He says to me, “I feel like I should be asking you the same question.”
“I asked first.”
He smirks. “I’ll tell you, but I’ll make you work for it. I graduated high school in nineteen eighty-three.”
I think for a moment; Strane graduated high school in 1976. “You’re thirty-six.”
The man raises his eyebrows, sips his drink. “You disgusted?”
“Why would I be disgusted?”
“Because thirty-six is old.” He laughs. “How old are you?”
“How old do you think I am?”
He looks me over. “Eighteen.”
“Sixteen.”
He laughs again, shakes his head. “Christ.”
“Is that bad?” It’s a stupid question and I know it. Of course it’s bad. The badness of it is written all over his face. I flick my eyes over to Jade and she stares at me as though she’s never seen me before, like she has no idea who I am.
A senior girl at the other end of the table leans toward us. “Hey, can I have a sip of your drink?” she asks. The man grimaces a little, a small show of acknowledgment that it’s wrong, but slides the glass down the table. The girl takes one sip and then shrieks out a giggle, as though instantly drunk.
“Ok, ok.” The man reaches for his drink. “I don’t wanna get kicked out.”
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Craig.” He nudges the glass toward me. “You want a taste?”
“What is it?”
“Whiskey and Coke.”
I reach for it. “I love whiskey.”
“And what’s your name, sixteen-year-old-who-loves-whiskey?”
I shake my hair back from my face. “Vanessa.” I say it with a sigh, as though I’m bored to tears, as though a fire isn’t burning in me. I wonder if this counts as cheating, how angry Strane would be if he walked in and saw this scene.
Charley comes back over, her face flushed, hair messed up. She takes a long swallow from Jade’s can of soda.
“What happened?” Jade asks.
Charley waves her hand; she doesn’t want to talk about it. “Let’s get out of here. I want to go home and pass out.” She looks at me, suddenly remembering. “Shit, I need to drive you home.”
Craig watches intently. “You need a ride?” he asks me.
I balk, my limbs tingling.
“Who are you?” Charley asks.
“I’m Craig.” He holds his hand out for her to shake. Charley just stares him down.
“Right.” She looks to me. “You’re not leaving with him. I’ll drive you home.”
I give Craig a sheepish smile and try not to look too relieved.
“Does she always tell you what to do?” he asks. I shake my head and he leans in toward me. “So what if I wanted to talk to you sometime? How would I do that?”
He wants a phone number, but I know my parents would probably call the police at the sound of his voice. “Do you have Instant Messenger?”
“Like AOL? Sure, I’ve got that.”
Charley watches as I fish a pen from the bottom of my bag and write my screen name on the palm of his hand. “You really like old guys, don’t you?” she asks as we walk out the door. “Sorry if I cock-blocked you. I didn’t think you really wanted to let him drive you home.”
“I didn’t. I just like the attention. He’s obviously a loser.”
She laughs, opens her car door and gets inside, leans across and unlocks the passenger door. “You know, you’re surprisingly screwed up.”
On the drive to my house, Charley plays the same Missy Elliott song over and over, the dashboard glowing her face blue as she raps along: “Ain’t no shame, ladies, do your thing / just make sure you’re ahead of the game.”
By Monday everyone knows Charley gave Will a blow job, but he won’t speak to her now and Jade hears from Ben Sargent that Will called Charley white trash.
“Men are shit,” Charley says as we smoke cigarettes behind the grocery store, huddled between the dumpsters. Jade nods in agreement and I do, too, but only for show. I stayed up late Saturday and Sunday chatting with Craig, and my head still rings from all the compliments he gave me. I’m so pretty, so hot, unbelievably sexy. Since he met me Friday night, I’m the only thing he’s thought about. He’ll do anything to see me again.
Charley says that men are shit, but really she means boys. She wipes away tears before they have a chance to fall, and I know she’s mad and that it must hurt like hell, but a part of me can’t help but think: what did she expect?
* * *
Craig is nothing like Strane. He’s a veteran, was in Desert Storm, and now works construction. He doesn’t read, didn’t go to college, and doesn’t have anything to say when I try to talk about the things I care about. The worst thing about him is how much he likes guns—not just hunting rifles but handguns. When I say I think guns are idiotic, he writes, You won’t think that when someone breaks into your bedroom in the middle of the night. Being armed will probably seem pretty smart then.
Who’s going to break into my bedroom? I shoot back. You?
Maybe.
With Craig, it’s only chatting online, which makes it ok even when he acts like a creep. I haven’t seen him since that night at the bowling alley, and I’m not in any rush to, but he says he wants to see me. He talks all the time about how he wants to take me out.
Where would we even go? I ask, like I’m stupid. Whenever the conversation veers off in a direction I don’t like, I play dumb, which means I play dumb so often, he thinks I actually am.
What do you mean, where? Craig writes. To the movies, dinner. Haven’t you ever been on a date before?
Ok, but I’m sixteen.
You could pass for eighteen.
He doesn’t understand how this works, doesn’t get that I don’t want to pass for eighteen and that I have zero interest in going to the movies as though he were a boy my own age.
The weather cools to a raw gray. The leaves change and fall, the woods turn sparse with skeletal trees. I learn things about myself: that if I limit myself to five hours of sleep, I’m too tired to care what happens around me; if I wait until dinnertime to eat anything, hunger pains drown out any other feelings. Christmas comes and goes, another new year; the TV news still screams about anthrax and war. At school, the rumors about me have long died down. My parents stop locking the cordless phone in their bedroom every night.
I keep chatting with Craig, but his compliments turn stale and the feeling he gave me when I first met him dries up. Now when we chat, all I can think about is what Strane would think of him and what Strane would think of me for spending my time talking to him.
Craig207: Can I admit something? I had a one-night stand on Saturday.
dark_vanessa: why are you telling me this?
Craig207: Because I think you should know that I thought about you the whole time.
dark_vanessa: hmmm
Craig207: I pretended she was you.
Craig207: So you still haven’t heard from that teacher?
dark_vanessa: it’s not safe for us to talk.
Craig207: You talk to me. How is that different?
dark_vanessa: you and I haven’t done anything. we’re just talking.