"You're a fake and a phony, and I wish I never laid eyes on you!" Olivia Newton-John's character, Sandy Olsson, snarled on the large TV screen before tossing her red and white pom-poms furiously at John Travolta's bad boy character, Danny Zuko.
"But you'd still do him," Penny Lou, my best friend, remarked, looking bored and sleepy. She yawned for the hundredth time and stretched out on her stomach on the bed between me and my other best friend, Adam.
That night was my eighteenth birthday, and after blowing out the candles, slicing the red velvet cake my father baked, and a few glasses of wine my mom brought from work, it was finally movie time. And since it was my birthday, I got to decide what movie to watch.
We had seen the Grease. Several times already. But it's John Travolta! And since it was my birthday, my two best friends in the world, Penny and Adam, didn't dispute it and watched the movie with me in my room.
"You would, Adam, right?" Penny turned to Adam.
"I would what?" Adam asked, mouth agape and downright confused at her question.
I couldn't suppress the snicker that escaped my mouth. The question didn't surprise me as it did Adam. Despite the fact that all three of us grew up together and had literally seen each other scratch our butts and smelled our farts, Penny and I had different opinions on Adam's sexuality. She was pretty convinced, and with absolute certainty, that he's gay.
But Adam's normally messy black hair, grungy attitude, and his personal attachment to dark denim jeans and graphic t-shirts spoke nothing of him being queer. And although gifted with amazing blue-green eyes, he was usually anything but cheerful and merry.
Or perhaps I'm just uninformed?
"Do John Travolta," Penny answered casually and turned her gaze back on the TV screen, flipping her naturally blond locks behind her shoulder.
"Ha-ha! Hilarious." Adam's tone hung somewhere between sarcasm and annoyance.
"Okay, enough with this foolishness. It's time to talk about something important." As John Travolta and his gang laughed on the screen, Penny grabbed the remote from the bedside table and hit the pause button.
Adam sat up. His eyebrows creased from indignation. "Like what?"
Penny took her last slice of my birthday cake and grinned at both me and Adam. "Well, since she's 18 now, things gotta change."
I got up from the bed and sat on the chair next to my study table. "I'm not a werewolf or something. Nothing's got to change."
Unlike many other eighteen-year-olds, I wasn't really that ecstatic about being eighteen. I mean, along with the privilege to purchase cigarettes and alcohol, and even get married without parental consent in some states, and people start treating you like an adult — well, sorta — I couldn't really see what all the fuss was about.
The look on Penny's face told me that I had to be kidding her.
"You're a loser, you know that? First of all, you refused to have a party and invite anyone else from school. You shamelessly chose to celebrate your eighteenth birthday with us—" she pointed to Adam and herself"—your friends, your family, and John Travolta." She pointed at the frozen screen behind her.
In my defense, I wasn't close to that many people at school. Penny and Adam were my only real friends.
"Hey, I just wanted to celebrate this milestone with people who are genuinely dear to me." I winked at Adam, suggesting he back me up.
"And that's why I love you, Wendy. You're low maintenance." He took the hint immediately. "Buy her a book, and she'll be the happiest girl in the world," he told Penny.
Penny got up from the bed and foraged for her leather flip-flops. "I just did."
I grinned at her and grabbed the paperback copy of The View From Venus. "That's why, right now, I'm the happiest girl in the world."
Adam laughed. "She didn't need the party that you wanted so much. She's not as zealous as most people in celebrating birthdays. You don't have to glorify the moment you got evicted from your mother's womb. I for one don't think it's necessary."
"How sweet... and how about those virgins you kept in your basement as sacrificial lambs for when you turn eighteen?"
"Haha! You're so funny. Are you sure you want to be a tattoo artist and not a comedian?"
Penny rolled her eyes and sighed in annoyance. "Look, I didn't want the party so much. I'm just saying that every teenager would have wanted a party, and would have invited interesting people—other than their best friends—and had fun. You only turn eighteen once."
"But she can have that party at any age."
"Where are you going?" I asked this time as soon as Penny put on her pair of flip-flops that she located under the study table.
"Inked."
"It's a Friday. You have a full shift tomorrow," I told her, because telling her she should stay a little longer because it was my birthday could only backfire.
"You know how mom told me she and dad wouldn't spare me even a dollar for our Nepal trip. And I didn't steal that book, you know." She pointed at the gift in my hand. "I needed to take extra shifts for some extra cash for that book."
Adam grimaced. "Jay asked me to tell you—"
"Tell your boyfriend—"
He frowned. "Jay's not my boyfriend."
Penny rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Tell him to beat his stick with Megan Jones. I'm not interested." She walked to the door.
"I noticed that Megan's breasts have significantly increased. Did you guys think she had done something with it over the summer?" I asked.
With her silky blond hair, undeniably mesmerizing blue eyes, shapely tanned legs, and as captain of Pinecrest High's volleyball team and leader of the school's popular group, Megan Jones was every guy's dreamgirl—every guy with emerging hormones at least.
Penny whirled back around to face us. "Her boobs are as fake as her smile," she tossed out as she grabbed the knob and opened the door. "Okay, see you on Monday, freaks."
Adam waved as she closed the door behind her. "Why does she always insist that Jay and I have something romantic going on?"
I shrugged. "I don't know." Of course, I did know, but I didn't have to bother him with Penny's silly assumptions. "Do you beat your stick with Megan Jones, too?"
I didn't know what had gotten into me, but the question just kind of flew out of my mouth. Not that I was really interested in knowing whether my best friend thought of Megan whenever he did his guy thing. Or maybe I was . . . curious to know.
His jaw tightened. "No! Listen, shut up about Megan and her boobs already." He fished something from the side pocket of his dark denim jeans. "Here."
In his hand was a tiny, blue box with a tiny boy tie on top.
"What's that?" I asked as I carefully took the box from him.
"Open it to know, silly."
I quickly opened the box and smiled as I saw a cute blue hair tie inside.
"To keep every disobedient hair strand on your head together," he said with a wide smile on his face.
Instead of smacking him for making fun of my unruly hair, I returned his smile. For some reason, I found the gesture cute and . . . thoughtful.
"Thanks for the reminder that I gotta make sure I keep my noodles together."
He chuckled lightly and nodded. "I can't wait for school to be over and then... off to Nepal we go."
"Same here. But if I get accepted, then off to Chicago I go."
He pouted. "Why don't you just take a gap year? You could learn from a lot of those travel or volunteer programs and maybe get some inspirations for your next great project."
"Adam, we've already talked about this and I've already talked about this with my parents." I finger-combed my hair and tied it up in a ponytail with my new tie. "How do I look?"
"You look fabulous," he replied, pulling a few strands sticking out in all directions.
I laughed at his mocking tone then grinned at him. "So . . . why not?"
"Why not what?" he asked, looking a bit perplexed with my question.
"Megan."
He scowled. "Oh, we're still talking about her."
"Come on! She's foxy. I'm sure you feel something whenever you see her in her tight shorts and shirt, parading her sweaty body after volleyball practice. obviously asking for attention." By the time I have finished the sentence, I noticed how irritated I had become at the thought of Megan.
"I'm not interested in her." Adam got up from the bed and stuffed his feet into his sneakers.
"You don't have to actually be interested in her to think of her when you do your thing. Adam, it's the most natural thing that every human being with a penis does." I pushed further, hoping he'd finally cave in. We're best friends. I wanted him to feel that he could still tell me anything, like when we were kids. Like, telling me about his personal business was still no big deal.
He looked at me like I was I just grew horns. "Seriously, Wednesday Elizabeth—"
"Don't call me that." I pouted at him.
He laughed and headed for the door. "Wendy, give it a rest, okay? Frankly, I've more important things to do than . . . beat my stick with Megan or any girl for that matter." He smirked and winked at me before opening the door and leaving me with John Travolta on my TV screen.
Or any girl for that matter. His last words hang in the air for a few seconds. What if Penny's right?
Whatever. If Adam's gay, then great.
I hopped on my bed, hit the rewind button and stopped at the scene where Olivia first met John. They looked so very much in love with each other already. I wished someone would look at me the way John's character looked at Olivia's; like how my dad's eyes lit up whenever my mom's in the room.
Yeah, right! Keep dreaming, Wendy!