper? Ruben’s zipper
. “What do you think, class? Do you think Miss Palovsky should be allowed to walk around us dressed for a sex show. Her skirt is indecent. Maybe her parents don’t mind if she goes around like that, but not in my class.” Now she rose to a crescendo, extending her vowels. “This is the Es Pee. Special Progress. Our students should know better. We must set an example for other less-shall we say-intelligent students in this school to follow.

“But since this classroom is democratic, we shall take a vote. How many people think that Miss Palovsky should not be allowed
to walk around our classroom dressed like a–I don’t know–streetwalker.” She spit out the last word and stared intently at each member of the class. Then she cast a look of contempt at Sonny, who still stood with her arms at her side like she was at attention. “Class,” Mrs. King demanded. “Let’s see by a show of your hands.”

Lenny Weinstein’s hand shot up immediately. Swinestein the crud, followed by Gary Feinman’s and Alan Lawrence’s.
Pig puss
. Ronnie Stevens sent Sonny a holier-than-thou and raised her hand. Before long, every hand in the classroom was raised. Several people turned to sneak glances at her but their attention was fixed on Mrs. King standing in front of the room.
Those yellow-livered fartfaces
.

“By a popular show of hands, we have unanimously voted that Miss Palovsky keep her jacket on until she can dress in a way that is proper for our class.”

Sonny walked back to the closet and grabbed her jacket. As she returned to her seat, she slipped her arms in the sleeves.
What’s brown and sits on a piano bench? Beethoven’s last movement
.

Mrs. King picked up a book on her desk and wrote the word RESPONSIBILITY on the blackboard. “Yesterday, we discussed the theme of Responsibility in Edith Wharton’s
Ethan Frome
…”

This was jail. Burt Lancaster had it better in
The Birdman of Alcatraz
. At least, he wore whatever he felt like and had all those birds tweeting around him. Every day of the year, except on weekends and holidays, she had to sit in this seat and listen to a wrinkled old bag who used Clorox on her skin spout off her mouth on some boring book. Sonny had almost liked school in sixth grade when she had Miss Yeblow, who was young and had brown curly hair. She let her write compositions on whatever she wanted to and liked them so much that she read them to the whole class.

Mrs. King hated her since the first day. 9SP1 was her pride and glory, her little geniuses who completed three grades in two years, studied French, and competed for special high schools. The boys
wore white shirts and ties but they always had ink stains because of their pens leaking in their pockets. The girls pinned handkerchiefs to their blouses with princess collars and wore anklets with cripple saddle shoes. Actually, they were all phonies. They picked their noses with their hand covering one side of their face and thought no one could see. Then they stuck the cooties under their desk or wiped them on their clothes. Lenny Weinstein chewed his. Sonny saw him. And if anyone laid a SBD-silent but deadly-fart, they all split from the spot and acted like they smelled of petunias. All kissed ass for Mrs. King’s weekly slip of paper with a gold star if you were E, Excellent, a silver star for VG, Very Good, and a red demerit for anything else. Sonny had more demerits than anyone, and even though Mrs. King tried, she could not remove her from the class roster because she had the highest reading score in the school.
Unfortunately
.