Did I Do Something Wrong?

We were in the backyard, and it was almost eleven. I suggested a game. The childish game that children play when we don't want to feel like children, when we want to be oh so daring.

I hated being in the jacuzzi. Fat. Fat. Fat. Stomach. Hips. Thighs. Not to mention the scars that have only become more conspicuous come winter.

"You can't wear long sleeves forever."
"Yes I can," I lied, knowing full well that a staple of every Floridan's wardobe is the tank top.

But there was him. I didn't know him from before, from ever. Not even from word of mouth, or pictures from my friends. He were so adorable. So cute, and he had such straight teeth. I liked the way his hair fell all over the place, giving him a wild, excited aura. Best of all, he complimented my singing. Not like R, who held my hand in middle school. R tells me to shut up now that I'm dating someone else.

But back to him.

I sang my heart out. Over nothing. Think of Me, 21 Guns, Hotel California, Rainbow Veins, Missing, Treasure, The Only Exception, A Whole New World. I love music, and I loved the way his eyes reflected the cheap tiki decorations as they burned their noxious scent across the yard.

He had forgotten his bathing suit. I hadn't. Doublethink. I hate myself, but I know my body is a powerful weapon on the opposite sex. I leaned on the edge of the jacuzzi, facing him. I knew just how to make my breasts most prominent, how to look shyly at him, how to laugh. I know what worked on R. I know what works on the boy who holds my hand now, the boy who I love. The boy who wasn't there at that exact moment.

I always pick dare, never truth. What if they ask where my scars came from? Why I snuck off to the bathroom in the middle of the party and returned looking washed out with red-rimmed eyes? Dares are fun, exciting, dangerous.

"Kiss him."

As if I hadn't been hoping for that. Would he back away like some other boy had? Some other boy with blue eyes and a long curly mop? How embarassing. How hurt I had been. Lauren must have been prettier than I was. Until Ericah became his target. Never me. But I got over it. I hadn't liked him anyway. No need to stir up drama.

"Kiss him."

I had been half facing him, my damp breasts resting on the side of the jacuzzi, barely covered by the expensive bathing suit I used to love wearing. How excited I was, how my heart giggled like a teenage girl doing something wrong. It was wrong.

Wasn't it?

But he was right there. And so adorable. And right there. I hate myself. Doublethink. But I must be beautiful to him. We kissed. Quickly, but it was a kiss. My lips on your his. I could have laughed at the way he turned his head at the last minute, thinking I would kiss him on the cheek. He had heard me mention my boyfriend earlier, no doubt. Surely, a girl who talks about a boyfriend who isn't here must love him. And I do. But I wanted to kiss him just the same.

Had he understood, I would have let him do more. The two of us sneaking off to the swingset in the dark. All I was wearing was a bathing suit. So much young skin for his young hands to touch. But nothing happened. He went home. I went home. I may be a slut, but at least I get the attention.