Excerpt: "Just Debbie"

This is a chapter from my most recent project, a YA Rom/Com novel called "Just Debbie" that I'm adapting from an old screenplay I wrote years ago. It's probably the only thing aside from Race McCloud that I wrote over the past fifteen year or so period that I've felt the urge to revisit, which is strange because it's really kind of a generic story, if I do say so myself. That said, I've always liked it, a lot, and always hoped I could do something with it. But... I'm not a filmmaker and have no interest in becoming one, so... a novel it is. Here is the blonde cheerleader (though not the HEAD cheerleader) Tiffany and our heroine, Debbie, in the bathroom at the prom talking about boys.

Chapter ??

“Geez, I hate these things,” Debbie muttered as she poked and prodded her left eyeball while peering into the bathroom mirror, trying to get the contact lens that had slipped out of place back where it belonged.

“It’s not like you could’ve NOT worn them,” Tiffany said, watching her friend’s reflection go through its ocular contortions. “You can’t seduce a guy at prom while you’re wearing glasses, y’know?”

“Why couldn’t I?” Debbie asked. “I wear them all the time; that’s what I wear.”

“Exactly,” Tiffay said. “And is Rich Hamilton all over you all the time?”

“No.”

“See?” Tiffany shook her head vigorously, the natural curl of her hair threatening to bounce back out of her expensive wavy ‘do as she did. “No glasses.”

Debbie nodded at her reflection. “Right. No glasses. There!” The offending lens popped back into place.

Debbie blinked a few times rapidly, making sure it would stay put. “No glasses,” she repeated. “But I really do hate these things.”

"Just for tonight, sweetie,” Tiffany assured her. The blonde girl reached into her purse to pull out some eyeliner. “Here, all that poking messed up your face. Lemme fix you.”

Debbie watched the mirror out of the corner of her eye as Tiffany reapplied the make-up that had run down her cheek from her teary battle with the contact lens. For what seemed like the millionth time tonight she self-checked her appearance: hair still cascading, dress still sparkling, bra still lifting… she sighed. Such a pain this was. All for a guy. Did Rich even like girls with this much eyeliner? Should she take some off? Was she wearing too much mascara? Did she need more perfume? She sighed again. A pain.

“There,” Tiffany said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “That should do it.”

“Thanks, Tiff,” Debbie said, leaning towards the mirror to examine herself more intently. “All systems go, then.”

“Uh… what?”

“Nevermind.”

“So?” Debbie glanced to meet her friend’s expectant gaze. Tiffany was grinning like a cat. “How’s it going?” she asked. “Is it going well? It looks like it’s going well; I mean, from across the room and everything.”

Debbie thought about it. To her surprise, it WAS going well. Very well. She took a deep breath as she realized it. She had spent practically the whole night with Rich Hamilton, and it was going very, very well. “Yeah,” she managed through a mouth that suddenly felt stuffed with cotton. “It’s… yeah, I think it is. Wow. I didn’t expect that.”

Tiffany squealed with delight and grabbed Debbie’s arm. “He's totally gonna kiss you out there. You can totally see it coming! When do you think he’s gonna kiss you? Are you NERVOUS about kissing him?”

Somewhere in the course of her questions Debbie’s head had started spinning. WAS Rich going to kiss her? I mean, she had never imagined… but now, the way things were going…

“Of course you’re nervous about kissing him,” Tiffany went on, answering her own question. “You’ve been thinking about kissing him since freshman year. Don’t be nervous; it’s soooo easy.”

“What?” Debbie narrowed her gaze at Tiffany. “Wait a second. I’ve kissed a guy before.”

Tiffany waved her off. “Oh, please. Ralph Pazuko doesn’t count.”

“Would you keep it down?” Debbie hissed; the bathroom was empty just at the moment but someone could walk in whenever, and she’d rather not remind anyone of her underclass blunder. “We were sophomores; I was young and stupid. And it does too count!” she added. “So, yeah, I understand the mechanics of kissing, Tiff. Thanks.”

“What do you think it’ll feel like?” Tiffany asked, her eyes wide with her own imaginings of it.

Debbie shrugged. “I dunno,” she said, blushing through her evasiveness. “I guess it’ll feel like… you know… like a kiss.”

“Every guy’s kiss feels different!” Tiffany insisted. “Example: when I first started kissing Ethan, it was like being nuzzled by a puppy during a light spring rain.”

“I may vomit. Fair warning. What does it feel like now?”

Tiffany curled up her lips, thinking about that for a moment. “Now it’s more like being licked in the face by a wet monkey. It’s still super hot, though. I bet kissing Rich feels like… like… like chocolate!”

“Fireworks.” Debbie was surprised at the certainty with which the word came tumbling out of her own mouth, but that’s what she had always imagined kissing Rich would be like, in such deep, dark, private moments where she allowed herself to imagine such things. A million, billion, whirling, multi-colored whizzing pyrotechnically delightful fireworks exploding all around, all at once. Her breath caught in her chest as she thought of it again.

“Wow,” Tiffany said dreamily, “fireworks. That’s… that’s… so cool.”

But Tiffany sharing in her fantasy popped it for her, and Debbie suddenly felt the hot flush of embarrassment creep up the sides of her face. “I shouldn’t’ve said that,” she mumbled, fumbling her contact lens solution into her purse and snapping it shut.

“No, that’s beautiful!” Tiffany said. “That’s so goddamn romantic! Listen, let me give you some tips…”

Debbie’s face grew even warmer. “You really don’t have to.”

Tiffany ignored her, though, and began to lecture her on the finer points of how to grope and be groped by guys. “So if you’re nervous, right? And he’s coming in for it and you freeze up, the important thing is don’t panic. Just close your eyes and open your mouth and accept what goes in it.”

Debbie grimaced in disgust; could the girl make kissing sound any less appealing? “Wow, Tiff,” she said, “that might be the single worst piece of advice any one human being has ever given to another.”

“Oh, grow up,” Tiffany said, reapplying her own lipstick as she spoke. “I only mean that once the initial lip-to-lip contact is made nature takes over. Someone could have told me that when I was eleven, y’know? But no, I have to keep futzing around like some kinda amateur until I’m twelve. Okay, next point.”

“I can hardly wait.”

“If you really get into it, like you’re really grabbing at each other and you’re scratching at his back and shit, make sure you don’t break the flesh.” Here Tiffany paused to pucker her lips open and closed a few times, making sure the application was precise. Debbie took the moment to wonder if she was going to inadvertently learn any more awkward honesty about Tiffany and Ethan’s love life. “That’s such a turn-off,” Tiffany continued. “Besides, his tux is probably rented and they won’t give the security deposits back if there’re bloodstains.”

“Huh,” said Debbie, nodding slowly. “Hey, didn’t you and Ethan go to his cousin’s wedding a few months back? Where he was a groomsman?”

“Yeah, why?”

Debbie shook her head. “No reason. Go on.”

Tiffany nodded and leaned in conspiratorially to Debbie, dropping her voice down to a confidential murmur. “And finally -- and this is the most important one so listen up -- and finally, when you guys are together, like TOGETHER together, if he wants you to put the condom on him all you have to do is line it up while it’s flat and then roll it down like a sock. That's it; so easy.”

“Oh my god!” Debbie jumped back, horrified. “What are you talking about?!”

Tiffany looked puzzled, though, at Debbie’s reaction. “What? I mean, I know you’re not on the pill or anything, so you’ve gotta use a condom, no matter WHAT he tries to pull. Oh, wait!” Tiffany smacked her hands together, realizing. “I’m such an idiot; how could I assume that?”

“Thank you, yes,” said Debbie, relieved. “How could you?”

“You probably don’t even have a condom with you,” Tiffany said as she unsnapped her purse. “I mean, Rich should, but you never know what guys'll try to get away with. 'I forgot it; it feels better without it; my dog ate it; I used it as a water ballon.' So not happening. Do you need one? I’ll give you one.”

“What? No!” Debbie reached her hand out and covered Tiffany’s purse with it. “I don’t need a condom! We’re just dancing and talking and… I don’t know what else, all right? But I am not going to have sex with Rich Hamilton!”

“Oh, okay,” said Tiffany. But she didn't LOOK like 'Oh, okay.' She looked surprised to hear it. “Um... does Rich know that?”

Debbie didn't answer right away. She THOUGHT Rich knew that. She HOPED Rich knew that.

But DID Rich know that? A single dark crack suddenly appeared in the golden bubble of fantasy that had been slowly been building around her all night. How deep was she getting into this? And how deep was too deep?

The bathroom door banged upon and three girls tumbled in. Two were propping up the third between them; the one in the middle was green and sweaty and woozy, and the race was clearly on to get her to the sanctuary of a stall in time. Debbie recognized her as a quiet girl from her advanced trig class, although now it looked as though some copious early partying had caught up to her and smacked into her like a truck.

“Anyway,” said Tiffany, gratefully changing the subject as the tree newcomers hurtled into a bathroom stall, just in the nick of time from the sound of things, “when you do kiss Rich, when you KISS him,” she repeated for emphasis, “just don't do it in front of Quentin, all right? The last thing the rest of us need is him moping around all night.”

Debbie's brain tried to figure that one out as Tiffany shoveled her make-up back into her purse. “Mope?” she finally asked. “Why would he do that?”

“Because he's in love with you,” Tiffany said, matter-of-factly.

“WHAT?! Quentin's not in love with me.”

“Yeah, sure he's not,” Tiffany said with a little laugh. “Of course he is! God, how do you not see it?”

“You're insane,” Debbie said, laughing herself now. “If Quentin WAS in love with me, why would he be running around all night trying to set me up with Rich?”

Tiffany shrugged. “Denial, I guess. Whatevs. Works out for you in the end. I kinda feel bad for Quent, though.”

Debbie opened her mouth to protest again... but then thought about it. Quentin? In love with her? Absurd, totally crazy. They were just SEVENTEEN; it's not like any of them REALLY even knew what love WAS. Even the idea of Quentin THINKING he was in love with her was... it was... it... hmmm... well...

She shook her head, clearing it. Such silliness. She was with Rich Hamilton, RICH HAMILTON, tonight, against all odds of everything ever. Finally! She was with Rich.

Yeah... with Rich...

“Looks like somebody's making all sorts of bad decisions tonight,” Tiffany muttered.

“You think I'm making a bad decision?” Debbie blurted out. “Really? Should I forget Rich and just...”

“Of course not!” Tiffany said. She pointed over Debbie's shoulder. “I was talking about her!”

Debbie looked behind her and saw two high heeled feet poking out from underneath a stall; it looked like the girl from her trig class had passed out and now her two friends were anxiously discussing what they should do next. One of them looked up and saw Tiffany pointing at them. “What at are you looking at, cheeri-ho?” the girl snapped at her.

Tiffany barked a laugh and gave the girls a double-fingered salute. “Bang-bang, bitches! Have fun with the hot mess in the stall. C'mon, Deb. Your prince awaits.”

Debbie allowed Tiffany to hook her by the arm and drag her back into the main foyer of the Pink Flamingo Club. All-in-all, it was probably the strangest trip to the girl's room she'd ever had.