When Lemons Ferment

She is so close I can smell her breath. I’m trying to breathe in, more than out. She probably thinks I’m tilting my head because I’m a good listener, the way a churchgoer tilts their head during an especially poignant sermon. I just want to take her in completely. At this angle, I get my nose in just the perfect position. Hints of sweet milk and cinnamon toothpaste bring me into her house in the early morning. She stretches and yawns, coffee wafts into our room, she shuffles on her slippers while I fold the sheets down. I pick curly strands of hair from her pillowcase and throw them onto the floor — Did she just give me a weird look? She can’t know my thoughts, that’s crazy.

“What? Yeah, that’s right.” I said. “Hey, Helen, maybe we can meet up this weekend and go over our notes before the test. I think we could do really well if we study together. Two heads are better than one, right?” I ask.

“That would be really nice, but my parents don’t let me have boys over,” she said.

I know she’s lying. Stupid bitch. I overheard her talking about Jake going over to her house for dinner last weekend. She probably thinks I’m not good enough for her. Mom thinks I’m not good enough for any girl. I walked a girl home from school once when I was in seventh grade. When I got home mom asked me why I was late. When I told her she said that girl was somebody’s daughter and that I was filthy for thinking about having sex with her.

“Oh really? I bet they think you’ll stay a virgin till marriage, too.” She looks freaked out, dammit, why did I say that. “Uh, Sorry. I wrote my phone number in your notebook while you were in the bathroom, call me if you have any questions.”

“Great, thanks,” she said.

It’s lunchtime. The cafeteria is a frontal attack of unventilated hormones. The stoner kids are giant cocoa beans, musky and sweet. The cheerleaders, cherry lip balm and baby powder. The jocks run past me to get to the front of the line, nearly knocking me over with their smell of sweaty armpits and vinyl wrestling mats. I try not to make eye contact. I’m stuck at the end of the line, but Jake is right in front of me. Jake smells like outdoors, like grass warmed in the sun. I said hi, but he pretended not to hear me. Helen probably told him what I said.

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