Sam Cruz's Infallible Guide to Getting Girls (9 page)

Chapter eighteen

Thongs itch. It takes me forever to get the stupid eyeliner on properly and I don’t always feel like primping my hair to look like I just stepped out of a salon.

Guess the thrill is wearing thin. Or more accurately, the upkeep is.

I really enjoyed everything about my makeover at first. It was fun to play with makeup and clothes, I loved the looks I got, and my hookups have been pretty cool.

But it’s complicated some parts of my life too. Like most of my classes are honors level. Nerd city. Which is fine, because I’m a geek and our tribes get along just fine. We are equals on an intellectual playing field.

But now, the guys in my classes don’t know what to do with me. Their already hampered social awkwardness has soared off the charts, which is seriously impinging on my ability to work with them in groups.

Instead of a stimulating exchange of ideas, they grunt and lurch around me like a bunch of zombies with the occasional blatant nudge to each other.

Sigh. I’m also seriously annoyed because I’ve had to deal with Jeremy making cutting comments about “sellouts” all through Civics class since I’ve skipped a couple meetings of our city-wide teen environmental club.

Even though I’m totally committed to a better world for people and animals alike, I’m not yet ready to sit in the same room with him and Leslie while I fight for it. It’s going to take time. As I can’t tell him that, or, well, won’t, I’m having to endure his insults.

It’s more than just name-calling though. He’s acting like I’m some whore spreading my poxied wares on the desk.

Meanwhile, I’ve got his douchebag friend Max trying to put the moves on me. Figures he’d be the one geek to rise to the challenge. I think I pulled a muscle brushing off old Octo-arms and his “accidental” groping.

And I don’t want the other guys at my school who have suddenly noticed me. I may be new and shiny but they’re still gross. They don’t seem to get that I didn’t get a lobotomy and haven’t suddenly forgotten years of stupid nicknames and basic ignoring.

I thought that getting noticed for all the right reasons would improve my life. That being at the top of the desirability food chain was the way to go.

Actual field experience is proving quite different.

I think that peacocks have the right idea. They’re born with a beautiful plumage that requires no upkeep. Just whip it out, shake your tail feather, and you’re good to go. Plus, it’s the male that has to do all the work attracting the female to his lovely feathers, which I think is brilliant.

If only society worked that way.

All I want to do is go home, put on some sweats, and eat a bag of chips. But that’s the first step of a slippery slope ending in me at three hundred pounds and hoarding animals, so I don’t.

Instead, I track Sam down and see if he wants me to bring over Chinese. He’s just coming out of his Marketing class and looks pretty annoyed himself.

Maybe we can work off a little steam together.

I extend my offer.

His eyes light up. “Ginger beef, maybe a little Wii? I’m in.”

Why is he being so boneheaded about this?

Once again it’s going to be up to me to do everything. Because it’s not like he doesn’t want to. It’s just before and after that he acts like a baby. The “during” he’s very fine indeed.

I feed him first, hoping that will jolly him into a good mood.

He’s laughing and kidding around, which is a positive sign. Then he breaks out the Wii.

I have a moment of hope when the batteries are dead but he assures me he has more in the kitchen. Off he trots.

Fine. I undo the top couple buttons on my shirt and watch him return to the room with a feline smile.

“Not tonight, I have a headache,” he grouses.

“Come on. These are supposed to be your peak sexual years. What’s your deal?”

“No deal.” He motions at my shirt, which is practically all undone now. “You’re just being presumptuous.”

Which sounds so old man I can’t even believe it’s coming out of his mouth.

I shrug it off. “Sorry. Didn’t realize this was friend time.”

He accepts my apology as I snap open the final button. Yeah, I’m a stinker.

“It’s just, it might be nice to hang out. Talk,” he says.

I fix him with my most winning smile. “Or, we could rub up against each other and see where friction takes us.”

The shirt hangs open. He struggles with the decision for about a second.

“Definitely not friend time,” he concedes.

This is what I’m talking about.

I whip off my shirt and toss it at him.

Sam lunges for me as I shriek with laughter and take off for his bedroom.

Much better.

Chapter nineteen

It’s mad bliss until I come back from the bathroom afterward and find…nothing. I chuck the pillow Ally was using across the room.

Horrified, I realize I’m starting to act like a girl. I need to get past this and get my ‘nads back. No way am I talking to Ian. So I head over to Etienne’s for some pure dog run down like “yo, man, good score” to get my head back in the game.

Desperate times.

No help there, though, because he gets stuck at the part where Ally and I got it on and doesn’t move forward.

“I didn’t think hot jungle sex was possible with that chick,” he says, playing defense with his foosball players on the table in his basement. “Maybe I should revisit that land. The view was excellent.”

He goes for a goal. “It didn’t actually take dark club lights or getting smashed to make the vista sexy. Impressive.”

I block his play. “You’re not visiting any land where I’m already on vacation. There are rules.”

Etienne ignores me. “A good panorama both directions. Coming and going. Is our friendship worth that sacrifice?”

“Maybe I should check out Clarissaland,” I retort. “It has such lush peaks and valleys.”

I score.

Etienne pulls the ball out of his net. “Fine. I will holiday elsewhere. But when this ends, I’m on the next plane.”

“Don’t pack anytime soon,” I warn him. I overshoot the ball and it flies off the table.

It’s time for me to take my own advice. I’ve got to own it and control it. Ally must fall back into being my friend and nothing else.

Unless I decide otherwise.

I lay low for a few days until the weekend, when I call her cell. I can hear her typing as she speaks and I know I’ve only got about a minute before she zones out totally into her screen.

“Wes Anderson double bill at seven. I switched shifts so we could go.” Part of what’s great about our friendship is always having a movie buddy around. We are cinema fiends.

“Can’t,” she says. “I’m busy.”

Three guesses what that means and the first two don’t count.

She hangs up.

Irritated, I toss the phone on the couch.

Ally and I have a pattern to our friendship. Since I’ve always been the one with a busier lifestyle (her activism and lame boyfriend not counting), I’ve been the one to mostly direct the action.

This new version of her calling the shots is not working for me.

I have to make a major play to school her back into the place she belongs. Which tonight means going to the movies with me. She can fool around after the double bill.

Three hours later, I’m outside her house looking furtively around. It’s evening, though, and already dark, and there’s nobody else there.

I’ve got my phone pressed up to my ear. “I’ll give you twenty,” I tell Etienne, on the other end. I listen to his extortionist response. “Fifty and fuck you too. Call now.”

I hang up and sneak in the shadows to under Ally’s open kitchen window. I hear the phone ring. Her parents left to shop for a new TV earlier, so I know Ally has to answer it. She hates letting a phone ring.

“Coming,” I hear her call out in a singsong voice that is very un-Ally.

From my hiding place, I hear her shuffle into the kitchen to answer the phone.

“Hello? Hi, Etienne. No, Sam isn’t here.”

I sneak away quietly to her front door where I pick up a small, white bag with a pharmacy logo on the side.

I rap gently on the door and wait. A moment later, some guy in his early 20’s with stereotypical blond, preppy looks opens it.

What a knob.

I hold up the bag and say cheerfully “Delivery.”

“Oh, one sec.” Knob looks back toward the kitchen where Ally is.

I have to move fast to keep him from calling out to her. “All paid for,” I hurriedly assure him. “Here.”

I hand over the bag.

“I know it’s none of my business, but good luck,” I say.

“Huh?” He asks in his best caveman impersonation.

Okay, that’s not fair. I don’t even know the guy. He might have a way better impersonation I haven’t seen yet.

I indicate the bag. “The ovulation thermometer.” Yes, it’s a stretch, but the whole teen mom thing has become a phenomenon so maybe he’ll figure Ally really wants on the cover of
People
.

And if that doesn’t work— “Just make sure she uses the herpes cream after she inserts the thermometer and takes the reading. Don’t want the fiery buggers to ruin anything.”

I’d laugh at the look of terror on his face but I’m supposedly a professional so I stay poker-faced.

That oughta take care of him.

I dash down the stairs, smug, and then get out of sight.

I jam myself into the perfect hiding spot in the bushes and peer out to watch Ally join knob boy at the door.

She puts her arms around his waist. He flees, still holding the bag, which he drops in her yard.

“Adam?” she calls out after him, in this high, girly voice.

What a pussy. Really I’ve done her a favor because if he’s going to judge her on the basis of herpes, then he’s not the guy for her.

It would have been a great ending except then I blow it by stepping on the driest twig in history. Its snap is deafening.

Standing still doesn’t cut it because Ally comes out to investigate. Neither does playing it cool and pretending to just be passing by.

“Hey,” I say with utter nonchalance.

“You’re unbelievable,” she accuses.

“Told you not to bring them home,” I remind her. “I’m just doing my mentorly duty.”

“You think this is a joke?”

“He was.” I wiggle my pinkie finger meaningfully. “But mostly I think you blew me off.”

Her eyes narrow as she takes in my irritated expression.

“No way,” she says. “You don’t get to be mad. I have at least another ten years of full-on bad behavior before you come close to enduring what I did.”

“Meaning?”

“Always being late to whatever we’ve planned, hitting up girls while hanging out with me. Sound familiar?”

She may have a point. However, she’s missing the bigger issue. “I just felt like hanging out with you tonight.”

“So what I wanted doesn’t matter?” she levels.

“It does.”

She shakes her head at me. “All these years, you’ve just assumed I’ll be around whenever you want.”

“You have been around and I thought it was because you wanted to be.”

“Well, tonight, I wasn’t. But that didn’t stop you, did it?”

“What do you want me to say? I’m sorry, okay.”

“I’ve heard that before. I’m not going to be taken for granted anymore. By anyone.”

“I’m not. You’re blowing this way out of proportion. You PMSing?”

She shoots me one last glower. “I’m going.”

Ally pivots on her heel and marches back toward her house.

This feels bad. Like I better fix this. And now.

I race after her and grab her arm.

“Don’t. You’re right. I’ve never really had to share you with anyone. Not even Jeremy. Which doesn’t say much for him but—”

“Do you have a point?” she asks coldly.

“I get that this is a new chapter in your life. That there are new boundaries. And I’m going to respect them. I mean it. You’re showing some crazy backbone and deserve props for that. So I’m going to be the model best friend.”

Her angry expression softens. “Thank you.”

The next several days, I’m the picture of supportive. Not that there’s much to be supportive about. Mostly it’s us walking home together and chatting about school. It’s not like we’re still in a fight but it’s not like we’re not either.

If she’s going out and pulling guys, she’s not mentioning it and I’m not asking. That said, I’m more than a bit surprised when on my way back from my pickup game, I run into her peering into the window of a hip, upscale sex store.

“You dirty, dirty girl,” I murmur in her ear.

She jumps, startled. “Ever been inside?”

“Nope.”

“We should totally enter. See what it’s like,” she says.

Ally has this thing about checking out new and uncharted places. The weirdest so far was when she made us go to a funeral home open house and forced me to take the grand tour, pretending to be siblings looking for our grandparents’ final resting box. Although I do use the free mug they gave out.

“Try to act mature. They may not like high schoolers in there,” she orders.

“Yeah. Automatically assume I’ll be the problem.”

She “bow chicka wow wows” at me.

I ignore her and hold the door open.

A friendly young salesclerk smiles at us. “Let me know if you have any questions about our products,” she says.

Aside from the more obvious items, it’s hard to tell what anything is for. There are a lot of oddly shaped things. Like modern sculpture odd.

Ally picks up a device that looks like an electric razor body with an oval on one end. It’s attached to a hand pump. “Is this for sex or torture?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty—” I begin.

“Fuckenstein’s lab,” we both finish.

We try to look cool despite the fact that we find this hilarious.

“Igor,” Ally says in a horrible Eastern European accent, waving the thing at me, “you take and get brains.”

I nod and bob as I accept it. “Yessss, master. Braiiinnnns.” I squeeze the pump.

We’re shaking with silent laughter when we hear the salesclerk say, “It’s a vibrating clitoral pump.”

“Pump? Are you supposed to milk it?” I ask.

Ally doubles over in a “coughing” fit.

“It enhances the size of your clitoris.” The salesclerk seems a little less friendly as she takes the device from me and places it on the shelf before walking away.

Ally is starting to make donkey braying noises as she gasps for air so I hustle her to another area of the store.

It takes a minute but she gets herself calmed down.

We walk past a wall filled with large, colorful vibrators.

I shrug. “Eh.”

Ally casually reaches for a florescent pink one. She turns it on. It begins to spin.

I pick up a large black one.

“Sure, Shaft,” she teases.

Ally gets into martial arts stance and with one hand outstretched, beckons me forward.

“Be serious,” I say.

She clucks at me.

No way. I turn on my vibrator and assume my own stance. “Bring it.”

“I’ll bring it and then I’ll show it to you, then I’ll take it away and then I’ll bring it again. And I’ll rub it under your nose and then I’ll take it and put it in my pocket.”

“You done?”

She grins and the vibrator battle is on.

The vibrators spin and clash.

Ally does a fancy spin and comes back to hit my Iron Manny. It’s the name on the tag. Not some weird nickname I gave it.

The battle intensifies with both of us mock deadly and now making light saber swooshing noises.

“‘Luke, I am your father,’” she says.

“You realize he never actually said that, right?”

“Yeah, but everyone thinks he did so it counts,” she tells me.

More light sabering.

I raise my vibrator ready to pretend cut her hand off and end this duel. Ally counters with a sharp smack that causes my formerly rigid vibrator to dangle limply in my hand.

“Cockblocked!” she crows, triumphant.

Pleased, Ally turns off her vibrator, winks at me, and places it back on the wall, before heading for the books.

This shaggy college geek stares after her, practically drooling. “Epic adoration,” he sighs.

“What?”

He gives me a sharp look. Like I’m stupid. “Hot and digs
Star Wars
? What did you do to get so lucky?”

“She’s just a friend,” I explain.

I glance over at her, standing before an open book on a rack and staring at it with horrified fascination. She sees me looking, points to the book, then puts both her hands to her face and mimes the
Home Alone
scream.

She’s lit up with laughter and silliness and in that moment she’s completely fabulous.

Geekboy watches me for a minute. “Denial fail.”

I telepathically shoot him the finger and go join Ally as she exits the store.

It’s a no brainer that you don’t invite a guy you’ve slept with into a sex store without ulterior motives. We both know where this is headed but I’m cool with it since I’m the one calling the shots. I’ve enjoyed our friend time and am now prepared to enjoy having my world rocked.

“Your place or mine?” I ask, ultra chill.

Ally freezes. “Oh. No. I have to go…Crap. I should have thought it would seem—”

“Nope. My bad. I’ve got stuff to do tonight anyway.”

I stride off feeling like a loser
and
a douchebag, which is pretty impressive.

I can feel Ally staring after me so I glance back to toss a casual wave over my shoulder.

But she’s gone.