I can't talk right now

 One day when I was about 16, I got a call from a girl who said her name was Pam Miller. We had gone to elementary school together and I hadn't seen her since, she went to a different high school across town. We had never been friends; my hazy memories of her were of a brash, lumpen child with thick glasses and a page boy haircut. I asked what she wanted and she said she just wanted to talk. She claimed to have gotten my number from another girl I barely knew, someone I'd seen in the halls at school but didn't have any classes with and in fact had never spoken to. 

Pam said she had a friend with her and they just wanted to chat. The other girl said hi and giggled. Being a paranoid kid who was often picked on, I was of course immediately suspicious, but the girls did indeed seem to want to just chat about fairly inane things. I kept waiting for them to mock me, or try to embarrass me somehow. They did ask "So are you cute?" and I said not really, that I had glasses and looked like a nerd. "Oh come on, I bet you're cute," they said. I reiterated the fact that this was, in fact, far from the truth. We talked awkwardly for ten or fifteen minutes, then I said I had to go. 

A few weeks later they called again. They both sort of prattled on about boys they'd been with, talking about how far they'd gone with them, and again I wondered if I was being set up for ridicule. We talked for a little while but in those days I was pathologically shy, so she did most of the talking. It didn't help that both of our phones, huge black rotary things we rented from the phone company, were permanently attached to the wall of the kitchen and my mother's bedroom, and you could only hide as far as the cord  would let you. You always had to keep in mind that everyone in the narrow, thin-walled row home could hear everything anyone said.

It was a number of months until she called again- without her friend this time. My mother answered the phone and I could hear the curiosity in her voice that a girl was calling me. Pam launched into a long story about this guy she'd been seeing. She described their sexual exploits in explicit detail. She was very matter of fact about it all, like she was describing a TV program. I didn't know what to say. t. Part of me wondered if she was still as unattractive as I remembered her. She asked if I was a virgin, and, feeling myself blush, I admitted that I was, expecting her to make fun of me, but she didn't. I've forgotten most of what she said but the detail that sticks with me is her describing the cum stains on the wall along the side of her bed. Eventually she said she had to go and I hung up, feeling sort of disgusted and a little aroused but mostly just baffled.

She called one more time. I answered the phone and told her I couldn't talk. She said okay. I never heard from her again and never did figure out what it was she wanted, how she got my number, what any of it meant. I don't remember if she ever gave me her number; if she did, I know I never used it. Though she didn't seem flirtatious or encouraging, maybe she was waiting for me to ask her out or something, but I was so neurotic and self-conscious  that I wasn't capable of doing so, even if my family hadn't been lurking around every corner. It was just one more thing to add some confusion and awkwardness to my already exceedingly confusing and awkward adolescence.