Chapter 33
After class, I texted the guy asking him to come pick me up, but I didn't get a single response. I ended up walking to the bus stop and hopped on one back home. When I walked through the door, my mom gave me that usual stern look—probably because I'd left her hanging mid-conversation before heading out. I could already feel the weight of the lecture coming on: she griped that I only wore dresses to meet my boyfriend, and said that was "way too reckless." I knew the endless sermon about how I should act was incoming.
"Mom, we'll talk later, I'm going to my room to study," I said, showing her the summary notebooks Diana had given me.
And it was true: the college entrance exam was coming up, and I really needed to focus, or I'd screw myself and have to face another year of prep classes. My mom couldn't afford those "luxuries" of failing—especially if she realized I wasn't really putting in the effort.
In my room, I took off the damn skirt and swapped the worn-out panties for a fresh pair, more comfortable ones, then threw on some shorts. I sat on the bed with the notebooks open and dove into the reading, feeling the weight of the next few months settle on every line I scanned.
No matter how hard I tried to concentrate on the summaries, that butt plug in my bag wouldn't leave me alone. I even mentally cussed myself out: "Chill, Julia, it's still daytime, damn it. Already itching to shove something up your ass?" I gave an awkward smile, picturing the scene. I was curious, no lie, but trying it solo seemed lame. What I really wanted was to use it with someone, like the day the guy took me to the motel. Or worse, what if on Saturday during the waxing session with Diana? Showing up with the thing stuffed in, acting like nothing was up... It'd be ridiculous, me all hairy with that jammed in my asshole.
And she wouldn't leave my head either. I knew it was out of the question for me—the woman was a goddess, and me, hell, a little shit compared to her. But I'd been left with a nagging doubt after our last talk. I'd said goodbye all awkward, feeling like she wanted to say something but held back. I'd dropped hints, read between the lines, and she gave nothing. I was left with that feeling I'd missed my cue.
Sometimes I catch myself laughing alone at the guts I'm showing lately. Months ago I was all locked up, hadn't done shit in my life, and now it feels like I've flung open the gates of hell. Part of me really wanted to tell Mariana about the plug thing and Diana, how hot she was and how she left me all confused, but I knew Mariana would flip out with jealousy. She always did that, cut me with those scoldings only she could dish out when I opened my mouth about girls. I'd just drop something and she'd come at me with narrowed eyes, calling me crazy, asking if I'd lost my mind.
I lay back on the bed, the notebooks already forgotten beside me, and started thinking: "What if I texted the teacher, saying I got the impression she wanted to say something but didn't?" The worst she could do was shut me down, tell me I'd imagined it. But I knew I hadn't imagined a thing. She'd looked at me different, I felt it. The problem is women read too easy, like they see straight into your head—if I'd picked up on it, she'd picked up on me. I should've pushed, but I froze.
I stared at the ceiling, thinking about all my problems: how I'd snag the teacher, use the plug, and still hit the motel on Saturday, all at once. It was too much for one brain. The plan was to learn to use the thing, get waxed, and then fuck at the motel. That was it. And studying, for real? Nah.
I was lost in my daydreams, laughing to myself, when hell knocked at the door. My mom burst into the room with the sourest face imaginable, steps firm, arms crossed. She clearly hadn't swallowed the dress story yet.
"Funny, huh? To go out, you wanna keep that pussy easy to get to, but to hang at home you stuff yourself in shorts?" she fired off, voice sharp, chest heaving up and down fast.
I looked up, surprised. My mom didn't talk like that, not in that way, so full of anger. I knew she didn't like my dresses, but I didn't think it'd piss her off this much.
"This again, Mom? I don't know, I like dresses, it's hot out. I already told you," I shot back, trying to sound calm, but the tension was already crawling up my spine.
She took a deep breath, eyes still blazing, but her tone shifted, lower, almost a cutting whisper. I don't know if she meant it to be calmer, but it just scared me more.
"Julia, Julia... you putting out, honey?"
I felt my blood run cold. My chest tightened, throat went dry, and I had to swallow hard to keep my cool. My mom was always good in a fight, but she hated direct confrontations, so I knew the best defense was a good offense.
"Alright, Mom. When I move out, you can pick my clothes, okay? If that's the issue, it's solved. Or you gonna ban me from going out too?" I fired back, not breaking eye contact.
The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. My mom stared at me for a second that felt like forever, lips pursed tight. I knew I'd poked the bear, but there was no backing down now.
"I'm booking you a gyno appointment, you hear me? And I don't want any pregnant daughters in this house, so you can tell that boy I wanna meet him. Got it?"
The punch landed right in my gut. My mom wasn't stupid, not at all. She read me like a book.
"Mom, if you wanna meet him, fine, but don't make shit up, okay? I'm not fucking anyone," I let out, trying to sound firm, but my voice came out so fake I hated myself right then. It sounded like I'd swallowed a scratched record, it came out that bad. My ears even hurt from my own lie.
She gave me that look like she'd heard every excuse in the book, eyebrows furrowed.
"Julia, you think I wasn't your age? You know what'll happen to your life if you show up pregnant, right?"
"Mom, what pregnancy, nothing!" I shot back, trying to hold my ground, but feeling totally exposed.
She looked at me one more time, shook her head no, and turned her back, leaving the room without giving me a chance to argue. She just tossed over her shoulder:
"I want that boy here. Call him. Until he shows up, I don't want you meeting him, you hear me?"
I sat there on the bed, staring at nothing, trying to figure out where she'd gotten that from. If I told her about everyone I'd hooked up with, would she wanna sit down for a talk too? It'd be an eternity of drama. That made me laugh to myself, my head already full of absurd scenes.