Over a month ago, a group of writers began to harass each other on Twitter. I am not privy to the specifics, but the result was the birth of the PG Love Scene Blogfest. Simon at Constant Revision is hosting this little gem, which he protests was not his idea, nor did he want to do. In fact, if you ask around no one wanted to do this with perhaps the exception of LK Gardner-Griffe who bullied coerced a good portion of the #amwritingparty to take part. Which is how I got drug into this.
I admit, the idea of writing a "love scene" that my 12 year old could read scared me. And by love scene, I mean "in the act." But in the end, the idea that it scared me so much told me I should give it a try. It's always good when you stretch out of your comfort zone. The true litmus test has not been performed at the time of this posting. Julia read up until "the incident" and gave me full approval. We were waiting until I finished editing for her to read the rest. Editing finished moments ago and Julia is at school. I'll let you know how it goes after we both have a mini freak out.
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Oh my gosh, it started out the best day ever! First, Kristin, one of the most popular girls in the eighth grade, wrote the wrong answer to a math problem on the board. And not just wrong, we’re talking 3rd grade math all kinds of wrong. A new weapon to add to my meager arsenal of self defense. Then at lunch, only one chocolate chip cookie was left in the lunch line. Matt Ziggerhorn and I reached for it at the same time. Our eyes met, our hands touched and I knew my life would never be the same when he smiled and said “That’s okay, Lexi, you can have it.” I could have died right there. I could hardly eat it while I watched him across the cafeteria talking to his friends. Every so often he would turn and give me a smile and my table of friends would start giggling. So not cool.
But the very best part of the day was going to Megan’s house after school. Mr. Simpson had assigned us as partners in a social studies project. The bonus to going to Megan’s house was her older brother Zach. Zach was a senior in high school, totally cute and actually had muscles. I had no doubt that Matt would have muscles one day, but Zach had them now. Plus he played the guitar. He was amazing.
We rode the bus home to Megan’s. When we got off at her stop, she groaned at the sight of the green Volkswagen bug in the driveway.
“Great, she’s here.”
“Who?”
“Shelby, Zach’s girl friend.”
My heart sunk. In my day dreams, Zach saw me and immediately fell in love. We would get married and live in a cute house on Maple Street, or the very least, he took me to prom. Of course, that proved more difficult with his girl friend here, although not impossible, for true love prevailed in spite of obstacles.
Megan led the way into her house and headed straight for the kitchen. Everyone knew you didn’t immediately start on a project. I didn’t leave until 5:00 which meant we would start working at 4:30. We still had 45 minutes to kill. Megan opened cabinets and dug through the refrigerator pulling out two cans of Coke and a bag of chips.
“Hey Megan, where’s your brother?” I tried to be casual.
Megan waved her hand. “Who knows, probably in the basement with Shelby.” She wrinkled her nose and said her name with a nasal sound.
We sat at Megan’s kitchen island talking about gym class (I can’t believe Coach Palmer made us run a mile!) and the assembly during homeroom (can you believe Brad Holloway fell off the bleachers?) and finally Matt giving me the last cookie “Oh, he so likes you Lexi!” We had almost whittled away our 45 minutes.
We moved our backpacks into the dining room and discussed our plan. Ancient Greece was so boring, I mean, when would we ever use that stuff? But Mr. Simpson didn’t agree and assigned projects. Our’s was on Aristotle. Seriously, how important could he be? Aristotle wasn’t even in Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief movie. Almost all the Greek gods were, so he must have been a pretty minor player. But Mr. Simpson wouldn’t listen to reason and insisted we do the project anyway. Whatever. I had already printed off pictures at home and Megan wrote a small report to paste on our poster. We realized we were missing poster board.
“I know we have one in the basement closet. Lexi, can you go get it while I find the markers and glue? It’s at the bottom of the stairs and around the corner.”
I didn’t mind at all. I was still hoping to see Zach so he could fall in love with me. I had a plan. Zach would see me and I, of course, would be all casual like “hey Zach” and I wouldn’t give him much attention. After seeing I wasn’t an immature 8th grader, he would fall instantly in love. I would play it cool, I couldn’t let on that I wanted him so much, and then he’d ask me to see a movie. And then we’d live happily ever after. But first he had to see me. That part was crucial.
I crept down the stairs, worried I couldn’t pull it off. I held up my chin, squared my shoulders and continued down the stairs. Pulsating music grew louder the closer I got to the bottom step. The faint smell of vanilla and dirty socks wafted its way to the staircase. I reached the bottom and slowly turned the corner, but Zach wasn’t there. The empty family room was dark but light glowed through the cracked door on the far wall. The sound of voices drifted from the room and I tiptoed closer. I knew I shouldn’t look, it was wrong, yet the room pulled me like Justin Bieber attracts screaming girls.
“Oh, Zach…” I heard a girl’s breathless voice.
I inched closer and peeked through the crack. My breath sucked in and I covered my mouth, worried the sound would draw attention. Not that I needed to worry; Zach and Shelby were too busy to notice. Zach hovered over the bed, shirtless. A blanket covered his lower half. I knew it was Zach; I recognized the mole on his back after watching it all summer at the pool. It wasn’t as tan as I remembered it, but it was just as ripped. He leaned on his elbows and a girl lay beneath him.
Zach grunted as the girl made weird sounds, kind of like my cat after the time it ate a bunch of cheese. Zach’s back moved up and down doing some weird kind of pushups, which was really strange. Why would he be doing pushups over a girl?
Oh…. A slow burn flooded my face and my belly fluttered as I realized what they were doing. I knew I should turn around and run, but my feet suddenly bolted to the floor. I stared in amazement and disgust. What I saw at in the movies was romantic but this reminded me of the time I caught my gerbils doing it. Ewww. Suddenly, I wondered what it would be like to be the girl underneath him. The odd mixture of excitement and revulsion returned.
The girl moaned and I wondered if he was crushing her, but he didn’t seem to notice. I knew he was tired because he panted a lot. What they were doing reminded me of gym class. Both were gross, sweaty and a lot of hard work. The thought of Coach Palmer’s reaction to my comparison caused a giggle to erupt. I clapped a hand over my mouth and stepped away from the door, plastering my back to the wall.
Zach stopped making noises.
“What was that?” The girl asked.
I held perfectly still, praying they wouldn’t come out.
“Nothing.” Zach’s grunting resumed.
The sounds coming through the door told me they were busy, so I snuck across the family room to the staircase. I bolted up several steps before I realized I forgot the poster board. I didn’t want to go back but if I didn’t, Megan would and she might realize I saw her brother. Gross. I went back down, carefully opened the closet door and grabbed the poster board. As I headed back up the stairs, a moan louder and longer than before followed me. I rushed up, trying to ignore it, and headed straight for the dining room.
“Here.” I thrust the poster board at Megan.
Megan looked up from cutting pictures. “Why are you so out of breath?
I froze, wide eyed. Did she know what I saw? “I decided to run up the stairs. So I can keep up in gym.” My earlier gym thought made my face burn again.
“Are you blushing?” Megan asked scrunching her face.
“No,” I stammered. “I just got hot running up the stairs.”
Megan gave me a weird look, then looked down at the photo in her hand. “Whatever.” She pushed a pile of trimmed pictures toward me. “Start gluing these on the poster.”
I picked up a glue stick and started mashing the glue on the back of a photo, trying to forget what I saw.
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