Seven Minutes       
By Jessica DiMaio

   (continued)

Michael passed around a sheet of paper and a pen and we all wrote our names down and put them into two paper bags, one for girls and one for boys. Michael would choose two people, and they would have to go into the broom closet for seven minutes, (brooms and mops carefully removed and propped in a nearby corner). He had even stolen a tube of red lipstick from his sister for the girls to put on. That’s how we would know if they had actually kissed in there——the boy would come out with lipstick on his face.

"And if there’s no lipstick," Michael warned, "then you have to stay in there for another seven minutes."

We girls immediately looked over the boys on the opposite side of the room, categorizing them into a.) who we wanted to kiss, b.) who we wouldn’t mind kissing, and c.) who we didn’t want to be in the same room with, let alone a closet. I figured I was probably in the B-group, the least secure of all three. You could be moved up for things like your parents buying a pool, or for somehow making the cheerleading squad, but it was easier to be moved down for having bad acne, getting your period in class or having one too many C-group friends. There had been lots of hooting and teasing when someone had to kiss a person from the C-group during Spin the Bottle, but this was worse. This was something that could make or break someone’s entire life.

The first two people Michael called were Mark and Susan. Big deal, we all thought. Mark was the class valedictorian and the captain of the basketball team, and Susan was the class president. Those two had liked each other forever, but were too chicken to say anything. They smiled shyly at each other, and then disappeared into the closet. I wondered if Michael had the game rigged so that all the popular kids would wind up with each other.

I should have given Michael some credit after knowing him all those years. Michael knew that the fun part of the game was to mix up the caste system. The next two names he drew were Kelly and Barry——the class princess and the class pothead. We all burst out laughing while Kelly’s face blanched behind her layers of makeup. Barry grinned wide, tossing his long hair out of his eyes and tugging at his Slayer shirt, which was so old that the black had faded to gray. Michael grabbed Kelly’s arm and pushed her into the closet before him, then shook Barry’s hand. Barry turned to the rest of us and raised his eyebrows before stepping into the closet. The rest of us were on the floor, doubled-over from laughter. Kelly was so snobby that not even her friends felt sorry for her. The muffled shrieks from the closet only increased our hilarity. When the door opened we all whistled and cat-called them. Barry swaggered out, not even bothering to wipe the red smears off his face, while Kelly marched out, wiping her lips furiously, then flopped onto the couch and sulked, refusing to talk to anyone.

As the game went on, a pattern was developed. Michael would call the name of the girl first. She would walk to the closet and put on the lipstick in a ceremonial gesture and wait while Michael called the name of the boy. For the next seven minutes, the rest of us would listen to stories from the veterans. Across the room, the boys kept high-fiving and hooting, but the girls mostly told us that they had quickly pecked, and then stood around for the next six minutes. Anxiety filled me as all the cutest boys were being called. What would I get stuck with?

Silence fell as Michael dipped his hand into the crinkling paper bag, drawing out a small piece of paper. "Casey," he announced.

My friends squealed, and I got to my feet, walking over to Michael. He handed me the tube of red lipstick and I slowly smeared it over my lips. Not counting slumber party makeovers, I had never worn lipstick before. I could almost feel my lips radiating, lighting the room like a neon sign. I held up my painted face, waiting for my fate to be decided.

Michael seemed to take an abnormally long time drawing the second name. I was sure that he had never moved in this kind of slow motion for anyone else. At last, he looked at the paper, but instead of reading the name, he turned to me and smiled. My heart was about to explode out of my chest. Had he drawn himself?

Michael looked over at the boys. "Jason, come up here," he said.

Suddenly, my heart seemed to stop completely, as if it had crashed into a brick wall during a high speed chase. The laughter seemed to be even louder than it had been for Kelly and Barry. Jason’s face flushed bright red, so that he looked like a tomato with blonde hair. For most of the girls, Jason was in the B-group, but for me, he was in a group all of his own, under the heading "Hell, no!" A C-group boy would be socially embarrassing to kiss, but my hatred for Jason went deeper than junior high politics——this was personal.

"No," I said, walking back to the couch, not caring if Michael tried to stop me. "I won’t do it. You can’t make me."

Instead of Michael, it was Kelly who stepped in front of me, putting her fuschia-polished fingers firmly on my shoulders. Traces of red lipstick still clung to her tightly pursed lips as she stared down at me, blue eyes narrowing under a crown of teased blonde hair.

"No way, Casey," she said to me. "I had to do it, so why should you get out of it?"

But I was too stubborn to be intimidated by Kelly. "Because you were too stupid to open the door and walk out!" I told her. I could hear muffled laughter around us, which Kelly stopped with a freezing glance from the corner of her eye. Barry or no Barry, she was still the queen.

"Just pick another name, Michael," said Jason. "I don’t want to go in there with it."

"No, you’re both going!" Kelly commanded.

I felt Michael’s arms grab me around my middle. It was something I had been dreaming about for years, but not like this. He dragged me into the closet and barricaded the doorway so I couldn’t get out, his long arms outstretched before me, his dark brown eyes staring deep into mine. Another fantasy ruined. Kelly had an easier time getting Jason inside. All she had to do was smile and offer her hand to escort him.

Anger jolted through me. What a pansy! At least I had tried!

Once Jason was inside, the door was slammed closed. "And if there’s no lipstick on Jason," Michael called, "then you’re going to be in there all night!"

I leaned against the wall behind me in the darkness, wanting to choke from the sharp smell of Lysol, but not daring to make a sound. For the first minute neither of us said anything. Good, I thought. It’s just like being alone.

"You know," said Jason’s voice, cracking in the middle. I noted to attack him mercilessly for it later on. "We have to do this. Or else we’ll never get out."

"This just isn’t fair," I said. "Why you? Why you out of everyone?"

"You think I planned it or something? I don’t think so! Look, I don’t know about you, but I’d like to get this over with."

I rolled my eyes, but it was wasted in the dark. "Okay, fine, whatever. Just hurry up, okay?"

Without seeing him, I could feel him leaning towards me. Then I felt his breath on my face. Quickly, he pecked me on the lips, like Toby Johnson did for Spin the Bottle. There, that wasn’t so bad. But then Jason kissed me again, this time slower. His lips were soft. He put his hands on my arms, and I wanted to shove him away, I really did, but my muscles had suddenly turned soft and gooey. A gray fog filled my brain. So this is what kissing did to you——it made you stupid. My lips parted and I let him slip in his tongue, which felt wet and gross at first, but I guess I got used to it. I was even starting to like how it felt when . . .

The door flung open and light poured over us. I turned my head and everyone was staring, mouths dropping open, their eyes like hundreds of mini-spotlights. Whenever the door had been opened, the two people were just standing there, with sheepish smiles. The entire class caught me French-kissing my mortal enemy!

I ran out of the basement just as the laughter was starting to bubble. Up the stairs, through the living room where Michael’s sister was lying beneath her boyfriend on the couch, and out the door. I ran down streets all the way to my house, not even caring how tired and winded I was. I didn’t want my family to see me like this so I collapsed in the grassy space between my house and the neighbor’s, my lungs burning. I wanted to cry, but I was too mortified. I played the scene over and over in my head, using a different point of view each time from someone else at the party. What Michael must have thought, what Kelly must have thought, Toby and even Barry! How could this have happened?

I froze as I heard footsteps. I looked up and there was Jason, panting hard.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Um . . ." he choked between breaths. "Uh . . . I just wanted . . . to see if . . . you were all right."

"What do you care?" I asked him. "You were just as embarrassed as I was. We hate each other, remember?"

Jason walked over to me and sat down. Bits of his hair clung to his sweaty forehead. Neither of us said anything for a long time. Just yesterday——hell, just an hour ago——if Jason had sat next to me, I would have scrunched up my face and walked away in disgust. Now, I just sat there, not saying a word.

"I’m sorry I pushed you," he finally said, pulling out blades of grass with his hands.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"At communion. I’m sorry I pushed you."

"Oh. I almost forgot about that." I looked down and realized I was pulling at the grass too. "Why did you do that, anyway? Did you hate me back then, too?"

"No, I mean . . . I didn’t mean to do it! I mean . . . I had been walking down the aisle, and I saw you coming, and you had that dress with those puffy sleeves on. I thought they were, like, cushions or something. I wasn’t even thinking . . . I just reached out my hand to see how it felt. I really thought it would be like a pillow. I guess I jabbed you too hard, and you fell. I hadn’t meant to do it, though."

"Oh," I said. I couldn’t think of anything else. We were quiet for awhile, and then I asked, "So how come you didn’t tell me?"

"I didn’t get a chance. You put me in a headlock."

"Oh yeah," I couldn’t help smiling. "Well, I’m sorry about that. I thought you had shoved me on purpose."

We sat there for awhile, not talking, just pulling at the lawn. Without realizing it, our hands touched. He took my hand in his and we just sat there, breathing in the scent of torn grass.