The Evolution of Ivy: Poison

by Lauren Campbell

  “Okay. Well, whatever it is, is she ready to forgive and forget now?”

  “Not exactly. It would take a lot sacrificing on my part. A lot. But we’ve been texting. She seems open to it.”

  The waitress brings out our tacos.

  “Thanks, hun.” Deacon smiles.

  She blushes and walks away while he watches her ass again.

  I know how much Deacon loved Kara and how great they were together. And I love Eliza and don’t want to be the guy who fucks his buddy’s girlfriend (or wife, by then) out of desperation. I would like to think I would never be capable of that. I know I would never cheat right now. But will I be able to say that in ten years when things are stagnant? When Eliza and I are far beyond new marital bliss with rambunctious kids and a nonexistent sex life? I don’t know. I don’t think anyone can predict ten years down the road. I’ve seen some of my closest, most faithful friends end up in affairs, subsequently ruining their long term relationships or marriages. It happens all too often.

  I do the right thing. For all of us. I punch him on the arm. “The choice is obvious, man. Emily is great, but you and Kara have too much history. Do what you can to fix it.”

  “You think so?”

  “Absolutely. But break it off ASAP, before Emily gets hurt any more than she already will.”

  He gulps the rest of his beer. “You’re right. I’ll talk to her.”

  He slaps his mug on the table. Gets up and says he’s gonna call Kara and ask to meet soon.

  I feel bad for Emily, but this is the only option. I’m in survival mode.

  I will myself not to glance at Emily’s apartment window as I drive by—just on the off chance she’s looking out her window at the exact moment. Paranoid, I know.

  Eliza opens the door. Her hair is a mess, and she’s clad in her favorite green sweats, but she still looks beautiful. The box of blueberry Munchkins—her favorite—dangles from my hand. She smiles.

  We cuddle on the sofa, but she doesn’t seem interested in my impromptu gift, so I eat most of them by myself.

  “Babe, eat.” I hold one up to her mouth, but her head turns away.

  She shifts her body closer to me. “Put them in the kitchen. I’ll eat them later. That was so sweet of you, babe.” She reaches up, her lips touching mine briefly. Short and sweet.

  I take the box to the kitchen. Can’t shake the feeling that something else is going on. She’s been off ever since the Colorado trip, but I am hoping it will eventually blow over. I don’t particularly care to open that can of worms so close to the wedding.

  Maybe she just needs to get out of the house. “Wanna see a movie or go for a walk or something?”

  She sighs. “No. I don’t want to go anywhere.”

  I turn to her. “Babe, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  “Wedding planning,” she relents. “It’s stressing me out.

  I open her dishwasher. “Babe, I already told you. Don’t stress. Just relax.”

  “Easy for you to say. You don’t have to do a damn thing!” she snaps. I had started putting her dishes away, but I stop, taken aback at her attitude. She softens. “Sorry.”

  “You won’t let me do anything. Tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help.”

  She shakes her head. Her face crinkles like she’s about to cry, but it smooths again. “It’s the dress. It barely fit, and we’ve eaten so much junk since then. I don’t know what I was thinking not buying locally. If I’ve gained an ounce, it’s going to be miserably tight. I need to starve myself until we get married.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You have to eat. I’m sure they can do last-minute alterations if necessary.”

  “That’s not the point!” She storms off to the bathroom and slams the door. I don’t know what’s up with her. Can she really still be pissed about me dropping Emily off at the cabin?

  I press my forehead against the bathroom door. “Will you let me in?” I ask. No answer. “Babe? The wedding doesn’t even matter. It’s just extra bullshit.” No response. “Come on, babe. I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.” Still nothing. “Okay, you know what? I hope the zipper pops on your way down the aisle so you have to marry me naked. That’s better than a damn dress.”

  The door opens. Tears are drying on her unamused face. I’m worried she may bite my head off like a praying mantis, but she leaps into my arms. She wraps her legs around me, and she kisses me better than she ever has. I carry her to her bed and rip her clothes off so that I can make love to her.

  And I don’t think of Emily at all.

  Her pussy tastes sweet today—diluted honey. Our bodies move together, and it’s so good. I haven’t felt this close to her in a while. I didn’t even notice, because the truth is the decline of a relationship is a gradual thing. I’m so glad for this moment that is bringing us closer together again. She is slippery wet. Pulling me, begging me to go deeper. I thrust hard into her. She moans, and it kills me.

  “I’m gonna come,” I say.

  “No, wait. I’m close.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” I whisper. I try to keep going, but her warmth and the sounds of her pleasure are too much.

  I start to retreat, but she holds onto me, gripping me with her legs. Her pussy clenches familiarly. She’s coming. I moan loudly, relieved, and flood inside her like it’s 2005 and I’m Hurricane Katrina. I collapse on top of her, our sweat mixing, my heart pounding.

  I laugh.

  “What?” she asks, her chest heaving.

  “Now you really may not fit into your dress.”

  She smiles. “If a swimmer figures out how to get past my birth control, it would be like Michael Phelps or something.”

  “Pfft. It would take a lot more than speed. More like Einstein.” I tickle her above her knees.

  She laughs and tries to move away, but I grab her wrists and hold her down. She stops, our eyes locking as she gazes up at me. Her hair is fanned out around her head, and she has a perfect after-sex glow. I don’t think she has ever looked more beautiful.

  I lean down and kiss my future wife.

  December 2003

  Over a year has gone by. It’s almost Christmas break now—tenth grade. Brooks and I haven’t talked since that day the bitch shoved me into the fountain. He tried to speak to me one day, but I ran away from him like a coward, because I was afraid. I never wanted to see that look of pity in his eyes again.

  I unwillingly dream of him every night. It makes me physically sick sometimes. I’ve had no choice but to watch his affection for Kate grow, and to be subjected to a pain I didn’t know existed.

  On days when the PDA between him and Kate goes too far—the train wreck I can’t force myself to avert my eyes from —or when I overhear her talk about their make-out sessions and how his lips felt or how he touched her, I puke. But it’s not enough to shave off the ten pounds I packed on from self-medicating with sugar after Brooks moved to France. And it’s not enough to melt away the twenty-three I’ve gained since he started dating Kate.

  Brooks has changed. I know he must still be in there somewhere, but I don’t know where. He’s not as bad as the other jocks he hangs out with, but he still laughs along with them when they taunt me, despite looking uncomfortable. He’d still never give me the time of day, would never acknowledge what we once had that now lives alone in my heart. I’m so lonely, so sad, but I don’t even have one friend I can confide in about this. I only have my parents. And they’d just pat me on the shoulder reassuringly and tell me to forget him, that he’s missing out, and that one day I’ll find my prince. But I won’t. I know I won’t. I’m too ugly now, and that harshly renders me unworthy of guys like Brooks. Societal standards have decided that. He’s older now. Old enough to care what people think. Kate is pretty, and she’s from a similar family. She was fortuitous in her birth, and I was doomed anyway—even before Eliza did what she did—because of my poor parents. And that is just the savage, brutal reality for some of us.

  Kate bou
nces into the classroom, her hair curled to perfection—an oddity since she always wears it pin straight. She beams, happiness oozing from her like a weeping wound. Her backpack drops to the ground as she stands near her desk. The cunt who called me a lesbian rushes to her side.

  “Sooo,” the cunt says. “What happened last night?”

  “I’ll tell you at lunch,” she says, her cheeks red roses.

  My heart squeezes, but I can’t shut off my ears. Can’t make them stop listening.

  Cunt straightens in her chair and pounds a fist on her desk. “Oh my God, tell me now! Did it happen?”

  A smile spreads across Kate’s face, and I instantly want to die.

  “Oh my God, you bad girl!”

  “It was sooo perfect.” She smiles. She lowers her voice to a whisper, “He’s sneaking in again tonight after my parents go to sleep.”

  I can’t breathe. This may as well be CO2, because my lungs aren’t taking in any air. Brooks had sex with her. And they’re going to do it again. My heart is broken—absolutely broken.

  I get permission from Mr. Karting, and I stumble to the bathroom. Lock myself in a stall. Collapse on the floor.

  I hug my knees and sob as my soul turns dark.

  I can’t go back in there—the tear spots not yet dry on my pants. It would be too much, seeing the happiness on Kate’s face, knowing she’s sleeping with the guy I love, the guy I grieved deeply for.

  He wasn’t just a first crush. He was my best friend. Brooks had accepted me. He didn’t care that I didn’t have the newest and latest fashion. He didn’t care that my dad was the janitor and that I got free tuition at J. Stewart. Perhaps the things we’d done and had talked about were childish, but our connection wasn’t. I’d fallen in love with him. As real and as true as a child can love. The way we’d cared for each other, needed each other, wasn’t any less than two adults. Given my circumstances of coming from a destitute family, of caring for myself when Mom put in overtime at the buffet or Dad was on his side job, maybe I was already matured on some essential level, allowing me to love him as deeply as I did. As deeply as I still do. His going away pushed me into a depression unaffiliated with a puppy love. It had destroyed most of the light that did exist within me, leaving only a pinprick.

  But I had hope. And I always maintained it, caring for it like an injured animal. Careful not to have unrealistic expectations, but always praying for the best, which was to have him come home. And he did. But he’d changed. And so had I.

  “Um … Ivy?” A lazy, female voice, uncaring as to whether I respond. It only calls once.

  When the final bell for dismissal rings, I force myself out of the bathroom and back to the classroom to get my bag. Mr. Karting looks up from his desk when I walk in.

  He regards me over his glasses. “Everything all right? I sent Cora to check on you.”

  “I … I’m fine,” I stammer, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with that Jansen boy, does it?”

  My face reddens. Tears lick at my eyes again. I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry. How does he know?

  “People think teachers don’t pay attention,” he says, approaching my desk. “But we hear all the gossip. I understand you two used to be an item of sorts—first crush sort of thing?”

  My eyes look down to my shoes. I bite my lip, pushing back the tears that want to leak out.

  He rests a hand on my shoulder. Squeezes it. “Ivy, listen. I overheard some things, some … unpleasant things. Anybody can be society’s definition of beautiful with enough money. But you have something else that most of the kids at this school don’t have, and that’s a heart. And money can’t buy that. No boy is worth being upset over. You’re going to do great things, with or without that Jansen boy in your life. With or without anyone. Got it?”

  I nod sheepishly, and force myself to make eye contact with him. “Got it.”

  “So, how was today, sweetie?” My mom drops mashed potatoes on my plate.

  “It was good.” Lying to them has become easier than telling the truth. I don’t want my parents to worry about me. After the accident, my mom had a lot of sleepless nights. I don’t want to do that to her again. The thought sours my stomach.

  She smiles. “That’s wonderful! But are you sick? You look a little sick.”

  “You do look sick,” Dad says. “You feeling okay?”

  “I’m just really tired,” I mutter through my potatoes.

  I excuse myself after my plate is clean. I do my homework, and lie in bed. Eventually, I roll off the bed and lift my mattress. Pull a binder from underneath, and thumb through the pages inside. They’re cool against my fingertips. I should close it right now, put it back, and never look at it again. Or better yet, I should burn it or throw it out. But I can’t. Inside are photographs of Brooks and me, ones we took with a little instant Polaroid camera his brother had given him. In the first, we are smiling in the hall at school, our faces blurry from being too close to the lens because we took it ourselves. Another was taken by his parents upon his request—just before graduation. I remember they didn’t look happy about it, but they snapped the photo anyway. My favorite picture in the whole binder, however, is the one we took the day before he left, the day before the last day. Another self-portrait, it, too, is blurry because of our short kid-arms, but we were so happy. I rub my fingers across the girl’s face. I miss her. She was a regular, ordinary little girl who could run and play outside and roam the aisles of a grocery store without feeling eyes on her. A little girl who loved and was loved by Brooks. A girl who probably never would have been beautiful, but who wasn’t ugly.

  I turn the pages, settling on the most sacred of my possessions. I had saved and taped all of our letters and notes in this binder, too. One in particular is a favorite, one I’ve read many times. I run my finger over it. He gave it to me a week before he left, but he made me promise not to read it until he was gone.

  Ivy,

  I hate we are moving. I don’t want 2 go 2 France. I want 2 stay here with u! But I guess this is goodbye for now. Lunch time was the best part of my day this year, bcuz I got 2 sit with the best girl in school. U are awesome. I told u b4 but u have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen and I’ll always remember them. But ok that sounds like I’m saying bye forever and I’m not bcuz we are coming back in only like 365 days or something. Woo! I’m sad and I know this is even weirder but I think I luv u. IDK???? I know. Really weird sorry. I’ll miss u. Have a great summer!!!!!

  Brooks

  I smile, and I laugh, and I cry. I pray that what seems like reality is just a dream. That I will wake, and that my dreams will become truth.

  We’re a few minutes earlier than usual to school today, because my mom is working the breakfast shift at the buffet. We’re alone, except for the other staff.

  I have to pee. When I enter the hall again, other kids are beginning to trickle in. I scan the bodies, looking for signs of Brooks—our love fresh in my mind after crying over our pictures. A couple of students pass by a locker, stopping abruptly. Their mouths hang open. I inch closer, curious as to what they see. A post-it note sticks to it, but I’m too far away to read it. Some kids stop, look, keep walking after shaking their heads. Others laugh, but the majority stick around, clearly waiting on the owner of the note to discover it.

  Brooks finally opens the door to the building. Everyone looks to him, awaiting his reaction. It’s not his locker, so I’m confused. Then I realize it’s Kate’s. From the way people are acting, I believe they think Brooks wrote it.

  Brooks makes his way down the hall, unaware of anything out of the ordinary. Someone grabs his arm. Whispers to him. He rushes to the locker, rips the paper off and reads it. Mouths the words to himself. He suddenly looks ill. His face has gone pale. He leans back against the locker, and if I were closer I am sure I could see beads of sweat forming. By now, everyone has figured out that he didn’t write it. The laughter morphs into large eyes and i
naudible whispers.

  Sunlight bathes the hall as a door opens. Kate waltzes in, surrounded by a group of girls, including the cunt. She’s so unsuspecting of anything to ever go wrong in her life that she’s not even noticing how silent this typically loud hall is. Focused on her friends, they’re chatting and laughing.

  “Kate!” Brooks yells.

  She instantly looks to him. He holds up the note. Shakes it in the air. Fear etches into her face as she realizes something is wrong. Brooks’s eyes are wild, his nostrils flared.

  “What the hell is this, Kate?” He shoves the note into her hand.

  What in the world is going on? I wonder.

  She takes it. Reads it before taking a defensive step back. “What? Where did you get this?”

  “Uh huh. Who is he, Kate?” He jerks the note back from her.

  Who is who? Why is he being so mean to her?

  “What? There is no he! This is a joke, some kind of prank!” She looks at the kids filling the halls, like she’s searching for guilty eyes.

  “And I’m supposed to believe you? After you lied to me last week about shopping with your mom?”

  Her voice cracks. “Brooks, that’s unfair! That was a little white lie. I didn’t want you to be mad at me. I couldn’t cancel my plans!” Her eyes are shiny, wet with tears waiting to slide down her face.

  “Yeah? Well, unfortunately a white lie is all it takes to break trust. We’re done.” He balls up the note and slaps it into her hand before walking away.

  She stands there with her friends who only pretend to give a shit. Her hand drops the note, and she sobs. I kind of feel bad for her, even though they aren’t meant to be anyway.

  Her friends pretend comfort her as the first bell rings. The halls eventually clear, the note left abandoned where she’d dropped it.

  I pick it up, tugging on it until it loses its crumpled ball shape.

  It’s definitely a boy’s handwriting. Or at least it looks like it.