Grace Wilkinson: Angie makes friends

"Salome's just a cat," her mother said coldly.

"But can't you feel this way about people, too?" Angie insisted. "Once you get to know them, you want to touch them?"

Mrs. Marlowe leaned toward Angie, her eyes glaring. "Nasty!"

"What's nasty about it?" Angie challenged. "Shouldn't people love each other that way?"

Mrs. Marlowe pulled herself back and sat up straight. Her face showed anger, confusion and suspicion. "You're not doing anything dirty, are you?"

Angie thought of the sensual love she and Doug felt together. That wasn't dirty. That was exciting and good. It couldn't be dirty. Her eyes met and held her mother's eyes. "No, I'm not doing anything dirty. How can I? I don't know what it is."

"You'd better not," her mother snapped. "You'll answer to me if you do."

Abruptly, Angie said, "It's getting late. I've got to go to school."

All the way to school, Angie's mind was in a turmoil. She felt she should stop having sex with Doug. Somehow, it wasn't right; she didn't know why. If only her mother would help her, but she was hung up on the subject. If they could only sit down together and talk about sex openly and honestly. What was it all about. What it meant. How much sex could she take part in at her age. Then she should know what she should do. Instead, her mother got embarrassed and angry. Saying stupid things and then accusing her of doing something wrong. Angie sighed deeply.

What could she do? The dream scared her — it seemed so real. How she wished she could tell someone everything and they would comfort her and tell her what to do. If only she had a mother like that! Daddy was more like that. When he was home. Maybe he would help her. The thought gave her hope. She decided she'd definitely try to talk with him after dinner. Privately. She would feel better if she could get rid of this undercurrent of fear and guilt. Why should she feel guilty when she didn't feel it was wrong to do? Why did her mother keep insisting that sex was dirty and bad? Was something wrong with her mother? Or was something wrong with her, herself? Her troubled mind went over and over her problem, becoming more and more confused by it.

Doug finished eating his lunch and carefully put the waxed paper and the apple core back in the lunch bag; then he laid back on the grass and closed his eyes to nap in the sunshine.

"Hey, Fleming, I've come for sex instruction," an arrogant voice said.

Doug heard a body plop down on the grass beside him and opened his eyes to see Brad.

"What do you want to know?" Doug asked calmly.

"What do they do?"

"That question is so general it's hard to answer. What specifically do you want to know?"

"What does a male do to a female?"

"Basically, he puts his penis in her vagina."

"And?" Brad prompted him to continue.

"The woman lays on her back and the man lays on top of her on his stomach. The male pumps his sperm into the female."

"How?" Brad asked avidly.

"They get a rock-n-roll motion going. If everything's going right, they really get turned on," Doug added enthusiastically.

Doug's enthusiasm raised Brad's suspicions. "How do you know all this?" he asked.

"Oh, reading books — talking around," Doug said vaguely.

"Really?" Brad asked, unconvinced. "The sex education classes didn't have all that stuff in them."

"Take my word for it." Doug assured him.

"What kind of books were you reading?"

"Oh — medical books — marriage manuals."

"Where'd you get them?"

"The university library."

Brad studied his face closely. Yes, he could have got those kind of books at the university library. But why would he say, 'If everything's going right, they really get turned on?' Who's he been with lately, he asked himself. He searched his memory. Let's see. Hadn't he seen him with Angie Marlowe?

Doug stared back at Brad, smiling enigmatically.

"What have you been up to?" Brad said suspiciously.

"Me?" Doug veiled his eyes with an innocent look. "Nothing. Well, I must be off. I'm working on a new research project. It takes up a lot of my time."

Doug got up and started to walk away.

"Not so fast. Wait for me." Brad fell into step beside him. "Come on now. Quit holding out on me."

"Well, if you must know," Doug said with a patient sigh, "my dad told me."

"Your dad?" Brad howled. "Don't give me that shit."

"Well, don't believe me then," Doug said indifferently.

"I don't," Brad assured him. "Parents don't have the guts to tell their kids the truth about sex."

"Have it your way," Doug said mildly.

"But I'd still like to know what you've been doing."

Doug smiled easily. "A special research project."

"On what?"

"It's a secret."

"Tell me."

"Later," Doug promised, "after it's finished."

He'd told him enough. He didn't owe him any more. Now he had to get back to his studies. Persistent types were a bore.

Doug stopped walking and faced Brad. "I'm due at the language lab. See you around." He turned and walked away.

Brad jumped on him from behind. They rolled on the ground, wrestling. Brad was heavier and had the advantage. He soon got Doug pinned down and sat on his back and twisted one of his arms behind his back.

A crowd of students gathered around him. The boys, excited, shouted encouragement; the girls, attracted yet repulsed, called for Brad to stop.

Brad shifted his weight to add more pressure on Doug's arm. He panted, "Tell me."

Doug moved his body to adjust to the added pressure on his arm. When he spoke, his voice was weak. "None-of your business."

Brad added more pressure on Doug's arm. "I'll break your arm."

The pain was excruciating. Doug began panting. "Sadist," he managed to get out.

In the distance, Doug heard a girl's voice screaming insistently, "Let him go. Let him go!" Doug concentrated on not feeling the pain.

Angie had only been walking by and hadn't intended to stop. Mary Jane saw her and called, "Its Doug and Brad, Angie. They're fighting."

Doug? He was not a fighter. Angie pushed through the crowd to see. When she saw Doug's contorted face, she forgot herself. Brad can't hurt him. He can't. He can't. Frantically, she ran over to Brad and pummeled his back.

"Stop, stop!" she screamed.

Brad didn't seem to feel her blows or to hear her. She tugged at one of his arms ineffectually. It was hopeless. Doug would be hurt. She stood up and screamed, "Somebody help."

One of the boys shouted back at her, "Stay out of it. Girls can't fight!"

Angie stamped her foot. "He'll hurt him. Can't you see?" She began crying uncontrollably. She pummeled Brad's back again with her fists.

She screamed. "Let him go! Let him go!"

Brad ignored her.

She pounded on his head with her fists. Ugly old ears, she thought. They gave her an idea. She leaned over and bit one, as hard as she could.

Brad screamed and clapped a hand up to his ear. "Bitch!" he bellowed and began hitting her.

Doug scrambled to his feet and started punching Brad again. The students cheered him on. The two began wrestling again.

Finally, a teacher rushed over and separated them. "Come with me. Angie, too. To the principal's office." He shouted gruffly and led them away.

In the anteroom to the principal's office, Doug, Brad, and Angie avoided looking at each other. They straightened their clothes and smoothed their hair. Each stole glances at the door to the principal's office. They each dreaded the moment when the principal, Mr. Bailey, would step out.

Brad sat hunched over in his chair, drumming his feet on the floor. Doug sat straight up in his chair, his arms folded across his chest, staring across the room at nothing. Angie sat relaxed in her chair. She fussed endlessly in her purse.

Finally, Brad broke the silence. "What's with you two anyway?"