by Jo Knowles
When she straightens, she checks me out.
“You’re a little pale, Lainey,” she says in a suspicious way. “What have you been up to?”
I roll my eyes and try to look cool. She knows the answer.
“Excuse us,” some girls say, annoyed that we’re hogging the mirror. Leah steps behind me again and frees up a sink. My heart beats hard against my chest. My head is throbbing.
“You look good, Laine,” she lies.
Our eyes meet in the mirror. She has dark eyeliner on with glitter eye shadow. Her red lips are covered with a shiny gloss. She looks way too old and sophisticated to be at a bar on teen night.
“Uh, thanks,” I say. “You look good, too.”
We both know good isn’t the right word to describe either one of us. She is beautiful. And I am not.
She’s standing so close, I feel her breath on the back of my neck. I wore my hair up in an attempt to look more feminine, but with Leah behind me with her perfect curvy body, I feel anything but. Just like old times.
The other girls leave, rolling their eyes at us. Some new ones squish in. I just want to get out of here, but Leah’s blocking my way. I pretend to tuck a wisp of hair back into place as if there is really anything to do in front of the mirror besides loathe my appearance.
“It’s nice to see you out, Laine,” Leah says. She flicks her hair back over her shoulders. “Are you here with friends?”
“Just one. My friend Web.”
She raises her eyebrows, but before she can make a comment, I ask her who she’s with.
“My boyfriend,” she says. She rolls her eyes when she says it. “Speaking of which, I better get going. He freaks out when I’m gone too long.”
I think of my dream and the faceless man driving her away. Her blood on the window. I don’t let myself look at her wrists again.
The sink next to us opens, and she steps in, leaning close to the mirror to put on another layer of shiny red lip gloss.
“OK, well, it was great to see you again,” I lie, stepping away from the sink while I have a chance.
“Hang on,” she says. “I’m coming, too.”
Before we get to the door, she takes my arm to stop me. I try to shrink away from her, to swivel around her, but she leans in close and squeezes my arm harder. I smell her cherry lip gloss mixed with some kind of alcohol.
I turn my head away. Our faces are so close, I swear she could kiss me. As I turn, her wet lips brush against my ear and she whispers into it.
“Remember when we used to mess around, Lainey?”
I push away from her, afraid someone has heard.
“What are you talking about?” I glare at her and rub the gloss off my ear, regretting all the months I’ve felt sorry for her, worried about her. God, she hasn’t changed at all.
“You remember,” she whispers.
“I have to go,” I say.
She follows me out to the dark hallway.
I turn and face her. My head is pounding, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. “What do you want?” I almost hiss.
“I know it bothers you, Lainey, but there’s nothing wrong with it.”
I glance toward the men’s room. “I need to find Web,” I say.
“Just wait, Laine, OK?” She reaches for my shoulder, but I shrug her hand away.
“I’m sorry, Lainey. I was just messing with you.”
Just messing with me. Just messing around. Just messing up my entire life.
She sighs dramatically as she steps closer to me. “God, Laine, you’re so uptight. You have to get over it. We were just kids. We were just experimenting. Everyone does it.”
Then why do you torment me about it?
I wish I dared to say the words out loud.
Her face softens. “Hey, truce, OK?” She reaches for my shoulder again, but I step back.
“Come on, Lainey. It’s just a joke. Look. I’m glad I ran into you. My mom told me she brought back that stupid doll a while ago. I tried to tell her you wouldn’t want it, but she kept insisting Sam had given it to you, not me. I was going to call you after, but I forgot.”
She fidgets with the strap of her top. “You remember that doll, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, remembering how I threw it into the closet. “I was surprised when your mom showed up with it.”
I don’t know how we’re suddenly having this casual conversation after what just happened. All I want to do is get away from her. But I stay.
Leah rubs her wrists and looks down the hall toward the dance floor, like she’s looking for someone. “Fucking Sam, that prick,” she says.
I peer down the hall, too, wondering who she’s watching out for.
“What do you mean?” I ask. “He let you take the doll that day. If you want it back, you can have it.”
She presses her temples with her fingers and leans against the brick wall next to us. “I didn’t want the fucking doll,” she says. “I didn’t want —”
She stops.
“Fuck it. Never mind.”
“Didn’t want what?” I ask. “What happened with him, anyway?”
She looks away from me and out toward the dance floor again. “Forget it. It’s over now.”
Her eyes look glassy, like she’s trying not to cry.
“God, Leah. What did he do to you?”
Her bottom lip drops. Our eyes meet.
Just tell me, I think.
“Hey! I thought you were gonna wait in line!” Web comes bouncing over to us.
Leah fake-smiles at him.
“Hey, Leah,” he says, like they’re acquaintances but not friends.
Then I remember. They’ll be at the same school this year.
“I’ll see ya later, Lainey,” she says, quickly grasping my wrists and squeezing. But when I give her a concerned look, she kisses the air at me and transforms from the girl about to cry to the girl about to pounce.
“Have fun,” she says sarcastically, nudging her head at Web. Then she saunters off confidently, as if nothing happened.
“What’s her problem?” Web asks as she struts away.
I shrug. I can still feel her hands on my wrists.
“She was in one of my summer classes. I think she was doing our English instructor. He was always checking out her ass.”
“Leah was in summer school?” I can’t believe straight-A student Leah would ever need to take special classes.
“Yeah, but she hardly ever came. I think she and the instructor had their own private lessons.” He smirks, and it annoys me. It annoys me that he did it, and it annoys me that I even care. I don’t know exactly what Sam did to Leah. But it doesn’t give her the right to treat me this way. Screw that.
“C’mon. Let’s go dance,” I say. Clearly, I must still be drunk, since I would not in a million years suggest this at any other time. But now I just want to show her. I want to show her I’m with Web now. I have a friend. Maybe a boyfriend.
Web takes my hand, and we shove our way onto the crowded dance floor. It doesn’t really matter that I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s so packed with people, we’re all like one massive body waving back and forth. Web and I put our hands in the air and sway, our stomachs pressed up against each other. I look around for Leah, but I don’t see her.
But just because I can’t see her doesn’t mean she can’t see me. Look at me, I think. Look at me with a boy. I’m over you. I’m not what you think.
I press closer to Web, our pelvises touching. He smiles at me and rocks into my body. I want to kiss him, but I don’t dare. Could we be an us? I’m so light-headed, I can barely feel my feet or hear the music or feel the sweat I know is beading on my forehead.
I will him to kiss me, but instead he looks down at me and smiles, as if this is the best fun he’s ever had. As if I am his best friend.
Later, when we’re leaving, Web holds my hand so we don’t get separated in the sweaty crowd. We slowly inch toward the exit sign while people push and bump against us. T
hen someone grabs my other wrist. I panic, thinking I’ll get separated from Web. I try to pull away, but the person holds tight. I don’t need to look down at my wrist and see the long, graceful fingers, the deep-red nail polish, to know who it is. She manages to squish between two people, pulling my arm as if it’s a tow rope. She motions to Web and smiles.
“Nice try,” she mouths at me. Then she lets go and disappears back into the crowd.
I squeeze Web’s hand harder and let him pull me out of there. But Leah’s nice try lingers in my ear, and I can’t stop wondering what she meant. Did she know I was trying too hard to make him like me? Did she know I was trying to show her I was into guys? Or, worse, did she know Web would never be attracted to someone like me?
The first week back at school, Jess tells me that one of Web’s friends is having a huge party Saturday night.
Before the party, I go to Jess’s to get ready. She makes me change my shirt and wear a tank top. She tightens her lips and looks at my chest like she’s disappointed. She sticks out her own and admires it in the mirror.
“Maybe if you stood up straighter,” she says, jutting her chest out ever farther so her boobs almost touch the mirror.
I let my shoulders slump forward again. Whatever. Like I want anyone looking at my chest. Like I would know what to do if they did.
We sneak a few drinks from her parents before we leave, just to loosen up. Jess’s parents are always having big parties, so there’s plenty of alcohol in the house, and her parents never notice when some goes missing.
When we get to the party, I already feel buzzed. There are about six or seven cars in the driveway. We see Web through the huge kitchen window that overlooks the front walk. We have no idea who lives here, but it’s like a mansion compared to our own houses — even Web’s. We pause outside to check out the kitchen scene. Web is doing shots with some guys we don’t recognize.
As soon as we step inside, Jess grabs Web’s shot glass and downs one, then refills the glass and gives it to me. I sniff it.
“It’s raspberry Chambord,” he says. “You’ll love it, Lainey.”
I smile at him, hoping to see something in his eyes that says he likes me back. Nothing.
He pours the shot glass three-quarters full, then tops it off with some cream from a purple carton. I tilt my head back and fill my mouth with the sweet stuff. I swish it around before I swallow. It’s delicious.
“Mmm,” I say.
“Told ya.” He winks at me, and I actually blush.
We finish the bottle and then switch to vodka and Sunny Delight. It doesn’t compare, but by then I am willing to drink anything.
Most of the night is a blur. I spend it standing against a wall in the living room, watching people dance and feel each other up at the same time. I don’t know how many people are here. Lots. I don’t know any of them.
Jess disappeared with a guy about twenty minutes ago, confirming that our time in Maine was just my freakish paranoia. Leah always told me I was a bad judge of character. She was so convinced everyone had a story. Sometimes when we were at a public place like the beach, she’d whisper each person’s secret life as they walked by. Whenever I made something up, she’d shake her head and tell me I was a bad people reader.
“You’re just afraid to look closely,” she’d tell me. “You don’t want to know the truth about people.”
I’d look again at all the people walking by, but she was right. I was afraid to look too closely.
I take one last look around for Jess before I go to the kitchen for some more juice. Straight juice this time.
The light is off when I get there, but when I flick it on, someone yells, “Cut the shit!” I shut it off again and walk quietly to where I think the fridge is. When I open the door, the light clicks on and I see two bodies pressed together, leaning up against the marble-top counter.
“Fuck sake!” a familiar voice says. I quickly grab the juice and swing the door shut. It’s Web.
I turn to leave, but I can’t help looking to see who he’s with. Web looks away, burying his face into the person’s neck. It’s the guy who gave us the raspberry stuff.
“Sorry,” I manage to mutter. I stumble through the room, leaving Web and the stranger in the dark.
I don’t know why I’m shaking. Like I’m the one who was caught, not him. But caught? It’s not like he was cheating on me. It’s not like . . . It’s not like he was ever going to like me more than as a friend.
I should have known. I should have looked closer.
I replay the night at the bar in my head, with me trying to get Web to kiss me. And Leah, right before we left, smirking and saying, “Nice try.” I thought she was talking about my pathetic attempt to look like I was with a guy, which now seems infinitely more pathetic.
She knew the whole time. Of course she knew. They were in summer school together. Web said something about being able to be himself there, but I was too clueless to know what that meant.
I manage to push my way through the living room of dancing bodies, down the hall, and out a sliding-glass door to a huge stone patio. I sit down on the ledge overlooking a pool made to look like a pond.
How could I be so stupid? How could I not have known? Everything makes sense now. Maybe I should be glad. He wasn’t attracted to me because he’s gay, not because there’s something wrong with me. So why am I not relieved?
“Hey,” a whispery voice says behind me.
I turn and see a guy I don’t know but recognize from inside. I think I saw him dancing.
“I’m Lucas.”
“Hi,” I say. “Laine.”
“Strange name.”
“Yeah.”
He sits down next to me.
“You have amazing eyes,” he says.
Really?
No. I know it’s a lie.
The jug of juice sits next to me on the bench. I wish I had more to drink.
He takes a long swig from his own red plastic cup and smiles at me.
“Can I kiss you?”
Before I answer, he leans forward and presses his lips against mine, forcing them open with his tongue, which is cold from whatever he’s been drinking. Coke and something stronger.
This is not the first kiss I imagined.
I see Web in the kitchen again, being held.
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter and concentrate on kissing the stranger back.
He puts his arms around me and slides me closer so our chests touch. He moves his hand from my back toward my front at my waist. I’m still trying to figure out the kissing thing, thinking, Oh my God oh my God oh my God, I’m Frenching a total stranger, when his fingers find their way under my tank top.
I feel like one of those cartoon characters when they hit their head and little birds spin around like a halo. I am so wasted. And yet every sensation in my body feels very, very, very alive. His thumb presses under my bra and finds my nipple. Oh my God oh my God oh my God. It feels good. Scary, but good. Very good.
The sliding door wooshes behind us.
“Lainey? You out here?” It’s Jess. She calls out innocently, even though I know she sees me.
The hand slips out of my shirt at the same time the tongue leaves my mouth. Lucas — that was his name, right? — pushes away.
“Uh, later,” he says. He doesn’t even bother to smile.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand as he dashes off, leaving me to wonder how the hell that just happened.
“Nice,” Jess says, nudging her head in the direction he fled. “Sorry to interrupt, but you looked like maybe you needed to be saved.”
“I guess,” I say. The excited feeling oozes out of me and off into the shadows. Why do I feel like I’ve been caught doing something bad?
“You seem”— she inspects my face —“sad.” She sits down next to me.
I shrug. “I’m stupid — that’s all,” I tell her.
“Stupid how?”
I shrug again. And then, I don’t mean to, but I s
tart to cry. Only a little, but enough for her to notice.
“Hey,” she says. She moves closer to me and puts her arm around me. “Was that guy bothering you?”
“No.” I wipe my eyes with my wrist. I’m an idiot. First for being so amazingly clueless about Web, then for letting a complete stranger feel me up.
“I didn’t — I didn’t know about Web.”
“Know about him how?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Know what?”
“I walked in on him and another guy.”
“You mean you didn’t know he was gay?” She looks shocked.
“Yeah.”
At first I think she’s going to laugh, but as she sits and thinks, I see her put it all together, and instead of gloating, she squeezes me to her. “Oh, Lainey. That sucks,” she says.
I rest my head on her shoulder and cry quietly. Not because I’m sad that Web and I really don’t stand a chance, but because Jess is here, being a friend the way I always imagined a friend should be.
For the first time, I don’t feel uncomfortable when she touches me. I just feel comforted.
When I recover, we open the orange juice and pass it back and forth. Jess tells me about the guy she hooked up with in some bathroom, and I tell her about my five minutes with Lucas.
The sliding door opens again, and Web steps out, all disheveled. We crack up.
“What?” he says, but we just get hysterical.
“Move over.” He squeezes between us and takes a long swig from the juice. “Great party,” he says. “Next weekend, it’s at my house.”
Web’s first party is a blast.
It’s easy to make up an excuse for staying out all night. All I have to do is tell my mom I’m staying at Jess’s. Sometimes there are benefits to having your mom think you’re a loner freak.
There’s this picture of me, Web, and Jess on my screen saver. We’re wasted, but to the average clueless mother, we simply look really, really happy. I’m sure it makes my mom ecstatic to see me in a photo with friends — and I’m even smiling.
At the party, someone from Web’s school has managed to score a small arsenal of serious stuff from their parents. It’s nasty-smelling, but Jess is good at finding ways to hide the smell — even the flavor — when necessary. We play drinking games to force down the first few chugs. After that, the taste gets better.