by Sara Ney
Ugh, so much to tell her - and she's either going to freak out on me or have a good dose of advice. I'm hoping it's the latter...
Eventually, Jenna weaves her way through the crowded cafeteria and plops down next to me, the light fluttery breeze kicking up the soft smell of her flowery perfume. I take a little whiff and lean over. "You smell good," I say, giving her a little wink and nudging her with my leg. "What the occasion?"
"Always look and smell your best, that's my motto," she jokes, grabbing a petit carrot off her tray and popping it into her mouth with a crunch. "So, since you never called me last night I'm going to assume the absolute best case scenario: that you were ravished in the back of your car and no longer have to live with the memory of giving your V card to some drunk college dude. Please dear god, tell me that's what happened."
This loud declaration earns me a few stares from our other friends at the table, and I kick Jenna under the table. Why is she always - and I do mean always - so damn obnoxious?
"Okay loud mouth, first of all, he was not drunk," I hiss even though I'm lying but Jenna holds her hand up to silence me.
"Can we skip all the idle chit-chat and get to the good stuff? According to my swatch watch, we have 32 minutes. Time is of the essence. Just tell me this: Did. He.Touch. Your. Boobs?" Crunch crunch go more carrots, which, now that I'm looking at her, match the chevron shirt she's got on. She looks adorable today with her hair in a messy bun, large hoop earrings swaying from her ears.
Damn her for being so perky and cute.
"Do you know how hard it is for me to sit here and not smack you?" Now only a few people are staring, and I give my best fake smile and let out a low fake laugh and mutter through clenched teeth, "If you don't knock it off I'm not telling you a damn thing. Do you think I want Stacy to hear all my personal business?"
For those who aren't aware, Stacy Bingham is technically the only frienemy that I have: she always sits at our table, and although I have no real reason to dislike her, we just have never gotten along like good friends do. There's always just been something about her I didn't trust... and now she's watching me over her brown paper lunch sac, keenly aware something is obviously going on at the other side of the table.
Stacy squints at us.
"Sorry. Please forgive me, and do proceed."
Glancing around the lunchroom, I haven't been able to get a visual of Weston - he has yet to make an appearance in the cafeteria - and for whatever reason it's distracting. I can't stop myself from craning my neck to check out the jock table every couple of minutes.
I start my story. "So, yesterday after he went to practice and I told Alexis Peterson to kiss our asses, we went to Kyoto. That was fine - all we did was chat and eat. Well, okay, we did get into an argument because I think he's kind of stringing me along. Not on purpose, just... He doesn't have time to date, you know? Anyways, I walked out on him and he chased me into the rain."
"O-m-g, like in The Notebook?" Jenna squeaks.
"Huh? No, Jenna, not like in The Notebook. Not at all - where do you come up with this? Ugh, anyways, he runs out of the restaurant and we climb into my jeep because at this point, it's pouring rain."
"Did you fog up the glass? Eh, eh?" Now my best friend is winking at me, but instead of being sly, she's coming off as incredibly pervy, and then she gives me a once over. "You look super cute today, by the way. Why haven't I seen that shirt? I totally dug through your closet Saturday night..."
I glance down at my top - she's right, it is super cute. It's an aqua blue lace shirt that hangs slightly off my shoulders, underneath it is a blue tank top. Paired with skinny jeans and brown equestrian boots, it's definitely one of my better days.
Suddenly I'm feeling warm and fuzzy, and decide to be generous. "Yeah, we totally made out in the back of my car. It was amazing..."
"Yes! I knew it! I'm not even going to ask if it was any good because I can tell just by the dreamy look on your face that it was. Nice." Jenna takes a bite of her turkey sandwich and chews for a little bit before asking, "So he felt you up, and then....?"
"Well. This is where it got weird. His parents called and wanted to meet me, but his dad was... not pleased. You know - he thinks I'm..." I struggle to find the right words to describe the moment.
"A homewrecker? A slut? A vixen. Trampy?" I stare holes into Jenna, giving her the 'are you done yet' glare, but she doesn't take the hint. "A hoe-bag. A floozy. He thinks you're one of 'those girls' doesn't he?"
"Jenna, stop." And at this point I'm laughing because really, is these any better way to react? She's cracking me up.
The other girls at the table are openly curious, but they know better than to ask us what's so funny. As much as I hate to admit it, Jenna, Tasha, Maddie and I are a tight clique that's almost impossible to penetrate.
"Oh shit, there he is. Damn he's good lookin'," Jenna says as she bites into a Hostess cupcake. She shoves the last piece in her mouth in one large chunk, than makes a production out of moaning and groaning. "Mmmm, oh yeah baby, this is good."
My fork pauses halfway to my mouth, and I roll my eyes. And okay, I'm kind of amused.
Kind of.
"Any day now...." I mutter, tapping my fingers on the table with a small smile on my face as I wait patiently for her to stop showboating with her cupcake. Such a guy thing to do.
"Okay, but honestly Molly, he's so hot. Light your pants on fire, hold onto your daughters H-O-T hot." Jenna takes the hem of her shirt and fans it, letting the cool cafeteria air graze her skin.
"Jeez Jenna, don't you think it's a little rude to be talking about someone's.... your friends...." I wave my hand around in the air, searching for a word that's not boyfriend. "Your friends whatever he is like he's a piece of meat?"
Jenna gets quiet and she gives me a look I've seen a million times - the one that says 'what the hell are you babbling about, because I am not amused' look. Eyebrow cocked and lip pulled up into a tight purse, kind of light that Olympic Gymnast...what's her name... McKayla Maroney.
That face.
Then she says "Are you kidding me? You're going to deny me the opportunity to ogle? I'm dating Alex Mitchell for crying out loud, who I'm pretty sure has a pocket protector stashed someone in his sock drawer. So no, you don't get to comment on my harmless infatuation. In fact, you kind of owe me in a way..."
"What?! How do I owe you?!" I am practically screeching - not a good look for me, as I'm pretty sure my face and chest are beat red.
"How don't you?! Are you freaking kidding me? You haven't dated anyone in, well, ever, and as your best friend," her eyes dart around the table and she gives everyone knowing glances, like a queen addressing her public. "As your best friend, all I ever do is sit and tell you about my fantastic love life (I raise my eyebrow at this proclamation) and you never have anything to tell me about yours! So yeah, you owe me. It's been seventeen years in the making doll face, so get used to it."
Doll face?
"I'm not saying I don't want to tell you what's going on - I'm saying, could you please stop undressing him with your eyes and making sex noises while you eat cupcakes? That's what I'm saying."
"Oh. Well okay, sure. I can do that," she says, patting my hand while she glances over my shoulder. Then she pouts as she adds, "He's not even looking over here."
"Of all the nerve," I sarcastically reply, biting into the pizza on my tray. Most students don't exactly enjoy school cafeteria food, but I will tell you this: I am not most people, and the school pizza happens to be my favorite - the grilled cheese and tomato soup coming in a close second. Unable to resist, I lean in to Jenna and ask, "What's he doing now?"
She looks over, earring swaying airily. "He's...." She sits up straighter to get a better look over the sea of heads. "He's eating...and (she strains her neck up and squints) he looks angry. But then again, what else is new?" Jenna flops back down in her seat. "That's a look I like to call 'sexy angry." She points at me with her index finger. "You better get on that."
"Get your finger out of my face," I laugh, smacking her hand away and take a sip of my bottled water. Unable to stop myself, I chew my bottom lip and glace in Weston's general direction in the cafeteria, even though I can't see him above the fray.
"Have you talked to him at all today?"
"No. We only have study hall together. He's not exactly..." I pause and play with the cap on the plastic bottle in my hands. Jenna leans in and quietly says "Generous with outwardly affection?"
Surprised, I glance up at her with a wry smile on my face, glad that she kind of gets it without my having to explain. The relationship isn't exactly what I'd call complicated, but it's not exactly a walk in the park either. I mean - because he has something of an obligation to his sport, I haven't been made to feel any kind of priority.
And until this moment, I guess I didn't realize how bad that felt.
Feeling a bit bummed, I nod my head and fake a smile.
Chapter Twenty-Six
WESTON
"Dude, you're dating my ex-girlfriend? I'm eating a sandwich - did you want some of those leftovers too?" - more wit from cousin Jake
You'll have to take my word for it when I say: it's damn hard to eat a decent lunch when you're surrounded by idiots. Not only is it loud in this god-forsaken place, but the guys at my table - my "friends" - don't make it any better by competing to be the most obnoxious and immature.
We have a game this weekend, and although it's four days away, I am trying to get my head in the game. Instead, I'm being mind-fucked by the memory of my dad's attitude towards Molly, and her reaction to it.
Seriously, I don't have time for shit like that - and it just goes to prove that is the exact reason I don't get involved with the opposite sex. Even though, to be fair, the drama wasn't created by Molly - but it did happen because of her.
Keeping my head down to ignore the crude remarks buzzing around the table, I pull my ball cap further down over my eyes and hunch my shoulders to lean over my tray. I'm sure I look like Quasimodo from the Hunchback of Notre Dame, but I could give a shit.
I have a lot on mind and I'm still hungry, even after one banana, two slices of greasy pizza, three Otis Spunkmeyer cookies, and one Mountain Dew. My eyes scan the trays of my friends in front of me, and I notice Bryan Bossner has half a hamburger on his tray.
Without asking, I reach for it.
"What the hell man!" Despite his protests, I cram it into my mouth, shoving it all in in one piece.
"I'm hungry," I mumble with a mouthful, barely able to get the words out.
"How is that my problem? I wasn't done with that asshole - get your lazy ass up and go buy yourself something."
Irritated I shoot him a look, finish chewing, then swallow before saying, "Don't fucking call me lazy."
Bryan tries to stare me down, and it looks like he wants to tell me to go fuck myself, but a few seconds later he looks away instead. For the briefest of seconds, I feel a small stab of guilt (if you can call it that), but when I glace down the table and catch Rick watching me from the corner of his eye, the feeling disappears.
If anyone can make me lose my shit, it's him.
To be fair, I haven't heard much from him since I threatened to kick his ass. And I know for a fact he hasn't spoken to Molly either. But still - I don't trust him. And I sure as hell don't like him - even if I have to call him teammate.
A few minutes later, when I've dumped my garbage and stored my lunch tray on the tall kitchen cart, I make my way down the somewhat empty hallway towards my locker. Since mostly everyone is either in class or in the cafeteria, it's quiet and I don't have to think about anything but my locker combination as I stand there dialing it.
I stand at my locker, trying to clear all the bullshit out of my mind, when that stream of peaceful nothingness is interrupted by a none-too-subtle clearing of a delicate throat. Expecting to see Molly when I lift my head, a smile spreads to my face.
And then quickly disappears.
"Hey Weston. So, you haven't called me lately."
Shit.
Stacy Bingham stands next to my locker, brown eyes fluttering, lips glossed to a sticky shine.
I suddenly wonder if I could escape by squeezing inside my locker. Once, when I was in third grade, we had this complete asshole of a teacher that would make us all climb inside our cubbies when we misbehaved and this one fat kid Jameson got stuck because he never fit inside to begin with.
"Weston, did you hear what I just said?"
I sigh loudly. "Why do you suppose it is that I haven't called Stacy? How long ago was it that we went out? Five, six months?"
Stacy chews on her thumbnail and appears to be thinking of an answer. She counts out the months on her fingers. No lie. "Um, maybe five?"
"Right... So don't you think I would have called if I was interested?"
"Um, I just assumed you were busy and that you didn't have time?"
Okay, this is just downright pathetic. "Stacy, have you ever heard of the book 'He's Just Not That Into You? Maybe you should download it onto your eReader." I collect the books I need for my next class, and stand with my back to the metal door.
"I haven't read the book, but I've seen the movie," she says hopefully, shifting the books in her arms, as if having seen the damn movie was scoring her brownie points or something. I seriously wonder if she's as ignorant as she's making herself look. "The ending is the best, where Gigi and Alex finally get together."
What the fuck is she talking about? "Sorry, haven't seen the movie."
"O-m-g, it's so good. There are these four friends who -"
I cut her off. "— And I don't ever want to. So besides coming over here to irritate me, was there anything else? We hooked up at one party in a coatroom, which doesn't exactly classify us as anything."
Stacy's face falls and she bits her lower lip. Which immediately makes me think of Molly, because she does the same thing: only when she does it, it's endearing and irresistible.
"Well, yeah, but I was kind of hoping...." Her voice trails off, just as something occurs to me.
"Stacy, aren't you and Molly Wakefield friends?"
She hesitates. "Um. Kind of, but not really."
"Kind of, but not really?" I mock her in my best nasally girl voice. "What the hell does that even mean? Oh wait - is that code for 'I'm a two-faced bitch that sneaks around behind my friends back?' Because you probably already know Molly and I have been going out lately."
No longer being able to remain stoic, Stacy snorts. "Yeah, but everyone knows you're not even taking her to Fall Formal."
Now I'm confused. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Do I have to spell it out for you? Fine. My point is, if you liked her, you would be taking her to the dance. Not ditching her during the biggest social event of the year."
I'm still confused. "So? It's just a damn dance. I have shit to do that night."
"More important shit, apparently," Stacy says smugly, a satisfied mask of an expression covering her passable features. "Are you her boyfriend or not?"
"What? No. How many bloody times do I have to tell you people? Molly Wakefield is not, nor will she ever be, my damn girlfriend."
It's that same moment that Mr. Pembroke, one of the science teachers, sticks his head out of his classroom and squints down the hallway at us. Clearly, he's not wearing his contacts today. "Oh, Mr. McGrath, it's you." He looks me up and down. "Please keep the cursing and the noise level to a min-eh-mum."
It's also the moment Stacy's eyes get wide, and she looks over my shoulder - her cool mask transforming into one of pure glee.
Don't turn around, don't turn around, don't turn around I chant to myself, because I know that when I do, I know exactly who I'm going to see standing there.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
MOLLY
"Sometimes your Knight in Shining armor is really just a Douchebag in tin foil." - Jenna, who saw it on Pinterest
Oh my god, how utterly cliché and predictable coul
d this scene be? No worse than an After School Special or a Lifetime Movie, I stand there in the hall, crushed with the misfortune of having to overhear such spiteful and insensitive words coming out of Weston's mouth.
It's always back to square one with this guy! What the hell? This is, after all, the second or third time he's done this to me. Crap, maybe I'm the one who should be reading 'He's Just Not That Into You' because apparently, Weston's not as into me as I originally thought.
And just when I thought I might be falling in love with him.
Crash and burn is more like it, because it looks like the joke is on me.
My first impulse, of course, is to flee and get my butt out of the hallway. Remove myself entirely from the whole awkward situation.
But I don't.
Hell to the no.
I'm stronger than that.
So I do what any self-respecting girl would do: I stand there and confront the situation, watching Stacy Bingham's victorious face over Weston's shoulder, before he turns his broad frame to face me. I want that bastard to look me in the eyes so he can see the hurt his careless words have cost me.
Again.
A few moments pass as he and I just watch each other, and I feel a hand on my shoulder - the comforting pull of my best friend slowly tugging me away. She moves to stand in front of me, her small frame a sizzling ball of energy as she stares down Stacy.
Jenna is beyond pissed, and for once, I don't stop her from what she's about to say.
"What the H do you think you're doing Stacy? Haven't you ever heard of 'Girl Code?' You don't go after your friend's boyfriend."
Stacy laughs. "Oh, but didn't you hear? She's a nothing to him. A nobody - and most certainly not his girlfriend. Right Weston? Isn't that what you were just telling me?"
That bitch.
Why? Why are girls so cruel, I ask you? Just minutes ago we were all sitting at the same lunch table together, laughing (okay, so mostly just Jenna and I were laughing) and talking about what dresses everyone was wearing to the big dance coming up. Even though I'm not going, I was still excited to hear what everyone's plans are.