Playing Nice by Rebekah Crane

Author:Rebekah Crane [Crane, Rebekah]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Young Adult
ISBN: 9780985895655
Google: d6HwkgEACAAJ
Amazon: 0985895659
Goodreads: 16050504
Publisher: In This Together Media
Published: 2012-12-31T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

"Led Zeppelin!" Lil yells. "His favorite song is a Led Zeppelin song!" She laughs so hard it shakes the walls of the trailer.

"What's wrong with Led Zeppelin?" I ask.

"Why didn't he just sing you a Rolling Stones song, or better yet, the Beatles? What a guitar-playing dick."

"I can't believe you're focusing on the song and not the fact that he sang to me. It was so romantic," I say.

"Romantic? It's cheesy and so fucking lame."

"I think it sounds very romantic," Lil's mom says as she checks her makeup in the cracked mirror, running her finger along her bottom lip. She doesn't even flinch when Lil says fuck, whereas I'm so uncomfortable, like my insides are squirming in a heap of dirty words. I want to grab Lil's mouth and clamp it shut. You can't say things like that in front of adults. Not until you're in college, anyway. I can't even say "tampon" in front of my mom without her clicking her tongue and pretending to wash the dishes.

"And I never want to see you in that shirt again," Lil's mom adds.

"It was just for effect and it worked." Lil smiles. "Don't encourage her, Mom."

Lil's mom told me to call her Maggie, but it seems wrong. I've never called a grown-up by their first name before. My dad has a strict rule against it, even though I think he just likes having people call him doctor when he's really a dentist.

"What's wrong with a little crush?" Maggie asks.

"Because they crush you in the end."

"Don't listen to her, Marty. She's a Grinch this time of year." She kisses Lil on the top of her head, a quick, affectionate peck, and I smile. It's as if every time Maggie touches Lil a light glows brighter in the trailer.

"I'll see you in the morning," Maggie says, putting her pink and blue apron on, and walks out the trailer door.

"Seriously, Marty," Lil says, turning to me, face serious. "This isn't a Disney movie. Matt is not some prince in tight pants with good intentions. He likes sex. Probably raunchy, bend-you-over sex and you are one-hundred percent vanilla. You can't like him."

"Maybe I want to swirl my vanilla with his chocolate."

"Life doesn't work that way, Pollyanna."

"Why can't you be happy for me?"

"Happy that you like a douche with long hair who wants to ride your Lazy Susan two ways from Sunday and leave you? Look, I told you there were two kinds of people in the world. People like you … and people like me and Matt. Don't be naive."

I hate feeling like I'm not in their club. Like because I haven't had sex and can't say fuck without squirming I'm not allowed in their world.

"Maybe I want to be more like you and Matt," I say. I've been trying to understand all the changes that are happening with the music and the dancing and the writing. Is all this truth telling me becoming more like Lil, or me figuring out I had parts

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