I sat through AP English watching the VHS tape Mrs. Rickie recorded of The Scarlet Letter  from PBS. It was the version that came out before I was born. She had vetoed us watching the Demi Moore movie, not because it was too explicit for school, Mrs. Rickie was pretty cool that way. She hated it because they deviated so far from the book in the end. As a reward for our essay writing, we were punished with the movie companion of each book on the list. I like to think she was just giving us a break from a class lecture. At this point I wasn't sure which one was worse.

I don't know why I chose The Scarlet Letter for my essay. I guess it appealed to me in some way. Maybe it was because Hawthorne writes about a world surrounded by puritans in New England, and I lived in the bible belt of East Texas in Pure Pines. It felt appropriate.

"Okay, that's it for today. Stay tuned for when Dimmesdale squeezes the pus out of the letter "A" he carved on his own chest." Mrs. Rickie laughed at her own joke as she hit the power off. Collective disgust rang audibly through the classroom and the bell rang for lunch.

"It's true, they back it with a sound effect and everything.  Oh, Adrian, could you hang out a bit for a few minutes. I hate to cut into your lunch, but I'm very excited about this and I had to speak to you guys."

"No problem." I put my notebook together and headed towards her desk. When I looked behind me at the exiting class, I saw July standing in the doorway waiting to come in. She was in that school girl skirt outfit I saw this morning that I had already saved a multiple images of. It's not like I expected her to change, I guess I didn't expect to see her again this morning. There is only so much a guy can store in his memory bank before he explodes, if you know what I mean.

Watching her enter the room a little longer than I should have, I assumed this was about debate. Only, shortly after it wasn't Lane or Reagan who came next. It was Brandon Powell. He was third in our class and a total dick.

"Hello July thanks for coming. Don't you look nice today? Brandon, come on in. I don't want to keep you all too long, but I did want to run something by you. There is an essay competition over the classics, and we can only send in one from the junior class for a small scholarship award. It's not much, more on the merit end." Mrs. Rickie looked us all over and continued.

"Anyway, you three were my top essays. Now, it took me time to really deliberate on this. I mean, you guys know the rest of the AP juniors had free rein over which classic to write about and many chose other titles. I felt a bit odd that my three best came from The Scarlet Letter, and I had to question myself as to whether this was a biased decision over my personal favorite classic. The thing is, Hawthorn offers a great deal of symbolism, critical analysis, and possibly one of the most subjective pieces of literature. I think the proof is in your three very different essays." She walked back behind her desk and began fumbling through papers.

I couldn't help but look over at July. I was so curious what her take on it was, and how we differed in our understanding of it.

"It's a huge bummer I can only send one, because you each touched on some interesting points that made me reconsider my own understanding of Hawthorne's intention. I thought what might serve is a small discussion where we share each of your takes on what you three differed on. Your original essays will stay the same, but I'd like to assign an amendment to them. We'll just have you tag on a final section that either confirms your opinion after you've heard the other points of view or justifies theirs as well in some way. So, you can agree with one of your fellow essay writers here, or deny their theory, or justify your own against theirs. I just need to read it." She pulled our essays and began sifting through the flagged pages.

"Some of the major themes I want you guys to touch on, I'll just read right out of your essays... July, you wrote of the minister, bachelor Dimmesdale, that his biggest downfall was his insult to Hester Prynne in that: "He didn't even include her as his partner in crime."

"Yeah, but that's because he thought it was HIS FAULT. He took full responsibility." Wow. That flew out of my mouth fast. I was suddenly protective over a fictional character.

"That's it! That's what I'm wanting this discussion to bring! Thank you, Adrian, for jumping in. You each have such valid points that have long been in the discussion over this piece of work, and I want you to challenge each other with them." Mrs. Rickie looked back and smiled at Brandon. "Nothing ever really gets heated here Brandon... these two are on the debate team together, so you'll just have to jump right in with them."

"Well—" Brandon stammered to come up with something to say until he was cut off by someone who did have something.

"He most certainly did not." July snapped toward me. "I'm sorry, Brandon... Mrs. Rickie. But the idea that Arthur Dimmesdale took any form of responsibility when Hester Prynne spent seven years enduring public ridicule. She was exiled from society and her only contact with them was to be punished by them with no word or explanation from him what so ever! Meanwhile... She stayed there for him."

"She should have just left!" I directed that a little too strongly toward July. I tried to pipe down a bit. "Instead, she tortured him by staying." I continued down the list. "She kept secrets from him. She let him be tormented by her psycho husband!"

"Yes, and when she told him, he wasn't going to forgive her at first. He said he would forgive her, but he didn't!" July shouted back in my face.

"He was angry! She deceived him!" We were face to face yelling.

"No!" July declared firmly. "He even says, "Hester, I have not your strength." He admits it!"

"Admits to what?" Brandon tried to chime in at the wrong time.

"BEING A COWARD!" July and I both shot back at him simultaneously. Her eyes were burning at me and her little top lip quivered a bit. I was very close to forgetting we were in public.

"There you go." Mrs. Rickie stepped in. "Do you see how two exceedingly different opinions over their behavior came to the exact same conclusion? Brilliant you two! Now, to your thoughts about the ending... Again, all three of you had different conclusions."

"It was clearly a tragedy." I spoke up to state the obvious.

"July..." Ms. Rickie paused to flip to the last essay in her pile. "Adrian's essay does a remarkable job of explaining the tragedy these to figures suffered together, yet, I flagged where you wrote that the ending was a waste. It was very interesting that you fell in love with these two and wrote so eloquently about what they must be experiencing and then called it all a waste. Now, Brandon, and Adrian, you two did have similar ideas towards the ending being tragic, but what about July's idea of it being a waste?" Mrs. Rickie looked at the three of us excited.

"Wow. That's a powerful choice of words, especially if we consider most tragic characters in history are long suffering from their own torment or fatal flaws, whereas the true definition of a single tragedy encompasses distress, great suffering and destruction commonly from a natural catastrophe, or serious accident. Just different imagery there I encourage you all to explore when you read the notes I've written on each take. 

We sort of have one of you suggesting it was the fault of in our stars; be it fate, society etc. One of you suggesting it was both their faults collectively, and the other suggesting their individual fault in the circumstances." 

I saw July's face drumming up something.

"Yes. It was Hester's fault for waiting for him and believing it was love, when he only felt guilt or compassion for her being caught. He didn't love her past their moment under the sun no matter how much we want to believe in the love story of it. In a way, Adrian is absolutely right, had she left town when given the option,  he would have gone on about his business and been the climbing, successful minister he had originally intended to be."

It startled me when she said my name, and gave me credit. So much so I failed to realize she was using it against me. 

"July, are you saying that had he not been forced to watch her suffer he would not have made himself to suffer along with her in secret?" Mrs. Rickie looked truly intrigued with her head cocked toward July.

"Yes, and I'm saying he was a coward and did not choose to out himself the way she was forced out, for that same reason. He wasn't in love with Hester Prynne. He was in love with his career and the social status of his own ambitions. Add religion and you get the guilt, shame and compassion he felt he had to punish himself with for his moment of weakness with her."

July really nailed that one in a way I had never thought about, but I didn't care. She was wrong about me!

"No." I fired back. "He did love her and that was the problem. It was his torment. She was the one thing that would get in the way of everything he knew and ultimately wanted. He couldn't throw away what he had worked for his entire life for something that went against every fiber of his being and was ultimately the unknown with her. No matter how much he loved her. It would be insane."

Brandon shook his head and whispered something under his breath.

"What did you say?" I called him out.

"I said get a room." Brandon called us out.

"Sure, so you can have the Cliff Notes over what happens?" I shouldn't have said that. Brandon was cocky and arrogant and obviously didn't like being ignored, but whatever he put in his essay was obviously subpar to ours, and he had nothing to offer in the conversation. That wasn't lack of debate skills, he simply hadn't read the book as thoroughly as his essay suggested.

"Okay, guys take it easy on Brandon. This isn't debate, just a healthy discussion over Hawthorne. Brandon, I apologize I didn't mean to fuel the fire with July's essay, but I was very intrigued by how her point of view differed from your essays. Something to consider on the last patch you all write. Now get to lunch or what you have left of it!"

July smiled at Mrs. Rickie and flew out of the room first. I guess that was her solution, to just leave like I said Hester should have left. Words she would no doubt punish me for.

There wasn't enough lunch remaining for me to bother going to sit with everyone. I just unwrapped something from the vending machine. As I moved toward the trash can I saw a crumpled piece of paper hit the floor.

"Yo, man you dropped this." I called after Darrall Neely, at least I think that's who was hidden under that large flannel shirt.

"Nah, man. I'm done with it. I don't ever keep my drawings." And he was off.

What a weirdo. I picked up the crumpled notebook paper to toss it in the trash bin and was face to face with the girl who walked away from me. She wasn't in the hallway or standing next to me. Her face was the drawing. The image had such a likeness that I got a tingle all over. The dude had drawn her face. The hair and eyes were a bit lighter, but it was undeniably her face. I folded it in my pocket as the bell rang before anybody could see me with it. I hoped at that moment I didn't look as crazy as I felt.

Later that day I met up with Lane in Mrs. Rickie's room. She wasn't in there. It was her conference period, but she let us use it during study hall for debate prep. I don't know if it was being there after the great Scarlet Letter throwdown or the face on the drawing that was burning a hole in my back pocket, but I couldn't stop thinking about the things that July said. Then my mind would drift to that skirt, those legs... I'd never really noticed her legs before. Did she get taller? And then I'd think about that guy, Darrell. How did he draw her like that? It was good. It looked just like her, but did she pose for him in class or something?

"Earth to Adrian. Bro, are we going to win our case with silent treatment? Lane waved his hand in front of my face.

"Sorry man. I was—somewhere else. What were you saying?"

"Just that if we keep our case as is and have a rebuttal for each of the known squirrel cases that—" Lane was laid back and smart at the same time, but there was something goofy about him. Word was the girls from our class would say he was hot until he opened his mouth. He was a good guy though, and an excellent debate partner.

"Anyway, I was thinking if we win at the first meet and go on to regionals... wait, when does track start for you?" Lane finally landed on a question for me to answer.

"Training starts next week, but even if we go to state in both, I already checked the calendar. This year they won't conflict. Why? Are you not running track?"

"Umm, I may do cross country, but everything else gets in the way of the pool starting up come May. I'm better at long distance and stamina above speed anyway if you get my drift." Lane raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Shut up, man!" I laughed. "Hey, you work with July at the pool, right? You two lifeguard together in Prairie?"

"Yup."

"Is that... weird working with her in the summer and then seeing her at school or in debate?"

"Are you asking me what it's like to see her in a swimsuit when none of you guys get to, then come to school and see her in regular clothes and pretend I haven't handled looking at her stuff for years?

"Well, that's a way to put it."

"Why, you want to know if they're real?"

"What?"

"They are. For sure."

"Wait. No—I didn't ask you about her... and what would make you think they weren't real. This isn't Beverly Hills."

"No, but it is Pure Pines, and if you don't have something someone else does, you go buy it. I can point out a few fake ones for you."

"Maybe some other time. Back to how you know July's are real."

"Oh, well I haven't seen them completely topless, but I've spent summers since we were kids on swim team with her, and then last year sitting next to or across from her every day both wet and dry in a swimsuit. Anyway, when hers came in and she got her nipples, they do the perfect round on the bottom before they dip up thing. Fake ones don't do that, they just sort of have the round and a dot in the middle that's normally too centered. And a lot of real ones that don't have the perfect round, have completely awkward shapes."

"How do you know all of this? And wait, what's the "perfect round"?"

"They dip up. Perfectly round on the bottom like a tit is supposed to be and then it dips up at the middle. That's the kind you want. Sort of the perfect handful with the nipples pointing up. Perky, I guess is a better word."

"I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"Why, you into her? I can tell you more."

"Are you into her? You seem to know an awful lot."

"Nah, man, I had a crush when we were kids, but I'm into quantity over quality. She's quality. Come on... don't look at me like that. I spend the entire summer staring at babes in swimsuits. We are only young once. Quantity is the way to go."

"Babes. Wow. And what do you mean she's quality?"

"You know. That egg would take a whole lot of work and time to crack open. But it's not just who she is or how smart she is, I mean physically too. Trust me, she gets more credit for her looks in Prairie than we fools give her here. All the girl guards are pretty top notch, except the bitchy ones. Let's just say the one thing they all have in common might keep you up at night if you know what I mean."

"No." I shook my head at him. "I can't imagine what you mean at this point."

"Bro! You have got to get out more! You don't bang chicks at the country club after work?"

"What? Do you at school or work?"

"Oh, yeah, I've been laid, and no, realistically it doesn't happen every day, but that's why I say quantity over quality. Girls are like slot machines. Getting a yes is a numbers game. The quantity system is putting a quarter in the slot knowing eventually it will pay off, whereas with quality like July, well, you can keep your quarters. A prize like that you gotta' wait for. Except for that one thing she has in common with the other guards. It sometimes makes me wonder if she may not be as prudish as I know she is."

"You're killing me bro. Just what do they all have in common."

"Well, the girl guards, the ones that came from swim team, which includes July... they shave all their pink parts. Religiously."

"You mean... no—anything down there?"

"Scout's honor. Smooth as a baby's butt."

"Well, the baby thing is not entirely an appealing thought."

"Oh, trust me. When you do get laid... it is. Clean shaven is da' best!"

"Okay, sorry. At risk of me putting myself yet again in the best, worst, John Hues film... What makes you think July is... or doesn't have any um... down there?"

"Wait, what... Ohhhh, Sixteen Candles. Good one. Dude. On the swim team, even the guys shave their legs and sometimes their heads if they advance in a top heat and it comes down to seconds in a race. For girls, it's more of a convenience thing. Speed is always the excuse between girl talk among the swimmers, but they mostly do it because they are half naked every day of the summer and it's just easier not to have to worry about your junk poking out of a swimsuit. So, they shave everything off to be smooth as a whistle in their suits."

"And July..."

"Oh, right. Well, I knew this about her from swim team, but how do I know she is currently clean shaven and as smooth as a baby's butt as we speak?"

"Would you please stop making that reference..."

"Anyway, last year in the guard room when our suits came in, the guys changed in the locker room, and the girls changed in the guard room. We could hear them talking through the vent clear as a bell. The pool was empty, there was no music or outdoor noise. Literally every word they said. One of the new rookie guards that never swam on the team said, "Ugh, I hate this material it gets all caught up in your..." Then our head girl guard said, "That's why I shave my shit. So you don't have to worry about it." The new girl said, "Yeah, but isn't it a nightmare when it grows back, and hard to shave again?" And... wait for it, that's when July, plain as day, said, "Well, you just keep it up and don't ever let it grow back. It's easier that way." And that is how I know."

"Okay, well, today has certainly been enlightening."

"Anytime man."

"Yeah, on that note, I've got to get to next period."

"Sweet Dreams." Lane raised his eyebrows. "Oh, but don't say anything. I mean, if you tell her I told you, I'd have to mess your face up. She may be hot, but we go way back. She's... my friend."

I gave a lazy salute to him above my very confused look on my way out. What the Hell just happened in there? First of all, I learned far more about my debate partner than I ever desired to know. Second, IF I needed any more in the vault on July before, I did not now. Her outfit today was already killing me. Now I knew what was under those tights, and it was really hard for me to be furious about the things she said in the essay discussion which I was still upset about. However, it didn't mean I didn't want to take her tights off on Mrs. Rickie's desk and--

"Hey! Darrall. Wait up, man." I couldn't believe it. There was that kid again in the flannel. If I had tried to find the guy every day for a year I wouldn't have seen him once. Or, to be fair, maybe I never looked before.

"What did you mean you never keep your drawings?" He looked up at me a little startled.

"And why did you draw her hair lighter and her eyes a lighter shade? She has darker brown hair, not sandy brown, and her eyes are deep brown."

"If you say so. I just draw what I see. There's a girl in my class a seat over from me. She let me borrow a pencil sharpener, and I liked the way her hair and eyes glowed under the fluorescent lights when she looked back to hand it to me. She looked curious and sad, so I drew it. That's it."

"But you threw it away?"

"I told you; I throw all my drawings away." Darrall jetted off from me toward another hallway, but his persistence in leaving did not stop mine in asking.

"Why?" I shouted after him.

"Because you're only as good as the last thing you did."

And that's when I had my mind blown for the third time that day.