E. Lockhart - The Boyfriend List

Then the couple would come back to the circle, sometimes holding hands, and then it would be the next boy’s turn.

The only girls in our cabin who didn’t go on these moonlit adventures were a skinny girl who rocked back and forth in her chair and mumbled things to herself, a fourteen-year-old who was completely angry at being in the Twelve/Thirteen cabin and wouldn’t speak to any of us and a girl who spent all her time reading books like Misty of Chincoteague and talking about how she wished she was at horse camp instead.

I pretty much had to play, to avoid becoming a leper, but I was terrified. I had no idea what people were doing during the Seven Minutes. Kissing, I figured, but seven minutes was a really long time (we had a stopwatch) and how long could you kiss for? Would you stand up, or sit down on a log or something? Would you hug? If so, where would you put your hands? And I had boobs, but I didn’t normally wear a bra under my nightgown, and what if the boy tried to feel my boobs with no bra? Would he think that was weird? Or would he think it was weird if I was wearing a bra underneath my nightgown? Plus, I had good reasons not to want to kiss any of the boys we played Spin the Bottle with. Two of them were obnoxious. Three were physically repulsive. One was cute but extremely short, and I couldn’t figure out how it would work if I had to kiss him because he’d have to stand on tiptoe. That left two acceptably cute boys—but one of them my friend Gracia liked (so he was off-limits), and the other had called me four-eyes (so I knew he didn’t want to kiss me).

For the first week of camp, I managed to avoid kissing anybody by claiming a redo every time a bottle pointed to me. Then, I begged Gracia to help me by claiming redos or saying the bottle was pointing at someone else. She agreed, and I stayed unkissed—until the third week, when I told some other girls about how Gracia had failed the pencil test, where you stick a pencil under your boob and see if the fold of your boob will hold it up. You fail if the pencil stays. 6

Gracia’s boobs were big, and her pencil stayed, and of course she was furious that I told everyone. 7But instead of yelling, she just contradicted me when I claimed a redo that night.

“Roo, it’s pointing right at you,” she said. “Why are you always saying redos? Are you scared or something?”

“No,” I said. “But look at the bottle. It’s practically off the atlas.”

“It’s still pointing at you,” Gracia said loudly.

Everyone looked at Michael Malone, one of the three physically repulsive boys, and the current spinner of the bottle. Michael shrugged. “It seemed like a decent spin to me,” he said.

“Oooh, ooh, Michael and Roo!” someone chanted from the other side of the circle.

“Oooh, ooh, Michael and Roo!” some others echoed back.

“Go on, Ruby,” said Gracia, bitterly. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“Oooh, ooh, Michael and Roo!”

This Malone character was probably a perfectly acceptable physical specimen to some people. I mean, I’m a perfectly acceptable physical specimen, but I know I grossed out that boy who called me four-eyes, plus Adam Cox, and probably a number of other people I don’t even know about. It’s just a matter of taste, and I’m sure he was a decent-looking boy by objective standards. But he disgusted me in the following ways:

He had too much saliva and always seemed to be sucking it back before it spilled out of his mouth accidentally.

His legs were quite hairy already, and his knee, covered with black hair, would stick out of a hole in his jeans. It looked like a dead animal.

He had pimples, which I didn’t much mind on lots of kids, but he had some on the back of his neck that bothered me.

His nose turned up at the front in a way that I know a lot of the girls thought was cute, but frankly, I found it piggy.

I walked into the depths of the dark forest with this piggy, dead-animal, pimply saliva boy.

“Oooh, oooh! Michael and Roo!”

We got to a big tree and Michael ducked behind it.

“Oooh, oooh! Michael and Roo!”

I knew everyone could see me through the dark in my white nightgown, so I stepped behind the tree as well, staying as far away from Michael as I could manage. He put his big, cold hand on my shoulder, puckered up and pushed his lips against mine, waggling his head around, like in the movies.

I waggled my head back.

Our mouths weren’t even open, and there was too much spit.

I didn’t want to touch his pimply neck, so I put my hands on the outside edge of his shoulders. He smelled okay, like toothpaste, but when I opened my eyes for a second I saw that big piggy nose right next to my face.

Basically, it was like going to the dentist. Something unpleasant was happening around my mouth, someone else’s face was too close to mine, and the best thing to do was to shut my eyes, breathe through my nose and think about something else. Was my mother sending me a care package? Would she remember I didn’t like potato chips with ridges in them? What color would I glaze my pottery mug in arts and crafts tomorrow?

After what seemed like seven hours, someone yelled, “Time’s up!” and Michael pulled away. “You’re a good kisser,” he whispered, and I felt relieved, even though when I thought about it I knew it couldn’t possibly be true because I had been thinking about pottery and potato chips, waggling my head occasionally and wishing it was over. But at least he wouldn’t go telling his friends I was disgusting.

I managed to get out of playing Spin the Bottle after that. With Gracia mad at me, I became a bit of a leper anyway, so the pressure was off. The next night, I said I was tired, and nobody yanked me out of bed and made me go. I avoided looking Michael in the eye, worked on my pottery and counted the days (ten) until I could go home.

I didn’t kiss anyone else for a year and a half.

I was still a very inexperienced kisser when things started up with Jackson, but once we started going together, kissing became such a normal part of my day that I didn’t even think about it—except that I stopped chewing bubble gum and started chewing mint. Jackson felt me up a lot too. I bought two new bras that clasped in front, so he could open them more easily.

But that’s all. It never occurred to me to do anything more. Jackson seemed happy. He never tried to get his hand down my pants or even take my shirt all the way off.

So imagine my feelings. It was Monday morning—thirteen days after Kim and Jackson got together. I had had the panic attacks, started seeing Doctor Z and become a leper thanks to the Spring Fling debacle and the Xerox horror (don’t worry, you’ll find out all about them soon enough).

I was walking up the steps to school, minding my own business, having done nothing all weekend except watch movies on video with my mother, and Katarina called my name, which she hardly ever does. She was full of news. At her party that weekend 8she and Heidi had walked into the guest room and found Kim and Jackson on the sofa with all their clothes off. Heidi was devastated. Katarina and Ariel were so mad at Kim. Could I believe the nerve? It was so uncool to do that at a party where Heidi was, like she had no feelings at all—and right after Jackson had broken up with me, too. 9

“They were naked?” I said, almost choking.

“Completely. His thing was out and everything!” Katarina said. “I think I might have even seen it! Of course,” she added, “you don’t need my description of that.” 10

“What did they do when you came in?”

“We shut the door again, right away,” said Katarina, shrugging. “And like an hour later they came out. Everyone kind of laughed about it, except Heidi was crying in my hot tub and Ariel had to drive her home. 11Anyway, I thought you’d want to know.” 12