Good Girls Don't
Prophecy Girl

She's blonde and perfect and she'd never do this, not in a million years. But here she is all the same, leaning back under the bleachers with her thighs apart, perfectly manicured nails digging into my scalp while she holds me there. Arching her back and biting into her sweatband to keep from screaming out my name.

I grin and wonder what they'd say if they could see her now. Whitney blabbing it all over school. Les saying he knew all along. Jan freaking out..

Spotless white Adidas topped with ankle-high sweat socks slide down off my shoulders and hit the gym floor with a resounding thud that seems to echo for minutes afterwards. Her hips arch up off the floor and I think how much longer her nails are than mine. Good nails for Prom Queen. Bad nails for.. well, that's not important because she's not like that and she'll never be like that because good girls don't. Oh, but I do.

I do.

I think how I'll never be Prom Queen, Squad Captain, a girlfriend; nothing but a cheap fuck under the bleachers. How this will never be Torrance. Maybe it's better if she doesn't say my name, because then I'll know it's not Tor and this way we can both just pretend.

I bite, maybe a little too hard, letting a little too much of that anger seep through, but she comes and it's just a body, wet hot soft. No bells or birds or flashing lights, no revelations, and it all feels cheap. I back up and her knees fall together, ever the lady. She mumbles 'Missy' and I turn my head away.

I wait for a thanks, a that was great, let's do that again sometime, but she just pulls her skirt down and her panties on and crawls out. I think about how she never even let me kiss her. I lick my lips, drowning in the taste of her and imagining it's all a dream or it's someone else and it doesn't matter because no one will ever know anyway.

It was wrong, dirty, bad, but it's okay. It's okay for me, but not for her. They expect it from me, because good girls don't and I'm not a good girl, not by a long shot.

But Courtney is.