What My Mother Doesn't Know Read online

  But I prefer

  to think of it as

  rebooting my ovarian operating system.

  HOW MY MOTHER TOOK THE NEWS

  I remember how my mother reacted,

  on that fateful day two years ago,

  when I told her I’d gotten my first period:

  her face turned the color of the ashes

  dangling from the tip of her cigarette.

  She tried to smile

  but ended up looking like she just

  took a gulp of

  what she thought was water

  only it turned out to be vinegar.

  She rummaged around

  in the bathroom cabinet

  and handed me what I needed,

  saying, “I’ve been keeping these for you.

  For when the time came.”

  Then she patted me on the back,

  looking like she wanted

  to say something more.

  But she didn’t.

  She just wandered out of the room,

  leaving me with a box full of questions.

  MY FIRST TIME BUYING YOU-KNOW-WHATS

  I had used my last one at school

  right before lunch.

  And I knew I didn’t have

  any more of them at the house,

  so I stopped off on the way home

  to buy some at Drugtown.

  I wasn’t too worried about it.

  I figured I’d just cruise

  down the feminine hygiene aisle

  and act like I knew what I was doing.

  Only I couldn’t find the kind

  my mother had been buying for me,

  and I could not believe

  how many different types of them

  there were to choose from.

  I finally made my decision

  and headed to the cash register

  with the neon pink cardboard box

  tucked surreptitiously under my arm.

  But I hadn’t counted on a guy

  being the cashier.

  And I sure hadn’t counted on that guy

  being Rachel’s cousin Perry,

  on whom I had a severe crush.

  I had to think fast.

  So while he finished up

  with the customer in front of me,

  I managed to stash the box

  behind an Enquirer.

  Then, I bought a pack of Juicy Fruit

  and got the heck out of there.

  MOM’S THE WORD

  My mother has never talked to me

  about birth control or safe sex or about

  whether I should wait till I’m married.

  But whenever I’m getting ready

  to go out with Dylan,

  she hovers in the hall

  and keeps wringing her hands,

  like she’s scared that

  I’m going to get pregnant or something.

  And if I ever did,

  which of course I won’t,

  it would serve her right.

  Actually, all we do so far is kiss

  even though he wants to do more

  and I won’t let him.

  But

  I’m not about to

  tell her that.

  HE’LL BE HERE ANY MINUTE NOW

  and I’ll watch him

  from my bedroom window

  when he hurries up the front walk

  onto the porch

  and he’ll ring the bell

  and my mother will answer the door

  and he’ll step into the hall

  and they’ll say hello to each other

  and I’ll come floating down the stairs

  and his eyes

  will singe my sweater

  but my mother won’t see

  and we’ll say goodbye to her

  and head down the front walk

  looking straight ahead

  not even holding hands

  feeling my mother’s gaze

  on our backs

  and then we’ll turn left

  and go just a few more yards

  and the second we’re hidden

  behind the Sweeneys’ lilac hedge

  we’ll grab each other

  and start kissing

  IN THE DARK WITH DYLAN

  The truth is

  I have no idea

  what this movie’s even about.

  I couldn’t tell the good guys

  from the bad guys

  if you paid me a million dollars.

  But I do know

  that there isn’t anyone

  on this whole entire planet

  that I’d rather be

  not watching this movie with

  than Dylan.

  CLOSE TO MIDNIGHT

  Lying in bed

  gazing up at the

  glow-in-the-dark stars

  on my ceiling,

  I’m thinking of you

  lying in bed

  gazing up at your ceiling,

  maybe thinking of me

  at this very same

  moment.

  I’m thinking that

  you’ve never seen my stars

  glow in the dark,

  and wondering

  if you ever will.

  CONFESSION

  All right.

  I admit it.

  When you aren’t here,

  I kiss my knee

  and pretend it’s you.

  I know it’s dumb.

  But I do.

  THE NAKED TRUTH

  I can’t even remember whose idea it was,

  but we decided we were going to

  do it!

  So a few minutes ago,

  Rachel and Grace and me

  put on our raincoats

  and walked over to Herrell’s

  for ice cream.

  We couldn’t stop giggling

  the whole way over.

  Now we’re just sitting here,

  eating our sundaes nonchalantly,

  but Zak and Danny just came in.

  And—oh no!

  They’re walking over to us!

  We’re nudging each other in the ribs,

  trying hard not to crack up.

  They want to know if they can sit with us!

  I can feel my face catching fire.

  But Rachel says we’re having

  a very private girl talk.

  And Grace adds,

  “Besides. This booth is too small.

  There’s barely enough room.”

  The three of us

  burst into hysterics at this,

  and Zak and Danny look at us

  like they think we’re nuts.

  That’s because

  they don’t know our secret:

  This afternoon

  before we put on

  our raincoats,

  we took everything else

  off!

  LEFT OUT

  Rachel and Grace

  are sitting there on the bed,

  laughing and chatting away,

  taking turns

  popping the zits

  on each other’s backs,

  and I’m sitting here on the rug,

  watching them,

  feeling so left out

  that I’m actually wishing

  I had some zits

  on my back, too.

  Sick. Aren’t I?

  DYLAN’S BUZZ CUT

  I wish he hadn’t gone and cut his hair.

  He looks about eight years old.

  His ears have tripled in size.

  Everyone’s started calling him Dumbo.

  Which wouldn’t be so bad,

  except they’ve started calling me

  Mrs. Dumbo.

  You can’t even tell

  he’s got curly hair anymore.

  There’s nothing left

  to run my fingers through.

  Just this weird

  blond
AstroTurf

  sprouting out of his skull.

  FRIDAY NIGHT FIGHT

  Dylan says he doesn’t have

  to ask for my permission

  to get his hair cut.

  I say I know

  but maybe he could at least

  warn me next time he’s

  planning on getting scalped.

  And then he says it’ll grow back

  and I say it’ll take forever

  and then he says

  he guesses I’ll just

  have to get used to it

  and I say not if I don’t

  have to look at it anymore

  and he says

  you don’t!

  Then he stomps out of the house

  and slams the door.

  Loud.

  And I kick it

  so hard

  that my dad has to get me some ice

  to put on my big toe.

  LONG WEEKEND

  Forty-eight hours

  of silence go by.

  Forty-eight hours

  alone.

  Forty-eight hours

  is such a long time

  to sit

  and stare

  at the phone.

  I DIDN’T SEE HIM AT SCHOOL TODAY

  Not in the hall.

  Not in the cafeteria.

  Not in the library.

  Not anywhere.

  Not even once.

  Not that I wanted to see him.

  Not that I would have

  said anything if I had.

  Not that I would have run up to him

  or flung my arms around him

  or begged for forgiveness

  or anything like that.

  Well—

  probably not.

  I YANK OPEN THE DOOR

  And there he is.

  But before he even has a chance

  to say one word

  I blurt out how sorry I am,

  so sorry I wish I could go on national TV

  and tell the whole world.

  And he says he’s so sorry

  he wishes he could fill up my entire house

  with roses.

  And then I say I’m so sorry

  I want to have it printed on

  all the billboards in Massachusetts.

  And then he says

  he’s going to have “I’M SORRY SAPPHIRE”

  tattooed onto his chest.

  And I say I’m going to hire

  a thousand airplanes

  to write it all over the sky.

  And then he kisses me

  and his I’m-sorry kisses are so sweet

  that for a second

  I find myself thinking

  it was almost worth

  having the fight.

  I WISH

  I wish I could drink a magic potion and

  shrink way down till I was small

  enough to fit right into his

  shirt pocket and live

  there tucked near to

  his heart listening

  to it beating in

  rhythm with

  mine every

  minute of

  every

  day

  I LOVED WATCHING IT HAPPEN

  The way his eyelids

  got heavier and heavier.

  The way his chin

  drifted to his chest

  and his history book

  slipped into his lap.

  I know I should be studying right now

  but I can’t resist

  sketching him.

  So until he wakes up,

  I’m going to let my pencil trace

  the contours

  of his perfect cheekbones,

  the shadows of his golden lashes,

  the soft curve of his neck.

  This

  is definitely

  bliss.

  WHEN DYLAN WAKES UP

  I show him

  his portrait.

  He glances at it

  for a second,

  then all he says

  is “Cool.”

  The truth is,

  Dylan doesn’t get art.

  But I guess

  he doesn’t have to.

  He is

  art.

  THE MEANING OF MURPHY

  I don’t know

  how it got started,

  but it happens

  all the time:

  When someone at school

  acts like a dork

  the other kids say,

  “What a Murphy!”

  Someone will do something dumb,

  like today in science class

  when Danny knocked a beaker onto the floor

  and it crashed into a zillion pieces.

  Zak shouted,

  “Jeez, Danny!

  Don’t be such a Murphy!”

  and the whole class burst out laughing.

  (Okay.

  I laughed too.

  But only so no one would think

  I was strange.)

  I wonder how Murphy would feel

  if he knew his name

  had become synonymous

  with “jerk.”

  I guess I know how he’d feel.

  ART CLASS EXERCISE

  Mr. Schultz says today we’ve got to sit

  face to face with someone in class

  and draw their portrait

  while they draw ours.

  I glance over at Murphy

  and know

  that if I don’t choose him,

  no one will.

  So I do.

  DRAWING EACH OTHER

  He’s drawing my nose.

  I’m drawing his mouth.

  He’s drawing my mouth.

  I’m drawing his nose.

  He’s drawing my eyes.

  I’m drawing his eyes,

  and suddenly I notice

  that they’re smiling into mine.

  So I let my eyes

  smile back at his,

  and no one sees

  but us.

  I SHOW MY DRAWING TO THE GIRLS

  Rachel just kind of gapes at it

  and says, “Eeeeooooo.

  You drew Murphy!”

  I say, “No, duh.”

  Grace says, “You’ve captured

  the utter Murphyness of Murphy,

  you Murphy.”

  Rachel says, “Takes one to draw one.”

  And I clonk them both

  over their heads

  with my sketchbook.

  CULTURE CLASH

  Dylan says

  when I meet his mother today

  I shouldn’t mention

  that I’m Jewish.

  I say

  okay, but can I

  tell her about

  the HIV positive thing?

  He gives me a look.

  I give him one back.

  ON THE WAY TO MEETING DYLAN’S MOTHER

  I’m thinking about the time

  my mother and I were in the car,

  waiting for an old lady who was taking forever

  to pull out of a parking space

  in front of Flair Cleaners.

  I’m thinking about how when she finally drove off

  this crow-faced man zipped

  right into the space from behind us

  and about how my mother

  rolled down her window and said, “Excuse me, sir.

  But we’ve been waiting

  for that spot for five minutes.”

  I’m remembering what the man said

  as he shoved open his car door:

  “God damn kikes!”

  I’m remembering

  the look on my mother’s face,

  the way her hand flew up to her cheek,

  as though she’d been slapped.

  And I’m remembering

  the first thought that came into my head:

  Do we look
that Jewish?

  IT’S JUST AN EXPRESSION

  Dylan’s mother

  is in the middle of having a garage sale

  when we walk up.

  She kisses him on the cheek,

  and then starts pumping my hand,

  saying how delighted she is

  to finally be meeting me.

  She says she only wishes

  we’d been here this morning

  because she could have used our help when

  the huge crowd of “early birds” descended.

  She says they were

  swarming all over her stuff like flies

  and everyone kept trying to

  Jew her down on the prices.

  I glance over at Dylan

  to see his reaction to what she’s said.

  He just laughs and says, “That’s how

  people are at garage sales, Mom.”

  I don’t know which is worse—

  the fact that she said it,

  or the fact that it didn’t even faze him.

  GRACE IS IN LOVE

  For the past two weeks,

  Grace hasn’t stopped blabbing

  to Rachel and me about

  this new guy named Henry

  who sits two seats over from her

  in science class.

  She says he’s the most gorgeous creature

  that she’s ever laid eyes on

  and she keeps telling us all about

  how brilliant and hilarious he is,

  and how he’s got this English accent

  that just about makes her drool.

  And she says every time

  she sneaks a glance at him,

  she catches him staring at her

  with this perfect little crooked smile,