Chapter 33

After class, I texted the guy asking him to come pick me up, but I didn’t get any 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 left her hanging mid-sentence before heading out. I could already feel the weight of the lecture coming: she bitched that I only wore dresses to meet my boyfriend, and said it was “way too reckless.” I knew the endless sermon about how I should act was on its way.

“Mom, we’ll talk later, I’m going to my room to study,”

I said, showing her the summary notebooks Diana gave 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 courses. My mom couldn’t afford those “luxuries” of failing — especially if she realized I wasn’t really trying.

In my room, I took off the damn skirt and changed the worn-out panties for a fresh pair, more comfortable ones, and 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 in every line I scanned.

No matter how hard I tried to concentrate on the summaries, that plug in my bag wouldn’t leave me alone. I even mentally scolded myself: “Chill out, Julia, it’s still daytime, damn it. You already wanna shove something up your ass?” I gave an awkward smile, picturing the scene. I was curious, I’ll admit, but trying it alone 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 piece of shit next to her. But I’d been left with a nagging feeling after our last talk. I said goodbye to her all awkward, sensing she wanted to say something but held back. I gave her an opening, read between the lines, and she said nothing. I was left with that feeling I’d missed my cue.

Sometimes I catch myself laughing alone at the guts I’ve been showing lately. Months ago I was all locked up, hadn’t done shit in my life, and now it feels like I opened 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 knew how to give when I opened my mouth about a woman. I’d drop something and she’d come at me with narrowed eyes, calling me crazy, asking if I’d lost my mind.

I lay 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, say I’d imagined it. But I knew I hadn’t imagined a thing. She looked at me different, I felt it. The problem is women read each other too easily, like they see right into your head; if I picked up on it, she picked up on me. I should’ve pushed, but I froze.

I stared at the ceiling, thinking about all my problems: how I’d manage to hook up with the teacher, use the plug, and still hit the motel on Saturday, all at once. It was too much for one head. 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 angriest face ever, steps firm, arms crossed. She clearly hadn’t swallowed the dress story yet.

“Funny, huh? To go out, you wanna keep your pussy accessible, but to stay 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 rage. 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 confrontation, so I knew the best defense was offense.

“Okay, Mom. When I leave the house, you pick my clothes, alright? If that’s the problem, it’s solved. Or are you gonna ban me from going out too?”

I threw 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 gynecologist appointment, you hear me? And I don’t want a pregnant daughter 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 dumb, 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 putting out for anybody,”

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 looked at me with that look of someone who’s heard every excuse in the world, 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 gave me one more look, shook her head no, and turned her back, leaving the room without giving me time 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.