out of the sight line of their cross-country coach, watching the cheerleaders practice on the football field. “How can anyone’s boobs be that perky without surgery?”
“It’s the autumn chill in the air,” H said, ironically quoting something Mr. Edson, their English teacher, had said that morning. “Makes everything firm up.”
Monica slapped him upside the head.
“Ow!” H protested. “What’d you do that for? You’re the one who said to look at them!”
“I didn’t mean you.”
It was the second week of their senior year, early September. By mutual agreement, they’d taken a well-known shortcut on their running route, hiding in almost plain sight near the practice finish line, and giving themselves twenty minutes before they were expected back. Remarkably for this time of year, the sun was shining in a clear blue sky, though the wind coming in off the ocean gave the air an extra snap.
Days like this you could almost call beautiful,
Seth thought.
“The chill firms them up?” Gudmund asked H, stretching back on the grass incline. “Is that why you have a permanent boner all autumn?”
“All year more like it,” Monica mumbled.
“As long as you kids stay safe,” Gudmund said.
Monica gave him a look. “Like I’m going to have his baby.”
“Hey!” H said. “That’s not nice.”
“There they go again,” Seth said.
They all looked back over the field, and sure enough, Boswell High’s own blonde and brunette terrors were back at it. Though that wasn’t fair, Seth thought. Most of them were actually pretty nice. They all watched, though, as Chiara Leithauser, one of the less nice ones, left the pack and started walking back toward the main school building.
“Where’s
she
going?” Gudmund said.
“Forgot to give Principal Marshall his after-school hand job,” H sniggered.
“Oh, please,” Monica said. “Chiara’s serious about that chastity shit. Won’t even let Blake Woodrow put his hands on her bra.”
Gudmund shrugged. “Good for her.”
Monica laughed, but when he didn’t reply, she scanned his face closely. “You mean that, don’t you?”
Gudmund shrugged again. “At least she’s got principles. What’s wrong with that? Somebody’s got to counterbalance all us amoral types.”
“That’s what we can tell Coach Goodall when he catches us,” Seth said as they caught sight of the cross-country coach across the field, looking annoyed at his watch, wondering why his senior runners were quite so overdue from their first long training run.
“There’s nothing wrong with anyone having principles,” Monica said. “But there is something wrong with using them to beat four kinds of crap out of everybody else.”
“They’re only her opinions,” Gudmund said. “You don’t have to listen to them.”
Monica’s mouth opened to reply, and then it dropped open farther in amused astonishment. “You like her.”
Gudmund put on an ostentatiously innocent face.
“You do!” Monica nearly shouted. “Jesus, Gudmund, that’s like loving a concentration-camp guard!”
“I’m not saying I like her, don’t be stupid,” Gudmund said. “I’m just saying I could get her.”
Seth looked over at him.
“Get her?” H asked. “You mean like –” and he made a thrusting motion with his hips that caused a horrified silence. “What?” he said as they all stared at him.
Monica shook her head. “Not in a million years. It’s like she’s got a limited lifetime supply of fun, and she isn’t going to waste any of it on high school.”
“Those are the easiest ones to get,” Gudmund said. “All their morals are balanced way up high. One push knocks ’em right over.”
Monica shook her head again, smiling at him, like she always did. “The shit you talk.”
“You know what we should do?” H said, suddenly enthusiastic. “We should have like a bet, right? Where Gudmund has to sleep with Chiara Leithauser by like, spring break or something? ’Cause you
“It’s the autumn chill in the air,” H said, ironically quoting something Mr. Edson, their English teacher, had said that morning. “Makes everything firm up.”
Monica slapped him upside the head.
“Ow!” H protested. “What’d you do that for? You’re the one who said to look at them!”
“I didn’t mean you.”
It was the second week of their senior year, early September. By mutual agreement, they’d taken a well-known shortcut on their running route, hiding in almost plain sight near the practice finish line, and giving themselves twenty minutes before they were expected back. Remarkably for this time of year, the sun was shining in a clear blue sky, though the wind coming in off the ocean gave the air an extra snap.
Days like this you could almost call beautiful,
Seth thought.
“The chill firms them up?” Gudmund asked H, stretching back on the grass incline. “Is that why you have a permanent boner all autumn?”
“All year more like it,” Monica mumbled.
“As long as you kids stay safe,” Gudmund said.
Monica gave him a look. “Like I’m going to have his baby.”
“Hey!” H said. “That’s not nice.”
“There they go again,” Seth said.
They all looked back over the field, and sure enough, Boswell High’s own blonde and brunette terrors were back at it. Though that wasn’t fair, Seth thought. Most of them were actually pretty nice. They all watched, though, as Chiara Leithauser, one of the less nice ones, left the pack and started walking back toward the main school building.
“Where’s
she
going?” Gudmund said.
“Forgot to give Principal Marshall his after-school hand job,” H sniggered.
“Oh, please,” Monica said. “Chiara’s serious about that chastity shit. Won’t even let Blake Woodrow put his hands on her bra.”
Gudmund shrugged. “Good for her.”
Monica laughed, but when he didn’t reply, she scanned his face closely. “You mean that, don’t you?”
Gudmund shrugged again. “At least she’s got principles. What’s wrong with that? Somebody’s got to counterbalance all us amoral types.”
“That’s what we can tell Coach Goodall when he catches us,” Seth said as they caught sight of the cross-country coach across the field, looking annoyed at his watch, wondering why his senior runners were quite so overdue from their first long training run.
“There’s nothing wrong with anyone having principles,” Monica said. “But there is something wrong with using them to beat four kinds of crap out of everybody else.”
“They’re only her opinions,” Gudmund said. “You don’t have to listen to them.”
Monica’s mouth opened to reply, and then it dropped open farther in amused astonishment. “You like her.”
Gudmund put on an ostentatiously innocent face.
“You do!” Monica nearly shouted. “Jesus, Gudmund, that’s like loving a concentration-camp guard!”
“I’m not saying I like her, don’t be stupid,” Gudmund said. “I’m just saying I could get her.”
Seth looked over at him.
“Get her?” H asked. “You mean like –” and he made a thrusting motion with his hips that caused a horrified silence. “What?” he said as they all stared at him.
Monica shook her head. “Not in a million years. It’s like she’s got a limited lifetime supply of fun, and she isn’t going to waste any of it on high school.”
“Those are the easiest ones to get,” Gudmund said. “All their morals are balanced way up high. One push knocks ’em right over.”
Monica shook her head again, smiling at him, like she always did. “The shit you talk.”
“You know what we should do?” H said, suddenly enthusiastic. “We should have like a bet, right? Where Gudmund has to sleep with Chiara Leithauser by like, spring break or something? ’Cause you
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