Bad Idea

1: Boring Coward

Riva Corley chewed on the end of her pen, trying to figure out what to write on the blank piece of notebook paper in front of her. Madame Bellamy, the French teacher, stood at the front of the classroom reviewing forms of the past tense, but Riva didn’t need to listen to that. If she’d been working on her French exercises, she’d have known what to put.

Riva stole another glance at Emmy Barnes. Emmy was two years ahead, a senior, not far from graduation and her 18th birthday—in other words, not far from freedom. She looked free already, though. Emmy was the only out lesbian at Jason Reidman Senior High School. Not everyone was cool about that, but she didn’t let anything stop her from expressing her personality. She carried her stuff in a shimmery rainbow bag she’d made herself, wore Doc Martens below knee-length skirts with glitter woven into the fabric, and rocked a short, punky haircut that made the strands she’d dyed purple stand out.

If she’d dressed differently, her pink-cheeked good looks would have guaranteed her a spot alongside the popular girls who were cheerleaders or had made the dance team. Combined with her actual style, they gave her more edge than she could have achieved with clothes alone. Emmy could have placed herself in any clique she wanted, and her outfits said she’d chosen her role and was proud of it.

Riva wished she had a fraction of that confidence. She didn’t even know who she was, much less how to stand up and declare her identity to the world.

She reminded herself that, at the moment, she wasn’t writing to the world at large. This was just for Emmy. Since she’d never said more than two words to Emmy, that didn’t make things much better.

“Hi!” Riva tried. Even her handwriting made her self-conscious. Was it too messy? Were her letters too bubbly and girly? Were they too sharp and not girly enough? She gritted her teeth and kept writing. “Want to get together sometime at the ice cream shop downtown? Or maybe a longer hangout over Spring Break? The mall, whatever. I’d like to get to know you.”

She frowned at the paper. Get to know yousounded really sleazy. She hadn’t even gotten to the sleazy part. Riva was tempted to reject this note and start over, but class would end soon. She didn’t want to go another day without making contact.

Her eyes flicked to Emmy again. She was definitely pretty. What did that really mean, though? Riva tried to imagine kissing her, or wanting to. Before Riva’s boyfriend, Benton, had gotten obsessed with the idea of watching her make out with a girl, it had never really occurred to Riva to wonder about what that would be like. Now she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It was hard to tell if it made her uncomfortable or excited or what. Every time she pictured it, her mind placed Benton right in front of her, expecting her to be sexy for him. She couldn’t figure out how she felt about kissing a girl while she was totally worried about him and what he would be thinking and if he would finally be proud to be with her.

Riva could think of a lot of empowerment stuff her mom would say if she knew how desperately Riva wanted to please Benton, but none of that changed what was true. Riva didwant Benton to like her, to stay with her even though she’d moved away and he’d gone to college where, he’d made it clear, there were plenty of older, more experienced girls who would be more than happy to do all the things Riva was reluctant to do.

Benton was coming to visit for Spring Break, and he’d let Riva know what he expected when he arrived. He’d take her out and spend time with her, but he wanted to watch her make out with a girl. After all, he’d said, he could have spent Spring Break with friends from college in a beach house, going to wet T-shirt contests, drinking booze purchased by older friends, and getting into all sorts of exciting trouble. Hearing that had hurt, not just because he was threatening to find a cooler girlfriend, but also because he talked as if he was only coming to see her out of pity or obligation.

“You make it sound like I’m so boring,” Riva had said.

“Aren’t you?” Even though she couldn’t see him, she could picture the thin, reddish eyebrow raised above his sharp green eyes.

“I’m not boring,” Riva had insisted.

“Then prove it.”

She had tried to raise objections. She wasn’t gay, she’d said, and even if she was, she wouldn’t have known how to find a girl in the first place. Benton had just called her a coward.