Josh looked at Cindy. She had her face in her hands,
sobbing silently. Never in a million years had Josh wanted this to
happen. Never. And yet, he had started the whole spin early this
morning. Clearly, this was all his fault. Why had he been so stupid?
What could he do? What could he possibly do?
"Josh? Josh, did you say that?" Cindy didn't look up.
"Did you tell people that we have wild sex on Saturday nights?"
"No. I mean, yes, but. . . . I didn't mean it. I. . . ."
A freshman girl had come into the bathroom and
was staring at Josh. He snarled and gnashed his teeth at her. "Get
lost, little girl. And don't tell a soul, or I'll find you late some dark
night when the moon is full. And I'll suck your blood." She gaped at
Josh and then turned and fled.
"You're funny. You're a poet and you're funny." Cindy
was looking at him now, and laughing. "Tell me more about this
wild sex that we have."
"We don't. At least, I don't think we do. Do we? No. I
just, I just wanted to know your name. That's all. Your name."
"But you know my name. We've been in classes
together lots of times. You. . . . You didn't know my name? I've been hot
for you ever since you read that poem, and you didn't even know
my name. It figures. Cindy, the loser. That's me. Goody two
shoes, always perfect, and the boys don't even know my name."
"Jim knew your name. He told me. This morning. And
he asked me why I wanted to know. I couldn't just say it was `cause
I liked your poetry. Or that I just wanted to know, needed to
know. So I told him we were having wild sex so I thought I ought
to know your name. I didn't mean anything by it. It was just a
stupid thing to say. I just. . . . I just wanted to know your name."
"Jim knows my name, but Jim's a nerd. Josh doesn't
know my name. That's what's important. I've been throwing myself
at someone who doesn't even know my name. What is the point
of even trying? I don't hit on boys. Not usually. I spend
Saturday nights writing poetry, so Parsons will say, `Oh, Cindy. You're
so smart.' If I'm so friggin' smart, why can't I get a boy to talk to
me? Why can't I wink at someone and make him come running?
"I told you I liked your poem, Josh. That wasn't
spontaneous. It took me two whole days to work up the courage, and
to figure out how and when. And do you know what you said, when
I finally managed to speak to you? Do you know what you said?"
"Huh?"
"Oh, right on the nose. You said, `Huh.' Miss Cindy
puts herself on the line, and you say, `Huh.' And I come to your
gas station, I borrow a hot little sports car and come to your gas
station. Do you know what you said then? Do you remember?"
"Huh?"
"Oh, right again. And do you know what I thought?
Are you smart enough to figure that out?"
"Monosyllabic?" Josh took a step back and waited.
"Huh?"
"Here." Josh reached into his bag. "I wrote this. It's just
for you. Now don't go blabbing it out loud, and don't write it on
the bathroom walls. I don't want everyone to know what we do
on Saturday nights." He handed her the crumpled piece of paper
and fled.
