To Die For Read Free Page B

October maybe. October I guess, because I didn’t have my license yet. Got my license November 8, day I turned sixteen. Man I’d been waiting a long time for that day.
    We’re outside school, having a smoke, when she pulls up in that Datsun of hers. Steps out like some chick in a commercial—first all you see is her legs in those high-heel shoes. Didn’t even see her face right off, just that leg. Fuck if that doesn’t give you a boner, says Russell.
    Her nose was kind of funny, but to me she still looked pretty. And knew it. She bends over so her rear end’s in our face, reaching for her damn briefcase or some shit. Then she just stands there a minute, leaning against her car, and she runs her tongue over her lips, like you know women do because they saw it in a movie and they know it makes guys hot.
    And then she heads into the school, tossing her hair when she passes us, wiggling her butt, the works. “Some cunt,” Russell says to me, loud enough I bet she heard. Not that she let on. “Wouldn’t I like to bang that?”
    Me, I’m just standing there letting my cigarette burn down. She was close enough that I could smell this perfume she was wearing. But you know, she might as well’ve been heading to Mars, for all the hope I had of getting in her pants. I’m fifteen years old at this point, and I know I’m never going to have a piece of ass like that. They’ll strut by you with their I-got-the-pussy attitude, but they’ll keep on walking. I might as well be a piece of dog shit.
    She shows up at our health class that morning. It turns out her name’s Mrs. Maretto, and she’s some TV reporter making a video about teen life. She wants to interview a bunch of kids about their thoughts on all these subjects like, How Do You Feel About Using a Condom? and Do Your Parents Understand You? She’s looking for volunteers to work with her for the next six months. I tell Russ, “I dare you to talk to her.” He says, “OK, I will.” I should’ve known better. Russell’s not what you could call the quiet type.
    The next day we’re out there having our smoke and her car pulls up again. “By the way,” says Russell. “Looks like you’ll be spending some time with Mrs. Hard-on.” Turns out Russell signed me up for this video project of hers.
    I go straight for his balls, but of course he’s ready for that. “Fuck,” I say. “Why’d you go and do that for?”
    “It’s about time you picked up some brownie points at this scumhole,” he says. “You might even get your name on the announcements or something.” Then he laughs, because as long as Russell and I been going to this fucking school, the only place our names ever came up was in the detention list. They might as well make a rubber stamp with Russell Hines and Jimmy Emmet on it, because we’re always there. Dependable as shit.
    I didn’t plan on showing up for this video gig. Just because my name’s on her list doesn’t mean I’m Joe Student all of a sudden. Only what happens is, I guess nobody else signs up and she’s desperate. Most likely she told her boss she’s going to make this video and she’s got the equipment and shit, and no kids. Or just me. Now probably the asshole says they’re going to bag the whole deal, but she don’t want to do that on account of she’s wetting her pants thinking about this being her big break that’s going to make her famous. Meanwhile my guidance counselor’s having a hard-on of his own that I’m finally showing an interest in extracurricular activities. He figures he’s got to encourage the little fucker. Or words to that effect. Then she comes back to Russell and says listen, why don’t you join our video project? And old Russell, thinking this is going to be a gas, says, “Sure, Mrs. Maretto. That sounds interesting. I wouldn’t miss it.”
    She says to meet her at Pizza Hut after school, so we can get to know each other. We make a plan, Russell and me. We’re going to give the chick a hard