Read Online Crush by Laura Susan Johnson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Susan Johnson
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whether it’s home or away, that I’ll suffer anything. One night it’s below freezing. I put on three pairs of pants, three pairs of bulky socks, and four shirts underneath a heavily padded jacket, and let’s not forget two thick pairs of mittens…and I’m still shivering.
“It’s no wonder,” Stacy remarks. “You’re thin as a spindle! You need to gain some weight!” We buy hot dogs and hot chocolate at the concession stand, but I’m still frigid when they’re sitting in my belly. I feel even colder when the game ends and I see Yvette running up to Tammy and kissing him on the mouth. His muscular arms go around her, lift her off the ground, and swing her in a circle. That night in my bed, I weep, wishing, and not caring how wrong it is, that I was the one Tammy had treated so right. My daydreams are of Tammy talking to me, holding my hand like he did in church, kissing me, touching me, loving me. My innocence dissipates rapidly during these horrible, beautiful months of myfirst year in high school. Myusual nightmares go on sabbatical, and I’m waking up from dreams of Tammy leaning down, whispering to me, his lips close to mine, and I’m wet and myheart is onlybeginning to drop out of warp speed. I know what I’m feeling now. I know exactly what I’m feeling, and it feels too agonizingly good for me to care what the Pastor has to say about it. I’m a boyin love with a man.
I’ve never been in love…I’ve onlybeen fucked. I want to be loved. And I want Tammyto love me.
In October, the church has a rummage sale to raise funds to improve the building. As always, if there’s a chance that Tammy will be there, even if it’s with that slut Yvette, I’m there. They put Stacyand me over at the pots and pans and kitchenware table. We spend most of the day giggling at Yvette. She’s been given the position of “supervisor,” which means she’s to stand in the middle of the yard and make sure nobody’s running off without paying. She stands stock still, her jeans so tight around her big butt it looks like she’s about to bust out of them, hands on hips, really swanky, just staring like a statue. The look on her face says she’s doing all of us a favor by being there. Meanwhile, Tammy’s supposed to walk around asking anyone if theyneed help, so he’s walking, he’s circling, over and over, like a tiger in a cage. He’s not even asking anyone how they’re doing, he’s just pacing, circling, really fast, not looking at anything but the grass he’s quickly mashing down. The whole thing is so comical that we can’t stop laughing. Yvette standing there like a waxstatue, in her old (she’s probably had them since eighth grade) Jordache jeans, and Tammypacing in a big circle at top speed.
After a while, theyabandon their posts and come walking up to us with one of the other girls from school. My heart begins its routine maniacal thumping as Tammy nods at us, his customary salutation to nobodyin particular.
Their friend walks right up to me. “You’re sure pretty,” she says, leaning into me with a huge smile. I nearly choke swallowing the poorly-chewed licorice I’ve been gnashing before managing, “Oh, thank you,” in a shaky voice, my lacquered eyes averting up down, back and forth, seeking a safe place to land.
The girl straightens and regards me closely. “You know, you’re wasting your time selling pots and pans. You ought to move to L.A. and be a Calvin Klein model. Don’t you think so, Yvette? Don’t you think he’s pretty?”
Lard-Ash gives me a saccharine smile. “Sure,” she says in her trademark blasé manner, “but shouldn’t he have to be taller to be a model? He’s kind of punytoo.”
I’m readyto crawl under a rock when the girl nudges Tammy. “Don’t you think he’s pretty, Tam?” My stomach somersaults painfully as Tammy’s handsome face creases into a scornful glare, and he snaps, “How in the hell would I know?! I’m a guy!”
Their friend cuts her
“It’s no wonder,” Stacy remarks. “You’re thin as a spindle! You need to gain some weight!” We buy hot dogs and hot chocolate at the concession stand, but I’m still frigid when they’re sitting in my belly. I feel even colder when the game ends and I see Yvette running up to Tammy and kissing him on the mouth. His muscular arms go around her, lift her off the ground, and swing her in a circle. That night in my bed, I weep, wishing, and not caring how wrong it is, that I was the one Tammy had treated so right. My daydreams are of Tammy talking to me, holding my hand like he did in church, kissing me, touching me, loving me. My innocence dissipates rapidly during these horrible, beautiful months of myfirst year in high school. Myusual nightmares go on sabbatical, and I’m waking up from dreams of Tammy leaning down, whispering to me, his lips close to mine, and I’m wet and myheart is onlybeginning to drop out of warp speed. I know what I’m feeling now. I know exactly what I’m feeling, and it feels too agonizingly good for me to care what the Pastor has to say about it. I’m a boyin love with a man.
I’ve never been in love…I’ve onlybeen fucked. I want to be loved. And I want Tammyto love me.
In October, the church has a rummage sale to raise funds to improve the building. As always, if there’s a chance that Tammy will be there, even if it’s with that slut Yvette, I’m there. They put Stacyand me over at the pots and pans and kitchenware table. We spend most of the day giggling at Yvette. She’s been given the position of “supervisor,” which means she’s to stand in the middle of the yard and make sure nobody’s running off without paying. She stands stock still, her jeans so tight around her big butt it looks like she’s about to bust out of them, hands on hips, really swanky, just staring like a statue. The look on her face says she’s doing all of us a favor by being there. Meanwhile, Tammy’s supposed to walk around asking anyone if theyneed help, so he’s walking, he’s circling, over and over, like a tiger in a cage. He’s not even asking anyone how they’re doing, he’s just pacing, circling, really fast, not looking at anything but the grass he’s quickly mashing down. The whole thing is so comical that we can’t stop laughing. Yvette standing there like a waxstatue, in her old (she’s probably had them since eighth grade) Jordache jeans, and Tammypacing in a big circle at top speed.
After a while, theyabandon their posts and come walking up to us with one of the other girls from school. My heart begins its routine maniacal thumping as Tammy nods at us, his customary salutation to nobodyin particular.
Their friend walks right up to me. “You’re sure pretty,” she says, leaning into me with a huge smile. I nearly choke swallowing the poorly-chewed licorice I’ve been gnashing before managing, “Oh, thank you,” in a shaky voice, my lacquered eyes averting up down, back and forth, seeking a safe place to land.
The girl straightens and regards me closely. “You know, you’re wasting your time selling pots and pans. You ought to move to L.A. and be a Calvin Klein model. Don’t you think so, Yvette? Don’t you think he’s pretty?”
Lard-Ash gives me a saccharine smile. “Sure,” she says in her trademark blasé manner, “but shouldn’t he have to be taller to be a model? He’s kind of punytoo.”
I’m readyto crawl under a rock when the girl nudges Tammy. “Don’t you think he’s pretty, Tam?” My stomach somersaults painfully as Tammy’s handsome face creases into a scornful glare, and he snaps, “How in the hell would I know?! I’m a guy!”
Their friend cuts her
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