I grabbed the hall pass from his desk and shoved it under my armpit, because I hated touching it. Who knew where the hell that thing had been?
Instead of actually going to the bathroom, I kept walking. Straight out the back door to the student parking lot, past the parking lot monitor, who was doing a crossword puzzle. When I reached my rusted-out Volvo, I got inside and sat for a minute, trying to figure out where I was going. Then, I knew. Humming Rock Beach.
* * *
—
I threw the hall pass out the window at a red light and kept all the windows rolled down, even though it was freezing.
When I got to the seawall, Corvis was there.
“Hey,” she said, acting unsurprised to see me. She was wearing an L.L.Bean fleece-lined flannel, and the tips of her pointy, elfish ears were bright red.
“I think I knew you’d be here,” I said, sitting next to her. My coat was in my locker, and the wind went right through my cardigan.
She lit a cigarette and looked straight ahead at the ocean.
“Is Sarah Lawrence full of freaks and lesbians?” I asked.
“That’s what I’m counting on,” she said. She kind of smiled, but more at the ocean than at me.
“Why aren’t you in calculus?”
Corvis shrugged. “I already got into college,” she said, “so if I want to look at the ocean instead of going to class sometimes, I guess I can.”
Corvis continued to look straight ahead, and we both watched a giant wave break against the sand.
“I think probably you need to leave,” Corvis said. I wasn’t sure if she meant leave the seawall or leave her alone, but then she said, “College isn’t the only way.”
A pair of horseshoe crabs stumbled across the beach, struggling over the rocks.
“It’s easier for me,” she said. “I know that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m never in the Mariner,” she said. “Nobody cares what I do or who I fuck. And I’m glad.”
I looked at her sharply.
“I mean, sure, Scottie and the others call me names sometimes,” she said, “but it’s because they’re bored. I’m not the kind of person they actually care about.”
I pulled my knees to my chest, hugging myself.
Then she looked at me. Her barely-there eyebrows furrowed, and I could see in her face that someday, maybe in her thirties, she might be attractive, in an edgy sort of way. I felt certain that there was some woman in the world who would love her properly, and that she would have the ability to accept this love.
“You’re beautiful,” she said. It was not a compliment but a statement, almost like she was analyzing a piece of art. “There are places where that doesn’t work against you.”
“Whatever,” I said. I reached for one of her cigarettes and lit it. A few moments passed, and then I said, “What kinds of places?”
Corvis shrugged again. She looked away, at the horseshoe crabs. One planted itself on top of a tangle of seaweed; the other was still moving toward the water. “You’ll find them, if you want it enough.”
“Corvis?”
“Yeah?”
“Why were you at the gynecologist that day?”
“Oh,” Corvis said. “Well, I got a Ben Wa ball stuck in my vagina.”
“A Ben Wa ball?”
“They’re like these little balls that make your Kegel muscles—”
“No, I know,” I said. “But . . . stuck?”
“Totally,” she said.
I didn’t know what to say. This was not the kind of thing that I would admit.
“I always pee when I laugh too hard,” she said. “I thought they would help, but then . . .”
“What did you say?” I asked. “I mean, to the doctor.”
“That I got a Ben Wa ball stuck up my vagina.”
This completely shocked me. But then again, knowing Corvis, not really.
“What else would I say?”
I pictured her buying them, the balls, and I couldn’t believe her bravery. We didn’t have a sex shop, not in Hopuonk, not even anywhere but Boston. Did she go by herself? Did Kristen go with her for moral support? If so, did Kristen get them too?
I started laughing, thinking about Corvis going into the sex store and asking the person behind the desk for exactly what she wanted and explaining exactly why.
“Stop laughing!” she cried. “You’re going to make me pee!”
Susan would never go to a sex shop with me, and I would never ask her to, even just to see what kinds of things they sold.
Suddenly, I had a realization: Susan wasn’t funny. Not like Corvis.
I wouldn’t have much more time with Corvis, to make it right, to be her friend again, to know her.
“We could do something crazy,” I said. “You know, skip more than just math. Drive to Provincetown.”
My voice sounded weak, like I was joking.
“I don’t have bail money,” Corvis said. “I don’t even have tattoo money.”
“What, are you scared?” I said.
Corvis shot me a look and stood, brushing the sand off the butt of her frayed blue jeans.
“Are you?” she asked.
And then she was gone. She left her calculus textbook behind on the seawall. She didn’t need it anymore.
The Dairy Queen
On December 14th, Susan’s dad had a heart attack while he was running on the treadmill in his basement.
It was a school night, and Brad was at my house when the phone rang, an unusual circumstance, because we usually hung out at his house or in his car. It was almost one o’clock in the morning, and we were sitting on the end of my bed, looking at Stephanie Tanner through the glass of her fish tank. I was getting ready to feed her while Brad rubbed a palm hopefully up and down my thigh.
“Come over,” Susan said when I answered. Her voice was thick. “Now.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“Come over,” she said again. “My dad died.” And then she hung up.
I held the phone next to my ear for almost a full minute. I wasn’t crying, but I was definitely starting to hyperventilate.
“What?” Brad asked. “What happened?”
I dropped the phone slowly, letting it hang on the cord.