Claire`s Diary by Karen Booth

CLAIRE'S DIARY / 2
Claire's Diary
Karen Booth
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 3
Cover art, photography, and hand illustrations by Bronwyn Gruet
Copyright © 2013 Karen Booth
All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this
copyrighted work, in whole or part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical,
or other means, is illegal and forbidden, without the written permission of the
publisher, Karen Booth.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a
product of the author's imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual
person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of
resemblance are purely coincidental.
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 4
For every reader who fell in love with Christopher Penman, and those
who have yet to meet him.
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 5
I'd like to thank the following people for their invaluable help with this project.
My husband Steve, for his patience and support.
My children, Emily and Ryan, for understanding when dinner is late because
Mom is writing.
Sara Young, for being my most enthusiastic reader and cheerleader.
Karen Stivali, my critique partner, for an endless supply of feedback and
encouragement.
Bronwyn Gruet, cover designer, for her incredible artistry and talent.
Heather Todd, Angela McAllister, Rhonda Rivera, and Michelle G., for being
early readers and some of the best Banks Forest fans on Planet Earth.
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 6
CHAPTER ONE
In Between Days
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 7
March 7, 1986
Dear Diary,
Julie is such a suck-up. She thinks she's so great because she got an "A" on
her Calculus test. Like that never happened before. Dad was totally telling her
how great she is at dinner tonight. Mom tried to make it better by asking about
my watercolor that got picked to be in the school art show, but it didn't make
me feel any less like I'm his second favorite.
Scott Miller gave me a ride home from school today because I missed the
bus, AGAIN! I was kind of excited since he has his own car, but he was a total
creep when we got home. He asked me about Banks Forest, which of course he
knows I love because everybody knows they are my favorite band. I was telling
him how much I can't wait to see Banks Forest in concert, and he put his hand
on my boob. He's kind of cute and smells decent, but seriously? Plus, it was in
the middle of the day and Julie was totally spying on us through the living room
window. He got all mad at me and told me I shouldn't dress like Madonna if I
don't want boys to grab my boobs. He's such an idiot. I haven't dressed like
Madonna since 9th grade.
Speaking of Banks Forest, (when am I not?), Jane found a totally completely
amazing picture of Christopher Penman in a magazine she got at the drug store.
I have to go buy my own copy as soon as possible. He is such a fox. I feel like
crying when I look at him.
XOXOXO
Claire
P.S. Only 27 days until Banks Forest live!
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 8
March 8, 1986
To say I shuddered when Holly Anderson slammed her locker door would be
a total understatement.
"Loser," she hissed through her patented popular girl sneer, ringed in
raspberry lip-gloss.
"Bitch," I muttered under my breath, hoping to avoid yet another argument
with her, despite my readiness to call her what she really was. My eyes clamped
shut, but the retaliation never came. I blew out a breath when I opened my eyes
and saw that she'd stepped into the current of kids rushing down the hall.
"You're right. She's such a bitch."
My books and binder tumbled to the floor. Shit. I dropped to my knees,
grasping for pencils as they rolled away. "Michael. You scared the crap out of
me."
He began messily gathering loose-leaf paper and cramming it back into my
folder. "I'm really sorry." He smiled and squinted. It was impossible to be mad at
Michael when he had that look on his face, especially when you added his
watery blue eyes into the equation.
"It's okay. I just hate her so much," I murmured. "I think she's gotten meaner
since she found out she's not pregnant. You'd think it would've made her
humble."
"Funny how the sluts don't like to be called a slut," he added as we started
down the hall.
I glanced up at Michael and the dark thicket of his Robert Smith hair
slumped to the side in a mysteriously cute way. It seemed like he was getting
taller every day and he apparently hadn't managed to eat enough to keep up.
His bony shoulders practically poked through his black New Order t-shirt.
I'd long thought Michael was perfect—a total fox with super cool taste in
music and definitely the nicest guy in the eleventh grade. My mom always
talked about finding a boy who could treat me nicely, and I thought I had my
chance when I got up the guts to ask Michael to a movie last year.
I was so excited when he said yes. I spent three whole days figuring out what
to wear, finally deciding on a short black skirt that I wore with leggings so he
wouldn't think I was a slut, a blue tank top to play up my eyes, big silver hoop
earrings and my jean jacket. I curled my hair, wore flats so I would seem more
petite, put on Giorgio so I would smell good—what a pathetic waste of time and
effort. He didn't try to hold my hand or anything. Of course, being a modern girl
and an idiot, I decided to make the first move—total disaster. His palm got
sweaty and he fidgeted in his seat like crazy until I just let go.
I didn't ask him out again and he didn't ask me. It was so weird. After about a
month of awkward silence, we just went back to being friends and neither one
of us said anything. Since then, I hadn't held hands with one single guy,
underscoring my pathetic chances at any sort of love life in high school.
"Hey, do you know if Jane's around this weekend?" Michael asked.
His questions about my best friend Jane were becoming more frequent and
even though I wanted her to find a boyfriend just as badly as I wanted one for
myself, the idea of her with Michael hurt my feelings. Even a year later, it felt
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 9
like it was too soon. "I don't know."
"Yeah, well, I heard about a pretty cool party. We should go. The three of us."
Of course. The three of us. "I'm not going to another football party."
The last party we'd been to, the football party, had been a freak show—the
worst music, like REO Speedwagon and Air Supply. Everybody was making out
and although I would've been up for that, there was nobody unattached except
for Joe Pollack. Ugh. He asked me if I wanted to take off my shoes, but I'd heard
he licked a girl's feet at another party, so I lied and said I had to pee.
Down the nearly empty school hallway, Michael and I trailed. Even if I wasn't
eager to tackle my mountain of homework, the end of another day of humorless
teachers and boring lectures was a welcome relief. Plus, I could soon go home
and lie on my bed and listen to Banks Forest.
"It's Bryce's party," Michael said. "His parents are going out of town and his
sister's buying some beer. It'll be cool." His head jerked to attention. "Hey, aren't
you going to miss your bus?"
"Oh crap!" Through the glass doors of the school atrium, I saw the orangey
yellow bus streak by. I flattened my forehead against my Chemistry book. "Guess
I'm walking again."
"Can't you get dude from next door to give you a ride?"
Scott Miller was leaning against a locker, talking to a senior girl that I didn't
know. She was giggling in the most annoying way.
"Scott? No way. Not after yesterday."
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 10
March 11, 1986
Dear Diary,
Sorry I've been totally lame about writing, the rest of the week at school was
a disaster. We had a pop quiz in American history and Dad's going to freak out
when he sees my grade. I hope Mom will stick up for me.
I'm babysitting for Mrs. Kowalski tomorrow afternoon so I can make some
money to buy the Banks Forest "What Do I Say?" Japanese import 12". I called
Northern Lights after school and they still have it, so I'm praying that nobody
else buys it before me because they only have one copy. I guess I'm going to
Bryce's party with Michael and Jane after I'm done babysitting.
Jane's sleeping over tonight. She's bringing all of her magazines with Banks
Forest in them and we can just lounge around and finally RELAX after our hellish
week. Jane and I were talking at lunch and she has such a huge crush on
Graham from Banks Forest. He's cute, but I don't really get it. He seems like the
obvious guy to like in the band because he's the singer and all tan and blonde.
Of course, girls are going to love him. Christopher is much more quiet and
sometimes I wonder if he even knows what a babe he is. He seems like he cares
more about their music than whether or not girls think he's a fox.
XOXOXOXO
Claire
P.S. The countdown continues! Only 23 days until Banks Forest live and I get
to see Christopher in the flesh!
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 11
CHAPTER TWO
One Thing Leads to Another
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 12
March 12, 1986
I don't care how much you say you don't need a boyfriend to make you
happy, it still sucks to be the third wheel. It's not like I didn't know that Michael
liked Jane, I just wasn't ready to have a front-row seat to their personal facesuck-a-thon at Bryce's party. Humiliation washed over me when a cute senior
guy walked by and noticed that I was sitting by myself on one end of the couch
while Michael and Jane pawed each other at the opposite end. I am such a loser.
Jane obviously doesn't make Michael nervous at all.
I scanned the sea of kids, most of them decent because Bryce was cool and
hadn't invited the super snobby people. Tommy B. strolled through the front
door and I couldn't stop staring at him. There was something different about
Tommy this year. He was taller, his features more defined, even his jaw looked
bigger. Although I didn't tend to like blonde guys, he was cute. In fact, he was
getting cuter every time I looked at him.
He and Bryce were laughing as Tommy pulled a flat glass bottle of mysterious
brown liquid from the pocket of his army surplus jacket. Bryce snapped it up
and gestured with a shoulder for Tommy to follow. I scooted to the edge of the
couch cushion, but hesitated, wondering if I had the guts. Out of the corner of
my eye, I saw Michael stick his hand up the front of Jane's new Forenza sweater.
Okay. I gotta get out of here. I shot out of my seat, straightened my black knit
miniskirt, and made a beeline for the kitchen.
"Hey, Claire. Check this out," Bryce said.
Tommy flashed a wickedly cute smile. I sauntered, swaying my hips and
tossing my long hair over my shoulder, which didn't really feel like me at all.
"What are you guys doing?"
"What do you think we're doing? Getting wasted," Tommy said. He poured
root beer schnapps into pebbly amber glasses. We had the same glasses at our
house, a grocery store freebie my mom got in the 70s. "Claire gets extra." Tommy
winked at me, making my cheeks flush.
I slugged the lukewarm syrup and clunked the glass on the brown tile
countertop like an old pro, which I wasn't. Tommy was quick to pour refills. The
room was wobbly after the second drink. For a minute, it felt as if my head was
filled with wet sand.
"You okay?" Tommy asked. He ran his hand down the length of my arm,
stopping for an instant when his fingers touched my palm.
I shuddered and looked up to see his mink brown eyes staring down at me.
I'd never noticed how long and dark his lashes were, but they were hard to
ignore now. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just didn't have any dinner."
Bryce coughed loudly. "I think I hear Holly in the other room."
Tommy and I were still in the midst of our awkward, yet jaw-dropping
moment of eye contact when I registered what Bryce had said. I screwed up my
face in disgust. "Holly Anderson? Ugh. I hate—"
Tommy shook his head but it was already too late.
I turned and her beady black eyes frosted in baby blue, narrowed. "What was
that, Claire? Were you saying something?"
Tommy wrapped his arm around my shoulders. "Claire was saying that she
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 13
hates Lonnie Anderson. I don't get it. I think she's funny." He peered down at
me, breathing all over my face. "Let's find your friends." He took my hand. His
was cool and dry—different from what I'd imagined although it had never
occurred to me that I would ever be holding hands with Tommy B. Not even
once.
We wove through the crowd of kids drinking in the living room, across the
brick orange carpet, the stereo blaring How Soon Is Now by The Smiths. Tommy
led me out the front door.
"Thank you for rescuing me. I can't stand her." I came to a halt and clamped
my eyes shut. Goose bumps covered my arms and I started to shiver. "Please tell
me you aren't friends with her."
"No, not really." He tugged on my arm. "Come on, let's get in my car. It's
freezing out here."
We stumbled down the gravel driveway, my white leather flats teetering over
the uneven surface. Bryce's house was at least a mile out of town and it was
pitch-black without streetlights.
Tommy's rusty light blue VW Beetle sat waiting. I climbed in and the cold of
the perforated leather seats shot through the back of my legs. My knees smashed
together and I curled into myself, wrapping my arms around my waist. "Are we
going somewhere? Because my jacket's inside." My voice wavered. My teeth
chattered.
"Do you want to go somewhere?"
"I don't know." Somewhere. Yes. Anywhere. My head was swimming and not
just because I'd had two shots on an empty stomach. Tommy smelled amazing. I
wasn't sure if it was Brut or Polo, but either way—it was making me dizzy.
"Let's get out of here and get you something to eat. I'll get your jacket so you
don't have to see Holly again." He turned the key and the car sputtered and
rumbled. "It'll take a minute to heat up. Be right back."
He slammed his car door when he returned, reaching over to help me put on
my jean jacket. "Jane says to be good, whatever that means." He slung his arm
around the back of my seat and turned to back out of the driveway.
I laughed, breathy and nervous, staring at his Adam's apple, which bulged
against the skin of his craned neck. "Yeah. She needs to worry about herself, not
me."
Tommy squinted as he forced the stick shift and the transmission made a
grinding noise. "She doesn't need to worry about you. You're safe with me. I
promise."
"Are you okay to be driving?"
"Yeah. I'm fine."
I could hear my dad in my head, telling me to be careful, but Tommy had
only had one drink. He wasn't slurring his words or any of the other things I'd
been told to look for. This still might be really stupid. "Where are we going?"
"My house. I'll make you a grilled cheese or something. We can watch TV."
"Cool, but I'd rather listen to music. I don't really watch TV."
"Okay. Music it is." He fiddled with the knob on the stereo, which only
produced a buzzing sound through the speakers. "Sorry. The radio's busted."
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 14
We drove for minutes without saying anything, but then Tommy jerked the
wheel. The car fishtailed.
My hands slapped the dash. My heart pounded. I couldn't catch my breath.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine." He drifted back into our lane. "It was a dead raccoon or
something. I missed it." He reached over and cupped his hand on my bare knee.
"Really, I'm fine. We'll be at my house in a few minutes." The tips of his fingers
brushed a few inches up my leg before he put his hand back on the wheel. It
made my insides feel like they were melting.
Tommy's house was totally dark when we got there—there wasn't even an
outside light on by the side door. I'd never really thought about how close he
lived to me, but it was probably less than six blocks from my house.
"Are your parents home?" I asked, as he flipped the switch in the bleak but
tidy kitchen, festooned with gold and green 60s wallpaper.
"Nah. They'll be out late."
"Oh." I was pretty sure Tommy was a sweet guy and he'd saved me from the
humiliation of dealing with Holly, but I wondered for a second if I was the
dipshit girl in an after-school special with blind trust for a boy she'd ended up
with by accident.
"Cheddar or American?" he asked, undoing the twist tie on a loaf of white
bread.
He's being a total gentleman. Stop worrying. "Cheddar, please."
I stood near the stove and watched as he made me a grilled cheese and two
for himself. He tended the sandwiches, moving them around in the pan with a
spatula. It was so adorable the way he knew how to cook something—that he
wanted to do something so nice for me. I didn't want to seem bossy or take
anything away from all of the effort he was making, so I shut my mouth and
didn't tell him he was using too much butter.
"Did you do something different with your hair?" he asked.
I fluffed it carefully. "I curled it a little before the party."
Tommy handed me my sandwich on a paper plate and plopped down at the
kitchen table. "It looks nice," he said in a sweet, soft tone.
Heat rushed to my cheeks and I had to look away for a second. When I had
the guts to let my eyes meet his again, he was smiling. "Thank you," I mumbled.
How did this end up happening? Maybe Michael wasn't the only nice guy in my
school.
Tommy finished his sandwiches way before me, but he patiently waited. "You
want to go upstairs and listen to music?"
That last bite of my sandwich felt like it was a little too big for my throat. This
was the invitation I wanted, but it was scary too. "That sounds great." I nodded
and smiled, realizing I still hadn't swallowed.
Tommy's room was messy but I'd seen worse, including my own at times. He
actually cared about it, unlike most boys. "Sorry. I would've picked up if I knew
you were coming over." He rushed about to pluck most of the dirty laundry from
the floor before balling it up and tossing it in the hamper. He pulled up his navy
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 15
and white striped comforter and smoothed it with his hand before offering me a
seat.
"What do you want to listen to?" he asked, sifting through stacks of cassettes
on top of the tall dresser. It had brass drawer pulls shaped like eagles and one of
the drawers had come off its rails.
"Um, you pick." I still wasn't completely certain that he liked me "that way".
Best to let him give me a hint as to what he was thinking by setting the mood
with music. I perched on the edge of the bed and pushed myself back to the
wall, crossing my legs at the ankles.
Tommy rolled his shoulders out of the olive drab jacket, which he wore every
single day to school, even when it was hot out. He looked so different without it.
His arms filled out his black t-shirt more than I'd expected and his chest seemed
so broad now. The sight gave me a nervous butterfly feeling in my stomach.
"You like Banks Forest, don't you?" he asked.
My pulse picked up. "I do." Oh my God. This is too perfect. "They're my
favorite band."
"Yeah, I don't have any of their music. I kind of hate them."
Now the butterfly feeling in my stomach was more like a rock. I had to
concentrate to keep from tearing up, but then his smell wafted toward me, and I
told myself to stop being so sensitive. "That's okay. I know most guys don't like
them. Pick something you like."
He popped in The Psychedelic Furs and joined me on the bed as Love My
Way crackled from the boom box speakers. He sat pretty far away from me,
which again made me question whether he liked me. Maybe he just wants to be
friends. Then I noticed he was slowly inching closer. Maybe he was just being
polite. The closer he got, the more we were drawn together. We both made idle
comments: school was going fine, the new PE teacher is such a pain, and yes,
Andrea Wojcik's skin has gotten even worse. We both knew what was
happening, at least I thought I knew what was happening, and our conversation
felt fake in a very grown-up way.
Each time the gap between us narrowed, his smell became more potent, its
influence over my brain and body harder to deny. I gazed at the shadow of
stubble at his jaw and it's effect on me seemed unfair, so enticing and
masculine. I'd never felt so tempted by anything or anyone in my entire life,
except maybe for the image of Christopher Penman from Banks Forest.
When Tommy finally made his move, he rubbed my forearm and pulled me
closer, his hand now hot. As he pressed his lips to mine, I felt my entire world
about to change. His lips are so soft. He smells even better this close. He's even
cuter than Michael.
His lips parted and he was so well behaved with his tongue. Every other boy
I'd ever kissed had felt the need to force his tongue between my teeth, an
invasion of swollen flesh, not at all like Tommy. He was manly in the way he
choreographed things, gently gripping my shoulders and lowering us both to
settle our heads on his pillow. His hands slipped beneath my sweater and my
heart beat faster as he started to touch me in a different way. We're all alone. This
might really happen.
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 16
I knew I was being too tentative with my own hands, lamely rubbing his back
on top of his t-shirt. He didn't criticize; he simply showed me what he wanted
by sitting up, taking off his shirt and dropping it to the floor. He smiled as if he
knew what was going to happen next, which sent a jolt of nervous exhilaration
through me.
"Your turn." He curled his fingers under the hem of my sweater.
"Of course." I lifted the sweater over my head, my hair landing in a swish
behind my shoulder. Even though only a faint light came from his bedroom
lamp, I wished it were completely dark in his room. The sight of his bare chest
was amazing, but my plain white cotton bra with the pink ribbon rose in the
middle made me feel so immature. He didn't seem to care though, as he curved
his hand around my boob and kissed my throat.
My palms smoothed over his back and I felt him swell against my leg. Oh my
God. He's going to want to do it. With me. He moved my hand to the button of
his jeans. Do I even like him this much? Does it matter? If I keep putting it off,
I'm going to be a stupid virgin forever. We both looked down at our hands, at
the glint of metal, and our foreheads bumped. I took a deep breath and slid the
zipper along the metal teeth.
I knew what to do next, but this was the point at which I'd chickened out
every other time, not that I'd had that many chances. Tommy took my fingers,
guiding them inside his pants, molding my hand around him and encouraging a
kneading motion. He groaned and I felt dampness against the heel of my hand
and fullness along my fingers. There was so much going on in my brain, in my
stomach and chest, between my legs. It was hard to keep up. Before I knew
what was happening, he unhooked my bra. The straps slipped off my shoulders
but stayed on my arms since my hand was still down the front of his pants.
"Claire, you're going so slow. You're driving me crazy." His hand smashed the
bare skin of my boob and he bucked his body against mine, obviously frustrated.
"Oh, um, sorry. I just kind of like going slow." I cringed as soon as I said it,
sure that it made me sound clueless.
He stopped grinding against my hip, his hand clutching my boob like that
was the obvious place to rest it, and his steamy breath hit my neck. "Are you a
virgin?"
"No," I blurted. "Not exactly. I mean, I've done stuff with boys." Shut up,
Claire. "Lots of times. Tons of times, really. But no, I haven't done it, all the way. I
guess."
"Oh, wow. Okay. I thought we were just hooking up." He propped himself up
on his elbow. "I didn't know this was going to mean something to you."
"I thought…" I thought you liked me. I looked down. "Never mind. Does that
mean you don't want to do it?"
"Of course I want to do it, but this doesn't make me your boyfriend. Okay?"
"Well, duh." It felt like my heart disappeared.
"I mean, you're nice, but I don't like you that way."
I wasn't even sure what that meant, other than I was tolerable because we
had compatible anatomies.
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 17
Tommy sat on the edge of the bed when we were finished, while I stayed
under the covers and put my clothes back on in privacy. I had nothing to
compare it to, so I had no idea how things had gone, other than it had hurt and
was weird—hazy and disjointed, like the one dream you can't forget the next
day. He'd grunted a lot, that made me think he liked it, but my idea of what it
would be like had been quite different. The image of Tommy supporting his
bodyweight with one hand while he used the other to get inside me was one
that I couldn't wait to forget. And the condom—that entire exercise had been
clumsy and crude, in no way sweet or romantic.
What did I expect? Nobody loses their virginity to the perfect guy. That only
happens in movies. It wasn't like I thought streamers would float down from the
sky once my stupid virginity was gone, but I didn't feel any closer to being an
adult, one bit less like a little girl.
"Do you want a ride home?" he asked, as he pulled on his jeans. He left his
shirt on the floor and I longed for the moment when we were just a couple of
teenagers having fun, rolling around on his bed.
I glanced at his clock. "Um, it's almost midnight. I don't really want to walk
home by myself, in the dark."
"Oh, sure."
Tommy drove me and we didn't say a thing.
"Thanks for the ride."
"Sure. See you Monday."
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 18
March 13, 1986
Dear Diary,
I have the biggest confession ever. I did it with a boy last night. Believe it or
not, the dreaded "V" is gone. It's Tommy B—I never really thought of him that
way and I guess I still don't. It just kind of happened. I don't really like him.
We're just friends. I feel different than I thought I would feel, I guess because I
don't really feel like anything. I'm still the same Claire I was yesterday and that
means boring. I don't know what I was expecting, just something different. I bet
I will feel different when I've been with somebody other than a high school boy.
High school boys do not make a girl feel special.
I haven't told Jane yet and I'm dying to talk to her, but I called her house and
her dad said she's still sleeping. It's noon! She and Michael must have been out
really late last night. They were totally making out at Bryce's party. At first, it sort
of bugged me, but now I'm dying to find out what happened. I'm not sure when
I'm going to tell her about Tommy.
Time to be a good girl and finish this weekend's homework before it's too
late. Aren't you proud of me?
XOXOXO
Claire
P.S. 21 days until BF! Can't wait!
P.S. CA+CP, TLF
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 19
CHAPTER THREE
Should I Stay or Should I Go?
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 20
March 14, 1986
I raced to catch up with Jane, nearly tripping over my Doc Marten boots.
"You never called me back yesterday," I said, winded.
"Yeah, sorry." Jane had her hair in a high, scrunchied ponytail and it looked
like she was wearing extra make-up. "I got grounded from the phone. I didn't get
home until after one on Sunday morning."
"One? There's no way you guys made out for four hours. Did you—"
"Claire! Shhh!" She made a quick scan of the hall, which was filling up with
kids streaming in from the parking lot.
"What happened? Did you guys do it?" I asked, mumbling from the corner of
my mouth.
"I could ask you the same question. I can't believe you left with Tommy B.
That was totally out of nowhere."
"Hey, you're changing the subject. I asked you first."
Michael cropped up in the corner of my eye. I watched as an invisible tractor
beam of enchantment brought he and Jane together. Oh brother.
"Hello, ladies." He smiled at Jane, a warm and tender smile with no apparent
agenda attached. I'd never seen a guy, especially not a guy my age, with that
look on his face.
"Hi." Jane's now-sugary voice was punctuated by a flutter of her lashes.
Michael took her hand and they leaned into each other, their hips aligned
perfectly. Before my eyes, they morphed into the two-headed couple creature,
destined to roam the school halls and hold up traffic. Being boyfriend and
girlfriend apparently makes you walk slower.
"What's up with you and Tommy B?" Michael asked.
"That's my question." Jane glanced at Michael and they both tittered.
I rolled my eyes, hugging my books to my chest. Five minutes into these two
being a couple and I'm over it. "Nothing. Nothing is up with Tommy B. We're
friends."
A now familiar cool hand clutched my elbow. "Hey Mike. Jane." Tommy
turned away from them and spoke into the top of my head. "Walk with me."
I swallowed hard. It was such a commanding thing to say. It seemed stupid to
tell him I wasn't sure. "Okay. See you guys later."
We turned into the junior hall, bustling with our classmates. My eyes went
from jock to geek, burnout to brain, wondering who would notice that Tommy
and I were walking together. We stopped at my locker first and I had to do the
combination three times because he was distracting me, looking over my
shoulder while he breathed into my hair. I shoved my books into the narrow
space. "Did you want to say something?"
In unison, we ducked down the hall as Holly Anderson approached.
"No. I just thought we should talk. I mean, I thought we should maybe be
friends instead of just saying that we're friends. Just, you know, because of the
other night."
I leaned back against the locker next to Tommy's. He dialed his combination
without really looking, a talent I did not possess. His eyes, burnt butter brown,
washed over me, almost amused, definitely like he was in charge. Someone
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 21
stumbled and pushed him. He didn't even get mad or say anything to the kid, a
skinny freshman from the bus. He could've scared the crap out of him if he'd
wanted to. Instead, he just towered over me.
"Oh, uh, okay." My voice was annoyingly unsteady. "You're right. We should
be friends."
Our faces were inches from each other. His breath smelled of strawberry
Pop-tarts and toothpaste, he had a zit on his chin and his lips were chapped. Up
close, in the fluorescent reflection of the dark green lockers, he wasn't as cute as
he'd seemed on Saturday night. Still, I found myself inexplicably drawn to him.
"Do you want to hang out after school tomorrow?" he asked.
"Um, sure." I'd never been less sure of anything.
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 22
March 14, 1986
Dear Diary,
I am so confused. Thank God, I have Banks Forest to take my mind off things
every day after school or else I would be completely crazy. It only takes a few
seconds of "Love, Destroyed" before I am totally relaxed. I think I understand
why people meditate.
Tommy asked to hang out after school tomorrow and I don't know what to
think. He told me he didn't like me "that way", but now he's acting like he
might like me that way. Why do boys say that anyway? I don't think I would ever
say that to someone. I mean, if I ever had the chance.
I still have no clue what happened with Michael and Jane on Saturday night.
We couldn't talk about it at school and she's grounded from the phone for a
week. I thought about asking Michael, but that would be weird. Way too weird.
I rearranged my Banks Forest posters after school today. I figured out that if I
put the best poster of Christopher (medium sized one, without his shirt) on the
wall next to my closet, it looks like he's lying next to me in bed if I'm on my side
and I squint my left eye. Nobody else will ever know that's why it's there—it will
be my little secret. What a babe. Why can't he go to my school? Wouldn't that
be amazing? If he was a senior, but was still like a super famous rock star, and he
was my boyfriend? Holly Anderson would die. Oh my God, my life would be
perfect.
XOXOXO
Claire
P.S. 20 days until I see CP and BF!
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 23
CHAPTER FOUR
Under Pressure
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 24
March 15, 1986
Tommy's mom was different than I thought she'd be—squat, round even,
with dyed brown hair in a wedge. I got a nose full of stale cigarette when she
brought the plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies to the table, but she
smiled and seemed happy to have me there.
"Claire, do you have any brothers or sisters?" she asked.
I finished my cookie, washing it down with milk. "I have an older sister, Julie.
She's a senior this year."
She smiled wide at me again. "That's nice. Another cookie?"
"Ma, we're going upstairs to do homework." Tommy gathered his books.
Mrs. B swept cookie crumbs into her hand, looking back and forth between
Tommy and me. "Claire, why don't you go upstairs? I need to speak with Tommy
for a moment. His room is the second one down the hall."
Obviously, she had no idea I'd been over the other night. "Okay. Thank you
for the cookies." I collected my books and started up the steep back stairs. I
could hear Tommy's voice, muffled and annoyed.
His room looked different during the day although he still had clothes all
over the floor. So much for saying he would clean up if he knew I was coming
over. There were cool posters like The Clash, Echo and the Bunnymen and U2,
and a ton of records. I wandered around the room and thumbed through a few
comic book-looking drawings on his desk. His chair was falling apart, so I stood.
I didn't want to be on the bed and leave myself a sitting duck, waiting.
"Sorry." Tommy strolled into the room. "She wants me to keep the door open.
She's so lame." He tossed his books on the bed and returned to his door, which
he closed as far as he could without latching it. The smile on his face made me
nervous; set my pulse thumping. He sat on the bed while I froze in the center of
the room with an iron grip on my books. He curled his finger and motioned me
closer.
"What?" I asked in a breath.
"Come here," he whispered, reclining onto his pillows.
"Your mom's downstairs. She said to keep the door open." I peeked over my
shoulder as I inched toward him.
"She's clueless. She's on the phone with my grandmother."
"I don't want your mom to hate me." I sat on the smallest sliver of the bed
possible and locked my knees together.
Tommy sat up, grabbed my shoulders, and pulled me on top of him. "My
mom likes you fine."
I looked down at him, part mad that he wasn't listening to me, part
exhilarated that he wanted me. He flipped me over and I felt the floodgates
about to open. I considered protesting, but abandoned that plan once he kissed
me for real.
"Tommy!" His mom bellowed from somewhere beyond the door. "I can see
your door's closed. Don't make me come in there." Mrs. B's voice grew thin and
she coughed.
I bolted upright and straightened my shirt before scrambling to the end of the
bed.
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 25
"Ma! We're studying!" Tommy shouted back.
It was too late. She was already at the door. Luckily, I was several feet away
from Tommy, but he had to slip his math book into his lap to mask what I'd
given him while we were kissing.
"Oh, okay. Good." Mrs. B surveyed the room and took a water glass from his
bedside table. "You kids do your homework."
"Jesus," he muttered once she was gone. He shifted on the bed, grimacing as
he tugged at his jeans. "What are we going to do about this?"
"We? What are we going to do? No way. I'm not getting in trouble for you.
My dad's already mad at me."
He pursed his lips. "Just use your hand. We can hide it under a pillow or
something."
"No way. Are you crazy?"
"This isn't healthy. It's going to hurt if I don't do something."
"Then go in the bathroom and you know, make it go away yourself."
"You're a total tease."
"Am not."
"Are too."
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 26
March 17, 1986
Dear Diary,
Tommy is coming over after school tomorrow to study. He wouldn't talk to
me this morning at school because of what happened yesterday at his house.
Sometimes he's such a jerk and I don't know what to think and then he breathes
on me and says something slightly nice and I totally agree to whatever he says. I
don't have a good feeling about this at all, but I didn't know how to say "no"
and I thought it might be better if he was here. Maybe he'll be nicer around
Mom.
Only 17 days until Banks Forest and I cannot wait. I swear that I would go
bonkers if I didn't have Christopher to stare at every day after school. He looks
at me with those dreamy eyes and listens to everything I say. I know he would
think Tommy is treating me like crap too.
I said this before, but I wonder if there's any way I will ever meet Christopher.
There has to be some reason that he and I are both on planet earth at the same
time. It just doesn't seem like that would be totally random.
Still no word on what happened with Jane and Michael the other night.
Neither of them wants to talk about it at school, which I think means that they
did it. Just saying…
XOXOXO
Claire
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 27
March 18, 1986
Mom was waiting for us at the kitchen door, a sweet dippy grin pasted to her
face. After all, it was the first time I'd brought home a boy. She kissed me on the
forehead and beamed at him with her hands spread wide across her hips.
"I made carob brownies for you two," she said in her usual singsong.
I motioned her over as I got Tommy a glass of water from the tap. "Mom,
carob? Don't we have anything, you know, normal?"
Tommy sat in silence at the kitchen table, in one of the dorky colonial wood
captain's chairs. He seemed both mystified and transfixed by my mother, who
was wearing a paper-thin white peasant blouse and a gauzy dark blue skirt that
grazed her ankles. Her long, wavy reddish-blonde hair was pulled into a low
ponytail and she had on flat leather sandals even though it hadn't quite reached
fifty degrees outside.
If I'd thought about it, I could've been embarrassed by her get-up, but I was
so accustomed to her flair for fashion that it didn't faze me in the slightest. It
could've been far worse—at least she was wearing a bra.
"Honey, you love my carob brownies. Why the sudden change of heart?"
I whispered to her with my chin on my chest. "Don't we have any chips or
regular cookies?"
"I may have some of the oatmeal raisin cookies I made for your father." She
took a lock of my hair between her thumb and forefinger and draped it behind
my shoulder.
"It's okay. I think we'll just go study."
Tommy trailed me down the narrow wood-paneled hallway to my room,
across from my parents' bedroom. I stood with my hand on the doorknob and
took a deep breath, preparing for the thrill of unveiling my personal sanctuary to
a boy.
He stepped inside and caught sight of my poster collection, turning with his
jaw slack. Clearly, he was impressed. "I knew you liked Banks Forest, but wow,
Claire. Every square inch is covered. And it's not just the band, it's that guy, the
guitarist..."
"Christopher. Christopher Penman. Yeah, I'm pretty proud of it. I just finished
rearranging some of the posters, to make a better composition and keep things
interesting."
"Interesting?" Tommy continued to turn, inspecting all four walls from varying
angles, ducking low, standing on tiptoes. "I can't go anywhere without his eyes
on me. Isn't it a little creepy?"
"No. I think his eyes are amazing. If you look closely, you'll see that they're a
slightly different green in every picture. I'm sure some of that has to do with the
way they're printed and stuff." I ran my thumb along Christopher's eyebrow on
the poster nearest me. "I wonder what they look like in real life."
"Yeah, I don't really look at other guys' eyes." He plopped down on the bed
and bounced a few times on the edge. "Nice." He winked at me.
Here we go again. Why does this always have to end up being about making
out? "Do you have English tonight?" I asked. "Mrs. Hanson is killing me with
some of these books. I hate Silas Marner."
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 28
"Yeah, me too. We can read together." He propped my pillows up against the
headboard and patted the space on the bed next to him.
I came up with what seemed like a brilliant plan and spread out on my
stomach, but with my feet by his head. He settled in and scooted closer to me
then began to trace his hand up and down my leg. Flipping to the dog-ear in my
book, I tried to ignore the insane sexual tension between us. I must've re-read
the same page ten times, the words making less sense every time I trudged
through them. His fingers were so distracting, etching squiggly lines down the
back of my leg.
"Claire," he whispered.
"What? I'm reading." I didn't take my eyes off my book.
"Come here."
"Why?"
"You know. Stop pretending to read. I can totally tell you're staring at that
guy, Christopher Paddington or whatever his name is."
"Christopher. Penman. His name is Christopher Penman, and I'm not staring
at him. You're distracting me. I can't read when you're rubbing my leg like that."
"Wouldn't you rather look at me than him?" He jostled the bed and flopped
down next to me. "See? I'm right here." Tommy leaned into me, resting his nose
against mine before innocently pecking me on the lips. "Isn't that better than
some dumb old poster?"
"I guess."
"Claire, honey?" The knock at the door caught us both by complete surprise.
Tommy jerked back and landed with a thud on the floor, pulling the blue and
white quilt my mom had made to the middle of the bed, and me along with it.
Mom poked her head in just as Tommy's head popped up from behind the bed.
"Oh, dear. Are you alright?" She stepped in, seemingly only worried about
Tommy's possible injuries.
He rubbed his shoulder. "Yeah, I'm fine Mrs. Abby."
"Oh, good."
Tommy and I both flattened against the wall, as far from the bed as possible.
My mom pulled the quilt back into place.
"Um, we were studying, Mom. Do you need something?"
She looked at both of us and grinned. "Don't worry, you two. You can sit
down. The bed won't bite." She turned to walk out of the room. "Oh, I forgot
why I came in here in the first place." She threw her hands up in the air and
shrugged. "I swear I'd leave my head behind if it wasn't attached. I need to pick
up your sister from chess club. Can I trust you two lovebirds to be wellbehaved?"
My eyes bugged. Lovebirds? "Um, Tommy has to go home soon anyway."
"No, I don't. My mom said I could stay until five."
"All right then, best behavior." She flitted away. No other mom on the face of
the planet would've trusted us. I didn't trust us.
Tommy peeked out my bedroom window. "She's gone." He lunged for the
door and pushed the lock. "Privacy. Finally." He kneeled on the edge of the bed
and swiped away my copy of Silas Marner, refolding the corner on the page.
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 29
"We won't be needing this."
"Tommy, I really don't think this is a good idea. My mom's going to be back
in twenty minutes. And I don't even get what we're doing anyway. I mean—"
He quickly had one hand up the front of my shirt. The other raked into the
back of my hair. "Mmm, Claire, your skin is soft."
A few meaningless words and I felt my body doing everything that my brain
opposed—it kissed him back, it put my tongue in his mouth, it grabbed his tshirt and pulled it over his head. We rolled all over the bed, a spastic jumble of
arms and legs. I pressed my hips against his. I was about to say something, but
he kissed my neck below my ear and blew on it. I thought I might faint.
"No, we shouldn't do this," I said, when he finally switched to a less
mesmerizing technique. "I thought you just wanted to be friends."
"What's wrong with being friends?" He pushed himself back up the length of
the bed and rested his head on the pillow.
I stupidly followed. "Nothing's wrong with being friends, but this feels like
more than friends."
"How does this feel?" He smothered me with a long and sloppy kiss.
"Stop it." I sat up and hit his shoulder, surprising even myself.
Tommy slumped back against the pillows. He looked at me and then he
seemed to be looking beyond me. He closed one eye and then the other.
"Claire. If you squint, it totally looks like cheesy British guy is in bed with you.
That is so weird. Did you do that on purpose?"
"What? You're crazy. I would never do something like that." A door slammed.
I could hear my sister yammering. "Put your shirt on. My mom's home."
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 30
March 18, 1986
Dear Diary,
Tommy managed to make me more confused today. All he wants to do is
make-out and mess around, but he still says that we are just friends. I don't even
want to be his girlfriend. I just want him to act like I'm more than that if I'm
going to do that stuff with him. I have a feeling that he's going to want to do it
this weekend. It's been a whole week and he can't keep his hands off of me
when we're alone. It makes me nervous, but maybe it will be better the second
time. I don't think it could be any worse.
Tommy totally busted me on where I put my Christopher poster near my bed.
How did he figure that out? I didn't even think he was that smart. Of course, I
lied and told him he was crazy.
Speaking of Christopher, I had the most amazing dream about him last night.
We were at a beach and nobody else was there, like we had our own private
island or something. I was wearing that cute blue two-piece that I saw at the
mall that Dad said was too revealing because it has a triangle top. Christopher
was wearing black swim trunks and I nearly fell over when he took his shirt off.
He brought a picnic lunch for us and we drank wine. I don't even know what
kind of wine it was, and he forgot the glasses and we had to drink it out of the
bottle and I got a little drunk. He thought that was so funny and we laughed for
a long time and then he got all serious and looked at me with those green eyes
of his and said, "Come here." It was so romantic—his hands were all over me,
and he was kissing me and telling me I was pretty and the perfect girl for him.
We did it on a blanket and he wrapped us up in it when it was over. His body
was so warm against mine. He played with my hair and teased me about this
pimple on my forehead that I can't get rid of. The last thing I remember is the
two of us, falling asleep under the stars, with the sound of the waves in the
background. My head was on his chest and he held me tight. I wish you could
smell things in dreams. I'm sure he smelled amazing.
Only sixteen days until I get to see Christopher in person. We will be in the
same place, breathing the same air. I'm so excited to see the concert, but what I
really wish would happen is for my dream to come true.
XOXOXO
Claire
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 31
CHAPTER FIVE
Don't You Forget About Me
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 32
March 19, 1986
The knock at my door was soft, but still—Saturday morning. If it was Julie, I
was going to totally bitch her out.
"Claire, honey," Mom said through the door. "Are you decent?"
Decent? Not everybody sleeps in the nude. "Yeah."
She floated in with a small paper bag, which she handed to me
unceremoniously. "I brought you something. You don't need to open it now."
She drew back my curtains and I rubbed my eyes, sitting up in bed, trying to
decide what she could've given me that didn't need to be opened right away.
She'd written on the outside of the bag with a red marker: "My dear Claire, you
are becoming a woman." I was confused at best. I'd had my period since I was
thirteen. The little hearts she'd drawn around her words made it even more
perplexing.
I peeked inside and saw a gold box with white lettering, and an emblem that
seemed vaguely familiar—a Roman guy with a helmet. I stupidly pulled it out of
the bag and she turned with a smile on her face.
"You know I don't believe in secrets, honey. I think it's best that you and I
have a frank discussion about this."
I shoved the condoms back in the bag and crumpled it closed. "Oh my God,
Mom. Haven't we already had about a hundred frank discussions about this?"
"Has it been that many? Well, there's always time for one more." She perched
on the edge of the bed and crossed her wiry legs and began to kick her foot.
Wearing old bell-bottom jeans and her most beat-up pair of clogs, she would
likely be spending her day in the garden. "All I know is that I want you to take
care of yourself."
I scooted up in bed, even when part of me didn't want to launch into this.
Jane could never talk to her mom about this stuff. I was so lucky to be able to
talk to my mom about anything. Absolutely anything. "I know, Mom." I nodded,
noticing her smile—a sight I couldn't capture in words if my life depended on it.
It was sunny, a little crooked, 100% Sara Abby. It always made me feel better. "I
know you're just looking out for me."
"This isn't about Tommy, okay? I want you to think about Claire. What's good
for Claire? I don't want anything to get between you and everything you're
meant to do, honey. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
I swallowed, now understanding how serious this was. "I think so. You don't
want me to get pregnant."
"Exactly. It only takes one time to make a baby, and you're young and you
have so many wonderful experiences ahead of you. I don't want you to miss out
on any of it." She gently patted my leg. "I understand that you're ready for sex,
and that's okay, as long as he's treating you nicely and you really care about
him."
I couldn't even look at her. Tommy wasn't exactly treating me nicely and I
was totally putting up with it, just because I wanted a boy to like me. "How did
you know that we were, you know?"
She laughed and her sweet smile returned. "Honey, a mom just knows. You'll
learn that some day when you have your own daughter." She slid a finger under
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 33
my chin and looked at me with icy blue eyes twinkling like two perfect
snowflakes. "You'll make an amazing mom some day, very far in the future. And
I will be the coolest grandma ever. My grandchildren are going to love my carob
brownies." She laughed softly and smoothed a wrinkle in my quilt. "But that's
not going to happen for a long time."
I giggled. "A really long time. All the brownies they can eat."
She stood and kissed the top of my head. "I love you, honey. Don't ever
forget that."
Don't worry. I won't forget. "Love you too, Mom."
Tommy called after lunch and asked if I wanted to come over and listen to
music, which I now figured out was code for, "Do you want to mess around?" I
told him that he was going to have to pick me up if he wanted me to come over.
After my talk with Mom, I knew I needed to stop being such a wimp.
It wasn't surprising when Tommy announced that both of his parents were
gone for the afternoon, but the next thing he said totally caught me off guard. "I
borrowed a Banks Forest tape from Bryce. I thought you might want to listen to it
when we go upstairs."
My heart skipped. Is he trying to romance me? "Great. Thanks."
He took my hand and leaned against the kitchen counter, arching his back.
"You look really pretty today." He pulled me closer and I let my full body weight
rest on his. He nuzzled my neck and nibbled on my ear—I literally went weak
in the knees. "Wanna go to my room?"
"Yeah," I answered, breathless.
Tommy took off his t-shirt on the way up the stairs. Watching his bare back as
I followed, the way his Levis were a little loose around his waist, sent waves of
urgency thrumming through my body. We hurried down the hall into his room,
and he collapsed against the door and closed it, before he turned the lock.
I'd already gracefully reclined on the bed and Tommy nearly dove on top of
me, but I had to remind him of his offer. "Aren't we going to listen to Banks
Forest?" I figured I might as well get everything out of this that I could.
"Right." He hopped off the bed and pushed "Play". That made me happy—he
had obviously planned this out at least a little bit.
"Oh, cool. White and Gray. My favorite. Have you listened to this one? The
second song is amazing, there's this really cool guitar part…"
His gaping mouth covered mine, muffling the musical wisdom I'd been
hoping to impart. He pushed my Esprit sweatshirt up over my head and stopped
for a second. I could only guess that he'd noticed I was wearing a more grownup bra, pink with lace along the edge and a bow instead of the stupid rose. My
mom had bought it for me a few months before, but it was itchy, so I hardly ever
wore it. From the look in Tommy's eyes, I decided that I should wear it every
time I was going to take off my shirt in front of a boy.
I had to admit, listening to Banks Forest while I was with Tommy made me
see him in an entirely new light. He kissed my stomach, all the way down to my
belly button, before undoing my jeans and helping me pull them off. He
smoothed his hand over my hip, up my back, stopping to unhook my bra, and
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 34
then over my shoulder, and down my arm—it was a caress, attentive, like he
actually liked me for me, not just because I was a willing girl.
I kissed him with greater enthusiasm to show him how much I appreciated
his effort, already way better than anything that had happened the first time. I
felt my impatience catch up with me and I fumbled with the button and zipper
of his jeans.
"Mmm, Claire," he said into my neck. "I couldn't stop thinking about you
after yesterday at your house. I love the way you smell."
It was as if God had whispered in my ear that I would have one last growth
spurt and become a C-cup—hearing a boy say that I smelled good made my
head swim with possibilities. I pushed him on to his back and boldly ventured
down the front of his underwear with my hand. He turned his head away and
stretched his entire body, drawing his shoulders up to his ears.
"Oh, yeah. Do that. Take them off." As soon as he was naked, he lifted his
head. "Do you know how to do it, you know, with your mouth?"
Oh, crap. "Uh, sorta."
I sat up and collected myself. His penis didn't hold the same mystery now
that I was confronted with it in the cold light of day. Touching it was nice, but
looking at it, all pink and purple; that was not my favorite part. I closed my eyes
and opened my mouth, lowering my head. I was scared, not knowing what it
would feel like against my tongue, what it would taste like. Tommy's hands
cradled the back of my head, guiding me into place. I couldn't escape the
feeling that they were there to remind me that this was exactly where he wanted
me.
He flinched. "Oh, ouch. Okay, that's the first rule. You gotta cover your teeth
with your lips."
The first rule. Gee, thanks. He moaned when I became more careful. He
relaxed, his body sinking into the bed. Once I got the hang of the basic motion, I
began to experiment. Every noise he made seemed to suggest that I was doing
pretty well for myself.
His moans grew guttural and his hands on my head became more than a
suggestion to stay put, he dictated the speed, urging me along with a handful of
my hair in his grip. He throbbed in an off-kilter rhythm, like the way your heart
pounds when you've been running because you're late. My jaw ached. The
tension in his skin made it feel as if he could burst at any second. And then he
did.
The shot hit the back of my throat and I gagged, but it kept coming in pulses.
Oh, crap. Am I supposed to swallow? What do they say about girls who
swallow? It had to go somewhere. I took a deep breath through my nose, told
myself to concentrate, to remember how my throat muscles worked. In one
uncomfortable gulp, I officially became the kind of girl that swallows. I hope
that was the right decision.
He lay still for a moment and I curled into him, wiping my lips on his chest.
"Pretty good for a first try," he said.
"Pretty good?" I pursed my lips and flopped on to my back, staring up at the
ceiling. I don't see any way I'm going to get any better than that.
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 35
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 36
March 19, 1986
Dear Diary,
I came home this afternoon and found Mom and Dad fighting. She was doing
that thing where she reorganizes the kitchen cabinets, spread-eagle on the floor
with the brown and orange Tupperware everywhere. She was sorting lids and
bowls and mumbling like a crazy person. I got myself a drink of water and she
yelled at Dad. It was something like, "You can't hide from things, Richard.
They're going to grow up at some point." I took that as my hint to go to my
room.
Julie followed me and asked whether I'd noticed that they were arguing,
probably because she knew they were fighting about me. She looked at me like I
was total trash and I felt like telling her that not everyone in the world wants to
spend their entire life as a virgin. It is so creepy knowing that the whole family is
talking about me and sex and the box of condoms. Ugh. Everything seemed
basically normal by the time we had dinner, except Dad wouldn't even look at
me. I'm used to him not paying much attention. Tonight, it was like I wasn't even
there.
I finally talked to Jane tonight. She and Michael did do it last Saturday after
Bryce's party. The reason she was so quiet about it was because Michael was a
virgin. I had no idea. It's weird. I don't even think of boys as being virgins. I
wonder if that's why he was so weird when we went to the movies last year. Not
like I can ever ask him.
Jane told me that Michael is calling her his girlfriend and she's so happy. It
makes me happy too, although I would be happier if I had a boyfriend of my
own—preferably one who is tall and British and in his 20s (hint, hint).
I told her about me and Tommy, but I didn't really want to talk about it too
much. I still have no idea what we're doing. I gave him a BJ (yes, a blowjob) this
afternoon, but that was all that happened, so that seemed like kind of a rip-off.
He wouldn't even kiss me after that because he said it was gross. I don't know
why he gets to say that when he asked me to do it in the first place. We put our
clothes back on and I got bored when he wanted to watch a cop show on TV, so
I went home. I had to walk because there was another twenty minutes in the
show and Tommy didn't want to miss anything. I don't get why people get so
excited about sex. So far, it's not that great.
XOXOXO
Claire
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 37
CHAPTER SIX
Blue Monday
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 38
March 21, 1986
It was a brutal thirty degrees outside and the heat on the bus had broken,
which meant a miserable bouncy ride to school on frozen vinyl seats. By the
time I got to school, I was freezing my ass off.
Tommy stood waiting for me just inside the doors. "Hey. You didn't call me
back yesterday."
We walked down the hallway, me hunched over my books and shivering,
even though the tinder dry air was as warm as the blast heater my dad uses in
the garage in the winter. "What? You called me? I thought you were blowing me
off."
He elbowed me in the ribs. "No, that's your job." A laugh gurgled out of
him. "Get it? Your job? Blowing me off?" He grinned in a way that made me want
to punch him in the face.
"Very funny. Be quiet. Seriously, nobody told me that you called."
"Yeah, I talked to your dad both times. I don't think he likes me."
I groaned. Dad just couldn't butt out—if there was a way for him to interfere,
he always seemed to find it. "He doesn't like boys in general." We turned down
the junior hall. "Sorry I guess I didn't hear the phone ring."
I put my hand on the locker dial and my combination evaporated from my
mind. It was there one second and gone the next. I pressed my forehead into the
locker, but recoiled from the cold of the metal.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
Holly spun the dial on her own locker. "Let me guess. Idiot Claire forgot her
combination again."
"Shut up," I said.
"Hey, Holly. What's up? Cool jean jacket," Tommy said.
"Oh, thanks. My mom bought it for me this weekend. It was super
expensive."
I turned and glared at Tommy. "Can I put a few things in your locker?"
"Uh, sure. See ya, Holly."
I stomped alongside him. "See ya, Holly?" I whispered. "Cool jean jacket?
What is your problem? She called me an idiot right in front of you."
"What's my problem? What's your problem? Just because you hate her
doesn't mean I have to, too. It's not like I'm your boyfriend or something."
I came to a halt. My jaw was so tense it felt as if my teeth might pop out.
"You know what? Never mind. I don't want to put my stuff in your locker. And if
you're not my boyfriend," I turned both ways, making sure no one would hear
me, "I don't think I'll be blowing you off again, if you know what I mean."
"Fine. It wasn't that great to begin with."
"Uh, you were pretty happy when it was over." With an abrupt about-face, I
began to walk away.
"As if," he called.
"Same difference." I didn't turn back, but I did take the time to flip him the
bird.
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 39
March 21, 1986
Dear Diary,
I officially hate Tommy. He is such a bit fat idiot jerk. I wish I hadn't cried
about him for an hour after school today. I wish he didn't even exist. I wish he
would just go away and I would never have to see him again.
I wanted to hang out with Jane after school, but she already had plans with
Michael. Now I totally feel like a loser. She has a boyfriend and I don't. Not that
Tommy even was my boyfriend, don't remind me. Michael is so sweet to her and
I don't want to be jealous, but I'm dying of it. I know I shouldn't be, but I can't
help it. He calls her his girlfriend out loud. I heard him talking to a bunch of guys
at lunch and he actually called her his girlfriend like he was proud of it.
Sometimes I wonder if any guy will want to call me his girlfriend out loud or if I
am just destined to be a total loser forever. I would fix whatever it is about me
that guys don't like if I could just figure out what it is.
Right now I am just trying to think about Christopher. I can relax here on my
bed and be with him and if I close my eyes and concentrate, I can imagine
exactly what it would be like to kiss him, to hold his hand, to be with him
forever. That's really all I want. To find somebody who can be awesome to me
and not treat me like a piece of garbage. I don't want to feel like a piece of
garbage, but I do today.
Only twelve days until the Banks Forest concert. I wish there was some way I
could meet Christopher, some random circumstances that would bring us
together and we could hang out and maybe even just be friends. I could go
backstage after their shows and see what that's like, which I'm sure is amazingly
cool.
XOXOXO
Claire
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 40
March 24, 1986
It had been the longest week at school—two papers due, three quizzes and a
test, and then there was Tommy. Total jerkface Tommy. He'd been ignoring me
all week long, which was both sucky and annoying. Just when I started to get
used to it, he had to turn my whole world upside down by pushing a note
through the vents of my locker.
Dear Claire,
I don't want to fight. Will it make you feel better if I start calling you my
girlfriend? Will that make you stop hating me? I miss you.
Tommy
I had no idea what I was supposed to do with this scrap of notebook paper
with the ragged edges. Did he really think a note was going to fix everything? It
felt like he was only willing to call me his girlfriend so we could make up. I
didn't want the designation just because; I wanted him to call me his girlfriend
because he really, really liked me.
I sulked on my way out to the bus, dreading the weekend, two days without
Jane because she and Michael had boyfriend-girlfriend plans. Two days without
male companionship. I'd almost gotten used to it when Tommy and I were still
together. That was exceptionally stupid on my part.
"Hey. I drove to school today." Tommy slipped his cool hand into mine and
gave it a squeeze. "Do you want a ride?"
I froze and shut my eyes, feeling confused and torn, having no idea if this
was the moment when I was supposed to give in or stand up for myself. I
opened my eyes, the bus whizzed by, and it felt like fate had given me my
answer. "Sure. I'll take a ride."
It was awkward in the car. I had to wonder if this was all because it was
Friday and Tommy was feeling the same way that I was about the weekend.
"Did you get my note?" he asked.
"Yes. Not until after last period."
"And?"
"And what? It doesn't really seem like you actually want me to be your
girlfriend. It kind of feels like you're just going to say it so I won't be mad at you
anymore."
He groaned. "That's not true. I want you to be my girlfriend. I just don't
understand why it's such a big deal. Why do girls always want to put a label on
everything?"
I picked at the corner of my Chemistry book. "I'm not. I just want to know if
you really want me to be your girlfriend. Because if you don't, then we probably
shouldn't be doing the stuff that we've been doing."
We stopped at a red light and he stared straight ahead. "Fine." He turned and
batted his eyelashes at me. I was sure it was on purpose. "I want you to be my
girlfriend. Claire, will you please be my girlfriend? Is that better?"
Never before had I been so disappointed by a question. I'd thought those
words would be exhilarating, but he had to wreck it by asking if he was making
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 41
it better. "Are you just saying that or do you really mean it?"
He groaned again and knocked his head into the steering wheel, just as the
light turned green and the person behind us tapped their car horn. "Oh my God,
Claire. Do I have to stand on top of a building and scream it? I want you to be
my girlfriend. That's it. I really mean it."
"Oh, okay. That's good." I shifted in my seat. "Okay, yes, I want to be your
girlfriend."
"Do you feel better now?"
"Yes, I feel better."
"Are you sure? Because you aren't exactly smiling or anything." He pulled up
in front of my house.
"I'm sure." I turned and gave him the smile that he seemed to think should
have accompanied my answer. Maybe this wasn't the right thing to do, but I had
to at least give him a chance. He had actually asked me to be his girlfriend.
"Sorry if I was acting like an idiot."
He leaned over and gave me a long kiss, his hand on my neck and his thumb
rubbing my ear. "It's okay." He rested his forehead against mine. "You can make
it up to me later."
Tommy picked me up at six that night and took me out for pizza, like a real
date. We even saw kids from school and he held my hand in front of them. We
sat on the same side of the booth at the restaurant and that was probably not a
good idea, because we both got pretty worked up before the waiter even took
our order. We made out for a solid ten minutes until our pizza came, then we
wolfed down our dinner.
"Just the check, please," Tommy said to the waiter. "We're in a hurry."
"Why are we in a hurry?" I coyly drew a line on his leg with my finger.
"Oh my God, Claire. At least wait until we get to my house. I can't walk out
of here with a boner."
"Sorry."
The drive to Tommy's house seemed like it took forever. His parents were
gone again, this time for the whole weekend. It had occurred to me that his
parents' absence and our new status as a couple seemed more convenient for
him than awesome timing, but I didn't really care at that point. I really just
wanted him to get in my pants.
"You should've told me your parents were going to be away. I could've lied to
my parents and told them I was staying over at Jane's tonight."
He fumbled with the house key and I rubbed his back. "Maybe you can tell
them you're staying over at Jane's tomorrow night."
We both stumbled into the kitchen when the door opened. He locked the
door and tossed his keys on the kitchen counter and tore off his jacket. Walking
backwards, he pulled me along with a mischievous smile on his face.
"We can go in my parent's room if you want. The bed is a lot bigger. Or we
can go in the guest room. That one's bigger, too."
We thundered up the stairs holding hands. He pushed me against the wall
when we got to the landing, and my head made one of Tommy's old school
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 42
portraits swing back and forth. He took my arm and pushed it up over my head
and held it in place against the wall. I'd only ever seen that move in the movies.
I didn't know anyone actually made that move in real life.
"Claire, I'm sorry about this week." He kissed my neck and began tugging at
the front of my shirt. "You smell so good right now, like perfume and pizza
mixed together." He looked at me and laughed, his eyes flashing brilliantly.
"Yum, I want you."
I laughed. It was the first time I'd laughed in the midst of anything physical
with a boy—it was incredible. "I want you, too," I said, giving the seductive thing
my best shot. I rocked my hip against him.
He closed his eyes before he spoke. "Guest room or parents' room?"
"Guest room. I don't want to think about your parents in their bed."
"Okay." He led me down the hall. "But my grandmother sleeps in the guest
room when she comes to stay."
"She doesn't do it in there, does she?"
He laughed again and I felt so clever and sexy, knowing that I possessed the
ability to make him laugh at the same time that he wanted me naked.
"No, my grandmother doesn't do it in there. My grandpa died before I was
born."
"See? It's perfect."
The guest room had a peach-colored chenille coverlet on the saggy double
bed. There were white crocheted doilies on both bedside tables and grandma
lamps—the kind with wavy white glass shades and the brass switch that turns
like a key. We fell onto the bed, which creaked with every move we made.
"Are you sure this bed is okay for this?" I asked. "What if we break it?"
"I would love to break this bed with you." He made quick work of both my
shirt and my skirt. "I'm sure it's fine." He kissed me. "Take my pants off," he
whispered with hot breath into my ear.
"I don't think I heard the magic word." I giggled.
He flipped me over to my back and hovered above me. "Girlfriend."
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 43
March 25, 1986
Dear Diary,
I was so tired when I got home last night that I couldn't even pick up a pen to
write. Tommy and I had the most amazing time. I can't believe that I am actually
his girlfriend. I think I might be falling in love with him. We did it for the second
time and it was so much better than the first time. It hardly hurt at all and I know
for sure that he liked it a lot, because he told me.
After he was finished, we kissed and hugged for a long time. He was being so
sweet and funny. I'm so glad I didn't tell him no when he asked me to be his
girlfriend. That would've been a huge mistake. And now I know that there is
more to sex than letting a guy get inside you. It's so much more than that. I'm
going over to Tommy's tonight and I can't wait.
I have to admit that it feels a little funny to lie here in bed and look at the
posters of Christopher, now that I have a boyfriend. Like I shouldn't be looking at
pictures of another guy because I have Tommy. I know it's silly and I'm definitely
not taking anything down after all of the work I put into it, but it just made me
think. If I could really have someone like Christopher, would I still want Tommy?
I know that would never really happen, well, at least it probably won't happen,
but it's a good question. Rock star? Normal guy?
I wonder what Tommy will say about the posters the next time he comes
over. Even though I'm his girlfriend does not mean that I am suddenly not the
world's biggest Banks Forest and Christopher Penman fan. That part of me will
never change. I guess he'll just have to get over it, but I will find a nice
girlfriendish way to say it.
XOXOXO
Claire
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 44
CHAPTER SEVEN
Last Chance on the Stairway
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 45
March 25, 1986
I shaved my legs when I got ready to go over to Tommy's, which I hate doing.
It wasn't like he'd ever said anything bad about them, but I figured that if I was
going to be someone's girlfriend, I'd better start making more of an effort.
Through the living room window, I saw Tommy pull his VW up to the curb. I
lunged for the doorknob, hoping to make a quick escape.
"Just you wait, Ladybug." Dad got up from his brown leather recliner. "He can
come to the door and ring the bell like a respectable young man."
I grimaced and reluctantly let go of the doorknob. "Dad. Don't be so oldfashioned."
"I am not old-fashioned. This is the way things are done. And you deserve to
be treated like a lady."
"Don't give your father a hard time, honey." My mom sidled her way in from
the kitchen. "He's having a hard time with this whole notion of you having a
boyfriend." She rose up on to her tiptoes and kissed my dad on the cheek. They
were certainly an odd pair, but there was no denying that they loved each other.
The doorbell rang and Dad and I stood there staring at each other.
"Do I answer it?" I asked.
He cleared his throat and straightened his belt. "Uh, no. I'll do it."
The instant Dad opened the door, I got a waft of Tommy's cologne—it made
little bits of electricity run up and down my spine. "Hey, Tommy." My cheeks
flushed with heat when he smiled at me.
"Mr. Abby." He shook my dad's hand. "Mrs. Abby." With a polite nod, he
greeted my mother.
Holy crap. He looks like he's done this before.
"So, tell me young man, how long have you been driving?" My dad leaned
back to peer out the window, presumably at Tommy's beater car.
I stared at the popcorn ceiling, wishing I could die.
"Over a year now, sir. My dad says I'm an excellent driver."
"Teenage drivers are still inexperienced. I take it you have a full tank of gas
and you've checked the air pressure on the tires?"
"Dad…" I groaned.
"Claire, it's okay," Tommy said. "Yes, sir. I put gas in the car yesterday and
checked the tires last week."
I stood a little taller. I had a boyfriend who was managing to hold his own
with my dad.
Dad's lips were thin with skepticism despite Tommy's capable handling of
the inquisition. "And where are you two going tonight?"
I gulped as I realized that Tommy and I hadn't taken the time to get our
stories straight, but he didn't seem to skip a beat. "To dinner up at The Lake
Street Diner and then a movie at the dollar theater."
I blew out a breath. "Dad, it's fine. Can we go now?"
"Ladybug, we're just talking."
"Richard, darling. Let them go have their fun," my mom said with a very
sweet drawl.
My dad looked at my mom as if this was all her fault, but she smiled back
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 46
and I knew he was a goner. "Yes, fine. Go."
"Thanks, Dad." I quickly gave him a kiss on the cheek and bolted out the
door with Tommy.
"Be home by midnight," my dad called out as we hurried down the front
walk. "And call me if his car breaks down. I'll come right away to pick you up."
Tommy rolled his eyes as he opened my car door. "Even after all of that, I
have to say that your dad doesn't hate me as much as I thought he would."
"Deep down, he's a softie. It's easier for him to be a jerk to you on the
phone." I climbed in while Tommy made it around to the driver's side.
"I'm just glad he let me go anywhere with his precious Ladybug."
I smacked him on the leg and he laughed while turning the ignition. A dark
cloud of exhaust burst out of the back of the car. "You'd better go before my dad
comes out and asks to check the carburetor."
Despite what Tommy had told my parents, we went straight to his house. We
didn't even make it upstairs—we did it on the couch in his living room, which
was fun although the plaid upholstery was scratchy.
Afterward, I walked around the house in Tommy's t-shirt and my underwear
and he just wore his jeans. It was the best—we made mac and cheese and
kissed while the noodles boiled on the stove. Tommy opened a can of PBR and
we shared it. We snuggled on the couch under a blanket and watched a re-run
of Who's the Boss? and I tried to remember a time when I felt happier. I was so
comfortable with him now, living in my own skin instead of just existing. I knew
where I stood. I had a place in the world that was mine and mine alone.
After dinner and TV, we went back in the kitchen and had mint chocolate
chip ice cream. I sat on the counter, kicking my legs while Tommy fed it to me
straight out of the carton. One time, he kissed me when I still had a mouthful of
ice cream and it felt like heaven—the creamy mint and chocolate melting in my
mouth, rolling down my throat, while he pressed his lips to mine and I dug my
hand into his hair.
"Have you had enough?" He took another bite for himself.
"Enough of what?" I was a bit loopy and not just from the beer. There was a
drunken freedom to that moment, the two of us alone, able to do anything at all
that we wanted.
"You know." He grinned and put the top back on the carton. "Ice cream."
"Oh. I've definitely had enough of that."
He closed the freezer door. "I like you in my t-shirt. It's cute."
The look on his face was entirely new and I felt my heart ping around in my
chest. "I like wearing it. It smells like you." I looked down, surprised that I was
feeling shy.
"I hope that's a good thing, because my mom doesn't think I smell very
good."
"I think you smell amazing."
He held out his hand for me to hop down from the counter. "I think it's time
for us to go upstairs."
"Guest room?"
"Nah. Those doilies kind of freak me out and I'm worried we're going to
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 47
break the bed."
"I don't want to go in your parents' room. That's kind of gross."
"Sounds like my room."
We took the stairs one at a time, his arm around me. I leaned my head
against his shoulder even though it made it hard to keep my balance. It felt
different to step into his room now, knowing that I was cool with what was
going to happen. I didn't have to be nervous or worried. It was normal—I was
his girlfriend and he was my boyfriend and we cared about each other. It was
okay that we were going to have sex. Even my mom had said so.
I pulled down the comforter and climbed into bed while Tommy dug through
his cassettes again. I nestled my head against his pillow, closing my eyes, and
taking in what was left of his scent on the sheets. When I opened them again,
my heart stopped. A few feet away, something sat in a lump on the floor—
something that made me want to puke.
"What do you want to listen to?"
I didn't answer. I sat up, scooting to the middle of the bed, reaching down for
the rumpled piece of the most hideous acid-washed denim ever. I picked it up
with two fingers as if it was contaminated with some awful disease you catch in
a third-world country. I turned it in mid-air and the sparkly rhinestones
confirmed my worst suspicion.
"This is Holly's jean jacket." My voice creaked out of me. "Why would Holly
Anderson's brand new jean jacket be on your floor?" I couldn't bear to look at
him, but I could see from the corner of my eye that he'd turned.
"What? Oh, uh, yeah. Shit. About that. I thought you knew that Holly and I
were friends." He squinted at me in the faint light of his bedroom and ran his
hand through his hair.
I flung the jean jacket away. "No, I didn't know that you and Holly were
friends. I even asked you the first night we hung out if you were friends with her
and you said 'no'."
"I don't think I said 'no', I probably said 'not really'. Because we aren't really
friends. Just kind of."
"When did she leave her jacket here? She just got it last weekend." I pulled
the covers around me and finally had the nerve to look at him, even though the
tears had started to roll down my face.
"Um, today. We listened to music."
"In your room."
"Well, yeah. All of my tapes are in here. It's no big deal."
I tore off the covers and stood in a panic. My clothes were downstairs. "I
can't believe I was so stupid. You like her. That's why you wouldn't defend me in
front of her."
"Claire, come on. You're making a big deal out of nothing. I don't like her. I
like you. You're my girlfriend, remember?"
I stormed past him and down the hall. It was impossible to see or think now
that the tears had really started to run.
"Claire, come back." He followed me down the stairs. "Let me explain."
"Explain what?" The sound of our bare feet thumping down the treads echoed
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 48
in the narrow stairwell. "That you like Holly Anderson? There's nothing to
explain. I hate her and you like her and I'm supposed to be your girlfriend and
you only get to like one girl at a time." We made it to the living room. I snatched
up my clothes from the floor. "That's the way it works."
He grabbed my shoulders and held my arms against my sides. "I don't like
her. She's a skank. We used to hook up, but I told her it couldn't happen any
more after today. I told her you were my girlfriend."
"After today?" His t-shirt had to come off that instant. "Cover your eyes. You
don't get to see me naked anymore." I wrestled his stupid shirt from my body
and I felt like shredding it into tiny bits and setting them on fire. "You hooked up
with her today? After last night? Even when you knew I was coming over
tonight?"
He took my shoulders again and tried to pull me into a hug, so I drew my
elbow back as far as it would go and punched him, right in the stomach. It hurt
like hell, but at least he let go of me.
"Jesus, Claire! What's wrong with you?" He didn't even double over; he just
stared at his bare stomach, where a pathetic pink circle in the shape of my fist
appeared. "Today was the last time, I swear. It just sort of happened. It was an
accident. It didn't mean anything."
I pulled on my skirt. "I'm going home."
"Don't go, Claire. I like you a lot. I don't think I've ever liked a girl as much
as I like you."
"You have a really crappy way of showing it." I rushed through the kitchen
and unlocked the door. The deluge of rain was deafening. "Shit." I hung my
head, just wishing I could die.
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 49
March 26, 1986
Dear Diary,
I know this is the second morning entry in a row, but I was so upset after last
night that I couldn't write a single word. I didn't want to take it out on you
anyway.
Tommy and I broke up. He had sex with Holly Anderson, after he had sex
with me and before he had sex with me again. It will take a lifetime to erase that
image from my brain. He drove me home because it was pouring outside. I cried
the whole way. I should have just walked and let the rain wash him off of me. I
forgot my key and I stood outside and cried my eyes out until Dad heard me
knocking and let me in. Of course, he saw my face and had to ask me a million
questions, but I begged him to leave me alone.
I called Jane this morning and told her everything. She was super
understanding and was a really good listener, but then she told me that she and
Michael are in love. I wanted to be happy for her. I really did. But all it did was
make me cry more when I got off the phone. What is wrong with me? She's my
best friend in the whole world.
I'm dreading going back to school tomorrow and having to see Holly at my
locker. And Tommy. I will die if they start going out. Just kill me.
Only six days until Jane and I go to see Banks Forest and that's all I want to
think about. It will be so awesome—a fun girls' night out, the dynamic duo, best
friends forever. We can dance and sing and see the best band in the entire
world. I don't need some stupid guy to make me happy. Just lying on my bed
and looking at Christopher and his perfect green eyes is enough to make me
happy. At least it's enough for now.
XOXOXO
Claire
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 50
CHAPTER EIGHT
How Soon Is Now?
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 51
April 1, 1986
"Is my eyeliner straight?" I blinked into the mirror of the Civic Center
bathroom, huddled before it with a swarm of like-minded girls. No girl with a
brain wanted a member of Banks Forest to see her without her makeup and hair
completely perfect.
"Yes. Stop asking me that." Jane tugged on my arm. "Come on. We have to get
to our seats. It sounds like the opening band just finished."
I stumbled ahead and followed her out onto the concourse. My nervousness
was making me antsy and bubble-headed. We'd waited months to see Banks
Forest, after spending hours waiting out for tickets in the cold. Every possible
concert scenario had been played out in my head but because none of it was
happening exactly as I'd pictured, it felt like total sensory overload—people,
noises, lights, smells.
I sucked in a deep breath and composed myself. What if you accidentally
walk past the door for backstage and Christopher Penman walks out into the
hall? You can't be looking like a total idiot. Get your act together.
Jane and I marched into the main auditorium, my heart pounding out of
anticipation as the thousands of people milled about, all of them here for this
penultimate event. Penultimate. Christopher Penultimate Penman.
A security guy in a yellow t-shirt checked our ticket stubs and we filed up the
aisle to our row, D, on Christopher's side of the stage.
We shimmied past a few people to reach our seats. The view before us was
amazing.
"I can't believe how close we are." Jane's voice was uncharacteristically
squeaky.
I stood, frozen but blinking. "I know. The stage is right there." I couldn't
believe our luck. The fourth row was much closer than I'd imagined. Hardly
anything ever turns out better than I imagined it, probably since I'm so good at
imagining amazing things.
The entire auditorium buzzed, mostly with girls chattering away and
squealing. Lots of them had already put their Banks Forest tour shirts on over
their clothes, but that seemed a little too obvious to me. After all, if I had the
chance to meet Christopher, I wouldn't want it to be while I was wearing his
band's t-shirt. That would be tremendously dorky.
Inside the pocket of my men's blazer jacket, next to the tissues I had brought
along in case of an emergency Christopher Penman-induced crying jag, I
carefully tucked my ticket stub away. I'd bought the jacket at the thrift store and
it was so cool, very much like the ones Christopher sometimes wore in band
pictures. My dad had been horrified by the fact that I'd rolled up the sleeves and
was wearing it with black leggings and a tank top. He shook his head when I
told him that it was the style and he needed to calm down.
"Oh my God. Don't look," Jane said, dropping her sights to her lap and
shielding her face.
"Why do you say, 'don't look' when you really just want me to look?" Of
course, I looked, and was sickened by what I saw—the hideous, sparkly denim
jacket. That stupid garment felt like a middle finger in my face every time I
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 52
looked at it. Holly Anderson. Seriously?
Holly and one of her cronies from school took their seats—two rows up from
us. My shoulders dropped. Of course she has better seats than me.
I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. Don't let her ruin your night. You have
been waiting for this for months and months. She's a stupid twit, who will
probably end up being the assistant janitor at Dairy Queen.
"You okay?" Jane asked, tapping me on the shoulder.
I opened my eyes and smiled in a way that was totally forced, but I was
determined to enjoy myself. "Yep. Totally."
"I hate Holly."
"Me too. But I don't care. I can't wait for the show to start."
Jane grinned, her whole face lighting up while she clapped feverishly fast. "I
know. Just think. Graham Whiting is in this building right now. Can you believe
it?"
My lungs filled with air, the same air that Christopher Penman was breathing.
My skin tingled. He's here. Somewhere behind that curtain. Somewhere
backstage. Images of what back stage would be like rifled through my head—
probably lots of fancy stuff to drink and big comfy couches and waitresses to
bring you whatever you want.
What would it be like to sit there with him, have some totally casual and
comfortable conversation because we'd known each other forever? What would
it be like for him to tell me that it was time for the show to start, but that he
would see me when he was done? What would it be like to have him pull me
into his arms and kiss me before he joined Graham and Nigel and Terence on
stage? The very thought was enough to make my brain explode.
The lights began to dim and Jane and I sprang to our feet, along with every
other person around us, including a younger girl and her mom next to us. Soft
strains of an instrumental version of Living In Infamy began to play and the
squeals and shrieks mingled with the music in a way that somehow felt right.
Electric. It's happening.
My eyes darted from side to side, scanning the stage as the curtain drew
back. Jumpy flashes of light came from the far left side and then I saw more on
my right, but not from the stage. I stole a quick glance. Another of the musclebound security guys wagged a flashlight. He was directing it at Holly. She was
trying to look past him, flat-out ignoring whatever it was he wanted. A pair of
very upset-looking girls stood at his elbow, shaking their tickets insistently.
They're in the wrong seats.
Mr. Security tapped Holly on the shoulder and she gave him that look—I've
seen it hundreds of times, the stuck-up drop of her head that says you are no
better than a wad of gum stuck to the bottom of her ugly-ass flats. He pointed at
her with the flashlight again and said something that made her shove her hand
into the pocket of the horrendous jean jacket. Nose in the air, she handed it to
him, but that was her final gesture of snotty indifference. He directed her and
her friend to get the hell out of the seats so their proper owners could have
them.
The crowd roared and I gave up on watching Holly. The vision of her
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 53
scowling and being shown to some seat that was not better than mine was the
perfect start to our long-awaited night with Banks Forest.
Jane grabbed my arm and screamed as one by one, the members of Banks
Forest filtered on to the stage. I popped up on to my tiptoes and craned my neck
to see Terence in black pants and a black tank-top amble behind the drums.
Nigel crossed the stage in red leather and a flowing white shirt, waving to the
crowd and cuing a peal of screams, before picking up his bass. Graham and
Christopher walked on together, Graham's arm around the shoulders of Mr.
Penman. The penultimate. Christopher. Penman.
My eyes could go nowhere else. I tried, but they wouldn't. I could see
Christopher's white-hot smile as if he was standing right in front of me, not yards
away. Graham said, "Ello, Minneapolis," but I didn't even look. My eyes wanted
to be nowhere but firmly rooted on the sight of Christopher Penman.
It took a moment for my brain to catch up and start collecting all of the things
I'd wanted to make note of. His hair. I sighed. The usual adorable mess of floppy
brown. The coppery highlights glinted in the stage lights. His clothes. Black
leather pants, black t-shirt, nothing else necessary. Cool, personified.
His jaw. The square cut was even more magnificent in person. Everything
about him was better this close up, although I really wished I could be as close
up as a human could be, toe-to-toe, hip-to-hip, lips-to-lips.
Christopher looked down at the floor as he plucked a few notes on his shiny
black guitar. Another of his devastating smiles spread across his face when
Graham spoke, "Is everybody ready for a party?"
The crowd roared in affirmation.
"That won't bloody do," Graham said. I allowed my eyes to wander and he
made his way to the very front of the stage. A sea of arms and hands waved
below him. "Are you ready for a party?"
The crowd thundered back with a vengeance.
"Alright then. Let's do this." He turned and in an instant, the drum intro to
What Do I Say? started.
I screamed but I swear no sound came out. Jane screamed. She looked at me
then back at the stage. We jumped up and down in time to the music as Banks
Forest took complete control of every living thing in that auditorium.
Song after song, everything felt like it was simultaneously happening in slow
motion and yet way too fast. How anything could feel like that was beyond me,
but I just went with it. Graham danced around the stage, Terence pounded the
drums into oblivion, Nigel teased the girls sitting in the first row with frequent
visits to the front of the stage, and Christopher was just as smooth and in charge
as I could imagine someone ever being.
When Love, Destroyed started, I thought I might collapse into a sweaty heap
on the auditorium floor. The crowd immediately started swaying in time to the
winding tune of love and what happens when someone breaks your heart. I'd
read in a magazine that Christopher wrote the song after a bad break-up from a
girl he declined to identify. After everything I'd gone through with Tommy, I
could fully appreciate the pain Christopher had experienced. It made my chest
ache to watch him as he played guitar to my favorite song. How anyone could
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 54
ever break that man's heart was a mystery to me.
Graham stood in the spotlight, clutching the microphone with both hands,
singing the lyrics with such emotion that most of the screaming had stopped.
Hundreds of people in the audience held up lighters, dotting the dimly lit space
with the flickers of tiny flames. We all held onto every word, united in our love
for the band, an ocean of adoring fans.
The younger girl next to me had been brought to tears, which I found to be so
cute, especially since she was a fan of Nigel's and therefore, she and I had no
conflict over band members. Her curly brown hair clung to her forehead from
the sweaty frenzy we'd all given into. She tugged on my arm, almost going limp,
and I put my arm around her. Jane put her arm around me and we shifted our
weight back and forth as the song reached its big moment when Graham starts
to sing, "It's a love, destroyed," over and over again.
My eyes drifted shut and visions of the Love, Destroyed video appeared in
my head, especially the shot of Christopher in the beautiful light of a pink and
orange setting sun, with the tropical wind blowing his floppy hair from his face,
his linen shirt unbuttoned to display the smooth glory of his chest.
"Claire!" Jane gasped in my ear.
My eyes jerked open. "What?" Her face was full of dismay. My sights darted
to the band as the song was coming to an end. "What?" Christopher had walked
to the very front of the stage and I could see him perfectly. He's so cute I could
die.
"He was looking at you," Jane blurted.
"What? Who?"
The crowd erupted in applause.
"Christopher," she yelled right into my ear. "Christopher Penman looked at
you and you had your eyes closed."
All blood drained from my face. Shock sputtered through my body. "What?
No way. You're nuts." Then a hint of delight overcame me as I thought about it.
Could she be right? Was he looking at me?
Jane shook her head. "I'm not nuts."
Back up on the stage, Christopher had retreated to his microphone and his
sights were on the floor. Whatever he might be looking at, he most certainly was
not looking at me.
"This is our last one, Minneapolis," Graham announced. "We love you.
Goodnight."
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 55
April 1, 1986
Dear Diary,
It's late and I've had such a long day, but I don't think I can sleep. I might not
sleep ever again.
Tonight was the Banks Forest concert and something unbelievable happened.
It was during "Love, Destroyed" and the whole crowd was swaying together and
sort of basking in how beautiful it is. I guess I was just sort of caught up in it and
I closed my eyes for a few seconds because I was thinking about how adorable
Christopher looks in the video. Then Jane jolted me out of everything by yelling
my name into my ear. She then proceeds to tell me that she thinks Christopher
was looking at me! Can you even believe that?
I told her she was nuts and she said she isn't. I asked her about it ten more
times in the car on the way home and she got really super annoyed with me, but
I had to hear it from her directly. She said that his eyes "locked" on me. Locked!
She thought my eyes were open so she was just sort of in awe of what was
happening because she thought we were having a moment. Can you imagine?
Me and Christopher having a moment? Oh my God. I would die. Why did I have
to have my stupid eyes closed? I could kick myself. I can't believe I'm so stupid.
Christopher looked so handsome in person, even more than he does in
pictures if that is really possible. I think he might be the most handsome man on
the planet, or maybe it's just that he's the most handsome to me. He might not
be everyone's idea of the perfect man, but he's mine. The music was amazing.
The whole thing was amazing. I don't know if I will ever be this happy again.
Maybe if I get to see Banks Forest again. Some day. I swear, no matter what
happens, some day!
XOXOXO
Claire
THE END
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 56
If you enjoyed Claire's Diary, find out what happens twenty-two years later
when
Claire meets Christopher Penman in Bring Me Back.
Bring Me Back is available in eBook and print from:
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Turquoise Morning Press
Kobo
Smashwords
Signed print copies of Bring Me Back and the Banks Forest t-shirt featured
on
the cover of Claire's Diary are available in the Bring Me Back store.
Back Forever, the sequel to Bring Me Back is out 2-16-2014.
CLAIRE'S DIARY / 57
Karen Booth is a Midwestern girl transplanted in the South, raised on 80s music,
Judy Blume, and the films of John Hughes. An early preoccupation with rock 'n'
roll led her to spend her twenties working her way from intern to executive in
the music industry. Much of her writing revolves around the world of backstage
passes and band dynamics.
When Karen isn't creating dreamy fictional musicians, she's listening to
everything from Otis Redding to Duran Duran with her kids, honing her
Southern cooking skills (she makes some mean collards), or sweet-talking her
astoundingly supportive husband into whipping up a batch of cocktails.
For further information about Karen Booth and her books, visit
karenbooth.net.