Amy 29: Amy's Big Night free porn video

Amy 29: Amy's Big Night Copyright 2015 by Amy Komori The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2015 Amy Komori. All rights reserved. Chapter One: I Say I Will Not The night of the show, Sarah ruled the Mixer with her soulful voice but it was just too bad hardly anyone was there. Even though we all knew in advance it was going to be slack weekend because it was the weekend after Thanksgiving Day, it didn't stop me from getting pissed. Plus, the whole thing was supposed to be this big charity event and the band we were opening for, the Leland Palmers, were without a doubt the best musicians and coolest people in the entire town of people who were either cool or at least thought they were. They were all girls who had been in other bands that for whatever reason broke up, but they ended up finding each other. The Leland Palmers were kind of newish. I'd never seen them play and I'd been really looking forward to it and meeting them and all that good stuff. Seeing practically no one in the place, just this open concrete floor with my friends and the members of the other bands and their closest friends instead of a nice big crowd of drunk people got me into a real foul mood. Being ignored sucked for everyone involved as far as I was concerned. But it was even worse that the whole town was ignoring Sarah. If anyone else felt that way, I didn't really know. The mood itself was eating me alive because I'd meant for this to be such a magical night. Not just the show, but because I had something special, a real life event of a personal nature planned for afterwards. I'd wanted to be happy. It wasn't happening. "What a lame-ass town," I muttered. "Just because we celebrated Indian Land Theft Day, they all think they have to go home to their mommies and daddies." We were probably all lucky even this many people showed up. With the university on break, many people were out of town. Sarah probably isn't too upset for herself, I thought. I just focused on her and that soothed me a bit. I was supposed to be standing beside her on the stage, but due to circumstances beyond my control (okay, I could've totally controlled them, I just chose not to), the two shyest members of my band, Silly Monkey, had to play an acoustic set by themselves. Not really acoustic, because Lena stuck a pickup in her acoustic guitar and plugged into her amp. The reason I was watching instead of playing was I was still wearing a cast, a purple nylon-covered thing on my right hand. It had been marked on and drawn on by a lot of people who cared about me, but the moment, I couldn't even lift a bass much less play one. And there was some dispute whether or not I could have played any worse than usual even if I had two hands. Well, I could freely admit out of all the bassists in town I was barely one of them. I was just a girl who held onto a bass and kind of plucked at it with a pick as her band played. But to have other people point that out right to my face as if I was supposed to eviscerate myself for their fun made me teeth-grittingly angry, too. Sarah and Lena played all our songs, and worked in some Tori Amos covers because Sarah could sing exactly like her (and even looked a bit like her with her red hair), but it wasn't an official Silly Monkey show because Gina and I had to watch it from the comfort of a filthy couch in front of the mixing board across the floor from the stage. My lower arm itched inside its bindings. Sorrel, the owner, leaned against the bar and watched. She looked like she'd taken the last train to Blissville, but she would have looked that way even if the place had been burning down. Probably. Okay, while I'd managed to turn totally into a girl and put aside shit from that other life, every so often there would still be these things where just how far my perceptions had changed. Sorrel was the center of one of those, which were kind of like a strange form of d?j? vu you'd only get if you'd spent twenty something years as a total guy and then the last few as a total girl looking at things from that angle. My guy self had been in the Mixer a lot on weekends along with his friends and he'd kind of been aware of Sorrel but she hadn't meant anything in particular to him and hadn't been all that appealing on any level other than hey, there's a cool person running this place but I'll never get to know her so I don't have to think about her. Now, on this side of the mirror, Sorrel loomed very importantly to me. And also, because I'd rearranged so much inside and out, Sorrel definitely appealed to me in a lot of other ways. Dark and vaguely Mediterranean looking, with curly, almost purple hair, and all these cool tattoos on her arms and back. Like vines, geometric designs, kanji, and other stuff I'd only ever see if she took off her clothes (which she did once at this New Year's party we'd attended). Her lover, Frieda, who was a blonde German with an accent Gina and I found funny as hell, worked the bar. She had a number of tattoos, too. Come to think of it, they were both amazingly hot: Sorrel with curves, and Frieda with angles (she'd originally come to town on a track scholarship to the university). Okay, so I found myself intimidated by them both, fascinated by them, too, attracted to Sorrel, kind of wishing I were her and hoping I could grow up to be even half as cool as she was. And all this on about a two hour acquaintance. For a moment I hovered around her mentally and then I was drawn back to the sofa because that's where I belonged. That's where my love was. "Fuckin' A, Amy! Sarah's so amazing," Tamara told me, her long arms draped over the back of the couch. She was tall, half Black, half Vietnamese. She wore this cool, multi-colored cropped jacket with fake white fur trim on the hood and cuffs, a tight green t-shirt with "Carter Softball" printed on it and hiphugger jeans that flared. Her long legs sort of splayed out across the floor; sometimes, when I thought I could get away with it, I'd put my hand on her thigh and feel her powerful leg muscles twitch as she tapped her feet. Tam and I had been dating for over a month. Neither of us had used the l-word or anything like that. Even so, she pretty much owned most of my thoughts when I was awake, but disappointingly stayed absent from my dreams. Which were mostly about ice cream and flying. Increasingly, though, I felt my infatuation with her becoming that more serious feeling. I'd probably told myself I was in love with her a billion times the way we kids did when we were really into someone, but it was coming true. I'd fallen for her big time right at the start, but now I was falling into something with her that was real and right. Which is why I'd made plans to have her take my virginity. Because we were going to have her house all to ourselves that night. Because I thought it was time. Because I wanted to. When we'd first talked about her parents going out of town and my staying over it was like a warmth grew from a button pushed and the more I thought about it-- even though neither of us mentioned it or even hinted at it-- I knew I was going to let her fuck me after the show. I didn't know exactly what that meant and wasn't even sure she wanted to, but I was going to do my best to make it happen. I was going to make myself totally available to her, to give myself up to her. My first time. Everyone had this romantic ideal of that perfect first time. Mine was all Tamara, in her bed, the weekend after Thanksgiving. I was ready. The closer we got to it, the readier I felt. I didn't confide in anyone, not even in Tam. It was a secret floating in the undercurrents that made me smile to myself each time it bobbed to the surface in my brain. In a way I felt Tam had to sense it and maybe she knew it was time and she was ready, too. I hoped. I prayed to whatever dark Satanic forces were out there. Tamara, I'm so yours, I said to myself in so many ways, many not even having to do with language. And so for that meaningful night, I wanted Tam to see me in a certain light so she'd want me as much as I wanted her. Which is why I had star barrettes in my black hair, plus two silver piercings in one ear, three in the other. I wore a chain around my neck, my trademark bangly-dangly, beaded charm bracelets on my left wrist, and an extremely girly black mesh dress that came down to my knees and had these silvery glitter stars all over; it even had a pink ribbon and bow on the front, right below my chest. I wore my favorite clunky-heeled, charcoal mary janes. I also had a black sweater because it was cold out and my dress was pretty flimsy, but I'd taken it off as soon as we got in (Gina had to say some shit about my headlights being on and I hadn't bothered to wear a bra because the dress wouldn't have covered it exactly and I didn't have a whole lot going on in the chestal region anyways) because it was hot as hell in the Mixer. On show nights, Sorrel loved to turn up the heat so the dancers would sweat. I was all femmy and glammed-up, which was a change from my usual tanks and baggy slacks. The only negative the nylon cast on my fractured right wrist. But at least it had lots of names and doodles all over it. Gina'd dressed up, too. Which was a shock, because she was even more notoriously unreliable than I was whenever we planned something like this. She looked totally fuckable with her short boy-cut dark hair and freckles, and her blue muscle tank and long, black skirt with a slit at the bottom that clung to her mesmerizing booty (I thought it was, anyway) and showed a little ankle, a little calf when she walked. And these brown suede clogs I always asked to borrow, but she never let me. If we'd been on-stage, my post-show plans or not, we'd have both been in jeans. This time, since we weren't playing with Sarah and Lena, we'd decided to go all elegant, or whatnot. Even though I was totally used to being a girl, I always felt different when I slipped into a dress. I don't know, silly or something. When I'd first turned girl, I wore my oversized guy clothes until they fell apart. And I planned to be this real butch dyke. Nothing doing, though. Chalk it up to "good intentions." Anyways, Gina, Tamara and I sat there and enjoyed Sarah's voice and I secretly stewed over what a bunch of assholes everyone else in town was for not being there to hear her. Not that Lena didn't contribute to the overall coolness, too. Hearing her play stripped down versions of our songs minus Gina's beat and my mistakes made me realize just what an amazing musician she was. Her fingers moved with confidence and the chords really rang out. I was just thinking how they were suddenly real songs when Sorrel came over and knelt beside me. She tapped her hand in time to the music on the couch's arm, then whispered something to me. "What?" I said, because I couldn't hear her. "I said, 'If you girls can get me a demo tape, maybe we can get you on the bill for some shows here this winter,'" Sorrel said. "Oh, yeah, sure," I replied, and tried to act all calm. So much for that bad mood. Inwardly, though, I danced around and screamed at the top of my lungs; if I hadn't been so angry at everyone, I'd have done it for real. Oh yeah! Silly Monkey, headlining at the Mixer! "They're fucking awesome," Sorrel continued. "What do you sound like when you're all together?" "Like total shit," Gina said. Sorrel and I kind of chortled or whatever. That huffy surprised laugh everyone does when someone embarrassed you. "Kids," I sighed and rolled my eyes. Sorrel laughed. "Maybe that's it. By the way, what's your name again? I'm sorry!" "Amy," I told her. I shrugged off her forgetfulness. I mean, she had a whole venue to run and she'd been dealing with all the performers. We were just kind of there. "And this is Tamara and Gina." We shook hands, all of us and talked about random shit together. Gina started getting into the conversation now, and we did our little comedy team routine where she'd put me down and I'd zing her back. Only I was kind of distracted so Gina was getting the best of it and I just had to smile sweetly and take it. But Sorrel seemed more interested in me the more we talked. At one point she told me I was quite the amusing girl, and asked a lot of questions about my family and stuff. She really seemed into it, but I noticed she kept touching me a lot. After a little while, I found myself kind of wishing she'd leave me the hell alone. It was that bad, really. And it wasn't sure if Tamara was noticing all the extra attention and was feeling jealous. It seemed kind of childish to go for that when my whole plan was to take our relationship to its fullest expression, so I stopped encouraging Sorrel so much in the conversation, but at the same time I still was hoping to be friends with her, so I didn't exactly back off. Only Sorrel came at me harder. She began totally ignoring Gina and all but drooling on me. I mean, what the fuck? She didn't even know me, and yeah, I think I looked pretty and all (even with my cast), but I was starting to think she was rude. Like still kind of pretty and important and all, but rude. Seriously, seriously rude. Then, the bad mood flooded over me again. All at once I got the distinct impression that our playing there was contingent on Sorrel's having her way with me. It made my stomach drop. I told myself I was wrong, but once there the thought wouldn't go away. Like she'd say something about it and I'd mentally add, "And if you let me fuck you, your dream will come true." The only thing was, I didn't want to fuck up our chances of playing there more. So I didn't know what to do. You know, short of say something along the lines of, "You're flirting with me in front of my actual girlfriend, so please stop it." And then have her tell us all that no, she was just being friendly and trying to encourage a local musician and since when was I so stuck on myself I thought everyone was out to fuck me? That would be too humiliating to bear. Being wrong. Making a little ass of myself. Wrecking things for everyone. That was the position I felt forced into and I squirmed in the most uncomfortable of ways, wanted to melt through the dirty sofa cushions. "I'm going out to smoke," Tamara said, very mildly. "You can smoke in here. It's a club," Sorrel told her, but Tamara stood and stretched. Her shirt parted from her pants waistband and she showed a little flat tummy and oval bellybutton. She looked every inch (and those were a lot of inches) the teenaged former catalog model. "Want me to come?" I asked. "Nah," she told me as she walked towards the door. "It's kind of cold out." I probably should have just gotten down on the floor and wrapped myself around one of her legs so she'd have to walk out with me. Chapter Two: I Have Relations While Tamara smoked, Sorrel sat down in her place, between Gina and me. She laughed a lot. Every little thing I said was hilarious and I was just so witty and charming. I couldn't help but see that Frieda was starting to notice too; it's not like she was too busy serving drinks or anything. My skin was crawling and now I was getting a little scared. Holy fuck, I thought, I am going to either get fucked by the wrong person or murdered. "So," Sorrel said, "You two want anything? You're on the house tonight." I looked at Gina. Gina said no, but as a result of everything that was going on both outside my head and in it, I was feeling suicidally rambunctious, so I told Sorrel we wanted a couple of Kamikazes, which she promptly got up and served us. It had been a while since I'd tasted anything alcoholic but the Kamikazes tasted anything but. Well, maybe a threatening undertone. Above it, though, was just this sour lemonade taste that simultaneously quenched and encouraged thirst. So I didn't let us stop with just one. By the time Tamara came back (which seemed like forever), Gina and I were already buzzing. Well, I was. It didn't take much for alcohol to hit me over the head like a big cartoon mallet anyways. Sarah and Lena had finished, so we all went backstage because I decided Leland Palmers or not, fuck the rest of the show. Sorrel managed to put her hand on my shoulder and leave it there. She gave it a quick squeeze when we went through the door into the little room where the bands hung out before their sets. It wasn't a very large room and it was kind of jammed with old furniture. A green cloth sofa and some chairs. Nothing like what you saw in movies and shit where there'd be lighted mirrors. This was like something in a university dorm. There was so much graffiti on the walls, little memorials from all the groups that had ever played there. Crude pictures of monkeys, and dumb sayings. Quotes from "The Simpsons." Someone had really gone to town with some anime-style drawings, all big eyes and school-girl sailor suits. I felt magnetically drawn to them. I climbed onto the sofa facing backwards, on my knees to get closer. The old fabric pricked and scratched at my bare skin but I barely noticed. "Like those?" Sorrel said. "That's something Mitsuyo did. You've probably never--" "Oh my god!" I shouted. Well, actually, I squealed in a Sarah-styled fit of enthusiasm; you'd be surprised how many traits I'd picked up from my friends, and vice versa. Mitsuyo was all she had to say. One name. Mitsuyo! Anyone worth a shit knew Mitsuyo! I wouldn't even become friends with someone who didn't know who Mitsuyo was. And here was a drawing by Mitsuyo, of Happy Monkey Do. That blew the Sorrel situation into a billion little pieces and I honestly forgot all about it, at least for a few minutes. Because I had to scream and tremble from excitement and joy. "I fucking know who Mitsuyo is! She's like... a goddess! We totally fucking worship her!" As if to prove my theological theory, Sarah and Gina had come up and bounced onto the sofa beside me and we all put our hands on the Holy Shrine of Mitsuyo, and jabbered excitedly, all at once, sang snatches of Happy Monkey Do tunes. Just to touch something she'd touched! I felt exalted. I felt like I was approaching a plane of enlightenment. When I realized I'd never known she'd ever been in our town, I crashed pretty hard. If I'd been in a bad mood before, that was just a preliminary for how I felt now. I turned around and collapsed onto the sofa, or even kind of into it because it was soft and totally sprung, and Sorrel left to get us more drinks. I crossed my arms over my chest and let my chin sink and glowered at the Mitsuyo-less unfairness of a night where even Sarah couldn't get the love she wanted and I was getting some I didn't. Tamara, and listened half-heartedly to Sarah and Gina as they muttered about movies they'd seen that none of the rest of us had been invited to. Couple stuff. Even Lena joined in. She didn't seem to care they'd performed for such a teensy little audience. That she'd played well was all that really mattered to her. Perfectionist soul and all. Tamara smiled at me from her perch on a mismatched red vinyl chair. I never knew what Tamara thought about things. She had to have been aware of the moves Sorrel had been putting on me. They were radioactively hot and only an idiot would have missed the Geiger counter clicking. So was Tamara pissed, or did she just not care? I mean, she still had this smile, like we were cool, but she hadn't said a word since her smoke break, which she could've taken inside the club with the rest of us. At the moment I no longer felt like talking. I wanted another Kamikaze. As if by some miracle unwitnessed until complete, I found that Kamikaze in my hand. As I drank it down, I realized how fucking strong Frieda had been making them. I had somehow crossed over from buzzed to drunk to completely wasted, and it didn't even bother me that much when Sorrel wedged herself onto the sofa with her leg touching mine. Tamara should've been on the couch to shield me, but she was keeping her distance still. "So," Sorrel said, to break up the tension. "Anyone smoke weed?" "I do," I said. "And Tamara, too." We passed around a pipe and got all giggly, even me. That's when Sarah stormed out. She'd come to hate that we smoked pot. And I was pretty sure she was pissed at me, not that she'd ever in a million years tell me that. Confrontations weren't her thing; Gina was my girl for that. I wasn't sure where Sarah's anti-marijuana stance came from. We hadn't discussed it beyond a couple of times where we'd had the chance to burn and she'd demurred then told me later she didn't like it and we'd just left it at that, like denominational differences between dedicated Jesus kids or something. Still, since she saw me as the pace setter for our group, I was going to bear the brunt of a Sarah pout fit until I found a way to distract her with bunnies or kittens or kittens dressed like bunnies. After Sarah made her exit, I came to feel kind of like I was being rocked by a gentle, warm sea. A pleasant swell carrying me through the evening, far from shore, far from all my cares. Except for my supper, which consisted of California rolls from the sushi bar where my super-sister Emily worked; that was one care that was starting to make itself known. "I'm going to check out the band," Tamara said, and somehow, I knew she meant I should go with her. We could hear them just starting up, but muffled through the walls. "Hold on," I said, with a laugh. "Let me see if I can get off this couch..." It proved a little difficult. Sorrel and Tamara helped me to my feet after my failure. My lips felt numb, and my legs felt all rubbery. I lurched through the door after Tamara, felt Sorrel's hand brush my ass. "She was totally hitting on you," Tamara told me as soon as we hit the floor. Now that we were back in the club, the sound was massive in our ears and we had to shout. Or maybe I had to shout? Were we shouting at all? Was I thinking this or saying it out loud? "Are you mad at me?" I asked. "Why?" "Are you mad at me for her hitting on me?" "That doesn't make any sense. No, if anything I'm mad at her." "I'm pretty sure Sarah's pissed about the pot," I said. "Yeah." I smiled, all wide-eyed innocence and an angelic smile. In my fucked-up drunk mental state I thought I knew just what to say to make Tam feel better. "Tamara," I said, throwing my arm around her shoulder, which wasn't easy because she was at least a half foot taller. "I am... I am so... so... in love with you." "What you are is wasted." Chapter Three: Curtailed Times I think I danced after that. By the time the Leland Palmers played, there were actually a decent number of people in the club. So it turned out it was just us no one gave a fuck about. The rest of the night was kind of fragmentary and I didn't really remember a whole lot of it the next day, although people took it upon themselves to drop hints and tease me until I demanded they just straight up tell me the stupid things I'd done and stop being cutesy about it. Michelle got a big kick out of the stories and especially the ones where I cringed after hearing them. Just flashes, really. At one point, I did something in front of the stage which may have been the dancing until Tamara dragged my ass back to the couch where we'd started our whole evening. She sat me down as if she was my mom and told me to calm down. She seemed kind of amused by the whole thing, but then, she always seemed that way, like life was this fun circus put on for her entertainment. I loved that about her. A clown could catch on fire in front of her, and she'd calmly spray him with seltzer water, or whatever the hell people spray clowns with. I was told later I actually told her a lot of that. Or at least I started babbling about a circus and not making any sense before I got very, very serious, as only a deranged drunk could, and I told her how fucking cool she was. How incredibly amazed I was at her self-contained coolness. I must've said "cool" a thousand times. And how cool Sarah was, and how cool Gina was. "I wish I was Gina," I said. "Everyone does," Gina said back. Tamara kept telling me that she knew, she knew, and that she was going to get me out of there as soon as she found someone to look after me for a minute. During one of my rare coherent moments, Sorrel zeroed in on me again. She'd been talking to Frieda, then she came gliding through the maybe a dozen or so people milling around. This part was crystal clear in my memory, as if filmed for posterity. "Is she going to be all right?" Sorrel asked Tam. "She's just partied out," Tamara told her. I nodded very seriously in agreement. "Should we take her back to my office? I have nice clean futon back there she can sleep it off on." "I'm sober enough. I'll take her home," Tamara countered. She did it so casually. I'd have been ripping out Sorrel's hair at that point if it'd been the other way around. Come to think of it, why wasn't it? Tamara was easily the hottest person in the Mixer that night. The tallest, the lankiest, and so different looking from anyone else I'd ever seen. I would've given anything for a kiss at that point. But instead, Sorrel had picked me, in front of her lover and everything. And don't think Frieda took it too calmly. I could totally identify with her in a strange way, with the evil looks she gave me from time to time. I've no doubt she purposely made those drinks stronger than usual. But then, no one forced me to drink that many, except Evil Amy. My evil twin... didn't They Might Be Giants have a song about that? I couldn't remember. "I'm going to go get Sarah," Tamara told me. "Do not leave this couch. I'm just going to tell her we're leaving. Okay?" "Yeah," I muttered. I almost followed her anyway. Alone with Sorrel, her big opportunity. She slipped onto the couch beside me. I was all slumped down, with my knees together, and my dress pushed up a little. Showing a hell of a lot of leg. I knew people were looking at me; I'd have been if it had been a wasted sorority girl on the couch dressed like I was. Because I wanted my night with Tamara to be perfect, I'd shaved them that morning, too, so they were all smooth and shiny. "I'm so sorry," Sorrel told me. "I had no idea Frieda was making your drinks so strong." "Fuck it," I replied. I pushed my dress back down. From that point, my legs were for Tamara only and it would be a cold day in Hell indeed before I'd put on a dress for anyone. Sorrel smiled. "Mind if I compliment you? You have very beautiful legs." "I do?" "I wish mine were as nice." "They're skinny." "Nah. What do ya do, jog or what?" "I skate. Inline. At the skatepark." "I'll have to come watch you sometime. Is that how you hurt your wrist? Skating?" "Um... I... I think I'm gonna be sick..." So I was. I leaned forward and yakked. Amazingly, none got on me. But then, I'd thrown it out pretty far. Sarah saw me and instantly went from pissed at me for smoking pot in the ready room to motherly concern. She got all dithery, like I'd contracted a fatal disease, instead of just a bad case of the drunk-ass. She even helped Tamara direct me out of the Mixer, which wasn't easy because I was all over the place before we hit the doors. I spit nasty taste. For some reason, I had to break loose from Tamara and Sarah. Out the front doors of the Mixer I lurched to stagger around and heckle certain people. I somehow managed to get all the way from the Mixer around the corner to the Lava Lamp where I ran into all the people who should have been watching Sarah earlier. Young couples, mostly. Skinny alterna-guys in their 70s style athletic t-shirts and brown pants, and chicks pretty much dressed like me. We girls. "Hi, girls," I said and someone waved to me, then hurried off with her pack of friends. "I'm a girl," I said to this heavily bearded old guy in tight blue jeans. "Of course you are," he replied, but I was already stumbling away looking for trouble. I was a girl who had blown her chance to have sex with her girlfriend. The only cure for it was to walk up to the first group of guys I saw and start commenting on what they were doing in a fake British accent. They did not take kindly to me. Well, at first they did. It was as if someone's little sister suddenly started quoting "Glengarry Glen Ross," complete with curse words but as if she were Mary Poppins, too. At first they laughed with me, then they began to grow disgusted and disturbed and soon they were complaining loudly to people passing by, asking who let me off the leash and could someone come take me home and put me to bed before I hurt myself. When I realized they were mocking me back, I grew furious and flicked one guy's cap from his head. No one thought that was funny but me. And I thought it was so funny I broke out into stoned laughter until my cheeks hurt and I started to dry heave on my hands (well, one hand, careful with my cast) and knees outside on the sidewalk, under the queasy aqua glow of the tattoo place next to the Lava Lamp. "There she is," I heard Sarah say from somewhere nearby. Hands gripped me. I got to my feet and clung to Sarah and Tamara. I loved them both, but in very different ways. So I told them, over and over. Then I puked on the sidewalk. If what I'd done inside the Mixer was impressive, this one was of legendary proportion. My body went rigid and it was just as if I were a squirt toy some giant hand had given a firm squeeze. It felt as if I'd exerted hardly any effort at all. Out it came. A startlingly huge spray of seaweed, rice and Kamikazes. It puddled on the sidewalk and dripped from the cars parked there. People pulled up and stared. "Nice arc, kid," someone said, but I was too far gone, all angried out. Things faded away again. I even think I heard applause. "Fuck, Tamara," I moaned. "Let's get out of here..." "We're trying." "Is she going to be all right?" Sarah asked. "Oh yeah," Tamara told her. "She just won't be drinking Kamikazes for a while." They managed to get me into the backseat of a car-- no idea whose it was-- and Tamara climbed in behind me. Dizzy flashes. There were other people in the car. They were talking loudly, laughing and shrieking, someone lit a cigarette. "Whose car is this?" I asked. "Mine," someone said. A girl's voice. I said, "Will you do me one favor before I die?" "Yeah?" "You may have to pull over. So if I ask you to, please, please, please fucking pull over..." "Okay." "I fuckin' mean it... if I say 'Pull over,' fuckin' pull the fuck over..." I fell asleep on Tam's lap at that point, and I only had a vague awareness as Tamara tucked me into bed at her house sometime later. Doing it was completely out of the question at that point. I kept apologizing, but Tamara brushed it off. I mean, I felt godawful in more ways than one. I'd made a complete ass of myself and acted oh-so-bitchy in front of all my friends. I'd spewed rice, seaweed and fake crab meat in front of a lot of people I knew. And I'd done it all wearing the sweetest dress, and looking oh-so-girly. As I passed out for the last time, it struck me what a perfectly Amy-type evening it'd been. I paid for it the next day. I woke up incredibly hung over, with a trash can by the bed. Tamara was nowhere in the room. I stumbled out of bed, held my hand to my forehead and went to find her. She'd slept all night in her parents' bed, with this little stuffed pig by her cheek. She looked so long stretched out there, and so peaceful. I'd never seen her sleep before, and I'd missed my first real opportunity. She rolled over and smiled at me, and the sheets swished. She kind of motioned like I should climb in with her, but instead I fell out on the floor. "I'm not ready to be up," I told her as she helped me back to bed. "Just sleep it off," she said in a soft voice. So understanding and gentle. "Why aren't you mad at me?" I asked her. "I'd be fucking furious." "That's why you're Amy, and I'm Tamara." "I guess." "And don't think I'm not mad at you. I am." "Good. I fucking deserve it." Tamara smiled. "Yeah, you do. But don't worry. You're gonna make this up to me." Even though if someone had told me I could be sick for the rest of the day and then feel better tomorrow, or I could die right then and there, I would've picked dying, I still had to smile at that. I lifted my head to kiss her. But she scrunched up her nose and drew back. "Damn, Amy," she said with a laugh. "You have no idea how bad your breath smells right now!" Chapter Four: Tipp City, Yeah, I'm Still Here Once home that afternoon and slowing coming back together, I felt I'd totally gotten away with it. I hid my ever-improving hangover and if Mom suspected I wasn't feeling exactly like my usual chipper self she must have just chalked it up to staying up all night chatting with Tam. I was all freshly scrubbed and had brushed my teeth. I inspected the clothes I'd worn and amazingly they were practically spotless, but they definitely smelled like a certain kind of smoke. How could someone yak that much and not get any on herself? It was a mystery I was glad not to have to solve. Despite having a brain that felt as if it was made completely out of chewed up Bubblicious bubble gum, I started a laundry cycle which made me look like the best daughter in the world. Then I spent most of the afternoon in my room with the lights off pretending to study. I thought a lot about Tam and what I'd wanted to do as my hangover went away and my energy returned. I found myself looking at the phone, but when it finally rang it wasn't Tam, it was Sarah checking up on me. "I'm fine," I told her. "Can you talk about it?" she asked. She meant was my mom around. "I can," I answered, "but I don't really want to." "Oh. You were kinda... you know... last night." "I can imagine." "I don't know if you can." "Is everyone mad at me?" I asked. "I... I don't think so. Why would anyone be mad?" "You know. The way I acted. Pretty crazy, huh? I don't really remember a whole lot of it." "Well... that's probably a good thing. Anyways, I don't think anyone's mad. I'm not." "Okay, cool. Look, I kinda want to take a nap..." "Oh." "Thanks for everything. I love you, lady, bye bye," I said and hung up before Sarah could say anything. I sighed. Then I rolled over and stared at the ceiling. I wasn't feeling like I wanted Tam at the moment, but I could remember what it felt like to ache for her to fuck me. I wished that feeling would come back. I wished she would call. But she didn't. And by nightfall, even though I was completely recovered from the Kamikaze flight, I was missing her fiercely and starting to worry whether I'd done something terribly wrong to her or not. And then it was Monday. And Tam had pulled a vanishing act. She wasn't at her locker. No one had seen her since my big night. No one had talked to her. I asked Gina, I asked Sarah, I even asked Dallas. Not a word. I had Sarah check the absentee list during her office helper period and she reported Tam was a no-show. That was like getting punched in the heart. All morning it got worse and worse. I'd ruined everything. Tam was dumping me. I didn't want to be this clingy girlfriend person, but at the same time I knew I'd shown her a strange side of myself, one I hadn't even been all that aware of until that point. If she wanted to put some distance between us, I could understand. Only I wanted her to tell me, not sneak out of my life this way. I covered up as best I could, but by lunch I was sinking fast. And lunch time socializing consisted of Gina giggling and making a big deal about how I was the Party Queen of the weekend before and there were so many amazing things I'd done. "Do tell," Michelle said in this falsely demure voice. She was sitting next to me, and Dallas was there, too, looking darkly witch-like on her other side. While Dallas leaned in, Michelle placed her little brown hands primly on the table in front of her tray as if she were an old lady member of the garden club or something awaiting some especially salacious gossip about the town's divorcee. "Don't tell," I said. Sarah had warned me and some of it had come back to me at odd moments making me freeze and curdle up like a nocturnal bug caught when the lights snapped on in the room. I could feel myself heating up, breaking out in a sweat from embarrassment. And not one person suspected how edgy I was right then. Well, maybe one person did. "I-I don't think Amy wants you to," Sarah said softly. She looked at me for confirmation, but I pointed my eyes at the peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of me. Gina gave us this devilish expression and proceeded to launch into the whole sordid narrative. That's where I learned about many of the interesting things I'd done for the first time. The more Gina went on, the lower and lower I sat in my chair. Sarah kept watching me and Michelle and Dallas kept cutting their eyes at me, too. I was not enjoying it at all and I was starting to bubble inside. Not the good kind of bubbling. The kind of bubbling where water boils but there's no outlet for the vapor so pressure builds until danger approaches. Mostly it wasn't that I was embarrassed about how I'd acted. I mean, I was. I hated drunk me for being so stupid and reckless. The biggest problem, though, was lack of context. I may have acted like a stupid little drunk ass, but there was a reason. It hadn't just been inside me all the time. It was thrust upon me. I didn't have a choice. Well, I did and I didn't. There are few things as annoying and infuriating as hearing a story about yourself where you've been assigned alien and actually incredibly dumb motives for the actions that made the story so juicy in the first place. "Why don't you fucking tell them why?" I said when Gina reached a pause. Drunk me was just about to barge out of the Mixer and start trying to get herself killed by townies. "What do you mean, 'Why?'" Gina scoffed. "You were fucking drunk as shit and totally out of control. They get why." "No," I said. "Tell them why I was drunk. If you fucking know so much about me." That left Gina dumbfounded, so I ended up taking up the narrative and rewinding it a little. "What Fuckass is leaving out is that bitch Sorrel who runs the fucking place was hitting on me like nonstop all night." Everyone except Sarah laughed. "So?" Gina said in this totally dismissive way. "You like girls." "I like ONE girl," I said in a voice snappish enough to shut her up and wipe the smirk off her face. I turned to Michelle. "It wasn't even that she was hitting on me. It was that she was persistently hitting on me in front of that ONE girl I like." "Oh," Michelle said, deciding the story wasn't as funny as she'd been led to believe. "And another thing," I said, turning my black, narrowed eyes full force on Gina, "Did you happen to realize there was this whole subtext to it? That I was... that she was asking me to fuck her for the good of our band? Or fuck me or whatever." "What?" Gina gasped. "No way. That's-" "That's what she was doing. She practically said as much right before she started in on me. Like how fucking cute I was and would we like to play shows there a-and then..." Wow, it was getting hard to say it all of a sudden. Like huge waves of humiliation and anger started washing up all over me. I felt sick, like completely slimed over. I looked down at my legs. Shadowed by the table, comfy pants. My cast and my hands were in my lap. The cast looked playful with all the signatures and drawings staring up at me, but my hands were balled into fists. When had I done that? My knuckles were so tight the wrinkles there were turning bright yellow. My mending wrist ached and throbbed (and itched under the cast). I was actually struggling to keep from breaking out in tears which would have been like a little death in front of everyone. It was so hard. It was getting so incredibly hard, though-- "At least it wasn't some creepy guy," Gina said, as if that made it all right. "Okay, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I had no idea." I looked up in time to see her mouth, "Later" to Michelle and Michelle grinned in response. That set me off. All the pent-up anxiety suddenly popped like a bubble blown from that Bubblicious my brain was currently made from. "You don't fucking tell her anything else about me, you cunt!" I snapped. Gina's eyes went wide. "What the fuck, Amy?" I got up with my chair tipping over and clattering loudly on the floor, hundreds of people suddenly looking our way in hopes of a big fight scene. In front of the entire stupid crowd of jokers I dashed out of the cafeteria to the girl's bathroom, smashed open the door with a quick flare of pain to my wrist and blew inside in a huff. I was ready to make with the angry tears. It would have been a relief, like peeing after holding it in for a long time. Only some girls I didn't like were in there and I had to quickly snap into some kind of pretend composure until they left. I leaned against one of the sinks and kind of glowered at them with narrow black eyes. They got the message and left, but they were muttering about me under their breath. I started washing my face as best I could with free hand and my cast, my body trembling and Sarah was gliding up beside me. "Are... are you okay?" she asked. My face was glistening with water as I stared at myself in the mirror. A sudden horrible thought hit me. "They don't have any paper towels in here, do they?" I asked, but I knew the answer. My bangs were dripping, the front of my black oxford shirt was soaked and I now had no way to get dry. Sarah reached into her backpack and pulled out a scarf she'd been wearing that morning and while I sat perched on the sink like a kid she dried my face. I managed to smile at her. "Thanks, Mom." "What are moms for?" she asked. I sniffled a little. "You're not okay, are you?" I shook my head. "That was so fucking rude, dude. You told her, I told her. Like, 'Don't tell them.' I don't wanna have to relive every stupid thing I do, okay?" Sarah nodded and then one big fat tear sprang from my eye and rolled down my cheek and I wiped it away as quickly as I could. Another source of embarrassment and shame wasn't just from having Gina tell Michelle and Dallas the delightful romp in which I'd been humiliatingly hit on in front of my girlfriend and then acted like a complete lunatic. I was knotted up inside because what I wanted most in all the world was giving my body up to Tamara. After a moment's debate, I told Sarah the truth, what I had planned for that night and then a whole lot came gushing out again about how Sorrel had treated me and made me feel like shit. Like I was some toy for her to fucking play with at her whim, like I wasn't even a person. And now Tam was missing without even a word of explanation. I was trying to connect the two narratively but not doing a very good job of it. In short, I was scared as fuck I'd not only ruined my relationship with Tamara before it really got off the ground, but that Sorrel had done a number on it, too. Sarah just nodded at everything I said. I don't know if she really agreed with me or not, but she was going to do whatever it took to support me and make me feel there was at least one person in the world who really understood me. She was my best friend and I felt all this warmth from her patient love just kind of burning through the fog of that horrible night and the stupid way I'd acted. Then Sarah threw her arms around me and just squeezed me until the negativity just melted away. She was so amazingly soft and warm and all around me. She made me feel safe and loved. I swear she was better than a houseful of puppies. "How's that?" she asked. "Nice," I told her. Emotions played with my body giving it little earthquakes. Sarah drew back from me, held me by my shoulders and looked my right in the eyes. My black eyes, her green ones, locked. "You haven't missed your chance, Amy," she said. "Chance at what?" "Tam." Then she reddened, her freckles flaring, seeming to multiply. She was so embarrassed herself now. "I mean, don't you think she would tell you if... you know... the worst had happened? Or something?" "I know," I said, giving her a smile, finding myself in the position of having to reassure Sarah instead of the other way around. My body jerked a little again. I tightened every little muscle I had to try to still it. "I-I'm just being dumb." Sarah brushed my hair from my forehead and told me I wasn't being that at all. A sigh and I felt the pressure just kind of stream out of me, leaving me loose and floppy all over. I breathed deeply, the smell of chlorine and old cigarettes in my nose and mouth, but kind of refreshing and forcing out the stale are from the Mixer. The bad emotions just seemed to melt and recede, shadows and mist giving way to daylight. It was like the hangover leaving, like getting over a cold. After that I was able to kind of pull myself together. Tam was still on my mind, though. She couldn't have been any more present if she'd been there bodily. But at least I stopped snapping at everyone and I was even able to apologize to Gina who took it with surprising good grace. Only she softly chucked me under my chin and did it with a sly, sideways grin. My crazy freckled mean girl. My former crush and secret love. And when the last bell rang, I tore out of there without saying bye to anyone. I managed to get on the school bus I knew went nearest Tam's house. I sat next with a bunch of ninth graders and it was almost like that bus riding scene in Sixteen Candles, only no Farmer Ted dared sit next to me and try to chat me up or anything. I looked like a fucking junior high kid thanks to my wonky genetics, and a junior high boy at that, but I felt so much older and wiser than these kids. I seriously doubted any of them had spent the day before nursing a hangover. I wasn't sure which stop to get off, so I took my best guess. It turned out to have been a pretty good one as far as guesses went. I was somewhere in the vicinity of Tam's, with familiar surroundings. Pines and oaks and little ranch houses, cars parked along the street. Those recycling bins next to the mail boxes. People were so involved sometimes. Thinking globally, acting locally. I walked along with my heart doing a crazy dance in my chest. Oh fuck, what are you doing, Amy? I asked myself. This is so stupid. But I had to. There was Tam's house. It didn't look like anyone was home. No car in the driveway, the curtains drawn. I stopped at the end of the drive and debated just going home. I'd give her a phone call and be all nonchalant about it. Oh, you weren't at school. Are you sick? I wouldn't say anything about wanting her to fuck me or how I'd missed her terribly the day before and was kind of freaked out she hadn't called to check up on me. Was I becoming the clingy girlfriend? Was I even still her girlfriend? Determination took over and despite all my fears and self-anger, I went up the drive and knocked on the door in the garage that I knew led to her kitchen. I knocked and my knuckles hurt and I was starting to feel a wave of fear and self-disgust and the urge to flight when the door opened and there stood Tam in a pink tank and matching pink pajama bottoms with an ice cream cone print. She had on fuzzy Cookie Monster slippers and the googly eyes stared up at me as if I were the crazy one and not the blue-furred junk food addict. Tam's eyes were kind of puffy and her nostrils had flakes of what I took for dry skin. "Oh my god," Tam said. "You shouldn't be here." That hurt and made my blood boil at the same time. I started to say something really angry and mean and hurtful and I wasn't even sure what it would be. "I have the flu," Tam added. And then everything in the world went away and I was in blissful heaven again. I pushed her back into the kitchen. "I don't care," I told her, blood rushing to my brain and making me light-headed. "I want what you have." She shut the door, I took her by the hand and we went back towards her bedroom shedding out clothes as we went.