The Next To Last Mistake

by Jahn, Amalie

  Alice is visibly shivering in her form-fitting dress but manages to respond in the affirmative. Noticing how cold she is, Marcus slips off his own jacket, draping it around her shoulders.

  “Thanks,” she says.

  There’s an awkward moment of silence between us and everything seems to stop. It reminds me of when I was little, of the quiet numbness associated with slipping my head under the water during a bath. The constant thrum of the bass and the singing and laughter from inside fade away. Now all I can hear is the beating of my own heart.

  I can’t believe I’ve just blown it for Alice. Or then again, maybe I can.

  “It’s cold so I’m gonna go back inside,” I announce, pulling my sleeves down over my hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Calvin. Thanks for, uh, throwing such a great party.” I pivot on my heel and head straight for the door, convinced Alice, and possibly Summer as well, will never speak to me again.

  Back inside, I scan the room of strangers searching for a familiar face but don’t recognize a single soul. What I recognize instead is how lost I feel. I don’t belong at this party or even in Fayetteville for that matter, and all I want to do is run to the car and drive myself home, where it’s safe and no one will be embarrassed by my social incompetence.

  A quick glance out the window confirms Leonetta’s still on the deck with the others. They’re all laughing together, probably about what a simpleton I am, and my heart breaks just a little.

  By the time I reach the front door, I’ve convinced myself Leonetta won’t mind catching a ride home with Summer. I’m reaching for the doorknob when someone calls my name from behind. I waver, the metal knob cool against the palm of my hand.

  “Tess!” the voice cries again, and before I can stop myself from turning around, Lashanda Jones appears by my side. “Where you goin’, girl? You just got here. You ain’t even had a drink or nothin’.”

  I avert my gaze. Being in different grades, Lashanda and I don’t get many opportunities to socialize outside lit circle, and I hadn’t considered the possibility that our comradery would extend beyond the classroom walls. Still, I’ve already made up my mind to leave.

  “I gotta go,” I say, motioning toward the street.

  “Oh,” she says with obvious rejection in her voice. “I just thought, I dunno, maybe we could hang out or somethin’. But if you gotta go…”

  There’s a sincerity in her eyes which suggests she might genuinely be interested in spending time together. On my way in I’d noticed her standing by herself in the corner behind the beer pong. Is it possible she’s as miserable at this party as I am?

  I check my phone because it seems like the most reasonable thing to do and reply, “Nah. I guess I’ve got a few minutes.”

  *

  Half-an-hour later, in the blissful quiet of the master bathroom, we’ve discussed our next lit circle selection, Wuthering Heights, how obnoxious Monika Moore was for shaking all the cans of soda which exploded at the AV club’s bake sale last week, and what effect the conflict in Syria might have on our fathers. It turns out her dad is in the 82nd Airborne Division with mine, and she’s nervous about him deploying to the Middle East. We’re still discussing how she handled her dad’s most recent deployment to Iraq when Leonetta opens the door.

  “There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you,” she says to me, looking truly relieved. “Checked all the bedrooms and saw more of Jamal Brady and Brenda Dillard than I bargained for.” She sticks her finger down her throat as if to gag herself. “Anyway, I’m glad I found you because I thought you might wanna see what’s happening downstairs.”

  As happy as I am that Leonetta’s still willing to be seen with me, I’m not sure I want to know what’s going on.

  “It’s a good thing, don’t worry,” she says with a laugh, heaving me off the floor. “Come see.”

  As Lashanda and I follow her down the staircase, the party overwhelms us: the rhythm of the R&B, the pungent smell of warm beer, and the crowd of people who have overtaken the space. Leonetta grabs my hand and leads me to the living room where all the furniture’s been pushed against the walls to make room for the horde of dancers in the center of the room.

  “What am I looking for?” I yell into Leonetta’s ear.

  She throws out her arm, pointing to the far left. “Over there. Look who’s dancing.”

  I stand on my tiptoes to look for Calvin, figuring I’ll be able to pick him out above everyone else, but I’ve forgotten I’m at a basketball party. Everyone’s gigantic. Just the same, I’m hopeful I didn’t ruin everything after all, and that he and Alice are on the dance floor falling in love. A moment later, I catch a glimpse of Alice through a break in the crowd. Only she’s not dancing with Calvin.

  She’s dancing with Marcus.

  And she’s radiant.

  I turn to Leonetta who’s grinning like a madwoman.

  “Marcus?” I say.

  She nods vigorously.

  “What about the glasses thing?”

  She shrugs.

  “What about Calvin?”

  “What about Calvin?” someone says.

  Leonetta’s eyes bulge out of her head, and I know immediately I’ve shoved my foot back in my mouth. Slowly, I turn around to face whoever’s behind me.

  And of course, it’s Calvin.

  “How’s it goin’ Tess from Iowa?” he says.

  “Okay,” I tell him.

  “You’re not dancing.”

  I shrug. “I’m not a big dancer.”

  “At my parties,” he says, taking my hand as he drags me into the living room mob, “everyone dances.”

  Before I can formulate a more plausible objection, I’m dancing, or at least moving, with this guy who’s not Zander—arms in the air, hips swaying in time to the beat of the music. He’s singing along with the song. He knows every word. And he’s looking sweetly down at my face as if the lyrics are meant for me.

  “The way you move, sexy lady…”

  A blush spreads across my cheeks, and I redirect my attention on the ornamental rug beneath my feet. Calvin’s no more interested in me than he is in having a heart attack right here in his mother’s living room, but still, here he is, trying to show me a good time. He must feel some sort of obligation to be nice to me, thanks in no small part to my earlier bout of Midwestern awkwardness.

  The steady gaze of the other girls watching us together fuels my growing embarrassment. They’re probably curious as to why he’s dancing with me instead of them and might be a little pissed off as well. I want to tell them, “Please! Take him! I have no idea what I’m doing out here!” But I don’t. I just keep dancing, and Calvin keeps singing.

  The songs fade, one into the next, and we’re on our third dance before I remember Alice and how being with Calvin might be misconstrued as a betrayal. Spotting her across the room, I stop dead, my feet frozen. Calvin leans down, sensing I have something to say.

  “I’m thirsty,” I tell him. “I’m gonna go get a drink of water.”

  “I’ll come with you,” he says.

  “No,” I say, probably a little too forcefully. “I’m fine. Just, uh, stay here and keep dancing. There’re lots of other people around.”

  He shrugs and ruffles the top of my head with his enormous hand. “You got it, kid. But don’t be a stranger.”

  I give him a half-hearted smile and head for the kitchen where there’s plenty of beer and liquor but not a single bottled water. The request for water had been merely a ruse, but out of the living room sauna, there’s no ignoring how sweaty and thirsty I truly am. I help myself to a glass from the cabinet and fill it with water from the tap. It’s lukewarm with a metallic aftertaste, but after chugging it down I begin to feel better. I’m getting a refill when Leonetta appears by my side.

  “This might go down as one of the weirdest nights of my life,” she says.

  I finish the second glass of water. “You and me both.”

  “I’m ready to go whenever you are,” she say
s.

  “What about Alice and Summer?”

  “Summer got a text a few minutes ago from Travis and ran outta here like a woman possessed. I have no idea what happened. Guess we’ll find out Monday. Anyway, I asked Alice if she wanted you to give her a ride home, but she assured me Marcus is gonna get her home instead.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “So much for not tarnishing the gene pool.”

  “So much for it,” she says.

  chapter 17

  Infamous

  Monday, February 18

  The hallways are crowded as they always are before first bell Monday morning, but instead of engaging in the usual pleasantries, people seem to be avoiding eye contact with me, some even stepping out of my way as I pass. I head upstairs, chin to my chest, eyes down, trying to convince myself I’m imagining the weight of their stares trailing behind me. But I’m forced to admit it’s more than just my imagination when I notice Leonetta waiting for me outside homeroom, a concerned look on her face.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, placing a sympathetic hand my shoulder. If I was only disturbed before, now I’m really freaking out.

  “Yeah. Why? What’s going on?”

  Her face drops even further as she glances nervously over her shoulder. “You didn’t see any of them?”

  “Any of who?” I ask, stepping away from the door.

  She sighs heavily before leaning down to whisper into my ear. “Not who. What. The flyer? Did you see the flyer?”

  Brad Wilson throws me an apprehensive look as he slides past us into homeroom. I have absolutely no idea what’s going on, but the combination of his furrowed brow and the tone of Leonetta’s voice is definitely cause for alarm. “No, I didn’t see any flyer. But it seems like people are staring at me. What’s going on?”

  She takes a deep breath, slides a piece of paper out of her binder, and hands it to me. Printed on the sheet is a photograph of Calvin Watkins dancing with me at the party Friday night. Under the photo, it reads: TESS GOODWIN IS A SLUT.

  The paper flutters in my unsteady hand, and Leonetta takes it back before I accidentally drop it. My mouth goes completely dry, and I bite my lip, fighting to hold back tears. “Why would someone do this? Why would anyone say I’m a slut?”

  Leonetta grabs my arm and drags me into the closest bathroom where we huddle together in a stall. “I have no idea who took the photo, but there’s no question in my mind about who printed the flyers…”

  “Flyers? Plural?” I gasp, considering the many ramifications of widespread distribution. The entire student body will see them. The teachers. The administration. What if they believe the posters? What if they think I’m a slut?

  I crumple against the stall door as the bathroom spins around me, and it feels as though I’m right back in Iowa, reliving the whole Lacey Pemberton fiasco all over again.

  “How many of those are out there?” I ask once I’m finally able to speak.

  The profound pity on her face is enough to make me want to remain holed up in the bathroom for the rest of junior year. “They’re hung all over the school, Tess. Hundreds of them. But Summer and Alice are already out there ripping them down.”

  Although it’s almost laughable someone feels threatened enough by the idea of Calvin and me together to warrant this level of aggression, heat rises to my cheeks involuntarily as outrage threatens to overtake me. How dare someone spread such a vicious lie? Dread and fury build in equal parts until my gaze catches Leonetta’s, and I’m reminded of my friends who are out in the hallways trying to protect and defend my honor.

  A deep breath works to suppress the anger as their kindness fills me instead.

  “You think it was Monika?” I ask.

  “It wouldn’t be anyone else.”

  “But why? You think she assumes something happened between me and Calvin?”

  Leonetta shrugs. “It doesn’t matter what she assumes happened, only what actually happened, which was nothing. And the truth is, even if something did happen between you two, it’s none of her damn business. She’s just jealous and angry you got further with Calvin than she ever has. He wouldn’t give her the time of day.” She takes the flyer and rips it into tiny shreds before flushing it down the toilet.

  First bell rings, and I jump involuntarily.

  “We’re late,” I say.

  Leonetta rolls her eyes. “We’re not goin’ to class. We’re ditching with Summer and Alice. I told you they’re already out there. We thought it would be better to let the halls clear before you and I join them.”

  “There are really that many?”

  She can’t look me in the eye. “That girl musta printed an entire ream.”

  *

  There’s a distinct sound of paper being torn as we round the corner of the science hallway. Summer and Alice turn their heads as we approach but continue ripping posters off the wall. Even from a distance, their sympathetic expressions make me want to cry.

  “Oh, Tess,” Summer says, embracing me in a hug once we make it to the end of the hall. “Monika is the absolute worst, and everybody knows it.”

  “That’s right,” Alice adds. “And not a soul in this building believes her lies about you or anyone else for that matter.”

  What I can’t believe is how many pages are already collected in the trash bag at their feet or how cruel Monika truly is. I join the procession, carefully removing papers and tape from the walls, leaving no evidence of Monika’s hatred behind.

  “Thank you guys so much for ditching class to take these down. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

  “Oh, girl, you don’t have to repay us,” Summer says, throwing another handful into the bag. “This is what friends do. And besides, it’s not like you’re the only one who’s had a run-in with the queen of the heifers.”

  This is news to me. “One of you?” I ask, wide-eyed.

  “Yours truly,” she says.

  We turn the corner down what appears to be the last of the poster-plastered hallways. As we continue tearing the pages from the walls, Summer explains how, when she was a scrawny, awkward freshman, Monika repeatedly stole the clothes from her locker during P.E. class, leaving nothing for her to wear but her sweaty uniform for the rest of the day. To make matters worse, Monika frequently stuck notes on back declaring ‘Stinky Summer’ had arrived.

  “It took almost two months before the gym teachers realized what was happening, but because they didn’t know who was doing it, their only solution was to let me store my street clothes in their office until the culprit could be found. Of course, they never caught Monika in the act.” She pushes the hair out of her face as she takes down the last of the posters. “To this day, she’ll still sneak up behind me and whisper ‘Stinky Summer’ to get under my skin. Too bad I could give two craps about her at this point.”

  I can’t imagine fierce, confident Summer being bullied by Monika. “That’s awful,” I say. “How does she get away with treating people this way? Why doesn’t anyone stand up to her?”

  “Her dad’s the head of the city council. She thinks she can do whatever she wants whenever she wants and get away with it.”

  “And does she?”

  The others exchange glances and shrug. “Pretty much,” Alice says.

  chapter 18

  Check Canopy

  Saturday, February 23

  One look out my bedroom window makes me glad I didn’t take everyone’s advice back in Iowa about donating my winter coat to the Goodwill on my way out of the state. Raindrops are cascading down the panes of glass like tears of a grumpy toddler, and from the way our American flag is whipping in the wind, it appears the personality of the day is no less temperamental.

  I pad into the gloomy kitchen in my robe and slippers and am surprised to find Dad already dressed in his BDUs at the dinette with a cup of coffee and the sports section of the Fayetteville Observer.

  “I thought your jump wasn’t ‘til two,” I say quietly as I slip into the chair beside him, mindful of my slee
ping mom and sister in the rooms down the hall.

  “It’s not,” he replies, setting down the paper. “But I have to be to green ramp in a little over an hour to get ready. Not to mention I couldn’t sleep.”

  There’s a tremor in his hand as he takes a sip of coffee. I’ve never known him to be an anxious person. He never worried much about the herd or the fields or the constant fluctuation of milk prices. At least I never thought he did. Now, I begin to wonder how far his apprehension might extend, because here, in the dim light of morning, fear is unmistakable in the lines of his face.

  “Are you worried about the jump?” I ask. “You said it was perfectly safe.”

  He takes a sip of coffee to avoid looking at me. “It’ll be fine,” he says. “It’s been a long time, though, you know? My bones and joints are a little older than they were the last time I threw myself out of a perfectly good airplane. I just hope I don’t break a hip. Cuz you know what they say about breaking a hip…”

  I stare at him, dumbfounded. I don’t know what they say.

  “I’m joking, Tess. It’s a joke. I’m not gonna break a hip. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

  The howling wind and rain pelt the kitchen window. “Is it safe? With the bad weather, I mean. Will they still make you do it if it’s raining?”

  He chuckles. “We’ll see. The wind is more of a problem than the rain. They couldn’t care less about us getting wet, but the wind is dangerous because you don’t want to get tangled in your risers. Last thing I heard, the weather’s supposed to break by lunchtime, but who knows. I have to get ready either way, but you don’t have to come watch if the weather’s bad.”

  “I want to, though.” I’d been looking forward to seeing him jump since he’d announced the scheduled drop the week before. “I’ll take an umbrella.”

  “It might be miserable.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Dad closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He takes a deep breath before surprising me by saying, “Why don’t you go get a game board. Maybe Grandpa’s. We can play ‘til I have to go.”