Meg Cabot - Ready or Not

I saw right away that I should have said something else. Anything else. Because this had the opposite effect of what I’d been hoping for—that Lucy would go away.

Instead, she came barreling all the way into my room, not even looking where she was going and knocking over my Hellboy action figures, which I had artfully set up along the top of my dresser to portray the Liz-on-the-sacrificial-slab scene.

“Really?” Lucy asked, all eager. “David’s? What’d he, whip it out while he was kissing you good night out there just now? That is so gross. I hate when they do that.”

“Um, no,” I said, somewhat taken aback. Do guys actually do this? David certainly never has. But maybe only because he’s too polite.

But it sounded like it’s happened to my sister a lot. And she supposedly has a steady boyfriend! And okay, he’s away at college, but still. What goes on at those parties she goes to, the ones at the popular people’s houses? No wonder Kris Parks had embraced Right Way with so much vigor. She was probably psychologically scarred from guys whipping it out right and left in front of her.

“It was this guy named Terry’s,” I said. “He’s a nude model Susan Boone made us draw.”

This didn’t seem to strike Lucy as any better than David having whipped it out.

“Ew!” she said. “You saw some skanky model guy’s penis before you saw your own boyfriend’s? That is sick.”

Considering that’s exactly how I’d been feeling a few hours before, it was funny that I heard myself replying, “Yeah, well, that’s what life drawing is all about. Because you can’t learn to draw the human figure if clothes are obscuring the muscles and skeletal frame.”

And then—I can’t even begin to figure out why—I found myself confiding in her.

I know. Confiding in Lucy. I must have been out of my mind. Obviously ultra-cool Dauntra from Potomac Video would have been the logical person to turn to for guidance in this area. But no. I had to go and let my sister Lucy in on it. It was like my mouth just went running off by itself with no input whatsoever from my brain.

“But that’s not all of it,” I heard myself saying, to my horror. “Get this: David asked me to come to Camp David with him.”

“Yeah, I know,” Lucy said. “I was there when Mom and Dad said you could go, remember? Poor you. I mean, God, how boring. He couldn’t take you to the mall, like a normal boyfriend?”

This was the perfect opportunity for me to drop it. I mean, considering Lucy clearly didn’t understand a word I was saying.

But no. My mouth just kept on going.

“Lucy,” I said. “I don’t think you understand. David asked me to spend the weekend with him at Camp David.”

“Um,” Lucy said. “Yes, I know. You said that already. And I repeat, ew, how boring. I mean, what is there to do at Camp David? Ride horses? Throw rocks into some lake? I mean, I guess you two could paint, seeing as how you both like that kind of thing. But it’s gonna be even more boring than Grandma’s. I mean, it’s not like there are any good outlet stores nearby.”

“Lucy,” I said, again. I couldn’t believe she wasn’t getting it. And I couldn’t believe I was still trying to make her understand. What was I doing? Why was I telling her? “David asked me to come away with him. For the weekend. And Mom and Dad said yes.”

Lucy sniffed. “Yeah, I noticed. You know, you’re lucky they like him so much. Your boyfriend, I mean. They would never let me spend the weekend with Jack. But, of course, David’s parents are going to be there.”

“Yes,” I said. It was hopeless. She was never going to understand.

And why should she? I mean, in Lucy’s world, people like me—and let’s face it, David—just don’t, well, Do It. The idea that geeks might possibly have hormones, too, was very clearly an alien one to Lucy.

Or so I thought. I had basically given up on the whole thing and was thinking to myself, Well, actually, this is GOOD, since I didn’t want her to know anyway, when Lucy suddenly grabbed my wrist and, her Lancôme-lined eyes very wide, went, “Oh my God. You don’t mean…Oh my God. You and David? And at CAMP DAVID?”

And that was that. She knew.

It was strange, but it was actually kind of a relief. Embarrassing, but a relief. Don’t ask me why.

“Where else would you suggest?” I asked her, kind of sarcastically, to cover up my complete and utter mortification. “Under the bleachers?”

“Ew,” Lucy said. “With all the wadded-up gum people have spat out? No.” She had sunk down onto my bed—poking Manet, who was collapsed on top of my duvet, to get him to move over—and sat there, looking sort of stunned. “That is a really big step, Sam. Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Part of me is,” I heard myself admitting. “And part of me isn’t. I mean, part of me really, really wants to, and part of me—”

“—is scared to death,” Lucy concluded for me. “Well, don’t be. Just make sure you use two methods of birth control,” she went on, in the same bossy way she always advises me not to wear my high-tops with a skirt or my legs will look fat. “I mean, he should wear a condom, but you should have a backup method, just in case. You have to start the Pill on the first Sunday of your period, and you just had yours last week, so even if you went to Planned Parenthood tomorrow, it wouldn’t do you any good for Thanksgiving. I’d suggest spermicidal foam.”

I just stared at her. With my mouth hanging open, I’m pretty sure.

But Lucy didn’t seem to notice my shock.

“Don’t buy the foam from any place in the neighborhood,” she went on, briskly. “Someone we know might see you. And then it’ll be all over school…and, in your case, all over the nightly news. You’re bound to be recognized. God, saving David’s dad was the worst thing you ever did. I mean, you can’t do anything without everyone in the world wanting to know your business. Even with the hair. I mean, people can still tell it’s you. It’s just you with stupid-looking black hair. Look, do you want me to buy it for you?”

I just stared at her some more. Honestly, it was like I understood the words coming out of her mouth. I just couldn’t believe she was saying them.

“You can’t count on the guy taking care of it, Sam,” Lucy said, apparently mistaking my stunned silence for indignation that she was poking her nose into my business. “Even a guy like David, who goes to that genius school. I mean, sure, he’ll pick up some condoms. But condoms break. Sometimes they come off. Before they’re supposed to, if you get my drift. You have to be…what’s it called? Proactive. I’ll pick something up for you after school tomorrow. Spermicidal foam is easy, you stick the applicator in like a tampon and just plunge it right in. You should have no problems.”

“Ngrh,” was all that came out of my mouth, due to my extreme freaked-outedness.

Lucy patted me on the head. Seriously. She patted me on the head. As if I were Manet.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “What are sisters for? I think you’re doing the right thing, by the way. I mean, you guys have been going out forever, and David’s a great guy, even if he is, you know, a little weird. What’s with all the eighties bands T-shirts? And that whole art thing is a big yawn. But it’s not like he has any choice. If he tried to bust out, even a little, it would be all over Teen People. And who needs that?”

“But—” I was pleased that I was at least capable of formulating words again. Sadly, I couldn’t seem to make them go into a cohesive sentence. “But don’t you—I mean, what about…Kris?”

Lucy blinked at me. “Kris who?”

“Um. Parks.”

Don’t even ask me why, at that particular moment, she popped into my head.