Sloppy Firsts_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [81]
Talking to Marcus reinforced for me what I already know: I have such a narrow, PHS-obsessed worldview. I’ve almost lost the ability to carry on a conversation about anything other than myself. Even with Hope. Most of our convos are spent catching up on daily comings and goings—the parts I can tell her. It didn’t used to be this way, of course, when she was here. But even then, we didn’t have talks like the one I had with Marcus tonight. Not worse, just different. Perhaps it’s because Marcus is so different.
I’m trying to convince myself that this isn’t a bad thing. I mean, anything that helps me sleep must be good for me, right? Because after I got off the phone with Marcus, I crashed like a narcoleptic. A slumber so blissfully uninterrupted by worry that I woke up this morning feeling wide-eyed, alive, and ready to face whatever PHS crap came my way today.
I had thought that as soon as I got Marcus alone, on the phone, I would bombard him with a bizillion questions about his side of our history. But after last night’s talk, I hope Marcus and I continue to sidestep the tricky issues that exist between us, because I feel like the moment we acknowledge out loud who he is and who I am and why we shouldn’t be talking to each other, we’ll stop talking to each other. And that can’t happen.
the thirteenth
Knowing what I know about Marcus through my spying, it would be easy for me to bring up subjects that interest him, if I had to. He doesn’t know my bio like I know his. This is why, after five consecutive nights of conversations, I am continually amazed by his ability to bring up subjects that I want to talk about.
"I was watching The Real World tonight …"
"You watch The Real World?" I asked, excitedly. "I loooooove The Real World. Even with all the new reality shows, it’s still the best. It’s one of the few forms of entertainment targeted at our generation that I just eat up."
"Oh you do, do you?"
"I’d rather watch real kids make total asses out of themselves than watch Kevin Williamson’s creations be so goddamn perfect and profound all the time."
"I think that’s sad," he said.
"Why? They’re setting themselves up. They’re asking for it."
"They’re setting you up," he said.
"How?"
"Did you ever stop to think that the term ’reality TV’ is an oxymoron? Once these people agree to be filmed, it guarantees that these shows have nothing to do with reality."
Marcus is the only person who even comes close to one-upping me knowledge-wise. And it kind of bothers me, to tell you the truth. "I know all about the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, genius boy," I said, getting testy. "What’s wrong with entertainment as escapism?"
"Nothing," he said. "Unless you have no problem spending an evening watching a bunch of people you don’t know live life instead of going out there and living it yourself."
He had a point. My obsession with The Real World had only gotten out of hand after Hope moved away.
"And how can you live life in Pineville, especially in the middle of the night?"
I heard the flick of his lighter in the background. A pause. Then a burst of breath.
"Well, I used to fire up Puff Daddy."
"Puff Daddy," I repeated, totally stymied.
"Yes. Puff Daddy. My bong."
"You named your bong?"
"Sure. I spent more time with Puffy than anyone else, so it made sense."
Another pause. Another lungful of nicotine, tar, and tobacco. I remembered the pre-pube boy on the Boardwalk. Wacky for Tobacky.
"I’d also find girls to have sex with."
He said it so casually. Find girls to have sex with. No big deal. But it was because this is the closest we’d come