by Kylie Scott
"Only I just happened to sneak in your window to hang out with you on your bed." He scratched at the beginnings of stubble on his chin.
"Now you're thinking like my mother. Don't do that."
"How old are you?" he demanded.
"Seventeen."
"See, you're not even legal yet. Practically a baby."
"Please." I scoffed. "You've only got a couple of months on me."
"Beside the point. Edith Millen, you are under the age of consent and living in your mom's house," he said, pushing on. "You're smart and you're nice and you've got no fucking business being alone with someone like me and you know it. I'm an ex-drug dealer, for Christ's sake. Apart from math and technology, I'm failing everything. Oh, and PE--I'm passing that too. Seriously, though, you couldn't have picked a worse friend if you tried. Your mother would freak."
"Don't put yourself down like that."
Nothing from him.
"And don't call me Edith." I stood tall, angry all over again. "So what if you've got a history? That's what it is, history. You're trying at school and you've got a proper job. You're also the sort of person who risks his life for a complete stranger. How many people do you think would do that?"
His mouth stayed shut.
"I'm honored to be your friend. You idiot."
"I was just pointing out that your mom cares about you," he said with a hint of a smile. "Considering how pissed you were at my folks for giving up on me, her rules aren't so bad."
"Even if we are breaking them."
"To study," he clarified. "But thanks. Grab your books."
"I'll get my math textbook too; I think I'm failing," I said. "You said you could help with that, right?"
"Absolutely, I'm great with numbers. Ran a successful business for years, didn't I?"
"You mean selling dope?"
"Yep."
Wide-eyed, I looked him over. John as an entrepreneur. An illegal one, but still. "Guess I never thought of it that way."
Leaning back against the wall, he got comfortable, legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. John Cole on my bed acting right at home. Happiness. Still, I tried not to let my body or brain get overexcited. We were just friends, after all. And the more I kept reminding myself, the sooner it would hopefully sink in. Crushing on friends wasn't smart. God knows, his friendship was a big part of what kept me sane-ish these days.
"Building the customer base, getting and keeping their loyalty, dealing with all of the different suppliers, keeping track of everything," he said. "I'm not just a stoner, Edie. Hell, I didn't even smoke that much. Well . . ."
"Well?"
"Most of the time. Anyway, I was in it for the money, and that meant taking it seriously."
"And your brother's still dealing?"
"Oh, yeah. He's his own best damn customer." Pain filled his eyes, there and then gone in an instant. Shoved aside.
"I'm sorry. I'm glad you got out, though."
"Me too." He patted the mattress. "Stop delaying. Come on, you explain this Poe guy to me and I'll help you with your math issues."
"Deal."
"And hey, Edie?"
I got busy rifling through the contents of my schoolbag. "Hmm?"
"You're cute when you're pissed off."
My head snapped around like the chick from The Exorcist, but he was reading his textbook, not even looking at me. Weird. "Thanks. But I prefer the word fierce."
Me: I'm bored. Text with me.
John: About what?
Me: Anything. What's your favorite color?
John: I don't know. Green. I'm guessing yours is black
Me: Truth. Tho it's not really a color, it's a shade or a tone or some shit. Favorite food?
John: Pizza. You?
Me: Tacos.
John: Good call. Music?
Me: Lots. Too many to have a favorite.
John: Me too. Movie?
Me: Deadpool. A perfect balance of funny, hotness, and wrong.
John: It was good. TV show?
Me: Used to be Stranger Things but now I'm not so sure. You?
John: Samurai Jack. Why are you not sure?
Me: I don't know. Maybe I need more happy and light in my life.
John: Fair enough
Me: I loved Orphan Black too.
John: Excellent show
Me: You didn't say your favorite movie...
John: I dunno. Star Wars
Me: A worthy classic. Tell me something I don't know about you.
John: Like what?
Me: Anything you like.
John: Hell
John: Sometimes I eat pop tarts for breakfast
Me: What?! No... truly you've exposed your innermost self to me. I never would have picked you as a pop tart guy. My entire mental image of you is messed up now. It's like the whole world has been turned upside down.
John: Great. Your turn
Me: I like texting you.
Me: And occasionally I eat pop tarts too.
John: :)
Because happiness is overrated, things fell apart again between John and me the next week.
It came in the form of John standing by his locker covered in Erika's hands. The girl couldn't seem to decide what part of him to publicly grope first. His chest, his lean hips, the hard lines of his arms. So classy, the way she tried to dry-hump his leg. I sincerely hoped he remembered to wash himself in disinfectant when she finished.
Why that bitch? Any other female and I'd have dealt. But no, poor delicate feelings and wounded heart, broken loyalty, etcetera. Without a doubt, it was my fault for getting all dreamy and delusional about the boy. Even though he's just my platonic friend, to let that ho fondle him in the hallway after everything she'd said . . . how could he?
Before either of them saw me, I about-turned and made for the nearest exit. The brave thing to do was to immediately run away. God knows what would happen if I stayed. A limb might fall off or something. I'd made it through a solid three-quarters of Friday without hiding from reality by locking myself in a bathroom stall for a half-hour or more; to expect anything else of me this week would be insane.
"Hey," said Hang. "You're going the wrong way."
"No. Nope." I shook my head. "Unless, of course, you want to watch that Erika chick attempting to mount John next to his locker."
"What?" Hang wrinkled her nose. "Ew."
"I know," I said. "And while I realize the school's sex education policy could be seen as inadequate, actual real-life demonstrations are not what I'm after."
"Fair enough."
"So I'm ditching school for the first time. It's my next new experience, I just decided." The smile I gave her was in all likelihood slightly unhinged. "Take notes for me, pretty please?"
She shook her head. "Screw that, I'm going with you. Let's get out of here."
First we stopped at Auburn Coffee Company, because caffeine. Next, decisions were made. An empty Friday night loomed ahead. This would not do.
I won't lie: some fear and guilt lived inside of me over skipping school. But I valiantly ignored those trash-talking fools. So what if I got detention again or they told Mom? Actually, I'd prefer if Mom never found out; her stress levels over me were high enough. It was, however, one measly class in my entire school career as opposed to the end of the world.
"I was abducted by aliens," said Hang, sitting cross-legged on her bed. The aforementioned plans included a sleepover at her place. Since her parents had a very well-stocked bar and they'd gone out for dinner with friends, we'd finished our coffees and started on some beer. "They stole me straight out of a school hallway. There was nothing I could do but allow them to carry out their sick and perverted tests on me."
"God, you poor thing." I sipped at my drink.
"Did I mention that all of the aliens looked like male models?"
"All those probes. You're so brave."
"I try." She sniffed. "What about you? Why did you miss your last class?"
"Oh, I slipped and
sprained my left breast," I reported with a straight face. "Had to go home and rest it immediately."
"Absolutely. That sounds excruciating."
"Very." I gave my boob a pat. "The doctor said I mightn't be able to wear underwire for weeks. We're talking possible sagging here. The pain is real."
Hang cracked up. "These are problems us flat-chested girls will never have. You and your rack stay away from me. I'm sticking with my sports bras and comfort, thank you very much!"
Some reality television show played in silence on the small flat-screen hanging from her wall. Pictures she'd drawn or painted covered another wall, the subjects ranging from self-portraits to friends, houses on her street, and small everyday things from around the house.
"You really are crazy talented," I said for not the first time.
"Shut up."
"You are."
"No." She downed a mouthful of beer. "Dad is crazy talented. I'm average."
I just shook my head.
"Me and my brother are lucky," she said. "Between Mom being an accountant and Dad an art teacher, we've got both the left and the right side of the brain covered."
"I'm not sure I've got any of the brain covered," I joked. "Mom is smart. She had to drop out of college to have me, though. The sperm donor wanted nothing to do with us. His loss."
"Bastard."
I shrugged.
Sure, it sometimes stung, but that didn't change the truth of it. I was loved. I would not allow the douche canoe who'd broken Mom's heart and let us down so badly to mess with my head. No emotional reunion would be coming up, no understanding and ultimate forgiveness. For me, he didn't exist. One parent who loves you can be more than enough. The end.
"So," she said, lying on her side, holding the beer back up to her lips. "When do we start texting insults to John?"
"Um, never?"
Her mouth opened wide in surprise. "No, come on. He let that bitch touch him after she said all of that shit about you. Where is the loyalty?"
"I don't own him. If he wants to have bad taste in women, that's his problem." It made me die a little on the inside, but no biggie.
"No way, you can't let this go. Friendship! Comradery!"
Maybe I should have told her the tale of him coming to my rescue when my back tire had blown out. But even though I really liked Hang, trust still didn't come easy. My privacy had been invaded enough in the last few weeks for me to now value it deeply.
She held out her hand, fingers beckoning. "Just give me your phone. I'll send him one small, concise message, that's all. Something along the lines of 'I hope you had a nice day and that your penis falls off.'"
"No. We are not drunk-texting John."
Two hours later . . .
"Is cock splash one word or two, do you think?" asked Hang, chewing on her bottom lip while she studied the screen of my cell.
"You're calling him a cock splash?"
"Inventive, isn't it?"
"Yeah." I stretched out on the bed at her side. The ceiling seemed to be doing some trippy spinning thing. "I wish I'd thought of that one."
"It's like I told you, vodka helps with creativity. It unleashes the artist within."
"Obviously."
"My brother is not going to be happy that I stole that bottle out of his room. Though I really don't drink that often. Still, we should hide the evidence and not tell him. And we should definitely not let my parents find out." Her cell chimed again and she grabbed it off the bedside table. You had to admire the girl's ability to multitask. Who knew how many different people she'd been carrying on text conversations with tonight? "Oh, that's nice. Carrie and Sophia's dinner with Sophia's parents is going well."
"That's good." I sighed. "Everyone should be happy and in love and shit."
"Hmm. Either that, or drinking and sending boys imaginative and angry texts."
"Yeah."
A pounding noise came from the front door. We both sat up, startled, then we began laughing for some reason. I don't know, it made sense at the time.
"My brother must have forgotten his key." Hang climbed off the bed and I followed because curiosity, but also bathroom break time. Fortunately, we hadn't changed out of whatever clothes we'd worn to school. No one would be meeting me in my pajamas, for a change.
The house was a long, low-set brick ranch, the walls covered in big, bright, beautiful canvases. All of the paintings done by Hang's dad. If he'd been my parent and I'd been into art, I'd be intimidated too. He was good.
More pounding on the front door.
"Patience," called out Hang, flipping the lock and swinging the door open.
"Ladies." Anders filled the doorway, his smile wide. "You were wrong, JC. They're not messily drunk at all."
Something inside of me--my stomach, my pride, I don't know--sank lower than the floor. I grabbed Hang's arm, whispering, "You told them we were here?"
"Anders tricked me."
I frowned. "How?"
"He asked me where I lived."
"H-how is that a trick question?" I asked, bewildered.
Hang flailed.
The boy in question, however, chuckled his ass off. Jerk.
John pushed him aside, striding into the hallway. He was not happy. "Any particular reason you sent me the address for every STD clinic in the state?"
I opened my mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. "Well, you know, that's actually really useful information for anyone to have."
He remained unconvinced. "And you want my tiny, useless dick to shrivel and fall off why?"
"Man," Anders laughed. "That one cracked me up. Though they were all pretty good."
Hang grinned. "We did half each."
"Nice work." He held up his freakishly large hand and they high-fived. Awesome.
Meanwhile, a vaguely homicidal expression filled John's eyes. "Edie?"
"Like you don't know," said Hang, all goodwill and joy now gone from her face. "Turncoat."
John just looked at her, brows drawn tight.
"Erika," she spat at him.
"Erika?" John turned to me. "What about her?"
I looked elsewhere. The floor, the walls--these were all super-interesting things greatly deserving of my immediate attention.
"Beside your locker this afternoon," said Hang. "After all that shit she said to Edie. How could you?"
Anders whistled, leaning against the wall, getting comfortable.
"She was so upset, she ditched school for the first time ever," Hang continued, standing tall. "Her education is ruined. Because of you."
Smite me now please, baby Jesus.
John bent over, getting into my line of sight. "Edie, she came up to me and I told her to get lost. Is that what you need to know?"
"I . . . You did?" I asked. "But you let her grope you first?"
"Christ. I told her to get lost, okay? She just took a while to get the message." He straightened, pulling the usual rubber band out of his pocket and tying back his hair. "Plenty of girls out there. Why would I mess around with one who insults my friends?"
I didn't get to grope him, so why should she? Still, in the end he'd done the right thing. I sighed in relief, ignoring the quick jab of jealousy. "Oh."
"Well, this is awkward," whispered Hang.
John stood in front of me, waiting.
"Sorry," I said, grimacing. "But you have to admit, it looked really bad."
"We dating? We together or something and I didn't notice?"
"What? No."
"Well then?"
I frowned.
Arms crossed, he said nothing.
"Okay, so the insult texting . . . we got a bit carried away. I, um, I promise in the future I'll only use your number for good instead of evil."
"I'd appreciate it." His eyes, they still weren't happy. Couldn't really blame him, either.
"Okay kids." Anders clapped his hands together, rubbing them. "We're here now. What entertainment can you offer?"
"Want to watch a movie?" aske
d Hang, closing the front door.
"Solid idea."
Together, they wandered off toward the family room, discussing which film to pick. John and I, however, stayed put.
Fingers twined together, I offered him a small repentant smile. "Sorry for being a rampaging bitch."
"Next time you got a problem with me, Edie, come to me directly," he said. "You're right, I probably should have cut Erika off sooner. But how was I supposed to get her hands off me, hmm? Pushing a girl back in front of school cameras doesn't look good."
He might have had a point.
"I'm used to people thinking I'm shit, but I expected better from you," he said, eyes wounded.
"I don't think that."
"So why didn't you trust me?"
My alcohol-soaked brain had nothing.
He looked away, shoulders still stiff. "Only reason I talked to her in the first place is 'cause she had a message from my brother. She still buys from him."
"Oh."
For a long time he said nothing. "Tell Anders I'll see him later."
When he left, he didn't slam the door or anything. The quiet dismissal was almost worse.
"What about this one?" Mom asked, holding up another top. "It's cute."
I squinted at the item over the edge of my sunglasses. "Notice the part where it's not black?"
"Everything you wear has to be black?"
"Yes. Pretty much."
"Okey-dokey." With a heavy sigh, she returned the top to its rack.
We were in the approximately two square feet of space the department store had designated as being "Plus Size." Whatever. Usually, the internet had some goodies for me to wear. Like hiding those sizes away in cyberspace made the bigger, more fashionable brands remain cool and distanced somehow. Jerks.
"Can we go look at makeup now?" I asked. Sephora being the main reason I'd suggested driving down to Roseville to hit the Galleria. At least there, I didn't have to worry about squeezing into things.
"Sure," said Mom. "You do know you're not fooling anyone with those sunglasses, right?"
"I'm cool and mysterious."
"No, honey. You're hung over," she corrected. "I'd tell you off, only I did the same thing a time or two at your age and I prefer not to be a hypocrite whenever possible."
"And I love you for it."
"Hmm. Doesn't change the fact that I worry about you," she said. "I hope you were reasonably sensible and in a safe environment. You were at Hang's the whole night, yes?"
"I was." I pushed my glasses up on top of my head, rubbed at my weary eyes. "Bad things happen, I know. Promise we weren't doing anything dangerous."
Her frown continued. "And you know you can call me anytime, no questions asked, if you need a lift home."