Kiss n Tell

by Suzy McCoppin

  Then my heart sank.

  4.

  TOLD YA

  Anais

  “Look who it is!” Stella shrieked, throwing an arm around Odette. They giggled. Everyone always went on about how beautiful Stella was, but she was too generic to impress me. Blonde and fit with great boobs, I’ll give her that much. Odette, on the other hand, was beautiful. She had very angular features, which would be harsh except for her huge, feminine eyes. Even without makeup, like after gym class, her face glowed. Tonight was no exception: she had her curly auburn hair pulled back in a low knot, her prominent cheekbones dusted with bronzer, and her eyes framed with navy liner. It was annoying, to say the least, that such beauty had to be bestowed upon someone so terrible. As Vaughn would say, “WTF, God?!”

  I looked to Vaughn. Her face had drained of color, of all her prior excitement. It wasn’t shocking to me, though I could see, clearly, that until Stella and Odette answered Xander’s door, Vaughn didn’t suspect a thing. She truly thought this party would be all fairy tales and gum drops.

  Which was unbelievable. Infuriating, in fact. But I knew I couldn’t let them see that Vaughn and I weren’t getting along. I knew I couldn’t show any weakness. I had to set aside my frustration. I had to be strong.

  “Hi,” I said, forcing a smile.

  Stella and Odette exchanged amused looks and then promptly burst into laughter. I laughed lightly along with them.

  “You look amazing,” I said. Vaughn nodded nervously.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Odette spat, the smile melted from her face.

  “Xander invited us!” Vaughn blurted fiercely. As soon as she said the words, she slouched a little and looked to her feet, embarrassed.

  Stella and Odette sort of smirked. “He did, did he?” Odette murmured slyly.

  We should have left right then and there, when I saw it in Odette’s eyes: they were plotting something bad. I had no way of knowing just how bad.

  “Yes,” Vaughn said, straightening her spine. She was trying to muster up confidence, but her whole body pulsated with fear.

  Odette shrugged. “I guess he’s your date then,” she said to a mouthful of giggles from Stella.

  Vaughn looked to me, perplexed. I didn’t know what to say. Before I could say anything, Odette flicked two pairs of glinting handcuffs from behind her back, snapping one pair on my wrist, the other on Vaughn’s, so we each had a loose cuff dangling at our sides.

  “What is this?” I demanded.

  “You’ll see,” Odette trilled as she dragged us by the loose cuffs into the party.

  Our cheap Steve Madden heels smacked the vast marble expanse of the Carrington’s ground floor, passing custom end tables topped with three-foot tall bouquets, a 1,000-square-foot, cream-colored kitchen, and a dizzying array of other stuff that all looked incredibly expensive. Vaughn gasped when we reached the French doors, spilling out onto the backyard. The fluffy green lawn was speckled with Cranbrook’s most significant players, according to Vaughn: Xander, of course, slouching over an impressionable-looking brunette; Ava Goldmann, the third in the Shrew Crew trifecta, laughing hysterically, nearly spilling her drink all over Miller Toff, a buzz-cut jokester whose dad was on the board of one of the major talent agencies; Pace Greenberg, the student body president with the Jewish version of Kennedy hair, his arm slung around his girlfriend since freshman year, Cleo Richardson, who, by the looks of it, was helping him get his Marilyn phase out of the way. Everyone looked polished, stylish, and relaxed—I’d give them that. S For a split second, I forgot about the handcuffs and the tension with Vaughn, and felt like I was in a movie.

  * * *

  “Xander!” Odette yelped, cutting through the crowd with us in tow.

  Xander turned. When he saw us, his expression fell. He seemed disappointed, like he had been having a ball until we came along.

  Odette smiled, tugging us closer to him. “Your dates are here,” she said. Xander furrowed his brow. “What?” he grunted.

  “Seeing as you went out of your way to invite them, I—”

  For a moment he looked like he would object, his jaw dropping, starting to form the word “But!” until Odette glared at him and he looked to the ground, part-annoyed, part- sheepish. “I thought we should have some new people around,” he muttered.

  Stella scoffed. “New is pretty much the last word I’d use to describe them,” she squealed. “I mean, look at their clothes! I saw that dress at Fred Segal like, two-and-a-half years ago.”

  Vaughn’s face flushed as red as I’d ever seen it. She couldn’t make eye contact with anyone, not even me. Xander rolled his eyes.

  “If you like them so much,” Odette spat, grabbing the loose cuff from my wrist and slapping it onto Xander’s, “you can have them.” She snapped Vaughn’s loose cuff shut around his other wrist. “Excited? Now you’re stuck with them!”

  She stormed off and Stella followed. Vaughn and I just kind of stood there awkwardly while Xander ruminated.

  “Fuck!” he shouted, punching the air, taking Vaughn with him. She stumbled forward. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  Vaughn shook her head lamely. I had never seen her that passive. I knew her dream was to spend more time with Xander, but I guess being handcuffed to him against his will wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. I decided to initiate the prison break conversation.

  “Do you know where the keys are?” I started.

  He shook his head. “She has them,” he said, nodding to Odette, who sullenly poured herself a vodka-heavy beverage at the bar on the other side of the lawn. “She’s always fucking pulling shit like this!” he shouted.

  I kicked the ground, already a little antsy. “Can’t you guys make up? She can’t be that mad,” I offered.

  He chuckled, turning to look me in the eye for the first time that night, possibly ever. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you?” he asked.

  * * *

  I didn’t. Even with my skepticism, my brains, my familiarity with John Hughes films, I really, really didn’t.

  We stood there in silence for what seemed like a very long time, a sad, little human triangle. Until Odette and Stella returned bearing drinks. They sauntered across the lawn, Stella in her bandage dress, and Odette in a Grecian silk number. Vaughn shifted her weight. She probably had to pee. Her bladder always shrunk to the size of a molecule when she was nervous. We were so helpless that I was almost relieved to see Stella and Odette approaching. They handed Vaughn and me plastic cups filled with what appeared to be Hawaiian punch.

  “Since it’s not really your fault my boyfriend betrayed me, I thought you might need a drink,” Odette said lightly.

  “Cheers!” Stella squealed, giggling a little.

  Vaughn nervously brought the drink to her lips. Once she started drinking, she couldn’t stop. She was parched. I shrugged and took a sip. It tasted like Starburst candy. There was a biting aftertaste, but I figured that was the alcohol.

  I know how lame this sounds, but until that night, my sixteenth birthday, I had never consumed alcohol. My mom only drank when someone else was paying because it was such a waste of money, and Vaughn’s parents were super strict so we never dared raid their bar, though we had more than once admired the gem-colored bottles lined up like toy soldiers in their basement-level den. I had always looked forward to casual drinking. It was provocative, like Uma Thurman slugging back shots of whiskey with the boys in Beautiful Girls, like the kids in Mallrats riffing on life and sex with their bottles of beer, like Humphrey Bogart drowning his sorrows in Casablanca. Standing there, at that stylish party with a drink in my hand, I felt instantly cool.

  “Odette,” Xander said sternly. She turned to him, wide-eyed, innocent. “Odette, this wasn’t part of the plan,” he seethed, holding up his manacled wrist.

  She and Stella just laughed and laughed.

  “What plan?” I asked, suspicion rising in my chest once again.

  “You’ll see,” Stella chimed. The
y trailed off gleefully.

  Xander sighed. “Odette!” he shouted after her. “Odette, this isn’t fucking funny!”

  What the hell was going on? I glanced at Vaughn. She looked woozy. She probably drank the punch too quickly.

  “Come on,” Xander spat, taking off toward the house. Vaughn stumbled behind him.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  Xander rolled his eyes. “To talk some sense into her,” he said.

  Vaughn stopped short, buckling over, yanking Xander and me with her.

  “Vaughn?” I said. “Are you okay?”

  She shook her head violently as an audible rumble creaked from her abdomen. “I need a bathroom,” she whispered.

  “Shit,” Xander said, averting his eyes.

  I crouched down to rub Vaughn’s back, and then remembered the drink in my hand. I sniffed it. Even though I had never tasted alcohol, I somehow knew it smelled wrong, like medicine. Very strong medicine.

  Vaughn groaned.

  The drink.

  I glared at Xander. “What the hell is in this?” I demanded, shaking the cup in his face.

  Xander shut his eyes, exhaling deeply. Vaughn expelled another groan. I couldn’t catch my breath. My heart was pounding. Is it possible they poisoned us? All my anxiety immediately went out the window and adrenaline coursed through me. I threw what was left of my drink in Xander’s face. His jaw dropped as it splashed against his skin.

  “Tell me!” I shouted.

  He gasped, drying his face with his polo. “It’s laxatives, okay?” He put his hand up in surrender. My heart sank. Vaughn cried out like some kind of wounded animal. “Prescription strength.” He shook his head. “We thought it’d be funny. I didn’t realize I’d be—” He motioned to the handcuffs.

  I couldn’t believe it. Of all the sick, twisted things…

  “We need to get her to a bathroom now,” I said through clenched teeth.

  He nodded. We helped Vaughn up, dragging her through the crowd toward the house. I guess Odette and Stella had spread the word, because everyone was staring at us; a sea of cruel little faces lit up with amusement, disgust, and laughter. They shouted at us, girls prissily holding their noses, guys laughing, pointing and jeering, calling us “Vag and Anus.” It was as if the whole party was put together for the sole purpose of humiliating us. Vaughn was dripping sweat. I pushed her drenched bangs out of her eyes and she heaved, puking all over Xander’s arm.

  Xander and the crowd erupted in expressions of repulsion. I slapped Xander across the face as hard as I could.

  “What the fuck?” he shouted.

  “JUST. KEEP. MOVING!” I yelled, bustling Vaughn into the house. He followed, shrinking.

  We made it through the French doors and Xander nodded in the direction of the nearest toilet, a tiny powder room off the front hall. We beelined there. A bunch of partygoers trailed behind us, camera phones ready. I tried to ignore them, pulling Vaughn into the bathroom. Xander kept his cuffed arms in the doorjamb, waiting just outside, holding his breath. I used my one free hand to throw Vaughn’s caftan over her head and tug off her blue Fruit of the Looms. I covered my face and she let it rip. Outside, we could hear the crowd groaning and hooting at every noise coming from her violated bowels. Vaughn’s chin sagged to her chest as she wept pitifully on the Carrington’s porcelain can. I ran my fingers through her hair and cried quietly with her. I didn’t know what else to do.

  * * *

  Vaughn cleaned herself up and collapsed in a paisley heap on the tiled floor, her left arm strung in the air above her, bound to Xander, her crush, her dream, who would now never be able to see her in the way she desperately wanted him to.

  He knocked impatiently on the door. “Are you done yet? I’m ready to barf out here.”

  The peanut gallery laughed. That’s when I felt a violent gurgle in my stomach. I had only had a few sips but I guess that was enough. I yanked down my underwear with one hand and planted myself on the toilet.

  “Do I hear round two?” I heard someone shout.

  “Shut the fuck up,” I seethed at no one, at the world.

  Vaughn sat beside me catatonic. Like the whole experience rendered her deaf, dumb and mute. By the time I finished, we were both empty. We couldn’t even really hear the crowd outside anymore. I tried to pull Vaughn off the floor but she went limp in my arms.

  “I can’t,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

  I shook my head. “You have to,” I urged. And then I said something I knew my mother would say to me: “If you can’t show your face to these people, you’re no one. They’ve won.”

  Vaughn shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “You can,” I persisted. “Come on.”

  I lifted her into my arms—all ninety-five pounds of her—inadvertently yanking Xander inside the powder room with us. He stumbled through the door, colliding with a dainty end table covered in votive candles. Unfortunately, he didn’t catch fire.

  “Ugh!” he shouted, turning away from us. “It fucking reeks in here!”

  A couple people clamored around the powder room to sniff for themselves, Lord knows why. I pushed past them toward Odette, who was smirking proudly in the background.

  “My God, I wonder what came over you!” she exclaimed.

  “They probably ate some bad shellfish,” Stella hypothesized. They laughed. Vaughn kept her eyes on the floor, her face beet red and clammy.

  “Unlock these,” I demanded calmly.

  Odette crossed her arms. “Why should I?”

  “Because we both know you’ve done enough,” I said weakly. Odette considered this.

  “Come on, babe,” Xander pleaded. “I can’t take this anymore. I’ve got puke all over my arm.”

  Odette and Stella chuckled. “Fine,” Odette relented, reaching into her purse for the keys. “But I need you to promise something first,” she said, glaring at me.

  “What?” I grumbled, bracing myself for some ridiculous demand.

  “As soon as I unlock these, you get out of this house and never come back.”

  “Gladly,” I sneered.

  “And you,” Odette snapped, shoving Vaughn in the shoulder. Vaughn looked at her, terrified, as Odette got up in her face. “Stay the hell away from my boyfriend,” she spat.

  Vaughn nodded pitifully. Odette cut Xander loose first. As soon as he was free, he sprinted to the sink in the kitchen and started scrubbing his arms like they were covered with Bubonic plague. When the other cuffs clicked open, I put my arm around Vaughn and lead her to the enormous mahogany doors. Everyone applauded as we exited. The doors slammed behind us and Vaughn fell to her knees on the stone stoop, sobbing.

  “Not here,” I whispered. “Don’t give them the satisfaction.”

  I pointed to the surveillance camera looming above our heads. Vaughn nodded, picking herself up. We made it to the end of the block, out of sight from the Carrington mansion, and Vaughn couldn’t go on. She had to sit down.

  “I’m so stupid,” she sobbed.

  I shook my head and kept mum, though I couldn’t help but agree with her a little. It was one thing for my mom, who was biologically predisposed to have an exaggerated opinion of me, to believe that someone like Xander or Odette or Stella would want me at their party, but it’s quite another for Vaughn, who suffers at the hands of those assholes each weekday, to accept their kindness without question.

  She wiped her face, sniffling. Her makeup was pretty much ruined. I couldn’t get over her face when she looked in the mirror after my mom had done her up; she was elated, and in that moment, I envied her ability to dream. Now, the makeup smeared and melted, the elation long drained from her, I hate to say it, but I was grateful I’d kept my expectations low. I knew I’d never get too disappointed.

  “I ruined your birthday,” she murmured as I crouched beside her.

  I sighed, shrugging. I fished through my purse for my Blackberry, this clunker I inherited a year ago from my mom, when she upgrad
ed to an iPhone. I checked the time.

  “My birthday’s not over,” I offered. “Believe it or not, it’s only 9:30. Our curfew’s not until 1.”

  Vaughn chuckled in this sinister way I had never heard before and wiped her nose. “I just want to go home,” she whispered.

  I smeared off the charcoal from under her eyes. We couldn’t go home now, defeated, and pig out on Doritos in front of the boob tube. What would I tell my mother? The thought of showing our shame, of her having to share it, was too terrible. That would ruin my birthday. But Vaughn just stared at the ground, helpless. She needed my mother more than I needed to avoid her. I sighed and dialed away.

  “Baby girl?” my mom chimed on the other line. She sounded surprised but happy to hear from me. Like she had just started to regret not forcing me to spend time with her on my birthday.

  Tears surged to the corners of my eyes. “Mom,” I whimpered. I didn’t know what to say. I only wanted to be sucked into a wormhole that lead to our living room couch. It was leather and squishy and smelled like our dog, Truffles, but it was home.

  “What’s wrong,” she snapped. It wasn’t accusatory, she just wanted a fast answer that clearly expressed the alert level: emergency room, drunken injury, heartbreak?

  But I didn’t know how to measure it, so I just blubbered, “We’re fine.” I could hear her sigh on the other end of the receiver. “We just need a ride.”

  5.

  WTF, GOD?!

  Vaughn

  I’m never speechless. Seriously. I’m a nervous talker. I babble on at the most inappropriate times, like in class, or at church. I constantly steer conversations back to myself. I interrupt people in the middle of a thought. And I always have an opinion, which I always voice, no matter how dumb or irrelevant it seems. To me, silence has always been something that must be filled. It’s too bland. Maybe it’s too lonely or something. Whatever.