Sure enough, it says Zay, ZAY, zay all over. I ignore the misspelling and thank him. Without moving from that spot, I chug the entire cup, not breathing through my nose. When I finish, my throat, esophagus, and stomach flame and I exhale in a hot rush. I hand him my cup and he gladly refills it. I chug again.
“Dang, Zae!”
I’m on the verge of either screaming or crying, so I hold up my cup again. “One more.”
Now he slaps a leg and laughs before he fills it.
“Zae!” Lin’s voice catches me halfway through my third cup. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be our DD!” Everyone in the kitchen turns to watch. The music thumps in my ears, making my head throb.
I think about how Lin kept guard for Monica.
“Get a new ride,” I say.
Lin’s expression wars between disapproval and guilt. I tilt back the rest of the cup and her jaw clenches.
“Who are we supposed to ask?” Lin demands. “Everyone’s been drinking!”
Quinton steps down and slides an arm around both of us. “Y’all can stay here, you know.”
“There you go.” I point to Quinton and smile big at Lin. “Problem solved.”
She slides away from him and crosses her arms. “That’s fucked-up, Zae.”
I move into her face, feeling the sudden whoosh of a buzz. “Don’t talk to me about fucked-up.”
Again, guilt flashes across her face. “I’m sorry!” she says through gritted teeth. She moves closer, whispering so only I can hear. “Dean didn’t write those poems, Zae. He didn’t even know they were about you.” She sounds almost apologetic, but my whole body tenses with horror.
“You asked him? You told him I thought it was him?”
She pushes her hair behind her ears and turns her eyes down, as if she’s realizing how much of an idiot that makes me look. The sting of betrayal swirls with the liquor in my belly, burning like acid, making me dizzy.
She shakes her head. “No. I mean—”
I move past her and the other people watching to pour myself another cup. I hear Lin let out a growl of frustration as she stomps away. Several people laugh, enjoying the drama. I cannot drink fast enough. I’ve only really been drunk once before, and I remember how numbing it was when it hit me. I need that again. I cannot believe they talked with Dean about the poems. It’s beyond humiliating. The demoralizing feeling flooding my system is the same as I felt the night Wylie cheated.
Sierra and Meeka sidle up, their lips glossy and bright with smiles. Oh, no.
“So,” says Sierra as I drink. “You and Joel?”
She takes a sip and eyes me over the rim, but I can see the calculation in her gaze.
“No,” I tell her. “Just friends. Why? Do you still love him?”
Her nostrils flare and her eyes go wide. The laugh she emits is caustic. “I never loved him. God.”
Meeka laughs at that notion and studies me. “Someone said y’all kissed outside.”
“No, we didn’t.” What is wrong with people and their big, stupid mouths?
“But you’re into him,” Sierra teases. “This makes two parties that you’ve been spotted at together.”
“Talking. As friends.” The words are sour on my tongue. I blame the alcohol, not the fact that the feel of Joel’s lips still lingers.
“All right,” Sierra says. “If you’re not into him, prove it. Kiss someone else.”
I spin around to see who I can prove my innocence with, and the room spins with me. I reach for the counter, and Meeka and Sierra laugh.
“Whoa, girl,” Meeka says. I nearly smile, despite how annoyed I am, because the alcohol is finally hitting me. And not a moment too soon.
My attention goes straight to the loudest voice and biggest smile in the room.
Quinton. Star point guard. Buzz supplier.
I go right up to him, pressing my body to his and putting a hand to his cheek. His smile falls as he peers down at me, frozen. To be honest, half the reason I’m all pressed against him is because I suddenly feel unbalanced, my equilibrium off. I try to blink away the memory of just how much alcohol he dumped in that punch.
“Can I help you?” he says in a low voice.
“Kiss me?”
His full, tender lips come straight down onto mine, and his kiss is slow and sultry. The entire kitchen raises an “OHHH!”
Someone yanks me from behind by the belt loop. Meeka. She puts an arm around me, almost protectively, and says to Quinton, “I don’t think so.” The look she gives him is filled with warning, and he grins as he holds his palms up.
Meeka turns me away from him and the room goes splotchy. Voices mute and warp. Figures are fuzzy and shadowy. I rub my eyes.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Sierra says. She runs her thumbs roughly under my eyes to get off the mascara.
In that moment I want to cry, because Sierra and Meeka are being nicer than my own friends.
“I love you guys,” I say thickly.
“Oh my God, you’re so drunk.” Sierra laughs, rubbing my arm. “What the hell happened with you and Lin?”
“Nothing.” My eyes well up, and I take another drink.
“No more.” Meeka takes my cup and flings it into the sink where it spills out.
I stare at it, morbidly fascinated by the red splatter dripping.
“Are you about to puke?” Sierra asks.
It’s hard to lift my head. “I need to sit.”
“Take her outside,” Sierra tells Meeka, and she complies.
We sit on the steps and I close my eyes as I lean my head on the splintery rail . . . so heavy. I flop over onto the cozy wood.
“You can’t lie here,” Meeka says. “People need to get by.”
I feel her tugging at me, but I can’t get up. It’s the perfect place to lie.
. . .
. . .
“Damn, what happened?” Kwami? I try and fail to open my eyes.
“What does it look like, dumbass?” Meeka snaps.
. . .
. . .
. . .
“What are you doing?” Meeka.
Something touches my butt, but I can’t move. I’m so heavy.
“I’m getting her phone to call her mom.” Monica?
“Noo,” I moan. “Lee me lone . . .”
Monica’s voice sounds far away. Who is she talking to?
“We need to get her out front.” Lin. “Sweetie, can you walk?”
I laugh, a slurred sound.
“I’ll carry her.” Dean!
“No, I got her.” Joel . . . my neck kisser. I feel myself heaved and lifted, and I’m surrounded by his cologne.
“You lefff me,” I murmur into his neck.
“You wanted to chase after Big Boy.”
What? My body lightly bumps up and down as he walks around the house. I close my eyes, his words sliding around in my mind and then falling into the underbrush of my tangled consciousness.
. . .
. . .
. . .
Darkness.
. . .
I’m jostling, bouncing, and the world is spinning way too fast. My stomach is turning inside out. My throat burns.
. . .
A single, comforting voice, murmuring.
“Ma . . . ?”
“Shh . . .”
. . .
. . .
. . .
Softness.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sunday Morning
Utter confusion accompanies dizziness as I blink against the brightness. Nothing is where it should be. The window is on the wrong side. My vision begins to clear, and I hear breathing.
Mom is sleeping beside me. I’m in her room, in her full-size bed. With this clarity comes a wave of nausea and I roll the other way, so glad to see the trash can next to me. I grasp it and heave, my stomach muscles tired and sore. Nothing comes out. Mom rubs my back.
“You scared me last night,” she says softly. “I almost too
k you to the hospital. No one could tell me how much you drank.”
Tears of shame spring to my eyes. My voice rasps painfully. “I’m sorry.”
She sighs and crawls past me, climbing out of bed. “You’re grounded for two weeks. You can take the van to school and work only. And you get to finish cleaning the inside of it today.” She faces me, looking tired with her hands on her hips. “I know you’re going through a lot, Xanderia, but this is not the way to deal with it.” She leaves me and I look at the clock. 10:19. There is no way we’re making it to church. And, oh, my gosh . . . did Mom have to take off work today because of me? They’re always busy on holidays.
I’m shaking as I stand and take the trash can into my own room, where I cry tears of remorse and pity and humiliation. I’m terrified to look at my phone, which I’m so lucky she didn’t take away from me. I never want to go to school again.
I cry for so long that I’m probably dehydrated.
At eleven Zeb comes in, approaching carefully with a grilled cheese sandwich on a plate. It actually smells really good, which I take as a positive sign.
“Mom said you’re sick?”
I’m way past BS’ing my brother. “I drank too much last night, Zeb. It was stupid. Don’t ever drink.” I start crying again. “Please don’t ever drink!” I blow my nose on a tissue.
Zeb backs slowly out of the room. “Okay,” he says as he hits the door and rushes out, shutting it behind him.
I’ve just scarred him for life.
I nibble a quarter of the sandwich and manage to keep it down. Then I get so thirsty that I rush to the kitchen and drink three glasses from the tap in a row. My stomach immediately revolts and I pant as I bend over the sink, praying it will stay down. Mom gets up from the table and shuts herself in her room, and that’s when I spot two Easter baskets on the table. My heart squeezes with regret.
After a couple of minutes my stomach calms and everything stays down.
Zeb stares at me from the couch with dismay as I drag my wretched self back to my bedroom and collapse on the bed.
My phone dings and my heart explodes in fear. I don’t want to deal with anyone.
When I see Kenz’s number, I exhale in relief. She is about the only person in the world I can handle right now.
Are u OK? What happened?
I’m sure she’s heard from Lin and Monica, and now she’s looking for my side of the story.
Instead of trying to text it, I call her, lying back on the bed with my eyes closed. I tell her every detail I can remember. Bless her, she murmurs and gasps in all the right places.
“I feel like Dean kind of led you on,” she says.
I pinch the skin between my eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe. He’s always been nice, though. I guess I just hoped, and I read him wrong . . . God, I’m so stupid. He never liked me.” The thought is like a kick to the chest.
“It’s okay, Zae. I probably would have felt the same, and I thought he was the one writing the poems, too. I don’t think they should have told him, and I said as much when I talked to them. Now I think they’re mad at me, too, but whatever.”
“I don’t want you guys to fight.”
“I don’t want them to fight with you either.” She pauses. “You’re not mad that they called your mom, are you?”
The thought of my mom is too much. “No. I mean, what other choice was there?” Worry prickles my neck. “Wait, how did they get home?” If Lin had to call her parents, she would be in so much trouble.
“You don’t know?!”
“Oh, no, what?”
“It was a huge ordeal. Your mom drove you guys in the van. Then that Joel guy followed in your mom’s car, and his friend Kwami followed them to take Joel home once they got to your apartment.”
And I’m dead. I cover my face with a hand, as if I can hide from it all.
Dead.
“I should’ve been there,” Kenzie says.
“It’s not your fault.” My hand still covers my face. A small knock sounds at my door, and Mom opens it. “I have to go.”
“Okay, call me later.”
I disconnect and sit up as Mom sits on the bed. I know it’s completely pathetic, but I break down crying again. I have no idea how it’s possible to cry any more.
“I’m sorry,” I sob.
“Being the designated driver is a big responsibility.”
“I know. I do. I never drink like that. I just . . . I got in a fight with Lin and Monica. And . . .” I sniffle.
“Let me guess,” she says. “Over a boy?”
My face flushes with the shame of it, and I look down at my hands. “I can’t go back to school.”
“You can, and you will.”
I moan. “Please, Mom. I made a fool of myself. I screwed everything up.”
“And you’ll have to face it. Life goes on.”
“Please!” I beg.
“No.” Her voice is firm, and my defenses spike.
“You don’t understand!”
“I understand more than you know.” She stands, giving me a pain-filled glare, then leaves me, closing the door hard behind herself.
I collapse face-first like a corpse on my bed until I hear a low sound coming from Mom’s room. I get up and press my ear to the wall. When I recognize the muffled sounds of her crying, my insides feel like they’re being pressed in a waffle iron. I snatch up my earbuds and shove them into my ears, blasting the music as loud as I can handle it.
It hits me then that I won the spring break kissing contest. I kissed five guys, Lin and Monica kissed four, and Kenzie kissed two. But I don’t feel like I won anything. I most definitely feel like I lost. And now it’s over. I’m done.
Back to School
End of Junior Year
Chapter Twenty-Four
Before school the next morning I get a text from Lin: My mom will take M & me 2 school on her way to work. Thnx
K, I tell her. I knew that was coming, but it still hurts.
I pick up Kenzie and she makes small talk as I drive, trying to act like everything is fine, but my stomach is in a tight double knot when we pull into the student parking lot.
I linger at my locker as long as possible, spotting Lin and Monica as they pass on the other side of the hall, not looking my way. I feel heavy all over again as I trudge to math. I thought it was bad when I came to school without a boyfriend anymore. Coming to school without two of my friends at my side feels like I’m limping along without an arm and a leg. I don’t know how to live this way.
And when Kenzie leaves my side after class, I feel more alone than ever. I keep my head down as I walk to my locker to switch books.
“Hey, Zae.” I turn toward Taro’s voice. His locker is a few down from mine. He tilts his head, giving me a glimpse of both eyes through his hair. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I force myself to say. He wasn’t at Quinton’s party. Maybe he doesn’t know about what a fool I made of myself. “You?”
“Good,” he says.
We walk side by side to English, and I feel overly grateful not to be alone, even though we don’t say a word.
We slink into English class, and I swear every single person is staring at me. I catch the intense gazes of Joel, Dean, Angelo, Flynn, Elliott . . . everyone, before I drop my eyes and slide into my desk, heart pounding.
When Mrs. Warfield calls on me to read a passage from the book halfway through class, I know she’s disappointed that I don’t use my usual clear, loud, animated voice. She gives me a funny look afterward, and I keep my head down the rest of class. When the bell rings, I bolt.
If I can just make it through this day, tomorrow will be better.
I meet Kenzie outside her AP English class and we walk to our lockers. When we turn the corner to the locker bay, Kenzie gasps, and I look up. Eight freshmen and sophomore JV baseball players are sitting on top of the lockers in a row. Every year the varsity team hazes them, making them do crazy things. What are they up to this year? When they catch sig
ht of us, they each hold up a sign.
KENZIE WILL YOU GO TO PROM WITH VINCENT?
She covers her mouth with a squeak, and a soft smile lifts my cheeks. Holy sweetness. Like, so sweet I’m about to get cavities. Vincent is standing in front of her locker holding a rose, looking bashful, and she runs, plowing into him with a hug. Then she looks up and nods, and everyone cheers.
“Get down from there!” a teacher yells, and the JV players hop down, running off.
I give my beaming friend a smile from my locker as I switch out my huge English book for French III. I don’t want to go over and ruin their moment, so I shut my locker and head to my next class, keeping my eyes locked on the ground.
I can’t believe it’s almost prom time. Am I going? I have no desire. Ugh. Just another freaking thing to add to my plate of stress with a side of sadness.
As soon as I walk into French, Mrs. Hartt pulls me aside. She’s also our cheer coach.
“I’m guessing you’ve heard about the roundoff back handspring?”
“Yeah.” I glance away nervously.
“Listen, Zae, you know how competitive things are getting. I wouldn’t have agreed to this requirement if I didn’t think you could get it in time. We can’t lose you. You’re too good.”
She has way more faith in me than I do.
“I don’t have money for lessons.”
She bites her lip in thought. “Can you practice with the other girls? Have them spot you?”
I want to laugh at the irony. My only friend I can ask now is Kenzie, and she’s so small. I shrug. “I’ll work on it.”
“Good.” She smiles and gives my shoulder a squeeze as the bell rings.
I’m despondent and have a hard time focusing through class. I’m in a little bit of a daze when I walk into the hallway afterward. So much so, that I’m completely confused when Meeka grabs my arm and pulls me aside like there’s a fire or something.
“Zae!” she whispers. “You need to watch your back. Camille Fletcher is after you.”
Wait . . . “What?!” Camille is not a girl I’d ever mess with. “Why?”
“She heard about you and Quinton and now she wants to kick your ass.”
Sheer panic overtakes me. “But she wasn’t there! I didn’t think they were together anymore!”
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