Kill the Cherry Page 5

In the car on the way over, things seemed to have sunk to an even deeper comfort level. The group headed out in Willy’s Ford—Willy driving, Kirsten shotgun with Spencer and Holly in the rear—and headed back on the highway to drive up north to the carnival that was raising funds for a program that was teaching abused and disabled children to read. The two energetic and enthusiastic leaders up front chatted nonstop the entire drive over the stereo that played one of Willy’s Hüsker Dü albums. Both their sidekicks sat, laced hands resting in between their knees and exchanged a few words about highway safety guidelines, laws against not wearing seatbelts (which neither protested against) which evolved into an experience Holly brought up about how she and her family were nearly killed in an automobile accident while driving too fast on an freeway road. Spencer listened with non-imitated fascination, and was inspired to share a story of an experience he endured as a child of how he witnessed a brutal and unforgettable scene as a child of a bicyclist killed by a driver…how he wasn’t wearing a helmet and that his head was cracked open like a busted-open melon, a mess of blood and brains and pieces of skull splayed out covering almost the entire intersection; his corpse as inanimate as a crushed fruit that had dropped and began leaking its innards at large quantities. He tried to hide the excitement that aroused behind his eyes as he narrated the tale.

  Holly listened and kept her sultry, sweet eye contact in place, nodding at points in the story that acquired her understanding. She didn't seem to look the other way, direct her attention to anything else even for a brief moment the entire time. She was so polite and harmonious and Spencer tried his best to block it out. All he needed was her trust. To think about her politeness and positive qualities would probably cloud his drive and crazed lust. His job was to stick her, gain her trust and respect and then stick her. He laughed in the guise that he'd been humored by her story from high school when he'd really been laughing at the fact that literally right behind the both of them in the trunk, hidden underneath a heap of clothes bound for Goodwill, were two shovels and a gym back full of everything from hacksaws to thirty-gallon trash bags to bottles of hydrogen peroxide. As if her death was currently breathing down her neck.

  It wasn't until a half-hour later when they had finally arrived at the festivities; a spectacle that glimmered and exploded with several flashing, chasing lights that looked bedazzling in the evening and was alive with gleeful electronic adrenaline.

  The place was burning with joy and happiness from the attendees—men, women and children alike—but you'd think that Willy and Kirsten were more lively and rambunctious than anyone else there. On and off would the two couples separate to do their own thing and then come back to enjoy the time as four. Spencer asked Holly if she would like to go on the Ferris wheel, which she gladly accepted. They sat in the car, overlooking the vast and everlasting dark world below them. Spencer stole a glance at her and had difficulty breaking away until Holly looked over to him, then he gave a wan smile and moved his gaze elsewhere, acting casual. He didn't see it but he felt her eyes ogling him for a long while before bringing her attention back to the outside view.

  Then, as their car had reached the very top, the ride had jolted to a gentle halt. The two of them looked at each other for a reaction, exchanged laughs and fixed their gazes at the broadened view.

  “So,” Spencer said. “This place we're going to tonight...”

  Holly looked at him. “Yeah, I don't know much about it. Kirsten said that she and Willy were there just the other day.”

  They sat in awkward silence for a moment, staring at the ants down below.

  “Um...” Holly said, “Are we...”

  Spencer felt a sense of amazement and accomplishment implode in his chest. She was about to ask the question—the question—and she was the one asking it instead of him! This kept getting better and better. He hid the skepticism deep down that he was playing his cards all wrong and that he was possibly veering her toward the wrong direction. This was a sign that all the worrying was for absolutely nothing and that tonight's mission was going just as planned and was awaiting a successful victory at its end. Had this conversation taken place via phone, he would have clenched a fist and pulled a downward elbow towards his hip repeatedly in triumphant excitement.

  “We don't have to,” he said, playing it cool.

  “No, I do,” she said, nonchalantly and with those precious innocent Bambi eyes. “I'm embarrassed enough I didn't do it in high school. I made a vow to myself I wouldn't go to college a virgin. So...”

  Spencer jumped at the opportunity.

  “You know, it's so stupid,” he said, ease settling in, knowing what to say next without a stutter. “I never understood that; who's to say that we have to engage in sexual intercourse in order to get respect? Like, 'it doesn't matter if you can speak well; if you have a great sense of humor; if you're successful at school, your job, with people. And I'm not self-centered, but I do very well in school, I get along with people fine, I'm socially-proficient—“ he paused to look at her, “—or am I?”

  Holly grinned and nodded.

  “The bottom line here is, it's all a bunch of overrated crap. I have a good education and good friends and don't feel the least bit awkward about myself for not having killed my cherry.”

  Holly kept her stare on him, looking fascinated.

  “'Kill your cherry,'” she said, amused. “I like that.”

  The machinery hooked to the car hiccuped, jolted, and the wheel commenced its rotation.

  After the ride, Willy spent a dollar at the booth games, popping three balloons in a row with three darts and winning Kirsten a giant purple gorilla on his first try. Spencer had almost blown his entire wallet on the bell-and-hammer game to win Holly a Stewie plush doll—the evil baby genius from the cartoon Family Guy. After almost twenty dollars, he finally hit the bell and won her the toy. The attendant handed him the prize and Spencer watched her as he passed it on to her; those beautiful browns glistening with awe and heartwarming, appreciative glee as they switched from little Stewie to him.

  Spencer and Holly exchanged more bits of information with each other; he said that he was born and raised in Springfield and was majoring in Political Science; she said that she was born and raised here and was undecided majoring in either Biochemical Engineering or English. The flow of the conversation was pretty much medium, if a certain subject came up, Spencer or Holly would bring up a personal opinion or a past experience on it, joking around as they did so in which they would appropriately laugh whether it actually hit their funny bone or not.

  All in all, Willy knew for sure that she had his fish on a hook, reeled in, and surrendering peacefully in the iced cooler, and that it was going to work out well.

  Kirsten never got bored for a second and had already known that this thing with Willy was going to work out super well.

  Holly thought Spencer wasn’t such a bad guy and was funny and fun to talk to and felt that this would work out pretty well.

  Spencer had to give it to himself, he was doing all right, and just like Willy with his, he had this chick—owned, possessed, indoctrinated—and their special time tonight was going to work out beautifully, beautifully well.