Just Friends

by Tiffany Pitcock

  Jenny shrugged. “Too much.”

  “Obviously.” This was the first time he’d woken up next to someone who was hungover without having a hangover himself. “We’ll have to get you some water and maybe some toast. Greasy food can help, too.”

  Jenny tried to shake her head. “God, no, greasy food sounds horrible right now. I feel like my brain is just rattling around my skull.”

  They sat in silence as she tried to compose herself, Chance stroking Jenny’s hair methodically. After a while she lay back down, staring up at the ceiling.

  “The sun is so bright,” she told him. “How do people deal with this?”

  Chance lay down beside her. “I was too young to drive when I got my first hangover, so I was at the mercy of someone else to take me home. We were halfway there when he got a call from work—he was supposed to be at a staff meeting and didn’t have time to drop me off first. I had to sit in a hot car for nearly an hour, feeling like I was dying. When he finally did get around to taking me home, we ended up driving next to the loudest train ever created. I threw up three times when I got home.”

  Jenny blanched. “Please tell me this is fake history.”

  Chance shook his head sadly. “Nope, real past here.”

  “I am so sorry that happened to you. Why did you even drink again?”

  Chance thought about it. He had sworn off drinking after every bad hangover, but never stuck with it.

  “It’s fun, I guess. I like escaping for a while.”

  Jenny brought her arms over her face, blocking out the sun as Chance had earlier. “I need my phone,” she said reluctantly. “I have to see if Drake called.”

  Chance’s insides squirmed. “He did. Multiple times.” He decided to be up front about it, like ripping off a Band-Aid. “I eventually answered so he’d stop freaking out.”

  He was glad he couldn’t see her face, but he could tell from her tone that she wasn’t pleased. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

  “He was worried, Jens.” Chance got up, picking her phone up off the table. He placed in on her stomach. “He called like twenty times and was obviously not going to stop. I let him know that you were all right, that’s all.”

  Jenny let out a loud groan, picking up her phone. Chance could see her face now—see the hard set of her mouth and the annoyance in her watery eyes.

  “Oh my God, you weren’t kidding. I have like fifty messages here.” She scanned the texts, her frown deepening with each line she read, her body shuddering slightly. “He’s so pissed,” she whispered.

  He hated that Drake got under her skin like this. “It’ll be fine. It’ll all blow over,” he hastened to assure her. “I mean, hey, it’s a new year, right?”

  She paused, finally looking up from her phone. “Oh my God,” she said, turning to face him. “Chance, I missed the New Year. I was blind drunk and I missed the New Year. It’s the first time I even had someone to kiss, and I missed it. They say that the way you bring in the year is a reflection of how you’ll spend it. Chance, I don’t want to spend the year drunk off my ass.”

  Chance rested a calming hand on her shoulder. “Jenny, you’re not going to spend the year drunk off your ass, and you didn’t miss the New Year. You definitely noticed it.”

  “I did?”

  “Oh yeah.” He nodded. “We were nearly here when you noticed that the clock on my dash said it was midnight. You proceeded to attempt to roll down the broken passenger’s window and scream, ‘Happy New Year!’ at the top of your lungs for several minutes while blowing plenty of kisses at some very startled cows.”

  Jenny buried her face in her hands, struggling to hide her blushing cheeks. “Please tell me I didn’t.”

  “Oh no, you did.” He regretted that he’d been too busy driving to film it.

  “Tell no one,” she said sternly, still hiding her face.

  He acted offended, placing a hand on his chest. “I would never.”

  It took another thirty or so minutes for her to be able to stand without throwing up. When that was possible, Chance helped her into the car. They were silent the whole drive back. Jenny claimed her head hurt too much for them to play any music, but that didn’t seem to stop her from attempting to call Drake a few times. She’d dial his number, hands shaking, and hang up in a huff when he didn’t answer.

  He hated that Drake had become this big strain—not only on Jenny, but on their friendship as well. He knew what was coming. Drake and Jenny meant the ending of Chance and Jenny. Her boyfriend was going to ask her to stop hanging out with him, and that would be it. Chance knew it was coming. He had seen it the moment she started dating Drake.

  He looked over at her, sitting in the passenger’s seat with her forehead pressed to the window.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he told her. He didn’t have to clarify for her to understand.

  “Have you met me? Worrying is my primary character trait.”

  “Worry about it tomorrow. Today, let’s just enjoy the New Year. Let’s go watch Buffy or something.”

  His days with Jenny were most likely numbered, he knew that, but that wasn’t going to stop him from spending as much time with her as he could while he was still able. They were going to sit on her couch, buried in blankets, and spend the day laughing and eating popcorn. They were going to revel in their friendship and get as much happiness as they could from it before it was all yanked away. He wanted one day—one good day to remember, before she stopped letting him come around.

  He saw her smile reflected in the window.

  “I’d like that,” she said.

  CHAPTER 21

  Jenny

  Everyone at school knew what had happened New Year’s Eve. Or at least, they thought they did.

  Jenny heard the whispers as soon as she entered the cafeteria the next morning. People stared as she passed, a few people laughing. She heard the same few words float through the air, following her like a swarm of angry hornets:

  “She practically mauled Chance on the couch.”

  “They left together.…”

  “I heard she’s been cheating.…”

  “… Chance Masters…”

  “… should’ve known.”

  Then she heard the most hurtful word of all, casually tossed into the fray:

  “Slut.”

  Jenny felt the tears she’d been holding back threatening to fall. She had to get out of there, quick. She couldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her cry. But where to go? People were everywhere. She couldn’t escape and hide out in the bathroom all day.

  She had tried to get ahold of Drake all night, but her texts had gone unanswered. She knew he wouldn’t respond, of course—Drake knew the silent treatment was the worst punishment—and it just added to the pile of things that made her head pound and her body ache. But she knew that he was going to have to talk to her at some point. Sure, he must’ve been angry about her running off with Chance, but she knew he’d believe her when she told him it was nothing. After all, it was nothing. So she composed herself and ignored the whispers, even though they set her nerves into overdrive. She and Drake would be fine.

  Chance wasn’t at school, which made everything worse. She had waited for him before school, but he never showed so she had to get a ride from her mother. She tried to call, but there was no answer. She knew he wouldn’t just abandon her without a good reason. After everything, he wouldn’t leave her to face all the rumors alone.

  And, God, there were so many rumors.

  They were flying faster by lunch. The latest Jenny heard was that she had been dating them both. Jenny had managed to sit through two classes of whispers and stares, her anxiety through the roof, but she couldn’t walk through a crowded cafeteria, where it was more than just the spotlight effect making her think every eye was following her. Jenny couldn’t step foot in the cafeteria. She wanted to—it would be the perfect time to talk to Drake, but she couldn’t do that to herself. She felt like she was getting close to sensory o
verload as it was. She ate in the library instead, in the back where no one could see her, nose buried in her history textbook. She didn’t have time to think about the whispers when she was too busy learning about the American Revolution.

  After school—and after building up her nerve—she scoured the parking lot, searching for the tall boy in his classic V-neck and skinny jeans. She finally spotted him heading toward his car.

  “Drake!” she called out, rushing to his side. He glared back at her, speeding up his pace. “Drake, please, just talk to me!”

  “I don’t think so,” he said, refusing to look at her. “There’s really nothing you can say, Jenny.”

  “You haven’t heard a thing I’ve said!” she exclaimed, her frustration getting the best of her. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

  He wheeled around to face her, anger flashing in his gray-blue eyes. “I wanted you, Jenny! But you wanted Chance!”

  “This again? Drake, I told you we’re just friends.”

  “Y’see, that’s the worst part of all of this. I believed you when you told me that. I honestly did, and look at what a fool I’ve been. The egg is definitely on my face now. After New Year’s, I see everything so clearly. I see you so clearly.”

  She stared up at him, confused. “What does that even mean?”

  “You’ve been with him this whole time!” he roared, spreading his arms wide. People were staring now. “I sat around believing you were, as you put it, ‘just friends,’ while you were with him behind my back this whole time. You went to him, Jenny, not me. I was your boyfriend!”

  They had an audience now. People ranging from freshmen to seniors were gathered around, silently watching The Public Humiliation of Jenny Wessler.

  “Drake—”

  “You told me he slept over in your bed, and I still believed you when you said nothing was going on. Am I some blip on the radar of the great love story that is Jenny and Chance? I was just some petty revenge or something, wasn’t I? Some weird pawn in whatever game the two of you were playing. Did he sleep around on you, too? Were you just getting back at him?”

  Jenny could only stare at him. Where was he getting this from?

  “I will not be a momentary complication in your Epic Love, Jenny. Fuck that!”

  “Drake, wait!” She reached out, snagging the hem of his shirt. “Chance and I have never been together. I’m with you, you know that.”

  “Fuck you, Jenny. And fuck Chance, too. Everyone knows you’re already fucking each other.”

  It was like a slap in the face. Hell, it was like someone had dug their fingernails into her face and scraped. How could he say these horrible things to her?

  “How can you talk to me like that?” You love me. How was everything falling apart so fast? It wasn’t supposed to be like this. “It’s not like that. I promise.”

  “You promise? As if that means something to me? I loved you, Jenny. I gave you my fucking heart on a platter and you spit on it.”

  Drake was walking away and people were still staring and she felt like she was crashing and burning and dying all at once.

  “That’s enough!” a voice called out. Kelsey forced her way past the group, shooting death glares at everyone. She rushed to Jenny’s side, wrapping her bony arms around her friend, letting Jenny lean on her for support. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves!” she yelled, trying to walk Jenny to her car. “Go home and get your fix watching One Tree Hill reruns or something! Get out of my way!”

  Kelsey fought the crowd to her car, supporting Jenny the whole time. Jenny felt like she was shutting down. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. First relationships weren’t supposed to end in public humiliation. Drake loved her; he wasn’t supposed to hurt her. She could still feel everyone’s eyes on her, even after they were long gone.

  CHAPTER 22

  Chance

  Chance knew something was wrong when he woke up. It wasn’t the lack of yelling. He had gotten used to that. It had been calm ever since his father left. No, it was a feeling in his gut that made him shakily climb from bed the day after New Year’s. Something felt different. Things didn’t feel peaceful, they felt dead.

  Something was really, really wrong.

  He stumbled across his room, getting lost in piles of laundry almost knee high. He used his doorknob as an anchor, pulling himself free from the mess and launching himself into the hall. He felt drenched in sweat, soaked all the way through his clothes. How was that possible when it was so damn cold inside his house?

  Chance’s feeling of dread intensified as he hobbled into the kitchen. Something was off. It took him a moment to realize that the only thing he could hear was the sound of his own blood pumping. Everything else was silence.

  He looked around the room, trying to figure out what was wrong. But everything was the same. Nothing had been moved. Everything was exactly as it had been the last time he’d been in there, so why was he so worried?

  Chance stumbled over a stack of books behind the couch. He clung to the counter like a child clings to the railing at the skating rink to keep his balance.

  “Mom?” he called out, his voice weak. There was no answer.

  Chance crossed the living room, his pulse quickening as he got closer to his mother’s room.

  “Mom?” he called again, not sure if the walls were closing in or if he was wobbling to the side. Everything felt like it was spinning, and all he could think about was that episode of Buffy where she found her mother dead.

  He reached his mother’s closed bedroom door, his heart in his throat. For the second time in weeks he was afraid to open it—afraid of what he would find. He could taste bile rising at the back of his throat as he pushed open the door.

  The room was empty.

  Oh sure, there was still a bed, a dresser, a window seat, and even a wicker wastebasket by the door, but there was nothing in or on those things. No clothes, no possessions, and definitely no sign of his mother.

  She was gone.

  Chance took in the bare room, his tired eyes searching for any sign of her. Maybe she was hiding? Maybe she’d gone out for a walk … and taken all her stuff with her. He felt his legs give out from under him. He barely had time to catch himself as he plummeted to the ground. He got to his knees, still desperately searching for a sign—for anything—to give him hope. But there was nothing. The room was bare.

  It was nearly thirty minutes before he composed himself enough to get up off the floor of his parents’ bedroom, before he could find the strength to stand. He left the room, closing the door behind him.

  One thought kept racing through his head: Where is she? He had to find his mother. She could be lost somewhere, wondering around. She might hurt herself, for God’s sake! She might already be hurt! He grabbed the house phone from its jack on the kitchen counter, ready to start making desperate calls, when he finally looked at the fridge.

  There, on purple stationery, stuck up with his mother’s favorite Gone with the Wind magnet, was the answer to all his questions. She had left him a note with a couple of twenties folded in it.

  Chance, the note read in his mother’s elegant loopy script, I’ve gone to stay at your aunt LaLaina’s for a mental vacation. Take care. I’ll be back sometime. Don’t worry.

  From, Mom.

  That was it. With only two lines, she had abandoned him just like everyone else. Levi was gone. His father was gone. Jenny was leaving. And now his mother, too. Everyone had fled; they couldn’t leave him fast enough. He crumpled the note in his hand, feeling as though he might barf. He felt the tears coming, felt the sadness crashing over him like a wave, threatening to pull him down. Chance sank down onto the kitchen floor, the coldness of the tile seeping in through his jeans. He looked at the house phone, still clutched in his hand. He had to pull it together. He had school—he couldn’t break down now. He continued staring at the phone, fighting back tears.

  He still had one call to make.

  “Hey, you’ve reached Le
vi Masters. I’m not here right now, so please leave a message at the sound of the beep or whatever it is on this stupid smartphone.”

  “They’re gone,” he said. He knew that it was obvious he was crying. His voice was thick with tears, his nose already runny. “They’re gone, Levi, and I don’t know what to do. It’s like when they went AWOL before your graduation, only worse. They’re not together now. They’re both gone, and the house is so empty. Please just don’t—don’t leave me here.”

  Chance hung up, already ashamed of his emotional plea. I need to be stronger than this, Goddammit!

  So his mother had bailed; was it really such a surprise? What reason did she have to stick around, anyway? I’m not going to school today, he decided. He recalled his thoughts about how he had wanted only one more normal day with Jenny before things changed.

  I’ll give myself one day, he thought. One day to grieve and to wallow, and then tomorrow I’ll figure out how to deal.

  Chance marched straight to his room, closing the door behind him. He turned on his stereo, desperately trying to drown out the silence. Standing there in the middle of his messy room, he realized how totally alone he really was. Despite his reputation, he had no friends except for Jenny, and she was too busy with Drake for him now. His world was so small. He had no one to call, no one to talk this out with.

  He decided to clean his room, since he didn’t have anything better to do.

  A little more than two hours and three full trash bags later, Chance surveyed his work. He could see the floor for the first time since they had moved there. His room had beige carpet; who knew? It was amazing what a bit of cleaning could accomplish. His clothes were either in the closet or the drawers, and his bed was made for once. It was all in complete order.

  And yet he still felt like a total wreck.

  From his room, he moved to the bathroom, scrubbing the counter and cleaning the mirror. He found some Scrubbing Bubbles under the sink and set to work cleaning the bathtub. He didn’t know if he was crying again or if the fumes were making his eyes water. His knees ached from kneeling on the hard linoleum, but he didn’t care.