by Jo Knowles
But then Jess IMs me and asks if I want to come spend a weekend with her.
I write back in all capital letters: YES!
She sends back a smiley face.
When I step off the bus, she hugs me close. I hug back and glance over her shoulder at the small wharf and quaint little shops by the water. As we embrace, I feel odd, like people are looking at us. I pull back quickly, but Jess doesn’t seem to notice.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she says. She has a dark tan. Something about her is different. She looks great. Maybe it’s because she seems so much more relaxed than at school. Maybe it’s just the tan.
“We’re gonna have a blast!” She grabs my backpack off my shoulder and drags me up a narrow street. Her parents’ summer place is right in town, a little apartment over the dive shop. Jess’s room is a tiny, renovated attic painted white with a round window with a view of the ocean. There’s a single bed under the eaves with milk crates stacked on top of each other for a side table.
“It’s not much, but we won’t spend time in here anyway,” Jess tells me. “C’mon. Get your suit on and we’ll hit the beach.”
She pulls her tank top up over her head and begins to unfasten her bra. I quickly turn away. My cheeks are hot.
“What’s with you, Laine? We’re both girls,” she says matter-of-factly.
I try to laugh and fumble through my backpack for my bathing suit.
I turn my back to Jess while we both get dressed. I’m sweating.
Please don’t let me have any weird feelings.
Please don’t let her look at me.
Please don’t let her be like Leah.
I dress as fast as I can, trying to hide myself as I do.
But when I turn around, suit on, Jess is already in her bikini, not even paying attention to me. I tell myself to get a grip. I put my T-shirt and shorts back on over my one-piece and we head out.
We spend the day on our towels, pushing our toes into the hot sand as we watch the waves. Jess rates the guys that walk by us and I say higher or lower. Usually I say higher. Jess tells me I should be more picky. But I doubt any of the guys we see would be interested in me. A few of them check out Jess, but their eyes pass right over me.
The first night, we walk down the pier and buy cheap jewelry. Jess wants to get a tattoo, but you have to be eighteen. The whole time we’re walking she keeps brushing up against me. The first few times, it surprises me and I flinch.
Jess isn’t Leah, I tell myself. She isn’t. Is it too much to ask to have a normal friend?
I’m starting to think there is no normal. Not for me.
That night in Jess’s room I spread my sleeping bag out on the floor.
“There’s room for you in here,” she says, patting the bed.
My body tenses.
No. Not another Leah.
I shake my head. Too confused to speak.
“Oh, phew. I was hoping you’d say no.” She laughs. “This bed is way too small.” She takes a folded quilt from the foot of her bed and arranges it under my sleeping bag. “At least let me give you some cushion. I’ll trade if you want.”
“No, that’s OK,” I say, giddy with relief. “I’m fine.”
The next night we walk out on the beach. We lie down next to each other on a blanket Jess brought and look up at the stars. A group of people have a bonfire party going down a ways, but we don’t join them. I watch the half-moon above us and listen to their music. Every few minutes there’s a collective laugh.
“School’s gonna suck with Web gone next fall,” Jess says.
“Yeah,” I agree.
“It sucked enough with him there last year. You two are, like, my only friends.”
I don’t answer at first. The two of them are plenty for me. So I say “Yeah” again.
She rolls over on her side to face me. “You used to have lots of friends in elementary school and stuff, though. Weren’t you and Leah Greene best friends or something? What ever happened to her, anyway?”
One of the bonfire people squeals and I hear splashing. I close my eyes and see myself with Leah and the other girls, thinking we’re so special. We were awful.
“She went to private school,” I say. I sit up and move to the edge of the blanket so I can push my feet into the sand. “After she left, the girls we hung out with kind of drifted apart.”
I don’t admit to her that they were never really my friends. It sounds so pathetic.
“Oh, yeah. Right,” Jess says. “Now I remember. She was really screwed up, wasn’t she? Didn’t she try to kill herself or something? I always wondered if that rumor was true. Was it?”
“I don’t know,” I say quietly.
She sits up and joins me at the edge of the blanket. She nudges me with her shoulder.
“I’m glad I got to know you, Laine. I always thought you were such a snob.” The side of her thigh touches the side of mine. “Now I know you were just weird.”
She elbows me.
I move away a little so our legs don’t touch.
“I was only kidding,” she says, moving closer again.
“I know,” I tell her. But I still don’t want her touching me. All this talk about Leah. If she could see me now, she’d probably think I was a total loser, hanging out with Jess. Or she’d tell me I was attracted to her. But I’m not. I don’t feel anything. Only scared.
I stand up and walk toward the water. I stop where the sand gets hard and let the ice-cold waves reach my toes. With each wave, my feet sink deeper into the sand. It reminds me of when Christi and I were younger and we pretended we were sinking into quicksand.
“You better pick up your legs, Laine!” Jess calls to me. “I’m not getting my feet wet to save you!”
But just then some guy runs by us and starts puking into the water. I turn and run back to our blanket. Jess and I pack our stuff and take off, giggling.
Jess walks me to the bus stop the next day. Before I get on the bus, she wraps her arms around me and squeezes me tightly. “I’ll miss you, Lainey,” she says in my ear. Her breath is warm and wet and familiar.
I jump back.
She looks confused. “Have a safe trip.”
What just happened?
“Thanks,” I say, trying to sound normal. “For everything. I had a great time.”
I heave my backpack up over my shoulder and climb onto the bus. From my window, I watch her standing on the curb. She waves and holds her hands up, pretending she’s typing. “Send me a message,” she mouths.
All the way home, I feel her breath in my ear.
When we first met, Leah asked me if I knew what forever really meant.
“Of course,” I told her. But I didn’t.
“It’s your whole life,” she said. “Friends forever is friends always. No matter what.”
I didn’t know what she really meant. Maybe she didn’t, either. Maybe she meant that some friends stay with you even after they’re gone, haunting you forever.
Two weeks before school starts, Jess IMs to say she’s back and asks me to go with her to Web’s for a reunion.
Web’s house is gigantic, like the Greenes’. He rushes out the front door and wraps his arms around me and kisses me on the cheek. “Hey, girlfriend,” he says.
His arms feel good, holding me tight. He looks surprisingly pale, compared to Malibu-tan Jess.
“Me, too,” Jess says, joining our hug.
Their arms pull me against them, and I don’t know where to put my face. It ends up smooshed against Web’s neck. He smells like expensive soap.
“I have a present for you guys,” he says, breaking away.
We follow him inside. He gets his backpack from a large hall closet and puts it on the floor, then pulls a bottle of Kahlúa out of it. He smiles, flashing us his freshly white-stripped teeth. “Got milk?” he asks, grinning.
“It’s your house,” Jess says. “Do you?”
He rolls his eyes at her and carries the bottle and his backpack dow
n a long hallway. Jess follows, skipping behind him like a little kid.
“Where are your parents?” she asks as she follows.
“Away,” he says over his shoulder.
I walk behind them, loving how normal it seems to them that I’m here, too.
We take a gallon of milk and three plastic cocktail glasses filled with ice into Web’s bedroom and shut the door. We sit cross-legged on Web’s bed in a sort of circle.
Web makes the drinks. We forgot a spoon, so he cups his hand over the top of his glass after he’s poured the ingredients in and shakes. He licks his palm when he’s done and smiles at us. “Who’s first?” he asks.
Jess trades her empty cup for the full one. Then Web makes two more.
“Cheers!” Jess says.
We click cups and drink. It’s cold and thick and sweet. The liquid gently burns in my chest.
Web and Jess pretend to be at a cocktail party, sticking out their pinkies as they drink, so I do it, too.
As I sit on the bed with them, I feel like I’m inside myself. Like I’m this miniature me standing inside my head, looking out through my eyes as if they’re windows. I want to tap on the glass. To shout. But I’m trapped inside. It feels like something else is controlling me, making my arms move, my mouth swallow.
Don’t screw this up, I tell the outside me.
I take another long drink.
Web turns on his stereo. We sit and drink and smile and drink.
“It’s so good to be back together,” Web says.
“Did you miss me?” Jess asks.
“Of course,” Web says. “I missed both of you. Did you miss me?”
“Of course!” Jess says, leaning up against him.
“Of course,” I say, mimicking Jess.
I tip my glass back and finish it off. I feel dizzy and deliciously happy. I lick the sweet off my lips.
Web and Jess lean back against the headboard. I slide over next to Web so I can lean against it, too. We stretch our legs out in front of us. Web starts to make his feet move to the music. Jess and I copy him. Our feet look like six little dancers moving in sync. We don’t say much. I vaguely remember Web getting us more drinks and the room feeling hazy.
The next thing I know, I’m waking up in a bed with a wastebasket next to my head and the taste of throw-up in my mouth. Something warm leans against my back. It’s dark in the room. I don’t know where I am at first, but I recognize Web’s bedspread. The warm thing against me moves and makes a grumbling noise.
“Oh, God.” I sit up. My heart and head throb in unison. I’ve never felt this ill in my life. I try to check my watch, but it’s too dark to see. I scan the room for Web’s digital clock. The orange numbers read 9:15.
Web’s hand touches my shoulder and gently pulls me back down beside him.
He rubs my back softly in tiny little circles, sending shivers down my belly and between my legs. I know the feeling, but it is so much better this time, without the fear. Or shame. I will him to roll me over and kiss me, even if my head is splitting.
Look at me now, Leah, I think automatically, happily.
“Are you OK?” Web asks softly.
I nod, trying to replay the night and figure out how we ended up in this bed together. I still have all my clothes on, but I hope something happened. Anything. I love the way Web smiles. The way he looks at me. The way he pays attention to me. Being next to him now seems almost too good to be true.
Web’s fingers travel up and down my back.
Don’t let him be another Jeffrey Scotto, I tell myself. I hear Leah’s voice, If he really liked you, he would have held your hand.
“That feels so good,” I say, breaking the silence. Keep doing it.
The fingers move in circles.
“You feeling OK?” Web asks softly.
“Mmm-hmm,” I say, ignoring my pounding head. I want so badly to roll over and kiss him, but I can only imagine what my breath must smell like if I was sick.
His hand moves to my head, and he gently brushes my hair away from the side of my face. I will him to put his hand on my shoulder and roll me over to face him.
But then there’s a moan from the floor.
“Ick!” It’s Jess. “The fairies have been making sweaters on my teeth.”
My heart sinks.
“How’d you get down there?” he asks.
He moves closer to me and kisses the back of my head before pulling his hand away.
Quick! Roll over and kiss him back! I scream at myself. But I can’t. Not with Jess here.
When she moves in next to us, I realize Web was just making room for her when he got closer to me. He rolls over and I hear him kiss her, too.
These were “just friends” kisses. “Just friends” back rubs. Just friends. Just nothing.
Thank God I didn’t try to kiss him and make a total fool out of myself.
If he really liked you . . .
Web stands up and stretches. “Breakfast or dinner?” he asks.
Jess and I get up slowly, groaning and pretending our heads hurt even more than they do. In the kitchen, the three of us sit at the table, drinking coffee and eating Pop-Tarts. Jess gives me a long list of excuses I can tell my parents for not calling and telling them I would be late. Web chooses which ones he thinks have the best chance of working. We talk as if we’ve always been friends. At first I hope Web will give me a special look that says maybe we could be more than friends, but I don’t get one. After a while, I forget to watch for it. I just feel happy that somehow I made it to this place, this table, with these people.
As they talk and laugh with me, I watch them as if they are strangers and my only friends in the world all at the same time.
The Saturday before school starts, Web calls me.
“We have a date tonight,” he says.
My heart flutters. All week I’ve been reliving that moment on his bed, his body spooning mine, even if it was a “just friends” spoon.
“What about Jess?” I ask.
“She’s at her grandparents’, remember? We don’t have to do everything together, do we?”
“Well, no, but I thought —”
“I’ll pick you up at around eight, and we’ll have some fun before we go in.”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“It’s a surprise. But bring your dancing shoes.”
“But — I don’t do the dance thing.”
“You do now.”
My stomach is a mess the whole day. Fun before we go in. Dancing. Oh, God. I play a few CDs and practice in front of the mirror, but I look like a total dork. It’s hopeless. Maybe I can pretend I don’t feel well when we get there so I can just sit and watch him.
Web picks me up in the Mini his parents gave him for his sixteenth birthday. It smells like him. We drive forty-five minutes to a club near Web’s new school.
We park in a dark corner of the parking lot. Web cuts the motor, then reaches for a paper bag in the backseat.
“Every time a car pulls in, we have to drink,” he says, slipping a new bottle of Kahlúa out of the bag. “SUVs are two drinks.”
Each time we pass the bottle, our fingers touch and a spark shivers through me. I hope he feels the same thing. But if he does, he doesn’t show it.
We keep drinking. It gets harder and harder to force it down. Finally, Web hands me a piece of spearmint gum.
“Begin now,” he says. He watches the clock on his cell phone and makes us chew for exactly seven minutes.
“OK, we’re good to go,” he says when our time is up.
“Why seven minutes?”
“Lucky number. That’s how long it takes to get rid of alcohol breath.”
“Really?”
“Trust me.”
He winks and I melt.
Despite Web’s theory, I try not to breathe when we sway/walk to the door. It’s a good thing it’s dark.
Web pays the bouncer for both of us as if this is a real date.
Inside, the pl
ace is packed. It smells like Gap cologne, sweat, and hair spray. I recognize a few people from school, but most of them I don’t know. Web nods to a group of guys I’ve never seen. They’re probably from his new school.
The music is blasting. I’m so buzzed, I barely feel my feet touch the floor as we make our way to the bar. There’s a huge line for drinks, which is dumb since all they serve is Coke and fake mixed drinks. As we stand there, it seems like the wall behind the bartender is moving.
Web says he’s going to run to the bathroom. He hands me a ten and says to stay in line. I wait for a few minutes before I realize I have to go, too. Like, right now.
When I step out of the stall, I find a free sink and splash my face with cold water. Please don’t let me get sick. Not here.
When I check myself in the mirror, I cringe. I look like hell. My cheeks are blotchy, and there’s a brown Kahlúa stain on the front of my shirt. Very attractive. I’m surprised the bouncer even let us in, it’s so obvious I’m drunk.
I splash more cold water on my face, then look up in the mirror again.
“Hi, Lainey.”
My heart drops to my stomach.
She’s standing right behind me.
“Leah. Hi!” I try to sound friendly, but I think I sound more terrified. I don’t know if I’m supposed to turn around and hug her, like normal long-lost friends would. But even if I wanted to, she’s up so close behind me I can’t really move. My hands are trembling.
She smiles from behind me at our reflection in the mirror, and I try to smile back.
She’s taller and seems much older than me. Her hair is longer, too, and her face is more defined. She’s even more beautiful. She really could be a model.
I put my hands on the counter to steady myself, feeling even uglier than before. The way I’ve always felt when I’m with Leah.
“It’s nice to see you, Lainey,” she says. “What’s it been, like, a year?”
She moves to the sink next to me and washes her hands. Her deep-red fingernails match her lips. I try to get a look at her wrists, to see if the rumors were true, but she keeps her hands palm-down somehow, and I can’t get a good look.