Free Pop Princess by Rachel Cohn

girl’s answers during chemistry, touching myself under the covers at night after groping sessions with Doug—for fear that Lucky was observing and scrutinizing me. In my mind, I could see her giving a thumbs-up when I was kickin’ it at dance class, or nailing a song with Doug’s Band, and when I wasn’t being so good, I could see Lucky turning her blond head away from me in disgust.
    I thought of how I must appear to Lucky at that moment, splayed out on a basement couch, my shirt draped over its side, my bra unhooked but not yet off, my hair tousled over a pillow. What must Lucky think? Sleazy, that’s what she’d be thinking. You know better, Wonder Anna Blake, she would say. Unlike Lucky, I had no intention of waiting for some mythical “true love,” but I knew I didn’t want the first time to be like this.
    When Doug returned to the basement snapping a condom package against his wrist, he found me sitting upright, the lamp turned on, the TV off, buttoning up my cardigan sweater.
    â€œWha?” he said. He turned the lamp off and returned to his spot on the couch next to me, leaning in to breathe on my neck, as if he could somehow recapture the moment that had led to his running back to his bedroom for a condom.
    I squeezed out from the embrace he was trying to lock me into. I said, “I don’t think I want it to be like this.” I started to say “I’m sorry” but then I thought, What do I have to be sorry about?
    â€œC’mon, Wonder,” Doug said. He patted his lap, as if beckoning me to jump onto it.
    I averted my eyes from the partial woody going on under his boxer shorts. I said, “You won’t even acknowledge that I’m your girlfriend.”
    â€œMan, is that what this is about?”
    â€œYes. Mostly. Maybe. I’m just . . . I’m just . . . I’m just not ready.”
    I expected to hear him say, I’ll wait for you. I understand.
    But what he said was “Get out.”
    â€œYou’re serious?” My heart felt like the Vulcan death grip had been clenched upon it.
    â€œYeah, I’m serious. I don’t need this shit.” Doug grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned the TV back on.
    I stood in front of him in shock, speechless. “I said go,” he mumbled. He pulled an afghan over his lap, and I saw small beads of sweat on his forehead.
    â€œDoug . . . ,” I started.
    â€œDon’t bother coming for rehearsal anymore. You’re out.”

Fifteen
    At school the next day, I walked around slouched over, dazed, feeling as if I had been repeatedly kicked in the stomach and smacked in the face.
    Oops, algebra exam. Oops, spent all night alone in my room staring at the dark sky. Sorry, teacher, forgot to study, forgot to care. We both know I’ll be failing this class, so you don’t mind if I just stare mindlessly out the window while Jen Burke’s pencil flies across her test paper in contempt of me, do you?
    At lunch, Science Project found me sitting alone under a tree, shivering without a winter coat in the December chill. He sat down beside me and handed me a paper bag. “Here, I brought you some hot chocolate.” Then he sang out, opera style, “Here I come, to save the day!”
    I didn’t laugh. I knew Science Project was just trying to be nice, but I wished it were Doug bringing me hot chocolate, Doug joking with me, Doug looking at me with the puppy eyes.
    I felt tears stream down my face, and I wished my eyes could suck the tears back in so Henry would not see me like this. I looked into his brown eyes and thought, Why couldn’t I be into a guy like you? Someone nice and dependable and maybe a little geeky and not a gorgeous rock star wanna-be?
    In that shaky voice that comes along when you’re trying not to cry, I said to him, “I think I’d like to be alone right now, Henry, if you don’t