Melt With You

by Addison Moore

  I don’t know why I’ve never partied like this before. Everything that Jennifer and I have done, even the things we deemed so wild with Heather seem juvenile compared to this. Jennifer was right. I needed to grow up—only it wasn’t going to happen with her.

  “I have to pee.” I wheeze the words out, barely audible.

  Stacey drags me to the bushes, and I dive in, trying my best to yank my panties to the side and squat. Mr. Stegmiester, my old health teacher, once tried to describe an orgasm to a class filled with hypersexual one-track mind teenagers. He said people thought that single bodily function was the best feeling in the world, but, he stressed, if you really have to go to the bathroom and you finally get to go, then that could be the best feeling in the world. His suggestion was that the best feeling in the world was subjective at the moment depending on your needs. Right now, this piss is the best feeling in the entire damn world, and I owe it all to Stacey and her need to illegally procure liquor cleverly disguised as soda. My life has finally turned around, and I’m actually having fun. Stacey is cool, and that makes me cool by proxy. Not to mention that she’s my newly declared “best friend.”

  A stray branch scratches over my bare ass.

  Yup, things are finally shaping up for me.

  I think Stacey Riley might just be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

  Joel

  What the hell was so funny?

  Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.” starts up over the speakers, and half of the girls scream and howl along, but I don’t take my eyes off Melissa—or at least the bush she’s currently squatting behind.

  I know for sure she’s never partied before. Stacey Riley is turning out to be the worst thing that’s ever happened to her.

  Stacey helps pull her from the bushes, more like drags, as Melissa adjusts her skirt. Judging by that yellow waterfall pooling onto the concrete, you don’t need to be a brain surgeon to realize Stacey offered her a bush in lieu of helping her to the bathroom.

  Crap. Melissa is going to hate herself in the morning, but nothing like the way I’m hating myself right now.

  Toby’s party amps up in both volume and the swelling crowd. The band finally takes the stage and starts blaring away so loud I expect the cops to break us up before we ever hit midnight.

  “Let’s blow this place.” Kelly steps in close with her thigh wrapping itself around me like a leash. “So I can blow you.” Her eyes steady into mine. She’s been pulling out all of the seductive stops tonight, trying her best to land me where she wants me most—on top of her for the night. I know Kelly. This is just a ploy to get us back together. I’m sure she already has a big to-do list once we reprise our roles as Glen Heights’ “super couple.” But it’s not happening.

  I’ve spent the last twenty minutes listening to mindless bullshit over who’s really new wave and who’s just a poser. Russell is doing his best to bang Michelle tonight¸ and he practically begged me to stay put to help him get some leeway. But one of Melissa’s crutches flew into the pool, and if one of the guys from the basketball team hadn’t retrieved it, I was about to dive in after it.

  Melissa is laughing hysterically, falling to the ground with her leg twisting beneath her.

  “I gotta go. Have fun.” I mock shoot Russ. I’m pretty sure he’s in. Michelle is no Rubik’s Cube. All cheesiness aside, she’s easy like Sunday morning.

  “Hey?” Kelly pulls me back by the shirt. “Like why don’t you come with us? We’re headed to Jack’s Crack. I know how much you love those deep fried tacos.” Her blue lashes bat a mile a minute. “Twenty per order, right? I’m buying tonight. It’s the least I can do after you kicked some Tiger ass.”

  The Topher Tigers were no easy win, and normally, I’d take her up on the offer. As for the tacos, I can take them thirty at a time, but I usually save that treat for after a grueling practice.

  Melissa tries to stand and slips right back to the ground, her legs parting unnaturally, her skirt hiked up around her crotch, putting on a show for everyone to see. This time I don’t hesitate and jog on over.

  Peter helps her up, and I pull her toward me, away from Stacey as if I were plucking her out of a fire.

  “Dude”—Peter pushes me off and tugs Melissa toward him—“get the hell away. You don’t fucking own her.”

  “Neither do you.” I pick up her crutches off the lawn and help Melissa steady herself. She looks up, her eyes glassy, unfocused, her smile dulled as she tries to catch her breath.

  “Thanks you.”

  Great. She’s tanked.

  Stacey pulls a wine cooler from somewhere near her armpit and hands it to me. Appetizing.

  “You want a BJ?” She cackles into her words. “I guess the real question is who’s going to give it to you.”

  Melissa joins her in a wild choo-choo train laugh that spans several minutes. I glance to Peter, and he looks just as pissed as I do.

  “I’ll get her home.” I pull Melissa’s arm over my shoulder and scoop her crutches up with my other hand.

  “Where do you think you’re taking her?” Peter rages as if this were a kidnapping in progress.

  “To her house. Where do you think I’m taking her?”

  “I don’t know, dude, but I’m not liking this.” His chest puffs up, that ridiculous hat constantly plastered to his head gets in my face, and it’s all I can do not to sock him. But as pissed as I am, I appreciate the fact Melissa has a friend who’s willing to look out for her.

  Melissa moans as I pick her up with every other step and hoist us further along toward the driveway.

  Peter jumps in our way again. “Crap! I can’t just let you take off with her.”

  “Relax, she’s not a painting. She’s a person. I’m not going to hock her on the street. I’m going to get her into bed.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” His feet do a weird little tap dance as he tries to land Melissa’s other arm over his shoulder.

  “Peter!” Melissa moans, pulling away from him.

  We make it to my truck, and I toss the crutches into the back.

  Melissa lets out a horrible belch, and here it comes. She dips her head down toward my front tire, and a pink river gushes from her mouth. All thoughts of kissing her quickly vacate the premises, save for one, and that brief fantasy involves a shower and a serious bottle of mouthwash.

  “Feel better?” I pull back her hair, and she nods, wiping down her lips with the back of her hand.

  Peter stops his bitching and helps me land her in the passenger’s seat, buckling her up, suddenly happy to see her go.

  “She might puke again.” He slaps me an unenthused five.

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “I’m about to give you another one.” He gets in my face; the dull light bounces off his angry eyes. “I know for a fact if her brain was functioning, she’d be shitting bricks. Get some coffee in her or something before her old man gets wind of this—or you might never see her again.”

  “Got it.” I’ve dealt with my fair share of disgruntled parents, but Melissa’s father looks like he can actually finish the job. Most everybody’s folks that I know are your typical yuppies. But that day in the ER, he looked old school, like he’s had a few brass knuckle switchblade days in his storied youth.

  “You going to be okay?” I tap her on the hand, and she looks up at me with those day-glow green eyes, and my stomach heats into a puddle. This girl right here has me drooling. A goofy grin comes to my face. I can’t believe this—although, it shouldn’t surprise me. She’s all I think about from when I wake up until I fall asleep, and don’t even get me started on what the thought of her does to me in the shower.

  I take off and hit the drive-thru at Jack’s Crack. It’s still early, so there’s no one from Glen here yet, but as soon as the cops chase them out of Toby’s, they will be, and from here they’ll head to Concord’s, the overlook that butts up to the cliff. I order ten tacos—going easy tonight, an extra large soda, two cof
fees, and one sweet roll for Melissa who hasn’t stopped groaning.

  “You want me to pull over? Do you think you’re going to be sick?”

  “I’m not sick. Are you sick?” She makes a strange honking sound and laughs her ass off.

  She’s still pretty messed up. I get my order and drive us down to Concord’s, taking the primo spot right in front of the moon and the white spray of light it lays over the water. It’s perfect up here.

  “I’ve been here more times than I can count when I want to get away from it all,” I offer.

  “Get away from Kelly!” She laughs into her fingers like she can’t believe she said it. She’s right, though.

  I turn the radio to her favorite station, and “Dancing with Myself” vibrates through the speakers, so I turn it up.

  “I love Billy Idol!” Melissa’s hands shoot up and knock into the ceiling as she proceeds to rock out in her seat. A dull moan comes from her as she falls back against the door, and suddenly I’m fearing a vomit reprisal.

  “I got some coffee for you, but it’s still pretty hot. You can have my soda if you want.”

  I hand it to her, and she guzzles a third of it down. “I’m getting a mean buzz off this.” She moans before looking up at me, confused. “Is this a mean buzz?”

  “That would be a first. I believe the mean buzz came from all those wine coolers you downed. Maybe you’re getting a sugar rush.”

  “You want some sugar?” Melissa tousles her caramel waves, and her hair actually moves. Every other girl at Glen has the same helmet hair, curls that reach the ceiling in what my mother calls “a rat’s nest.” Melissa tears open her blouse so hard and fast, half of the buttons launch at me like bullets.

  “Whoa.” A dark laugh rumbles from me as I try to deflect her fashion emergency. “I think you’re probably going to regret doing that.”

  “No.” She bats the air. “Not doing that.” She whines out the words, and it’s cute as hell. “Do me.” Her lips purse like a pouting child, and I nearly choke on my taco. I’m sure she didn’t mean it. If it were any other girl, I would have considered it an official invitation, one that I would have happily accepted. But this isn’t any other girl. This is Melissa. My Melissa. I inch back at the thought. Where the hell did that come from? Was that douchebag right when he said I thought I owned her? Not true. Not true at all.

  I hand her the coffee and help get a couple of solid gulps in her.

  “Thanks.” She sinks in the seat so low the only thing keeping her from slipping underneath the dash is her cast. “Joely?”

  “Did you just call me Joely?” I hold back a laugh. Tiffany used to call me that when we were kids. Tracy still does sometimes.

  “Sorry.” She spanks her lips.

  “No, I like it. I should think of a nickname for you, too. How about in keeping with the theme, Melly?”

  “Smelly?” She points to herself and shakes her head.

  “Maybe not. How about just Mel? It’s cute. It’s special. It fits you.”

  “Mel.” She bites down on her bottom lip and giggles. “Does Joely think Melly is special?” Her eyes water, and I’m not sure if that’s because the coffee is so damn hot or she’s about to cry.

  My initial inclination is to say something sarcastic—something like “Joely thinks Mel is special” with a prolonged accent on the word, elevating it to another meaning altogether. Although, I think teasing drunk people is a bit mean, especially when they’re as cute as she is.

  I take a breath of the fresh night air pouring through a crack in the window. I’ve said I love you to girls before, but mainly because they said the words so easily to me that I knew they couldn’t mean much. But somehow the words I’m about to share with Melissa, Mel, feel that much more weighted. It’s as if she has the ability to rein the power back to the words and make them mean exactly what they were designed to from the beginning. Kelly lives in a whitewashed world of her own making, but Melissa lives somewhere much more sincere, where you can count on everything she says because you know it’s as good as gospel. And I want to be able to do the same for her.

  “Yes, Melissa, I think you’re special.” I swallow down the football forming in my throat. “You’re special to me.”

  Her eyes widen, showing off the liquid emeralds that lives in them. “I think you’re really special, too.” She nods. “Sometimes, at night”—her jaw falls slack, and for a second I’m unsure I’ll ever hear the end to this story—“I put my hand down my—”

  “I’m going to stop you right there.” I roll down the windows and let the cool air steal the scent of coffee from around us.

  “I think about you.” She giggles and honks for good measure.

  “I think about you, too.” I give a quick wink, and her mouth rounds out with surprise.

  Less than a few minutes later, Melissa is out cold, sleeping off her buzz. And from what I can tell, it was probably her first. I might suggest she keep it her last. I like Melissa any way she wants to be, but Melissa doesn’t need to get liquored up to be great. She’s pretty great just the way she is.

  About an hour later, she wakes up, holding her temples, so I drive her home.

  “Was I really stupid?” she asks as I help her to the porch.

  “No, but you honked a lot. You sure you weren’t a car in your other life?”

  “Kill me.” She buries her face in her palm a moment.

  “No, it was perfect. You didn’t do anything too bad. Personally, I was shocked you didn’t attack me.”

  That flirtatious smile finds its way back on her lips as her teeth glow like milk in the lamplight.

  “Like sexually attack you?”

  “No.” I’m quick to rebuff the idea, not that it didn’t cross my mind. “Like in the Kung Fu fighting kind of a way. Some people get combative. You were pretty mellow.”

  “So, what you’re saying is, I’m a nice drunk.” She looks wounded by the thought.

  “Better than a mean drunk.”

  “I guess I’m just not that exciting anyway you slice it.”

  “You’re plenty exciting.” There’s an awkward pause as she fumbles for her key and jams it into the door. “You want me to help you to your room?”

  “Are you kidding?” She looks up at me from under that forest of lashes. Kelly’s lashes look like dead spiders, but Melissa’s look like a mascara ad. “I’d take you up on the offer, but I’d like to live to see another day.” She shrugs and plucks at her hair as an awkward silence clots up the distance between us.

  “Can I kiss you?”

  Melissa flinches at the idea. “I puked. That’s actually one thing I remember pretty clearly. Thanks for holding back my hair by the way. You’re a real friend.”

  “You never answered the question.” My finger finds its way to her cheek. Melissa has the softest skin I’ve ever felt. I figure at this point that cup of coffee counts as mouthwash.

  “How about I take a rain check?” Her face floods with color, and I can feel the heat pooling on the back of my finger. “You’re one of my favorite people to kiss.” She shrugs it off with a giggle.

  A quiet laugh rumbles through me. “You’re one of my favorite people to kiss.” True story. “How about I pick you up tomorrow night? We can do dinner and a movie if you want.”

  Her jaw goes slack. I’m not sure why she would find this so unbelievable. I’m just a person, and I happen to be interested in her. Isn’t that what people do? Go to dinner and a movie? It’s been so long since I’ve orchestrated a date. I never realized how much Kelly ran the show until I cut her loose.

  “I can pick you up at seven.”

  “Seven.” She gives a spastic nod as she falls into the house and slams the door in my face. I don’t move a muscle, and sure enough, she opens it again. “I mean good night!” She shuts the door with a bang before swinging it right back open. “I mean yes. Yes, I’ll go out with you—at seven! That’s like my favorite time ever.” Her fingers fly up to her lips as if trying to push t
he words back in. “Like seven.” She gives a nervous wave and shuts the door. “Good night, Joely,” she whispers through the door and lays her hand over the opaque window cut into the center of it.

  “Good night, Mel.” I place my hand over hers, and we stay like that for an inordinate amount of time.

  Melissa is special.

  Hell, I think we’re pretty special together.

  6

  We Belong

  Melissa

  Normally I would have called Jennifer straight away—heck, my fingers almost did. I had to hang up twice just to spin the right numbers to get ahold of Heather earlier today. It’s almost seven¸ and she’s been here for the last few hours helping me get ready for my date with Joel.

  “Date,” I say as I rake the brush through my hair. “As in two people actually going out together for the sole purpose of being together in a non-platonic manner.”

  “Would you stop with the weird definitions? And whatever you do, please don’t ask him to engage in French artifact linguistics. It’s not normal. He’s going to think you’re a geek and kick you to the curb.” Heather takes the brush from me and sprays my hair back into submission with the Aqua Net she’s armed herself with.

  “I am a geek.” I fan the air in front of me, trying to get the fog to dissipate.

  “Are you like totally psyched he asked you out?” Heather works hard applying just the right amount of blush to my cheeks. She’s all decked out herself, with her hair teased straight up and sprayed stiff as a board. Her face is pale as death, only to be contrasted with her midnight black lips and her eyes heavily rung with kohl. But it’s her black lace teddy that’s going to get all of the attention tonight. My mom would die before she ever let me out of the house like that, but then, Heather’s mom seems to have a similar dress code, so it’s not that big of a deal.

  “Sort of.” Hell yes, I’m psyched. “I mean, we’re kind of always together, but this is pretty cool, I guess. It’s different. I mean, like Saturday is the holiest date night of them all—right?” Seriously? I’m dying inside, but I totally want to play it cool. Once I start to lose it, my entire night will have the power to unravel like a cheap sweater. “By the way, thanks for lending me this outfit.” I spank the Guess denim miniskirt that I would never have been able to afford. Plus, she lent me a black lace top and an entire sleeve of rubber bracelets in both pink and black—so many that they trail all the way up to my elbow.