"Sure do," I bluffed, puffed up with my own newfound machismo.

"Yeah, but do you know what to do do with 'em? Jesse, tell you what, how about you go over there and put those in your mouth, huh, kid?" He made a sucking sound with his lips and teeth. " with 'em? Jesse, tell you what, how about you go over there and put those in your mouth, huh, kid?" He made a sucking sound with his lips and teeth. "Milk 'em, is what I say!" 'em, is what I say!"

They were good-time guys, the original dirty rotten scoundrels. Fun for them was breaking a jar of mayonnaise on the supermarket floor. One well-timed slip-and-fall later, and they were suing the store for negligence. They fascinated me and made me feel sick to my stomach at the same time. I remember going out to find Joey in the parking lot one time, because he had an interested buyer for a lamp of his. He hadn't been near his booth for about half an hour.

I craned my neck, looking for his green Thunderbird in the vast parking lot.

"Hey, Joey! Where you at?" I stretched my neck in vain. "Joey!"

Finally I located his car. I saw him sitting behind the driver's seat and ran up to the window, knocking on it with my knuckles.

"Hey, Joey, someone's looking . . . oh, sorry!"

A woman's blond head was moving over his lap with a rhythmic tempo.

He glanced up and gave me a triumphant grin. "Little busy right now, kid." His right palm rested lazily atop her crown of mussed golden hair. "Gimme five minutes."

They were s.h.i.theads, creeps; I knew that. But they were my dad's world, and I'd been given a ticket to the main show. As long as I pulled my weight, worked hard, and made sure everyone liked me, I'd be allowed to stay. That's what mattered to me.

The year I spent alone with my father was unlike any other part of my childhood. It was exciting and gratifying. The most compelling moments came when my dad would take odd, brief fits of interest in me. One night over dinner, as he sipped from his Coca-Cola, he regarded me with a curious kind of look.

"Do you even like like girls?" girls?"

"What . . . what do you mean?" I said, blushing.

"I mean just what I say, kid. Do you like girls, or what?" He chuckled. "Not that complicated."

"Sure, I like girls," I said defensively. "Of course I do."

"Ya ever DONE anything with one, though?" he said, picking up a thigh from the take-out box of fried chicken that lay there between us. He gazed at me with a kind of intensity.

"I mean . . . there's a girl at school who I kind of like." That was true. Her name was Rhonda. She was the prettiest girl in the whole high school, as far as I could tell.

"You like like her, huh?" My dad had an evil grin on his face. her, huh?" My dad had an evil grin on his face.

"Yes," I said protectively. I didn't like the way he was smiling.

"Why don't I ever see her over here, then?"

"Because, well . . . we're not even together or anything. She doesn't even really know I like her, in fact."

My dad sighed. "Say no more," he said, holding up his hand. "I get it."

"What do you get?" I said angrily.

"You're a G.o.dd.a.m.n virgin," he said.

"Whatever." I reached for some potatoes, awkwardly scooped a huge portion onto my plate.

My dad continued watching me for a second.

"Hey, it's fine. You're just a kid. No hurry." Then he frowned, adding, "Christ, you eat like an ox, kid. Did you realize that? Leave some for your old man. You'll eat both of us right into the poorhouse."

I didn't think much of our conversation until about a week later. It was late afternoon. I carried my book bag over my shoulder. There'd been no one to pick me up from school, so it had been the bus for me. Another long ride.

I opened up my front door and let myself into my house. The house was quiet, as usual. I dropped my bag and went into the kitchen, where I opened up the refrigerator and poured myself a gla.s.s of juice.

"Mind if I have some?"

I jumped, startled.

"Who are you?"

A girl extended her hand to me. "My name's Tracy." She was about nineteen or twenty, and pretty. She was slim with a fair complexion.

"Oh," I said, not sure of what to say next. "I'm . . . um . . . Jesse."

"Hi, Jesse. Jesse." She smiled widely. "It's so nice to meet you."

"Did you . . . did you want some juice?" I asked.

"I'd love some."

Carefully, I opened up a kitchen cabinet and searched for a clean gla.s.s for her. My dad had all kinds of vintage gla.s.sware, but like I said, we weren't the best housekeepers, so it took a moment. Finally I found a pa.s.sable tumbler. I reached into the freezer, unstuck a few cubes of ice, and plopped them in the gla.s.s. Then I poured some from-concentrate orange juice into the gla.s.s and handed it to the strange girl who was in my kitchen. said, we weren't the best housekeepers, so it took a moment. Finally I found a pa.s.sable tumbler. I reached into the freezer, unstuck a few cubes of ice, and plopped them in the gla.s.s. Then I poured some from-concentrate orange juice into the gla.s.s and handed it to the strange girl who was in my kitchen.

"Thank you," she said pleasantly. She sipped from the gla.s.s and smiled at me again. "Yum."

I shifted uneasily. "Uh . . ."

"Yes?"

"Who are you?"

"I told you. I'm Tracy. Tracy." She giggled. "I'm a friend of your dad's." She spooled some of her pretty hair around her fingers and played with it coquettishly.

"Is he home?" I asked.

"Nope." She giggled again. "You are, though." are, though."

I couldn't think of anything to say to that, so I just stared at my feet. Tracy sipped at her juice, looking at the framed posters my dad had put up on the walls as she walked around my kitchen. Then, decisively, she strode toward the living room. I followed. She plopped down on our couch and motioned to me.

"Come sit down, Jesse."

I did what she said.

"So, how old are you?" Tracy asked. She appeared to be poring over me in a way I couldn't quite interpret.

"Fifteen."

"Wow." She laughed. "You look way way older than that." She reached over and stroked my arm gently. "You're pretty strong, huh?" older than that." She reached over and stroked my arm gently. "You're pretty strong, huh?"

"Yeah," I said softly. I didn't know where to look.

"Do you have a girlfriend or anything?"

"No," I mumbled. "I'm too busy . . . football."

"Oh, that's crazy. crazy. A boy as cute as you should have a girlfriend. I mean, that's really crazy." A boy as cute as you should have a girlfriend. I mean, that's really crazy."

"Well," I said, awkwardly. "Thanks."

"Jesse?" she said. "I just had an awesome idea. Do you want a ma.s.sage?"

"Uh . . ."

"It'll feel great, I promise promise! I'm super good at ma.s.sage."

"I guess so," I said.

"Come here." She reached for my shoulders and started to rub them very gently. I was still sitting bolt upright.

"How does that feel?" she asked.

"Nice."

"You could give me a ma.s.sage next, if you want." She giggled. "I bet you're really good at it."

I didn't say anything.

"I really really like your body," the girl whispered. I could feel her hot breath on my neck. Her hands strayed from my shoulders. They grazed my sides and came to rest on my thighs. like your body," the girl whispered. I could feel her hot breath on my neck. Her hands strayed from my shoulders. They grazed my sides and came to rest on my thighs.

I didn't say anything. My whole body tensed.

"What do you think of my body?" she whispered. "Do you want to see more of it?" Her lips came so close to my ear that I could feel how wet they were. "Do you want to see me . . . naked?"

Abruptly, I stood up. "I gotta go."

Tracy looked at me, startled.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry. I just-I really, really gotta go." I raced up the stairs to my bedroom and slammed the door behind me.

A couple of minutes later, I heard the front door open, then close. Tracy, who I guessed was a teenaged hooker my dad had hired to deflower me, had left the building.

"I would give my left nut nut for that girl," Bobby moaned. for that girl," Bobby moaned.

"You'd give your nut for any girl," I said.

"Yeah. But I'd give my left left for Rhonda Clark, and my left is my for Rhonda Clark, and my left is my special special nut." He stared at me. "It's the low hanger." nut." He stared at me. "It's the low hanger."

Rhonda Clark was tan and dark. She was so gorgeous that everyone always seemed to be staring at her. But she wasn't the kind of girl who went out of her way to talk to everybody.

"Bobby, just to let you know," I said, "you might have some compet.i.tion there."

"You got your eye on Rhonda?"

"She's amazing," I admitted.

"You gotta be kidding me."

"Sorry," I said.

Bobby snorted. "Well, good luck, luck, is all I can say, James. I mean, come on, man-that girl is is all I can say, James. I mean, come on, man-that girl is far far too fine for you." too fine for you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Frankly, a girl like Rhonda would be a lot more comfortable on the arm of someone with a touch of cla.s.s. cla.s.s." Bobby looked at me pityingly. "Which would be me, naturally."

I patted Bobby gently on the back. "Let's not fight over someone who probably doesn't even know either of us exist."

"Get your hand off of me," Bobby said. "Whoa. Don't seduce me, James, you sick freak."

I never expected even to talk to her. So I couldn't even believe it when Rhonda started looking back at me when I shyly stared at her in the halls. She smiled right at me.

"Hey, come over here," she commanded one afternoon.

"Who, me?"

She giggled. "Yes, you. you." Rhonda crossed her arms over the books she was carrying. "You keep looking looking at me. What's your name?" at me. What's your name?"

"I'm . . . uh . . . Jesse," I said, finally.

"Don't you play football or something?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"I heard you were pretty good," she said.

"I'm okay," I said.

"No, I heard you were really really good." Rhonda smiled. "Is there anything else you're good at?" good." Rhonda smiled. "Is there anything else you're good at?"

I thought for a second. "Swap meets?"

She looked unimpressed, and I hated myself for being so lame. I racked my mind to think what was cool cool about me: What could I boast about to impress this pretty girl who, against all odds, was talking to me in the La Sierra hallway? about me: What could I boast about to impress this pretty girl who, against all odds, was talking to me in the La Sierra hallway?