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Chapter Eleven

So two things that don't go together? Pain killers and riding. The medicine to knock the edge off the pain from my nose had made me a little queasy, but pair that with the jostling of the bus moving down the highway and before noon I was hurling up the cereal I'd eaten with Brian. I hugged the toilet on my bus, my face flushed, and the cool porceline of the seat feeling good against my cheek.

"Nick?" Charley was in the door way. I moved my eyes without moving my head to look at her. She actually had some form of concern on her face. "Are you okay?" she stepped into the bathroom and knelt beside the sink, putting one hand on my back and studying me.

"I'mfineI'llbeokay," I muttered the word against the seat.

Charley sighed. "I'm sorry the pain killers aren't agreeing with you," she said.

"Oh sure," I mumbled, "This is like your crown of glory, right? Beat the crap out of a guy and watch him hurl the rest of the afternoon in the aftermath." The word hurl brought on the nausea and I lurched into the basin again. Charley rubbed the heel of her hand up and down my spine as I puked. It was kinda nice.

"Contrary to your belief," she said quietly once I'd stopped, "I don't enjoy seeing you vomit." She reached up and filled a dixie cup with mouthwash. "Here," she said, handing the cup to me. I knocked back the Listerine and swished it before spitting it into the toilet. Charley took the dixie cup and threw it away. "I really am sorry," she said.

"It's my own fault for being a dickhead," I replied.

Charley laughed, "Well, yes, but I didn't have to punch you." She got up and pulled open the cupboard under the tiny sink and got out a face cloth, which she wet with cool water and then knelt and pressed it against my face. "You look hot," she said quietly.

"All the ladies think so," I answered weakly.

Charley rolled her eyes. "See it's things like that which make you a dickhead," she said.

"It's things like that that make me, well, me," I said.

"So you're a dickhead naturally," she said, smirking.

"Something like that," I answered.

But whatever I might have told the guys later, the cool cloth on my face felt amazing and I was thankful for it. I leaned into her hand as she softly patted it onto my cheeks and down to my neck. I sighed and closed my eyes, my head still resting against the toilet seat. After a few moments, when the coolness had faded from the towel, Charley said, "Let's get you in bed."

"But the cloth feels nice," I objected.

"I'll recool it," she offered.

"Okay."

Charley got up and then helped me up and I shuffled to the bed. The sink ran as she cooled the cloth down again. I crawled across the bed. "What if I wanna puke again?" I asked nervously as I nestled into the pillows.

Charley came around the corner and held up the tiny bathroom trash bin.

"Good thinkin'," I mumbled. She sat on the edge of the bed and put the trash bin at her feet.

Charley pressed the cloth to my face again and I closed my eyes as she gently patted my skin with it. It felt so freaking good... And for a few minutes, it was silent except for the sounds of our breathing and my contented hums. Then she said quietly, "You know, that day when I pantsed you, you said you'd grow up to be famous. Do you remember that?"

"Yeah."

Charley laughed quietly, "You always were a cocky lil bastard, weren't you?"

"Always. I hear tell I came out of the birth canal cocky."

"I believe it."

"Is that why you didn't like me?" I asked, "Because I was cocky?"

Charley laughed a little. "No, I didn't like you because you had what I wanted."

"What's that?"

"My dad wanted a boy. He wasn't at all interested in having a princess. But no matter how many little league games I played or however much I played with GI Joe over Barbie or Matchbox over tea party, he never was satisfied with a tomboy." Charley shrugged.

"So you wanted my penis?"

"Basically." Charley laughed.

I opened my eyes and looked up at her. She had an amused-yet-ashamed look about her. I didn't know quite what to say. I decided to go the cocky-joke route to diffuse the moment. "Lots of girls want my penis," I said, cheesing.

Charley laughed, "You're such an asshole."

I sat up and turned to her, "Look, if it helps any, my dad didn't want me at all - as a boy or a girl. Sometimes dads are just jerks and if they don't care about their kids... well they don't belong being dads, you know? But the kids can't carry that around on their shoulders, either. We can't blame ourselves or wish we were any different than we are." I paused, "And you made out okay, right? I mean you're gorgeous and stuff."

Charley stared at me, her big chocolately brown eyes staring deep into me. And she leaned over and pressd her mouth against mine. I leaned backwards into the pillows instinctively, and she came down with me, our mouths still locked. Her breasts pressed into my chest, and she rotated her hips on the edge of the bed until she was leaning over me completely. My hands found her waist and I held her there as she shifted her legs so she was straddling me, the kiss getting deeper and more intense.

Then she moved her head and caught my nose and I let out a yowl of pain.

"Sorry," she gasped.

"No it's okay," I said, my voice sounding nasalier than it had moments before.

"No it's not," she answered, drawing back. "I shouldn't be doing this." She picked up the face cloth and crawled off the bed, standing up. She straightened her shirt. "Your trash bin is right here." Charley pointed at the floor, then quickly ducked out of the curtained off area, leaving me sprawled across the bed with an aching nose and a throbbing crotch.