Perfectly Clueless

by Madeleine Labitan

  I slap his hand away. “Shut up. I’m not drunk.” Only the words end up sounding a little slurred.

  My eyes snap shut. I am drunk. How the hell did that happen? Last I checked, I was only on my second cup. Or was it the third or fourth and I just didn’t notice?

  Shit.

  “Let me take you home.”

  I shake my head, making myself nauseous. “No. Nick will take me home.”

  “Like hell he will,” Dylan snaps. “You’re not riding in his bike in that condition. You’re going to fall off.”

  “You’re not the boss of me,” I sneer, poking his chest with my finger. “Why don’t you go back to your girlfriend and leave me alone, huh? I’m sure miss goody-two shoes is already biting her nails worrying you got lost.”

  His expression softens. “Are you mad at me, B? Is that what this is about? Because of Kristen?”

  Yes, you idiot!

  I bite back that retort and force out a laugh. “Of course not. Why would I be mad at you? You got a girlfriend. Big deal. Who cares? It’s not like there were no other girls before she came into the picture.

  “I mean, you and Nick were constantly outdoing each other in the numbers department. Two girls a week minimum, right?” I end my sentence with a conspiratorial wink.

  “Bianca.”

  “Sorry,” I hiccup. “Did I offend you?” I don’t even sound apologetic at all. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Kristen. Although it would be stupid of her not to know. You weren’t exactly being secretive about your hookups.”

  I’m being bitchier than usual. I should stop while I’m ahead. But I can’t help myself. The alcohol in my system is making me spew venomous words. Like it’s goading me to hurt him the way he hurt me.

  Dylan closes his eyes, his jaw clenched tight, as if he’s reaching for patience.

  A flicker of guilt stabs at my chest. I know I’m being unfair. It’s not like he’s purposely hurting my feelings. He hasn’t any clue I’m hopelessly in love with him. He’s perfectly clueless.

  I run a hand through my hair. “You know what? I’m sorry. Just ignore what I said. I’m gonna go back to Nick now. Don’t bother looking for me later. Like I said, I’ll just ride with him.”

  “Don’t be a stubborn-ass, B. I’ll be the one to take you home. And we’re going now. Kristen will just have to catch a ride with her friends.” He grabs my hand and starts to pull me toward him.

  That’s when I feel it.

  I’m gonna pull a Cady Heron.

  Shit.

  No sooner than I thought that, I bend over and vomit the contents of my stomach all over his shoes.

  “For fuck’s sake.”

  Way to end the night, Bianca.

  Three

  I hate hangovers. They're a humongous pain in the ass.

  I don’t always get drunk so I rarely end up suffering from hangovers—last night was maybe the third time I’ve ever been wasted—but right now it feels like I’m having the worst of the worst. I swear, it’s like someone is splitting my head wide open with a sledgehammer over and over.

  As much as I’d like to blame Dylan for giving me the case of the worst hangover, I can’t. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s me. I let my misery get the better of me. And for what? It still didn’t change the fact that Dylan has a girlfriend.

  Massaging my temples and grumbling to myself, I get out of bed and pad gingerly toward the bathroom. After relieving my bladder, which was already close to bursting, I squint at my slightly blurry reflection in the mirror, taking in my appearance.

  My otherwise round-shaped hazel eyes look like that of Peaches’s after she had a major tantrum. And my long dark brown hair is in complete disarray, some of it literally sticking in every direction.

  Ugh. I look like shit.

  "This is on you, Bianca." I give the mirror a dark scowl, then wash my face and wrestle my bird's nest of a hair into a ponytail.

  There. Now I look halfway decent. Sort of. Now, where's that aspirin?

  Head still pounding, I step back into my room and blindly look for the glasses I hadn’t worn in over a year. I don’t think my eyes can take wearing contacts today.

  Sliding them onto my face, I grab my phone from the nightstand and head downstairs. When my eyes find the time on the screen, I groan. It’s already past noon.

  No, that’s actually a good thing. Mom and Dad aren’t home at this time of the day. Which means no one’s around to lecture me about staying out late and partying like I’m twenty-one. To think I promised my dad I’d get home before midnight. Did I even make true to that promise? I honestly can’t remember.

  But when I reach the kitchen it’s not empty. Adam’s there.

  He smirks when he sees me. “Well, hello there, sleepyhead.”

  I flip him off and move for the bathroom to get aspirin from the medicine cabinet.

  “Long night, huh?” Adam is leaning against the galley, watching me wash down the aspirin with water.

  “Spare me the lecture.”

  He folds his arms over his chest. “That’s kind of hard to do when you got home passed out and Dylan had to carry you to your room.”

  I go still. Dylan had to carry me to my room? “I passed out?”

  I try to recall that moment from last night, but the last thing I remember was puking all over Dylan’s shoes. Which was seriously gross. Then...nothing. But I clearly remember the hurtful words I hurled at him.

  “Oh, God.” I close my eyes and slap my forehead.

  “What?”

  “I was such a bitch to him last night.”

  “Aren’t you always?” The casual way he says it makes me want to strangle him.

  But then my eyes widen. “Did Mom and Dad see me like that last night?”

  “Lucky for you, no. I was the only one awake. They were sound asleep. Which was a good thing. Otherwise you’d be grounded for the whole weekend.”

  “Definitely a good thing.” I smile at my twin. “Thanks, Ad.”

  “Eh, you’d do the same for me.”

  I so would have. Our parents, especially Mom, can be hard on us whenever we screw up. Nagging lectures, unlimited household chores, strict home-and-school routine, etcetera. Definitely not fun.

  My stomach grumbles, interrupting our conversation.

  Adam laughs.

  I make a face. “I think I’m gonna head out. I’m suddenly craving for pizza and milkshake.” I pause for a second. “Are you going somewhere? Can I borrow your car?”

  Adam shrugs. “You can take it. Maddie’s coming over later, anyway.”

  “Weren’t you just with her last night?”

  He blinks. “Yeah. What’s your question?”

  “Aren’t you sick of each other yet?”

  “No.”

  “Right.” I roll my eyes, then empty my water glass. “Later.”

  Walking out of the kitchen, I almost bump into my four-year old sister who’s barreling in my direction. “Hey, Peach.”

  “Bee!” She wraps her little arms around my waist, hugging me tight. “Where have you been? You weren’t here last night.” The corner of her adorable lips are downturned.

  I run my hand through her hair. “I was out with friends, Peach.”

  Her brows knit together. “With Dylan?”

  “Uh-huh. And Nick and Sloan, too.”

  “Did you have fun?”

  No, I didn’t, sis. “Of course.”

  Deciding she’s done with me, Peaches hugs me one last time then runs into the kitchen.

  Smiling after her, I make my way back into my room for a much-needed bath. Pizza’s waiting.

  An hour later and I’m walking through the doors of Todd’s Pizza—a.k.a. the best pizza place in town. It’s owned by its namesake Todd Wilson, who happens to be Nick’s dad.

  I settle into an empty booth by the window, my mouth watering from the delicious pizza aroma wafting in the air.

  “Hey, what can I get you?” I glance up to see El Mitchell, Nick’s cous
in and Principal Mitchell’s daughter, holding up a pen and a notepad.

  I stare at the pink highlights on her hair, momentarily distracted. Wasn’t she just rocking gray highlights a week ago?

  “Bianca? Hello?” She waves a hand in front of my face.

  “Right.” I blink and pick up the menu on the table, although already knowing what I’m going to order. “I’d like strawberry milkshake and double cheese pizza—medium.” I pause, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. “On second thought, make it a two large and to-go. And can you throw in some fries?” I’m not going to eat alone.

  “Gotcha.” El nods her head as she jots down my order.

  When she walks away, I take out my phone and type a text to Dylan. I owe him a thank you and an apology.

  Hey, you home?

  I figure I’ll take the pizza over to him if he’s home. If he’s not, I’m sure Adam and Maddy and Peach will appreciate the afternoon snack.

  Wait. What if Kristen is at his place? I’m not in the mood to invite her to my pizza party.

  I’m about to text Dylan again when my phone pings with a message.

  Dylan: At the shop with Dad. Y?

  If he’s at his Dad’s auto shop, then it means he’s helping out with customer repairs. Which, in turn, means Kristen isn’t anywhere near him.

  What is she going to do there, anyway? Leer at him while he work?

  Admittedly, that’s my M.O. whenever I come to hang out on the shop. It’s his fault for being hot even while covered in grease.

  Don’t judge.

  Grinning to myself, I send a response. Be there in twenty.

  Four

  Just like I suspected, Kristen is nowhere to be found when I get to the shop. It’s just Dylan and his dad Walter, plus a few mechanics in the garage, working on different vehicles.

  The guys glance up when they sense my presence and let out wolf whistles when they see the pizza boxes and bag of fries in my hands.

  Harold, one of the mechanics, even calls out, “Girl, are those for us?”

  “Just the one,” I laugh, handing over a box.

  “Is this some kind of a bribe?” Dylan cocks up a brow as he approaches—looking sexy as usual in coveralls—and wipes his greasy hands from a towel before taking the other box from me.

  “Are you complaining?” I fish out a fry from the paper bag and pop it into my mouth.

  “Hell no,” he snorts, opening the box and taking out a slice.

  “Language, son,” Walter chides, walking over to us. Then to me he smiles warmly, “Hi ya, kid.”

  “Hey, Walt. Busy day?”

  “You can say that.” He scratches his nose, smudging grease over it, and stands next to his son to get his own slice of pizza.

  I watch the two of them side by side. Walter looks exactly the older version of Dylan. They have the same dark eyes, same prominent nose. He’s also just as tall as his son. And their hair even sport the same classic crew cut. Only difference is that while Dylan’s is jet black, Walter is rocking gray hair. But he sure looks fit for someone who’s nearing fifty. Dylan only needs to look at his father to know what he’ll look like when he gets older.

  My stomach grumbles again, reminding me I haven’t eaten my share yet.

  Smirking, Dylan hands me a slice.

  “Thanks.” I take it, pretending not to feel the tingles that spark across my skin when his hand brushes against mine.

  “Okay, I’ll leave you two to it.” Grabbing another slice of pizza, Walter taps Dylan on the back and winks at me before walking away.

  I pretend not to see that. I don’t know if he has any idea about my feelings for his son, but Walter is always hinting that he wants us to be together. And he’s not even ashamed to hide it. I wonder if he has already met Kristen or if he knows about her at all.

  “How are you feeling?” Dylan’s question brings my attention back to him. “No hangover?”

  Huh. Come to think of it, the splitting headache is already gone.

  “I took an aspirin.” The milkshake I consumed on the drive over probably also helped. I grimace. “Did I really puke on your shoes?”

  “Yep,” he nods, keeping his face straight.

  My grimace deepens. So gross. “Sorry about that. Adam told me you carried me to my room so, uh, thanks. But you could’ve woken me up.”

  Although I can’t help but feel a little warm inside at the mental image of me in his arms. If only I was awake to savor the moment.

  “I didn’t have it in me to wake you. You looked so peaceful.”

  Peaceful? Yeah, right. I was probably even drooling while he carried me. Ugh.

  A hazy memory flashes through my mind. “Did you leave Kristen at the party when you drove me home?”

  “Yeah.” He rakes a hand through his already unruly hair. “I made her catch a ride with her friends.”

  I almost choke on my pizza. “I bet she wasn’t happy with you.”

  His lips twitch. “She still isn’t.”

  “Why her, D? And since when did you do girlfriends?” I can’t help blurting out.

  He studies my features. “You don’t like her.”

  No shit.

  “I don’t like a lot of people,” I deflect.

  “And Kristen is one of those people.”

  Only because of you, I want to scream.

  “I don’t even know her enough to not like her. It’s just,” I put down the half-eaten pizza back on the box and let out a shaky breath. “I was surprised, you know? I’m your best friend and yet I hadn’t any clue about her. Nick and Sloan knew, but I didn’t.” I can’t even cover the hurt in my voice.

  “Shit. Sorry, B. I didn’t mean to make you feel left out. I just wanted to be sure that I really wanted to pursue a relationship with Kristen before I tell you. It was only yesterday that it became official.”

  I ignore the pain lancing my chest. “But why her? She’s not even your usual type.”

  Dylan tends to go for the slutty ones. The ones he knows won’t act all needy toward him. Girls who know the real score. What made him go for someone different like Kristen?

  “She’s hot,” he shrugs.

  “That’s it? You won’t even say things like ‘There’s something about her, B. She’s special,’” I mock in a deep voice. “That’s real romantic, D. Don’t try to be poetic or anything.”

  He smirks. “You know I’m not the romantic type.”

  “So, what? She’s just like the other girls, only with a label?” Tell me you’re going to dump her next week.

  “No. She’s really my girlfriend. I’m serious about her. I like her a lot.”

  Ouch. Way to drive the knife deeper, Dylan. “So, I guess she’s really special, huh? That’s great. I’m happy for you.” It’s a miracle my voice doesn’t crack.

  As if to see through me, he says softly. “You didn’t look happy last night.”

  I swallow hard, averting my gaze. “Oh, that. It was nothing. I was just being stupidly jealous that you now have a girlfriend and I still don’t. Have a boyfriend that is. Silly, right?” I force out a laugh. “Anyway, now I’m thinking maybe it’s time to pop that cherry, you know?”

  He’s sipping from a water bottle so my words make him choke on his drink.

  A slight blush creeps across my cheeks and I quickly cover it up with a joke. “Dude, I didn’t mean it that way.”

  Not that I really meant what I said. I was just rambling to throw him off.

  “Is there a guy you’re not telling me about?” The sudden edge in his voice gets my attention.

  “Maybe?”

  His brows draw together. “Is that a question?”

  I just shrug and shovel the rest of my pizza into my mouth, not caring about the crumbs falling everywhere. I may be in love with my best friend, but I never act ladylike in front of him. Why start now?

  “Just tell me. Are you dating someone?”

  I roll my eyes. Why won’t he drop the subject? “I just literally told you I
don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “But you’re eyeing someone?”

  “Dude, seriously, what’s with the twenty questions? There’s no guy, okay? Geez.”

  “Good.”

  Good? And why does he look relieved? But he doesn’t give me the chance to clarify that. “Hey, you’re not wearing contacts.”

  “Yeah. My eyes hurt a little, so I decided to skip wearing them today.”

  He takes a step closer then, invading my personal space. His fingers touch my chin, tipping my face up a little, and murmurs. “I just realized I missed staring at your eyes. Your real eyes. They’re gorgeous, B. You shouldn’t hide them under your contacts all the time.”

  “Don’t be an idiot.” I elbow him on the stomach to hide the fact that butterflies are doing a conga line in my stomach.

  “What?” he chuckles, stepping back. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Whatever, McCafferty.”

  He opens his mouth to respond when the sound of a ringing phone interrupts our conversation, distracting him. Pulling it out of the pocket of his coveralls, he stares at the screen. “It’s Kristen. I gotta answer this.”

  Faking a smile, I watch him lighten up and murmur a soft “hey” into his phone as he walks away, his attention no longer on me.

  Just how long am I going to torture myself?

  Five

  I’m nodding my head, mouthing the lyrics to Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door by Guns N’ Roses as Mr. Anderson drones on with his lecture in Government.

  He literally doesn’t pay attention to us during class and mostly talk to the book on his hands, so we get away with a lot of things. While I have my earphones on and listening to music, my classmates are either talking among themselves or tinkering with their phones.

  Like what El is doing on my right. Judging from how fast her fingers are going, she’s playing a mobile game again. She does that a lot.

  I mostly use the time to chill and listen to my Spotify playlists. Call it a cliché, but music never fails to calm me. It’s like a balm to my soul. If I can, I’ll be listening to music every damn time.