Kiss n Tell

by Suzy McCoppin

  Vaughn climbed into the back seat of Austin’s car and slammed the door. I got in the front and buckled my seatbelt, casting a suspicious glance at her. She crossed her arms over her chest sullenly.

  “Hey,” Austin said into the rearview mirror. She didn’t respond. “Everything okay?” he continued.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine,” she spat.

  Austin and I exchanged concerned looks. He shrugged, putting the car in drive and pulling out onto Mulholland. We drove in silence for a few minutes. I tried to think about Vaughn, but my mind wandered. All night, Austin kept grabbing me by the fingers, or steering me this way and that, placing his hand on the small of my back. He bought me a drink. I stupidly confessed it was my first real drink ever so he chose some kind of beer. It was sort of rank at first, but I got used to it. I liked the way the bottle felt on my lips, and how it gave me something to do other than stand around like a dope. He put his arm around me and sort of squeezed once, when I made him laugh mocking one of the bunnies. Someone threw a drink at her gigantic, silicone chest, and I said, “At least she can’t drown.” It wasn’t that funny, but he laughed and put his arm around me and squeezed. I couldn’t tell if these things meant he liked me, or he was just a nice guy. Either way, though, I was pretty positive I liked him. I tried to make out Vaughn’s face in the dark. Maybe it was a bit of a cop-out for me to make excuses about picking Austin over her.

  “Vaughn,” I said lightly, turning around in my seat. A car passed us in the opposite lane, its headlights scanning the interior of the car. For the first time, I saw her illuminated. “Vaughn!” I exclaimed. “You’re soaked!”

  She peered down at her lap, shrugging. “We went in the hot tub,” she said, casually. “You and Baron?”

  “No, me and Prince Harry.”

  “Okay, enough,” I said raising a hand in frustration. “You called me really upset before.

  You had us drive all the way up here to find you hiding in the bushes. Something went awry somewhere. I’m just trying to figure it out,” I leveled. She sighed. Austin regarded us warily in the rearview mirror.

  “We got in a fight, okay?” she said, her voice rising.

  “Okay,” I said, somewhat satisfied. “What happened?”

  “We got in a fight, and I stormed out, okay? I don’t wanna talk about it,” she snapped.

  Austin touched my arm lightly.

  “Okay,” I said, backing off. “Well, you know I’m your best friend and I’m here if you ever want to get into it.” She said nothing. She turned to look out the window. We had made it onto the Interstate and were finally on our way home. It was almost 1:30 a.m. I had no idea what I’d tell my mother, how I’d explain why I smelled like beer and Vaughn was drenched.

  I asked Austin to drop us off a few blocks away. The instant the car stopped, Vaughn fled the vehicle, marching toward our drive. I tried to call after her, get her to slow down so we could get our facts straight before bumping into my mom, but I didn’t want to wake the whole neighborhood.

  I smiled at Austin shyly. “Sorry about all this,” I said, motioning to Vaughn’s slight figure disappearing in the dark. He shook his head, patting my knee cheerfully.

  “No worries. We got a lot of work done,” he said.

  I didn’t know what to say after that. I smiled and unbuckled my seatbelt, reaching for the door.

  “Hey,” he said, stopping me. “I was wondering…” His eyes were big and brown and pleading. My heart pounded. “Do you wanna come out scouting with me some time? I mean… I know you have school, but maybe in the afternoon?”

  I took a breath, turning my attention to the windshield, which was filthy. There was a drizzle of bird poo just above my head. He leaned forward, peering into my eyes.

  “Yeah,” I said, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “I have extracurriculars most days, but maybe Thursday.” Was this a date?

  “Thursday’s good,” he said, nodding.

  “Okay.” I got out of the car, trembling a little. “Good night,” he called after me.

  * * *

  It was dark in the house. All I could see was the eerie blue glow of the television humming quietly, seeping from the cracks in the doorway to my mother’s bedroom. I tiptoed toward it, my eyes gradually adjusting, coloring the darkness with hazy silhouettes. I knocked gently, easing the door open. She was asleep on top of the sheets, her hand on the remote. The hinges creaked and she bolted upright, gasping.

  “It’s just me,” I said quickly.

  She looked around, disoriented. “Anais, where were you?” she asked. “What time is it?”

  “Late,” I said. “I’m sorry. There was a lot of traffic.”

  She lifted the alarm clock from her bedside table. “It’s almost 2 a.m!” she exclaimed, her voice laced with shock and disappointment.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, looking at my feet. “I should have called, but—”

  “Yes, you should have,” my mom said, sighing. She smoothed the front of her rumpled t- shirt. “I was worried,” she said meekly, shaking her head. “I must’ve dozed off. It was after midnight and—”

  “I’m sorry, mom,” I repeated. The strained tone in her voice suddenly made me exhausted. I needed to lie down.

  “We’ll talk about it in the morning,” she said quietly, pulling the comforter over her shoulder and rolling onto her side.

  “Want me to turn this off?” I asked, motioning to the TV.

  She shook her head. “Leave it,” she said, closing her eyes.

  I crept back into the hall, closing the door gently behind me. I felt terrible for worrying my mom. I would have been right on time if it weren’t for Vaughn’s ridiculous antics. I opened rhe door to my room. The lights were off. Vaughn was under the covers curled in the fetal position, pretending to sleep. I snapped on the lights. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Vaughn, what the fuck,” I blurted, sitting down next to her. “What’s going on with you?” She sighed dramatically and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. She had taken off her soaking clothes, which were strewn about the carpet like skins, and was sporting an old pair of my madras boxers from the fourth grade and one of my black t-shirts.

  She swallowed. “He wanted to have sex,” she said.

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Baron,” she said, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “He wanted to have sex.”

  I shook my head, wiping my palms on the front of my dress. “Did you?” I asked. She started to cry. I touched her arm, my stomach clenched so tight I couldn’t breathe.

  She shook her head, wiping her eyes. “Nothing really happened,” she said meekly. “I wouldn’t let it.”

  I exhaled, relief sweeping over me. “Good!” I exclaimed, shaking her arm contentedly. “That’s good.”

  She frowned. “Why is that good?”

  I froze, considering this. “Your first time is supposed to be special, Vaughn.” She stared at me blankly. “We have plenty of time to, um, you know. Do that. And anyway, how well do you even know Baron Caldwell?”

  Vaughn shrugged. “You don’t think I’m pathetic?” she whimpered.

  “No!” I exclaimed. “Of course not!”

  She cast her eyes toward my laptop, propped on my desk, asleep under a thin veil of dust. “Well he does,” she said, sniffling. She wiped her nose. “I can never show my face to him again.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Vaughn took a deep breath. “We were in the hot tub. He … kept trying to get me out of my clothes.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “What did you do?”

  “I told him to stop.”

  “Did he?” I asked. Vaughn shook her head glumly.

  “So what did you do?” I urged, my voice rising. I couldn’t help it. What a douche!

  Vaughn shrugged. “I kicked him in the balls and ran like hell.”

  I laughed, a barking, hollow sound. “Seriously?” I asked. Vaughn nodded. I laughed again. “That’s amazing.”
>
  “I feel like an idiot,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest sullenly.

  “Are you kidding? You’re, like, every girl’s hero!”

  She glanced at me, her eyes wide and hopeful. “Really?”

  “Vaughn,” I said, taking her by the shoulders. “We need to use this. It’s a great story. We need to put it on the site.”

  “It may already be online,” she murmured. “A bunch of paparazzi took our photo when we were leaving the club together.”

  “So we’ll set the story straight,” I said.

  She sat upright, suddenly energized. “I got something else, too,” she said, grabbing her purse and fishing around for her phone. She scanned through it quickly. “Here,” she said, handing it to me. It was blurry, but it was plain as day: Nate Thornewood and Ashley Bell bickering like teenagers.

  My jaw dropped. “These are incredible …”

  “Really?” she said.

  I scrambled for my laptop, touching it to life. I downloaded the photos from Les Deux that Austin had already emailed to me and posted Rihanna first since she was the biggest name, even though it was more of a sighting than an actual story. I followed it with the Liam Hemsworth pics, which were pretty blurry, but still worth it. I threw in the Playboy bunny pictures after that, followed by the Nate and Ashley spat. We decided to top off the evening’s work with Vaughn and Baron’s little date. Vaughn was right: the photos were already on Radar and TMZ. Those people never slept.

  I turned the screen toward Vaughn. I used one of the photos of them kissing at The Viper Room and linked our post to TMZ so I didn’t have to purchase the new pictures of them leaving Greystone Manor. Vaughn squinted at the screen.

  BARON’S MYSTERY BRUNETTE: MYSTERY SOLVED!

  The Internet is all abuzz with rumors of Bloodletting’s hottest vampire Baron Caldwell hooking up with an unknown brunette babe. While we can’t confirm her identity, we can deny any hanky panky between them. Yes, some smooching may have taken place at The Viper Room, but from what we hear from VERY reliable sources, Brunette left him high and dry (or shall we say, low, cold, and wet) last night after an EXTREMELY inappropriate encounter in his hot tub. Apparently, Baron couldn’t keep his paws off, even after she repeatedly told him to stop! Not cool, Baron. Not cool. We guess playing a monster completely lacking in restraint isn’t such a stretch for Mr. Caldwell.

  Vaughn clamped a hand over her mouth, giggling. She turned to me, eyes like saucers. “Can we seriously post this?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Why not?”

  “We won’t get, like, sued or something?”

  “It’s not like he can deny it,” I said. “It’s the truth!”

  Vaughn clapped her hands exuberantly. “Okay,” she said. “Press publish.” I smiled, dragging the cursor over. When I hit the button, she expelled a sigh of relief. “This is strangely empowering,” she said, wringing her hands together. “I think I like being an undercover gossip blogger. It’s the perfect outlet for my social oppression-induced rage.”

  The next morning, my mom woke us up way too early, serving us Fruit Loops with a major puss on her face. We sat up groggily, stretching our arms over our heads, expelling loud, flagrant yawns, rubbing our crusty eyes, the works. My mom sat at my desk chair quietly leering at us, waiting for us to come to. I robotically spooned cereal into my mouth. My mom crossed her legs, then her arms in a swift, angry motion.

  “It’s after noon,” she said. “Why are you two so tired?”

  Vaughn and I exchanged guilty looks. “Couldn’t sleep,” we mumbled between mouthfuls.

  My mom sighed. “Well, we have to talk about why you guys were late last night,” she said sternly. “I don’t buy that you were at the movies.”

  I stared at her dumbly. I had never encountered this before. My mother glaring at me in this suspicious, menacing way, like I was some kind of juvenile delinquent. Guilt spread through my body like wildfire, seeping into my blood, my bones. She was right to be suspicious. She was right to be angry. I lied. I got in a car with a boy, snuck into a nightclub, and drank beer. I was on the path to becoming one of those horrible, out-of-control teens on the Maury Povich show, all sullen and cranky and full of hormones, squawking about huffing paint thinners and having unprotected sex.

  I wanted to tell her the truth. Part of me figured if I fessed up now, told her about the clubs, the website and Austin, she wouldn’t be that mad. Maybe she’d even be a little impressed. But I knew I couldn’t risk her punishing us and ruining our shot at a successful site. For the first time in our lives, we felt confident and special. And it was all because of KissnTell. I looked my mom in the eyes for the first time that morning. Even though they showed her age a bit, they were beautiful, hazel, and sparkling. I decided to tell her a partial truth.

  “Okay, the truth is,” I started, taking a quick look at Vaughn, who was shooting daggers at me, willing me not to confess and blow it for us, “we were late because of a boy.”

  My mom raised her eyebrows. “A boy?”

  “The one we told you about!” Vaughn chimed. “At the movie theater!”

  My mom narrowed her eyes, smirking a little. “And this boy,” she started carefully. “Is he the reason for your sudden interest in movies?”

  “I’ve always loved movies!” I replied, a little defensive.

  “Yes, but Vaughn doesn’t. I can’t believe you dragged her to Breathless and …” she paused, frowning. “What was it you saw last night?”

  “The Joan Rivers documentary,” I blurted. I happened to remember it was also playing at the Laemmle.

  “Right,” she murmured, turning her attention to Vaughn. “So, Vaughn, you’ve been going to the movies with Anais just to help her scope out a guy?”

  Vaughn shrugged. “I’m hoping he introduces me to his cute friends,” she said. I swallowed some Fruit Loops, stunned. Vaughn was a surprisingly good liar.

  My mom smiled. “So tell me about this guy,” she said, leaning back in her seat.

  “He’s gorgeous,” Vaughn gushed. “He has brown eyes and, like, sandy blond hair. Not blond blond, darker than that. He’s a bit scruffy but, in a good way, you know? Like you can tell he’s not a prima donna …” As Vaughn rambled on, my mom shot me little looks to gauge my reaction. I could not stop blushing. I thought my face would melt, sliding into my cereal bowl with a splat. “… Really mature, but not old or anything at all. Well, older than us, I guess.”

  “How old is he?” my mom cut in, her ears perked up. Vaughn looked at me. I had to decide quickly whether or not to lie. Would the truth offend her? Would it cause her to object to our date on Thursday? I figured I had too many lies to keep track of already. I didn’t want to throw another into the mix unless it was absolutely necessary.

  “He’s nineteen,” I said shyly.

  My mom raised her eyebrows. “Nineteen? And what was it you were doing with this nineteen-year-old until nearly two in the morning last night?”

  “Just talking …” I said.

  My mom narrowed her eyes. “That sounds like such a lie,” she said.

  “It’s not,” Vaughn said quickly. “He asked us to wait for him to get off work, so we did, and when he was done, we all hung out on Sunset and talked.”

  “For how long?”

  “Not that long,” I said. The interrogation was getting to me. I needed a breather, an easy question, a hot chocolate, something. My mom stared at us for a moment, clearly processing everything she’d just heard. She slapped her thighs, standing up.

  “Well, if you really like this boy, I’m happy for you,” she said, making her way to the door. “But if you’re ever late again without calling me to leting me know where you are, I will punish you. And Vaughn, I’ll have to tell your mother.” We nodded nervously, eyes wide. She took our cereal bowls, tousling my hair a bit. “Can I get you girls anything else?” she asked, smiling. We shook our heads, not willing to jinx our good luck. “Love you girls,” she said.

  “Love
you,” we replied softly. She closed the door behind her. As soon as it clicked shut, I sighed, closing my eyes and collapsing onto my back. Vaughn followed suit. We had gotten away with it, and yet it didn’t feel so good.

  “Holy shit,” I said.

  “Yeah, dude,” she seconded.

  “That was close.”

  “Uh-huh.” Vaughn leapt up from the bed and over to the laptop. “Let’s check the site,” she said. I stayed put, sprawled out on the rumpled sheets, the duvet balled under my thigh. “Ho-ly shit,” she murmured.

  I jolted upright. “What?”

  “There are a lot of comments,” she said. “Like, on every post.” I scrambled to her side, peering onto the screen. There were forty-seven comments on the Rihanna post, twenty-four on Liam’s, three on the bunnies’, seventy-three on Thornewood and Bell’s, and 104 on Vaughn’s.

  “Go to the post about you,” I urged, pointing to the insane number of comments. I scanned them quickly, holding my breath. Vaughn squeezed my hand, bracing herself for Internet bullying.

  if thats true he is such a d-bag

  shes cute but who does she think she is turning down baron caldwell!!

  what a dick

  ew. i hate him now

  what was she doing in his hottub if she wasnt DTF?

  Its true … my friend went home w him once and said he was totally aggressive/crazy

  I compulsively scanned the wall of anonymous commentary on my best friend’s life from complete and utter strangers, overwhelmed. Vaughn inhaled sharply, pointing to a comment further down the page. I squinted. It was from Bad_Romance:

  OMG, I know that girl! Goes to my HS. Not popular AT ALL. OMFG what is she doing with Baron Caldwell?!!!

  My heart skipped, though I couldn’t in all honesty say I was completely surprised. The pictures were pretty clear. I sighed, rubbing her back.

  “They recognized me,” she marveled.

  “Seems like it,” I said.

  “Who do you think wrote that?” she snapped.

  I shrugged. “Could be anyone at school …” I murmured. “I’m sorry, Vaughn.”