“Enough being bartender,” Dieter says, relaxing against the table so he can face me. “Now, I vill practice my English vith Julianne. Your blouse looks pretty tonight. How is your birthday? Vehr is the library? Do you have a pencil?”
This makes me laugh. The guy really is good-looking and funny. I haven’t ruled old Dieter out yet. Then my stomach growls so freaking hard that I’m glad there’s a noisy party going on so that he doesn’t hear it.
“Um, is there food anywhere? Like a snack table?” I ask, looking around. “I need something to eat, like, now.”
The Callahan Keggers always have food. Pizza, chips, hotdogs, huge towers of cheese cubes. Where’s the damn food at this party?
“I have snacks in my room,” he says, grinning. “Nachos and a tin of raspberry linzers that my aunt sent from Hamburg. It is a cookie. Very good.”
Ooh, nachos. Cookies and hamburgers. Yes.
We start walking through the crowd, across the courtyard toward the dormitory. I drink a big gulp and, like before, shudder because it’s so strong. Dieter rests a hand on my shoulder as we make our way through the clusters of people. I let him because he’s going to feed me delicious cookies. I drink my Jagerbomb with one hand and twist at my hair with the other. We don’t get far before a hand wraps around my upper arm, pulling me back. My hair snags up in my fingers and I wince. When I turn around, Brandon is glaring at me.
“Where you going?” he asks, looking at me then to Dieter.
“To get cookies and a hamburger,” I say, giving him a dirty look, “What do you care?”
I turn around to keep walking, taking another chug.
“You need to stop drinking,” Brandon says, tightening his grip, not letting me walk away. The lurching motion makes my drink slop out of the cup and down my shirt.
“Vaht is going on here?” Dieter says, looking at Brandon’s hand on my arm.
“Everything is fine, Dieter,” I say, glaring harder at Brandon, “Come on.”
I jerk away, swallow another sip and start walking more quickly toward the dorm.
“Julianne, stop,” Brandon says.
“No, you stop,” I say, taking another drink. He reaches around me, takes the cup out of my hand and dumps it onto the lawn. I whip around and look down at my spilled cup.
“Vaht is your problem, man?” Dieter says, stepping in and pushing Brandon in the shoulder.
“My problem is that you’re pumping her full of hard liquor,” Brandon says, shoving Dieter back. “She has diabetes. She can’t drink like that. You’re going to put her in the hospital.”
Dieter’s eyes go jumping for a second, from Brandon to me then back to Brandon.
“She seems fine to me,” Dieter says, standing his ground.
Brandon inches closer, cocks his head and even though he’s a couple of inches shorter, somehow it seems like he’s staring down at Dieter.
“She can barely stand up, asshole,” he says, “But that’s the goal here, right? That she’s not standing up?” And, wow, he is pissed. The people around us stop talking and turn in our direction, tapping each other like: Quiet down. Fight…
Dieter starts to say something back but then Dana steps in out of nowhere, squeezes right in-between them.
“She’s coming with us,” she says, smiling up at Dieter, “Start a fight and I’ll have you fired.”
She grabs my arm and starts herding me through the party. She stumbles along in her chunky heels, banging into people and apologizing every five seconds. Halfway across the lawn, Brandon takes over because Dana is having trouble staying upright while keeping hold of me.
“I can walk myself!” I yell, pulling at Brandon when his hand closes over my wrist, “And besides, your booty call is circling the drain! You better get back there before she takes off with some dashing European!”
“You are impossible, you know that?” he says, glaring back at me.
Dana the Traitor is behind me now, holding my shoulders and pushing me along. Brandon tightens his grip because I’m wriggling so hard. Near the courtyard gate, my bracelet snaps and dozens of blue stones scatter into the grass and between people’s feet. Brandon feels the bracelet break, we stop for a second, and both look down. He doesn’t let go or try to salvage the stones but clamps down even harder, dragging me toward the exit.
“My bracelet!” I say.
“It wasn’t diamonds,” he growls over his shoulder, “I can get you another.”
The tone of his voice could slice through an iceberg.
“It’s not cancer! Having a few drinks won’t kill me!” I yell, tripping along, resisting.
“Yes, it could!” Lindsey says, coming up next to us and then suddenly I’m surrounded on all sides. Everyone is circled around me like wolves. Dana, Brandon, Hutch, Lindsey, Nat. Everyone except Celinda, She’s thrown over Hutch’s shoulder like a sack of very toned, very tanned flour.
“He had a possster of the periodic table of elements over his bed, you guysss,” Celinda says, her words all slurry, “Emcee, my assssss. I got bait-and-switched by a chemistry nerd. Score one for the nerrrds…”
“What’s wrong with her?” I say.
“Like you,” Dana says, “She’s had wayyy too much to drink.”
“What is this?” I say, jerking my arm away from Brandon for a final time, “Harass Julianne Night? And like you should talk. You’re freaking wasted, Dana. The only reason you want to leave is because Hutch is flirting with every girl at this party except you.”
She and Hutch exchange a glance. Dana’s face goes pink with embarrassment and Hutch’s goes white with realization. He sets Celinda down. When she starts to bend at the knees like a marionette with no strings, he pulls her up by the shoulders.
“Whoopsie!” Celinda says, looking up at Hutch. She grabs onto the front of his damp tee-shirt with her fists. She sways and giggles into his face. “You’re wet. Is it raining or are you just really, really sweaty?”
Hutch steadies her, holds her shoulders so she doesn’t fall but he’s not looking at her, he’s looking at Dana and things get very awkward for a moment. Dana crosses her arms.
“I’ll be in the car,” she says, leveling me with her eyes, and then walking out the gate.
Oh, God. What’s wrong with me? Dana’s been nothing but nice to me; a great friend all around. Opening up her home to me, driving me to work, taking care of me. And how do I repay her? I humiliate her and blab a secret that I had no right to tell.
I feel instantly sick. The ground and buildings and everyone’s faces start whizzing around like I’m back on The Matterhorn spinning at a hundred miles an hour.
At the car, Dana swears she can drive but Brandon didn’t drink anything so insists on taking the keys. She doesn’t argue but hands them over, pulls the passenger door open and points me inside like a child. I crawl in and sit between them trying not to throw up. Everyone else squeezes into the back and when we drop Hutch off at his apartment, Dana doesn’t acknowledge him or even say goodbye. She won’t look at anyone; she’s just staring out her window.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, when we pull onto the main road, but she ignores me, turns up the music and continues staring out her window. I start feeling worse, the radio dials in front of me spin and blur and I start to shake.
“Julianne, you okay?” Brandon says.
The impending heave starts making its way to the surface.
“Pull over,” I say, fanning at my throat.
He yanks the car to the side of the road and Dana jumps out, pulling me with her. I scramble out of the car and barely make it before falling to my knees and throwing up onto the grass. Some of it gets filtered through my hair and splashes onto my shirt. It smells like Jagermeister which makes me wretch even harder. Dana pulls my hair back and Brandon rubs my back until I finish. Eventually, when I’m all emptied out, we get back into the car. The residual smell hits like a vomit bomb, like a toxic mushroom cloud of Jagerbomb repulsion. The girls groan in the backseat and all
four windows go down. My shaking gets worse; it’s in my bones now.
“You need to eat, right?” Brandon says. “I know you’re throwing up, but you need sugar. That’s how it works, right?”
I nod and bring my knees up, making myself into a ball before bursting into tears. A single thought circles my brain while I rock and try to stop the spinning in my head: I want my mom, I want my mom, I want my mom.
“I have her purse,” Lindsey says from the back, “but I can’t find anything useful in it! Do you have snacks in here, Jules? Glucose tabs? Dammit, I forgot my freaking icing!”
“Jolly Pirate Donut’s just up ahead,” Dana says, pointing.
She puts her arm around me, pulling me into her. It makes me cry even harder. I don’t deserve a friend like her. When we get to Jolly Pirate, I inhale an apple fritter and two blueberry cake donuts in seconds flat.
And then at some point in the night, I throw it all up again.
I wake up on the sofa bed, my head throbbing, and my mouth tasting like I ate cat litter. I jerk when I realize there is an arm and leg draped over me but then relax because it’s just Lindsey. A blurry can of Coke buzzes into focus. I look up to see Brandon standing over top of me, holding the pop out.
I don’t want to take anything from him, I haven’t forgotten about last night.
But I need that Coke so I sit up and gulp it down.
“Thanks,” I mumble, handing it back. I roll back into a ball and try not to hurl.
“You okay?” he says.
“I’m fine. You didn’t have to stay here. My friends could have taken care of me.”
But I’m not fine. I may have Jagerbombed my liver into permanent dysfunction last night. I swear, if I get through this, I’m never drinking again.
I sit up. I have to pee.
I stumble through the apartment and to the bathroom. God, I stink. I can smell myself. Vomit, vomit, vomit. There’s a relatively clean tee-shirt of Dana’s in the hamper so I switch my top out, yank my nasty hair back into a bun, and then rinse my mouth with Listerine.
When I come out, Brandon is in the kitchen, leaning against the sink, eating a banana. I glare at him; I may have been drunk out of my mind last night and made a spectacle of myself there at the end, but I know what I saw in that pool. I stand by everything I said to him. The only thing I truly regret about last night is drinking too much and blabbing my mouth about Dana’s crush on Hutch.
Dana comes out of her bedroom, wearing her uniform, her hair dripping wet. She walks past me and grabs a banana from the table.
“We’re going to be late for work,” she says to Brandon. She won’t acknowledge me. She just takes her keys from the nail and stalks out the door before I even have time to work up an apology or force some eye contact. I am left staring at the open front door.
“She’ll cool off,” Brandon says, and then looks around wondering what to do with his banana peel.
“Under the sink,” I say.
He tosses it in the trash.
“You and I need to talk,” he says, giving me a hard look. “When your head clears, we’re hashing this out. I’ll call you later.”
He leaves the apartment. I lock the door behind him and then crawl back into bed with Lindsey.
What a disastrous night.
And it all started out so well! VIP coaster-riding with my friends, getting jewelry from someone I thought was my boyfriend. But, holy crap, it derailed like a runaway birthday train. Between my mother forgetting about me, Splashgate, Blabbergate, and then this vicious hangover, eighteen is definitely going down in the Julianne Bell history books as Shittiest Birthday Ever.
Thud, thud, thud goes my head when I wake up again. Its noon and the girls are stirring as well. After they pack up and leave, I spend the afternoon cleaning Dana’s apartment. I do her laundry and get dinner ready for her, too. I won’t be able to eat with her because I have to make the last ferry but it’s a way to do something nice to try and make up for being an asshole. I’m steeling myself for the possibility that she won’t want me around anymore.
Cleaning her apartment gives me something to do with all of my Brandon frustration as well. While I scrub the inside of her fridge, I imagine that I’m scrubbing him from my system. I may not have a ton of experience in the romance department—okay, practically zero experience in the romance department—but I know enough about myself to recognize that I’m a strict monogamist. Once I’ve decided I like a guy, I won’t share him with other girls. No way.
And I like Brandon.
A lot.
Brandon Wright obviously has other ideas about romance. He’s keeping his options open for sure. You don’t close-talk-chicken-fight with a hot girl like that—especially one you’ve already slept with—unless you’re full-on planning to sleep with her again. It’s time to cut the cord with Brandon. It’s just as well. I have more important things to tend to like saving my house, my mom, my life.
When I hear Dana’s car pull in below, my stomach lurches.
My friendship with Dana. Oh, god. Another thing needing saved.
I can’t believe I humiliated her in front of Hutch like that. Julianne Bell equals Worst Friend Ever. I stand in front of the door and brace myself to get thrown out by the ear. When she walks through the door, she’s smiling brightly with her whole face.
“How ya doing, Jules?” she says, kicking off her shoes and then flopping onto the couch. “What’s cooking? Smells good.”
“Uh, spaghetti and meatballs,” I say, and then I come out with it. “Dana, I’m so sorry about last night. I didn’t mean—,”
“Stop,” she says, holding up a hand, and digging into her pocket with the other. “You did me the biggest favor of my life.”
“How? By embarrassing the crap out of you? I had no right. And now the drives to work? Oh, god…it’s going to be so awkward. Miserable. If I were you I’d throw me out and never—,”
She holds her phone out, like she wants me to take it from her.
“Read,” she says, so I read. The message exchange is shockingly, heart-stoppingly, life-changingly epic.
RaginCajun: I seriously had no idea. I thought I disgusted you
MissFortune777: Apparently not. Ack. Awkward.
RaginCajun: Not awkward.
MissFortune777: I’m sorry.
RaginCajun: I said not awkward. But I’m kind of freaking out here. It took me all night to process it. To be clear, you like me?
MissFortune777: Let’s just pretend you don’t know.
RaginCajun: What? No! I’m calling your desk phone.
MissFortune777: Eh.
RaginCajun: Pick up the phone.
MissFortune777: :/
RaginCajun: Goddammit Dana pick up the phone! You’re working so you have to pick up the phone! How do you know it’s not some bigwig calling the park?
MissFortune777: It’s not. It’s you. And I think I’ll hide behind my screen for now.
RaginCajun: Are you kidding me? I’m the one should be hiding. I’m fat and hairy. You’re smoking hot. Way too hot for me.
MissFortune777: What? No, you’re not! No, I’m not! Really, knock it off Hutch.
RaginCajun: Listen. If you’re serious, I am so down with this.
MissFortune777: Oh.
RaginCajun: You are too, right?
MissFortune777: YES.
RaginCajun: Be at my place at 7. Not joking, Dana. I’m not even close to joking around here. And for me, this wouldn’t be a fling.
MissFortune777: I’ll be there.
RaginCajun: Oh, Christ. The things I’m going to do to you. You have no idea…
MissFortune777:
I look at Dana who is beaming, glowing, and entirely beautiful.
“I guess you won’t be watching Wheel of Fortune with Auntie Gram, tonight,” I say, grinning.
“No, I certainly won’t,” she says, sighing and melting into the couch cushions.
25.
You know how when you walk into a p
lace and you just know something’s wrong? That’s how I feel right now walking into the house. My dad and Melody have these excruciating, strained looks on their faces; like their skulls might crack in half at any second. My first thought is that they’ve somehow found out about last night’s drunken exploits.
“Hey, J,” Dad says. “How was your birthday?”
A fissure is starting to form on Melody’s forehead.
“It was fun,” I say, setting my bag down. “What’s with the faces?”
He rubs his hands together and his eyes cast about, searching for words. I look at him sideways.
“What?” I say.
“It’s about your mother,” he says.
In the span of two seconds my mind travels the spectrum of possibilities from A.) The house is so clean it belongs in a soap commercial to Z.) My mom was found buried under a pile of dolls.
“Is she okay?” I say, my voice climbing.
“She is,” he says. “I mean, physically, if that’s what you mean. She’s not hurt or anything.”
“It’s about the house then,” I say, groaning, starting to walk past them, “The house is a disaster, I know. It’s a health hazard, I get it. Unghhhh…can we talk about this later? I’m so tired.”
“It’s actually worse than just the mess, Julianne,” he says, stepping in front of me. “A lot worse.”
Every muscle in my body tenses at once. His hand goes to the back of his neck, and he closes his eyes for a moment, takes a big breath like he’s gathering up some nerve.
“She’s defaulted on the mortgage,” he says, blowing out the air and glancing at the ceiling. “She’s up to her eyeballs in debt.”
Oh. That.
My body relaxes a bit.
“I know that already, I’m taking care of it,” I say. “I’ve got it all taken care of.”
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