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Buddy - summer
The last day of summer, in the car, at the drive-in. Heat. So much heat. No attention to the movie, at all—has it even started yet? His jacket, no, your jacket, comes off, leaving your arms to the bitter chill of the summer night. The windows aren’t open, but you still feel it. Or is that something else? As he holds you close. As his hand is on your uncovered thigh, the skirt of your dress slightly risen.
The uneasiness that settles in your stomach as he kisses your neck.
You have to reposition yourself to get more comfortable. Sit yourself up in the backseats of his car because it’s too overwhelming now. Pull back because his hands are everywhere and you can’t keep track.
Too fast. Too fast. You say his name in between each kiss that marks your lips over and over. You tug on the back of his shirt. Hard.
You thought you had this. You thought you were ready. It’s not like you haven’t done things like this with him before. You have. Maybe… maybe it’s different because it’s real? This is real?
It should be working, then. Why isn’t it working?
Why aren’t you working?
“Jane?”
You untangle yourselves, Buddy on one seat and you on the other. Separated, completely. “Yeah, I just… uh, bathroom.” You grab your jacket, his jacket, and scramble to open the car door.
You go, into the empty bathroom—thank god—and into an empty stall. You don’t sit down.
Richie - fall
Under the bleachers, you skip class, again. On a picnic blanket, laughter falls between you. You lie down on your back, hands under your head. No sky to look at. Just the metal bars that keep the bleachers together, standing upright. That balance the weight of many many students during football games.
No one’s here. Just you and him. Everyone else spending time away in classrooms, passing notes and gossip. Somehow, outside, alone, being reckless, careless, a quiet sets in. Like you’re in a meadow of flowers, and you take in the beauty of it. Live in the moment, the true moment.
You don’t think you’ve ever felt this way with Buddy.
Despite all of that, something feels missing. When he whispers words in your ear that should set you on fire. When you look at him, wearing a nice shirt that highlights his frame that all the other girls would swoon over. Beg on their knees for him to be with them.
To you, he has nice hair. He’s sweet and he knows how to get you to break out of your Brainy Janey shell. Explore more. Be more. Want more.
And you do, want more. You could always want more. More from life. More from being. More from this? His shirt discarded and his abs aching to be touched?
You exhale, as if you’ve been holding your breath. Were you holding your breath this whole time? The minutes and minutes that have gone by?
You turn on to your side to face him, and a guilt sinks in. You should want that with him. That’s normal. Normal. Teenage normal.
A bundle of budding hormones new to your system. You don’t understand it. Like you were born without them.
Olivia - winter
Sleepover goodies pile on your bed. Blankets, pillows, snacks. Just like friends. As friend sleepovers should be. Talking about boys and doing each other’s hair.
Your parents don’t know, about you and Olivia, and it needs to stay that way. The only privacy and seclusion you have is the safety of your bedroom, where every kiss you’ve had has been shared, including your first—vulnerable conversations became something more. Where she gets to hold you in her arms as you both sleep. Where giggles erupt and cheeks grow pink, the shade of your Pink Ladies jackets.
You lie close on your bed, your hand in hers. A soft brush of her thumb goes over the back of your hand. You sigh and breathe in each stroke, how her skin feels against yours. How you should want all of you to feel against her.
Even with her…
“Olivia?” You focus on your hands because you know, one look at her, and you’re in pieces.
“Hmm? Everything okay?” She squeezes your hand. Her other hand caresses your waist.
A silence looms, only for a moment. Words have a hard time coming to you, simply existing in your brain. Brainy Janey’s brain mush. A puddle. But you try.
“I’m trying.” You squeeze back. “I think there’s something missing, with me. In-inside me.” It’s not you. It’s not Richie. It’s not Buddy. It’s not that guy I dated for two days in middle school. “It’s like… there’s this place that for everyone else is full. But for me…” It’s empty. Void. “You know how we’re all born with an appendix but sometimes, people get theirs taken out? But other people, they still have theirs. Either way, they’re still born with it.”
Olivia sits up, and this prompts you to do the same. Legs tucked under you, she mirrors you. Her face, but her face is written in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Just—” You inch closer to her. “Just listen. I’m trying.”
You’re trying.
“Okay. I’m listening,” she says, and places her hand on your thigh. “I’m here.”
You nod. “Um, back to the, uh, appendix thing. I don’t think I was born with one, an appendix.” Olivia opens her mouth, but you jump in before she can shout her disbelief. “Not…! Not literally. I’m doing a metaphor. It’s a metaphor.”
You have a biology test next week. Science is all that you can think of right now. It’s not Olivia’s thing. You’re just trying. You’re trying, to comprehend it all. Wrap each limb around it and hope it doesn’t run away. You can figure this out. If not on your own, then with Olivia. That’s what you want. All you could ever want, instead of letting it go. Ignoring it.
“I don’t know how to explain it. Not in a metaphor.”
She smiles, soft, understanding. “It’s okay, Janey. Whatever makes the most sense to you.”
You move closer. Knees collide. You laugh. “When people talk about, um, your brother, for example, or any of the T-Birds really or the football team, I don’t get it. No, I don’t see it. I mean, I like guys, too. I feel… attraction towards them. I just don’t… can’t— With Buddy and Richie and—” You. “I don’t want, no, I mean, I don’t feel, um— It’s not normal to not to. Feel like that, and and see like that.”
“How do you see people then?” Olivia asks. “People that you like.”
You think.
You think.
You’ve never asked yourself this. Maybe you should’ve. Would that have made this easier? All you thought about before was that something was missing. Something that should be there because it’s there for everyone else. For Nancy, for Cynthia, for Hazel, for Olivia. But what about what is there?
What is there?
You reach out and press your palm to Olivia’s chest, her heart. “You’re beautiful. Every single ounce of you. I like your eyes. Your smile. Your voice. God, your voice.”
A tint of pink rises in Olivia’s cheeks. Warm. Flustered. She hides her face behind her hands, but you grab her hands and move them down towards your laps. You want to see her.
“I like your laugh, and I like how you know how to make me laugh. I like your hands, how soft they always are, even in the winter. I like how your lips feel on mine. I like how you always always smell like vanilla. You’re caring and kind, and you changed my life. Class president. The Pink Ladies.” You bow your head. “That’s what I see.”
“Nothing…”
“No.”
Olivia lifts your head up, her eyes glitter under your bedroom lights. Then, her hand finds your cheek, and she leans in to kiss you. Slow. Delicate, just like your first with her.
That night she snuck in through your bedroom window, drenched from the rain. You helped dry her off with a spare towel from your bathroom, and everything seemed to fall into place.
She pulls back, and although every part of you is screaming to kiss her again, you stay. Glued to the comforter. “Wow, I— What was that for?” you ask, the surprise now setting in.
“I’m just proud of you. It takes a lot to say how you feel. And however that is, it's okay. There is no normal way to feel, okay?”
You're okay.
“How long have you been keeping that bottled up, Jane?”
You shrug and hum an I don’t know. “You still like me?" Even though you can’t see her like that? Feel like that? Want that?
Olivia laughs. And damn, it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard. “I kissed you, didn’t I?”
“Can you kiss me again?”
She does. Together, you fall back on to the bed, wrapped up in each other. Kiss upon kiss shared. Lips, neck, cheek, nose.
“Can you tell me when it gets too much?”
You will, but you don’t need to. She knows. Somehow, she knows.