I'm Number 7

I closed my eyes, but it wouldn’t go away. The feeling of being watched wouldn’t surpass me. I felt like I was on display against my will; like I was stuck inside a television box with only one channel. I tried to ignore it, I tried to deem their stares meaningless, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t. How could I? They weren’t just looking at me, they were talking about me too. I heard their mumblings; I knew what they were thinking. But I guess this is what all the girls get after sleeping with Jordan Calhan.

Before you say anything I would just like to point out that he is more superior in seduction techniques than every other guy that has tried to sleep with me. He is extremely hard to resist! One look at those washboard abs…God, what am I saying? The point is I have not had a guy try to seduce me like Jordan Calhan. Granted, only two other guys have ever tried to seduce me my entire life.

The first one was Jonathon Raddo. I was sixteen and he was fourteen. He was a complete nerd. I knew him because he was the cousin of my old best friend, Marissa Haynes. He was trying to convince me that if I had sex with him he would help me pass my history final. I said no, and I ended up failing world history.

The second time, I was at a party. I was having a good time. I did have a few drinks, but I was casually enjoying myself on the dance floor. And maybe not so casually a guy came over and tried to unbutton my shirt, in the middle of the dancing crowd. I, of course, slapped him. Even though, somehow, we ended up making out before I walked home. We did not however, do the nasty.

Yes, based on my prior explanations that would make Jordan Calhan my first. Which also means that I have been officially added to the list of virgins he’s slept with. And based on the school rumor count, that number is 7, including me. Yep, I was Jordan’s lucky number 7. Unfortunately for me, this was becoming my rather vexing nickname. I’m not Charlie Weber anymore; I’m Number 7. It is utterly humiliating. I want to die every time I hear someone say that goddamn number, and I’m usually not that dramatic.

Jordan Calhan used to be the ultimate object of my affection. He was up there on my list of hopeless dreams. This list was composed of dreams that I knew would never come true, like my dream of becoming an Anthropologist. We all know that’s not going to happen I have not the grades nor the ambition. That was only one of the idiotic ideas I’d put into my mind, and Jordan Calhan was one of them. He was attractive, athletic, intellectual, and totally out of my reach. I was a loser, barely passing, and completely ready to drop out as soon as I could find a job I didn’t hate. But despite all that, I was hot, so guys liked me.

Our romance was almost sweet, in a way. He felt sorry for me because I couldn’t pass my algebra 2 practice mid-term. He was one of those smart-asses that all the teachers loved and gave A’s to even if he didn’t turn in his homework or make-up a missed test. He helped me study one time and we ended up making out mostly. And unfortunately, I didn’t pass my mid-terms, again.

We didn’t see each other again until a baseball game in March. I usually didn’t go to those types of things. I was too indie/hipster to participate in school activities. It was the new thing. Nevertheless, Marissa Haynes dragged me to the game. Yeah, she was there too. Apparently, he winked at me during the game. This wink was apparent because there were about twenty girls around me that he could have been winking at, but he was looking in my general direction, so I guessed it was me. I ditched Marissa towards the end of the game so I could go talk to him, but Marissa had beaten me to the punch. The ref called the game about twenty seconds before I got there, but the two of them were already making out behind the dugout. I bet you can guess what happened next. Marissa was deemed number 6.

Needless to say, I was pretty pissed off at her. She knew I liked him, but that bitch went off and screwed him anyway. Our friendship was severed. I didn’t care though. Or at least that’s what I told my self. There was a good supply of vodka in my dad’s liquor cabinet, which also helped. I saw them parade their relationship everyday, and that made me literally sick, but that could have been the vodka. Jordan seemed happy though. And why wouldn’t he be? That sexy man whore had just plopped a sixth heart into his bottled collection. I’m sure he was overjoyed. Marissa was a spineless, needy girl who probably begged him for sex every night of the week.

I didn't have any friends anymore. Well, except for Alice. She understood me. She got how I was feeling. I knew she went through a lot of shit before,even though I wasn't exactly sure what it was. She told me she lost her best friend too. I liked Alice, but she was a real Scrooge. So I only enjoyed her company when I was really bored.

Most weekends I drank myself until I drowned, and then woke up soggy and rung out. I ignored my grades, cussed at teachers, and skipped my detentions. My dad didn’t get the phone calls from administration because he was off on business, and I eventually un-plugged the land line because it would not stop ringing.

Most people would call this depression, but I told myself this was just my way of dealing with all my problems. Some people see shrinks, I drink; tomāto, tomäto. I was beyond caring what other people thought. If I thought I was a loser that no one cared about before, now there was no way I had any social status at all. I had finally reached my goal; I was completely and totally irrelevant. Oh, if all my indie/hipster friends could see me now. They would probably make me their leader.

As my non-depression subsided, I was feeling impulsive. So one pleasant afternoon in May I woke up and decided I would go to school. What I didn’t realize was prom was the Saturday of that week, which meant couples would be buying their tickets that day. When I arrived at school, I was already dreading seeing Jordan and Marissa acting all “lovey dovey” while buying their tickets, but When I passed the line going into Mrs. Oliver’s classroom, Marissa was standing there alone. I smirked, and said, “Trouble in paradise?” as I walked by. My condescending comment had obviously hit her heart like a grenade because she immediately fired a not-so-impressive insult back.

“Go piss yourself, Charlotte” her nostrils flared as she said it, but I waved it off like a mosquito in my ear.

After seeing her so upset, I rushed to find Jordan. I would get her back. I knew Jordan wouldn’t be able to resist me. It was obvious that he felt some kind of attraction for me because of our study night.

I found him in the gym with his PE class. I stood by the door and waited for him to look at me. I caught his eye and smiled flirtatiously. He smirked and waved at me. He ran over to me, but his PE coach, Mr. Ritter, protested. I told him I was interviewing Jordan for journalism and he left us alone. “Hey,” Jordan said, standing about six inches away from me. His voice was husky, but smooth. It flowed into my ears the way warm chocolate drips down your throat. I wanted to savor it. I hadn’t heard it in so long. I took a step closer to him.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” I paused to play with the end of his jersey, “but I’ve been missing a lot of Algebra 2 classes.”

He smiled deviously, “I’ve noticed.”

“So,” I continued, “I was wondering if you would please help me study?” I batted my eyelashes sarcastically, but he knew I was serious.

“I guess my tactics really helped you last time, ” he replied and licked his lips.

I grinned, “Oh, they did.”

“Well then, I’ll meet you at 8. Your house?” He asked, a goofy grin on his lips. I nodded. We said our goodbyes and walked away. I skipped the rest of school so I could go home and clean. My house was kind of a mess. I pretty much trashed it because I was so angry when I was drunk, and then I was too lazy when I was so sober to clean it up.

It took four hours to make my house absolutely spotless. I was sweating by the time I was done. This was probably the most work I had done for a guy, but I convinced myself that I would’ve had to do this eventually because my dad would be home on Friday. I got dressed into my most flattering outfit, which was probably bought in a prostitute’s favorite store. I’ll just tell you this outfit included fishnet tights and a dress that barely covered my sacred parts.

Before I tell the rest, I would like to make it clear that I did not come into this night wanting sex. I really just wanted a good enough make out to make Marissa want to blow her brains out, but I guess Jordan had other intentions.

I heard his knock on my door and the second I opened it, he was trying to get me into bed with him. He spoke in that irresistible husky voice. He wore a loose tank top that presented his large biceps to me on a silver platter. I was able to push away his advances for awhile and we actually got some studying done, but then I got thirsty. I asked him if he wanted something and he did, so he followed me into the kitchen. I went to grab soda, but he had apparently brought a bottle of tequila. He smirked and handed the bottle to me. I knew drinking was a bad idea. I already wanted to jump his bones, but if I was drunk, there was probably no holding me back. I ignored my inclinations, and agreed to the beverage. I didn’t have shot glasses on hand, so I had to use larger glasses to my dismay. I poured less into my glass. I covered the bottle and turned around, drinks in hand, only to run straight into Jordan. The tequila spilled all over his shirt. “Oh crap,” I said, eyes wide, “I’m so sorry Jordan.” He only smiled at me.

“It’s okay!” he insisted. “But would you mind getting me another shirt? My parents will disown me if I come home smelling like alcohol,” he admitted with a sheepish grin.

“Of course!” I answered, still a little flustered that I had done that to him.

I led Jordan to our guest bedroom where my dad kept all of his old T-shirts. He sat on the bed as I rummaged through the drawers. I smiled as I found one that would fit him. I turned around to give it to him, but I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw him. My eyes were wide as I starred at his rigid, tan abdomen. I felt myself start to sweat a little as I brought the shirt over to him. He smiled, obviously noticing my noticing of his abs, despite my attempts to contain my mental drooling. I handed him the shirt and tried to back up away from him, but he swiftly grabbed my hand. He looked into my doe eyes; his green ones so sharp and full of emotion I felt like a fan girl about to faint. It was quiet, but his eyes spoke a million words to me at once. They filled my ears, flustering me enough that I didn’t notice him stand and caress my cheek. He closed the distance between us and gave me a kiss full of fire I’ll never forget.

After this everything was a blur. I was intoxicated by his taste, his touch, and his smell. First it was just kissing, but then we started to strip. He peeled the clothes off my already perspiring body, as I mocked his movements. Our lips moved away from each other and they took turns exploring the other's body. I tried to pretend I didn’t know what was happening as he pushed into my very core. I tried to ignore the way I moaned and screamed. I told myself it meant nothing to me; that Jordan meant nothing to me. It was all lies though. If I were to be truthful with myself, I would admit that I had never felt so in love with anyone my entire life. It was funny how sex made a person feel this way; even meaningless sex such as the kind I had with Jordan. I knew it wasn’t love. But it was such a beautiful idea. It made me feel like I had accomplished something, like one of my hopeless dreams had come true.

But I didn’t feel this way after he left. I definitely didn’t feel that way when my dad came home the next day and yelled at me for missing so much school and emptying his liquor cabinet. I absolutely didn’t feel that way when Marissa declared heartbreak warfare on me for the rest of my life. I know I didn’t feel that way when Jordan and Marissa got back together the Monday after prom. I deny feeling that way as I was mocked the rest of the school year; my whorish being on display for the entire school. I denied even having feelings after four people wrote “Have a nice life, Number 7” in my yearbook. But the feelings were there. I had the inclination to congratulate him as I felt my heart drop into his bottle. It hit the bottom of his jar hard and split unwillingly into pieces.

Without distractions, like parties and friends, I was able to bring up my D average to a D/C average during finals week. I decided that since I was so desperate to get out of this horrid town, college sounded really good. I enrolled for a junior college at the beginning of June. I thought since my other hopless dream had fallen through the roof, maybe the anthropology one would have a better outcome. After going through all of this crap, I figured there’s nowhere to go but up.