“About once a month, on average, yeah.”

I felt dazed and sour. Being on the football field wasn’t as dangerous and scary as the thought of the sort of social gymnastics people like Joanna excelled at. Lee Frick had done some kind of verbal judo on me, and now I had a date to go see a movie with him. At the drive-in! In his van!

It wasn’t like Jake, and I had never gone to movies together without dates, but this was different. Lee had asked me, and I guess I couldn’t figure out how to refuse him. It wasn’t that he used his disability to claim special privileges. He worked his butt off being cinematographer and student manager for the football team and other athletics. And he was a genuinely nice guy.

I sighed, then looked up when I heard a short melodious tootling. Megan drove Baby Blue around the building from the parking lot behind Pizza Barn and pulled to the curb, grinning at me through the rolled-down passenger window. “Get in, Pete!” she ordered. “We’ve got to make a stop to buy ice cream for the party!”

I almost stumbled, stepping down from the sidewalk to the street, but managed not to embarrass myself with a pratfall. It irritated me a little that, once again, I would be the passenger in my own new car, but I climbed in and leaned across the center console to give Megan a peck on the cheek, which she returned before pulling out into the Saturday afternoon traffic.

“Smith’s okay for the ice cream, or do you want to splurge on Baskin-Robbins?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Why is it an ice cream party? Is this something you guys,” meaning the cheerleaders, “do often?”

Megan grinned even wider, showing her dimples. “About once a month, on average, yeah.”

“Huh,” I grunted. I had never heard of it before, and the doings of the cheerleaders were something often on the minds and in the conversations of football players.

“And it’s called an ice cream party because that’s a better name than a Midol party,” she added with a giggle.

I started to ask what Midol was when I remembered the little bottle of pills Dr. Verre had given me—along with a brochure entitled, “So You’re Having Your First Period….”

I gulped a breath and tried to swallow it before coughing out a feeble sounding, “Oh, hell no!”

I felt sick, but not in a way I’d ever felt before. My insides were tender, as if they were swollen and too close to my skin, which responded with prickly sensations where my clothes were touching me. The nearest thing I could think of was the time I’d been sick for three days with food poisoning, and it took me a week to recover.

The queasiness and discomfort were more than just annoying, but the worry about what all this meant seemed likely to be a continuing distraction. I felt disconnected, out of sync, like the really bad dubbing you see in some foreign films.

On the other hand…. The afternoon light filtering through the trees struck me as peculiarly beautiful and poignant, if that is the word. Something magical, perhaps? My eyes burned, and I wondered if I were about to cry. Wondering about something like that was as new to me as crying.

“This is a really nice car,” Megan announced as we turned into the parking lot at Smith’s.

I nodded, still processing the idea of the ice cream party and what it implied. “Every month?” I squeaked out, and Megan laughed but looked sympathetic.

“At least there’s a party to look forward to,” she offered in consolation.

We made our way toward the frozen food section, Megan commenting on the way, “You have to learn some coping skills. Every girl needs them. A big one is the support of friends, the company of people who know what you’re going through. Another is,” she stopped in front of a freezer door, “chocolate brownie fudge ice cream.”

I smiled weakly, but it did sound good.

She handed me a pint and suggested we get something else, too. “Two different flavors, you know? Any requests?”

“Um, mint chocolate chip?”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “You’re getting the hang of this already.”

I made a noise. “I don’t want to get too good at it.”

She laughed, responding. “Tough,” as she handed me another pint.

When we checked out, the cashier commented, “Joanna throwing another party? You two are the fourth and fifth girls to buy pints tonight.”

Damn, I thought, but there was nothing for it. Maybe I needed to get a new haircut. I could even shave it all off, I supposed.

“Don’t do anything drastic just ‘cause she saw through your disguise,” Megan warned as we climbed into Baby Blue, me on the driver’s side this time.

“It’s not a disguise,” I grumped. “Do I really look so different?”

“Hmm,” she murmured, examining my profile. “It’s subtle, I guess. Your skin is so clear now, and most boys your age have a bit of beard showing somewhere.”

“I never had a beard, you know,” I complained. “I’m just fucked!”

“I think not tonight,” she joked. “You have a headache.”

I frowned at her. “Is that what that means when girls say that?”

“Uh-huh. Usually.”

I rubbed my forehead. “You’re giving me a headache!” I said, but she kept grinning.

#

Joanna’s folks’ house at the Eastern end of town overlooked the golf course from a street lined with the sort of mansions you think of Hollywood types living in. I counted six cars parked at random angles on the long driveway that curved out to the street on both ends. “How many people come to these parties?” I asked Megan after finding what seemed like a safe place to park.

“Well,” she mused while handing me my pint of ice cream in a brown paper bag, “there are eight varsity cheerleaders, and most of them show up, plus three or four other girls from the other squads or teams or just friends or even little sisters. Almost anybody who’s on the same schedule, or who just wants to be supportive and eat ice cream.”

“Huh,” I grunted, taking a couple of quick steps to catch up. I’d been distracted by a deer at the far edge of the front lawn, which it turned out was an iron statue. “Teams?” I asked. “Schedule?”

“Teams,” Megan amplified. “The girls’ soccer team has a winning streak going, and the volleyball team is doing well, too, though their season hasn’t started yet.”

I hadn’t even considered the school’s athletic teams for girls. Another thought tried to crowd its way in. If I couldn’t play football, did I still have choices? But Megan distracted me again.

“And you know, not everyone has their period at the same time,” she was saying.

“Oh,” I said. “Wow, yeah, that would be….”

“Grim,” said Megan with a giggle. I laughed, too, and it came out sounding like a nervous giggle. I hated that, but the idea of a school with half the students feeling like I did right then was not really amusing.

Two girls were getting out of an obvious mom-wagon and waved at us. I thought I recognized the younger one as a friend of Jordan, my sister. Magda, Marsha, Madeline? Something with an M. The other girl must be her older sister. I had never noticed a resemblance before, but I recognized her as one of the varsity cheerleaders, Catalina Chase. And she recognized me!

“Pete!” she squealed. “You’re here!? So it’s true what Joanna has been saying?”

My mouth fell open, but I couldn’t reply. Megan grabbed my hand that wasn’t holding the bag of ice cream and squeezed. I wanted to hide behind her, but I didn’t move.

The younger girl stared at me. “You’re Pete Peterson, aren’t you? From the football team?”

I nodded. Well, I couldn’t deny that. But I remembered Megan had said that Joanna told the varsity squad about me, and no one had believed her.

“Jordan’s big brother?” Madrigal (I remembered her name) asked.

“Sort of,” I admitted. “But my real name is Gayle.” Now why did I have to say that?

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