The Exact Opposite of Okay(30)
“Maybe you should ask Izzy O’Neill,” someone shouts, and everyone cackles. “She’s a bit of an expert.”
The mention of my name is like an electric shock as adrenaline spikes unpleasantly up and down my arms.
That picture.
My cheeks burn. Then the jeering starts. Another girl yells, “Yeah, how many guys is it now, O’Neill? Or did you lose count at a hundred?”
“And that’s just on Saturday night!” another dude shouts.
Never one to cower in the corner, I force myself to raise my voice and call back, “You’re just mad you didn’t make the cut. A hundred guys and I still won’t sleep with you! Gotta hurt.” I shout loud enough to disguise the shaking in my voice. Steer into the joke, O’Neill. You can do this.
Castillo toughens up a little at this point, and leaps to my defense. “That’s enough! Out. All of you. Class dismissed.”
I think she has a soft spot for me, which is extremely baffling on account of my poor moral compass and alleged Sexual Centurion. But I’m grateful all the same.
We all stand up at the same time, and conversation erupts everywhere. No prizes for guessing the topic on everyone’s lips.
The muttering and giggling as we file out of the sports center isn’t about Castillo’s cringeworthy delivery. It’s all for me. From behind me, Ajita squeezes my elbow. Focusing on breathing as steadily as I can, I steel myself as much as possible. I can break down later, in the privacy of my own home.
8.17 p.m.
By the end of school I’m really quite miserable, despite my best efforts to power through, so Ajita throws an impromptu “would you rather” party in her basement for our somewhat fractured tripod. This basically consists of us taking turns in asking each other impossibly difficult “would you rather” questions, such as “would you rather have teeth for pubes or pubes for teeth?” and then heartily debating the answers like we’re members of the UN.
Danny agrees to call a truce for the purposes of this emergency situation, and although he doesn’t apologize for his locker-based violence, he doesn’t bring up the kiss either. Which I suppose is a win.
Prajesh joins us for a while, but once the questions become increasingly blue he starts to get more and more uncomfortable hearing his big sister talk about sex so openly. He excuses himself with the general expression of someone who’s trying very hard not to be sick in his mouth.
When he leaves, he gives Danny this weird fist-bump and says, “We still cool to hang out after I finish at the meet tomorrow?”
“‘Course, bro,” Danny replies. It’s incredibly cringeworthy hearing him call anyone bro, but nevertheless Ajita nudges his shoulder and flashes him a grateful look.
After an hour or so, with the aid of a metric crap-ton of nachos, I’m slowly coming back to life and laughing hysterically while listening to Danny justify why he’d rather have penises for arms than a vagina for a mouth. Ajita is insisting that this is just not practical because a) penises can’t grip things, and b) there would simply be no hiding your arousal. You would just be walking around the supermarket with your arms in the air, knocking boxes of cereal off the shelves, trying to convince the store assistant that you aren’t sexually attracted to Cap’n Crunch.
The website thing is actually falling to the back of my mind, until Ajita asks me: “Would you rather sit on a cake and eat dick, or sit on a dick and eat cake?”
Clearly, because unlike the pube-teeth debacle there is only one correct answer, I reply, “The latter, definitely. In fact, there is literally not any situation I would enjoy more.”
Danny then scoffs and mutters, “Jesus. Are you ever not thinking about sex?”
I’m kind of caught off guard by his tone, which is nothing short of scathing, but like the talented improv actor I am, I bounce back. “No. One time I thought I might be thinking about the Chinese inflation rate, but I was, in fact, thinking about dogging.”
To this he shakes his head and mutters, “Unbelievable. No wonder . . .” and then he trails off.
My nerves bristle at this. Ajita jumps to my defense.
“No wonder what, Danny? No wonder someone has set up a vile and intrusive blog dedicated to assassinating our best friend for her sex life?”
He stares into his lap. “Forget it.”
I’m honestly just not in the mood for a fight, and in fact I feel like I could burst into tears at any moment, so I just say, “Next question, please.” But his bitter expression and disgusted body language haunt me for the rest of the night.
It’s only when I’m leaving Ajita’s that the dark thought emerges.
Is it possible Danny’s behind the blog?
11.24 p.m.
I’m going on a mini internet hiatus this weekend. I need to clear my noggin, and also some time and space away from the place where a full-blown character assassination of me is taking place.
Have also told Ajita not to expect hearty contributions to our group chats for the foreseeable future and, like the horrid creature she is, she informed me that my contributions are not particularly valued anyway, so I wouldn’t be a huge loss. I also told her to keep Danny so entertained that he won’t ask questions pertaining to my virtual disappearance, and if she’s not sufficiently hilarious and endearing, just to tell him that I’ve joined the Hitler Youth and won’t be returning for quite some time. I feel like this is both plausible and horrifying enough that he’ll have to just accept it and move on, and hopefully will also have the effect that he falls swiftly and irrevocably out of love with me.