Towelhead by Alicia Erian Page A

over me with her makeup. “You hog all the attention,” he said. “I don’t know how you do it, but you do.” Then he said that he needed attention, too, and that I was a big enough girl to spend a couple of nights alone each week.
    I didn’t mind being by myself. Actually, I preferred it. I could walk around the house without worrying so much that I was about to do something wrong. I could have orgasms with my bedroom door open. I could read my Playboy on the couch. That was what I was doing when the doorbell rang at around nine o’clock. It was Mr. Vuoso. He was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans, and his breath had a nice beer smell. “Hey,” he said. “Is your father home?”
    â€œNo,” I said.
    â€œWell,” Mr. Vuoso said, “his floodlight is out. You might want to tell him.”
    â€œHe’ll be back tomorrow,” I said.
    â€œTomorrow?”
    I nodded. “He’s over at his girlfriend’s.”
    â€œYou’re a little young to be staying alone, don’t you think?”
    â€œI can do it,” I said.
    He looked at me. “You’re not afraid?”
    I shook my head.
    We didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then he said, “What’re you reading?”
    â€œWhat?” I said.
    He nodded toward the couch behind me, and I turned around. “Oh,” I said, wanting to play our game right. “Nothing.”
    He smiled a little. “Nothing, eh?”
    I didn’t know what to say then, so I smiled a little, too.
    â€œI couldn’t decide which one to give you,” he said. “I just grabbed one off the top.”
    â€œIt’s my favorite,” I said.
    â€œReally?” he said. “Why?”
    â€œI like the lady in the golf cart.”
    â€œThe lady in the golf cart,” he said, like he was trying to remember her.
    â€œHer shirt is open, but she doesn’t notice it,” I said.
    â€œOh yeah?” he said.
    I nodded.
    â€œThat’s what you like?” he said. “That she doesn’t notice?”
    â€œYes,” I said. It made me so happy to finally be talking about this. To say things I knew only he would understand.
    â€œWell,” he said. “Don’t forget to tell your father about that light.”
    â€œDo you want to come in?” I asked.
    â€œNo,” he said. “I need to be getting back.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œYou call us if you need anything,” he said.
    â€œAll right,” I said, wishing I could think of something to make him stay.
    â€œGood night,” he said, but he didn’t leave.
    â€œGood night,” I said.
    He reached out then and squeezed my shoulder a little bit. Then he moved his hand down the front of me, over one of my breasts. Then he turned and walked away.
    After he left, I sat on the couch and had an orgasm just from touching my breast and thinking about him. When it was over, I remembered what Melina had said, that he was a pig. I didn’t think that was true. It just didn’t seem possible, that someone who could make me feel so nice could also be so terrible. I liked Melina a lot, and I thought she seemed very smart, but I also thought there might be some things she didn’t understand. Mostly, I believed that anything that could give me an orgasm was good. I believed that my body knew best.
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    In the cafeteria the next day, Thomas Bradley brought his tray over to my table. “Mind if I eat with you?” he asked.
    I shook my head, and he sat down. He had only a thin sheen of hair, and his eyes were a much lighter shade of brown than his skin. We didn’t say anything for a while, then he said, “I’m sorry I called you that name the other day. I don’t know why I did that.”
    â€œIt’s okay,” I said.
    â€œNo,” he said, “it’s not.”
    I didn’t know what to do then, so I kept eating my ravioli. When the bell rang,