Babe in Boyland

220 Pages·2011·0.75 MB·English

by  Jody Gehrman

Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three

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Copyright © 2011 by Jody Gehrman
All rights reserved
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-
party websites or their content.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Gehrman, Jody Elizabeth.
Babe in boyland / by Jody Gehrman.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-101-47573-7
[1. Sex role—Fiction. 2. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 3. Boarding
schools—Fiction. 4. Schools—Fiction. 5. Theater—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.G25937Bab 2011 [Fic]—dc22 2010011876
http://us.penguingroup.com
For my editors,
Lauri Hornik and Liz Waniewski. Lauri, thanks for trusting me with your
baby; Liz, thanks for seeing beyond the awkward, angsty stages of early drafts.
You’re both brilliant.
Chapter One
My name is Natalie Rowan. Everyone knows that. Only a select few, however,
know I’m the evil genius behind my nom de plume, Dr. Aphrodite. That might
seem like a pretty hefty title for a seventeen-year-old junior who’s not even sure
she’s officially made it to what my mom refers to as “heavy petting.” (Ew. I
know. But my other option’s “third base,” which is suspiciously ’80s, right?
Come on, inventors-of-sexual-euphemisms, get on the job!)
To be honest, I dig having a secret identity, even if it is kind of a misnomer. I
think everyone should have at least a part of them that’s self-invented; in fact,
the world would be much more interesting if we all created our own identities
afresh whenever we felt like it. Otherwise you’re just walking around
regurgitating what’s expected, which is like, why bother? I actually plan to mess
up my life and start over every seven years. That way, I’ll never get in a rut. I
read somewhere that most of your cells only live about seven years anyway, so
in theory you literally are a new person; I figure that’s the best time to start over.
I created Dr. Aphrodite when I started writing our school paper’s relationship
column last year. It’s mostly a Dear Abby type deal, where people write in with
questions about love or sex or whatever and I answer them. Occasionally I sound
off blog-style on some current obsession of mine—as long as I can get it past our
semi-fascist censors and it’s relationship-oriented, you’ll see it in my column.
I’ve covered topics like Promnesia (when perfectly sane people forget about
everything except spray tans, strapless dresses, and dyed-to-match pumps),
Brazilaphobia (fear of overly zealous hair removal), and Face Relations (getting
it on with people via Facebook).
Just so you know, being Dr. Aphrodite isn’t always easy. I have to guard my
clandestine writing life so carefully, I sometimes feel like a secret agent. I sort of
hoped writing about romance might help me scare up a little of my own, but so
far that plan hasn’t worked in the slightest. While I dispense sage advice to the
masses about how to make their love lives thrive, my own is virtually
nonexistent. That’s one of the reasons nobody can know my alias; who’s going
to seek advice from a love expert who’s never been in love? Even though my
column’s super-popular, it doesn’t exactly earn me friends and admirers. Only
my two best friends and my editors know it’s me behind the smoke and mirrors.
You’d think at least they would respect me for my massive following, but I
sometimes suspect they don’t take Dr. Aphrodite very seriously.
Which is sad, really. Because what’s more serious than love?
As I walk into the Journalism room, I can hear my editors, Rachel Webb and
Chas Marshal, snickering. They’re hunched over the computer screen, avidly
reading something on the Mountain View News website. At the sound of my
footsteps Rachel turns. For a second she looks caught, but the guilty impulse
passes almost instantly from her face. Her eyes sparkle as she peers at me over
her glasses, pink rabbit nose twitching with delight.
“Look at this one,” Chas says, all excited. “Some guy actually called her a—”
Without taking her eyes off mine, Rachel lets out a polite little cough.
Chas spins around and, seeing me, plasters on a fake smile. “Hi, Natalie.”
Rachel says, “How’s Dr. Aphrodite?”
“Fine.” My voice comes out high-pitched and nervous; my gaze flits from
Rachel to Chas and back again. “What’s up?”
“Your latest column’s getting lots of attention.” Chas leans back in his chair.
“Have you seen the message board?”
“Not since last night. Why? What’s going on?” My tongue suddenly feels dry
as sandpaper.
He stands and gestures at his chair. “Go ahead—check it out. We haven’t
gotten this many comments since those hackers posted porn on our homepage.”
Reluctantly, I sit. The page shows my column, its borders afflicted with hearts
and cupids. I was able to override the cheesy layout in our print version, but
somehow it slipped through online. Bleh. I write a thought-provoking, cutting-
edge column about dating in the new millennium, not a Hallmark card.
Whatever. I skim my column, comforted somewhat by its familiarity.
Dear Dr. Aphrodite,
Help! I really, really like this guy and I think he likes me, but is afraid
to make a move. I’m very popular (sorry, but I am) and he’s kind of a
notch below, socially (don’t hate me! I’m just being honest).
Sometimes I catch him looking at me, but he never says anything
because he’s super-shy. A few times I’ve tried to start up
conversations with him, but it didn’t go anywhere. I think he’s
intimidated by my social status. Should I ask him out?
Sincerely,
Hot for the Art Boy
Dear H-FAB,
I can see your quandary. You’re a gorgeous, charismatic, goddess of
fabulosity (I don’t know you, but I’m reading between the lines). Art
Boy is obviously intimidated! You’re like the sun and he’s squinting
up at you, barely able to see because of your blinding radiance.
Should you ask him out? Of course you should! I bet he’s pining
away for you right this second, trying to work up the courage just to
say hi. Put the boy out of his misery! What do you have to lose? If he
says yes, and he can get over his inferiority complex, you might make
a great couple. If he says no, don’t even trip; it would only prove that
he’s too insecure to handle your tremendous power and beauty.
I scan the page and see a series of comments have been posted—fifty-three, to
be exact. As I reach for the mouse and scroll down to view them, I can feel cold
sweat breaking out along the back of my neck. Chas mutters something under his
breath and Rachel suppresses a laugh, which turns into an unattractive snorting
sound. I shoot her a dark look; she bites her lip.
Posted by: Shredder103
I’ve been reading your column ever since you started it last year, and I
haven’t said anything, but I’ve got to speak up because it’s getting out
of control. Every single week girls write to you for advice and all you
ever tell them is what they want to hear. You have no idea how guys
think or feel about anything! All you’re doing is helping girls at this
school perpetuate their delusions about the world and how it works.
Not once have you ever told them anything useful or sane from a
guy’s point of view. Do us all a favor and stop!
Posted by: BeerHog
i fully agree w/ shredder. who do u think u r dr. aphrodite? last month
my gf wrote u complaining i play video games when i should be w/
her and now she’s nagging me about going 2 couples counseling.
COUPLES COUNSELING? WTF??? im 15!!! damn, gimme a break.
Posted by: Joey
srsly, ur ruining our lives! all the chicks @ mt view high listen to u
and all u do is fill their heads w/ BS!! chas, fire her already!!!
Posted by: Duckmanrocks
Can anyone say “delusions of grandeur”? That’s what happens when
you lose touch with reality and start to believe your own hype. That’s
what happens to girls when they listen to you, Dr. Aphrodite. There
are approximately nine hundred girls who go to school here, and as far