Close Your Eyes

7

In Grade VIII, Sylvia met a boy in her building, Robert, and they began dating. Sylvia was crazy about her new boyfriend, but Victoria seemed skeptical, making comments about Sylvia’s “thug” and her “ghetto boy.” One night when Pauline was out, Victoria came over to watch Girls Just Want to Have Fun on the VHS player she’d given Sylvia for her birthday. As they ate ice cream after the movie was over, Victoria said, “You should break into Robert’s apartment while he’s sleeping.”

“What?” said Sylvia, crossing her Tretorn sneakers and holding her spoon midair. “Why would I do that?”

“To watch him,” said Victoria.

“That’s just bizarre.”

“Do you dare me to do it?” asked Victoria, finishing the Chunky Monkey and tossing the container into the trash.

“And get you arrested by his dad, the cop?” said Sylvia, hoping to laugh it off.

“Dare me,” said Victoria. “I’ll even get something to prove I was there.”

“No,” said Sylvia.

Victoria’s eyes blazed. She didn’t like it when Sylvia resisted her, but a dare was one thing, and breaking and entering was another. Besides, Sylvia thought she was in love with Robert. She was considering third base, having thoroughly enjoyed exploring first and second during the afternoons she spent entwined with Robert on Pauline’s couch, watching soap operas and Donahue.

“Vee, you’re being kind of a weirdo.”

“Word,” said Victoria, rolling her eyes. She got up and slung her bag over one shoulder. She had cut her hair to shoulder length and tied neon-colored netting in it to look like Madonna.

“Do you want to sleep over?”

“In the closet?” said Victoria dismissively, though they’d slept there countless times together.

“Bye,” said Sylvia. Victoria let herself out and clomped down the stairs. Sylvia watched part of St. Elmo’s Fire by herself and, humming the theme song, brushed her teeth. She wanted to call Robert but did not, afraid she’d wake his parents. She lay in bed thinking of him. He played football for P.S. 94. He wanted to be a guitarist, like Slash. His hair was brown, and his eyes were blue. He made fun of Sylvia for being a bookworm. Sylvia fell asleep wondering if she’d marry Robert and what she and her bridesmaids would wear.

At school the next day, Victoria passed Sylvia a note: He’s even cute when he sleeps. Sylvia stared at the paper. She was filled with both fury and fear. She did not write back and wouldn’t meet Victoria’s gaze.

After class, Sylvia cornered Victoria next to her locker. “You went into his apartment?” she yelled. “Jeez, Vee! That’s messed up!”

“I just climbed in from the fire escape and watched him sleep for a while,” said Victoria. “No biggie.”

Sylvia glared at her friend. She had the urge to strike her, to smack the self-assurance from Victoria’s face. She wanted to wound Victoria, make her feel as small as Sylvia herself felt.

“These were under his bed,” said Victoria, rummaging in her knapsack. She pulled out a blue pair of boxer shorts and handed them to Sylvia.

Sylvia raised her hand. How long had Victoria sat on the shag carpet, smelling the private smells of Robert’s sheets, his socks, his sleeping breath?

“Oh, you’re going to hit me?” said Victoria.

“If you go near Robert again, I’ll kill you,” said Sylvia in a low and serious voice.

“Yeah, right,” said Victoria, and her dismissive laughter boiled in Sylvia’s gut like poison. “You’re so funny, Sylvie,” said Victoria.