“Want one?” Zaire asked, her face half smushed into a pillow.
“Sure. Is it a martini?”
“What does it look like?”
Virginia folded her arms. “How should I know? Am I a teen alcoholic or something?”
“I don’t know what the fuck you are.” Zaire sat up and dragged herself to the desk. She poured a drink sloppily into a martini glass. Only Zaire would have actual martini glasses in her dorm room. She handed it to Virginia, poured herself one, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Virginia sat down next to her. Zaire had stopped crying, and it was quiet.
“Are you just drinking by yourself?” Virginia asked after a long silence.
“Not anymore. Now I’m drinking with you.” Zaire smiled, but it was a grim, lifeless smile. “Cheers.” She clinked her glass against Virginia’s, spilling most of her drink. She flopped back on the bed, resting the glass on her stomach. Virginia did the same. The easiest way to get people to be comfortable around you, Virginia knew, was to imitate them.
“You still going to Boca Raton tomorrow?” Zaire asked, her eyes closed.
“Nah. Staying here.”
“That’s too bad. . . . Sure you won’t come to Spain?”
Virginia shrugged. She lifted her neck to take a sip of her martini. She wrinkled her nose. “I think I like sidecars better.”
“Everyone should have a signature drink. Mine is gin with a splash of tears.”
Virginia stared at the ceiling. She could feel a feather from Zaire’s plush down comforter poking into her arm. “What is this about?” she asked suddenly.
“What is what about?”
“You drinking and crying and stuff. I know you don’t give a shit about Brittany. I know you don’t give a shit about Choi.”
Neither of them said anything. Their martinis bobbed gently up and down on their stomachs as they breathed. It’s so much easier to talk to people when you don’t have to look at their faces, Virginia realized. Maybe it was because they were both lying down. Or because Zaire looked like garbage instead of her usual perfect, overdone self. But something made it feel like the most natural conversation in the world.
“I don’t give a shit either. I swear I’m not going to turn you in. Choi was vile. He deserved to die.” Virginia didn’t know if she really believed what she was saying. Obviously Choi was vile, but did he deserve to die? That seemed a little dramatic. It’s not like he’d even touched anyone, as far as Virginia knew. But it seemed like what Zaire would want to hear.
Zaire sighed. “Choi, Choi, Choi. If I never hear the name Choi again, I’ll die happy. You know what ‘choi’ means in Korean? Pinnacle.”
Virginia turned her head slightly to glance at Zaire. Pinnacle? Was that supposed to be deep? Zaire could translate Korean words all she wanted; it wasn’t going to fool Virginia. You’re a killer.
Zaire sat up a little and took a sip of her martini before lying back down again. Virginia did the same. The gin burned her throat going down. “So what’s it about, then?” she asked, coughing a little.
Zaire started crying again. Then she stopped. “I have no one to talk to.”
“You can talk to me.”
“No I can’t. You’ll put it on your stupid gossip site.”
God damn it, Virginia thought. Was Winship Confidential going to follow her around the rest of her life?
“I’m not like that anymore,” she said. “I shut that site down, like, five weeks ago.”
“Then you’ll tell Benny Flax.”
“Benny doesn’t care about other people’s business.”
“He does when it’s mysterious,” Zaire said in a mocking voice.
“I won’t tell him. This is just between me and you. Because we’re friends.”
Zaire turned her face to look at her. Virginia did the same. This close, Virginia could see some of the beauty in Zaire’s face that was there naturally, despite the tears and acne and lack of makeup—the strong line of her nose, the intensity of her eyebrows, the shade of brown that was unique to her skin.
“Well . . .”
Virginia stiffened, sensing that Zaire was about to open up. But just then Wildcat hopped on the bed. He started rubbing against Zaire’s face and purring.
“Wildcaaaat,” Zaire cooed, petting him fondly.
Virginia reached out to pet him too.
“Better not,” Zaire warned as Wildcat shrank from Virginia’s outstretched fingers. “He only likes me. Actually he doesn’t. Not even Wildcat isss my real friend.” She was beginning to slur. “I hypnotize him to be nice to me.”
“Wait, you can hypnotize animals?” Virginia said.
“Sure. I can hypnotize anything. Except I can’t get Gottfried to love me.” Her voice squeaked, and then she was crying again.
“You know, Gottfried’s not that great,” Virginia said, looking up at the ceiling again. “I’m sure you could get someone else. Have you tried college guys? Like Emory guys, maybe? They have Yankees at Emory. New Yorkers.”
“I don’t want a Yankee,” she whispered, half sobbing. “I want Gottfried. I love him. I love him. I love every inch of him. I love his body. I love his heart. I wish I could be him. All my love is for him. I hate everything that isn’t him. I hate the world. I hate you. I hate me. I love him.” Zaire continued to ramble, repeating “I love him, I love him” over and over, until the words barely seemed to have any meaning.
This is getting weird, Virginia thought. It was like Zaire wasn’t even talking to her, she was talking to herself. Like she was hypnotizing herself. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her martini jiggled on her stomach as she cried. Virginia was afraid to look at her. It was shocking to see Zaire so emotional. Virginia had no idea this much passion had existed under that stiff, haughty exterior. Why didn’t Zaire show her feelings more? It actually made her more likable, in a weird, unexpected way. Maybe Zaire was a little demented, but demented was better than just plain bitch.
“Zaire, you need to stop hooking up with him.”
Zaire sat up so abruptly her drink fell over. She glared at Virginia. “What did you say?”
“You need to give yourself space to get over him. He dumped you, what, six months ago? Right before prom?”
“Oh my God! What is with you and other people’s business?” Zaire snapped. She got up and started making herself another martini. “You need to get a life.”
“I have a life. I have two lives! Look at my palm . . . there are two life lines. A psychic told me.”
Zaire rolled her eyes and stumbled back to the bed. She ignored Virginia’s outstretched palm and downed her drink.
Virginia went on. “You can’t be friends with benefits with someone you’re in love with.”
“Like you’re an expert. You’ve never even had a boyfriend.”
That one stung. Virginia sat up. “You don’t have to be a relationship expert to see that you’re hurting yourself.”
“Seriously, get a life, Virginia, and stay out of mine,” Zaire said.
“You’re the one who needs a life. All you do is study and obsess over Gottfried. At least I have Mystery Club.”
“Mystery Club?” Zaire spat. “You and Benny are the biggest five-year-olds in the whole school. You realize that everyone makes fun of you behind your back.”
“Well at least I’m not letting a guy totally use me,” Virginia spat back.
“At least I’m not going to Boca for holiday.”
“I said I’m not going to Boca.”
“Yeah, even worse, you’re staying here, because no one wants you.”
Virginia stood up. Her drink splashed to the floor. “Shut up,” she said.
Zaire grinned. “Gosh, hit a nerve, did I?”
“Shut up,” Virginia repeated. Then she walked out of the room.
“Aw, come on,” Zaire called.
Virginia ignored her. She stood in the hall for a second, deciding whether to call Benny or go to bed. Then she chose a third option. Without planning
to, she went upstairs to the boys’ hall. She knew she was lapsing into Old Virginia—inserting herself into other people’s drama—but Zaire was obviously incapable of managing her own business, and it was hard to just sit there and watch her self-destruct. Zaire probably wasn’t that bad underneath—she was just messed up from being yanked around by Gottfried for so long.
The boys’ hall was dark, except for a single light coming from under Gottfried’s door. Virginia knocked.
“Come in.”
She opened the door.
“Ah,” Gottfried said, surprised. “I am sinking you are Zaire.”
“She thought I was you,” Virginia said back. “You’re meant for each other.”
Gottfried’s room was a mess. It was pretty much the opposite of Zaire’s room, which was neat and organized and full of expensive things. Gottfried’s floor was scattered with junk-food wrappers, notebooks, and posters of German metal bands that had fallen from the wall. It was like looking into both of their minds: Zaire’s resembled a well-curated museum; Gottfried’s resembled a knocked-over garbage can lived in by a raccoon.
“You need to stop hooking up with Zaire,” Virginia said bluntly. “She can’t get over you, and it’s turning her into a bitch.”
Gottfried looked confused. “What?”
“Hooking up? It means, like, having sex?” Virginia explained awkwardly.
Gottfried nodded. “Ja, I know. But me and Zaire, we are just friends.”
“I saw you.”
“What?”
Virginia lowered her voice, remembering that Zaire was in the room right below. “I know it’s hard, because she throws herself at you. But you have to say no. You have to be really firm. No. Nein.”
“Ehh, we broke up long ago,” Gottfried said, looking embarrassed. “We do not have da sex.”
“But she—I saw—” Virginia stopped talking. Without another word to Gottfried, she turned and went back downstairs. She glanced at Zaire’s door. It was closed. Then she went into her own room and picked up her phone. She dialed the number of Benny’s cell.
“Heelllo? Are you okay?” Benny’s voice was raspy and sleep-steeped.
“I’m fine. Do you want to hear something weird? Zaire’s been hypnotizing Gottfried.”
“Yeah I know,” Benny said, still sounding groggy. “He has insomnia. Hypnotism is actually a very effective technique—”
“No,” Virginia interrupted. “She’s hypnotizing him to hook up with her. To have sex with her.”
She could barely bring herself to say the actual words: “She’s raping him.”
Saturday
The Boarders, 7:00 a.m.
The sky was a sheet of thin gray clouds, soon to be dispersed by the rising sun. A dim gold line ran across the horizon. It was colder than Benny expected. He shivered and rubbed his arms, watching his mom’s Subaru disappear around the corner. He hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after Virginia’s call. “She’s raping him.” The words had hit him like a tidal wave. The words were staggering. Who was this girl? What did she want—dominion over every person in school? And what was Benny supposed to do about it? Put a lock on Virginia’s door and let Zaire continue on her path of destruction?
He was halfway up the steps to the Boarders when he noticed a weird shadow next to the magnolia tree. He stared at it, and an outline slowly emerged before his eyes. It looked like the silhouette of an old-timey soldier. For a second Benny thought it was a cardboard cutout.
But then it moved.
“Hello?” Benny called out.
A figure stepped forward. It took Benny a moment to recognize Winn Davis. He was clutching his old Civil War rifle, like he’d come to protect the Boarders from Yankee assault. Yellow light from the rising sun created a golden halo around his already golden head. What was he doing here? According to Virginia, he’d been picked up by the police last night for pummeling Min-Jun. Had they just let him go? Benny supposed they would have had to if Min-Jun had chosen not to press charges, which was smart under the circumstances. But why hadn’t Winn just gone home? Why was he loitering around the Boarders at seven a.m.? Was he waiting for him?
“Hi . . . ,” Benny said hesitantly.
Winn said nothing.
“What’s up? What are you doing here?”
Winn continued to stare at him. Benny started to panic. Was this about the tire slashing? Did Winn somehow know that he knew? Benny quickly rehearsed a small speech in his mind: I won’t tell anyone, I promise. It’s not a big deal. What do I care if a bunch of spoiled rich kids get their cars damaged? Just leave me alone.
“I think my girlfriend’s cheating on me,” Winn said suddenly, stepping closer. Benny eyed the rifle in his arms. The thing was more than one hundred and fifty years old; it couldn’t actually shoot, could it? Not that it mattered if it could shoot. The point of the bayonet could easily pierce him through. He wanted to run, but felt oddly frozen.
“Oh . . . ,” he said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“With that German guy. And a Chinese guy.”
“That’s very . . . international,” Benny managed.
“She’s a whore.”
Whoa, Benny thought. He glanced at Winn’s rifle again. Winn was stroking it like it was a docile pet. And there was something scarier about that than if Winn had been pointing it straight at his head. Benny looked toward the road, praying that, for some random reason, his mom would come back. But the road was empty.
“You want my girlfriend too,” Winn said. His voice was flat and expressionless. “I’ve seen you with her.”
“Noooo, no no no,” Benny said quickly. “I do not want her, I swear.”
“Then you’re a fag.” Winn adjusted the rifle in his arms. It was almost like he was hugging it. His knuckles were bruised and bloodied. And Benny could see tiny dots of splattered blood all over Winn’s face and clothes. Benny’s heart slammed in his chest, imagining the kind of punches that would produce such a spray of red. It wasn’t fair—Winn had the fists of a street fighter and a gun. Benny had nothing. Benny was going to die.
“So . . . what brings you to the Boarders?” he asked, trying to sound casual but failing.
“My girlfriend’s in there,” Winn answered, taking another step toward him. Benny felt the stone wall against his legs and realized he couldn’t back up any farther. He glanced over his shoulder at the Boarders. It was gloomy in the early morning light. He willed the sun to rise faster, as if the morning light would save him.
“Huh. Okay. Well. Are you sure she’s not at home? It’s kind of early.”
“Are you trying to mess with me?” Winn asked flatly.
“No. Huh? No no no.”
“How stupid are you to mess with me?” He raised the gun, pointing it vaguely at Benny’s head.
“Please put that down,” Benny said. “It’s dangerous.”
Winn didn’t put it down.
I should scream, Benny thought. I should scream right now and run. But he knew he wouldn’t; he knew himself. He would stand right there and get shot by a football player and die. It was who he was. Shut up, he told himself. Stop freaking out.
He looked from the gun to Winn’s face. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but his eyes looked glazed and deadened. He was either really stoned, or . . .
“Winn, who’s your girlfriend?”
“Corny.” He answered without hesitation.
“And what does Corny look like?”
“She’s pretty. She has blond hair.”
Benny frowned. Blond hair didn’t really narrow it down. “What’s her most . . . remarkable feature?” he asked delicately.
Winn shrugged. He lowered the gun a little. “She’s pretty.”
“I know, but . . .” Benny felt his cheeks getting hot. “What I mean is, is she quite . . . well endowed?”
Winn blinked at him. “Huh?”
“Does she have really big . . . boobs?” Benny said bluntly, holding his hands out to indicate large handfuls
of breast.
Winn looked confused. “I don’t . . . I dunno, bro. . . . She’s pretty. She’s in there.” He pointed with his gun toward the Boarders. “Guys just won’t quit. Don’t they know she has a boyfriend?”
She has a boyfriend.
Suddenly a lot of things made sense, things Benny hadn’t even been thinking about. The pom-poms at Virginia’s door. The yellow rose, the notes on their lockers. Corny wearing Virginia’s perfume. And now the fact that Winn couldn’t seem to remember whether his girlfriend had huge boobs or not. For god’s sake, Zaire, he thought. Is there no end to the reach of your arm?
“Listen, Winn,” Benny said calmly. “Put the gun down. I think I know what’s going on. I know you’re worried about Corny. But I was just talking to her, and she loves you. You’re the only one she loves. She doesn’t care about Gottfried or that Chinese guy.”
“But they’ll still try to fuck her!” Winn cried. His glazed mask of a face suddenly contorted with emotion. “I have to keep them away from her! I have to watch her!”
“You look exhausted,” Benny persisted, trying to imitate the soothing tone Zaire used onstage with the cheerleaders. “You need to go home and go to sleep. Go home. Go home.”
Winn appeared to consider it dimly. He started nodding his head, but then it sort of morphed into a shake. “No. I gotta stay here.” He stared at the ground. For a second Benny wondered if he might have fallen asleep standing up.
“Winn?” Benny snapped his fingers. “Winn? Are you listening.”
Winn said, “Yeah.”
“I think you need a break,” Benny said. “Let me take care of Corny. I’ll guard her.”
Winn looked him up and down, and Benny could read the foggy conflict in his mind. Benny knew he presented as wimpy. He had the classic signifiers: glasses, curly hair, dorky clothes. He’d never felt the need to broadcast masculinity before; it seemed like something only insecure guys did. Except now he needed Winn to trust that he was man enough to take care of his woman.
“I have a brown belt,” he said, which wasn’t a lie, but of course a brown belt in aikido didn’t mean the same thing as a brown belt in karate or tegumi. Aikido was mostly about mental training and achieving spiritual harmony, and the moves were all defensive. Benny didn’t know how to beat someone’s brains out. He really didn’t want to know.
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