Why does your cigarette smell so funny? I asked him.
Well, Simon, it’s a special cigarette for concerts only. Just don’t tell Aunt Sarah or your mom. They will be really jealous, and you don’t want them to be jealous, right? Let’s keep this secret between us men. Okay?
I nodded my head and never said a thing. I was a naïve kid because in the years that followed, Brian didn’t limit his pot smoking to concerts.
By the time sixth period rolls around, I’m elated to end the day on a lighter note with drama class. My plan is to check out. Sit in the back, get lost in my thoughts, and stare out the window. My plans are dashed as soon as I walk in the room. There will be no sitting in the back. The desks have been moved to form a large circle. Ugh!
At the center of it all is a flamboyant, middle-aged woman. The fabric of her sunflower-yellow dress balloons around her as she beckons everyone to take a seat. She sports the biggest auburn bouffant since the B-52s’ Kate Pierson. It’s wild.
I’m not in conservative Columbia anymore. Welcome to Rockville where the kids smoke pot, and the teachers are hippies and beatniks!
“Come on in, my lovelies, come in!” she says with a Southern drawl thicker than sweet tea. “Have a seat wherever it feels right to you. This is a safe place. You can call me Tillie. Just don’t call me Mrs. Davis. That’s my mother’s name, God rest her soul.”
I take a seat and stare at the floor. I’m uncomfortable with how exposed I feel in the circle. Mrs. Davis—I mean Tillie—tells us we are going to jump right in with warm-up exercises.
“Okay now, I want everyone to pair up for Mirror, Mirror. Find yourself a nice partner. Don’t be shy about it either. One of you will be the mirror, and your job is to mimic what you see your partner doing.”
Damn it! I hate shit like this.
“But I must insist, it cannot be someone you know well. Do you understand me? Do not pick your friends, boyfriend, or girlfriend. And if you think I will not know if you are acquainted, you are sadly mistaken! Sybill Trelawney has nothing on me. Now go on, we don’t have all day.”
I get to my feet but continue to keep my eyes on the tile floor.
“Hey! New boy! If you never look up, how are you ever going to find yourself a partner? You can be mine if you want. I’m PJ. You know, like pajamas. Want to be my partner?”
9
Fembots and Bubble Tea
Istare into the bluest eyes I have ever seen. My right knee buckles and I stumble like an idiot. PJ reaches for my elbow, and I straighten myself up and fall back into his eyes that are the color of a summer sky. If I do nothing but stare into his eyes for the rest of my life, I will be a happy boy. My tongue hangs from my mouth like a Labrador retriever, so I promptly close it and compose myself. I reach out to shake his hand.
“Hi, PJ. I’m Simon. Simon Bugg. It’s nice to meet you.”
His handshake is rock hard, but his skin is buttery soft. It’s like touching a newborn baby. The golden hair covering his forearms sparkles in the sunlight shining through the window. His belly is a bit round and protrudes through his T-shirt, but his strong jaw and blond hair make him look like Apollo, the Olympian God of sun and light. No doubt about it, I am smitten! Do I like boys now?
The final bell marks the end of the school day, but I stall in my seat. I hope PJ comes back to talk to me. I make a show of sorting through my backpack pretending to look for something. As luck would have it, PJ doesn’t leave the classroom. Instead, he walks straight over to me.
“What are you looking for? It must be important by the way you’re digging through that backpack.”
My face flushes as I continue to fumble nervously around the bottom of my pack.
“Uh, I was, uh, looking for this.” I hold up the first thing I grab—yesterday’s granola wrapper. Only then does it occur to me that I could have said something normal like I was looking for my car keys instead of trash. PJ steps back and gives me the once-over; my already red face ignites into flames.
“You were looking for an empty granola bar wrapper?” he teases with a Cheshire cat grin.
“Uh, yeah, I…I didn’t realize it was empty,” I say, attempting a save.
“You didn’t realize the empty wrapper was empty? You are a strange one, Simon Bugg!”
“Well, see, I ate part of it yesterday, and I guess I forgot that I ate the rest of it. I’m hungry. Actually, I’m starving.” I shake a few crumbs from the wrapper and pop them into my mouth. I could die of embarrassment. Spontaneous human combustion is a thing, right? I want to burn up and disappear into a pile of ash. PJ stares at me with his piercing blue eyes and grins.
“How did you get to school today, Simon Bugg? Did you take the bus?”
“No, I drove myself.”
“Well, then, Simon Bugg,” he says mischievously, “let’s go get this hungry boy some food.”
We walk out the classroom door and Tillie calls, “Goodbye, my lovelies, see you tomorrow.”
