JENNY SAID

Olivia knew better than to compete with flowers for attention. Fate had her meeting Steve by marigolds that evening, so she chose her raspberry pink dress to compliment them. Jenny assured her that pink would suffice even though black would ultimately prove more befitting. 

Despite Olivia’s begging, her mother hadn't hemmed the second-hand peasant dress in time. When asked why all the fuss? Olivia said that she and Jenny were taking her advice to "dress for success," which seemed acceptable enough. Her mother frequently asked her questions but rarely showed any genuine interest in her answers anymore.

Jenny's mom didn't take much interest in her either, and (according to Jenny) she was stronger for it. Olivia admired this and strived to emulate Jenny's independence. Jenny told her that she couldn't be the kind of girl who needed her mom so much. It was time to grow up. And so Olivia tried not to need her mother so desperately.

Making do, Olivia used a video tutorial to safety-pin her hemline to show more of her upper thighs (per Jenny's instruction). She only pricked herself badly enough to bleed once, and it didn't get on the fabric, thank God. She FaceTimed Jenny, and they picked up their conversation where they'd left off, about earlier when Steve had asked her to meet him.

Her horoscope had warned Scorpio to avoid romance that morning. Her period had started, so she wore her black sweatpants to school because the bloating was too much for her usual pair of blue jeans. She didn't do her hair, opting for the beanie-hat look, and made no effort whatsoever in the makeup department (to Jenny's intense disapproval). So when Steve approached her at the vending machine mid-wrestle with it for a Mars bar, she was taken aback and quite literally speechless. 

Steve stood opposite her with his own 'Jenny,' an out-of-district boy named Mark from her third-period math class known for making a substitute teacher break down and cry. Since Mark came, Steve had been in detention a lot more, but she felt the teachers misunderstood him. Like her, he valued being a good friend. Besides, she'd be the one to get him back on track. That was how love worked. That'd be her role. Jenny wholeheartedly agreed.

Steve asked what she was doing that night. She managed to shrug her shoulders, but that was about it. Jenny said it wasn't Olivia's fault she couldn't speak. According to Jenny, since his hair was falling in front of his bluish grey eyes, her prefrontal cortex had no chance of firing. 

Steve talked about the back garden of the ruined heritage building by the freeway and how that'd be a great place to meet around 8 pm. Olivia managed a nod, but the smell of his last cigarette was coiling up her nostrils and making her warm in awkward places. She worried about whether her pad was catching everything between her legs and if he could smell it. Keenly watching at a distance, Jenny could tell that's what she was worried about.

Mark nudged Steve, and Steve added that they'd need total privacy, so she'd have to come alone. No Jenny.

A sharp animalistic instinct jolted through her body, and she'd visibly tensed. Steve took a slight step back from her, which she didn't like. Then Mark said jokingly, "Don't worry. It's not like he's going to rape you or something."

Mark followed this with his loud 'Mark laugh' that she and Jenny agreed sounded more like someone had just let his head up from being held underwater too long. 

Olivia laughed too in response, in that high-pitched, fake, nervous way girls laugh when they don't want to seem uncool. Jenny said it sounded like a snared fox. Olivia opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out, so Jenny jumped in and assured the boys that Olivia would be there alone, then swiftly yanked her away.

That night she'd told her mother she was going to Jenny's to watch a documentary on first-wave feminism for history class, which turned out to be an acceptable lie. Her mother wouldn't check anyway. It was so out of character for Olivia to lie. It was her first time.

She got ready listening to Taylor Swift while going over Jenny's list of musicians she'd claim to like if Steve asked. Jenny guided her on makeup and advised against a purse, saying it was too bulky and that she wouldn't want to get tied up in it while they were kissing. After a mutual squeal, Jenny assured Olivia that even though she'd never had much luck with boys, tonight would be different. Jenny was sure of it. Steve was single. He wasn't with Kirsten anymore. They'd broken up near the end of the summer, and Kirsten was so upset she'd changed schools that fall. Jenny said this was proof positive that Olivia and Steve were written in the stars. Olivia said goodbye to her Jenny. 

Though Jenny had said the more bare skin showing, the better, Olivia still opted for her white crochet cardigan on the way out. Her nana had given it to her just before she'd died, and Olivia thought it was better to have an extra layer in case she got chilled. And besides, if Steve laid her down to kiss her (as Jenny said he might), it'd be better to be too hot than lying stone cold on the ground.

It was 7:30 pm, and it took at least twenty minutes on foot to get from her house to the other side of the freeway where the memorial garden started. She made it across town in good time, admiring her raspberry reflection in the shop's windows as she passed, and although traffic was sparse, Olivia was mindful to look both directions when she crossed the freeway. 

The estate looked like something out of a Jane Austen novel, and in the glow of the autumn sunset, she felt like Kyra Knightly as she took her place among the concrete angels. She found the section with the marigolds and took a seat on a cement bench. Nearby were clusters of red poppies. She thought of the Wizard of Oz and made a silent prayer that some wicked witch wasn't about to put her to sleep forever. She picked a poppy for her hair. She struggled to put it behind one ear, then reconsidered and opted to place it delicately beside her instead.

She checked her phone for the time, 7:58 pm. The battery was getting low. She positioned herself on the bench a couple of different ways before settling on a mermaid-like pose, knees up to one side. She closed her phone and left it alone, trying to preserve its life. She played with the poppy instead, picturing in her mind's eye how romantic it was and secretly hoping that he'd happen upon her looking just like this.

At 8:04 pm, a text from Jenny popped up with a GIF of Disney's Sleeping Beauty kissed by her prince on repeat. Olivia didn’t respond.

She noted the cars passing by on the freeway and felt somewhat comforted by their presence. The headlights illuminated a portion of the shrubbery wall from one side to the other more and more distinctly. She wrapped herself in her nana's cardigan, pulling it tightly around her waist, and rubbing her freshly-shaven legs that now resembled dimpled chicken skin. 

Olivia rechecked her phone, 8:17 pm. Steve would have to arrive soon. She considered calling Jenny for some company, but her battery was down to 5%. She thought about calling her mother but didn't want to get in trouble. 

She switched her phone to low battery mode at its prompting and rubbed her lower back. A low ache from the cold mixed with the intense perfume of her cocoa body butter made her slightly nauseous. She resolved that she'd ask Steve for a lift home after rather than walking back in the dark.

It was quiet. An occasional set of headlights lit up the bushes, one side to the other. 

She could hear her heartbeat, and she thought of her mother's favourite song from the Bangles,

'Close your eyes, give me your hand…’ 

She considered playing it, but her phone’s battery was dangerously low, so she decided not to.

'Do you feel my heart beating? Do you understand?...'

Olivia slow-danced to the song in her head, holding her cramped lower abdomen and swaying her trembling body side to side. 

She'd discussed it with Jenny earlier, and they'd agreed that one tampon should be able to last her the whole evening. Jenny had talked Olivia through how to insert it, but now she was worried she hadn't inserted it far enough. 

A set of headlights flashed across from the opposite side of the shrub wall. She heard the slow roll and stop of a weighed-down truck. Its engine turned off, and two sets of feet hit the gravel and shut the driver's and passenger's side doors, respectively.

A low sickening pain came up from her stomach, and she swore she could feel the tampon sliding down, snaking its way out. Pressed between her skin, the thin cotton dress, and the cold cement bench, a layer of warm wet bloomed.

The two sets of steps approached and came with laughter, the gasping kind.

Jenny said after the fact that she never did trust that laugh.