The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell(51)

“You’ll be a chick magnet driving that car, Hell,” Ernie said. “Especially with me in the passenger seat.”

“You got a car,” Mickie said, not sounding at all happy at my second surprise of the night.

“I’m talking Friday and Saturday nights,” Ernie said. “Cruising the El Camino Real!”

“We’ll wait a bit for that,” my mom said, arching her eyebrows at Ernie. “Samuel just got his license.”

“I’ll watch out for him,” Mickie said. “And make sure no chicks stick to the car.”





6

As we drove the El Camino, Mickie slid across the bench seat and pressed next to me. This would become her unwavering spot. “You are so spoiled,” she said.

“I’m not spoiled,” I said, but I was unable to hide the huge grin carved across my face.

“They gave you a freaking car.”

“It’s not exactly new, and I have to pay for my own gas and upkeep. You heard my dad.”

“Poor baby.”

“If anyone is spoiled, it’s Ernie; he got a new car.”

“Please, a convertible Falcon or a VW Bug? Kids would kill to have this car. You might even get laid, Hill.”

I felt my face flush.

Mickie leaned away, smiling. “Don’t tell me you’re still a virgin, Hill?”

“No,” I said, but I was never a good liar, especially not with Mickie.

“You are,” she said, smiling. “You’re still a virgin.”

“Okay, so I am. So what? A lot of guys my age are.”

“That’s because you go to a school without girls, and you’re all homos,” she said, teasing me. But I was in no mood to be teased.

“No, it’s because girls don’t exactly swoon for guys with red eyes.”

We sat in silence. At high school dances, there was never a shortage of girls who wanted to dance with the great Ernie Cantwell, and Mickie was surrounded like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind. I usually held up a wall for a while, then found an excuse to leave. While it might have been Mickie’s newly developed figure that drew the boys like flies to raw meat, I suspected it was also the reputation Mickie had developed since her expulsion from the Catholic girls’ school. Ernie and I had heard guys talking about her and wanted to tell her, but we both lacked the courage to do so. For some reason, perhaps because I was hurt, I mustered the courage that night.

Mickie said, “Sorry, Sam. I’m just teasing you.”

“You know, you’ve got to be careful, Mickie.”

She gave me a sidelong glance. “About what?”

“Guys talk a lot.”

“What, that Catholic-girls-are-all-as-horny-as-goats crap?”

I’d heard the same thing, but in my limited experience, I certainly hadn’t seen any evidence to support the proposition. “Guys talk about you,” I said.

She turned her shoulder away from me. “I don’t give a shit what they say.”

“You should.”

She turned her head to me, defiant. “Why?”

“Because they’re saying things about you, that you put out . . . and stuff.”

“Those assholes can say whatever they want. They don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you let someone else play pool tonight?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t you see them looking at you?”

“So what? Am I supposed to let them beat me because you don’t like them checking out my ass?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what?”

“Never mind. Let’s just drop it.”

“Why didn’t you say something to them?”

“Because I’m not your boyfriend.”

“You got that right.”

We drove the El Camino in silence, both of us staring out the windshield. When I pulled up to her house and parked, Mickie turned to me. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about being a virgin. I was just teasing you. It’s kind of cute, actually.”

“It’s okay,” I said, feeling like a puppy. “And I’m sorry about saying you should have let someone else play.”

She smiled, but it had a sad quality to it. “I’ll tell you what, if you’re still a virgin when you turn eighteen, Hill, I’ll sleep with you before you go off to college.”

I tried to force a laugh, but it came out sounding like I was choking. Then I said, “What, and spoil this beautiful thing we have going on?”

“What do we have going on?”

I felt the temperature in the car drop again. “What do you mean? We’re friends.”

“Yeah,” she said. “We’re friends.”

“What’s wrong? What did I say?”

“Never mind.” Mickie slid across the seat and pushed out of the car door.

I leaned across the red leather, speaking out the window when she closed the door. “Hey? What’s the matter with you?”

The small box hit me in the face and fell to the seat. “Happy birthday,” Mickie said, and she ran up the driveway.