studies me with his head cocked to one side like he's an artist and I'm his model. I half expect him to raise his thumb and close one eye, but of course he doesn't. “Black suits you,” he says, and I think,
Tell that to Shirley.
I just watch Frank watching me. His eyes change as he looks at me. They get bigger and darker, and his face softens. I like having this effect on someone. Though what the effect is I'm not exactly sure.
“Come closer—I won't bite,” Frank says, and I go to him and let him touch me. That's when I forget everything: school, stupid Donald Caruso, my parents … I just float away and let Frank go further than he did last time. But I don't mind. Lots of girls at my school have gone to third base and even further, and they've done it with stupid teenage boys, not someone as mature and wonderful as Frank.
When Frank is done he gathers me up in his arms and rocks me. I like sitting on his lap. I feel all cozy and loved and safe. After a while he turns me around so he can look at me and says, his liquid brown eyes all dark and serious, “Thank you, Vanessa.”
“For what?”
“For being so beautiful. And for spending time with me.”
I can't believe my ears. I mean, if anything, I should be thanking him.
“You're really special, Vanessa.” Frank runs his finger all the way from my forehead down to my cheek to my neck to my throat. “You're not like other girls your age.You really know how to make a man happy. We're going to have lots of good times together.” Frank gathers me close again and starts rocking me. “I knew the minute I saw you, you were different than other girls. Most high school girls aren't very smart, but you're like a grown woman. You're much more mature. You know what's important in life. You and me, baby, we're cut from the same cloth.”
No one's ever said so many nice things to me before. I lean into Frank but stay a little on guard because I know he can change like the weather: sunny one minute, stormy the next.
“Sit back and relax a minute, sweetheart.” Frank adjusts us so I'm all the way up on his lap. “I'll miss you this weekend,” Frank croons while he hugs me tight, and it feels really nice. But then he snaps out of it and jerks up and pushes me away.
“What happened?” I ask. “Did I hurt you? Am I too heavy?”
Frank doesn't answer. He's up on his feet already and I feel like a total moron just sitting on the cold floor practically naked except for this flimsy black lace.
“Get dressed,” Frank says in his voice that lets me know he's done with me. I scramble to my feet and throw on my clothes, trying not to think about anything, because if I do, I'll cry. I shrug on Mike's jacket and follow Frank down the stairs, out of the house, and into the car without a word. I don't know why he's mad at me again and I wish he'd tell me but he doesn't and I know it's not a good idea to ask. Maybe he thinks I'm selfish. He spentall that time making me feel good and I didn't do anything for him. Maybe I should do something right now, like reach over and touch him while he's driving, but I don't know, that could get kind of dangerous. And anyway, Frank's always the one who makes the first move.
We don't say anything the whole way back to where he drops me off, and then before I know it we've arrived, and there's nothing for me to do but get out of the car. I want Frank to say something, anything, but he doesn't. I try to think of something to say, but all I can come up with is
Thanks a lot
, or
Have a great weekend
, which both sound completely lame. So I just wave and watch him drive off and pray the weekend will fly by until I get to see him Monday, after school.
EIGHT
Everything's so different now that I have a reason to get up in the morning. I'm standing here in the kitchen making Fred's dinner, and I'm actually
humming
, and I'm not exactly the humming type. But can you believe it—
I've
had a boyfriend for more than a month. Me, Andrea Robin
Tell that to Shirley.
I just watch Frank watching me. His eyes change as he looks at me. They get bigger and darker, and his face softens. I like having this effect on someone. Though what the effect is I'm not exactly sure.
“Come closer—I won't bite,” Frank says, and I go to him and let him touch me. That's when I forget everything: school, stupid Donald Caruso, my parents … I just float away and let Frank go further than he did last time. But I don't mind. Lots of girls at my school have gone to third base and even further, and they've done it with stupid teenage boys, not someone as mature and wonderful as Frank.
When Frank is done he gathers me up in his arms and rocks me. I like sitting on his lap. I feel all cozy and loved and safe. After a while he turns me around so he can look at me and says, his liquid brown eyes all dark and serious, “Thank you, Vanessa.”
“For what?”
“For being so beautiful. And for spending time with me.”
I can't believe my ears. I mean, if anything, I should be thanking him.
“You're really special, Vanessa.” Frank runs his finger all the way from my forehead down to my cheek to my neck to my throat. “You're not like other girls your age.You really know how to make a man happy. We're going to have lots of good times together.” Frank gathers me close again and starts rocking me. “I knew the minute I saw you, you were different than other girls. Most high school girls aren't very smart, but you're like a grown woman. You're much more mature. You know what's important in life. You and me, baby, we're cut from the same cloth.”
No one's ever said so many nice things to me before. I lean into Frank but stay a little on guard because I know he can change like the weather: sunny one minute, stormy the next.
“Sit back and relax a minute, sweetheart.” Frank adjusts us so I'm all the way up on his lap. “I'll miss you this weekend,” Frank croons while he hugs me tight, and it feels really nice. But then he snaps out of it and jerks up and pushes me away.
“What happened?” I ask. “Did I hurt you? Am I too heavy?”
Frank doesn't answer. He's up on his feet already and I feel like a total moron just sitting on the cold floor practically naked except for this flimsy black lace.
“Get dressed,” Frank says in his voice that lets me know he's done with me. I scramble to my feet and throw on my clothes, trying not to think about anything, because if I do, I'll cry. I shrug on Mike's jacket and follow Frank down the stairs, out of the house, and into the car without a word. I don't know why he's mad at me again and I wish he'd tell me but he doesn't and I know it's not a good idea to ask. Maybe he thinks I'm selfish. He spentall that time making me feel good and I didn't do anything for him. Maybe I should do something right now, like reach over and touch him while he's driving, but I don't know, that could get kind of dangerous. And anyway, Frank's always the one who makes the first move.
We don't say anything the whole way back to where he drops me off, and then before I know it we've arrived, and there's nothing for me to do but get out of the car. I want Frank to say something, anything, but he doesn't. I try to think of something to say, but all I can come up with is
Thanks a lot
, or
Have a great weekend
, which both sound completely lame. So I just wave and watch him drive off and pray the weekend will fly by until I get to see him Monday, after school.
EIGHT
Everything's so different now that I have a reason to get up in the morning. I'm standing here in the kitchen making Fred's dinner, and I'm actually
humming
, and I'm not exactly the humming type. But can you believe it—
I've
had a boyfriend for more than a month. Me, Andrea Robin
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