Popular

What can ruin us more than love?

Emily and I were an item now. We were in the public eye. The slam books that circulated around the school, passed hand to hand to be written in and read, were seeing our names. "Which boy is most handsome?" "Which girl is prettiest?" "Who's your favorite couple?" And suddenly, there were boys talking to Emily between classes. She was prettier than ever, excited and smiling. It seemed that she had more friends. Our conversations no longer centered on the two of us. She spoke of other things now, of who liked whom and what boy said what and who came over when she was at Cindy's house.

Cindy. I knew she was trouble. She was Emily's skinny girlfriend who lived across the street from her. She was outgoing and cute if she just filled out, and I had the feeling she didn't like me much. She smiled and was nice enough, but she had a habit of bending her mouth to Emily's ear and whispering things with secret eyes, and when she was finished, Emily would smile, shocked with intimate pleasure. I couldn't articulate my feelings, but I knew that Cindy would eventually do me in.

Emily was not allowed to use the phone, she said, as part of her restrictions, so I didn't get to talk to her much out of school. At night, I would lie in my room and listen to records and think of her, my body aching with pleasure and with pain. I could picture her just as she was at that moment, I thought, smiling, happy and laughing about something, her life a great golden street spread out before her rich and shining. I could feel a pimple forming on my chin, red and swelling. I would try not to hear my parents arguing in the living room of our small house. What would I wear to school tomorrow, I wondered. I hadn't many good clothes.

Turning the music up, I would lay back and close my eyes. "Emily," I would whisper for no one to hear.