The F- It List Part 25

CHAPTER.

23.

Sat.u.r.day Becca felt somewhat better than she had been feel- ing, but not enough to leave the house. We spent the day together, camped in front of the TV, this time for a Buff y marathon.

"Maybe I should have my Make- A-Wish about Joss Whedon.

Like, meet him or something."

"Screw that. You have cancer. Up the ante and wish for him to create a show about a bada.s.s bounty hunter and make you the star."

"Yes! Opposite Jamie Bamber!" she cooed.

"Speaking of muscular men, what's going on with you and home- school boy?"

"I can't believe I didn't tell you. Yes, I can. I have total cancer brain- but he sent me fl owers! Like, a bouquet he picked from his garden. With a note. It's over there."

-1- I hopped off the blue chair and walked over to a wonky, 0-

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paint- dappled vase fi lled with wild- looking fl owers, although not necessarily wildfl owers. "Where's the note?" I asked, not fi nding it tucked into the bouquet.

"Oh. I hid it under my mattress. Mom and Helen are nosing around my room way too much. I think they suspect I'm smoking pot, which I'm totally not. I wish I were. It's supposed to work mira- cles on nausea. Maybe you can score me some!"

"Score you some? Who talks like that?"

"I do. Now get me some pot."

"Where am I going to get pot? You're the one who was all toking it up with Davis. Maybe you can call him in the army to score you some."

"What about Leo? Could he get me some pot?"

"Leo doesn't smoke pot. I don't think."

"That doesn't mean he can't get a quarter. Or a gram. However they mea sure it. Ask him. For me?"

"We'll see. Isn't it legal now for medicinal purposes? Can't you just get a prescription?"

"Can you really see my mom going to Walgreens to pick me up some joints?"

"Duly noted. Now where's that note?"

She accepted my weak commitment to getting her pot, and dug Caleb's note out from under her mattress. Inside a blue envelope was a neatly printed note.

Dear Becca, I hope these fl owers brighten your day just a little.

If you need anything, throw a rock at my window. I --1 -0 -+1 145.

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might have something to help with the pain, too, if you're interested. Take care of yourself.

Wishing you well, Caleb "He totally wants to bone the cancer right out of you," I told Becca.

"You got that from the note? I thought it was much sweeter and homeschool- y than that."

"What did he mean when he said he might have something to help you deal with the pain? Do you think he meant pot? Is he grow- ing marijuana in his little homeschool garden?"

"There is no way. He's not like that."

"Ah, but Leo is."

"You know what I mean." I brushed off the insinuation that somehow Leo was pottier than Caleb. "But do you think that's what Caleb might have meant?"

"It's either pot or his p.e.n.i.s."

"I'd take either."

"Should we throw a rock through his window and fi nd out?" I asked.

"I believe it was at his window. And no, not while my mom is home. I prefer this to remain a secret homeschool aff air."

"That sounds pretty hot," I acknowledged.

"Speaking of hot," Becca transitioned, "tell me about your eve- ning with Mr. army jacket."

I hadn't yet told Becca about my night with Leo. Parts of it felt -1- too good to share with her, as though I'd be rubbing my ecstasy in 0- her cancerous face. And other parts of it, where I looked like a

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dumping skag, seemed too stupid to burden her with when she was dealing with something so much bigger. Still, I knew how much Becca loved anything sordid, and it was a somewhat momentous occasion for me.

"Well, if you must know, I guess I kind of crossed something off my f.u.c.k- It List. If I had one."

"Spill!" Becca's eyes were voy eur is tically wide, which would have been creepy if we didn't already know every last perverse detail about each other's lives. That's what best friends were for, and we pushed that to the limit.

"So, yes. We had s.e.x," I p.r.o.nounced with a cheeky smile.

"I knew it! It's almost like I could psychically feel you doing it last night while I was in bed!"

"My G.o.d, Becca, contain yourself."

"Okay, not really, but I had a feeling."

"Could it be possible that having cancer has turned you into an even bigger perv?"

"Yes. It's a common side eff ect. Go on. How was it?"

That always seemed to be the question you heard after someone had s.e.x. It was weird to me, like there was some s.e.x scale that every- one was supposed to be mea sur ing their experience by. People were so diff erent in what they liked and knew and felt. Was that just the generically polite thing to ask after s.e.x, like saying, "I'm so sorry for your loss" after someone died?

"I guess it was good. I mean, it was defi nitely good. Bordering on amazing?" I was at a loss for words. So much of what I experienced last night with Leo was purely tactile, not emotional or a.n.a.lytical.

Was that how you knew when s.e.x was good? Or was there more to it --1 than that?

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"So what part of it was on your list? Did you do something freaky?" She waggled what was left of her eyebrows.

"I am so renting you a male prost.i.tute just to get you to shut up."

"Come on. Humor me. You've seen my list. What was it?"

"I had an o.r.g.a.s.m," I declared. "With him."

"Ooh la la." Becca smiled, satisfi ed that she nudged the truth out of me.

"Yeah, but there's a problem."

"You're in love with him. I knew it! You know, you've proven that the endorphins released during an o.r.g.a.s.m-"

"No, that's not it. I just feel like it's too much for me right now.

Does it mean we have to start calling each other and sending cutesy texts? Go to stupid dances and exchange birthday presents and s.h.i.t? I don't need that. I have my mom and my brothers to take care of and school and work and you ..." I trailed off . I didn't want Becca to think I blamed her for anything, didn't need her to worry about me when she had to take care of herself.

Instead of worrying, though, Becca exploded. "What are you f.u.c.king talking about? Leo sounds like a great guy, and I don't just mean in bed. Don't put the blame on me just because you're scared to get close to him."

"First of all, how do you know that he's such a great guy? And second, I'm not scared of anything."

"He's a great guy because he's done nothing d.i.c.kish since you started frisking each other. He carried me through the hall while I puked, for f.u.c.k's sake. And you are too scared of things. Do I have to -1- remind you of Ronald McDonald?"

0- That fast- food clown scared the c.r.a.p out of me with his red

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mouth and huge feet. But he wasn't real. "Just because he hasn't done anything d.i.c.kish doesn't mean he's a great guy."

"He is, though, isn't he?" She calmed a bit, watching me lose the argument.

"Yeah. He's nice. A lot nicer than I am." I chewed a cuticle.