But there was a time… a time when Brody looked out forme,too.
It started sometime after I got my firstperiod.
I could still see him, standing there at my front door with the little bag from the pharmacy inhishand.
I was thirteen, and it was the middle of the night. I knew what was going on when I woke up bleeding, but I wasn’t prepared; despite my early development in the boob area, I was kind of in denial that this was really going to happen to me. My mom had no feminine products in the house, either. With her illness and all the medications, she’d gone through early menopause. She’d been sleeping for hours, so I wasn’t about to wake her. She couldn’t drive at night anymore,anyway.
There was nowhere open within walking distance at that time of night, and I was scared to take the bus. It was my first period; how did I know if I was going to bleed all over the place and everyonewouldsee?
So I did what I did in any emergency. I called my brother and told him whathappened.
His band had played a house party that night, and he was still there. I could tell he’d been drinking. His voice got all happy and slurry like that when he was drunk. But he told me not to worry; he’d take care of it. He was going to “send help.” And before I could protest, he’dhungup.
I called him back but got no answer. I didn’t even want to think about what kind of “help” he was going to send, but what couldIdo?
I was bleeding, forGod’ssake.
Forty-five minutes later, I was curled in a miserable ball on the couch, rotten with cramps, when I heard a motorcycle pull up. I knew only two people who rode a motorcycle. Neither of whom I wanted to see in thatmoment.
Jude, and worse…Brody.
I dragged myself up and opened the door to find my brother’s super-hot eighteen-year-old friend, his forehead creased in concern, blue eyes staring me down, a bag from the all-night drug store in hand. In that moment, I silently vowed never to ask my brother for anything, everagain.
Brody handed me the bag. Then he proceeded to tell me, uninvited, how to use the tampons he’d brought—and that it might be difficult to “put them in” if I was, “you know, avirgin.”
I could only hope the look I gave him caused him to wither and die while I was in thebathroom.
“I got the plastic ones,” he went on, totally unfazed as I turned and walked away. “The lady at the pharmacy said they’re easier to use. There’re some pads in there too,incase—”
“Please stop talking,” I said, as I shut the bathroom doorbehindme.
After I’d gotten myself cleaned up and came back out to the living room, I could still see his bike out the window. I slipped out the front door and found him sitting on the steps, smoking acigarette.
I sat down nexttohim.
“You should quit smoking,” I said, instead of thanking him like Ishouldhave.
“You should be on the pill now.” He glanced over at the pin on my sweater, the one he’d given me when I was eight. “And you need to stop wearing that shit. Throwitout.”
I watched as he mashed out his cigarette on the step, still reeling from that first comment. “I’m not having sex with boys!” Iblurted.
He didn’t react, just said, “But they’re gonnawantto.”
I stared at him some more. “I don’t care! That doesn’t mean they get to.” I hugged my knees. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Jesse doesn’t letmedate.”
He studied me. “You wanttodate?”
“I’m thirteen. Everyone else is hangingwithboys.”
“You hang with boys allthetime.”
“My brother’s friends don’t count. Anyone who calls me ‘little sister’ or ‘bratface’ doesn’tcount.”
“I don’t call youbratface.”
“No, you call me princess.” I rolled my eyes like it was worse, but secretly, Ilikedit.
He leaned in, bumping his shoulder gently against mine. “Don’t worry, princess. By the time you grow up, men will be falling atyourfeet.”
