SLOW BURN

by Christie, Nicole

  “I’m not talking about this with my niece,” she mumbles.

  “Why not? I’m old enough to know that these things happen, and I know the difference between right and wrong. Just talk to Uncle Derek, tell him the truth. It will all work out.”

  Michelle drops her hands from her face. Her expression is bleak. “It’s not that simple,” she says quietly.

  “It could be,” I say stubbornly.

  She offers me a small smile, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “Honey, I’m sorry. I’m not feeling up to hanging out today. Why don’t you head back to your dad’s, and I’ll give you a call later tonight. Okay?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  We hug, hard and fast, then I reluctantly leave Michelle to her tears. I drive back to my dad’s apartment, worry making my stomach churn.

  I know it isn’t my place, but I can’t help but feel disappointed in Michelle. She’s always been there for me with great advice, or a shoulder to cry on, and I—it’s a strange feeling to realize someone you look up to isn’t perfect, and has weaknesses of her own. Difficulties in her own life that she might not be able to get through.

  It’s just depressing. I hate to see them fighting, especially over something like this. While Michelle claimed to have not cheated on her husband, it certainly seems to be heading that way. What the hell’s with all the cheating? Is it for the drama? Why do we love the drama so much?

  I can’t think clearly about Michelle’s situation, not without unfairly judging her due to my own cheating experience. It’s none of my business, anyway. Sucks, though.

  I don’t feel like staying here. I go back to Dad’s and fake a headache, asking if it’s okay if I go back early. The look of relief on his face kinda hurts. I wish I had a whipped cream pie so I could throw it at him.

  Screw this. I need Heather, and I need ice cream.

  “Jule!” Heather clutches my arm in a near panic. “Pretend that we’re together, okay?”

  We’re standing in line at Boppy’s, waiting for our turn to order delicious ice cream. It hasn’t moved since that skinny guy with the pink shirt got to the counter.

  “We are together,” I say to my suddenly nervous friend.

  “No, I mean like together,” she emphasizes, anxiously looking at something over my shoulder. The she starts rapid-fire whispering at me. “Don’t look right now, but there’s a tall girl with braids coming our way. I hooked up with her at the college party I went to with Ethan last week, and she’s been calling and texting me non-stop since. Which would be fine, because—no, don’t turn around! She’s hot and really fun to be with—but she has a boyfriend, and she keeps pushing for a threesome.”

  I frown at her. “You never told me you hooked up with anyone at that party.”

  Heather smiles sheepishly, tossing back her long hair. “I was drunk. I didn’t want you kicking my ass about it. But, please, just pretend that you’re my girlfriend, okay? I don’t want this to get awkward.”

  “Already there,” I mutter as a very tall dark-haired girl approaches us.

  Heather quickly puts an arm around my waist, and gives the girl a big cheesy grin. “Hey, Dawn! How’s it going?”

  “Hey, Heather.” The girl—Dawn—smiles, but there’s a question in her eyes. “It’s funny that I should run into you. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for a while.”

  “Yeah, sorry. I’ve been really busy with my girl, here.” Heather giggles and gives me a quick painful squeeze. “Oh, Dawn, this is my girlfriend, Juliet. Juliet, I met Dawn at a party I went to just before I met you.”

  I clear my throat, and nod at the other girl. “’Sup?”

  “Hi.” Dawn looks at me curiously. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend, Heather.”

  “Oh, well, it’s a very recent thing. True love at first sight.” She presses her cheek against mine.

  “Yup.” I try to look super-possessive and tough. “We can’t keep our hands off each other.”

  The guys standing in front of us immediately turn around, eyes wide and smiles perverted. I want to kick them. Isn’t that what an angry lesbian would do?

  Dawn looks confused, and a little put out, but she speaks graciously. “That’s great. Good luck to you both. Uh, it was nice seeing you again, Heather.”

  Heather waits until she’s out of sight to whirl on me. “What the hell was that?” she hisses.

  “What was what? Is this line ever going to move?” I mumble distractedly.

  “That! That six-pack-a-day-gangster-lesbian voice?” She points at me accusingly.

  “Oh,” I say gruffly. Then in a normal tone of voice: “Sorry. I didn’t know if I should be the butch or the bitch, so I went with what sounded more fun. You know, we’ve been standing here for fifteen minutes, and this line hasn’t moved an inch. Let’s just go to the one on Turner.”

  “Fine, but only if you promise not to yell at me about Dawn. Let’s go, stud.”

  I stifle a sigh as I follow her out of the food court. I would like to scold her for her careless behavior, but Heather tends to shut down whenever I bring up her drinking and casual hookups. I used to resort to leaving pamphlets in her purse, and whispering things like “gonorrhea” and “crabs” in her ear when she’d start to flirt with some random girl. The result was that she left me at home, and didn’t tell me about any parties she went to.

  I don’t know what to do about her. I’ve already started refusing to be her cover, and I’m seriously considering ratting her out to her parents. Yeah, she’d never talk to me again, but at least she’d be safe.

  “Oh, my god,” Heather says under her breath, bringing me out of my dark musings.

  “What? Is she back?” I murmur, ready to put my arm around her shoulders.

  She shakes me off, talking out of the corner of her mouth. “Don’t look, but that girl heading toward us—she’s absolutely beautiful!”

  There is actual awe in her voice. I don’t know why she tells me not to look since I always do. I stare right at the girl ahead of us. She’s standing outside of Gadgets, a kitchen appliance store, and looking down at the phone in her hand.

  She is beautiful, with her glossy black hair and exquisite features. “That’s Sloane Suzuki,” I whisper to Heather.

  Her brow furrows. “Who? Oh—one of the sea harpies?”

  “Yeah. The not-so-bitchy one. Sloane!” I shout before Heather can stop me.

  Sloane glances up, not looking very pleased to see me walking toward her. Hi,” she says briefly, then goes back to staring her phone. Heather continues to gape at her.

  “This is my friend, Heather,” I say, yanking on her arm and pulling her right in front of Sloane.

  “Hi-lo!” Heather says goofily, and snorts a laugh. She looks at me, horrified, and claps a hand over her mouth.

  I focus on the other girl, refusing to let my lips so much as twitch. “So, Sloane. Did you go to the dance last night?” I ask, just to make conversation so I don’t burst out laughing.

  “I don’t really do school dances,” she replies vaguely.

  “Oh. Well, we were just going to get ice cream—do you want to join us?” I get right to it, ignoring Heather’s quick intake of breath.

  Sloane forces a polite smile to her face. “No, thanks, I’m meeting someone in a few minutes. Some other time, maybe.”

  “Sure. See you in school Monday.”

  Heather grabs my arm, and starts dragging me out the exit

  “Oh, shit.” She gasps weakly when we’re in the parking lot. She drags her feet dramatically. “That was epic.”

  “Hi-lo?” I laugh. “Really? What are you, a Muppet? Hi-lo, everybody, I’m Heather the Frog.”

  She buries her face in her hands, giggling. “I was flustered!” she says, her voice muffled. She drops her hands, and steps up to me. “Juliet, you have to tell me every single thing you know about her.”

  I could have sworn I parked down this row, but I don’t see my dark blue car anywhere. “I don’t know that much,
” I answer Heather, leading her down another row. “I have her in my AP Lit class. She doesn’t talk a whole lot—not to me, at least. I don’t know if she’s ever dating anyone. Um…she hangs out with Dean sometimes, but they’re not together. I can ask around for you—and don’t worry, I’ll be subtle about it.”

  “I don’t care if you are.” Heather shrugs matter-of-factly. Then her face turns thoughtful as she looks off into the distance. “How do you spell her last name? I want to look up her on online.”

  I give her my best guess as we wander around, looking for my lost car. Did it get stolen? My phone beeps with an incoming text message, and I glare at it.

  Heather laughs at me. “Is that Johnny again, and his one hundred and fifty-seven reasons why you guys should get back together?”

  I frown down at the phone in my hand. “No, he’s been really quiet since the whole serenading mess.”

  “Oh, my god, the look on your face! I’m so glad someone posted it on their profile.”

  “Damn it,” I huff in exasperation. “It’s hard enough seeing him almost every day. Sometimes, when we’re just talking to each other like before, I forget, and I want to…I don’t know. But then I see her—or I replay what happened in my head—and I get so pissed off. Oh! There’s the car!”

  “Jule.” Heather hurries to keep up with me. She touches my arm. “You could forgive him, you know. You guys could work through it.”

  “No.” My voice hardens. “I can’t. I can’t even stand to look at him, sometimes.”

  Heather opens her mouth, then clamps it shut. She shakes her head. “You’re right. Why would I try to convince you to take him back? He’s a disaster. Let’s get some ice cream and forget this conversation ever happened. Except the part about Sloane, because I really want to know everything there is to know about that foxy bitch.”

  “I don’t even know if she swings that way, Heather.”

  “It’s okay. If she’s into dudes, I’ll make it work.”

  I don’t even know what she means by that. Really don’t want to.

  ******

  Chapter 12

  I get back from Dad’s around two in the afternoon, and immediately head into the kitchen. Mack texts me to let me know Nick will be hanging out with us, so I double everything I make. I really only mean to make the lasagna, but somehow I end up with sausage paella and banana muffins as side dishes. I tend to cook like a fiend when I have a lot on my mind. I’m sure it won’t go to waste, not with those guys around.

  Mack texts me that he’s back from church, so I load up my car with the steaming hot dishes, and head over to his house. I’ve never been there before, but I know the area, so I’m confident I can find it.

  The Aina house is a sprawling ranch style property, not too far from Nick’s place. Mack gives me a tour of the inside, and I have to fight to keep my expression neutral. The house is cluttered with knick knacks! There are Precious Moments figurines displayed everywhere: in huge glass cases, over the mantel, on shelves running along the walls of the living room—on almost every available surface of the kitchen. There are Precious Moments salt and pepper shakers! A boy and a girl stare at me with dead eyes when I pick them up to examine them.

  Speaking of Mack’s kitchen. No wonder he always wants me to cook for him. He shows me the contents of his refrigerator and pantry, and I think there must be some kind of mistake—is this where they keep their animal feed?

  “Alfalfa,” Mack says in an injured tone of voice. “Now how the hell am I suppose to feed these bad boys eating nothing but rabbit food all day?” He flexes his massive arms, muscles bulging and veins popping. Yeah, they look hungry.

  He leads me outside to the pool area, and it more than makes up for the inside. The large kidney-shaped pool is surrounded by palm trees, and Tiki torches staked into the planter bordering the area. There is the cutest Tiki bar set up in the corner, and I swear I smell coconut-scented sunscreen in the air. If I had a set up like this, I would spend every day on one of the chaise lounges, basking in the sun and my wealth.

  We put my covered dishes on a large glass table that Mack has already set with plates and silverware. Boys never seem to remember napkins, though, so I go into the kitchen to grab some.

  When I come back out, Nick is letting himself in from the side gate. He looks so relaxed and cheerful, I’m almost willing to forgive him for his part in Johnny’s boy band scheme.

  “Ouch,” I say when I spot the huge yellowing bruise on his calf. “What’s that from?”

  “That’s a souvenir from Friday’s game,” he says wryly, lifting his foot and examining the bruise. “Courtesy of Number 23.”

  Mack snorts, placing a pitcher of iced tea in the center of the table. “Little punk. Me and Johnny got him back good for you, though, huh?”

  Nick grins. “Yeah, you did. Never saw a guy cry for his mommy like that.” He plops down at the table, settling the backwards baseball cap on his head more securely.

  “Rough game?” I ask sympathetically.

  Nick shrugs. “Larrabee’s pretty tough. They really stepped up their defense this year. I think they could make the playoffs.”

  “So, what? We’ll still stomp their asses, like we did Friday,” Mack says with complete confidence. He stares intently at the Mexican lasagna as he lovingly unwraps the foil covering.

  “Did, uh, anyone else get hurt?” I try to ask casually.

  “Nah, Adler’s the only pussy on the team,” Mack says with a sly grin.

  “Excuse me, did you see the size of the guy who took me down? He made you look delicate.”

  I have to laugh at Mack’s unamused expression. “Let’s eat before the food gets cold,” I suggest quickly.

  Mack immediately brightens. It’s a good thing I made so much, because they guys just inhale everything. I’m ridiculously pleased with their over-the-top compliments on my cooking skills—which is just mediocre, to tell the truth.

  “Oh, shit,” Nick groans, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his flat stomach. “I ate so much, I can’t breathe.”

  Mack leans forward, peering into the lasagna pan. He immediately glares at Nick. “Tell me you didn’t eat that last piece.”

  Nick tilts his head to look at him. “Are you kidding me, Mack? You ate, like, half the pan.”

  “Maybe I was saving that last piece for a late night snack.”

  “Mack, I can make you more,” I say. I hand him a banana muffin as a peace offering.

  He flashes me a brilliant smile, brown eyes glowing as he accepts the muffin. “Thank you, beautiful girl. If I could move right now, I would give you a big ol’ sloppy kiss.”

  I laugh, leaning back and basking in the late afternoon sun like a lizard on a rock. “You could always serenade me again.”

  Mack chuckles, while Nick shakes his head in embarrassment.

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” Nick says sheepishly, scratching at the light stubble on his chin. “It was a bad idea.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mack protests in a deep jolly voice. “Man, it was awesome. Everyone loved us! I still think we should form a group. Check it out—we could call it ‘Mack and Those Other Guys.’”

  He spreads his hands in the air as if conjuring those words in the space in front of him. Nick and I look at each other and burst out laughing.

  “What?” Mack says, looking offended. “That’s awesome, right?”

  “I can totally see that,” I gasp, sitting up. “And you could wear those super shiny suits and do this a lot.” I get up and start doing my best boy band impression, clenching my fist and scrunching my face in angst-y passion.

  The smile drops from Mack’s face. “No shiny suits. Uh-uh. Not on this island boy.”

  Suddenly, a machine gun noise blasts through the air. Startled, I jump up, my full stomach forgotten.

  “Sorry!” Nick apologizes, reaching into the pocket of his shorts. He brings out his phone, and squints at it. He taps the screen several times, then grins big enou
gh for the dimples in his cheeks to pop out. “Oh, hell, yeah,” he murmurs.

  “What’s up?” Mack nods his chin at him. “Angie send you a dirty pic?”

  “Nah, Dean did,” Nick replies absently, still smiling down at his phone. “It’s freaking hot.”

  Mack’s brow furrows, and he looks at me. I give him wide eyes back. “Dude, I know Youngblood’s real pretty, but he’s still a dude. I didn’t know you had those kinds of feelings, man.”

  “Huh?” Nick, completely oblivious, looks up excitedly. “Dude, he found my car.”

  “Oh, shit—the Chevelle?”

  “Cherry red, baby.” Nick looks so cute right now, his hazel eyes lit with pleasure. He looks over at me, and explains. “It’s my dream car. Dean found a guy over in Covington whose got one. It’s been sitting in his garage for, like, months—it belonged to his dad who died last year. The old man was a car nut—the Chevelle was his baby. He spent a shitload of money fixing it up, then just when he was about to fire up the ol’ V8—bam! Dropped dead of a heart attack.”

  “Poor guy.”

  “I don’t know, man,” Mack says, running a hand over his shaved head. “She could be bad luck.”

  “I don’t care, Mack. I’ll have her blessed by a priest. Look at her—she’s beautiful. I’ll carry a lucky rabbit’s foot, and bathe in holy water.”

  Nick slides his phone across the table to Mack, who catches it, looks at the screen, and lets out a low whistle.

  “Dean says the guy will meet us at eight tonight. You in?”

  “Covington, huh?” Mack muses. Then he shrugs. “Sure. Why the hell not.”

  “Cool. What about you, Juliet?” Nick asks me.

  “Oh.” Surprised to be included, I hesitate for a second. “Who all is going?”

  “Just us and Dean.” Nick gestures to Mack and himself.

  “Oh,” I say again. “Uh, I think I’ll sit this one out.”

  “Okay, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Mack says suddenly, peering at me. “What’s the deal with you and Dean? And don’t tell me nothing, ‘cause every time someone mentions his name, you get that look on your face. Like you wanna stab yourself in the forehead with a fork.”