Robin, Boy Virgin: Original Series

Amanda knows a couple of things:

1.) She knows how to drive.

2.) She knows how to drive and text without crashing.

3.) She knows how to get to the dollar store.

4.) She knows better than to play the top twenty on her car’s radio when she’s got a music geek virgin as her passenger. She left it on an old school rock station.

We didn’t talk at all (well, barely at all) on the way to the dollar store. Amanda texted for most of the way and I awkwardly looked out the windshield and the passenger window. I wished that I was threatening my life, speeding around in the Charger with beautiful Cora. Not in this flashy little Acura with popular Amanda.

Amanda pulled into a parking lot in front of a huge Dollar Max. I climbed out of the car immediately, glad that awkward ride was over. Amanda climbed out too and pressed her car’s keyless entry remote to lock and set the alarm over her shoulder. Like she was in a movie. I kinda just shoved my hands in my pockets and we walked into the dollar store. I held the door open for her, looking up at the door frame. I had to hold the door for her, ok?? The rules of being a nice guy say so.

Anyway, Amanda smiled and I followed her into the Dollar Max. Everything is so cheap here (duh). If I could buy clothes here and not be stoned by bitches like Amanda’s friends for committing fashion murder, then I totally would. But they pretty much only sell baby clothes and socks here for clothing. I suddenly felt bad for the families that had to buy baby clothes for their baby at a freaking Dollar Max. Wow, that somehow might be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard (assuming, of course, the parents aren’t just cheapskates like me).

“Condoms, pass,” Amanda was saying suddenly and shot me a grin over her shoulder. I still had my hands in my pockets and was thinking about poor families with babies. When she said that, though, as we walked by the condoms (that were next to the gum for some reason), I had the urge to make a comment about her and teenage pregnancy. But it would have been really offensive and asshole-ish, and since I was thinking about poor babies, I felt bad for Amanda’s baby.

Even though she doesn’t have one. Fack, what is wrong with me??

Amanda and I walked down the school supplies aisle. Poster board was the first thing on our left. Amanda skimmed over the colours, leaning to the side to look at them all.

“What colours?” I asked her.

“Um… how about white for the background, and then, like, blue for the water and, like, brown for the sand and, like, the sea arches,” Amanda said, selecting the respective colours. Like, sounds, like, super.

“Sure,” I shrugged. “How about yellow for, like, the sun?” I suggested. Damn! I did the ‘like’ thing after I’d been mocking it in my head! I’m such a hypocrite.

“Cool,” She said and pulled out a sheet of yellow. I reached out and took the poster board from her. She smiled at me as I tucked the poster board under my arm. You know, I wanted to ask her if the douche bags she hung out with ever did nice things like open doors and hold stuff for girls. Like, I know girls are perfectly capable of doing those things and are their own people and all that feminist junk, but it’s just a nice gesture; something guys should do for girls. I mean, they let us kiss them and touch them and (eventually sigh) have sex with them, so the least we can do is open a stupid door.

“Do we need anything else?” I asked bluntly, looking around.

“I dunno,” Amanda shrugged, looking around too. She started to wander down the aisle and I trailed after her. I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling, while she perused over the sub par Dollar Max markers and pens. Amanda turned to look on her right, on the toys’ side of the aisle. I watched, kind of shocked, as she picked up a little stuffed dog. It was a discolored dog: white with blue spots and its red felt tongue was sticking out of its mouth. Amanda turned around and held up the dog to me.

“Woof, woof,” She actually barked quietly. She kind of sounded like a legit puppy. Now, I deal with really weird things on a daily basis, but that crap comes from naturally weird people. Amanda was popular and pretty (yes, ok, she is. I’d just be lying and sounding immature if I said she was an ugly poohead). Anyway, popular and pretty people don’t make little stuffed puppies bark.

Lucky for her, I can handle any of the weird crap she could dish out.

“Miss, your dog is scaring me, please put him on a leash,” I said. Amanda giggled at my lack lustre wit and we kept strolling painfully slow down the aisle.

“Whoa! Nice,” I exclaimed and scooted ahead of Amanda to pick up a toy gun. Another great thing about dollar stores: even though the Toys R Us’s of the world have gone all moral and shit, dollar stores still sell fake police pistols and hollow, plastic machine guns. And I just love that. I guess that I’m a naturally weird person too, like the people I hang out with. Makes sense. The gun made a fantastic, loud ‘CLACK’ when I experimentally pulled the little plastic trigger.

Of course the first thing I did was turn around and pretend shoot Amanda. Then I shot her dog.

“Hey,” She protested, putting her hand protectively over the ears of her dog. I blew the imaginary smoke from the end of my pistol. I was so buying this, it wasn’t funny.

“You’re an idiot,” Amanda giggled. Oh god, she sounded like such a generic, popular Giggle-y McGiggleson when she said that. And I already know that I’m an idiot, but thanks for the confidence boost.

“Are we done here?” I asked, practicing spinning the gun by its trigger loop on my finger. It didn’t have any weight to it, so I had to move my hand a little to keep the gun spinning.

“Yeah let’s go,” Amanda said and turned and walked toward the cashier. I was watching the gun spin on my finger, but I glanced at Amanda as she pulled out her cell and tapped out a super fast message and then send it. There wasn’t a line up, so I cut in front of Amanda and put our poster board on the cashier’s counter and my gun on top of that and then dug out my wallet from my back pocket.

“Oh that’s ok, Robin, I got it,” Amanda said, reaching into her purse. I had this suspicion that she felt richer than me (I mean, she drives an Acura while I drive… well, nothing).

“It’s ok. I’m getting the gun, so,” I shrugged, opening my wallet. “You want your dog?” I asked, glancing at the dog she was still holding.

“Oh no that’s ok,” She said.

“It’s ok,” I said and impatiently took the dog from her and dropped it on top of the poster board. It’s a Dollar Max. Her stupid dog would cost me less than a freakin' slurpee at 7 11.

The middle aged Filipino lady working behind the cash register blew a huge bubble with the gum she had in her mouth while she rang up our stuff. Like, the biggest freaking bubble gum bubble I have ever seen ever. I handed her a ten-dollar bill, amazed, and she gave me change.

“Bag?” She asked after popping her gum with a loud crack and rolling up our poster board and securing it with a rubber band.

“No thanks,” I said. I tossed Amanda her puppy and she almost didn’t catch it. I picked up my gun and the roll of poster board.

“Thanks,” I said to the lady.

“You’re welcome,” She said and then started blowing another record breaking bubble. Amanda and I walked back to her flashy little Acura.

“That was rude, hey?” Amanda commented, assuming I’d agree. But I didn’t. I’d said thank you, the lady said you’re welcome.

“Whatever, that was the biggest bubble I’ve ever seen in my life,” I said, slumping down into the passenger seat. I settled the poster board on my lap and held my new gun in my hands. I pretended to shoot the glove box, more just to hear the satisfying CLACK. Amanda was giggling as she sat down in the driver’s seat and turned on her car. What, she’d seen a bigger bubble? I was stupid and a virgin bubble blower too?? I don’t think so.

I pretended to shoot someone on the sidewalk. When the person had their back to me, of course.

“Don’t! You’ll freak people out,” Amanda scolded (still fucking giggling) as we pulled out of the dollar store parking lot. I sighed. I bet if I was with Cora, we’d be getting ready to pretend hold up a bank by now. God, I love her.

Amanda drove me home and insisted I leave the poster board with her. I did as I was told and then walked up to my house, spinning my gun on finger.