Sheena and Cassie

"Hey." No such luck. Her voice was flat enough to hurt.

"Hi." I managed through a tight feeling throat.

"Got that poster?" I could hear her chewing as she talked on the other end of the line.

"Listen, about that thing...."

"It was a mistake. I know. I've been a lot of people's mistake."

I had nothing to say to that.

"I'll make some cookies, we can BS it." Click.

I put the cell phone back on the charger, lay back in my bed and stared up at the dark ceiling.

I wished it hadn't happened, but lying on the bed where I had felt her on top of me I really wanted it to happen again. I had never really understood kissing, and my one other experience with it had been just as awkward as it seemed. But now that I had really experienced the thrill of it, I found myself yearning for it, especially since I wanted to escape the guilt from doing it the first time.

***

About halfway through Saturday I realized what I had to do. Reading through my notes about pre-20th century feminism I saw a short little line about how "women are sluts, men are players/'cause the bitches can get preggers". The handwriting was looser and sloppier than mine, and I remembered Cassie and me giggling at the stupid rhyme.

I wasn't a guy, but I could dump all the stigma of what we had done on her. Hell, I HAD dumped it all on her with Mary.

I doubted Cassie would ever want me back, considering the way I had acted, but I still couldn't just let what I had done hang over my head. I picked up my cell and dialed one of the few numbers I had committed to memory.

"Sheena! Yo shenme sher?" Mary chirped into the phone, her parents' thick Beijing accent muddling her voice. Generally we spoke English, but she liked dropping a few playful Chinese phrases.

"Look, I have to tell you something," I said, in a way that killed her playful mood. I had only so much resolve and I could feel it sneaking away. I kept thinking maybe it wouldn't be so bad, no one would talk about it, and everything would be the same for me, and about the same for Cassie. It would be simple, easy, and totally unfair to her.

"Sure, what's up?"

"You know what I told you about Cassie making a pass at me?"

"Yeah...." The uncertainty in her voice made me pause, but at the same time it made me feel like I couldn't stop now. The gears in Mary's head were turning and I was committed.

"I lied, well, I didn't really lie, but I didn't tell the truth."

She was quiet on the other end of the line.

"I kissed her. We made out." There. It was out.

"Whoa! You made out with HER?!" Mary's voice had dropped to a hiss. "Did you like it? Was she better than Scot?"

"I guess, I mean, at the time, but then I didn't know what to say or what to do and I didn't want to have to deal with all that."

"So do you think you're gay?" Her voice was weird, not really disapproving, but more like I had just told her zombie alien Jesus watches us all from Mars.

"I don't know. I know I liked kissing her, but that's not really the same thing, is it?"

"No," Mary concurred. "But why was she staring at you in English, why did you lie to me about it?"

"I just didn't want to deal with it," I admitted, finding it much easier to talk now. Mary knew, I'd done the right thing, and the world would keep spinning. "I kind of blew her off, and that's why she's pissed at me."

There was silence on the end of the line for a few long moments. "So what is the deal with you two? Like, do you LIKE her?"

"I don't know," I confessed, squirming on my bed. I had been avoiding thinking about this exact question. "She's really pretty, and funny and all that, but like I said, I'm not sure I'm like that."

"Do you think I'm pretty?" She asked tentatively, and once again I was reminded of how different life would be if everyone knew I liked kissing girls.

"Yes, but not like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I wouldn't want to make out with you," I clarified. "We've known each other forever. That would be gross."

We talked about a lot of things: all the times we'd checked out guys together, if I could ever tell my parents about it and everything else it meant for me. The one thing we didn't talk about that sat in the back of my mind was what I wanted to do about Cassie, and what I wanted from her.

***

Around 10 AM Sunday I saw her name on my cell phone and feel my heart clench in my chest.

"Hello?" I more asked than said.

"Hey." Cassie's voice was a little thin, like she was as worried about this conversation as I was. "Mary called me, I guess you two talked."

"Yeah, we did." I was too weirded out by this conversation to get too pissed about Mary breaking my trust. "I told her some...."

"Yeah, she told me. Thanks." That last word was almost a squeak. "A lot of people haven't done that."

"I owed you," I admitted.

"Well... do you want to come over? We could talk about it?"

Part of me wanted to say no, to run from it. "Yeah, sure. When?"

"Whenever. I'm free now."

***

Her house was pretty far south, not in a terrible neighborhood but not a great one either. When the dog in the yard started barking she came out and told it to sit, smiling up at me apologetically and explaining that he was young and feisty.

The house was small and cluttered inside, with various knickknacks scattered around but clear paths on the floor. The kitchen window had a yellowish pall and the bitter scent of cigarettes teased at my nostrils. She led me quickly through and to a small bedroom in the back that I presumed was hers. Books lined the walls, mostly older and second hand looking, but unlike the rest of the house it seemed meticulously maintained and a quick look at her face showed she was relieved to have me out of the house proper.

"Sorry about the mess," she said apologetically, sitting on her bed.

"Oh, it's nothing," I answered, plopping down next to her, hands on my knees so I'd have some place safe to keep them.

We sat quietly for a long moment, neither of us looking at the other. It was hard to talk, but the silence felt like suffocating. At last I said, "I never kissed a girl before."

"I figured."

I surprised myself and laughed. "I was that bad?"

"You were cute... but yeah, pretty bad."

I looked at her out of the corner of my eye and saw her doing the same. We smiled at each other.

"You were really good." My voice was small, the truth in my words terrifying to admit.

She put her hand on my knee, squeezing it gently. "Well I've had practice. I'm sure you've heard."

I shrugged. "People say a lot of things about you. I said things about you."

She bumped her shoulder against mine gently. "Everyone says shit. You owned up to it. I really do appreciate it."

"How much of it is true?"

For a moment she studied me carefully for a moment. "I've made a lot of mistakes. Does it matter?"

"No." It was my turn to lean gently against her, turning my face to look at her. "But I guess I'm nosy."

She laughed, slipping her hand around my waist. My breath caught. If I wanted to stop this from becoming romantic now was the time. I cuddled up to her, letting her squeeze me gently to her, resting my head against her shoulder.

"I'll tell you all about it," she said, the tip of her nose brushing by my temple, followed by her lips on my forehead.

"Mm, it can wait," I admitted, raising my lips to hers, the kiss coming softly like a dream.

Her hands teased over my sides in a way that made me giggle, her body pressing against me, pushing me back down to her sheets. As we kissed I got bolder, letting my hand sneak up underneath her ass, along its generous curve, then under her shirt, feeling the smooth bare skin.

There was a lull where we laid on our sides, just looking into each other's eyes.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey." She giggled and kissed me gently. I waited for a moment, and gave her a quick peck back. Soon we were full on making out again, and I rolled on top of her, feeling her full, soft form under me.

Somehow in the tangle of our bodies my hands slipped up from her wrists, pushing up the sleeves of her shirt. I looked down and saw my fingers on the soft pink mess of scar tissue and realizing what it was made me nauseous. She saw where I was looking and pressed her lips apologetically.

"Do you still do that?" I asked quietly, my thumb grazing the angry looking mark. It was sickening to touch, but I couldn't stop myself. It didn't seem to hurt her any.

"Not really," she said evasively.

"Why did you do it?"

"I was frustrated I guess. I wanted to hurt someone. Someone turned out to be me."

I looked up at her, saw her sadness out there, raw and exposed, and smiled as tenderly as I could. I lifted her hand, lowered my lips to her wrist, and kissed the scar. She smiled and hugged me to her. It all kind of ran together that afternoon. We kissed and talked and talked and kissed, commiserated and played with each other's hair.

Sometimes it went a bit too fast for me, both physically and emotionally. She'd press a hand against my crotch or ask a question too close to home, but when I brushed her hand away or told her I didn't want to talk about something she understood, never pushing me farther than I wanted to go.

By the time her father came home with her brother I must have looked like quite a mess, but they didn't say anything about it. I politely introduced myself then slipped quietly out. When I got home I snuck under my sheets and let my fingers dance to thoughts of Cassie's touch.

***

I caught her before school on Monday and stole a quick kiss from her. We were far from settled, and I knew there would be questions and challenges ahead. I would have to come out to my parents, explain my girlfriend to all my friends, and then say goodbye when we went to our separate schools. But that morning, when we walked into the hall holding hands, I really didn't care.