FIRSTS Stories: The Boys Tell All

Orlando Lamar

A lot of guys like parties for one reason: girls. Not that I blame them. I mean, until Clara became my girl, I was just like them. Wanting. Hoping. No shortage of beauty to look at. Tight pants and short skirts and shiny hair and big... smiles.

What did you think I was going to say?

Clara loves parties. She's one of those people who knows everyone's business. She'll probably get wasted tonight and I'll take her home and tuck her into bed and tell her a less embarrassing version of events in the morning. There she is, by the pool table. No, not that one. The one beside her. The beautiful one. Long blond hair, big blue eyes that aren't just blue, but have a ring of green around the middle. Like the ocean when it rains. And maybe you think that sounds cheesy, but that's what girls like to hear. Nobody wants to be generic.

Anyway, I've got my girl. And I like parties for a whole different reason. To watch. Not in a creepy way, but I like watching people. They do a lot of stuff when they figure nobody's looking. And they do a lot of stuff when they know people are looking, too.

Like, Colin Riggs and Beth Hall over there by the stereo. They're acting all nice when people come over, but whenever it's just the two of them her eyes go all squinty and she turns away from him and he gets another beer. I can almost guarantee that when they leave the party, she'll rag on him for being drunk and he'll tell her to stop being such a buzzkill. She'd be even more pissed off if she knew that last time she went to the bathroom, he grabbed Alana French's butt.

Over there, the two idiots who are wasted off their asses and working out on Todd's dad's exercise machines? Well, the moron walking backwards on the treadmill is Trevor Johnston. In about ten seconds, he'll probably fall over and crack his dumb head open. The other one on the bike is Chase Redgrave. He acts all shy at school, but at parties he's hitting on everyone else's girl.

And over there—by the patio doors. That little guy, William Malcolm. His hand has been crawling up this girl's skirt all night. I have to hand it to him—bold move. Not something I'd do in public. Not even something I've done in private, at least not yet.

I wave at Clara, and she winks at me. This is why I fell for Clara in the first place. She's the same person here as she is at school. The same person at school as she is at my house. The same person she is at my house when we're hanging with my friends. Same person, all the time. And that's a rare quality.

I bet people think we're a mismatch. She's in the thick of all the action and here I am, reclining on the same Laz-E-Boy I've been sitting on all night, nursing the same can of beer I started with. When we first started dating, she told me her friends thought I was hot, but it took them ages to actually talk normal around me. It was like they were on their best behavior, afraid to say the wrong thing. Clara said they got like they around all her boyfriends. Yes, all.

That's what's funny, though. Clara has dated a lot of guys, but never anyone seriously. People don't see that. People just see the reputation. If they looked closer, they'd see how reserved my girl is. A peck on the cheek in the hallway. No public displays of affection. Clara sure won't be dragging me into one of those empty bedrooms to rip my clothes off. And I'm cool with that. It's alright. When she's ready, I'll be ready.

Clara blows me a kiss, and I catch it. That's the closest we'll get to kissing in public. I never miss a single one of her kisses. She once said her favorite thing about me is how "attentive" I am. "You notice everything," she said after I ordered for her at a restaurant, telling the waiter about her seafood allergy before she had to say a word. "You're like, Super-Boyfriend."

I'm cool with that. But the truth is, it's not that hard for me to be "attentive." I'm probably the only kid at Milton High without a cell phone, not because I can't afford one but because they're a waste. Not just a waste of money, but a waste of everything else. Brain cells. How many times have I seen some fool with his eyes glued to a stupid game, not noticing the girl who wants him to talk to her? Or a kid so into his text messages that he practically walks into oncoming traffic. I'm not going to be that dumbass who misses an opportunity because he's busy updating his Facebook status.