Boy Swap (6 page)

“There will be two captains,” he continues. “Coach Dearborn will pick the guy’s captain and I’ll pick,” he looks around the room and his eyes settle on Missy Stevens, a 5’10” Malibu Barbie look alike (seriously, she part-times as a Malibu Barbie impersonator at the toy store in the mall. The little girls
love
her. As do boys of all ages. Sigh.). “Missy.”

A few of the girls roll their eyes but most stare happily at Missy, hoping to be picked first. This is a surprise to none as Coach Brown picks Missy for team captain every single time. It’s like his male brain can’t see past her four feet of spray-tanned legs and short shorts. I settle comfortably into my spot—I’m generally picked last or near to last. Which I guess I can understand. While I’m in pretty good shape from my nightly work outs in my mom’s home gym, I suck at every sport invented by man. Name the sport and I’ll cost your team five points with one foul-up or another.

“Alright girls, group up,” Coach Brown says. “Let’s name the teams. Dearborn,” he shouts to the other gym teacher. “You got your captain?”

“Yeah,” Coach Dearborn replies. “Donnely’s the captain.”

Yes! My heart speeds up. Chris is the other team’s captain! He’ll definitely pick me first. Love is greater than kickball. I look over at Chris and blow him a kiss. He grins and joins Missy in the middle of the gym.

“Alright. Ladies first,” Coach Dearborn says.

Missy bats her eyelashes at him. Coach Dearborn almost drops his clipboard. Like I said, boys of all ages like Missy.

“Remember,” Coach Brown says. “Eight guys and eight girls on each team.”

“Okay,” Missy says, looking over first the guys and then the girls. “Hmmm…I’ll pick…Brooke,” she says, her eyes settling on me.

“Me?” I say.

“Her?” Coach Brown says.

“Really?” Chris says, looking at Missy in shock.

“Uh, yeah,” Missy says, slightly annoyed that people are questioning her infinite kickball team-picking skills. “Come on, Brooke.” She points to the spot next to her.

I stand up and slowly walk toward Missy. Why on earth would she pick me? I didn’t think she even liked me. I join Missy in the center of the gym and give her a tentative smile. And then I see it. She has a pink scarf tied around her ankle, barely peeking out from under her white gym sock. BSC. Membership does have its perks. I stand up there next to Missy, bubbling with glory, as she and Chris pick the rest of the teams.

The game starts and yes, I still really suck at team sports. No matter how hard I try, I keep missing the ball when I’m up to kick. But it doesn’t matter. Now that Missy has given me her Barbie nod of approval, everyone is being nicer to me. Even Coach Brown. He says the other team is rolling me bad balls and tells me to take first base. My first time getting on a base! Some of the girls on the other team even clap for me to show good sportsmanship. And they tell Jason Jennings, the guy throwing for Chris’s team, to work on his throws. He glares at them and mumbles some curse words. Chris gives me an impressed look. I can tell he doesn’t get what’s happening, but whatever it is, it’s turning him on.

Our team wins 5-4, with one of those points being mine. I’m feeling a bit giddy as I head toward the locker room to change back into my school clothes.

“Hey, Brooke, wait up,” Missy says.

I stop and wait for Missy to join me. A few of the other girls see me waiting for her and give me jealous looks. I love it.

“Hey,” I say as she reaches me and we walk slowly toward the locker room. “Thanks for picking me today. That was fun.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says with a shrug. “We have to stick together, right?”

I nod in agreement.

Missy looks around quickly to make sure no one can hear us and then says in a lowered voice, “So, how are you doing with all of the BSC stuff?”

“Um…okay. I guess,” I say, happy that finally someone from the club is willing to talk to me about it.

“I know it is a bit rough when you first join,” she says wisely. “It takes a little getting used to.”

“How long have you been in it?” I ask.

“Oh, since freshman year.”

“Freshman year!? So it has been going on for three years?” I say, doing the math.

“Four, actually,” she replies. “Cassie and Caitlyn started it when they were freshman. It’s totally huge. But that’s a good thing. Gives us more variety.”

“Wow. Do you mind if I ask you a question?” I venture, since Missy has been so sweet and open thus far.

“Sure,” she says, stopping us outside of the locker room so we can talk privately.

I lean against the concrete wall. “Here’s the thing. How do you deal with other girls dating your boyfriend? When I first signed up I thought oh, it is just some harmless flirting. But, well, it’s kinda sucky to see Chris with another girl.”

“You mean Cassie?” she says.

I nod.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get through it. You have to like, think of the long haul. Chris is right now but BSC is for life.”

My eyes get huge as I picture BSC members still following me fifteen years from now with a husband and a baby and some blond BSC member stopping by the house to flirt with my man while I’m changing a diaper.

“Relax,” Missy says with a laugh, as if she can read my mind. “I mean high school life. Not forever life.”

Phew.

“I hear what you’re saying.” I sigh. “It’s just that Chris is special. I love him.”

“That’s your first mistake.” Missy looks around to make sure no one is listening. “And don’t let anyone hear you say that. Rule #4 is to never fall in love with any guy in the swap.”

“But I was already in love with Chris when I joined,” I protest, hoping for some kind of Grandfather Clause.

Missy shakes her head. “Hmm. That’s a tough one. You’ll have to work it out. Come on, let’s change and get to lunch. Do you want to sit at my table today?”

Do I? Heck yes!

Chapter 8: Sex, Sex, Sex

It’s 7 p.m. and I’m waiting for Chris to pick me up. I hope he hurries since I can only stay out until 10 on school nights. The doorbell rings and Mom gets to the door first.

“Hi, Chris,” she says, drying her hands on a dish towel. “Are you hungry? Do you want a sandwich or something?” I swear my mom is on a one-woman Feed the World campaign. No one leaves the Thomas’ house without a sandwich in hand.

“Not today, Mrs. Thomas. But thanks,” Chris says. My mom totally eats it up. She thinks Chris is so
perfect
. “Ready?” he says to me.

I nod and we walk out to his car. “So what do you want to do tonight?”

“How about we go hang out at my house?” he asks.

Which can only mean one thing—his parents aren’t home.

“Oh,” I say, stalling, trying to come up with a better plan. “Um…are you sure you don’t want that sandwich? I can still run in and get it. I think my mom just bought lunch meat today.” That was totally lame. But I didn’t have time to think of something better.

Chris looks at me curiously. “No sandwiches. I promise I’ll buy you one later if you really want one,” he teases. “Come on, let’s go.”

Shoot. It’s not that I don’t value the alone time with Chris, because I really do. I’m just not in the mood for another “Why can’t we have sex?” fight.

We get to Chris’s house and he leads me straight to the couch in his basement. The basement is a sort of one-room apartment for Chris. His bed is in here, a desk, a dresser, a ping-pong table, a couch, a TV, a book shelf, and a mini-fridge. He flips on the TV and grabs a DVD off the shelf. He doesn’t even look at the cover but I can see he’s holding
You’ve Got Mail
—one of my favorites. He pops it in and heads back to the couch.

The movie starts and I say, “Oooh, I love
You’ve Got Mail
,” hoping to slow him down just a bit.

“Really?” he says, sounding a bit surprised as he puts an arm around me and leans in to kiss me. We kiss for a moment and then I pull back.

“What? Don’t you like it? It’s in your collection.”

“Oh. It’s my mom’s I think. Or my sister’s. I just grabbed the first thing.” He leans back in and starts kissing my neck and unfastening my bra at the same time. Why is it that he can unfasten my bra so much faster than I can? We start making out and I get caught up in it for a while. Chris is an excellent kisser. Soon my heart is beating and the heat is making it hard to breathe in. When I feel the top button of my jeans open, I push him off of me.

“Chris, wait,” I say.

“What?” he mumbles and tries to kiss my neck again.

“I’m serious. Hold on,” I say louder.

“Jesus, Brooke!” he says. “What the hell is your problem?” His face is flushed and his eyes are way angry.

I don’t say anything. I can’t believe he just swore at me.

“You know what the problem is,” I finally say in a low voice, trying to put my bra back on.

“I don’t get your deal,” he says, obviously pissed.

And I’m starting to get pissed too. “Well, I don’t get your deal.”

“Why are you being so cold lately?” he says in an accusatory voice.

“Me? I’m not being cold. I told you over and over that I’m not ready to have sex with you yet. Why do you keep pushing so hard?”

“What’s the big freaking deal? I mean seriously. I thought you loved me.”

“I’m sorry, when did this turn from a date to a Lifetime movie? Next are you going to say, ‘If I loved you I’d have sex with you?’”

“Yeah. Real funny, Brooke.” He stands and stomps up the stairs.

What was that? Is he leaving me down here? Where did he go? A moment later I hear the shower turn on upstairs. Okay, that was totally rude. The more Chris acts like this crazed sexaholic, the less I want to have sex with him. I’m really, really mad right now. And hurt. He never used to act like this before. Sure, he would occasionally try to get me to have sex but he was always understanding when I said not yet. He only turned into a jerk…when? Hmm. Since about the time I joined Boy Swap.

Since Cassie.

Could Chris actually be hooking up with Cassie behind my back? Or be on the verge of it?

I glance up the stairs and still hear the shower running. Chris should be up there for a few more minutes. I slowly walk by his computer screen, hoping he left his e-mail open so I could snoop. Just a tiny bit—enough to see if Cassie has been contacting him. But no luck. I sit down in his desk chair to think. And then I see it. His cell phone. I glance back at the stairs and then quickly power it on and start paging through his text messages. Me, Me, John from band, his mom, Me…Cassie. So she
is
texting him. I read the message:

Hey you. Friday, after game, private party at my house?

Okay, A) Who does she think she is calling him “you?” That’s assuming a little too much familiarity, isn’t it? B) Umm, “private party?” What is that about? And C) Did she forget that Chris and I will be at the football game? Together? Friday nights are always a date night—even when there isn’t a game. And shouldn’t she be with her
own
boyfriend on a Friday night? What will Carter be doing while she’s trying to get it on with my boyfriend?

The shower turns off and I toss the phone on the desk and race back to the couch. I don’t need Chris to find me going through his stuff.

Chris stomps back down the stairs, still wet from the shower, with a towel wrapped around his waist. If I wasn’t so irritated at the moment I would be totally ogling because Chris does have a really nice body—good arms and a slight six-pack. But no, I’m going to sit here with my arms crossed, staring straight ahead. He’s going to have to come to me to make this better.

Chris walks over to his closet, pulls a shirt off a hanger, and slips it over his head. He crosses the room to his dresser and takes a pair of boxers out of a drawer and pulls them on under his towel. I can’t help but sneak a quick peek. But I see nothing so I resume my pissed-off, straight ahead stare. After Chris slips on his jeans he finally says something.

“You want to go get something to eat?” he asks, like absolutely nothing is wrong.

That’s it? That’s the big apology after yelling at me and stomping out of the room?

“You’re hungry?” I say flatly, raising one eyebrow at him. “Now?”

“Yeah.”

I continue to stare at him.

“What?” he says. “I’m hungry and I don’t feel like fighting.” He walks over to me on the couch, takes my hand and rubs the top of it with his thumb. I don’t budge. He takes my other hand in his too and pulls me up from the couch. “Come on.”

Sigh. I guess this is the closest I’m going to get to an apology. “Fine. Let’s go.”

We walk toward the stairs and Chris stops at his desk to grab his wallet and cell phone. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he says. “I’m not going to be able to go out after the game on Friday.”

“Really. Why not?” I say.

“Family thing,” he answers quickly.

“You have a family thing on Friday? What kind of family thing?” I say in a slightly shaky voice.

“Just a family dinner. At my godparents’ house.”

Godparents? I’ve never heard of any godparents. He is
so
lying to me.

*      *      *

A short while later we are sitting in a booth at McDonald’s and Chris is wolfing down an Extra Value Meal #3, while my plain double cheeseburger, which he so generously purchased for me off the dollar menu, still sits untouched in its wrapper.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to eat your burger?” he says with his mouth full.

“Why? Are all the
other girls
eating their burgers?” I say sarcastically, stealing the line he used on me from our last fight over sex. But it’s completely lost on him.

Chris looks around the mostly empty restaurant and then gives me a puzzled look. “What other girls? What are you talking about?”

I sigh. “Never mind. Are you almost done? I
really
want to go home.”

Chris dramatically throws his last greasy fry onto the tray and stands up. “Yeah, I better get you home. You’re obviously premenstrual or something tonight.”

Did he really just say that?
Right.
Like it could never possibly be his behavior pissing me off but rather my little girly hormones.