Challenge Response: Topic 21 (Love and War)
One night in a hotel restaurant in Philadelphia, the fourteen-year-old girl who would grow up to be Lilah Morgan announced to a tableful of high school debaters that she was never going to lose her virginity to a man who couldn't answer her counterpoints.
She was a different girl then, with a different name, but the same mind, the same mouth.
"Beatrice Richey," warned Mr. Graham. He fidgeted with the knot of his tie, not quite looking at her, the way he did when she'd come to practice without wearing a bra, and he was trying not to notice that her nipples showed through the white fabric of the school uniform. "Do you really think this is appropriate conversation?"
"I'm talking about not having sex. How can abstinence be inappropriate?" She blinked innocently, opened her lips, and descended on the straw of an ice cream soda. The seven boys at the table, and Mr. Graham, all of them hard to shut up under normal circumstances, waited silently for her to finish drinking. She was the youngest member of the team, and the only girl, and apparently her virginity was a subject that could hold their interest. "I'm only saying, that if a man doesn't respect me enough to argue with me, I won't respect him enough to sleep with him."
"Also," drawled Kyle Evans -- a senior, the team captain, four inches shorter than her and in the grips of an annoying Napoleon complex -- "apparently, he has to beat you."
"At debate," she agreed with a smile, then shot a look at their coach. "So don't worry, Graham, I think my virtue is safe with this crowd." There were a few low mumbles of "Oooh!" and "Busted!" and she scanned her eyes around the table to show that she meant all of them.
"So, what, Richey?" asked another of the seniors. "Did your mom challenge your dad to a round of Lincoln-Douglas before she'd. . ." At a look from Graham, he amended his original word choice to "marry him?"
"I'm not talking about my parents," she answered breezily. "They don't argue. Of course, I don't think they have sex either." She said this last in a matter-of-fact tone meant to conceal the fact that it was probably true.
"Good point," said Kevin O'Hara, equally deadpan. "Your father's never there, and your mother's too busy popping pills."
She jumped to her feet, kicked back her chair, and was halfway across the table, before Graham grabbed her arm. "Cool it!"
Kevin spread his hands and leaned back in the chair. "Joke, Richey. Take a. . ." At the teacher's look ". . .freaking joke."
She practiced breathing slowly as she sat down, mumbling, "God, Kevin, I don't know what's wrong with you." Though of course she did. He had spent the past year trying to get his hand down her skirt and sometimes, when she felt like it, succeeding. Now she had not only taken his spot at first chair in extemporaneous speaking; she had announced to a roomful of his friends that that little bit of touch was all he was getting. Well, whatever. It was her fault for telling Kevin that much about her family, letting him find out that bit of truth so he could throw it in her face. She would be more careful about that in the future.
Still, it wasn't her fault that the boy was too dumb to be worth any more of her time. They had just won regionals, and she was the youngest and the only girl and every single one of them knew she was the rock star and she had carried them, and for now she didn't care about any of them, she was perfectly happy to be the virgin goddess of high school forensics. Not that she would mind having a boyfriend, someday, but she had no patience for the kind of girls whose lives revolved around whether Jock McLinebacker would call her or send her flowers, who refused to open their mouths in a class because some boy might figure out she knew more than he did.
Well. She shook her head and got to her feet, announcing. "I'm done. I'm going back to my room." With a yawn, she added, "This is no world to play with mammets and to tilt with lips. We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns, and pass them current too."
Kevin's voice followed her, as he asked. "What did she just say?" He always had been crap at dramatic elocution.
And, although she didn't look around, she somehow knew the teacher's eyes were on her as he answered, "I think she just told you. . .all is fair in love and war."
She was a different girl then, with a different name, but the same mind, the same mouth.
"Beatrice Richey," warned Mr. Graham. He fidgeted with the knot of his tie, not quite looking at her, the way he did when she'd come to practice without wearing a bra, and he was trying not to notice that her nipples showed through the white fabric of the school uniform. "Do you really think this is appropriate conversation?"
"I'm talking about not having sex. How can abstinence be inappropriate?" She blinked innocently, opened her lips, and descended on the straw of an ice cream soda. The seven boys at the table, and Mr. Graham, all of them hard to shut up under normal circumstances, waited silently for her to finish drinking. She was the youngest member of the team, and the only girl, and apparently her virginity was a subject that could hold their interest. "I'm only saying, that if a man doesn't respect me enough to argue with me, I won't respect him enough to sleep with him."
"Also," drawled Kyle Evans -- a senior, the team captain, four inches shorter than her and in the grips of an annoying Napoleon complex -- "apparently, he has to beat you."
"At debate," she agreed with a smile, then shot a look at their coach. "So don't worry, Graham, I think my virtue is safe with this crowd." There were a few low mumbles of "Oooh!" and "Busted!" and she scanned her eyes around the table to show that she meant all of them.
"So, what, Richey?" asked another of the seniors. "Did your mom challenge your dad to a round of Lincoln-Douglas before she'd. . ." At a look from Graham, he amended his original word choice to "marry him?"
"I'm not talking about my parents," she answered breezily. "They don't argue. Of course, I don't think they have sex either." She said this last in a matter-of-fact tone meant to conceal the fact that it was probably true.
"Good point," said Kevin O'Hara, equally deadpan. "Your father's never there, and your mother's too busy popping pills."
She jumped to her feet, kicked back her chair, and was halfway across the table, before Graham grabbed her arm. "Cool it!"
Kevin spread his hands and leaned back in the chair. "Joke, Richey. Take a. . ." At the teacher's look ". . .freaking joke."
She practiced breathing slowly as she sat down, mumbling, "God, Kevin, I don't know what's wrong with you." Though of course she did. He had spent the past year trying to get his hand down her skirt and sometimes, when she felt like it, succeeding. Now she had not only taken his spot at first chair in extemporaneous speaking; she had announced to a roomful of his friends that that little bit of touch was all he was getting. Well, whatever. It was her fault for telling Kevin that much about her family, letting him find out that bit of truth so he could throw it in her face. She would be more careful about that in the future.
Still, it wasn't her fault that the boy was too dumb to be worth any more of her time. They had just won regionals, and she was the youngest and the only girl and every single one of them knew she was the rock star and she had carried them, and for now she didn't care about any of them, she was perfectly happy to be the virgin goddess of high school forensics. Not that she would mind having a boyfriend, someday, but she had no patience for the kind of girls whose lives revolved around whether Jock McLinebacker would call her or send her flowers, who refused to open their mouths in a class because some boy might figure out she knew more than he did.
Well. She shook her head and got to her feet, announcing. "I'm done. I'm going back to my room." With a yawn, she added, "This is no world to play with mammets and to tilt with lips. We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns, and pass them current too."
Kevin's voice followed her, as he asked. "What did she just say?" He always had been crap at dramatic elocution.
And, although she didn't look around, she somehow knew the teacher's eyes were on her as he answered, "I think she just told you. . .all is fair in love and war."