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My notes are useless because my mind is all over the place. I click the pen in annoyance. The bus is late, piling onto the morning’s woes. When I glance up to see if the bus is anywhere in sight I don’t expect to find Ben staring at me. He doesn’t flinch when our eyes meet and I feel a swift rush. I hope I’m not smiling. Ben might be a creep of the first order but I recognize the heated look in his eyes. No matter who you are, if you like boys and you see a smoking hot one checking you out, you’ll feel a little smug.
I feel less smug when a gust of frigid wind lifts the hem of my skirt and shows off my plain panties. Ben smirks, my face becomes fiery hot, and now I need to spend all my energy keeping my skirt battened down. Just because I enjoy being noticed by a guy doesn’t mean I like flashing the neighborhood.
When the bus finally arrives I take my typical seat at the front and try not to feel disturbed by the fact that Ben Beltran is somewhere behind me. If I turn around for any reason he’ll notice for sure. And he’ll be amused to see me looking at him.
I settle into my seat and try to get interested in my paperback copy of Great Expectations. We are supposed to have it finished by next week but I’m barely a third of the way in. My English teacher, Ms. Carmody, is intensely fixated on Charles Dickens and all we’ve read this year are Dickens titles, although in October she did assign Hemingway’s The Old Man And the Sea for some variety. The words swim in front of my eyes and I think non-Dickensian thoughts.
Specifically, I think about the sight of a shirtless Ben Beltran.
This is a thought that has crossed my mind more than a few times lately.
Last week I was minding my own business en route to the Bulletin office when a commotion echoed from the weight room, along with a lot of ‘MOTHERFUCKER!’-type yelling. As the editor-in-chief of Black Mountain Academy’s only newspaper I am always on the hunt for newsworthy pieces so I crept over to the door and peeked through the window.
There were about a dozen guys in there, all seniors, all engaged in various workout activities with pieces of heavy equipment. One of them, Todd Bellinger, is on the football team. We kissed at a party last year, the only Black Mountain party I’ve ever been to, and he became annoyed when I refused to do anything with the rubbery penis he tried to shove into my hand. Todd was propped up against the weight bench and laughing when he should have been spotting the guy who was lifting on the bench. That guy set the barbell back into place and sat up. He was sweaty and gorgeous and wearing only a pair of gym shorts.
He was Ben.
And God help me, I drooled.
Then I ran down the hall before anyone looked up and saw me gawking at the guy who was rumored to receive assembly line blow jobs at some of the more raucous Black Mountain parties. No matter how hard my hormones convulsed, I was not willing to be one of those girls.
But I can still fantasize.
Yup, I’m damn good about fantasies.
Thinking about sex is my hobby. It’s a hobby I never ever discuss. When my classmates squeal about getting the shakes over the sight of a guy’s bare chest I don’t chime in. I act like I’m not listening. I act like I’m immune to such thoughts.
But right now, while my fellow passengers yawn and the driver hums Jingle Bell Rock, I’m free to daydream in peace and pretend to read Dickens while the bus staggers over the winding road to Black Mountain. No one would ever guess that I’m really thinking about Ben. Ben’s hands on my body, Ben’s tongue in my mouth. It’s a much needed break from all the worries about Adela and money and college plans. It’s just a way to pass the time. I would never think about Ben Beltran in any serious way. Once I overheard some of the BMA high end girls having a conversation about him.
“Yeah, I know he’s a trashy Devil Valley reject but he’s hot as shit and believe me, he’s got his uses where it counts.”
And the word on the street is that Ben doesn’t mind being used. A lot.
The drive passes quickly and I don’t look up until I feel the bus slowing down as the stately campus of Black Mountain Academy looms into view. I’m not happy about arriving at school after the first bell but there’s nothing I can do about it.
I’m already standing and waiting for the doors to open when Ben bumps into me from behind. His hands land on my waist, creating a moment that’s just a little too close to my recent fantasies. This is something I resent and so I turn around to glare.
Ben smirks and spits out an insincere apology. He’s inches away and he smells like soap and peppermint. I have to wonder if he possesses some kind of ‘She Wants Me’ radar that can sense the way my thighs press together at his touch. If Ben was a nicer person then I’d be excited about being this close to him but as far as I can tell he’s not a nice person. He ignores the teachers, he parties with the most obnoxious players in school and he treats the opportunity of an elite education like one big cosmic joke.
Unfortunately, he also shares most of my classes and this morning he has decided it’s a cute idea to trail half a step behind me. I’m a little off balance after treating myself to some bus ride mental masturbation and I just want him to go away.
I walk faster.
He keeps pace.
I veer to the side.
He does the same.
Ben Beltran is making me look like a race walking fool for no good reason. All of a sudden I stop and breathlessly explode at him.
“What the hell, Ben?”
And he…
Smiles.
The jerk smiles.
