Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(14)

“That’s great, Dad. You were saying?”

“Right. Anyway. Your Mom said she found something when she was cleaning your room. Some papers. On contraception.”

“Yeah? So? It’s for Health class.”

“That a fact?” He seems relieved by this. Hopeful, almost. But then his shoulders slump. “Well, that doesn’t really change things. Your mother thinks that you might be . . .” Dad forces a laugh. “You know your mother. She’s kind of naive about these sorts of things.” His upper lip is beading with sweat.

My stomach flops over. I suddenly know exactly where this is heading.

“Look, Dad,” I say, cutting him off at the pass. “I’m good. Don’t worry. I’ve got it covered.”

“I’m sure you do. I just . . . you know . . . we’ve never really had . . . ‘The Talk,’ you and me. You know. Officially.” He wipes the perspiration from his lip. Then takes another gulp of beer. “I mean, I figure you know a bit already. But do you have any questions? Are you familiar with all the, uh, details? The mechanics of things?”

“Dad. I’m fifteen. I’ve got a computer. What I know would probably make Mom cry. Can I go now?”

Dad takes a supremely deep breath. Then closes his eyes. “So, uh, then you . . . know how to put a condom on? I mean, have you . . . practiced?”

The air feels like it’s all breathed up in here. “I can put together a BIONICLE blindfolded. I think I can handle a condom.”

Dad leans back as he drags an aqua-blue box of Trojans from under the coffee table with his sock-clad big toe.

I turn away. “Oh, Jesus!”

“Your mother made me promise I’d show you how to put one on.”

“No,” I say, shooting to my feet. “Absolutely not.”

“Sit down! Now!” He grabs my arm and yanks me back to the couch. “We’re going to do this.” He leans over and picks the box up off the floor. “Your mother’s worried you’ll wind up with some disease. Or get a girl pregnant or something. And then it’ll be my fault for not showing you.” He tears open the box and pulls out a long chain of condoms.

I shut my eyes. Hold up my hands. “Seriously, Dad. I’ll wiki it. This is not cool.”

“Come on. Open your eyes,” he says. “You think this is fun for me? It isn’t. But if I don’t do this, your mother’s gonna lock the love trunk until I do. So let’s just get this over with.”

“Please, Dad.” If a genie suddenly appeared and offered me one wish right now, I would ask to be made small enough so that I could crawl between the couch cushions.

“I said open your goddamn eyes.” He cuffs my head again.

I open them partway, half-expecting to see him tugging his pants down and working up a proud one so he can perform his demonstration.

Instead, he drains his beer and places the empty bottle between his legs. Thank God for small favors. “This is important information. You do it wrong, you might as well not even be wearing one.” He carefully tears one of the condom packets from the chain. “The first thing you want to do is check the expiration date. This isn’t a ‘Best Before’ date. If it’s expired, it’s expired.” All of a sudden he’s gone from being completely embarrassed to totally practical, like we’ve dived into the ocean, and he’s over the fact that it’s freezing cold, and is now ready to bodysurf. “Then, you want to make sure the packet hasn’t been compromised. It should feel like a little air pillow.” He hands me the condom. “You feel that.”

“Yeah, great.” I hand it back. My eyes are trying to look at anything but his beer-bottle erection, which for some reason has become the only thing in the room. “Can you at least take the bottle out from between your legs?”

“No, I cannot. Because your champion isn’t going to be sitting on a table, or next to you, or anywhere else but where it is. As a matter of fact . . .” Dad grabs one of his other empties, reaches over, and jams it between my legs.

My back shoots up straight. “Whoa. Hey now.”

He rips another condom from the chain and tosses it to me.

“We’re going to do this together,” Dad says. “Because if you don’t learn how to do it now, the right way, you sure as hell aren’t going to be able to do it properly when it’s dark and you’re all hopped up in the back seat of a car. Now open your condom. But do it carefully. With your hands. Not your teeth. Believe me, I learned that one the hard way.”

We go through the whole painful process. Step by agonizing step. Making sure it’s not inside out. Pinching the tip to keep the air out in order to make a reservoir. Rolling it down to the base of our long necks.

“Good,” Dad says, gesturing at his success. “Now that we’re suitably sheathed, we can go about our business. Do you need me to go over that part with you?”

“I do not,” I say.

“Okay.” He nods. “So, let’s say we’ve performed admirably. Everything has — you know — worked out the way it should. Now we have to remove the condom. And it’s different than how we put it on.”

All of a sudden, the door swings open and Angela pokes her head in. “Mom says dinner’s going to be ready in fifteen . . . Ohmygod!” Angela blanches, her eyes bugging. “What the hell?”