10000 Things I Hate About You

“Thanks for the tip,” he says, heat creeping into his tone. “But I’ve never had any complaints in that department. And how did we get on this subject anyway?”

“I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure you started it.” I motion toward the still-empty intersection. No other cars are stopped behind us, but I’m so done with this conversation. “Keep driving, please. The sooner this ride is over, the better. I’m eager to forget the sound of your voice and that I was ever attracted to you. Even for a hot, clearly crazy second.”

He sighs again, more heavily this time. I’m pretty sure he also rolls his eyes before he eases off the brake, taking the left toward the sprawling subdivision where we both grew up, but I don’t care.

I don’t care if Derrick thinks I’m being overly dramatic or obnoxious or a spoiled brat. Because I think he’s a Grade A Jerkhole of the first order.

And then he says, “It’s okay to be an eighteen-year-old virgin, you know. You don’t have to rush it. You have plenty of time,” and I decide “jerkhole” is too kind a word.

Derrick is a condescending turd burglar, a smug shit stain, perhaps even Satan himself.

As I swing out of his Jeep in front of my house a few minutes later, I try the nickname on for size. “Later, Satan. Here’s hoping our paths never cross again.”

I slam the door on his reply and start up the driveway, feeling at least twenty percent better. Satan is the perfect name for that douchebag. I make a mental note to refer to him as Satan and nothing else—not even in my innermost thoughts—and let myself into the house.

I creep past where my mom is asleep on the couch with the television playing the historical romance series she binge-watches at least once a year, and the fire in my belly burns even hotter.

I’m not going to end up like my mom, married to the first guy I ever bang and spending the rest of my life longing for romantic adventures I’ve never experienced firsthand. My dad is a solid guy, but his idea of romance is buying a bucket of chicken on the way home so Mom doesn’t have to cook or taking her car in for an oil change.

I want more than that, and I know Derrick’s wrong about me having “plenty of time” to lose my virginity. The longer I wait, the bigger deal it’s going to be. And the bigger deal it is, the more likely I’ll be to get stupidly attached to the first guy I have sex with, just like my mother and sister before me, and end up stuck in a less-than-awesome marriage.

Besides, I hate people telling me what to do. And by Derrick telling me what to do? Well, he’s practically guaranteed, I’ll do the exact opposite.

I’m going to find someone decent to punch my V-Card ASAP and head to college ready to play the field, ready to date and bang a variety of cute guys and make sure I’ve found my perfect match before I settle down.

As I brush my teeth and tumble into bed in my clothes—too tired to bother changing into pajamas—I make a vow to start tomorrow. I’ll head down to the beach in the skimpiest outfit I can find that’s still suitable for the cool spring weather and start my hunt for a Decent De-Virginizer.

He doesn’t have to be fantastic. He just has to be a nice guy, okay-looking, and have enough experience to make sure he doesn’t bruise my ovaries while we’re getting busy. (That happened to Chelsea her first time with her equally virginal boyfriend. Later, she joked that at least he had a dick big enough to bruise her ovary, so things could be worse. But right after, she was in so much pain her usually glowing dark brown skin looked gray around the edges.)

Maybe I’ll ask Evie to go with me to the beach.

We can spend the afternoon practicing our flirting and the evening gorging on pizza at our favorite place by the shore, the one with the free breadsticks and the old jukebox with all our favorite bands from junior high still front and center on the selection menu.

It will be good to spend some quality time with her. We haven’t had a beach day since last summer and that way I can get started on pretending the shit with Derrick never happened tout suite.

* * *

But the next day, Evie already has plans to see a movie with Derrick. She invites me, but of course I say “hell to the fuck no,” and make up some lie about being too sleepy to sit in the dark for hours.

Afterward, I pace my room like a psychopath, chewing my fingernails down to nubs as I wonder if Derrick’s going to keep quiet about last night or if I’m going to get a text from Evie telling me she’s totally grossed out by me and doesn’t want to be friends anymore.