Chapter 11

Granted, if one looked at it objectively, Nicole quitting Student Council wasn't exactly horrific. If it wasn't Nicole, I might have even labelled it 'teen drama.' Nevertheless I still mirrored her sad expression.

"Is it that bad?" I asked her.

She nodded as she drove, then sighed. "I didn't wanna tell you because I figure it would put a rain cloud over our hanging out time." She paused, then spoke with an uncharacteristically small voice. "Want me to just drop you off at home?"

"No!" I all but shouted.

Nicole recovered somewhat. "Good, because I haven't been able to hang out with Single Adam in a long while, and I miss him."

"It's all about sex with you, isn't it?" I asked her slyly, somewhat relieved myself that we got over the topic of her quitting and onto something a bit more happy.

"Hey, I never mentioned sex." She replied with her own sly voice. I made the mistake of letting silence creep into the conversation, and she picked up right where she left off. "But yeah, I'm definitely quitting. It's like ... I don't want to leave but I'd rather be a bit sad because I left then go through awkward hell every week until the year is over, y'know?"

Whenever Nicole spoke with a flustered voice, it was all too clear that she was upset, or at least more upset than she wanted to overtly show. I didn't ever dare call her out on that or even make note, because then she might go to lengths to hide it, and I was barely at the point where I could start reading her.

I didn't respond, mainly because I didn't know what the heck to say, and Nicole took note of that. "Sorry." She flatly said. "So what do you wanna do?"

"You could try talking to Phil or something." I weakly suggested, ignoring her attempt to change the conversation. Nicole was always the one suggesting ways to make my life better. I felt like I owed it to her to do the same.

"I don't want to." She simply answered.

"But if you did, and you reached some kind of compromise or something..." I trailed off.

"There's nothing to compromise about." She turned to face me, despite still driving. "Being in the same room as Phil is the problem. There's nothing I can do to solve that, let alone you." She turned back to the road, to my relief. "No offense." She tossed over her shoulder.

"None taken." I muttered. I knew my place. I may have come a long way, but I was nowhere near Nicole's level. It sure did seem silly, though, that she was able to solve the most monumental problems of others, and yet seemed to be unable to solve her own.

"I want you to stay on the council." I added after another silence.

"I kinda figured that." she shot back. "I wanna stay too. It just ... It just would lead to icky stuff."

"But what if in a month you can tolerate being in the same room as him again?" I blurted out. "Would it have been worth it to quit?"

"And what if this is hard enough as it is and I don't need my friend badgering me about a decision that was difficult enough to make by myself?" Nicole asked me, lowering an eyebrow but keeping her eyes on the road.

I broke out in a grin. If I hadn't known any better, I would say it caught her off guard. "So I've graduated to the ranking of 'friend, ' have I, your highness?" I asked her sarcastically.

A mix between angry and holding back a giggle splashed across Nicole's face. "Oh my god." She muttered, giving me a gentle shove. "You are such a dinkus."

Dinkus. Yet another word I'm sure many highschoolers used that I didn't know. Either way, it was good to change the subject and see her give off a smile of some kind. "You're a dinkus." I replied lamely. I thought I would have had a better comeback but nothing came to me in time.

"Oh snap. Good one." She replied sarcastically. "Yeah, but only because 'fuck buddy' is an outdated term."

"Really?" I asked her, almost serious. "I would have thought a term like 'fuck buddy' would be relatively modern."

"Is 'swag' outdated?" Nicole asked me, smiling triumphantly already at my answer.

"Point taken." I admitted begrudgingly, in time for us to arrive at her home. Taking off my seatbelt, I hopped out of the car and noticed that the car matched Nicole's attire and hair - all black.

"Hey, Nicole." I semi-shouted.

"Yo." She whisked around just before opening her front door.

"What's with the black?" I asked. "I mean, you, the car..."

"Oh my God, Adam." Nicole responded. "You can't just ask a car why it's black."

She noted my blank stare and waved me off. "Never mind. I dunno, I just like it. It's a nice base, like a template. If I wear black all the time, it's like a constant. Nobody knows me for how I dress because they always just see the same thing. Suddenly it's who I am, not what I wear, that becomes so important. I was gonna do it with white, but it gets dirty so easily."

"Oh, so you're a special snowflake." I said with a wink.

"You know me too well, squirt." She replied with a wink of her own, before reaching for the doorknob.

"I'm surprised you're not better friends with Paul." I remarked, to no one in particular.

Without seeing her face, I could see that she visibly hesitated. Pulling her hand from the doorknob but not moving to face me, she asked, "Paul who?"

I scratched my head. "Paul ... Stevens."

She chuckled intently. "Oh boy." She murmured. "We're gonna have a conversation, aren't we?" Without waiting for me to process what she said, let alone respond to it, she opened the door and waltzed in.

"Hi mommy, hi daddy!" She sang gleefully, taking her coat off and throwing it on to the coat rack, kind of like in the movies. "I have Adam with me so please leave any disappointment in the jar to your left."

I shot her a look as I took my boots off. She looked at me for about a second before breaking into a full grin. Once we had all of our winter gear off we marched into the kitchen where her parents were waiting. As usual, Mr. Baker was sitting at the kitchen table, now reading A Tale of Two Cities. Mrs. Baker was sitting at the table too, doing some kind of paperwork.

"Welcome home." She said half-pleasantly, then looked at me with no amusement in her eyes. "Oh, hello, Arnold."

"Adam." I corrected her.

"Don't." Nicole said to me in a whisper. I looked over to her and saw she was holding her face in her hand.

Mrs. Baker attached her gaze back to Nicole. "So, you're back with him?" She asked her. "Isn't Phil going to be upset by this?"

"The council meeting? Oh, it went fine, mum." Nicole answered annoyedly. Her mother appeared to have a talent for getting under her skin.

"Ah, so he broke up with you, huh?" Mrs. Baker asked, giving Nicole the stone-faced stare of a lifetime. "How unfortunate. It's almost as if I told you it would happen."

"I broke up with him." Nicole said weakly, her hand still covering her face.

"What did you expect, sweetheart?" Her mother added in a coaxing voice. Whether she was being sarcastic or not, I couldn't tell. "They were raised in the same family. Do you know how Einstein defined insanity?"

"Okay, mom, can we not start this shit when we have a guest over, please?" Nicole asked in an exasperated tone. "If you need to tell me anything, just put it in the jar."

I looked at her, confused. She motioned to the kitchen counter. There was a jar labelled 'disappointments' with a few pieces of writing in it. I almost chuckled to myself. That was so funny, in a very sad way.

Mrs. Baker stood up and walked by us, observing us. She stopped at me, and looked me right in the face. "It's fine," She finally said. "Go have your fun. Supper's at six. Warn me if Adam is staying over."

Nicole sighed. "Maman, donnez-moi une chance." She spoke in perfect French. " Ce garçon est différent. Je n'aime pas comment vous me parlez quand je suis avec mes amis."

"Je le ferais peut-être si tu arrêtais de coucher avec tes amis et de déshonorer ta famille." Her mother fired back. "Tu aimes dire 'il est différent' à chaque fois tu as un nouveau mec qui ne cherche toujours qu'une relation sexuelle." It was awkward enough being in the middle of their debate, let alone not knowing what they were saying. Plus, to be blunt, it was French.

"Vous ne voulez pas comprendre! Ce n'est pas juste!" Nicole protested. "Oui, je suis une putain. Alors, quoi? Pourquoi est-ce que je suis inférieure simplement parce que j'aime les rapports? Vous devriez être heureuse que je suis honnête avec vous!"

Nicole's tone was getting angry, and she was starting to breathe heavier as well. Nevertheless, I couldn't help but feel like this was a more common occurrence in this house than I would have liked to admit, even though the French part confused me. Finally, Mr. Baker cleared his throat. "Nicole, if you're going to have the boy over, go to your room." He declared with his low, gravelly voice. "We've got things to take care of down here, and your tone is not appreciated."

Nicole's gaze went from her mom, to her dad, to her mom again. "C'est des conneries," she muttered in disgust as she loudly trudged up the stairs. After sneaking one last look at her parents, I followed her upstairs to her room, where I found her lying face-down on her bed.

"You okay?" I asked her gently, sitting next to her.

"Parents fucking suck sometimes." She muttered into the sheets. "I'm sorry you had to hear that."

"Don't be too sorry, Jean Valjean." I quipped. "I had no clue what the hell you were saying. What was with the French?"

She lifted her head up lazily. "It's a system my family thought up. When we want to talk but keep it private with other people in the room, we say it in French. It used to be Spanish, but as Spence, Mitch and I got older more and more people our age would pick up on what we said." A small smile began to show on her face. "We used to do it for fun things. Making fun of strangers whenever we were out as a family, gossiping ... We even pretended to be a family from France on vacation once. It kinda backfired since the first people we talked to turned out to be from Quebec." Her head flopped back down on to the mattress. "Canadians suck sometimes too."

My hand caressed her back gently. "I think it's really cool that you know French." I said supportively.

"You're just saying that because mom tore me a fourty-seventh asshole today." She mumbled into her sheets.

"Does she do it often?" I asked her.

Nicole lifted herself up, eventually moving to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. My hand never left her back. "Not in French," she commented, resting her head on my shoulder. "Whenever she feels like it though, she just goes for it."

"What did you say?" I asked her.

"No offense, squirt, but if I wanted to say it in front of you, I would have spoken English." She said, moving her head so she could stare me directly in the eye.

I didn't respond. We sat there for a good few moments until Nicole got up and paced for a little bit. Afterwards, she stretched, and casually stripped away her two layers of shirts, leaving herself topless.

"Should I be taking the hint?" I asked jokingly.

"Take off your shirt too if my boobs bother you." Nicole shot back with a wink. She then sat back down on the bed. Instinctively, my hand went to caress her breast.

"I mean, why else would you take your shirt off with me here?" I asked her teasingly.

She looked at me with an eyebrow arched. "Actually, if you want me to be honest, I do this all the time." She informed me. "I realize you may not quite get this, but boobs are kind of a big load. Especially when they're as big as mine. And especially especially when you're a fucking idiot that doesn't wear a bra."

"Then why don't you?" I asked, my hand still caressing her.

She shrugged. "I dunno. They're too restricting, too tight. I guess my skin is kinda sensitive." She answered. "But real talk, usually the first thing I do when I get home is lose the shirt. It's not even a horny thing, it's just, like ... Freedom. Plus, I mean..." She shooed my hand away and grabbed her breasts in her hands. "Boobs. Fuckin' boobs. These things are awesome. They're heavy and annoying. but when I'm bored, I just sorta grab them or something."

I chuckled, and also had to admit to myself that I liked where this conversation was going. "Don't you ever turn yourself on?" I asked, hoping to get her in the mood.

"Actually, not really." She replied, stone-faced. Well, that was a misfire, I thought to myself. "Guys love to think that every girl's boobs are like these two pleasure buttons, and the bigger the girl's boobs are, the more horny she feels from them getting touched. Yeah, that's actually not really true at all. Truth be told, even when a guy is doing everything right, sometimes I don't even feel anything from someone touching my nips or hell, even sucking on 'em. Plus, studies have shown that it's actually the smaller boobs that feel more pleasure. I think I have one or two of those saved in my browser's bookmarks if you wanna-"

"I'm ... good, thanks." I interrupted. It was clear I lost on that front.

She shrugged. "Whatever. Your loss." She said, falling backwards and laying down on the bed, her boobs in her hands.

"So those times where I suck your nipples are just for nothing?" I asked, admittedly curious at this point.

"Not all of them, don't worry." She responded flatly. "Plus, the more sexually charged I am, the more I enjoy it, and let's be honest." She lifted her head and gave me a naughty grin. "I'm one horny little bitch."

Now's your chance, the voice in my head told me. Make a move.

Before I could she continued. "Maybe I should start wearing a bra." She said, setting her head back down again. "The only problem is, in my size, they charge like fifty fucking dollars. For boob cups on a strap. That's just stupid. Plus, I like the free feel. Some girls don't like that I don't wear a bra, like that in itself is slutty and it somehow insults all girls that I could let men objectify me or something."

That sounds like something Jenna would say, I thought to myself.

"But to me, the more sexually open I am, then yeah, guys will view me as a sex doll, but the more they seem to just have a good time with me and appreciate me for who I am. It's kinda nice to just embrace your flaws and know that others will accept you for it, even knowing that it's mostly because they hope you'll blow them underneath the bleachers or something."

"That sounds like something straight out of a porn movie." I commented.

Nicole grinned. "Yeah, kinda." She replied. "I bet that's where I got the idea for it too." Suddenly, her eyes widened and she shot up. "Oh, right! Paul! We were totally gonna talk about him."

"Paul's the dude you blew under the bleachers?!" I asked her in disbelief. For some odd reason, I didn't like picturing Paul ever doing anything sexual.

"Ew, God no." Nicole replied. Apparently, neither did she. "I never did anything with him. I just sorta remembered. You mentioned him earlier."

"Yeah, you both wear black a lot." I answered lamely. "Plus you both really like to 'real talk.' Although the think you do it more because you feel like it, and he does it more to feel superior and give advice."

Nicole sat up again. "Right?!" She asked excitedly. "Honestly, I don't like Paul at all. He kinda scares me."

"Scares you?" I repeated her. "Why?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. I don't like his indirect way of answering things. It's like he can't ever be open about himself, and always has to have the conversation be one-sided. If someone ever asks me about something, I give them a straight answer."

"Grade eleven." I quipped.

"Shut up." She replied, a grin forming. "You know what I mean. Plus, I get the feeling that under that innocent exterior is a serious manipulator. I bet he's more of a slut than I am."

"That's kind of unfair." I murmured loud enough for her to hear. "That's just your opinion of how he is on the outside presuming things about his personality."

Nicole looked at me with a lazy yet mischievous smile on her face. "Welcome to high school, squirt." she announced. "Everyone's gonna do that. At least I have the balls to admit it ... You probably did it too."

"I did not." I replied fiercely with an offended tone.

"No?" She asked, sitting up with a challenging grin on her face. "What about when you were head-over-heels for May? Are you telling me that there wasn't a single time another guy talked to her, and you wanted to rip his balls off?"

Zac. She got me. I said nothing and looked down, which only fed her grin and turned it into one of triumph.

"Thought so." She sighed contentedly. "Anyway, what were we talking about?"

"Gossip about others?" I offered.

"No, before that." She said, pondering.

" ... Paul?"

"Right, that." She snapped to attention. "I just wanted to conclude by saying that I think he likes talking to others about their problems just so he can avoid his own, which is kind of a shitty way of doing things."

"I think you two are more alike than you think." I replied cheekily.

"I ought to wash your mouth out with soap." Nicole giggled, lunging at me and trying to tickle me. Luckily for me, I wasn't ticklish.

"Aw." She pouted. "You're no fun." There was a significant pause, then she added, "No, I'm not."

"You both like drama." I suggested.

"Yeah, in an artsy-fartsy school. Imagine that." She retorted. "Everyone who comes to Hazelwood High is either artsy, delusional or lost. I mean, remember how we talked about the sports teams at our last council meeting?"

I thought about it. "Did we?" I asked. "I don't think we did."

"Exactly." She winked. "Arts are more fun anyway. In sports, you compete against others to get points. In arts, you compete against yourself to express what best matches your feelings."

"Too deep for me." I said jokingly.

"Well, excuse me." Nicole replied in an annoyed voice. "I forgot I wasn't talking to Bertolt Brecht." The stretched on the bed then sat up. "Ooh, there's an idea. I should try out for the school play next year." With that, she flopped back down on the bed again.

I laid down on the bed, her laziness becoming contagious, so that our heads were side-to-side from opposite directions. I turned my head to meet hers and gently kissed her cheek. "Why didn't you this year? Didn't you say you wanted to?" I asked casually.

"Too much on my plate, I guess." She lazily replied, stretching. "Now that Student Council is out the window, I guess I can finally do it."

"Nicole..." I started.

"Sssssh." She replied lazily, reaching over with her opposite hand and covering my mouth. Playfully, I kissed her outstretched hand and brought it over me, shifting us into a spooning position.

After a while, she spoke up. "You want sex right now, don't you?"

I turned around to face her. "Is this a trick question?"

She chuckled softly. "No, but I could tell something was up in the way you were responding to me when I was talking about these." She cupped a boob in each hand.

"I'm a teenage boy. Sue me." I retorted.

"You sound like me." She grinned.

"Do you want sex right now?" I asked her, attempting to hide my hopefulness.

There was a clear pause. I eventually turned to Nicole, who appeared to be thinking it over. "Not really." She finally concluded, then softly chuckled. "I know it's weird. The school slut doesn't want some right when you do. Sorry for blueballin' ya."

"You're not the school slut." I replied forcibly.

"Why aren't I?" She casually asked, turning to face me.

"Well..." I began, almost nervous from her question. "I mean ... you mean more than that to me."

"I'm aware I'm more than just a slut, squirt. Obama's also more than a president. He's a person." She replied.

"Obama?" I asked.

She shrugged. "First person I could think of."

"Yeah, but a slut's a bad thing. I-"

"Why?" She interrupted.

"Why is being a slut a bad thing?" I asked.

"Yup."

"Well ... It kind of devalues you. Like you're just someone who just sells out their body and has no self-respect. And you're more than that."

"And if someone has sex with a lot of guys like that, then they have no self-respect?" She asked.

"Right."

"Wrong." She told me. "Sex is a natural thing. If I like it and want it, that shouldn't have anything to do with my value to myself, or to others. The most insecure, self-hating girl in the world and the most secure, narcissistic girl in the world could both love sex just as much as each other. What would you use then to judge how much respect they have for themselves?"

"Umm..." I sensed a trap. "I dunno."

"Then don't judge them in the first place." Nicole coolly told me. "It's not like anyone's love of sex is affecting you, unless you get in on it." She grabbed my crotch to prove my point. "Slut is just a state of being. It just means that I like sex. And it's not harming anyone, or an outlet for insecurity. No one teases me because I love video games too much. No one teases me because I love acting. But when people get this idea that the more sex you have, the less self-respect you have, that's bad."

"But I didn't say you had no self-respect." I protested. "I just said that a slut is-"

"Alright. What's the difference between me and a slut?" She asked, squeezing my crotch to the point of slight pain. "I mean, hey. You're having casual sex with two girls right now. Are you doing it because you have no self-respect?"

Hook, line, and sinker. "No, I'm not." I admitted.

"Why are you doing it, Adam?" She asked in a sing-song voice, letting go of me.

"Because I like sex." I admitted defeat.

Nicole smiled triumphantly. "And that's me too. And that's almost every 'slut' you'll encounter in your life. And until you learn about their feelings, you're in no position to judge them." She concluded. My silence followed. "So I guess if you think about it, 'slut' couldn't really be a bad term. I mean, we're just doing this for fun, but we are pretty slutty." She turned to face me.

Some part of me wanted to deny it, but that was only because of my preconceptions of the word. Admitting that Nicole was correct, I nodded.

"And don't worry." She added, a grin forming. "My best friend is a slut. And I like him a lot. Hell, I think he's my best friend."

"Oh yeah?" I asked with a friendly smile, turning to her. "Who's that?"

Smiling, Nicole leaned in forward and gave me a deep kiss on the lips. She pulled back and smiled slightly, and I followed suit. My arms reached forward, pulling her into a tight embrace, one which she was glad to accept.

When high school had first been chucked into the mixing bowl that was my life, I felt like a deer in headlights. A new school, new people, a new way of doing things, feeling things and thinking things. Especially with Nicole by my side, I felt like I was able to take second semester's new changes a lot better. Even by the first day, I was a little disappointed not to see my old teachers anymore, although I knew Salvador's door was always open. Hell, I knew I'd be knocking on that door within days of the new semester blooming.

My first class of the new semester was geography, which could be roughly translated to 'color in maps of the States by state' class. Occasionally we switched it up with rock types or volcanoes or world cultures or theories of global warming coupled with why everyone in the class is a horrible person for being a part of consumerist society, but usually it was just maps and pencil crayons. I had to give my teacher, Mr. MacDonald, the benefit of the doubt. He seemed to be no happier with the curriculum than I was, and I figured he had no say on what he was teaching. He was still a fairly easygoing guy, which reflected in how he appeared. Slightly overweight and always in Hawaiian shirts for whatever reason, he was content with spending half of the class actually teaching and the other half letting us do whatever the heck he wanted. I bet if he had his way with the curriculum, he would have been much stricter.

I was relieved on the first day to find at least one familiar face in the class. I'm sure here were several people in the class that had classes with me last semester, but I really wasn't outgoing enough to make friends with any of them, so they all kind of blended together. However, Lady Luck granted me a boon sitting next to me, and her name was Megan Schneider.

As attendance was being taken, she looked over to me and smiled shyly. "Hey." she said simply yet cheerfully, waving her hand hesitantly.

"Hey." I responded.

"Did you have a good break?" She asked cheerfully.

Break, my ass. It lasted all of four days with the meeting. "Yeah, it was alright." I answered with a smile. "Yours?"

She simply shrugged shyly. "It was okay." She answered.

"You two." I heard a voice from the front. "Are either of you Megan Schneider?" Mr. MacDonald asked us. "If one of you are, I'm going to guess that it isn't you." He pointed at me, earning a few giggles from my classmates.

"Me, sir." Megan squeaked.

"Is that so?" He asked. "Well, next time answer me the first time I ask, so I don't have to break up your important discussion."

"Yes, sir." Megan squeaked again.

"'Sir.' I like that." Mr. MacDonald grinned, before continuing with the attendance.

I was fairly nervous about second period. I had never taken Spanish before and didn't know what to expect. My nervousness only increased with the fact that when all of us had gotten to the classroom and sat down, the teacher had yet to show up.

After all of us had a chance to make small talk with our neighbors (except for me, of course) our teacher burst through the door, carrying a small stack of papers.

"Siento!" She said distressedly in either a Mexican or Spanish accent. She plopped the papers down on her desk and straightened herself out. "I guess that's your first lesson of the day - siento. It means 'I'm sorry, ' but only in non-formal circumstances. If you're saying sorry for something specific, it would be 'lo siento.' Has everyone got that? Great. My name is Mrs. Luciano and I'll be your Spanish teacher for the next semester. I hope everyone's looking forward to learning Spanish, unless you already know some Spanish, in which case I guess it'll be re-learning!" She burst out laughing then immediately transitioned into continuing. "You'll be getting a coursebook for this semester which will act as your personal tracking logs - there's a fee for that I'm afraid. Don't worry, I'm sure your parents will cover it!" Another laugh emerged before she continued. "So for now I'm going to go ahead and dive into the rules of the classroom, and then we'll get into the first lesson. Does anybody have any questions?"

None of us said anything.

After a few texts to Nicole and a bit of stumbling around, I found my way to the history hall. I should have guessed it was around the same area where I took geography, but I was still a bit of a freshman. Eventually, I got to my class and opened the door to find that the teacher had already begun his lesson. I felt my cheeks redden.

"Oh, sorry." I mumbled.

The teacher, a smallish old man of pure white skin and graying hair, paused, as if scanning my face. "Oh," He said, almost to himself. "Don't worry about it. Find a seat. I was just beginning anyways."