Page 14 of Dirty Sweet Valentine
Jesus, really? “Excuse me, but I’m not familiar enough with student life yet to be able to find something in such a short time,” I told him. “I spent most of my first semester studying.” Given a week, I could pull together something totally brilliant. A weekend? Not likely.
“You could do a Valentine’s piece if you prefer.”
That was a hard no.
The editor had tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Then what use are you to me? Journalists aren’t supposed to be familiar with their stories. That’s what bloggers are for.”
So now I have two choices: abandon the idea of working on the paper or pull something out of my ass. I spent all Friday night researching the school website, looking for anything that might trigger an idea. I ended up with a whole bunch of nothing. Reading about student life wasn’t going to do anything but bore me to death. I need to actually experience campus life here—outside of the bars.
Wait a sec…my head shoots up with the force of a sudden idea. “Hey, Jared. Is this rally a big thing? Like, is it newsworthy?”
Jared wiggles his brows. “You could totally write an article on it if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Let me get my notebook.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re enjoying the unseasonal warmth at the field by Gunter Hall, standing around the band shell with a crowd of nearly two hundred people waiting for the rally to begin. A group of women are circled on the short stage and a guy keeps tapping on the microphone—testing it or just being annoying, I honestly can’t even tell.
I scan my surroundings. “Are all these people virgins?” There is no way there are this many prudes on campus. Is there?
“Hardly,” Jared says. “Lots of people are just here for the spectacle. The Cherry Savers are the ones wearing the T-shirts.”
I hadn’t noticed the abundance of black tees beneath the jackets in the crowd until now. The majority of wearers are female, but I spot a few guys wearing them too. I truly don’t understand. Why anyone—particularly a dude—would be so blatantly proud of their choice to remain “pure” is so foreign to me. Especially when their pride involves wearing that awful shirt. They have a picture of a cherry bunch ala Ms. Pac Man and the words Life’s Full of Pits, Save a Cherry. I don’t even want to figure out what that’s supposed to imply.
Like, is having sex supposed to be the pits? And if you refrain, then you miss out on life’s pits? Because intercourse is the root of all the world’s problems?
Okay, I am trying to figure it out, just not with any satisfying success.
Jared leans in close so only I can hear him. “Most of the other guys here are stalking prey like us.”
Like you, I correct in my mind. Chase Matthews Is Above This. I set my phone to camera mode and prop my notebook under my arm while I snap a few pictures of the crowd.
“That girl over there.” Jared nods at a brunette wearing the club’s uniform. “That’s Wanda Low. Guess what her nickname is?”
I cringe as I make the most obvious guess. “Wanna Blow? Original, Jared.”
“It so totally fits her, though,” Jared says, laughing at the ridiculous joke. “I’ll hook you up. All you gotta do is say the word.”
“Maybe next time.” There would be no next time. I was uncomfortable with the whole scenario. Someone ought to warn these girls.
I pocket my phone and pull the pen from the spiral of my notebook to jot down a few notes:
Mostly women
Seventy-two members according to the T-shirt count
Religious based?
Stupid-ass slogan
The whole thing is certainly weird, but that isn’t really the best approach to take on a journalism piece. The assignment wasn’t gonzo, it was objective. I’ll have to gather some more info before I can determine my angle.
A girl’s voice comes over the speakers, drawing my attention to the stage. The girl is pretty enough. That isn’t the reason she’s a virgin. I add that to my notes:
Not ugly girls
Then I think twice and cross it out. I’m supposed to be a better man than Jared, but just five minutes around these bros has me group-thinking with them. I shake my head.
“Thank you so much for coming out today,” the girl says. “I’m excited to see all this support for this wonderful group we’ve formed. As most of you already know, I’m Shalinda Wild—” She pauses to let the small applause (mostly male) die down. “And while I’ve thoroughly enjoyed my time as Princess Cherry Saver, my run is over. And now I have to pass the chastity belt on to my successor.”
Chastity belt. How cute. I write the terms in my notebook, making sure I have them all down accurately for my piece.
Jared leans in again to whisper, “Hey, do you think that means she’ll spread ‘em now?”
I open my mouth to tell Jared to shut his trap, or maybe just to punch him, but freeze before I can get a sound out. That girl—the one walking up to the podium, the one taking the key from the Princess Cherry Saver as she begins her reign—I know that girl. And I don’t really know any girls in Colorado.
Except one.
“Holy shit, Chase! Is that who I think it is?”
The pen suddenly feels sweaty in my grip. “Yeah, I think so.”
Man, all semester I’ve been dying to see her again, and this? This is how? Leading a rally for virginity? Well, if this doesn’t put a thousand questions in my mind. And on top of the confusing nature of the situation, I’m turned on just at the sight of her thick dark-blonde hair and dimpled cheek. She looks different like this—from afar, unaware that I’m gazing at her. God, she is just as beautiful as I remember. It makes me feel all funny in my chest, like it’s hard to catch a breath, like no matter how deeply I expand my lungs, the air that moves through them isn’t enough.
“That’s not really her, is it?” Jared claps a hand on my back, and finally I can breathe again.
“No, it’s her all right.” Kira Larson. I feel a mixture of relief and trepidation as she begins her speech about all the benefits of waiting until marriage. On the one hand, she herself isn’t a virgin. That’s a betrayal somehow—either to me or to the crowd gathered around.
On the other hand, there she is. Standing in front of me. Looking gorgeous.
“Goddammit, man, you lied to me!” Even Jared seems to get the sense of betrayal. “There’s no way the President of Cherry Savers let you put your dick in her.”
And that was the confusion of the matter. Why had she let me bang her? It had been her idea, even. I’d been careful not to pressure her. The question left me irritated. “They’re called Princesses, Jared.”
“What-the-fuck-ever they’re called, you did not get American in that pie.”
“And if you did get American in it,” Jared lowers his voice, “that story has to be told.”
A story that had to be told. That’s what good reporting is, isn’t it? “What do you mean? Like an exposé?”
Jared shrugs. “Well, yeah. Because that’s some serious hypocrisy. Why would she even do that? What’s the point? Maybe she’s a pathological liar.”
And isn’t that the sixty-four-million-dollar question? “I have no idea why. But I’d be interested in her reasoning.” Very interested.
“You and the entire house.” Jared’s expression says he’s already imagining the guys’ reactions. Imagining and enjoying. “I can’t wait to tell Marcus. He’s been trying to pick a Cherry Saver since freshman year.”
“No. Don’t do that.” I have to think about this. Princess Cherry Saver Is No Saint. It would make for a great article.
Except, she probably has her reasons for the dual life. I don’t know the first thing about her. Do I really want to betray her trust like that?
Although she sure betrayed mine.
Whatever. I don’t know her. This is a chance to prove my cutthroat journalist skills. “Don’t tell anyone, Jared. Not yet. The other idea was better.”
Jared’s brow wrinkles with confusion. “An ex
posé? What, you going to write your article about popping the Queen Cherry Saver’s cherry?”
“Oh, her cherry was already popped.” Wasn’t it? Yeah, it had to be.
“All right then, an article exposing Queenie’s popped cherry?”
“It’s Princess.” I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and swallow the last bit of hesitation telling me not to write this story. “And yeah, why not?”
Jared breaks into a grin. “Exactly. Why the hell not?”
Three
Jared leaves me alone as soon as the rally is finished. He’s likely making his move—or, attack, rather—on one or more of the several Cherry Savers he had singled out as potential hookups. He didn’t exactly say, and I wasn’t exactly sure I wanted to know.
As for me, I stay back from the stage and keep my eyes on Kira as the scene moves into cleanup mode. She has a small crowd surrounding her but to get the information I need, I have to get her alone. At least, that’s the reason I tell myself that I want her alone. Not because I still have any desire to nip along her jawline or wrap my fingers in her hair. It’s all about the story. Yeah, that’s what it is.
My mind replays the things she’d said during her event speech, how she’d been so sincere in her delivery. “Sex should not define our relationships with the people we want to spend our entire lives with,” she had said. “How can we separate lust from love when we allow hormones to be in control?
“And when we finally find the person—that special person that we want to dedicate ourselves to—what better gift is there to give him or her than our body, untouched and undefiled? What a way to say, ‘You’re the most important person in my world. I waited for you.’”
That last sentiment had gotten Kira a cheer from her audience.
I, on the other hand, still don’t know how to react. Obviously Kira didn’t really believe the things she said. But what parts of it were true, which were just rhetoric? Was our brief affair simply a case of hormones out of control? Or did it make me special—someone worthy of her “gift”?
Of course it’s the former. I shouldn’t even let myself think about the other option. We had sex in a stockroom, for crying out loud. It was completely hormone-incited. For some reason, admitting that to myself makes me feel bitter.
