The Mean Girl Apologies

by Stephanie Monahan

  Neither had I.

  We’d kissed. In public. Kissed. In front of his friends. Reid and Travis had pretended not to notice, but considering the fact they’d been standing behind us, there was no way they could not have seen. They’d had front-row tickets to our make-out session.

  After the concert, he dropped me off at the end of the cul-de-sac. I ran my thumb over his knuckles and back again. It took a second before I even realized I was doing it. Touching him had become a kind of second nature. Unsure, I brought my hands back to my lap, but he reached out and reclaimed them. The assuredness of his gesture made my heart speed up, as if it was running toward something. Toward him. I hadn’t meant for this to happen, but it was as if I was being guided in his direction. His was a tide I was unable to swim against. I didn’t want to.

  But there were so many other things to consider.

  “You don’t mind your friends knowing about…” I let my voice trail off. For some reason, I couldn’t say “us.”

  That made him laugh. “I’m pretty sure they’ve known for a while.” I guess that made sense. We hadn’t exactly been trying to hide it from them. “But no, I don’t. My friends are cool. They accept people. You won them over, actually.”

  “I did? How?”

  He shrugged. “By being you.”

  He said it so simply, as if it should have been obvious. What did it say about me, about my friends, that I couldn’t truly be myself around them? That I was always guarded, so aware that my next step could be a wrong move.

  “My friends aren’t like yours.”

  He laughed again. “No kidding.”

  “They wouldn’t…” I couldn’t bring myself to say, They wouldn’t accept you.

  “No worries, Science Club.” He caught me off-guard by leaning forward, pushing my hair out of the way, and kissing my collarbone. It was a quick move, but that didn’t stop all of the blood in my body from rushing up to the point where his lips touched skin. “I’ll still keep our secret.” His lips played along my earlobe. “It’s fun. Are you still having fun?”

  I could barely speak as his lips slid down to my neck. I managed to squeak out a yes. Yes, I would most definitely call this fun.

  …

  At school the following Monday, I was walking down the hall with Amber between classes when I spotted Talia coming the other way. She was with Jack, laughing at something he said. She wore a plaid skirt that barely covered her ass, and her long, pale legs were so skinny, like pencils. They came closer, and my palms started to sweat. This was not fun. The two of them together like that made my stomach turn. They were about to pass me by. He was not even looking at me. I squeezed Amber’s wrist to get her attention.

  “Nice skirt,” I called out. Talia turned sharply in my direction, and so did Jack. “Nothing like leaving a little to the imagination.”

  Everyone in the hallway burst out laughing, especially Amber. Talia’s face grew as pink as her hair, and beside her, Jack finally did look at me. His closed-mouth expression cut straight through me. “Just keep going,” he said to Talia, and the two of them continued down the hall. Amber was still laughing, and some basketball meathead even high-fived me, but I couldn’t hear what anyone said through the rush of blood in my ears. I really didn’t know why I’d done that. I guess it just made me feel better.

  Chapter Eleven

  According to her Facebook page, Talia Roberts was the assistant manager of LivingPure, a sort of Bath & Body Works for vegans. It was an up-and-coming local chain that started in Cambridge in 2010 and now had locations in Chestnut Hill and Kenmore Square in Boston, and that was where I went on Saturday.

  It was sunny and hot, nearly ninety degrees, hard to breathe inside the T. Once I got onto the sidewalk, though, the air became less humid and almost comfortable. The last time I was in this neighborhood, Jack had been on a mission to find a rare EP of a band I’d never heard of. My heart sped up as I neared a familiar corner where the record store used to be. I was fully expecting to see some drugstore or vitamin shop, which was what Nona’s was now. But the place, Nuggets, was still there.

  Two more blocks and I had arrived at LivingPure. Zen piano music drifted out of the store and onto the street. Inside, there were two or three customers drifting around, smelling soaps and trying lotion. I didn’t see Talia, just a guy with gigantic spacers in his ears, talking to a silver-haired woman about the benefits of “living pure.” He kept inserting the phrase, doing his best to sound as if it was organically coming up in the conversation. The woman nodded as he spoke, and I wondered if this place was some sort of cult. “When you live pure, you feel so much better,” he was saying. “As if you are pure. Inside.”

  I could barely suppress a snort. From behind me, a voice asked, “May I help you?”

  It was Talia. Her blonde hair and pink tips had been replaced with a full head of bright fuschia. Her piercings were still there, and she was just as skinny as she used to be.

  It must’ve taken me too long to respond, because she asked again, “Is there something I can help you find?”

  Nope. I found her. “Actually,” I said and laughed a little, “I was looking for you.”

  It came out pretty stalker-ish, and Talia stepped back. “Oh…okay? Did I not pay a bill or something? Because Ronan is the one who keeps the books.”

  “No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s— I’m Natalie. From high school. I don’t know if you remember me…”

  Her mouth fell open as she stared. “Oh. Oh my God. Yeah, I totally remember you now.” She was sort of grimacing.

  “Great.” I cleared my throat. “I was wondering if we could talk for a minute?”

  She considered it, looking me up and down much like the way I used to do to her. “Hey Ronan! I’m going out back for a couple minutes!”

  We walked outside and around the back of the building by the industrial garbage cans. “I’m guessing you don’t want to talk to me about living the pure life,” she said.

  I shook my head. A couple of people who worked at adjacent stores loitered around, smoking. We walked past them, Talia making a show of waving the smoke out of her face. “Definitely not living pure,” she said, loud enough for the smokers to hear. They glared at us.

  “So,” she said, leaning up against the wall, “Natalie. What brings you here today?”

  It was weird, the way she asked. As if she’d been expecting me. I looked down at my hands, which I’d been wringing together so hard they started to hurt. I forced myself to put them to my side. “I’ve been thinking a lot about high school lately”—this had become my standard apology introduction—“and I want to say I’m sorry for how I treated you back then.”

  Talia looked at me, narrowing her eyes. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to as go as well with her as it had with Fiona. “Hmm,” she said. “Interesting. You’ve been thinking about high school?”

  I nodded.

  “Just, like, out of the blue?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  She smiled. “Are you sure nothing else happened to make you think of it? Like, maybe a certain hit song?”

  The sun was beating down on the top of my head and I wiped my forehead. She was still smiling. “So you know.”

  “Of course I know. I knew back then, too.” Her eyes darkened. “What was going on between you two.”

  I shook my head. “He said you weren’t—”

  “We weren’t.” She looked away, past my right shoulder, somewhere.

  She still wasn’t looking at me when I said, “I’m sorry I was so mean to you. The truth is I was jealous.”

  After a few seconds, she made eye contact. “You were jealous. That’s kind of funny. Do you know what I would have done to get him to look at me the way he looked at you?”

  This time, it was me who looked away. I’d always assumed she liked him, but he’d insisted she didn’t. Guys could be so stupid sometimes, especially seventeen-year-old ones.

  “The so
ng.” She sighed. “I’ve always wanted someone to write a love song about me.”

  “Are you kidding? It’s not a love song.”

  “Oh my God.” She put both of her hands to the side of her head. “Are you really that dense?”

  “What do you mean? I’ve listened to every song on his album about twenty times, and I’m pretty sure I understand what he’s saying just fine.”

  “Obviously, you haven’t been listening very closely,” she said.

  I shook my head. If that was her idea of a love song, she must’ve had the same amount of luck with guys as I did.

  “I still can’t believe it,” she said after a while. “He did exactly what he said he was going to do. How many of us can say that?”

  “Not me.”

  “Yeah. Me, neither. It’s not that I’m not totally into shampoos that don’t lather and all that. But it’s not exactly the life I’d pictured for myself after college.”

  “Tell me about it. At least you don’t still live in Stonebury.”

  She twisted up her face. “Ugh, don’t even say that.”

  And now Talia and I were commiserating behind a vegan soap store on a ninety-degree day in Kenmore Square. Life could be so weird sometimes.

  “I knew the song was going to be a hit,” she said.

  “What do you mean? How did you hear it?”

  She looked at me again, like I rode the short bus. “Because, you know, this little thing called friendship?” She sighed. “He played ‘Good Enough’ for me and Reid and Trav, and the three of us looked at each other, like whoa. I don’t think even he knew it at the time, but we did.”

  I pictured the four of them sitting around some grungy New York City apartment, listening to Jack play, and it made my heart ache, because it should have been me. I should’ve been there.

  But if I had, then the song wouldn’t exist.

  All these thoughts were racing around my head when I realized what she was saying. He had played the song for her. They were still friends. “So…did he ever say anything, you know, about…me?”

  “Oh, no. I’m not going there. If he wants to talk to you, then that’s on him. Besides, you’re a smart girl. You can figure things out.”

  I had no idea what she meant by that. It was getting so unbearably hot, and I was tired and still had to get back to the T. “Okay,” I said. “Thanks for talking to me. And I really am very sorry, song or not.”

  Talia nodded slightly, an acknowledgment.

  A slender guy in a white tank top and two full tattoo sleeves jogged over, interrupting us. He threw his arm around Talia’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Hey babe, Ronan said you were out here. Can I get the flyers for the show tonight?”

  Talia’s entire demeanor changed. She was relaxed and literally gazing up at him in what I could only describe as adoration. “They’re in Ronan’s office, in a manila folder on his desk.”

  “You are incredible.”

  They kissed. And kissed. And kept…kissing. I turned, wondering if I should be on my way. But then they separated and he was jogging away.

  Talia watched him go, and after a minute, she smiled at me. “Maybe I wasn’t in love with Jack back then. Maybe I just wanted to be in love with a rock star. Who wouldn’t?”

  I nodded. I couldn’t argue with that.

  …

  That weekend’s featured poll on the Celebrity Weekly app popped up as soon as I opened it: which hollywood hottie should jack moreland date?

  Jack’s made a career for himself by singing about love, but he’s uncharacteristically quiet about his current love life. If the star is single, who do you think he should date? Sound off below!

  There were four choices. Kirsten Worthington, a blond fashion designer who apparently won the latest season of a reality design series. She was gorgeous, wearing a red dress that looked painted on. She lives close to Jack’s East Village neighborhood, and nothing goes together like fashion and rock and roll!

  The second option, Emma Morgan, was a nineteen-year-old British actress who was known for playing quirky, slightly off-center types. In her next art house movie, she would be full-on nude in at least two scenes. By all accounts, Jack is a nice, down-to-earth kind of guy. Emma’s boundary-pushing persona could give him a little edge!

  Next was Samantha Lawson, the sugary pop-tart cake-bra wearer who I’d seen in other pictures with Jack. Everyone loves Samantha! She’s been in the business for a while and knows what sells. She and Jack together could be unstoppable!

  The last choice was a Victoria’s Secret model who went by only her first name, Kasie. She stared at me from a blanket-strewn bed, pouting her full, red lips, her eyes slightly droopy, as if drugged. An angel and a rock star? Obviously!

  Well. I supposed they were all perfectly good choices.

  The app wouldn’t let me see the results of the poll without voting, but I couldn’t bring myself to choose any of them. It was like I would be somehow participating in their matchmaking, which made me feel a little sick. But I really wanted to know who the readers favored. I closed my eyes and tapped on the screen until the picture changed and a box popped up.

  Samantha 85%

  Kasie 10%

  Emma 3%

  Kirsten 2%

  The box disappeared to reveal Samantha, dressed up in what I could only guess was some sort of peacock outfit, her boobs pushed up to her throat, her waist the circumference of my finger.

  The people have spoken! The vast majority of you see Samantha Lawson and Jack Moreland making beautiful music together!

  Ugh.

  I couldn’t imagine Jack dating someone like Samantha, at least, not if she was anything like her public persona. But he did deserve to be happy. To make beautiful music with someone. She would have to be witty, smart enough to keep up with him. Natural, not like the duck-lipped women we’d grown up around. A real person. Someone who would be honest with him. Who would always have his back. Someone who would be there for him in all the ways I couldn’t. Someone to make up for all the times I’d failed him.

  Maybe the real reason I couldn’t work things out with Owen was that I didn’t think I deserved a good relationship, at least, not until I fixed things with Jack. There had to be an explanation for the fact that all my friends had mature adult relationships while emotionally, I was stuck in high school. Jack would never feel the same way about me again. A part of me wondered if anyone ever would.

  A sudden thickness in my throat made it hard for me to swallow. I clicked out of the app and slipped my iPad under my pillow. Maybe I should take a break from these polls for a while.

  Chapter Twelve

  I tried to convince Gillian to be my plus one for Amber’s shower at the Howell family estate in Hyannis. I’d kept her away from my friends, compartmentalizing my life in a way that I hadn’t meant to but that, I realized, I’d had practice with. I guess I was afraid of their judgment of her. And I didn’t want her to see me differently, the way I was when I was with them. But she knew everything now and was pretty curious to meet them. And I wanted an unbiased opinion on Amber. Was Sarah right? Was she really trying, and I just didn’t see it? Was I still stuck on my vision of her at seventeen, so I couldn’t see her for who she was now? But Gillian couldn’t come to the shower. She already had plans to visit her sister and her “devil’s spawn” three-year-old nephew in DC.

  Sarah and Derek were driving down together, as it was a Jack and Jill event, though I couldn’t imagine what a group of guys in their early twenties was going to do at a bridal shower. I didn’t even know what I was going to do. Lori had gone down two nights ago for a family party, so I drove alone. I tuned the radio to Sunny 101.5 and heard “Good Enough” three times on a two-hour drive. After the third time, a commercial came on. “Listen up and have a chance at seeing Jack Moreland live in concert with the Yellow Chevys and Force of Nature at TD Garden! Tune in to Sonny and Kim in the Morning for more details!”

  Good thing for rumble strips, because I a
lmost drove off the road. First of all, TD Garden? That was huge. Second, Force of Nature? They were the last band I’d ever expected Jack to tour with. Their whiny frat-pop hits played on Sunny 101.5 on perpetual rotation, and had for a couple of years now. They sang about getting drunk and getting laid and reminded me of the kind of stuff that Adam Dixon would sing about if he ever tried to pick up a guitar. They were also one of the hottest bands around. This tour was going to get Jack out in front of a lot of people.

  “Just a little bit bigger than the Palladium,” I said out loud to myself in my car. I touched my lips, then put my hands squarely back on the steering wheel.

  I passed through three security checkpoints before being allowed through the gate. I drove up a narrow, windy road flanked with tall birch trees, and eventually the estate came into view. When we were kids, Amber’s family had a beach house in nearby Dennis, but it was a normal-sized, wood-shingled bungalow at the end of a residential street. This place was truly an estate. There were white pillars everywhere and a fountain like the kind on my college campus, only much prettier. I drove out to the farthest end of the parking lot—it really was a lot, the size you’d see at a shopping center—so as not to worry about squeezing in between all the Escalades and BMWs.

  I got out of the car, smoothing down my green dress, and collected Amber’s gift from the trunk. The cable-knit throw blankets had looked so pretty in the store. They were soft and cozy and, most importantly, pretty much the only item from the registry that I could afford. Something told me it would look cheap and cheesy next to the other gifts she was bound to get. But I was on a budget. Plus, what do you get the girl who has everything?

  A car pulled in next to mine, and I was surprised to see Mike get out. “Good idea,” he said, gesturing to our parking spaces. “Last thing I need is one of those hoodlums scratching my car.”

  “Exactly.” We hugged briefly. He looked cute in khakis and a blue polo shirt, awkwardly holding a box that had obviously been professionally gift-wrapped, complete with a bow and curled ribbon. “I didn’t think you were actually going to come. I mean, I have to be here…”