Shrimp. Part 4

Fernando put up the Talk to the Hand gesture. He said, "Cheer up. We're going to stop by the nursing home on the way home. Sugar Pie can't wait until after church tomorrow morning for her doughnut."

79.***

Chapter 10

The truth is, is, I've been kinda d.o.g.g.i.n' Sugar Pie since I got back from NYC. I've been going to the nursing home my usual ten hours a week for community service, and while I always pop my head in to say hi, I haven't been hanging out with her like I used to do. I haven't been logging extra hours in her room playing gin rummy or begging her to read my tarot cards or listening to her explain about Vicki's many different personalities (and quite complicated love life) on I've been kinda d.o.g.g.i.n' Sugar Pie since I got back from NYC. I've been going to the nursing home my usual ten hours a week for community service, and while I always pop my head in to say hi, I haven't been hanging out with her like I used to do. I haven't been logging extra hours in her room playing gin rummy or begging her to read my tarot cards or listening to her explain about Vicki's many different personalities (and quite complicated love life) on One Life to Live. One Life to Live. Not that hanging with Sugar Pie isn't more fun and interesting than changing linens and reading Harry-Potter books aloud to the old folks more HP-obsessed than my little brother, but there's just something about this time of year that makes me remember the secret Sugar Pie and I share: an abortion in our pasts. Also Sugar Pie's got true love now. She doesn't need me ruining her good time. Not that hanging with Sugar Pie isn't more fun and interesting than changing linens and reading Harry-Potter books aloud to the old folks more HP-obsessed than my little brother, but there's just something about this time of year that makes me remember the secret Sugar Pie and I share: an abortion in our pasts. Also Sugar Pie's got true love now. She doesn't need me ruining her good time.

Much as I am loving this San Francisco fall, I can't help but remember that this time last year I was pregnant and panicked back at boarding school in New England. I was six weeks along before I finally got up the guts to call Frank real-dad and ask him to wire me the money I needed, since Justin was no help and it's not like I had any friends at that school. I can't help but remember that this time last year I was throwing up between cla.s.s periods and sweating bullets in my bed at night, wondering what to do, feeling completely alone and desperate. I guess part of me can look 80.back now and say, Huh, a year has gone by, and look how much better my life is now, look how I've changed and look how many great people I have in my life now. Huh, a year has gone by, and look how much better my life is now, look how I've changed and look how many great people I have in my life now. Another part of me, more buried but that seems to come out most when I see Sugar Pie, who was the first friend I made after coming home to San Francisco, that part of me thinks, Another part of me, more buried but that seems to come out most when I see Sugar Pie, who was the first friend I made after coming home to San Francisco, that part of me thinks, Huh, if things had gone differently, I might be living in some halfway house for teenage mothers now, cradling a small baby and wondering was that baby really smiling at me, the mommy, or was it just gas in its tummy. Huh, if things had gone differently, I might be living in some halfway house for teenage mothers now, cradling a small baby and wondering was that baby really smiling at me, the mommy, or was it just gas in its tummy.

Maybe this hurt will go away when fall pa.s.ses, when the anniversary of the A-date is gone by. I wonder if this is a pain I will feel every year, if every year I will imagine a photo alb.u.m of what might have been that baby's life: This is how my baby would have looked trying to blow out the candle on its first birthday cake, or this is the baby waving from the school bus on the first day of elementary school. Maybe the year will come when I don't remember at all, and I don't know if that will be a good or a bad thing.

It doesn't help that Sugar Pie has fallen completely in love with Fernando's criminally adorable one-year-old granddaughter, she of the big black eyes on cinnamon skin and cascade of black ringlets. You can't go into Sugar Pie's room anymore and not find his granddaughter toddling around the s.p.a.ce, pulling out dresser drawers or handing you Pat the Bunny Pat the Bunny to read to her again. If not for that clinic visit I could now be a mother to a baby who would be just a few months younger than Fernando's granddaughter. to read to her again. If not for that clinic visit I could now be a mother to a baby who would be just a few months younger than Fernando's granddaughter.

I really do love babies. I love the way their heads of soft hair smell, I love the way they grab on to your fingers, I love when they laugh when you play peekaboo with them.

81.I especially love when they start screaming and you can return them to their mommies and then go out for a cappuccino--and if the mommies are like Nancy, they then hand off the crying baby to a nanny, to be returned only when baby is being cute again. But tonight I couldn't--or wouldn't--focus on the baby playing in Sugar Pie's room, playing cute for Sugar Pie, Alexei, Fernando, and her mommy, Fernando's daughter. Instead I chose to sit at the corner of the room, licking the cream from the sides of my Krispy Kreme doughnut and staring out the window into the night sky. I was reminded of last year, alone at night in that boarding school bed, fighting back insane food cravings and mood swings and annoying tears. I didn't realize actual tears were visible on my face until Sugar Pie asked, "Baby, are you alright?" Nothing gets by that woman. 'Allergies," I told her.

The beautiful cafe au lait skin on her face frowned slightly. "Mmm-hmm," she said.

"I don't know why you live here," I told her, kinda curt but wanting to change the subject. Sugar Pie has already corrected me that she lives in an a.s.sisted-living facility, not a nursing home, thank you very much, but whatever it is, it's still an inst.i.tution that smells like a hospital infirmary situated in an ancient moldy Victorian haunted house, like the smell of Clorox and pee and mantelpieces that haven't been dusted in ages.

When I am an old person I hope that if I live in a home like Sugar Pie's that I will also have a premium satellite TV system. Or maybe Shrimp and I will be back together by then and when we look at each other, all gray hair and hunched bodies and wrinkled skin, we'll think, Wow, you Wow, you 82.look as awesome as the day I first knew I loved you, and not, and not, Whoa, what the h.e.l.l happened to you? Whoa, what the h.e.l.l happened to you?

"Maybe I won't be here much longer," Sugar Pie said. For an old person, she looks d.a.m.n good: Her face has some wrinkles that I like to think of as treasure maps to her past, but her skin has a rich, deep color, glowing now from the true love she waited a lifetime to come to her.

Now I was more depressed. Was Sugar Pie saying maybe she would die soon? No, that wasn't possible. She's in reasonably decent health except for the dialysis treatments she has three days a week because of her bad kidneys, and the only reason she moved into "a.s.sisted living" was because she doesn't have her own family to take care of her on the days she has dialysis. But on her nondialysis days she's pretty chipper--at least chipper enough to be carrying on a love connection with Fernando (hookup courtesy of moi; moi; I know how to match two true loves), who is at least ten years (cough) her junior. Their May-December romance has lasted through the summer and into fall, and it's officially out of the closet, too--grandchildren jumping on the bed and an official dinner at a fancy restaurant with Sid and Nancy and everythang. I know how to match two true loves), who is at least ten years (cough) her junior. Their May-December romance has lasted through the summer and into fall, and it's officially out of the closet, too--grandchildren jumping on the bed and an official dinner at a fancy restaurant with Sid and Nancy and everythang.

"Something you want to talk about?" Sugar Pie asked me.

"I can't talk to you with all these people around," I whined.

"Isn't somebody just a little self-absorbed?" Sugar Pie said. "If you haven't noticed, everyone else in this room is focused on the baby and the doughnuts and Fantasy Island Fantasy Island on TV Land. You've got something to say, say it. Your moody-girl self is ruining my good time and all these nice people visiting." on TV Land. You've got something to say, say it. Your moody-girl self is ruining my good time and all these nice people visiting."

83.I paused. "The first anniversary of...um...you know is coming up."

"And?" Sugar Pie said.

'And?" I repeated. 'And I don't know. Just b.u.mming me out is all."

Sugar Pie pointed to the TV bolted to the corner wall in her room, where the little guy called Tattoo was announcing, "Da plane, Boss, da plane!" Sugar Pie said, "Maybe what's b.u.mming you out is there's a certain other little guy, one you've got to tell what happened. Because if you're wanting that boy you claim is your true love back in your life, you know that's what you've got to do."

"You're the psychic. Is it gonna go okay if I do?"

"No promises, baby. No promises."

"I'm worried," I whispered. Not about the fact of Shrimp knowing about the A-date so much as that for all the time we were going out before, I never mentioned this kinda important piece of information about what had happened to me soon before meeting him. Well, also: guys are just weird about that stuff.

Sugar Pie said, "It's a hurdle to get over, an important one, but not one that should come between you two in the end. This is when you have to remember that some people have no feet."

I looked down at my platform thong sandals, with toe-ringed, black-nail-polished feet. Say what? Call it my blond moment, but it took me a minute to realize what Sugar Pie was telling me: When life deals you lemons, don't make lemonade--get some perspective. BFD.

84.***

Chapter 11

The thing about the new peace is that it's actually harder than the old war. Trying to keep my cool with Nancy, now that she's chasing me with college applications (though I'm on record as not wanting to go) or waking me up in the mornings to ask if I want to go to yoga with her (where the Zen teacher man at her yoga studio has a slight b.o.n.e.r under his shorts half the time--very distracting), is much harder than the old system. Before I had no hesitation to just scream, "Get out of my face!" and she had no hesitation to scream back, "AHHH!" and then slam a door in my face, after which we could both ignore each other and go about our days, business as usual. In the new regime we're both bound by an unspoken but implicit code to at least try. the new peace is that it's actually harder than the old war. Trying to keep my cool with Nancy, now that she's chasing me with college applications (though I'm on record as not wanting to go) or waking me up in the mornings to ask if I want to go to yoga with her (where the Zen teacher man at her yoga studio has a slight b.o.n.e.r under his shorts half the time--very distracting), is much harder than the old system. Before I had no hesitation to just scream, "Get out of my face!" and she had no hesitation to scream back, "AHHH!" and then slam a door in my face, after which we could both ignore each other and go about our days, business as usual. In the new regime we're both bound by an unspoken but implicit code to at least try.

So I can't be held accountable that she chose to push our boundaries on my sleep-in Sunday morning, post-Krispy Kreme sugar high and A-date blues low.

"Wake up, honey!" was all she said, very tender, in my ear. I felt her fingers running through my hair and ma.s.saging my scalp. But I was startled awake and I muttered, "Get away from me." I brushed her hand from my head, then banged my pillow back into a comfortable position, keeping my eyes closed so I could fall back asleep without the bright morning light waking me further.

She murmured, in that particular Nancy way of hers that grates most when my inner b.i.t.c.h is aching to be let 85.loose, "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

My eyes popped open to see her lemon face standing over me. "SOMEONE," I hissed, "HASN'T EVEN WOKEN UP YET. G.o.d, WHAT IS YOUR ANEURYSM? CAN'T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?"

She rolled her eyes and did the Nancy Cla.s.sic- a shoulder shrug combined with an audible sigh that could register on the Richter scale. "Someone named Helen--interesting haircut--is waiting for you downstairs. Get up, Miss Teenage Mood Swings." My eyes fluttered back closed. "NOW!" Her shrill p.r.o.nouncement was probably heard all the way over in Ocean Beach. This time she kicked the wood frame on my futon bed. So much for Nice Mommy Wakey.

My morning did not improve after I'd brushed my teeth and was heading downstairs still wearing my cowgirl flannel pj's, only to trip on a toy machine gun of Josh's lying on the hallway floor. Now I understood why toy guns supposedly promote violence in children: I was ready to kill Josh. "f.u.c.k!" I screamed at the sharp shooting pain in my foot. Sid-dad emerged from my parents' bedroom, next to where I was standing. He was wearing his red silk smoking jacket, which I do appreciate for its supreme style, even if it was the wrong time of day and I've never seen him light a cigar before his evening martini. "Cupcake," Sid-dad said, and I admit, for a sec my mood started to improve, "I'm not appreciating the profane language on a Sunday morning, and I am especially not appreciating hearing you scream at your mother all the way from your bedroom. Show some G.o.dd.a.m.n respect. Got it?" I almost protested but my foot hurt like a m.o.f.o and I could tell from Sid-dad's face that he 86.wasn't gonna be hearing it. I nodded and mumbled, "Got it." And then he slammed his bedroom door in my face!

Dag, what did I I do? do?

So I was very on the warpath by the time I made it downstairs to find Helen sitting in the living room with the AUTUMN wench. This had to be seriously the worst Sunday morning ever, like, if I had a Do Over card this would be the morning I would choose to use it. I'd go back to sleep and be awoken by the puppy Nancy won't let me get licking my face, psycho Leila would be back in the kitchen making blueberry pancakes, and Sid and Nancy and the little monsters would already be at the zoo or something. I would have the whole house to myself to blast Iggy Pop and the Beastie Boys and j.a.panese superpop like Puffy Ami Yumi, and I would dance around the house wearing just my boy brief undies and a tank top, like Tom Cruise in Risky Business, Risky Business, but with a much better soundtrack. but with a much better soundtrack.

'That crib you live in," Helen teased, sitting on the living room chair surrounded by gazillion-dollar artwork and brocade tapestry formations up the wazoo.

"Don't give me s.h.i.t about it," I spat back. This embarra.s.sing House Beautiful is the reason I've yet to invite Helen over--which of course begged the question, What was she doing here, and daring to tote along the Autumn wench, who was sitting next to Helen sporting that big-tooth smile, radiating sunshine when all I could feel was Sunday morning el nino? el nino?

Helen turned to Autumn. "Our CC is quite the gracious hostess, too, as you can see. Phat crib and a lady to boot." Helen kicked her bright Converse All Stars upward from her sitting position, just for the h.e.l.l of it. She and Autumn, both 87.dressed in thrift-store punk threads, did look funny sitting on that plush red sofa imported from France. For the first time I realized how I must appear in this house: total clash effect yet somehow belonging and cozy, too.

"So what's the deal?" I asked.

Helen p.r.o.nounced, "We've decided to take you on an adventure for the day. Your mom already told us you're not doing anything today, and according to your dad--who has quite the sartorial flair for smoking jackets--you historically never even bother to fake doing homework on Sundays. So your mom said so long as you're home by eight, you can come with."

Hmm, which part to explain to Helen first: that I'd just as soon be in a bad mood all day since I'm already in one now and I don't need some cheerful girly adventure package to help that sitch, or that NO WAY am I hanging with the Autumn wench. She can just take her dreadlocked self outta this house and go off wherever, I don't care, but get outta my s.p.a.ce. Also, what is sartorial! sartorial!

To my silence, Helen added, "Your mom also said she got you a new espresso machine for your birthday, so I'm thinking you could start off our adventure of a day by pulling us a couple morning brews." Helen grabbed my hand and led me away from the living room, while Autumn remained seated.

When we reached the kitchen I told Helen, "Thanks for thinking of me, but I am not hanging out with that girl. I don't like her."

"How do you know? You didn't even talk to her at the party last night. She's, like, the coolest." Helen looked over the immaculate kitchen with the state-of-the-art appliances and the gla.s.s doors leading to an outdoor deck overlooking 88.San Francis...o...b..y. "Wow, this kitchen might be bigger than my whole house."

I pointed my index finger and shook my head at Helen, giving her the Don't Start with Me look. I said, 'Autumn's also the girl who fooled around with Shrimp last summer."

"So what? I made out with him once in eighth grade. You oughta know better than anybody, that boy just has something about him. Shrimp is just like a delicacy that every girl should get to sample once in her lifetime, at least on some level. But I think all are agreed that you're the girl who's the permanent fixture in his life."

I'm a sucker; that last line did b.u.t.ter me up a little.

But geez Louise, I had no idea Shrimp was such a s.l.u.t.

Helen must have sensed a softening of my resolve because she said, 'Anyway that business with Shrimp and Autumn last summer, that was one night, and it was nothing! She doesn't even like boys that way, really. So just deal. You are better than that."

Now I was almost officially Parkay. I pulled the Hershey's milk from the Sub-Z fridge to make the Cyd Charisse Special, capps with foamed choc milk, and I turned on the espresso machine to get it primed. I said, "I'm not sure quite what you mean by that."

Helen found the Peet's Coffee in the freezer (as Java the Hut beans are banned in this household until Shrimp has lifted his embargo on me) and she handed the bag over to me. "It means," she said, "I think you are better than being some lame-a.s.s chick who is threatened by other girls and thinks of them as rivals rather than friends. It means, I challenge you to make friends with Autumn."

Ash was sitting at the breakfast-nook table eating a 89.bowl of Cheerios and dipping a Barbie's head into the milk, then swirling the blond tresses around the bowl. "You said lame-a.s.s!" lame-a.s.s!" Ash said. "Good one." Ash's eyes appraised Helen, starting from the star-spangled high-top Chucks on Helen's feet to Helen's red-and-blue plaid bell-bottom pants and up to her white T-shirt picturing curvaceous Lynda Carter in her patriotic but impractically skimpy Wonder Woman bathing suit uniform. Ash's appraisal ended at Helen's shaved head of black hair that had grown to about two centimeters. Ash said to Helen, "What are you?" Ash said. "Good one." Ash's eyes appraised Helen, starting from the star-spangled high-top Chucks on Helen's feet to Helen's red-and-blue plaid bell-bottom pants and up to her white T-shirt picturing curvaceous Lynda Carter in her patriotic but impractically skimpy Wonder Woman bathing suit uniform. Ash's appraisal ended at Helen's shaved head of black hair that had grown to about two centimeters. Ash said to Helen, "What are you?"

Helen's eyes squinted as she inspected the Barbie hair twirl. She said, "What do you think I am?"

Ash said, "I don't know, but it looks like there used to be a hand colored on your almost-bald head."

"Yeah, copper hand is hard to dye out, turns out. And I'm a Helen. CC's friend."

"Ha ha!" Ash laughed. She almost choked on her Cheerios.

Helen looked toward me, confused. I explained, "She's never seen an actual friend of mine that wasn't a boyfriend in this house before."

Ash got up from her chair and went over to Helen. It's cute; Ash and Helen both have the same body type--short and stocky, like round teddy bears. What wasn't so cute was that Ash then pinched Helen's pudgy stomach, as if she had to prove to herself that her sister had an actual in-the-flesh friend in the house. Ash promoted her voice to a scream for the benefit of our brother, Josh, playing a video game in the family room next to the kitchen. "JOSH! COME SEE! CYD CHARISSE HAS SOME PRACTICALLY BALD, PIERCED FRIEND HERE WHO'S A GIRL!"

90.***

Chapter 12

The s.e.xual politics of the Shrimp crowd turn out to be quite complicated. If I were a private investigator creating a flowchart attempting to ill.u.s.trate their love connections, my head might possibly explode. of the Shrimp crowd turn out to be quite complicated. If I were a private investigator creating a flowchart attempting to ill.u.s.trate their love connections, my head might possibly explode.

Start with Shrimp and me. Broke up. There's me with the pseudo-crush on Wallace, and then there's Shrimp with the rebound one-night almost-stand with Autumn (as in no penetration--a minor technicality but an important one, as it allows me to at least consider Helen's challenge to become Autumn's friend). Now I've found out that Wallace used to date one of Helen's older sisters before settling down with Delia, who reportedly once had a dalliance with surfer dude Arran a.k.a. Aryan, who has a crush on Autumn--completely ignoring Helen's crush on him, because he's so shallow he doesn't even notice if a girl bigger than size six has it for him--while Autumn has the same kind of crush on Helen that I have on Wallace: totally benign and sweet and understood to have no basis in a reality hookup.

If I learned all that just on the bus over to Haight Street, I shuddered to think of all the s.e.xual histories I would discover should Helen, Autumn, and I actually hang out longer than a day. By the time we hit Amoeba Records, I considered it a miracle the whole Ocean Beach crowd at Java the Hut isn't one ma.s.s STD invasion.

91.One of my favorite noises in the world is the rapid-fire sound of customers browsing CDs at Amoeba Records, a rhythmic sound throughout the huge used record shop that almost sounds like it comes from an automated machine: clickclickclickclick. clickclickclickclick. Over this noise Autumn was explaining to me about her new vow of celibacy. She's not dating and she's not looking--she's just trying to have fun her senior year. Next year she'll get back in the game, when hopefully she'll be going to Cal, if she gets accepted, which she surely will because she's this brainiac who could be the poster girl for the dream candidate at the Berkeley Admissions Office-, part African-American, part Vietnamese, part Irish and German, and a lesbian. But for now, Autumn says, she can't find a high school girl she's attracted to who will actually admit to being gay, and she's tired of hanging out with the surfer dudes because they're all, except for Shrimp and Wallace, basic s.e.xist pigs who let her surf with them even though behind her back they snicker that chicks aren't strong enough to ride the harsh Ocean Beach current. And the reason they let her surf their waves with them is the remote fantasy that said permission will somehow allow them later access to some girl-girl action. Boys truly are idiots. Over this noise Autumn was explaining to me about her new vow of celibacy. She's not dating and she's not looking--she's just trying to have fun her senior year. Next year she'll get back in the game, when hopefully she'll be going to Cal, if she gets accepted, which she surely will because she's this brainiac who could be the poster girl for the dream candidate at the Berkeley Admissions Office-, part African-American, part Vietnamese, part Irish and German, and a lesbian. But for now, Autumn says, she can't find a high school girl she's attracted to who will actually admit to being gay, and she's tired of hanging out with the surfer dudes because they're all, except for Shrimp and Wallace, basic s.e.xist pigs who let her surf with them even though behind her back they snicker that chicks aren't strong enough to ride the harsh Ocean Beach current. And the reason they let her surf their waves with them is the remote fantasy that said permission will somehow allow them later access to some girl-girl action. Boys truly are idiots.

Helen was trading in some CDs in another part of the store so I asked Autumn, "But what about Helen? Why don't you date her?"

"She claims not to have decided but I am here to tell you--she's not gay. She might be bi a little, but I'm pretty sure her very few girl-kissing adventures have been mostly for the benefit of making her mother crazy. I mean, have you seen Helen with the Irish soccer guys?" We looked up 92.to see Helen flirting with the sales guy at the trade-in counter, their heads both tipped back in laughter because something about the Patti Smith CD was either hysterical or s.e.xy. Even on Haight Street, where grunge Gen Xers + hippie throwbacks + homeless punk kids + yuppie chic = a street with great stores and a lot of scary att.i.tude, Helen could make friends. Maybe that's just Helen--she's one of those rare people like Shrimp who just knows everybody, talks to everybody, likes everybody: a natural extrovert.

"You can't be completely gay," I said. "What about Shrimp?"

There is something about Autumn, how she looks you straight in the eyes, how she projects this natural warmth, that I couldn't doubt the sincerity of her answer. "Shrimp was this one-time thing. Like, I needed to be sure about my s.e.xual preference, and he was just this very safe person to experiment with. And he was feeling kind of sad and confused and..."--her hand touched mine over a Smiths CD import--"...I really am sorry it happened if it's hurt you so much."

Autumn does make it difficult to dislike her. It's a very annoying trait.

I shrugged off her hand but said, "Don't worry about it." I may, in fact, even have meant it.

Helen popped up next to us. "Guess who's over in the jazz section? Aryan! And guess what section he's flipping through? ACID JAZZ! He needs to be brutalized for that. C'mon." Her wide pink face glowed as she stared into the next room. We lingered at the entrance to the other room long enough to see Aryan finger a Kenny G CD. This was just too much, and we all three started laughing so hard we 93.nearly doubled over. We laughed so hard people around us started laughing too, for no reason other than how hard we were laughing. Not that the situation was that that funny, but somehow our mutual giggles fed and built off each others', the fact of our laughter becoming funnier than the joke, until all three of us collapsed in hysterics on the hardwood floor. funny, but somehow our mutual giggles fed and built off each others', the fact of our laughter becoming funnier than the joke, until all three of us collapsed in hysterics on the hardwood floor.

I had probably met Aryan before Shrimp's party when I was working at Java the Hut, if he's part of that whole crowd, but I didn't remember him--after a while all those beautiful surfer guys, with their amazing bodies, identical vocab, and substandard intelligence (but who cares, see Amazing Bodies, above) kind of meld into one, except for one-of-a-kind Shrimp. Usually if you remember one surfer dude you're really just remembering their collective unit. But now Aryan surely stood out of the crowd. He looked up at all the noise and, seeing us, his sun-kissed face went totally pale and you could almost see his mop of curly blond hair turning into fried frizz.

"Hey, Aryan," Helen called over to him from the floor. "I think I see the Yanni CD you dropped on the floor. It's just to the left of your Vans, like next to the Mannheim Steamroller vinyl LP."

I have no idea what a Mannheim Steamroller is, but just the sound of the name was enough to send Helen, Autumn, and me into a deeper round of laughter. We were now laughing so hard tears streamed from our eyes.

Aryan stomped over to where we were lounging on the floor. His eyes were mad but that didn't stop him from checking out the rear-end view of Autumn's denim miniskirt flailing on the floor from our hysterics. Up close and in 94.daylight, I could see that Helen's nickname for him was just right. He was tall, lean, and perfectly proportioned, blond-haired and blue-eyed, but with a determined jut to his walk, like you could see him in a uniform saying "Heil!" "Heil!" but his uniform would be a skateboarding one and his but his uniform would be a skateboarding one and his "Heil!" "Heil!" would be pledging loyalty to some Left Coast leftie-crazy like Jerry Brown. would be pledging loyalty to some Left Coast leftie-crazy like Jerry Brown.

"Dude," he said to us, straight-faced and clearly not sharing our humor in the situation. "That's so funny I can't stop laughing." He stomped over to Nirvana, I guess trying to salvage his cool.

"Uh-oh," Helen said. "I better go over there and make it up to him. Should I let him use my trade-in credit?"

Autumn and I both shook our heads. "Just be nice," I told Helen. "You don't need to make it up that much. Don't waste a fifty buck trade-in on a crush."

Autumn nodded in agreement. She said, "Kenny G? C'mon, he had it coming. But I can't just stand by and watch you try to make it up to him, cuz I know he'll take advantage of the situation and pretty soon you'll have agreed to take his latest bimbette to get a fake ID. How 'bout CC and I go to the Goodwill store and then meet you at the crepes place in half an hour?"

Helen said, "Yeah," but she was already on her way over to console Aryan, like she'd practically forgotten us.

The weird thing is, I had no objection to Autumn's plan. Okay, I admit it. I like the Autumn wench. Get over it.

Later, when we were sitting at the crepes place and Autumn and Helen were sharing a crepe with heaping veggies and cheeses while I had opted for a plain Nutella crepe, I interrupted their chatter.

95."Tell me about Shrimp?" I asked, feeling like my heart was going to combust for wanting to know about him, to hear about him from friends who'd known him much longer than I.

There was a time when being as wild as I wanna be meant popping E numbers with Justin and not bothering to use a condom when we fooled around, or staying over at Shrimp's and not caring if my parents noticed at all. But asking this question of these girls--and finding out its answer--felt much, much wilder and riskier.

96.***

Chapter 13