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probably stop you before you got there.”
    “Screw the military. Bunch of meatheads. We’d have us a special chopper with rockets on it, machine guns. Black as metal-flake death. No one could stop us.”
    “So, what? You’re gonna fight our military too?”
    “We’ll fight anyone who gets in our way.”
    I just shake my head. It’s too stupid to even get offended by. “I gotta go,” I say, and squeeze past him.
    “Where you headed?”
    “Outside. I feel a little sick to my stomach.”
    “Take a drag on the bong. That’s the best thing for a sick stomach.”
    I don’t even bother to respond to that. The whole party is too much for me—the drunk talk, the smoke, the baby on the floor, and especially Tillman’s lips on that ugly girl’s neck. But what did I expect? That he would get drunk and declare his undying love for me? Superpathetic.
    If I had my own car, I’d hit the road, take a cruise in the country, but I don’t, so I go out and sit in Gillis’s, stare at the silhouettes moving across the closed curtains of the doublewide, and wait to see if Sophie will show up.
    About five minutes later, the front door swings open and here comes Gillis walking across the yard to the car, his body leaning slightly to the side like someone walking in a high wind. Messed up again.
    “What are you doing out here?” he asks, plopping down on the seat next to me. “The party’s inside.”
    “I’m having my own party.”
    “Looks pretty boring.” He puts his hand on my thigh. “But it doesn’t have to be.” He doesn’t even look me in the eye. He just stares at my boobs, this goofy, loose-lipped, drunk smile scrawled on his face.
    I yank his hand away and tell him to quit thinking with his penis because it’s even stupider than he is. It’s not like I’m surprised, though. Ever since about sixth grade, Gillis has had these periodic attacks of the raging hornies. If you’re a girl—any girl—you don’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity when it happens. It’s not so great if you’re a guy either because at the end of the evening, after all the girls have shut him down, he goes looking for a fight. How about that for gay?
    “Come on, Ceejay.” This time he puts his hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eyes. He almost seems tender for a change. “What are you holding out for? It’s not natural.”
    I’m like, “How many times do I have to kick your butt before you learn it’s never going to happen with us?”
    “Hey, you gotta get some experience sometime. You might as well get it with someone you can trust.”
    “Trust to do what? Run the other direction if I get knocked up?”
    “You’re not gonna get knocked up. We’ll be careful.”
    “Famous last words.”
    His hand slinks down toward my breast. I swat it away, and he moves it back to the headrest behind me. “We can just do oral if you want. That’s not even really having sex.”
    “That’s what you say. I say it’s sex as soon as Mr. Trouser Snake takes the stage.”
    “Look.” His hand slides down to the back of my neck. “It won’t even be like it’s me and you doing it. It’ll be like two different people.”
    “How do you figure that?”
    He leans forward like he’s going to kiss me, but stops short. “Because I’ll be pretending you’re somebody else.”
    I have to laugh. “That makes me feel real romantic, asshole.”
    “Damn, Ceejay, is that what you’re waiting for? Romance? Don’t be stupid. You think any guy’s going to go around buying roses and lighting candles for a girl like you? Forget it. I’m just trying to do you a favor so you don’t have to go through life not knowing what sex feels like.”
    Oh my God—don’t you know I slap the shit out of him then? And I don’t hold back either. But it doesn’t faze him for a second. Instead, he takes it for some kind of weird invitationto pounce on top of me and squeeze his hand between my thighs. It’s superpathetic. The boy needs to be on some