Leo the Lioness Read Free Page A

that I know that when she flicks her eyelashes, she is getting ready to tell a lie. Not a white lie, a whopper.
    â€œGawd, he was something,” she said. Jen and Nina and others in their crowd have taken to saying “Gawd,” which for some reason they think is not as profane as saying “God.” It is all part of the pattern of self-deception I was talking about.
    â€œHow do you mean, ‘something’?”
    â€œWell, he had a black beard and sideburns and everything,” Jen said. “My mother practically had a cow when she saw him. If he hadn’t been a son of a friend, she would’ve never allowed me to go out with him.”
    That is probably true. I have noticed that if your mother knows a boy’s mother and they happen to be old school chums, she will let her daughter go out with him even if he should prove to be an incipient rapist. This is horribly strange but true.
    â€œHe’s going to go out for the wrestling team when he gets to college and he has these fantastic muscles and all.”
    â€œWow,” I said.
    â€œDon’t be sarcastic,” Jen said.
    â€œWho’s being sarcastic? All I said was ‘Wow.’”
    â€œIt’s the way you said it.”
    â€œWhat’d you tell him your name was?” I couldn’t resist asking.
    â€œI told him my name was Jennifer but my friends call me Niffy. He thought it was cute.”
    â€œHe sounds like a winner,” I said. “Did he ask you to go out again?”
    Jen flicked her eyelashes like mad. “He said when he gets up to college and gets settled and all, he’ll write and arrange a date. Maybe a prom weekend.”
    â€œDoes he know how old you are?” I asked.
    â€œI told him I was almost sixteen,” Jen said. “I hope he doesn’t check with his mother.”
    â€œMothers never remember how old other people’s kids are,” I said. It has been my experience that this is true. They always think other people’s kids are a lot younger than they really are.
    â€œI can just see your mother’s face when you ask her if you can go to a college weekend,” I said. “What’ll you do if he tries to make out with you?”
    â€œI’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” Jen said airily. “I can handle boys. I just finished reading an article on how to stop boys who get fresh and still make them like you.”
    â€œHow do you do that?” I asked.
    â€œYou remain good-humored,” Jen said and I could see she had memorized the article. “You sort of slither away but always keep a smile on your face and toss off a little joke so he won’t get angry at being rejected.”
    â€œYou better keep a stockpile of little jokes on hand,” I said. “I understand boys are out for just one thing. S-E-X.”
    I had heard enough conversations among older girls, not to mention my contemporaries, to know that very few boys, and they have to be queer, are content just to hold hands any more. Or even with kissing. They are always pawing girls and sticking their tongues in their mouths and disgusting things like that. It occurred to me that boys my own age have to overcome quite a few inhibitions of their own. You can’t tell me that all boys, regardless, want to leap on top of a girl and make out when they’re just out for a movie or a soda or something. That’s ridiculous. Anyway, not all boys know what to do. They don’t know all that much about sex. And people say the sex urge is the strongest drive in man. Well, maybe. I know it’s supposed to be practically overpowering. I still give boys credit for some kind of discrimination so that they don’t want to have sex with everything in skirts. That doesn’t sound likely. Most of my friends wear pants more frequently than they wear skirts, but you know what I mean. In any event, I get kind of hysterical thinking of the boys in my class,