Girl Meets Boy Read Free Page A

heard it said that the adolescent male is in possession of two brains, and his capacity to be a decent human being is dependent on his capability to choose wisely when to use which. Well, that’s a lie. There is no which. There is one brain. It is a ventriloquist, which is the only reason it ever even appears to come from the cranium.
    I called Wanda. I asked her to meet me at the Frosty Freeze. I only wanted to make her feel better, I lied. She said she didn’t trust herself to keep her hands off me. I lied again and said I would keep things under control. I wanted her to know she was cared about. I wanted her to know that all guys don’t just want sex. (And in the end, I should say, that wasn’t completely a lie. All guys don’t just want sex. But all guys want sex.)
    We met. She wore jeans and a blouse with an open sweater over it. The blouse buttoned at the top, but had an open circle just below the top button. Not a very big one, just big enough to make me visually fill in the blanks. She looked beautiful, but worn out,beaten. I ordered us both a Coke and sat staring, feeling cautious about how to start. She smiled weakly, but let me stew, figure it out for myself.
    “I’m really sorry,” I started.
    “You don’t have to be sorry,” she said. “It was my fault.”
    “I’m not sorry about that, ” I said. “I liked that. I liked it a lot. I’m just sorry you feel bad. I mean, I know you’ve had a hard life. The foster care and everything. Losing your parents and all.”
    “Yeah,” she said. “I can’t even tell you.” And then she proceeded to tell me of drug-dealing biological parents who lived in a crack house and who were so strung out they let anyone who came and went have access to Wanda. Her dad went to jail, and her mom cleaned up three times before finally losing Wanda for good when she was seven. By then she’d already been in and out of foster care four times. She had attended thirteen schools total, had been sexually approached by teachers three different times. Three of her foster fathers had molested her, including the one she lived with now. Only she had threatened to kill this one in his sleep and he stopped. She just wanted the carnival to end, she said. She just wanted some peace. And she just wanted to be loved.
    God, just hearing it made me love her, and I wanted to say that, but it seemed forced, like maybe it would feel like she was hurting too much, or looking for it. She smiled when I just sat there looking at her, not knowing what to say.
    “Listen,” she said. “I don’t know how much longer I can take this, but I want you to promise me that if something happens, you won’t blame yourself.”
    “Something happens,” I said. “Like what?”
    “Don’t worry about it. Just promise me.”
    “Something like what?” I said. My agitation grew. Like when my mom was desperate to have my dad pay attention to her after dinner sometimes. She would wash the dishes with tears dripping off her nose, her rum and coke hidden in the cupboard next to the sink while he snored through Law and Order on the couch.
    If anything ever happens to me, don’t you blame yourself.
    Anything happens? Like what?
    Anything. Anything at all. And you make sure your father knows I love him.
    “I said don’t worry about it,” Wanda said. “It isn’t about you.” She got up to leave.
    I followed her out to her foster parents’ car. She got in, placed both hands on the wheel, and stared ahead. A tear trickled down the side of her cheek.
    “I do love you, Wanda,” I said. “I mean, I think I really do. You haven’t been off my mind for five minutes since I saw you last.”
    She turned her head and looked at me, smiling weakly. “You couldn’t love me, Johnny.” She’s the only person who’s ever called me Johnny. “Nobody could. There’s nothing to love.” She started the car and pulled out.
    I jumped into the pickup and followed her, past my place, past hers, out to the river. She