“One… or two?”
“Two.”
“Three or four?”
“Um,” I said, hesitating. “Four.”
“One or two?”
“Two.”
“Okay, Miss Wyman,” Dr. Hill muttered, jotting something down on a notepad. “Looks like someone needs new glasses.”
Of course. I always needed new glasses. Fucking blind as a bat since I was four years old. I couldn’t wear contacts either. My eyes were “shaped like footballs” or something ridiculous.
“Alright,” I whispered, climbing out of the leather chair.
“Good news is, you get new frames. That’s cool, right?”
God, I hated adults. Seriously? New frames? Why would that be cool?
“Go see Jane out front. She’ll fix you right up.”
Jane Walker had worked at Dr. Hill’s office for as long as I could remember. She was sweet and quiet. “Well, hi, Ava. Let’s try on some frames, huh? What color are we looking for?”
“Black,” I told her.
She eyed me up and down, taking in my attire consisting of a black tank top, black mini, black fishnets, and black 20-eye Doc Marten boots. “Yep, just like my son.”
Ugh. Yeah, we teenagers are all just alike.
She fitted me in several styles while my mom sat next to me, judging every pair.
Honey, those are a little strange.
I finally settled on a pair of thick, matte black ones that she really hated.
“So,” Jane continued, “Starting school next week, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Junior?”
“Yeah.” I wasn’t much for small talk.
“Just like my Dash. Going to Elston?”
“Mmhmm. First year.”
“Oh. Where did you transfer from?”
“Marquette.”
I left out the part where I was on academic probation all year. Walter Wyman wasn’t a man to fuck with. He wasn’t going to waste his money on a child who clearly didn’t want to learn. My mother enrolled me at Elston earlier in the month.
“Ah. Well, you’ll do better in public school anyway. There are more kids like you, I would imagine.”
“What do you mean?” I shot her a look.
“I just mean that private school isn’t very welcoming for creative types. You’re a creative type, I can tell. I’m going to tell my Dash about you. You have to meet. You just have to. Two peas in a pod, I’m telling you.”
I wanted to die. Just shrivel up in that waiting room and wait to be swept under the carpet. And what kind of douchebag name was “Dash” anyway?
“Yeah, sure,” I replied. I tugged at my mom’s purse strap. “You ready?”
***
I had nothing to wear. Nothing.
I finally settled on a black, fitted Cure t-shirt and a short black skirt. It was ridiculously hot, so I forfeited hosiery and wore my black low-top Chuck Taylors. I knotted my long, blonde hair into two buns on the sides of my head, securing them with black, lacquered chopsticks. I slid on my new glasses and pushed them into place. My mom dropped me off in front of school, giving me an awkward squeeze from the driver’s seat. “Have fun, baby.”
I died a little bit inside that morning.
The bell rang; I sat in the back, chewing on the cap of my pen. I had my notebook open but, if I was being honest, had no intentions of actually taking notes. Come on. It was my first day.
A boy sat in front of me. He was tall, over six feet… black, silken hair falling just below his chin, wearing a fitted black t-shirt with the Exploited logo on the back.
Maybe public school was for me.
He lowered his head to his notebook, scratching in it with a pencil. I wondered what he was so focused on.
“Sherry Anderson?”
Madame Baumgarten began calling the roll; I studied the room for interesting (or familiar) faces.
“Dashiell Walker?”
The boy in front of me raised his pencil up, but his eyes never left the page. Holy shit. Jane’s son?
You have to meet. You just have to.
“Ava Wyman?”
I raised my pen as Dash craned his head around. He had a sly smile on his face as he looked (a little too closely) at me. I stared at the Formica tabletop, embarrassed. He turned back to his notebook and tapped his pencil on the edge.
When the bell rang, I headed out to the hallway, staring at my schedule. A deep voice grumbled behind me.
“Hey.”
I turned around. Dash Fucking Walker.
“Hey,” I said back, trying to sound ultra-casual. No, I’m not lost.
“Ava Wyman.”
Seriously? He knew my name?
“How do you know that?”
“You sat behind me in French… like five minutes ago. Besides, my mom told me about you.”
“Yeah?” I countered. “What did she say?”
He smiled and leaned against the wall. “She said that there was a new girl starting school and that she wanted me to be part of the welcoming committee. She said that you were cute, blonde, wore black glasses… and that your name was Ava Wyman.” A smirk spread across his face.
“Huh. Well, I’ve gotta go to class. See you around.” I clutched my book and started to head down the hallway.
“Meet me out by the fence. Lunch.”
I turned on my heel to face him. “What?”
“Welcoming committee, remember?” He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans and gave me one last look before turning away.
***
I clutched my history book and slowly walked over towards the fence. I saw Dash there, from a distance, sitting on a low, brick wall. He was smoking a cigarette. I hated smoking, but I could seriously make an exception for this guy.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey. Guys, this is the lovely Ava Wyman. She’s new here today. These douchebags are George and Dave.”
George was tall, about the same height as Dash, but with a curve to his body, not unlike a girl. Dave was shorter, about the same as me, with long brown hair, halfway down his back. He had a great smile, nodding his head at me.
“Ava… what’s up, girl? Damn, you’re tall.” Dave said, extending his hand to grip mine.
“Yes,“ I joked, “I come from a long line of Amazonian supermodels.”
“Seriously?”
“No,” I deadpanned.
George nervously stared at me. Dash punched him in the upper arm; George flinched. “It’s a fucking girl, numskull.”
Dash laughed. “Sorry, he’s not used to girls making their way to the fence.”
I was shocked that every girl wasn’t on that fence. Dash was crazy beautiful, the kind of beauty that was seriously intimidating.
I sat on the wall, looking over the faculty parking lot. “Want a cigarette?” Dash asked.
“No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”
He nodded. “Smart girl. I shouldn’t.” He nudged me as I studied my afternoon schedule. “Where are you going now?”
“Um, I have world history next and then P.E.” I groaned internally. Fucking P.E.
“With Shelbrook?”
Shelbrook. 2:29.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Why?”
He laughed, throwing his head back. “Fuck yeah! We’re in the same class!”
My heart sank. We had to wear a uniform to P.E. A tight uniform.
“Oh.” I gathered my books. I had to get away from him. In a few short hours, he would see me in that uniform and that would be it for our little flirtation.
I had inherited a few things from my father’s side of the family. A world-class jiggly ass and a D-cup. Gross. Small waist or not, there was no hiding any of that.
“Where are you going?” Dash asked, standing when I did.
“I gotta roll. I have to stop by the office before class.”
“I’ll go with you,” he said, picking his bag off of the wall and slinging it over his shoulder.
“No, stay. It was nice meeting you guys.”
Dave and George both nodded to me. Dash looked visibly confused, but fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, his eyes following me as I walked away.
***
The locker room was full of noise, girls practically screaming at one another to be heard over the echo of the metal lockers. I sat on the edge of the bench, slowly pulling my shorts up over my hips. The top was bad enough; a gray “Elston Physical Education” logo on the front stretched tight across my breasts… but the shorts? They were indecent. I was practically physically sick as I tugged at them.
I knew what boys thought. When girls had a body like mine, it meant that they were easy. I had one boyfriend in my life. For one week. We didn’t even hold hands.
“Hey,” a tiny red-haired girl whispered. “You’re new, right?”
“Yeah. I’m Ava.”
“Ava. Cool name. It’s like old-fashioned, kinda. I’m Shannon.”
Shannon was petite, like me, with fiery box-dyed hair and a straight smile. Her hands drifted to her thighs, obviously trying to cover them.
I smiled back at her. “Nice to meet you.”
“Hey, we should hang together for class, you think?”
“Sure,” I answered.
“Can you believe these fucking uniforms? They’re made for junior high kids, I think.” She tugged at the hem of her shorts, trying to pull them down.
“I know,” I sympathized. “My tits are gonna break free any second.”
“Ugh. At least you have tits. God decided to bless me with a fat ass and a size A cup.”
“I’m fairly certain that God didn’t have anything to do with my fat ass. You should see my Aunt Linda.”
She smiled and choked out a laugh. “Let’s hope all the guys in this class are fucking dorks.”
They aren’t.
“Mmm,” I agreed. “I know one guy in our class. I met him this morning. Dash Walker?”
Her eyes got big. “He’s like a punk fucking God, right? Go figure he would be in this class.”
“Yep. He’s pretty cute, right?”
“Um… duh. He doesn’t even like date girls from this school. Like, he has girlfriends in Chicago or something.”
I swallowed. “Oh. He has a girlfriend?”
“I don’t really know. I just heard that he’s like king dick of the club scene or something.”
“What club scene?”
“Like punk shows… whatever. I wouldn’t know because my stepmom’s a fucking asshole. She doesn’t let me go anywhere. I don’t even have a car.”
“I don’t either,” I told her.
“Well, let’s make a pact to meet hot boys with cars. That way, we’ll always have a ride.”
I smiled at her as we made our way outside to the field.
Fucking P.E.
***
Dash stood in the field talking to some guy in a red football jersey. He had an ease about him as he raked his fingers through his hair.
“Ava,” he called, making his way towards me.
My first inclination was to cover my breasts. But… if I had my arms crossed over those, how was I supposed to cover my ass?
“Hey,” I mumbled. “What’s up?”
“Day-um, girl,” he said, studying me. He even craned his head. Ugh. “Looking good, Wyman.”
I smiled nervously. “You know Shannon?”
She grinned like a mental patient, extending her hand out. Dash smiled and took it. “What’s up?”
“Hi,” she breathed. “Aren’t you in a band?”
He looked over to me. “Well, sometimes, I guess. I hate practice, so I get kicked out a lot.”
“Oh… cool,” she responded.
How was that cool? It just sounded like slacker behavior to me.
“So… Wyman. What are you doing after school?” Dash kicked my shoe with his.
“Working. Why?”
“Yeah? Where do you work?”
I ran my shoe through the grass. “Why?”
He laughed. “God, just curious. Where?”
“Musicland.”
“Yeah? That’s cool… working at a record store.”
“I guess.”
“Alright. Well, maybe we can do something tomorrow then,” he added.
“Working tomorrow too.”
“Jesus, Ava, you’re 16.”
“So?”
“Nothing. Just seems pretty motivated, I guess.”
Coach Shelbrook blew the whistle. “In line, people.”
Dash looked at me, smiling. “Later, Wyman.”
“Later, Walker,” I teased.
***
After class, Shannon walked me to my locker. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Where’s your locker?”
“Mmm, south wing. I’m an A.”
I gave her a puzzled look. “An A?”
“Yeah. Shannon Arden. Alpha order. Well… bye.”
W. Alpha order.
Walker. Wyman.
Just as I grabbed my bag and shut the metal door, Dash was there. “Need a ride?”
“I’m okay. I’ll get the 3:30 bus.”
“To the mall? That’s ridiculous.” He worked the lock on the door two down from mine and retrieved a leather jacket, no books. “Let’s go.”
***
My shift started at 4; I had about 20 minutes to spare. Dash and I sat in his car, listening to music. “You like DK?” he asked.
“Yeah, but I’m more DM than DK.”
“DM?”
“Depeche Mode. I like synth stuff.”
“Huh,” he said, smiling at me. “Well, I’ll forgive you for your horrible fucking taste in music.”
I reached for the door handle. “See you tomorrow, Dash.”
“Wait! I was kidding. Jesus.”
I turned towards him. “I know, but I do have to go.”
“You still have fifteen minutes.”
“See ya.” I turned the handle and faced him for a second, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “Thanks again… for the ride.”
***
Dash and I had developed a new ritual. I got home from the mall around ten after eight each night. He called me at 8:15 and we talked until almost 9. My mother was less than pleased, tugging on the long cord that I always stretched into the little bathroom.
“Ava, two minutes,” she barked, the same warning every evening.
I usually stretched it into five. Every minute on the phone with Dash was worth any punishment she could dole out.
He wasn’t my boyfriend. We hadn’t even hinted at that. Still, that didn’t stop my blood from boiling when he called… or my stomach from fluttering when I saw him in the hallway. I wanted him more than I’d wanted anything in my entire life.
The way he treated me, though, was… well, confusing. He rarely called me “Ava.” Always “Wyman” or “Wylie.” It seemed more like the nicknames he used for George or Dave. I definitely thought that we were slipping into a different category. I tried to flirt… it just wasn’t me.
So, when he told me on the phone that he was thinking of asking Sarah Wells to the prom, I was crushed.
I wasn’t even sure that I wanted to go myself. I just really didn’t want him going with her. Sarah was barely a few inches shorter than most of the boys with a body that went on for days. She was in my art class, constantly flipping her big, teased cherry-red hair, pulling it up into elastic bands, showing off a small tattoo of a daisy on the back her neck. She was the only 16 year-old girl I knew with a tattoo. It just seemed so… grown up.
“Oh,” I whispered, trying to sound encouraging. “That’s great.”
“Yeah? You think she’ll say yes?”
Of course she would.
“Dash, of course she’ll say yes. If she doesn’t, she’s a fucking idiot.”
He laughed. “Well, who are you gonna go with?”
Oh God. He was so oblivious. “I probably won’t.”
“Yeah, you are. Dave’s got a hard-on for you. He was hoping that you didn’t have a date. You’ve gotta go with him.”
“I don’t think so.” I liked Dave, honestly. I just couldn’t go with him… staring at Dash while he danced with Sarah Fucking Wells all night.
“Then it’s settled. We’ll all go together.”
“What part of ‘I don’t think so’ did you not get? I don’t want to go with Dave.”
“Why?” he asked.
Ugh. Did I have to tell him? “I guess I was waiting for someone else to ask.”
He paused, breathing out slowly into the receiver. “Tom Keats?”
“No.” Eww.
“Justin Schiller?”
“Stop. It’s no one.”
“You just said…”
“Well,” I clipped, “It’s almost nine. My mom’s flipping out. See you later.”
“Wyman…”
I clicked the receiver, ending the call. My mother sat in the kitchen, doing a crossword. “Ava? You okay?”
“Yeah.” I joined her at the table, laying my chin on top of my hands. “Boys suck.”
“Yes they do,” she answered, peering over at my father in the other room. “Who was that?”
“Dash.”
“Again?”
“Yeah. I’m tired. I’m gonna go to bed, I think. Night, Mom.” I stood and turned.
She put her pen down and squeezed my hand. “Come here for a second. Sit down.”
I faced her for a second, sitting in the chair beside her. “Is he worth it?”
“Who, Dash?”
She nodded.
“I guess. I feel totally excited when we’re together. But he doesn’t see me like that. He just sees me like a friend, I think. I don’t know how that’s ever going to change. And the prom is in a few months… he said he’s going to ask Sarah Wells… he wants me to go with Dave, but I just feel…”
“Listen, honey,” she said, cutting me off. “Dash is sweet. He’s fun. He’s certainly cute and charming. But… you’re 16. You’ll find a million guys just like him in your life. Wait for the one who wants you back.”
I knew she was right. “Mind if I make one more quick call?”
She picked up her pen. “Two minutes.”
I flipped through the phone book and looked up the only Ticknor in Long Beach. I took a breath and dialed the number. “Hi, is Dave home?”
An elderly woman responded. “David?” she called.
“Gran, hang up,” I heard him call to her. There was a loud crackling on the line before it was just the two of us. “Hello?”
“Hey, Dave… it’s Ava.”
“Ava. What’s shakin’?” God, he was casual. Like always. Was he ever nervous?
“Yeah, I was talking to Walker today and he said that you didn’t have a date for the prom. I guess he was going to ask Sarah, but then he wanted to know who I was asking… then he told me you might not have a date…”
He cut me off. “Fuck yes. Are you asking me to go?”
“Well,” I continued, “I guess, if you want to. Dash said maybe we could all go together or something.”
“How could I possibly say no to the hottest girl in school? Sign me up.”
***
Sarah and Dash were becoming quite the couple. He still called me every night, but things were definitely changing between us. I was sure they were having sex, but there was no cool way to ask him that.
I turned to Dave instead. He and I had been spending a lot more time together, even taking me on a few dates here and there. Real dates, too. Movies, pizza, walks through the neighboring golf course at night. Those were my favorite.
One Thursday, on the eighth hole, Dave changed things between us, leaning in to kiss me. Besides a few near-misses, I had never really kissed anyone. He was comfortable. There were no actual sparks like I’d read about, but he took his time. He moved slowly, keeping his lips soft… no tongue, cupping the back of my neck with his hand.
He pulled back after a minute and looked at me. “Is this cool?”
“I think so,” I murmured, straightening my glasses. “Yeah.”
“It’s cold,” he said, rubbing his fingers against mine. “Let’s go back up the hill.”
He took off his leather motorcycle jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders. Leaning in one more time, he placed a kiss on my lips. “I’ve been thinking about this since we met.”
I smiled, embarrassed. I wasn’t crazy about him… didn’t feel the connection like I had with Dash, but he was with Sarah now. “Dave… do you think that Dash and Sarah…?”
“Are fucking?”
God, Dave.
“Uh, yeah,” I answered.
“Walker hasn’t said anything, but he’s not really one to talk. They came to my house last Saturday. She spent half the night rubbing his dick through his pants.”
Shut up, shut up, shut up.
“Oh yeah?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “They probably are then.”
“Eh, who’s to say? His mom was gone all weekend and they came to my house instead of staying there. If he was gonna ball her, he could have just stayed at home.”
Ball her? Jesus, Dave.
We were getting close to my house now. “I can walk from here.”
“You sure? It’s just a block.”
I pulled his jacket off of my shoulders and handed it to him. “I’m fine. See you Saturday for the thing.”
I couldn’t even say prom. I didn’t even want to go. I’d bought that short, black dress with one person in mind.
Dash.
Dave leaned in and pressed a kiss on my cheek. “I can’t wait.”
***
Dash pulled up in his Chevelle a few minutes after six. I watched them through the window as he and Dave walked to my door.
I pulled it open and smiled at the two of them. “Hi, guys.”
Dave stepped forward first, kissing me on the cheek and handing me a clear, plastic container. A single red sweetheart rose was attached to a black elastic band. I opened it and snapped it on my wrist. “Thanks. It’s really pretty.”
Dash was wearing all black. Black fitted jacket. Black tuxedo shirt. Black tie (not a bow). Black fitted pants. Black Doc Marten boots.
Fuck me.
“Ava,” he whispered. “You look fucking amazing.”
I pressed my finger to my lips. “Shhh, don’t say ‘fuck.’ My mom’s in there.”
He mouthed FUCK! at me.
“Okay, you look freakin amazing.”
My mother rounded the corner. “David. Dashiell,” she said. “Don’t you two look wonderful? Have Ava home by 11.”
“Mom!” I squealed. “Seriously.”
“Fine. Midnight.”
She was a serious buzzkill.
Dash nodded his head. “Yes, Mrs. Wyman. Midnight.”
***
We picked up Sarah from her place, just a half mile down from mine. Dave and I waited in the car while Dash went to her door. When they came out, Sarah was dressed in a royal blue ruffled mini with a sweetheart neckline that was lined in matching lace. It was gaudy and cheap looking. She had to have been going to the tanning bed as well, her skin tinted in orange. It highlighted the fact that she had a full mouth of horrible fucking frosted lipstick on. Dash had his arm around her waist.
God, what did he see in her?
Her hair was piled high with a thousand curls and blue ribbons, her dumb fucking daisy tattoo prominent.
He was pure, fucking punk rock. He was supposed to be with me.
All of this was for him. Pale skin, cherry lips, eyes lined heavily in espresso powder. Hair neatly parted in the center, carefully pulled into a pristine, yet messy, knot. Black spiked stud earrings. Crushed velvet four-inch heels.
Instead, here he was… with her.
***
I watched them together. She leaned in often, pressing her lips against his… biting his neck. Yet, his eyes spent half the night glued to mine.
He broke away from her, coming to my side. “Can I talk to you for a second, Wyman?”
“It’s Ava,” I clipped.
He took my arm at the elbow and walked into the quiet hallway. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been fucking weird ever since we picked Sarah up.”
“Do you love her?” God, I didn’t want to know the answer.
“What?”
“You heard me, asshole.”
“What the fuck is going on, Ava?”
“You’re clueless. I want to go home. Can you just… take me home? You know, better yet, I’ll just call my mom. Do you have a quarter?”
“Ava,” he whispered, pushing me gently against the locker. “Is this about Sarah or is this about me and you?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Is there something going on with us? You’ve never even said that you liked me, but you’re totally wound up around Sarah. Either you really don’t like her or you want me.”
I pushed his chest, fighting back impending tears. “Fuck you, Dash.”
He leaned in close, pressing his warm lips to mine. I turned my face, letting a few tears escape. “Just stop,” I whispered.
“Let’s go,” he said, pulling his keys from his pocket.
“What about Dave and Sarah?”
“I’ll go back in and talk to Dave. I’ll tell him you’re sick. They can get a ride with George.”
He opened the doors, letting a burst of music into the hallway before getting quiet again. A minute later, they opened again and he grabbed my hand, leading me to the parking lot. He let me in the passenger side door and quickly made his way to the driver’s seat.
Starting the car, he turned to me. “Kiss me, Ava.”
I looked down at my hands, kneading my fingers together. “I can’t,” I said, choking on my words.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t be the girl you want tonight and don’t want tomorrow.”
He leaned in close and pressed me against the door. “Kiss me, Ava.”
I clutched his neck, and pressed my lips to his.