ARC PREVIEW: Cockroach Glitter

In 1990s USA, 14 year old Lucky decides there has to be a smarter way to find true love than kissing frogs—so she sets out to date one hundred boys, treating romance like a science experiment.

Each chapter is a story of a boy - a hundred stories of dating and parties and kissing and surprises - abruptly interrupted (as in life) by the horrific events that shape her world.

The story is told from two perspectives, alternating narratives when the plot points converge. Glitter Girl usually dazzles everyone as the beautiful, magnetic cheerleader who goes on dates with anyone who asks. Cockroach Girl emerges to survive her terrifying world at home where girls are treated as property, humans are expendable and silence is the price of survival.

Cockroach Glitter is an unforgettable coming-of-age story about resilience, reinvention, and discovering that the difference between being desired and being truly loved is worth surviving for.

____

Chapter One

First Crush

1992

Oklahoma, USA

I stand in the fading sunlight at the end of my street, holding this sweet boys hand as I

break his heart.

“I can’t be your girlfriend. I want to date a lot of boys in high school, I wouldn’t want to

hurt you by making a promise I can’t keep,” I smile encouragingly at the boy I have

known for years. He straddles his bike uncomfortably, it’s still a little too big for his

growing body.

My guy friend, my First Crush. He and I have been hanging out for years, catching

crawdads in the creek and riding bikes for miles. We went on adventures together, but

he never saw me the way he saw girls at school. He talked about training bras being

snapped and boys getting wood like it was happening to other people and not us. It

was never happening to us.

Even when he caught me when I slipped on the rock, when we almost kissed, but we

didn’t because he slipped too and we fell in and laughed and laughed until he noticed

my wet t-shirt was see through and never spoke of it again.

And now it’s too late. I am finally ready to start high school. Three different middle

schools feed into the same high school, people change into new social groups

overnight. I plan to be one of them. No more brace face, no more four eyes. I study

YM magazine at the grocery store, scouring for the ideas I can duplicate with no

budget. I have watched every teen high school drama from Saved by the Bell to The

Fresh Prince of Bel Air so I know what to expect. I am going to a Glitter Girl - just like

Kelly Kapowski.

“But, why? Like, I know this is what you want. You have for a long time. So why don’t

you want…me…now,” First Crush trails off with a little sniff, a scuff of his nose as he

holds back tears.

“If you knew that was what I wanted, why did you wait to ask?” I’m losing my patience

with him. I assumed he didn’t feel the same, moved on since he never did anything

about that moment in the creek months ago.

“Well,” he scratches his neck and his hair flops over his gorgeous honey eyes, I melt a

little and he knows it, “You know how I am. I’m stubborn and I don’t listen” he takes

my hand, leans his bike on his supporting leg so he can pull me a little closer. I stand

on the curb, our faces the same height with his bike.

I look at his beautiful smooth cheeks, his long sooty lashes and his lean jawline, almost

give in. Almost give in to this golden moment, but I have to know something before I

do.

“Well, listen now,” I lean in and smile sweetly, look him straight in the eye, “I will kiss

you, but I am not going to be your girlfriend. I am not going to be anyone’s girlfriend.

So, if you are ok with that…..” I give him a slow smile but I don’t move a muscle, just

stare at the storm building behind his eyes.

“God, you’re such a bitch,” he spits in my face, pulling back and hopping on his bike in

a flash, “You fucking WHITE COW! That’s what everyone says about you, that you’re a

WHITE COW. Heifer BITCH.” He screams the last part over his shoulder as he zooms

around the corner and out of sight.

I sigh, disappointed but strangely relieved. I know how it is in his house. I’m not mad,

just sad. I don’t have to deal with his unwanted mooning anymore….but I also lost a

good friend.

I turn and start walking home through the neighborhood. The pool should be open

soon, I guess I need to work on my tan. Thanks for the tip, bro.

❖

I walk along the curb balancing like a gymnast, in no hurry to get home. I shouldn’t be

sad. I am a Lucky girl. Everyone always says so. I am lucky I am so beautiful, that I have

a perfect family, that I have food to eat and a roof over my head.

I am lucky I have both parents in my life to protect me from the evil ways of the world.

The Mormon Church provides the Mother with everything she needs to prepare me for

my future husband. Guidelines on how I must dress and what I must cover of my

budding body. The preparation to navigate the new world of Young Women’s

responsibility to our Priesthood men, what my bloom will stir in them and how I will be

tested.

My Daddy is working hard to provide for our family of five. He is so brave to stick

around with The Mother, he won’t leave us kids. He says I am strong and he doesn’t

have to worry about me, but he needs to stay for the little ones. He tells me loyalty to

my family is duty above all. Blood is thicker than water and all that.

I am lucky my mind has an incredible power, one I didn’t know existed until the night of

The Big Awful — the power to protect me.

When I must witness awful things, I can retreat part of my soft personality and protect

myself from falling apart by turning into a Cockroach Girl. When I am not safe, I am

quiet, obedient, and do my best to sound stupid. I scurry and scrape and can endure

incredible suffering as all cockroaches can, their specialty is survival.

When I am around my friends, when I am dancing on the football field, when I am

sitting at the park writing alone, I sparkle and shine like the Glitter Girl I long to be,

bury that Cockroach Girl down so deep no one can see.

Middle school was a brutal lesson in how society see’s girls “in my situation’. I am

either a pariah or a delicious temptation. A slut or a victim. No one likes either. So I

learned to keep secrets the best way I know how. It’s like having an alter ego, but

without tights or web flinging.

As I enter a new stage of my life, aged out of the child’s body so enticing to The

Grandfather and his men, I have an opportunity to remake who I want to be in the

world. Not the church world, not my family world, but the Glitter Girl world where I am

4pretty and popular and not damaged goods. No more weird sad girl.

It will be hard, to hide all I have been through, only let people see the sparkle. But I am

determined. I will be normal, I will make it through high school, get in to college and I

will get away. I will escape and I will record every little deed I have endured until I have

enough to make the world believe me. To make them stop. To finally be free.

And I am determined to have fun while I do it. This is the adventure they write movies

and books and great poetry about - the search for one true love. I personally feel like

it’s a load of crap, but it’s an experiment that will be fun to prove wrong. I intend to do

through research.

I am determined to enjoy at least a decade of first kisses and heartbreaks. I want to

experience everything, from soft kisses in the moonlight to passionate declarations in

public. I want it all and I can’t do that if I am just sitting around shackled to the first guy

who asks. I will accept the good with the bad, enjoy every moment of this magical time

in my life where I am the princess searching for my frog.

I heave a deep sigh into the setting summer sun and pick up the pace to get home

before dark. I won’t be kissing anyone if I get in trouble for getting home after dark.

Chapter Two

Dip Boy

I knew this would be a summer to remember. I knew it the moment Big Johnson, the

most sexually experienced guy in our entire middle school was flirting with me at the

end of school year, when I got my braces off and finally got contacts instead of glasses.

I learned how to do my hair and makeup from the pom pom girls, saved my allowance

and hunted through discount stores for decent clothes.

And the icing on the cake, apparently, is I got boobs. I got boobs bigger than any

other girl in my school. When not being smooshed by my two sports bras to fit under

my dance team uniform, they are so big they make any shirt suggestive. So I am not

surprised by my sudden burst of popularity at the neighborhood pool as I lounge

casually among my friends in my modest one piece. I don’t have to wear a bikini

(though I would LOVE TO but it’s against church modesty rules) to get attention, I

couldn’t stop it if I tried.

I feel so absolutely teen-dream incredible gliding my candy lip gloss wand over my lips

and leaning over to apply my Hawaiian Tropic, practicing every beautiful girl icon move

I can think to try. The middle school boys stare and talk about sports, my new bestie

Net flips her blonde curls and bats her long eyelashes. It’s like Beach Bingo and I’m

Annette Futechello, the popular girl with all the cool moves.

A group of high school boys comes out of the locker room, including my first official

“love interest” - Dip Boy. Dip Boy always travels in a group of several black clad, iron

metal heads that looks wildly ridiculous against the sunny pool patio. He is kind of King

of the Dips, but he is cute in a dark-and-stormy way. He asked Net if I had a boyfriend,

which she assures me he absolutely only asked because he wants to go out with me.

I look up and tip my sunnies up, giving him a good warm smile as he saunters up to my

group, chains jangling.

“Oh, hey,” he says casually, like he didn’t just walk across the

deck to see me.

“Heyyyy…” I draw it out like I expected more. He shifts uncomfortably. Looks at his friends, licks his lips, puts in a huge wad of chewing tabacco in his mouth. Gross. I turn

away.

“Hey, um, I was wondering…..” The crowd of kids around me has quieted as the older

boys loom. Net scoots closer to hear what Dip Boy is asking, “can, I, uh, talk to you

outside for a sec.” He blushes and hacks a big brown glob on the ground.

KAT-TAH SPLAT

Gross.

I try to play it cool, he is in high school, “Uh, sure, I guess…” I turn and give Net a look

that says I-dont-know-wtf-this-is-but-im-feeling-a-little-crazy and wrap my towel around

my waist as I tip toe across the hot concrete.

This August sun is brutal, so I flee past him as I run to save my soles from burning. He

walks toward me with a huge smile on his face, a sweet change of pace from his usual

scowl, and I give him an eye sparkle in return that pushes my cheeks into a reluctant

grin.

He closes the distance between us, grabs me by my waist and crushes his mouth on

mine. I am stunned and freeze as he shoves his tongue in my mouth, swirling it around

and then lapping at my face…deep into his experience that really has nothing to do

with me. I just stand there, stiff, looking around, trying to figure out what the heck I am

supposed to do.

I have never been French kissed before. I haven’t been kissed by any guy before. I

thought it would be special and romantic. I have read so many books about this

moment and this is NOT what I had in mind.

Instead, it’s his hand squeezing my boob, a foreign tongue pushing brown spit into my

mouth. I feel like an ice cream cone being eaten by a messy kid. It’s wet and

consuming. Not at all what I read about.

I try to gently tilt my head away and break the kiss, gratefully he lets me go. I look

down and covertly try to wipe off the flecks of tobacco on my lips. Uh it smells so bad!!

I try really heard not to puke on his black Docs as I lean over to guard my face from another attack.

“You are amazing,” he says dreamily into my hair, “you are gonna be my girlfriend

now, right?” He says sweetly, not waiting for a reply as his cronies surround him and

whisk him away to worship his bravery, “I’ll call ya later.”

“OK,” I stand there still frozen.

I crack up laughing. I bend over with the sheer absurdity of the situation. I have been

hoping and waiting and wishing for this moment. FOR THIS?! Oh good grief, this whole

romance thing is gonna take some research.

❖

They say you gotta kiss a lot of frogs to catch a prince. I read it in a book. Saw it in a

Disney movie. It’s a whole thing. Never really focusing on the fact the beautiful

princesses don’t really want to kiss slimy, boring frogs….but I don’t get to make the

rules. So before I continue wading in the swamp for a decent frog, I need to have a

plan.

And let’s be real, I know my family has plans of their own for this body. The

The Grandfather is already crowing about how well negotiations are going with several men

looking for young mormon wives. Especially a good, obedient girl like me with long

hair and big tits. I sound even better on paper. My training is immaculate. He did it

himself.

But the world is changing. In the blink of an eye, there were no women astronauts and

then there was. There were no women on the Supreme Court, and then there was. I

won’t give up on myself, I may just have what it takes to get myself out of this fucking

situation with church and family. I can endure or die trying. I choose life.

And it turns out, regular non-mormon boys think I am hot. Like boys from school and

friends of friends and guys at the pool. This summer, I have liked three guys. All

different, all disappointing and short lived interest on my end. The magic dies quickly.

It is obvious I can get dates. Not with the hottest or coolest guys, but there are a lot of

regular guys who just want to be with a regular girl. I am pretty without being

gorgeous, long brown curls framing bright blue eyes (my greatest beauty). If guys can

pry their eyes away from my chest. Which at fourteen, most guys my age (and even

gross old men sometimes) cannot look at me in the eye without dropping their gaze for

a peek regardless of what I am wearing. The bloom of a youthful bosom is undeniable.

So I am nothing if not resourceful, and I will use every resource I find. Dating is an

opportunity to gather information about the kinds of boys who like me and what I like

about them and where I can enjoy this experience. French kissing has been a

disappointment to start, but I really love the hand holding and cheek kisses. The phone

calls to talk about nothing. Having someone bring me my favorite soda. It feels so nice

to be adored.

Honestly, I like sitting like Scarlett O’Hara on the steps flirting a lot of different boys at

once. Letting them compete and bully each other to win stupid arguments or dares.

The things they think are important are utterly nonsense, but their tempers flare wildly

giving me valuable information about who NOT to be caught alone with later.

So I have an idea. I am going to date 100 boys before I commit to a long-term

relationship.

I think I need to gather data on what I like and don’t like. What kind of guys I am

attracted to, what traits they share. What are danger signs and absolute non-

negotiables. What kind of guys are safe. Are there any out there who are gentle and

kind and don’t want to win me like a prize.

Obviously, overall chemistry and personal hygiene will be factors in choosing each

date, but otherwise I want to date a full spectrum of boys. I don’t think many would ask

if they knew I wasn’t going to commit, but I think maybe I will make it more known that

I will accept almost any invitation. I know it’s not easy to ask a girl out on a date, so if

he has the balls to ask (and is reasonably clean) I will accept at least one date in a

public place. I do not have to accept a second.

I will keep a list of what’s important when I am ready for a commitment and see what

kind of guys I am around then. When I am a grown up. But for now, I want to have fun

and enjoy this Glitter Girl life.

It’s a good place to start I think. When I am dating guy 1 of 100, it all seems a little

more silly to get my emotions wrapped up in things. I suspect this will be a thoughtful

way to go about finding out what kind of boys are really out there. And weeding out

the rotten ones without too much heartache.

At least it’s a start. I’m the only one who knows, I’ll just make it up as I go along.

Chapter Three

Smash

“What Dip Boy doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” I whisper to Net and we giggle as we

hold hands and skip down the ramp leading into the polar bear exhibit.

Our dates, two guys she met at the Midnight Rodeo last weekend when her big sister

took her. It’s an 18 and over dance club, her sister has a fake ID and sneaked her in.

Smash and Bro are older, both 16 and at the club illegally too. Net met them outside

the club hiding from security. Exchanged phone numbers, offered to bring me as a

double date for Smash so she would not be alone with a guy she just met.

They took us to the zoo for a date, how romantic-ish.

I squeeze her hand, “I’m glad you came, I don’t know if Bro would have brought Smash

if he didn’t have a date too. I don’t know these guys well enough yet to be alone with

them. Thanks,” she swings my hand and gives me a sweet smile under her mess of wild

blonde curls.We watch out for each other, that’s what friends are for.

“Wait up!” Smash yells as he jogs to catch up, making sure he opens the door for us.

His dopey Bro (not really sure what Net sees in him) slouches in before us. Loser.

Smash grabs my waist and pulls me back into him, walking penguin style as he hugs my

back close to his chest.

”Let them go on ahead,” he whispers in my hair and pulls me down some stairs away

from giggling Net and Bro who are heading over to the winter birds exhibit.

We walk into an empty room with a huge glass wall, half underwater. The water casting

wavering blue light over the concrete, water slapping the thick glass as a white polar

bear sits stoically, watching us. I am drawn to the sad beast in the corner, raising my

hand to the luke warm glass. He must be so miserable in there.

Smash swirls me around and dips his head, smashing his lips onto mine. I wilt under his

touch, participating at a bare minimum. He eats my face, licking and rubbing his lips on

11my mouth. My perfectly applied lipstick smears across his pimpled stubble, making me

close my eyes to avoid grimacing.

Making out is fucking awful. I thought hooking up with an older guy might be a better

kissing experience, maybe my first kiss was just a bad mistake, but I am beginning to

worry this is all boys want to do. Just smash and grab.

As Smash continues to make out with my face, I stare at the sad bear in the corner

wide-eyed and board. We are both in cages, my friend. He blinks and goes back to

sleep, as board as I am with the boy passionately slobbering across my neck and collar

bone.

“Ah, man, will you look at that,” I say suddenly, “Net!!!! We gotta go!” I give Smash a

simper of a smile as I duck out from under his heavy embrace and head up the stairs to

the main exhibit, “I have to meet my mom, like, 15 min ago. She is gonna be so

pissed!”

“Wait, what,” Smash says stupidly, plucking at the front of his shorts embarrassed,

“What just happened? I thought we were in a moment here.”

He is outraged. Like, weirdly over reacting kind of scary mad. He continues to wiggle

around the tent in his shorts as his face twists with disgust, “Like, I paid for your ticket

to get in here!”

Time freezes. I stand like a deer in headlights. Then I double over with laughter.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Man, fuck your ticket,” I giggle as Net comes zooming out

of the bird exhibit buttoning her top, relief plain on her face as she flies to my

outstretched hand, “Oh, shit, Yeah! We gotta go! She is gonna be so mad.” She grins

and I grab her hand as we dart out the doors and fly down the stairs to the main zoo

entrance, “BYE!” We yell over our shoulders as we laugh our way around the corner.

“Holy shit, was your guy an asshole too?! I was starting to worry how we were gonna

get out of there,” Net pants as we run through the jungle like path to the gated exit

like a couple of startled birds.

“Oh, yeah, but did you see his face???!!!, “ I start laughing so hard I start coughing and

12have to slow to catch my breath, “He looked like a clown coming home from a night at

Studio 54 with all of my pink lip gloss all over his face. I couldn’t take him seriously

when he started getting pissy about the fucking tickets. I couldn’t!!!!!”

“He is a fucking clown. Jerks should treat girls better than that,” she hisses under her

laughter as we veer toward the exit.

We call her mom from a payphone to come take us home. We spend the next half hour

dodging the irate teenage boys stalking the entrance until they finally give up and

leave.

Our giggles from hiding in those bushes echos in my ears for weeks.

❖

After the flush of adventure, going back home feels like full color fading ominously

back to black-and-white. I’m lucky my mom doesn’t realize where I was.

Technically, I am not allowed to date until I am 16. But I am smarter now, years of

dodging punishments and enduring pain have taught me how to lie seamlessly. I have

to do it every day to survive, which is hard to deal with, when everyone in our age

cares so much about honesty. But adults don’t. So I don’t mind lying to old people

who make me do it anyway.

And I only do it for the boys.

UH! The boys are treating me so nice. They touch my hair and rub my shoulders and

tell me jokes and kiss my hand. It’s WILD! I have never had people be nice to me

before, not like get me sodas and tell me I’m pretty kind of nice. That’s what the

popular girls got in middle school, I was not popular.

I was quiet. Sad. A ghost. Everyday after The Big Awful was a struggle. It hurt to

pretend nothing happened. It hurt to go on, knowing every day brought more of the

same. Never knowing when or where or what would happen. And nothing did happen.

Everyone just went on, the world kept spinning.

The Grandfather said, “No one will care about a dead n—-”. Everyday I wait to see if

13he is wrong. He’s not.

Then in 8th grade, I got my period. And contacts. And my braces off. And boobs that

pressed against my children’s clothes. The Grandfather was disgusted with me. My

sinful bleeding body. A budding woman body, now only a commodity to be traded.

The Mother and Grandmother pounced on me with glee, at last free to mold me in

their own way without interference from The Grandfather. The Grandmother

determined to make me a high LDS lady out of me. My Mother committed to making

me smaller than herself, at any price.

But these boys, these forbidden boys listen to me. For hours on the phone sometimes.

It’s a totally new world from the quiet hell at home. The cover conversations. The

constant inquiries and demands for information.

It’s no wonder I am running around like a wild girl all summer, giddy with this new

attention being showered down on me for the first time. Leaving the house every

morning for attention and fun, only returning home when I have to.

But at the end of the day, I still have to go home. I still live there.

I flicker my eyes open next to the damp concrete floor and shove my head up from the

ground. My hair is lank and dirty, my body exhausted and bruised. The chains clink as I

move carefully across the dirty floor to the slatted double doors bolted shut above my

head. It’s old and rusty, with crumbling timber flaking away at the edges enough to see

the flicking light between the slats. I squint and adjust to the light through the heavy

dark of the country night.

As the vertical slice comes into focus, my mouth begins to water at the smell of

roasting meat wafting gently across the plain. A man stands inside of a fire. A large X

looming black behind him. I can hear him saying something, maybe he is upset, but I

can’t tell because it’s mumbled. The Grandfather stands next to the burning man, torch

held high above his black hair, his glasses flashing in the flickering light. His white

collard shirt and pocket protector are snugly in place, his dark trousers and shiny shoes

looking impeccable even in this dust.

14I suck in a breath and jerk back at the sight of him, scared he sees my darting eyes

peeking. Hold my breath. I hear talking again so I creep back up to the crack and

carefully move to get a wider view through the slice not in his eye line.

There are other men here. Some I recognize from church, others are unfamiliar. It’s

hard to tell since I can only see a little bit and they all have their backs turned to me

and I can only make out a silhouette or shape of a shoulder….but some of these men I

know in the dark.

The man in the fire cries softly now, howling at the moon sometimes when there is a

shift in the wood. The men just stare. The Grandfather doesn’t say a word. Just stands

there and looks smug.

I don’t want to look anymore. I don’t want to know what that smell is. I don’t ever want

to eat meat again.

I lay back down on the rough floor, pressing my cheek into the cold seeping up from

the earth and think about pom pom camp. I did 3 level 4 dances this year, I want to

know them all flawlessly so I can be on the front row for pep rally when we perform one

of them. I close my eyes and step into the studio to warm up before I begin practice.

Glitter Girl sparking in my mind.

[Cockroach Girl takes over for Glitter Girl]

I endure. The yells. The smell. Everyone else is quiet.

Eventually, the weak morning sunlight grows from a spark to a rectangle near my

curled up body.

When the ancient cellar doors swing open with a burst of sunlight, I blink and block the

glare with my arm as I curl into a tighter ball. I don’t know if he is going to kick me

again or throw me in the fire next, but either way I need to protect the soft parts.

“Get up,” The Grandfather says like a kid late for school, “You have chores to do and a

mess to clean up.” He steps aside and gestures grandly to indicate he is waiting for my

urgent obedience.

15My muscles scream as I peel myself off the floor and walk stiffly up the stairs. Brother X

hands me a shovel that wide and flat, “Shovel these ashes into that wheelbarrow and

take them to the creek and dump it in the river.”

He points to the spot where there is no longer a big X, just a pile of ashes and debris. I

pull on the t-shirt on offer and get to work. Cockroach girls have great work ethic.

Glitter Girl dances in the back of our mind. Safely away from the labor.

[Cockroach Girl works until it’s done]

Chapter Four

Drummer

Wake up and pretend like it’s just a normal day. Just keep pretending.

Dad got home today. Away for a week on some business trip, he didn’t even know I

was gone. Or maybe he did and just doesn’t care. I’m sure The Mother covered for my

absence. She has been quieter than usual, watching me to see what I will do.

So I went to the park. I was sitting in the shade of the big toy on the deserted

playground reading a Christopher Pike book about a group of hot teenage witches

when Drummer Boy’s shadow fell over me from above.

Drummer Boy is Dip Boy’s mentor, a local metal head high school dude with a pick-up

truck. I have seen him around, but we have never really talked before. I heard he plays

in a band, I don’t know the name.

He asked if I wanted to come listen to music at his house across the street. I shrugged

and figured, why not. He seems nice enough, typical headbanger who wears all black

and chains and has long hair. But his hair is shiny, quite pretty around his delicate face.

A boy hiding from….something I suppose.

So, this is what the inside of a teenage boy’s room looks like. I look around at the

messy, cramped space unimpressed. Rock band posters cover every wall. Dark black

bedding, huge stereo pumping out Guns and Roses directly into my bones.

“Sorry, it’s messy,” he fumbles as he grabs a few towels off the bed, the only place to

sit other than a drum stool, “You ever tried to play the drums?”

He is yelling over the music, moving things around anxiously, as I smile and shake my

head. He chances a quick glance up through his long eyelashes, throws his hand out to

offer me the stool behind the massive drum kit.

The reflection of the afternoon sun on the shiny drum set is almost blinding, making

dancing stars on the floor that give me something to stare at as he fumbles around

17with his drum kit and I squeeze into the seat. He works around me, he smells like men’s

deodorant and dryer sheets.

“Ok, so you hold the drumstick like this, “ his soft, deep voice is velvety in my ears as

he leans in to help me grasp the sticks, his long hair grazing my wrist, “then let it

bounce when it hits, so you have some freedom with the sound,”

BOOM BOOM RAT TA TAT TAT TAT

I whip my head around, smile with wide eyes. It was perfectly on time with the blasting

music. The strings fill the room as we wait for the next booming beats of the drums.

BOOM BOOM RAT TA TAT TAT TAT

I don’t know how to read music. I have never played a musical instrument. So I lean

back and let him guide me as he grips my hands softly to bang out the opening of

November Rain, my current favorite song. I melt into the musical delight of playing

along.

BOOM BOOM RAT TA TAT TAT TAT

When I look into your eyes, I can see your love restraiiiinnnnnned

His love for the music is hypnotizing. He’s lost in the rhythm of the music, holding my

hands and guiding the movements to move beyond the first six notes he taught me,

singing in a low voice in my ear almost inaudible if I wasn’t so close.

But darlin when I hold you, don’t you know I feel the saaaaaaaaaamemeeeee

I turn and give him a great big smile, shocked and delighted he is singing. He startles,

blinks, blushes and pulls his hands off mine like he is burned. Stands still, like he’s

waiting for me to slap him. I lean in, kiss him on the cheek, light as a feather. Heat

flares across his pale freckles and pulls back like I burned him.

“Oh!” He scrambles around, knocking things over, embarrassed with embarrassment.

He is one of those silent, brooding types usually, very Jordan Catalano, but now I see

he was not prepared for even a little female contact. Well, this is as close as I am going

18to get to My So Called Life moment and I want to take full advantage.

“I just wanted to thank you,” I whisper softly, easing up and heading out like this

happens to me every day. I smile and give him a little wave as I walk out the door. I

take off running across the grass into the park as soon as the door clicks closed,

giggling wildly at my daring. He doesn’t go to my school, I don’t have to worry about

my reputation.

That was fun. I ought to be the one doing the kissing more often.

I snag my book from the big toy and head back home, a little spark of glitter held like a

jewel in my mind against the dark.

❖

The List v.1

1. Dip boy

2. Smash

3. Drummer Boy

Things I want in a perfect boyfriend:

Smart, funny, charming, cute, has a good family

Things I like/dislike based on experience:

Like - neck kisses, hand holding, long phone calls, compliments

Dislike - dip, smoking, slobber

Chapter Five

Golden Boy

I may be a pathetic high school dirtbag freshman, but for the first time in my life I am

living the life I want. Well, at least a little. I strut down the crowded hallway in my dad’s

flannel and Guess jeans so tight I have to lay down to zip them up. I can barely

breathe. It’s worth it though, all the popular girls are wear them. And I am working my

way up.

High school is so different than middle school, multiple schools feeding into a single

pool of established groups of band of geeks and football jocks. Popular girls sizing

each other up for power and prettiness. New players enter the pool of acceptable

hotties through summertime puberty and workout camps. Jocks competing for roles

they dominated in pee-wee. It feels alive with new opportunities to shed your awkward

pre-teen years and be the teen dream I want to be.

So I had to let Dip Boy go. It was obvious us going to different schools was going to be

an issue long term. And let’s be honest, his bad habits aren’t worth the hassle. Not

when I have such a buffet of boys available.

The first few months of high school is exactly like I see on TV. Classes are huge,

teachers are boring. There is football on Friday nights, bonfires and pep rallies. Class T-

shirts and spirit week. My dance team duties involve me in all the fun by design,

sweeping me away into a whirl wind of busy that keeps me away from danger for

months.

[Maybe that’s the end of the Cockroach Life. Maybe The Roast is the last of it all now I

am grown up]

A girl can dream.

By winter break, I am talking to several boys on the phone, but I am not going out with

anyone yet. I am defiantly not in a hurry to get into another relationship, I am enjoying

suitors who vie for my hand. The pursuit is the best part, all the sweet talk and

listening. I am very honest, that I am not looking for a boyfriend or a friends-with-

benefits or whatever. They all think I’m lying - or the very least I will cave. And that’s on

them. I’ll let them try to convince me, it’s a free country.

I am becoming quite crafty at using my religious restrictions to my advantage, mainly

to avoid dates with older guys. I had a junior guy meet me at the movies, but he kept

trying to kiss me and when I wouldn’t he followed me to the bathroom. I hid until I

knew my dad was outside to pick me up. So now, I don’t go on dates with guys who

can drive for a while and the no-dating-until-you-are-16 rule is an easy excuse.

“So are you gonna date any of those guys?” whispers Dee next to me in the

auditorium as we watch the boys auditioning for the school musical file onstage like a

group of school children. They joke and push and generally act like dumb boys as Mr.

Call shuhhhhhhhs the group.

“Gentleman, GENTLEMAN,’ hollers Mr. Call to the rowdy boys getting into lines for

the audition, “I need you to sing this line….” He turns to the pianist and starts slapping

his hand to the beat as he directs the yodeling men.

Territory folks should stick together. Territory folks should all be pals.

“MMMM…..maybe. I’m not really interested in being anyones girlfriend, I kind of like

being my own person.” I say casually as I hitch my legs up over the seat in front of me,

board and already doodling in my notebook as I half pay attention to the idiots

onstage.

“You’re so weird, why wouldn’t you want a boyfriend?!” we are back to this old

argument, none of my friends understand my lofty goals of data gathering, “I would

die to have a boyfriend right now,” Dee sighs wistfully as she leans over the seat in

front of us, dreamy staring at guy walking in late.

Golden Boy struts on the stage in tight wrangler jeans and worn tennis shoes. He

ruffles his blond hair with his fingers as he dips his head, giving Michale J. Fox a run for

his money in the sexy side smile. He is tanned bronze and full of his own magnificent

body, preening for the tiny blonde Ado Annie sparkling up at him as he croons down

at her like the perfect Will Parker he was destined to be.

My heart melts, he is everything. I pull my knees to chest, sitting in the dark, smiling

watching his audition with stars in my eyes. I am smitten with this boy. And god he is

beautiful.

“He is such a hunk,” Dee says as she smirks in my direction.

I lean back, compose myself, just never take my eyes off his crooning figure dominating

the stage, “Yeah, he’s pretty cute I guess.”

Last week, his best friend Choir Boy 2 told me in third period that Golden Boy had

been asking about me during auditions. I’m a freshman, guaranteed a no-speaking

chorus line role, so Im surprised he noticed me at all being a senior and the directors

Golden Boy.

Choir Boy 2 is one of Golden Boy’s many cronies, which all seem to adore me for being

nice to them. I suppose most pom pom girls don’t give choir boys a second look, but

it’s kind of becoming a thing for guys to be interested in my “If he has the guts to ask

I’ll go out on 1 date with anyone” policy. Dorks feel like they are getting a chance, if

they can work up the courage.

Choir Boy 2 is defiantly one of these guys who is working up the courage to ask me

out. But he made the fatal mistake of telling me his friend likes me, and his friend is

HOT. So now, since he is such a sweet guy-FRIEND I have been using his desire to talk

to me to get information about Golden Boy.

In all fairness, if he asks me out, I will say yes. But that will be it. One date. And I know

he knows, especially if I have a chance with the Golden Boy.

So I’ve been watching this handsome boy, and I am really fucking excited that I might

get to kiss that gorgeous face. He is hot, drives a little white convertible and feathers

his hair just like Johnny in Karate Kid. He is going into the military, his dad is very strict

and he lives with his single mom in an apartment nearby. He is absolutely nothing on

my list, but I want to know what he tastes like.

Kissing HAS to get better, the books all say so!

He mentioned he goes to the apartment for lunch sometimes, just to unwind and chill.

23He said maybe he would take me sometime…..I think I will accept that invitation if he

asks. Got to gather that data, in the name of science.

“You’re drooling,” snickers Dee, “You really think you are gonna hook up with a

senior?”

I smile back, shrug my shoulders and stay silent. Who knows what I am capable of.

❖

I’ve never been in an apartment before. It’s small, smells like candles and old pizza.

Golden Boy takes my hand as he closes the door behind me, pulls me into his room

just a few steps away.

“This is my room,” he says proudly gesturing to the military recruiters and rock bands

staring down at me aggressively, “I have another one at my dad’s. It’s kind of nice to

have two places to go.” He finishes with a whiff as he plops down on his bed

dominating the room.

He sits staring up at me with an easy grin like an expectant puppy, waiting for his

praise. I stand in the doorway awkwardly, adjusting the perfect pleats on my pom pom

uniform. My cheeks heat and I peek up at him through my lashes, melting at that

boyish grin.

He is so damn hot. His baby blues sparkling with mischief, the golden lock of hair

aching to be brushed away, the wolfish grin. His long, lean muscles under those tight

jeans.

Ever doomed to repeat little red’s cycle of falling for that enticing edge of danger, I

smile back and smoothly glide into the room, skirting the bed and settling myself

primly on the edge of the chair next to the nightstand. In my mind I arrange my body in

what I hope is a I’m-not-trying-to-be-sexy-i’m-just-born-this-way pose with my legs

crossed sideways and a slight turn to the side so it gives me a better angle like Cher in

Clueless tells us to do. I give him a pointed glance with my biggest baby doll blink and

flutter.

He smiles and shifts to the side of the bed to face me.

“Uh oh, who is this,” I say in relief as I pick up a kitty cat who has cautiously

approached. I offer the calico cat the back of my curled hand, she sniffs and nudges

welcoming more attention with her ear. I smile and begin to pet her silky fur as she

wonders closer to rub against my legs. It’s nice to have something to focus on while I

figure out what to do next.

“This….” He leans down to scoop his arm under the cats belly and lifts her to his lap,

“is Genevieve. She is our lady queen, aren’t you baby,” he gives the cat a snuggle and

sits her on his lap as he twinkles his eyes at me over the purring warm body.

I quickly heat at the increasing nearness of his hand stroking the cat along with mine.

I’m so nervous my brain is blank. He is a senior, he is gorgeous, he is the lead in the

play and drives a convertible and runs track and this is everything the cool guys in the

movies are and I am sitting here petting a cat in his empty apartment with no adults

and no one knows where I am and if I get back to school late and The Mother finds

out….

My hand slides perfectly into his at the place he has stopped petting the cat and

waited for me. I look up at the sudden contact of skin on skin, electricity shooting up

my arm into my spine causing me to gasp which gives me a good breath before it’s

taken again by the gentle contact of his lips on mine.

It’s like stopping time. Turning off my brain in a beautiful sea of breathlessness. He

doesn’t crush me like boys before, it’s gentle and soft. It feels like a question, and the

answer is yes.

I lean in to the contact and he cups my face with his hand (the one not still clutching

mine) as he leans in for a better taste. It’s like eating ice cream, there is a taste and

savor balance that when done well is absolutely delicious. I feel emboldened enough

to keep kissing him and run my hands through that sunny blonde mop I’ve been day

dreaming about, which feels just as good as it looks in the movies (though a little sticky

with product).

For a moment, for this moment, I lose myself in the magic of being wanted. Of being

desired so much that he is careful. It is intoxicating.

25He begins to lean back. I’m desperate to not break the spell and never leave this

moment of being sparkling happy so I practically stand to keep his face in my hands.

But then the slow pulling becomes a force.

He wants me on top of him.

In an instant, the magic is gone and panic rises in my throat.

“No….”I mumble as I break the kiss, stare at the floor and sit primly back on the chair

embarrassed. I don’t want to do anything but kiss him. I don’t know if I made a mistake

coming here. I don’t know if I tell him that I don’t want to do anything else if he will be

mad. Will he be angry? Will he hit me? Will he force me?

“It’s ok, it’s just….look what you do to me,” he grins from ear to ear as he stares at the

hem of my cheerleading skirt and puts his giant hand on his bulging crotch, “You are

beautiful, you know.”

He leans in again, taking my chin in his fingers and kissing me soundly one more time.

It takes me a min to close my eyes and concentrate on the softness of his lips and not

the hardness of his skin, gold from the track meet last weekend, hard with powerful

muscles.

I pull back gently, blush and accept the compliment. He is not the kind of guy who

gives them easily. I sit silent, not sure what will happen and painfully aware I am, once

again, alone in a small room with an older guy who wants something I am not willing to

give. I hold my breath.

“It’s ok, we got time,” he says sweetly as he stands up and gives his tight jeans a

through adjustment. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat before we have to be

back in class. My treat.”

I look up at this gorgeous god of a man and smile my most sparkling Glitter Girl smile,

stand up and straighten my uniform and accept his outstretched hand with a toss of

my perfect ponytail.

Look out high school, I am not a victim, I am a fucking queen.

❖

We talk for hours on the phone, chord stretched as far as it will go to get a little

privacy. Those flirtations fuel soft kisses behind the costume rack, discussions of “what

are you looking for in a guy” and “what do I have to do to make you change your

mind” between make out sessions in late night rehearsals.

It never occurred to me he would be as into keeping it a secret as I am. His friends,

Choir Boys 1-4, know their boy is pursuing me. Dee knows we’ve kissed. But since we

aren’t officially official, he seems to have fun being a free man in the school hours…and

honestly I do too. So we act casual until we give in to stolen moments of passion in

hidden corners.

He is a senior athlete, lead in the school play, golden hair from his head to his

beautifully chiseled abs and he doesn’t own me. I pull my knees up tighter, holding on

to this moment like a delicate chocolate in my mouth.

I snuggle closer to Golden Boy’s warmth behind me, his Cool Water cologne folding

over me like a blanket. My goodness this Glitter Girl life is finally starting to be as

magical as I hoped.

Golden Boy’s arms wrap around my waist and pull me back to lay on his chest. I relax

into his lap like a cat, giving him a feline grin as I wiggle my butt around between his

thighs. I feel a little leap of response from his jeans, but smugly ignore it as I turn my

attention to the chatter in the room.

Choir Boy 2 and Ado Annie sit on the couch across from our chair, giggling and

reenacting Mr. Call’s exasperated directors notes in rehearsals today.

“The cowhand and the farmer must be friends to get along! It’s before there was

anything else to be,” Choir Boy 2 gestures wildly as our director does when he is

frustrated. As a 60+ year old man is totally understandable to do while trying to

wrangle 80 hormonal teens into a coordinated hoedown.

“But what about the girls,” asks Ado batting her huge eyelashes and squeaking her

voice, “What are they supposed to be? What happens if she just did say…no?”

She is perfect for the role. Bouncing blonde hair on top of a teeny 4 foot nothing frame

with a voice that fills the room. She is short and sweet and plays the dumb blonde in

the play perfectly. But there is a sparkle intelligence in those brown eyes, she knows

how this conversation ends.

“God damn it!” Choir Boy 2 mocks as he pretends to lose his cool by pulling out his

hair, then pretends to realize he doesn’t have much. We all collapse in giggles, Golden

Boy’s warm throaty laugh in my hair giving me little tingles.

“Every time. It’s like he thinks this play is still relevant.” Golden Boy is the oldest and

carries the authority in this group, so we all instinctively settle down with his input.

I sit up and rearrange myself to perfect fit in his lap again, leaning over to pull the

blanket up to snuggle in for a movie. He clicks play and everyone quiets as the familiar

Hewy Lewis song blasts in a red sports car with Marty McFly living his best teen dream

and I relax my brain for a moment.

I am here. I am doing it. I am in high school, I am in a boys house watching movies. He

is hot and likes to kiss me and hold my hand. He smells good and winks at me when he

sings in the show. It’s what I wanted. And it feels damn good.

I sneak a peek around the room at the others acting out their favorite lines or laughing

at the jokes, take it in. It’s as good as I thought it would be. I mentally take a glittering

snapshot in mind for later.

Golden Boy gives me a little squeeze which I return, then I feel his hand start to move

under the waistband of my pants. I have on my Guess jeans, the really tight ones which

squeeze a little bit of belly fat on top so I instantly suck in my gut, hoping he doesn’t

feel my fat tummy. He seems to take this as an invitation to continue down and my

mind goes blank.

I freeze. Like a deer in headlights. Every muscle tight as a suspension bridge. I don’t

know what to do.

There are people in the room and he is inching his way toward my crotch under my

pants, hidden by the blanket over my lap. I glance nervously at the other kids, but they

are into Marty McFly’s issues at school and not paying attention to the rated X scene

going on in the room.

He finally is able to wiggle his hand past the tight denim, under the cotton waistband

of my undies and is cupping my lady bits right in his hand like a peach. Just holding it,

his pants ninja doing little wiggles under my back as he scootches up just a bit in order

to get enough reach to enter the final frontier. He slips a single finger into my lady

hole. Just like that. I didn’t even know guys wanted to do this! I mean, not regular guys.

I thought it was only purity inspections, but this seems to really be the goal of the

Golden Boy. He pokes the finger in and out a few times, then drags his hand back up

my stomach and down the side of my thigh, wedging it between the couch.

Motionless, I sit. I don’t move, I don’t do anything. I just sit and stare at the screen. He

leans over and gives me a kiss on the top of the head and asks me to sit up as he

throws his leg over me to get up, “Gotta hit the head.”

He casually walks into the bathroom and shuts the door, I covertly try to button up my

jeans while I readjust for his absence, “Do you think they will come out with the second

one soon? It feels like it’s been forever.”

Choir Boy 2 stares hard at me, then looks back to the TV without answering.

Golden Boy comes out of the bathroom a while later, making a big show of washing his

hands. He walks into the pantry, opens the slatted door and pulls out a small container.

He pops the top with his thumb, sticks his finger in and takes a big scoop of what looks

like white frosting, “Anyone in the mood for something….sweet?”

His devilish grin beams past me at Choir Boy 2, whose face turns sour as his eyes fly to

mine. I feel the blush threatening to creep up my cheeks but I force myself to take a

deep breath and be cool, “Oooo, I do.” I smile sweetly up at Golden Boy, give Choir

Boy 2 a dismissive simper, “Always did have a sweet tooth.” I wink at him and his scowl

deepens.

Golden Boy laughs confidently, “Yeah, I know you do.”

He walks over, leans down and sticks the finger of frosting into my mouth. I suck it

clean as he smugly smiles over my head at Choir Boy 2’s outraged face. Golden Boy

tips my face up with his big hand, kisses me smearing the frosting around in my mouth

with his tongue in front of them both. He pulls back, smiles at me like we are co-

conspirators just finishing an inside job.

My eyes sparkle back at him, a good glitter girl. He plops back down on the couch

behind me, pulls me back into his lap and we all turn back to the movie.

I smile, make jokes, say lines from the movie. Whatever I can do to be normal.

Just be normal. Just be normal.

I guess, if this is normal, I am more prepared than most.

I sit up a little straighter, firmly press my thighs together and lay my head against

Golden Boy’s delicious chest.

Chapter Six

Choir Boy 2

“Then he put his finger inside, you know,” I push my finger around inside my other

hand making a hole, demonstrating to my wide eyed friend, “Like, is that normal? Is

that a thing guys want to do?”

We are in the food court at the mall, it’s loud and rowdy, perfect place for a private

conversation and not be overheard. The AMC movie theater just dumped us all into

the open atrium and the noise is deafening in the afternoon sunlight.

I look into her dark brown eyes I’ve known since childhood. My friend Dee has held my

hand through it all, since the days of strawberry pop bathroom explosions and church

purity inspections. We have drifted apart this year, falling into new crowds as old

friends do. But she is who I trust the most with this question, she is the most

experienced. Her boyfriend is 18, he shows her what to do (and they do A LOT).

“Yeah, it’s a thing,” she has the grace to be kind at my ignorance, my mormon rules

combined with my constantly watched access to information leave me horribly

unprepared for the world of dating men. She smiles and giggles, trying to get me to

cheer up, “It’s totally normal, it’s actually kind of good if he does it right.”

My eyes widen, I can’t even comprehend what happened, I can’t fathom actually

enjoying it.

“Sometimes, my boyfriend puts his finger in my mouth to get my spit on it - then he

does it. The spit helps it slip around easier, which feels really good,” she waggles her

eyebrows at me and I burst out with nervous laughter. We collapse on the table in

giggles.

“Hey, HEY,” The Mother screams as she walks up with my brother and five corn dogs

in the other hand, “help me out with your brother.” She guides the little blonde head

in my direction gently as she sits with her friend, Dee’s mom, hands her two of the corn

dogs.

She gives one corn dog to my little brother, Will, who sits quietly next to me and

begins to devour the corn dog. I help him put ketchup on it, grab for napkins so he

doesn’t stain anything.

“Where’s your sister?” The Mother demands of me, her Evil Queen eyes boring into

mine.

I look around confused, Dee and I exchange panicked glances. We were supposed to

be watching her after we got out of The Little Mermaid. We were so focused on the

new boy stuff that we totally lost track of Rebecca.

The heat starts to rise in my face, the bile turning my throat. We all start to look around

at the crowded food court, kids and moms are everywhere. Then a scream streaks

across the air filtered sky.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH IM STUCK! HELP, MOMMMMMMMAAAAAA

A sea of faces looks up at the little girl’s pigtails swinging like a weird piñata above us

on the main mall mezzanine between the railing bars. Her tiny head is caught in

between the bars of the mezzanine where it seems she had pushed herself through to

look down. She is thrashing and crying, her flaming face swelling with the force of her

fury.

“GET ME OUT!!!!!!!” She shrieks as her panic blankets the stunned crowd and I spring

into action, heading for the stairs.

I dash up the escalator two at a time, reaching Rebecca just as the tears streaking

down her face are enough that when she tilts her head back with a howl, her cheeks

slip out of the vice and she falls back on the floor with an, “Oooohff.”

I rush up, pick her up off the floor, wipe the tears from her eyes with my thumbs, look

at her face to make sure she isn’t hurt badly. Her maroon face is blotchy, snot and tears

dripping off her chin. But overall, she’s in tact.

“You’ll be ok. She’ll be ok,” I announce to the adults slowly creeping up around us. I

pull her to me, she shoves me away. We are not friendly, my sister and I. We can’t be,

it’s too hard.

“Mommmmmmmmm,” she starts crying again and I grab her hand to pull her down

the stairs. The Mother yanks Will to meet us at the bottom, waving bye to our friends.

“She’ll be ok.” I say to the crowd watching, the whispers and stares starting to fill the

room.

“Look what you’ve done,” The Mother hisses at me, “I can’t leave you alone to help

me out for one second!,” She laments publicly, putting on a show for everyone

watching. She will not be seen as the villain.

“Here, honey, take a corndog and let’s get something in your tummy,” she coddles

and coos at the weeping little pigtails, one now half hanging and limp. Rebecca takes

the corn dog and continues crying.

“Uh, you are so worthless.” The Mother throws over her shoulder as she takes Will’s

hand again, taking a bite of the corn dog as we head out the door, “Can I trust you to

get your sister to the car? Can you at least do that?”

“Yes,” I can at least do that. Rebecca continues to cry with her corndog forgotten in

her hand. I guess I don’t get lunch today. I guess I deserve that.

❖

I twirl the phone cord around my finger, thinking. I don’t have a phone in my room,

which is so unfair since everyone I know does, so I have to use the extra long cord to

lay in the living room behind the couch if I want privacy (sort of). Everyone is in the den,

watching TV. I pull the cord a little further, sit by the curtains.

“I don’t know if I am ready to do sex-stuff yet, it’s just such a big decision for a girl, you

know,” I confide to Choir Boy 2 who is always good to listen to my problems and get a

boy’s perspective, “I just wish Golden Boy understood that I am just not ready yet,” I

finish with a wistful sigh into the phone.

“I understand, I wish he wasn’t such a dick like that,” Choir Boy 2 confirms, validating

all of my concerns and feelings. It’s his best feature, his support and compliments.

“Uh! Right?! Why do I even like him this much?!,” I laugh into the phone as I doodle

little hearts in marker on my leg, “Why are you even friends with him? You aren’t like

this. You’re, like, a really nice guy.”

I can almost hear him blushing on the other end of the line. HIs big goofy ears and his

pimpled face. He is Golden Boy’s best friend and desperate for a girlfriend. I know it’s

not the most honest thing to exploit his feelings for information, but these boys don’t

always play nice in the movies and I want to be sure Golden Boy is a good one before I

do anything…permanent.

“Well, we have been friends a long time. But he has always been like this. Honestly, it

makes me sick. That he would treat a girl like you, a beautiful, smart girl like you, like

this! I mean, uh, this is why nice guys get a bad rap, they are always too nice to try with

a girl like you and then guys like him ruin for the rest of us,” he’s pouting, and I like it.

I sit in silence, listening. I wait. There’s something he’s not telling me….I can feel it.

“I mean, what would you say if I told you that Golden Boy and Choir Boy 1 had a bet on

you?,” he drops the grenade, the short silence between the pin pulled before he loses his nerve.

“What?” I say in a teeny voice, shocked.

“They saw you the first day of auditions and made a bet to see who could get you to

sleep with them first. Yeah! Can you believe that!,” he a bit winded at his own bravado,

and I am stunned silent, so he keeps going, “Yeah, the bet was to get you to ask one

of them to the Spring Wing Ding dance and…and…have sex with you. Golden Boy has

been bragging all week about how you have hinted you were going to ask someone.

He already booked a hotel room, he showed me the brochure.”

He stops. He’s spilled the beans. I can feel the oh shit vibes coming through the circle

of dots pressed to my ear.

“How much?” I ask, slicing the question across the line like a knife, “How much was the

bet for?”

“$100,” he mutters, embarrassed. As he should be.

“Cheap bastard,” I mutter back, wheels already spinning.

“Hey, um……don’t tell them I told you. I don’t want them getting mad at me. I just

thought you deserved to know,” Choir Boy 2 says in a huff, he’s covering his ass now,

“You know, I would never treat you like that.”

I sigh. Yeah, yeah, maybe. But you’re friends with these assholes and that’s just as bad.

But I must keep up the charade, at least until I have a plan. So I act like every girl in

every movie who gets to this point, knowing that the guy who is “caring” about you

really just wants to fuck you. And is so confident he can do it, he put money on it.

Because this is a thing - there a multiple movies about it. But I am writing the script this

time, and I am not THAT girl.

“I know, but my heart is somewhere else right now. Give me some time, thanks for

being a good friend,” I say wistfully as I hang up for the night. I have some thinking to

do.

❖