DOI: 10.3726/9781915734822.003.0003

2: Science class, 1987

“Hey, Herteis!” I whisper to my grade eleven science partner. I dump my books on the table and sit down beside her, breathless. I made it to class on time.

Lori’s notebook is open in front of her. She’s wearing white canvas Tretorn tennis shoes, blue Levi’s, and a red polo shirt. She looks good in red.

“Hey, Hancock!” She looks up from her notebook and tucks her shoulder-length dirty-blonde hair behind one ear.

“Just seconds before the bell again, eh? Nice one.”

Her greenish-grey eyes shine at me from behind thick glasses.

Lori lives on Wrigley Road, two roads over from Alps Road, where I live with my family. Country kids like Lori and me ride the bus to and from school. I hate taking the bus. Cool kids get rides with their parents. The really cool kids have their own wheels.

Sometimes, if we’re lucky, my mom or dad drives my sisters and me to school in the morning. Usually, we take the bus home after school because they work until five. Lori rides the bus pretty much all the time, unless her coach drops her off at home after practice.

Outside of science class, Lori and I don’t hang out together. But there’s something about her that I like. She’s smart. She seems confident. She’s cool, but in a nerdy kind of way. She plays field hockey, softball, and soccer. A couple of times, I’ve spotted her leaving the change room in her soccer shorts. Her thighs look smooth, solid, and strong in those shorts. She swaggers when she walks, jutting her head slightly out from her neck, like a chicken strutting around a barnyard.

Her boyish voice cracks a little when she talks. She doesn’t go on about having sex with boys, getting married, and having kids when she grows up, drinking peach schnapps, doing hash bongs, taking the pill, or feeling hungover, like me and my friends do.

Lori and her friends talk about school assignments, their grades, and sports. They are polite and well-behaved. They hand their assignments in on time, participate in class, joke around with their teachers, and make the honour roll.

Mr Heffernan stands at the front of the room. He is a tall, hunched-over, soft-spoken oaf of a man with wire-rim glasses, disheveled sandy-gray hair, a kind face, and weak classroom management skills. “Good morning, class. Please take your seats. We will get started in a minute. I’m just looking for something—” his voice trails off as he digs around in the breast pocket of his beige corduroy blazer. He shuffles through some papers and fumbles around on his desk.

Students sit in pairs at science tables with Bunsen burner hookups and small sinks with chrome taps. Carolyn, Melissa, Hannah, Bailey, my best friend, and Lori and I sit up near the front. Steve is an arrogant, lanky boy with dark brown hair and a British accent. He sits in the back beside Adam, a tall, skinny, red-haired stoner with heavy-lidded eyes who can barely string two words together. Steve passes a small, folded note up to Hannah.

She opens up the tiny paper package. I look over to see what’s in it. There are minuscule hearts scribbled in red pen beside a 7-digit phone number, and a short message that reads “Will you go out with me?” A little pile of pubic hair sits in the crease of the paper. Hannah shrieks as the pubic hair slides off the paper and falls onto her lap. Her face lights up in a mixture of amusement and disgust.

“Oh my god! Gross!” I gag.

Why any girl would be flattered by any of the things Steve does to get their attention is beyond me. I turn away and hide my face on Lori’s shoulder. She smells like boy’s deodorant.

“Steve is such a pig!” I whisper loudly to Lori.

“Totally. He’s an ass,” she rolls her eyes.

Mr Heffernan clears his throat.

“Today, with your partners, you will be using your Bunsen burners to conduct experiments with iodine and water. Then, we will be discussing the physical and chemical changes of the substances you will be working with.”

He picks up a piece of chalk from the dusty aluminum trough below the chalkboard. He coughs into his hand, leaving a white smudge of chalk on his lips.

“But before we start, let’s review. Will someone please tell me one of the safety rules when using a Bunsen burner?” He glances around the room. Carolyn sticks up her hand.

“Yes, Carolyn?”

“Don’t put any flammable substances next to your Bunsen burner?”

“Correct,” Mr Heffernan writes her answer on the blackboard. The corner of his white button-down hangs down below his corduroy sports jacket.

“Anyone else? Another safety rule?” he asks. His eyes dart around the room.

I look out the window at the row of portables at the edge of the school property, thinking about last weekend. My boyfriend, Ryan, his friends, and I were hanging out at Ryan’s parents’ house, drinking. Ryan and his friends drank Molson Canadian and I drank Rockaberry Canada Coolers. We all smoked cigarettes. Ryan’s friends talked about the girls they had had sex with. They talked about what they did with the girls and made jokes about their bodies. They laughed and punched each other in the shoulders. I just sat there and drank and smoked and laughed once in a while. I hoped Ryan didn’t talk like that about me when I wasn’t there.

“Hancock, pay attention,” Lori elbows me.

I shake my head and look down. Handouts are piled on the desk in front of me. I look over at Lori. She is writing in her notebook. Shit, I just missed the entire review on Bunsen burner safety. I slump back in my chair. I’m behind again.

I take a handout and pass the rest of the pile to the student sitting behind me. Science just isn’t that interesting to me. I wish Lori and I could get out of here somehow. I look out the window again. The portables blur.

“Lori and Katie, will you please take the attendance down to the office before we start?” Lori and I nod in agreement. Mr Heffernan hands Lori the attendance sheet. We walk out into the empty hallway.

“Make sure you’re back in five minutes,” he calls after us.

“Yeah, yeah.” I dismiss his words in the air with a flip of my hand.

As Lori and I walk, I run my fingers along the locks on the lockers that line the hallway. The locks clang as they hit the grey metal.

“Hancock! Cut it out. You’re going to disturb the classes,” Lori admonishes me quietly.

I thrust my hands in my pockets and keep walking. The speckled linoleum of the floor gleams under fluorescent lights above. I try to think of something to say. Lori strides a few steps ahead of me. I smile at her chicken strut walk. Her shoulders are square and her arms swing slightly as she moves. I can see the outline of her triceps dipping below the short sleeves of her polo shirt. I think about how her thighs look in her soccer shorts.

“Fuck, science is so boring,” I groan.

I search my mind for something—anything—to talk about rather than school. But, my mind is blank.

Lori turns her head towards me, peering over the rims of her glasses.

“Aw, I don’t mind science. You just kind of have to roll with it, Hancock, you know? Just pay attention in class. You’ll be fine.”

She raises her eyebrows, and smiles. My breath catches in my throat. Why does it feel like she can see right through me?

“Besides, we need a grade eleven science credit to get our diploma,” she says.

We pass a couple of grade 12 girls standing at their open lockers, whispering and giggling to each other. Magazine cut-out photos of American actors, Andrew McCarthy, Judd Nelson, and Rob Lowe are taped over the vents on the inside of their locker doors. They stop whispering and look at us as we walk by.

“Uh, I—I—“ I hesitate. “I—I don’t think we need the credit. Grade ten science is all we need, as far as I know.” Why can’t I think of something interesting to say?

“Well,” Lori shrugs. “I need it I’m going to go into teaching eventually. Hey, I gotta stop at the bathroom, okay?” She waves the attendance sheet in the air as she turns the corner and heads for the girls’ bathroom.

“Sure.”

I look down the hall and see the principal, Mr Carlton, marching towards us.

“Miss Hancock. Miss Herteis. What are you two up to?” He stops in front of us, looking at me.

“Just using the washroom before taking the attendance to the office, sir,” I say.

He looks at Lori and nods.

“Nice game the other day, Lori.”

“Thanks, Mr Carlton.”

He looks back at me, his voice stern. “Be quick in there and hurry back to class.”

Continuing down the hallway, he vanishes around the corner.

Lori opens the door to the girls’ bathroom and walks in. I follow. I lean up against the tiled wall beside the sink. Pink industrial liquid soap oozes from the bottom of the soap dispenser and forms a small glistening puddle on the floor below. Cigarette smoke hangs in the air.

“Oh man! One of those head-banger girls was smoking in here again,” Lori says as she hands me the attendance sheet. She disappears into one of the pink stalls.

“It was probably Michelle Smith. You know that skinny chick who wears the Iron Maiden t-shirts all the time?” I scoff. “I’ve seen her smoking in here before.”

I hear Lori unbuckle her belt, unzip her jeans, and pull her pants down. Then, the sound of pee hitting water. Below the bathroom stall door, her white tennis shoes poke out from under a pile of denim around her ankles.

I smoked a cigarette at recess. I wonder what Lori would think if she saw me smoking. She’s such an athletic girl and I’m not. I mean, I do active stuff outside of school but I’m not one of those team player types. But I don’t really consider myself a smoker either. I just do it because my friends do it and it would piss my parents off if they knew.

I reach into my back pocket, and pulling out a piece of watermelon-flavoured Bubblicious, I unwrap it, and pop it into my mouth. Looking in the mirror, I lick my thumbs and run them below my eyes to get rid of smudged eyeliner. I spread grape-flavoured Bonne Bell lip gloss on my lips and pucker my mouth. Leaning back against the wall, I tug at a lock of my long, dirty-blonde hair, inspecting it for split ends.

The toilet flushes. Lori emerges from the stall and steps over to the sink. After washing and drying her hands, she turns to face me.

“Ready, Hancock?”

The room disappears. All I see is her standing in front of me.

“Not just yet,” I say.

I move my body up against hers and give her a peck on the lips. She pulls back, her eyes wide.

“Sorry,” I take a step back.

“I guess I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

“It’s okay. It’s, uh, just—I—I’ve never kissed a girl before.”

“Me neither.”

“I’ve never kissed anyone actually,” she admits.

“Oh! Okay.” I giggle. “Is it okay?”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” her voice cracks.

“Good, cuz, you just kind of have to roll with it, Herteis,” I smirk, feeling bolder.

She throws her head back and laughs. I notice blonde peach fuzz at the crook of her jaw. I laugh, too.

She tips her head down and faces me again. A one-centimeter scar lies diagonally across her chin. A few freckles dance across her face. There’s a small, red mark on the bridge of her nose where her glasses sit. With her finger, she shoves her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. She looks at me. Her mouth is directly in front of mine.

I press my lips to hers again. Her mouth is soft and moist. She parts her lips slightly. I part mine. Our tongues touch. Hers tastes sweet and minty, like Trident gum. I’m so glad I had some bubblegum on hand. I let go of the attendance sheet and it floats to the floor. I put my hands on her hips. I can feel her hipbones through her jeans. She hooks her forefingers into the belt loops on my Levi’s and pulls my hips against hers. I feel her breasts press against mine.

Is this actually happening?

I open my eyes, slowly. Her face is right there. Her eyes are closed and her head is tilted to the side as she kisses me. I move my hand down to find the seam of her polo shirt. I tug it loose from her jeans and reach underneath, still watching her. My fingers graze her skin. It’s smooth and soft. I feel her stomach rising and falling under my palm.

Yep, it’s happening.

Me and Lori Herteis. Two girls. In the bathroom at school. During class time. What if someone walks in and sees us? This would spread like wildfire through the school. We would be so screwed. They would kick us out of school for sure.

Behind Lori, I make out the words “A.C. is a dyke” scratched into one of the metal bathroom stall doors.

I think about hearing the words “dyke,” “carpet-muncher,” and “lesbo” in the hallways at school.

I think about the feeling of darkness that pools in my body when I hear those words, like I want to hide somewhere, like I hope that no-one can see inside me.

I think about the porn that was on the television one night at a party at Adam’s house and how the two women and a guy were having a threesome and how the guy was all hairy and eager and I didn’t understand why the women wanted him to touch their bodies.

I think about how I tried to pretend I wasn’t interested. How I drank my beer and talked and laughed with my friends but I kept stealing glances at the TV screen out of the corner of my eye. How I wished that the guy wasn’t in the movie at all and that it was just the two women.

Lori didn’t look like the women in that movie. She looked way better. More tough, more androgynous, more real. I close my eyes.

“We’ve got to stop,” she breathes into my ear, but she doesn’t move away. Her fingernails scrape my shoulder blade. My lungs feel like they are about to burst out of my ribcage.

I feel a tug on the sleeve of my shirt. The bathroom scene fades and the portables of the school outside come into focus. I hear Lori’s voice. “Hey Hancock! Buddy! Are you going to help me out with this experiment or what?” I shake my head and turn away from the window. Lori stares at me, her head tipped to one side.

“Oh shit, sorry,” I say, my face growing hot. I feel flustered.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Buddy, pay attention!” She laughs and slaps my shoulder.

“Here, light the Bunsen Burner,” she says. “I’ll add the iodine to the beaker.”

She hands me the lighter. I turn the dial to open the gas line. I click the lighter and hold the flame to the burner.