February 26, 2009
TMI Thursday: Something out of Sweet Valley High
Do we have TMI here? Oh, I think we might.
By some standards, I was a late bloomer. That is to say, it was the spring of my junior year of high school, and I’d managed not to lose anything of importance just yet. Well, unless one counts dignity, but I think we all know that’s not what I”m talking about here. To be honest, I’d only dated two people, and the first had lasted all of three weeks, in that way that high school “relationships” do.
So, I was dating a new Boy, Boyfriend the Second. And knowingly being the focus of someone’s attraction was still a relatively new phenomenon. I wasn’t sure what all the rules were, but I definitely knew a few things:
1) My house was within walking distance of school.
2) My dad would not be home until 6 pm.
3) Dr. Taggart usually left the house to hold office hours before class, around 3.
4) These things were all conducive to making out for a little while before I had to start dinner.
So an invitation was extended, a tour of the (empty) house commenced, and ended in my room. He hadn’t managed much more than a few kisses and a line or two from whatever angsty, overwrought poem he was working on at the time, when I heard a small thunk from the direction of the driveway. And then the door opening.
I don’t know what she’d forgotten, but there she was. In the House. And the boy’s moped (yes, I have a long and fraught history of dating absurd characters) was outside – no way to hide him.
“You came over to borrow a CD” I hissed. “Grab something and follow me downstairs!”
Stopping only to make sure my clothes were straight, I ran down the stairs, willing my complexion to stay pale. Which it would have done, except that when we delivered our cover story, Dr. Taggart glanced down at the CD in the boy’s hands.
Not my Pink Floyd double album, not Phish’s ” A Picture of Nectar”, or even my freaking Tori Amos albums. No, he’d taken the soundtrack to The Little Mermaid, which I’d put in a pile of CD’s to give to my ten-year-old cousin.
With faces as red as Ariel’s hair, he mumbled something about a sick little sister, and I said something about seeing him at school sometime. Dr. Taggart just stood there, looking at me. Quietly. Too Quietly.
I slunk upstairs, certain that I’d have no need of a chastity belt until I was thirty-five, at least. The boy and I didn’t date much after that, and I found a boyfriend at another school who was blissfully ignorant of the incident – something I couldn’t say for my classmates.
Although, come to think of it, I think Dr. Taggart did me a favor. Given the boy’s propensity for gossip, this story might have been even more embarrassing, in retrospect, had she *not* come home that afternoon.