The Rules of Attraction

He knew the college boys were making fun of him and he moved over to me.



“Is that seat taken?” he asked.



And for a minute I wanted to say yes, but of course that would have been ridiculous, so I shook my head and swallowed hard and stood up to let The Boy sit down. The seats were close together and I had to move over to the edge of mine to accommodate us. He had the same color hair on his head and arms and he also had one eyebrow and tight ripped jeans. It was hard to deal with.



The bus pulled away from the curb before everyone was seated and hurled back onto the highway. I tried to read the book but couldn’t. It started to rain, the sound of the Talking Heads coming from the gleaming cassette player, the girls passing Diet Pepsi and nachos back and forth and trying to flirt with me, the incessant yapping from the college boys in back, smoking clove cigarettes, an occasional joint, talking about how some slut named Ursula was f**ked by some guy named Phil in the back of some guy’s Toyota Nissan named Mark and how Ursula lied to Phil and said it wasn’t his baby but he paid for the abortion anyway and it was all so irritating I couldn’t even concentrate on anything. And by the time we were near Boston I was so angry with my mother for asking me to come that I just kept staring over at The Sean Boy, who, in turn, stared out the window, smoothing the creases out of his ticket with his grease-stained hands, his Swatch ticking loudly.



SEAN I get another note in my box today from Lauren Hynde. It says “I will meet you tonite—once the sun sets—E-L-O-V will no longer be spelled this way….” I can’t wait until the party, until “the sun sets” so I try to talk to Lauren at lunch. She’s standing, smoking a cigarette, by the desserts, with Judy Holleran (who I screwed last term and who I occasionally score for; she’s also really f**ked-up, she’s been in psychological counseling forever) and I come up behind them slowly, and suddenly I want to touch Lauren, I’m about to touch her, gently, on the neck, but the Frog roommate, who I haven’t seen in days, excuses himself and reaches for a croissant or something and lingers. He notices me and says “Ca va.” I say “Ca va.” Lauren says “Hi” to him and she blushes and looks at Judy and Judy smiles too. He keeps looking at Lauren and then goes away. Lauren’s telling Judy how she lost her I.D.



“What’s going on?” I ask Judy, picking up a plate of melon.



“Hi, Sean. Nothing,” she says.



Lauren’s looking over the cookies, playing hard to get. It’s so obvious I’m embarrassed.



“Going to the party tonight?” I ask. “Once the sun sets?”



“Totally psyched,” Judy says, sarcastic as hell.



Lauren laughs, like she agrees. I bet, I’m thinking.



The geek from L.A. grabs an orange from the fruit tray and Lauren looks down, at what? His legs? They’re really tan and I’ve never seen him with his sunglasses off, big deal. He lifts his eyebrows in recognition. I do the same. I look back at Lauren and I’m struck by how great-looking she is. And standing here, even if it’s only for something like a millisecond, I overload on how great-looking this girl is. I’m amazed at how her legs affect me, the br**sts, braless, beneath a “We Are the World” T-shirt, thighs. She looks over at me in what seems like slow motion. I can’t meet her blue-eyed gaze back. She’s too gorgeous. Her perfect, full lips locked in on this sexy uncaring smile. She’s constructed perfectly. She smiles when she notices me staring and I smile back. I’m thinking, I want to know this girl.



“I think it’s supposed to be a toga party too,” I say.



“Toga? Jesus,” she says. “What does this place think it is? Williams?”



“Where’s the party?” Judy asks.



“Wooley,” I tell her. She can’t even f**king look at me.



“I thought we already had one,” she says, and inspects a cookie. Her fingers are long and delicate. The nails have clear polish on them. Her hand, small and clean, scratches at her perfect, small nose, while the other hand runs through her blond, short hair and then back over her neck. I try to smell her.



“We did,” I say.



“A toga party,” she says. “You’ve got to be kidding. Who’s on Rec Committee anyway?”



“I am,” I say, looking directly at her.



Judy pockets an oatmeal cookie and takes a drag off her, Lauren’s, cigarette.



“Well, Getch and Tony are gonna steal some sheets. There’s a keg. I don’t know,” I say, laughing a little. “It’s not really a toga party,”