Fml

by Shaun David Hutchinson

  Everyone was staring at us, which was nothing new. Ben was a one-man spectacle. For once, I didn’t care.

  Stella tapped the table with her finger as she seemed to consider my offer. “No deal,” she said.

  My shoulders fell and I tried to think of something witty to say that would let me slink back to my table with my pride intact. But Stella wasn’t finished with me.

  “I’ll sit with you only if you tell me how you got beat up.” Stella pointed at my nose. The swelling had gone down some, but I still couldn’t breathe properly.

  Maybe I should have been embarrassed to recount the entire night’s events to this strange, beautiful girl, but when I looked into her eyes, when she smiled, I couldn’t say no. “Deal.”

  Stella collected her dog, and I carried her plate and drink to our table. She slid into the booth first as I said, “Guys, this is Stella. Stella, this is the Unambiguously Gay Duo.”

  They traded introductions. Ben made an ass of himself as usual. Trish brought us a fresh plate of steaming cheesy fries. When she dropped them off, she flashed me her dimples, which I’d seen only once before.

  “So,” Stella said. “Who beat the ugly into you?”

  I looked at Coop and Ben, and then at Stella. The whole night washed over me like the incoming tide. So much had happened. So much had changed. It would take me until dawn to tell Stella the whole story, but there was nowhere else I wanted to be. I began at the beginning.

  “I guess it started when I tried to turn a paper clip into a kiss.”

  Reality Bites

  Stella’s house was one side of a duplex on a quiet street near the railroad tracks. Somehow Falcor seemed to know where we were, because the closer we got, the more he barked and panted and danced in my lap. I knew how he felt. The whole way over, I wondered if Stella had left Falcor at the party on purpose. Would she be happy to find me on her doorstep in the middle of the night or would she be disappointed I wasn’t Ewan? I wasn’t sure if I should even knock on the door at all, but it wasn’t like I could go creeping around outside her house, peering through windows to find the one that belonged to her.

  “Are you going to do it, or what?” Coop asked. We’d been sitting outside her house for five minutes and I hadn’t moved. I couldn’t stop replaying in my mind the last thing she’d said to me. Did she honestly believe I was perfect? That maybe I’d be perfect for her or that we’d be perfect together? I’d never know if I didn’t get out of the car, and that’s exactly what scared the shit out of me.

  “I’m working on it,” I said. We waited another minute and I could sense the boys growing restless. I tried to distract them. “Hey, you never told me what happened with you guys tonight.”

  Ben was rummaging through the glove box for a candy bar he was sure he’d stashed in there. “With what?”

  “The sex,” I said. “Did you do it?”

  Ben turned around in his seat and grabbed the front of my shirt. “Simon, I’m hungry. Under any other circumstances, I’d tell you to go screw yourself, but since I know you’re just stalling, I’m going to tell you.” Ben glanced over at Coop, who held up his hands. “We did it. It was awesome. Happy?”

  Coop shook his head that they hadn’t actually done it, but he was smiling. I knew I’d get the whole story eventually, but it honestly didn’t matter. My best friends were happy and in love. The rest was gravy.

  “Fine,” I said. “You’re a stud.”

  Ben let go of my shirt. “Damn right, and I love this idiot over here. Now go give that girl her dog so we can go eat.”

  There was nothing else to do, so I got out of the car. The moment Falcor’s tiny paws hit the ground, he ran toward the house. I thought he must have some kind of supernose to smell that he was home. It all smelled the same to me, but somewhere in this stew of scents, Falcor smelled Stella.

  I chased the dog to a green door, in front of which he stopped and sat down. Before fear could get the best of me, I knocked three times, wincing at the hollow drum beat that echoed through the night.

  Lights turned on inside and I subconsciously began taking shallower breaths. Falcor wagged his little tail and panted, acting on the outside how I felt on the inside. I tried to think of something clever to say to Stella, but my words dried up when the door opened.

  A large, hairy man in a pair of dingy white briefs stood in the doorway, holding a Louisville Slugger. The light framed him, blunting his features with nightmarish shadows. He had a sleeve of tattoos and a large misshapen scar on his abdomen. Honestly, I nearly peed my pants in fear, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. That dude had “psycho killer” written all over him.

  “Uh . . . uh . . . shit.” The words dribbled out as my brain melted from sheer terror.

  The yeti brandished the bat menacingly. “Boy, you better have a good reason for waking me up.” His voice was gravelly and deep and promised unimaginable pain if I didn’t provide a satisfactory answer.

  The truth was, I had a great reason for knocking on this brute’s door in the middle of the night, but I was in fight-or-flight mode, and my words had obviously chosen to flee.

  “You got till the count of three before I beat your ass.”

  There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he’d do it. That crazy dude looked like he’d dismember Girl Scouts for Caramel deLites. But I froze.

  “Oscar, leave him alone. He’s slow.”

  My breath whooshed out of me as I turned and saw Stella standing outside the door of the adjoining house. She was wearing pajamas covered with unicorns pooping rainbows.

  Oscar frowned—a truly frightening sight. “Fool woke me up.”

  Stella waved him off like he was an annoying toddler and not a seven-foot-tall bloodthirsty giant. “He’s stupid, not a burglar. I’ll take it from here.”

  With a grunt, Oscar slammed the door in my face.

  “I fully expect to find out one day that Oscar has a freezer full of human corpses,” Stella said. She leaned against her door with her arms over her chest. If she was self-conscious about me seeing her in her pj’s, she didn’t show it.

  “Is that your dad?” I asked.

  Stella laughed so hard that she snorted. Even that was moderately cute. “That’s not my house,” Stella said. She pointed at the numbers on the doors. I was standing at 606. Stella’s house was 608.

  “I really am slow,” I said.

  “No argument here.”

  “You left your dog.”

  Falcor was already at Stella’s feet, standing on his back legs, trying to get her to pick him up. The moment felt awkward because Stella wasn’t acting like she was even remotely happy to see me. I’d hoped that she’d left Falcor so that I could find her, but that was dumb, right? Maybe I’d misunderstood. Maybe she’d really just forgotten about him.

  “And you brought him home.” Stella turned to leave.

  “That’s all?”

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  I panicked. I didn’t know what to say to Stella, so I said, “I kissed Cassie.”

  “Me too!” she said. Then she rolled her eyes.

  I was blowing it big-time and I had to do something or I would never see Stella Nash again.

  “But then I realized I didn’t want to kiss her,” I said. “I mean, I wanted to kiss her, but then I didn’t. I wanted to kiss you. I think. Fuck, I’m screwing everything up.” I took a deep breath and said, “I thought kissing Cassie would change everything. But it didn’t.”

  “Sorry,” Stella said. She actually sounded like she meant it.

  “I’m not.”

  Stella sighed. “Listen, I’m happy for you, but it’s late and I’m tired and dead people don’t put makeup on themselves. Unless they’re zombies, but I’m pretty sure we don’t have any of those right now.”

  Falcor scampered around our feet, yapping at the air. I had to admire him. He never knew where he was going but he didn’t let that stop him.

  “Listen,” I said. “I’m not perfect. And neither are you. I�
�m an idiot and you’re odd. Really odd, actually.”

  “You suck at compliments,” Stella said.

  I didn’t know what I was trying to say, but, like Falcor, I refused to let that get in my way. “Yeah,” I said. “You’re odd and I have dick tendencies, and I like you. I think you like me too.”

  Stella shrugged, giving nothing away. “My psychic said I’d meet a tall stranger. I assumed she was talking about the guy at the gas station who tried to sell me stereo speakers out of the back of his van, but I suppose you might do.” A smile peeked out from behind her dreads and it was the most beautiful sight in the world.

  “Kiss her, you idiot!” Ben yelled from the car. I looked back in time to see Coop wrestle Ben away from the window.

  When I turned back around, Stella was holding Falcor. “Well, thanks for my dog. Good night.”

  “Wait.”

  “What now?”

  I reached out to pet Falcor, and touched Stella’s hand instead. “I’m not sure I should let you have Falcor.”

  Stella got this pouty, indignant expression on her face that made me want to kiss the shit out of her. “He’s my dog.”

  “You abandoned him. When I found him, he was doing shots with Dean Kowalcyk and trading paw jobs for bacon strips. I’m not sure you’re responsible enough to have a dog.”

  Stella chewed her lip. “I see what you mean. How do you propose we resolve this situation?”

  “How about a trade?”

  “A trade?”

  Emboldened by the events of my night, I laid it all on the line. Stella wasn’t perfect, but maybe she was perfect for me. The only thing I knew was that I’d never know until I tried.

  “Now, this isn’t personal, but I have to know I’m returning Falcor to someone who really wants him.”

  “Name your terms, Simon Cross.”

  “For this dog—”

  “Which rightfully belongs to me—”

  “Which you abandoned,” I amended. “I will trade you one first kiss.”

  Stella whistled. “That’s a steep price to pay for a dog.” She looked at the fluffy mutt in her arms. “And a defective one at that. I’ve got some Vegas dice you can have. I hear they’re lucky.”

  I reached out to take Falcor from her. “If you’re not interested, I have a buddy who works at a Chinese restaurant . . .”

  “On second thought,” Stella said.

  “Yes?”

  “I am kind of attached to him.”

  “The dog, you mean?”

  Stella nodded. “Of course.” She paused. “And if kissing you is the only way to get him back, then I might be willing to make that sacrifice.”

  My palms were sweaty and my mouth was cotton dry. “Do we have a deal?”

  While Stella looked from me to the dog, seemingly weighing her options, I couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if I hadn’t gone and talked to Natalie Grayson at Gobbler’s. This was certainly not how I’d expected my night to turn out, but I supposed that life was like that. You could get dumped on the side of the road by a crazy pretend ketchup fanatic and end the night kissing the girl of your dreams, who might not be the girl you thought was the girl of your dreams.

  “Deal,” Stella said. “But first you have to kiss Falcor.”

  “That wasn’t part of the bargain,” I said.

  “Ewan did it.”

  “Ouch,” I said. “That’s low.”

  Stella held Falcor out to me. “A girl only gets one first kiss.”

  Falcor probably had terrible dog breath, but luckily, I couldn’t breathe through my nose. I dove in to trade slobber with Stella’s blind dog. When I came back up for air, Stella was laughing so hard she had to hold her side.

  “Wow,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d do it.”

  “Seriously?” I wiped the dog drool away with the back of my hand.

  Stella grimaced. “Seriously. I’m not kissing you after that.” Before I could argue, Stella walked into her house and slammed the door behind her. A moment later, the porch light flicked off.

  “Stella?”

  The house went dark next. It was just me and the night, standing in front of Stella’s duplex with no dog and no kiss, looking like a complete tool. I waited for a full minute before admitting I’d been duped again and turning to leave.

  Before I’d made it even half a step, Stella opened the door, grabbed my shirt, and spun me around.

  “What—”

  “Shut up and kiss me, idiot.”

  So I did.

  Stella wrapped her arms around my neck and I pulled her tightly to me, kissing her like the first time, like the last time, like all the times in between. I didn’t think about Cassie or Eli or the fact that Stella smooshed my nose so hard that my face felt like an exploding grenade. People aren’t meant to be perfect. We’re all imperfect people looking for perfect moments to share with other imperfect people.

  I’d found one such moment, and I never wanted to leave.

  I could have kissed Stella until the sun rose, except Ben honked the horn and I was afraid Oscar would reappear with a chainsaw instead of a baseball bat.

  “You’re definitely a better kisser than Cassie,” Stella said.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I think.” I looked back at Ben and Coop. “We’re going for breakfast. Wanna go?”

  Stella sighed and shook her head. “I wasn’t joking about the dead people.”

  “Oh,” I said. I didn’t want to leave her. I wanted to stay on her front porch, kissing her all night long.

  “But there’s always tomorrow,” she said, which made me smile. “I hear Pirate Chang’s has a killer eighteenth hole.”

  I shook my head. “My mini-golf days are behind me.”

  Stella linked her fingers in mine and kissed the palm of my hand. “You should go before Ben wakes up the whole neighborhood.”

  “Yeah,” I said. Except that I kissed Stella again. Because, you know what? Fuck it. I was seventeen, imperfect, and kissing a brilliant girl. Ben and Coop could wait.

  Acknowledgments

  FML wouldn’t be the book it is without the help and guidance of a lot of amazing people.

  First, I want to thank my family for being so patient and amazingly awesome. Rachel Melcher for being honest when I needed it most. Margie Gelbwasser for spending countless hours reading and rehashing plot points with me. Pamela Deron for telling me when I needed to suck it up and get back to work. All the Tenners for their constant support.

  All the wonderful folks at Simon Pulse deserve a huge thanks. I may not get to name you all, but you are all awesome and deserve raises . . . and by raises, I mean cupcakes. But this book wouldn’t have existed without Emilia Rhodes, who came to me with a cool idea and then let me run with it; Anica Mrose Rissi, who gave me the support I needed and the space to make it work; and my copy editor, Stephanie Evans Biggins, whose heroic efforts saved me from looking like a dummy.

  I also want to thank Chris Richman and the whole team at Upstart Crow. You guys are the best.

  Lastly, I’d like to thank Matt Ramsay for always being there at the end of the day when I’ve run out of words.

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  ANOTHER CRAZY NIGHT IN

  WTF

  JIMMY

  October 17, 9:07 P.M.

  The eyes were beautiful.

  They were mad huge, anime-hero huge, staring out of the darkness.

  Something brushed his cheek too, rhythmically. Like kisses.

  Jimmy smiled.

  Kisses happened all the time to guys like Cam, who expected them. Never to Jimmy.

  So he would always remember that moment, how weirdly tender and exciting it was on that deserted road on that rainy October evening, before he blinked and realized his world had gone to shit.

  9:08 p.m.

  It wasn’t the taste of blood that brought him to reality. Or the rain pelting his face through the jagged shark-jaw where the windshield had
been. Or the car engine, screaming like a vacuum cleaner on steroids. Or the glass in his teeth.

  It was the sight of Cam’s feet.

  They were thick, forceful feet, Sasquatch feet whose size you knew because Cam bragged about it all the time (14EE), feet that seemed to be their own form of animal life. But right now, in a pool of dim light just below the passenger seat, they looked weightless and demure, curved like a ballerina’s. One flip-flop had fallen off, but both legs were moving listlessly with the rhythm of the black mass that lay across the top half of Cam’s body—the mass that was attached to the eyes that were staring up at Jimmy.

  “Shit!”

  Jimmy lurched away. The animal was twitching, smacking its nose against his right arm now, flinging something foamy and warm all over the car. It was half in and half out, its hindquarters resting on the frame of the busted windshield, its haunches reaching out over the hood. The broken remains of a mounted handheld GPS device hung from the dash like an incompletely yanked tooth.

  For a moment he imagined he was home, head down on his desk, his mom nudging him awake with a cup of hot cocoa. It was Friday night. He was always home on Friday night. But this was real, and he remembered now—the deer springing out of the darkness, running across the road, legs pumping, neck strained. . . .

  “CAAAAAM! BYRON!”

  His voice sounded dull, muffled by the rain’s ratatatting on the roof. No one answered. Not Byron in the backseat.

  Not Cam.

  Cam.

  Was he alive? He wasn’t crying out. Wasn’t saying a thing.

  Jimmy fumbled for the door handle. His fingers were cold and numb. With each movement the engine screamed, and he realized his right foot was stuck against the accelerator, trapped between it and a collapsed dashboard. He tried to pull it out and squeeze the door handle, but both were stuck. He gave up on his foot and looked for the lock.

  There.

  The door fell open with a metallic grrrrrock. Jimmy hung on to the armrest, swinging out with the door, as a red pickup sped by. It swerved to avoid him, and Jimmy tried to shout for help. His foot still stuck, he spilled out headfirst, twisting so his shoulders hit the pavement. As his teeth snapped shut, blood oozed over his bottom lip. He spat tiny glass particles.