by Lisa Aldin
I have no idea what she means by six o’clock, but there’s a guy dressed as Tarzan pumping beer from the keg in the corner. The foam overflows, splattering his leopard-printed loin cloth, the rest dripping onto the carpet. Tarzan—I mean Kevin—shrugs and walks away from the spillage. His skin is smeared with orange bronzer and grease coats his messy brown hair.
I’ve been staring a beat too long considering a loin cloth is involved here, but it’s difficult to imagine Emma Elizabeth Swanson with that guy. I would picture her with a James Bond, someone smooth and cool or something. But, hey, I guess we’ve all got our reasons for falling in love with a particular person.
I clap once and pull myself together. “Okay!” I announce. “It’s show time!”
A few minutes later, Tarzan/Kevin (who smells like beer and spicy body lotion) is drooling over my cleavage, which means he’s not looking at Emma and Loch. I adjust my tank top again, but this doesn’t avert his attention. I try not to sneeze as I sip my fresh beer.
“Do you believe in lake monsters?” I ask.
“Huh?” he shouts over the pounding music, his eyes glued to my chest.
“There’s a guy over there obsessed with lake monsters,” I shout. “He’s the UVM student, dancing with the black cat? They make an adorable couple, don’t they?”
A ping of jealousy hits my gut. They do make an adorable couple. I’m starting to get a really, really bad feeling about this. Like maybe I should’ve insisted on Ollie or Cowboy taking this fake date.
Kevin finishes off his beer and refills it. He’s barely left the keg since he arrived. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall.
Why does Emma like this guy? Maybe if I tell her that he won’t stop staring at my chest, she’ll see the error of her ways. But she might hate me for saying something like that.
As I take another drink, Emma turns her body and grinds into Loch as the music blares. She swings her hips, flips her hair, and does an excellent job of pretending she isn’t being watched. Loch dances beside her, moving his hands toward her waist, then away again, like he can’t decide if he’s allowed to touch her.
Kevin moves his stare across the room and finally lands on Emma. His voice betrays nothing as he says, “I know that girl.”
“Oh!” I mock surprise. “I hope she’s just a friend because she’s looking super-cozy with that UVM guy.”
As I say this, Loch places his hand on Emma’s neck, pulling her toward him as he whispers in her ear. Whatever insecurity Loch was displaying before has melted away. My blood runs cold.
His lips are close to her skin. His fingers in her hair. Her eyes locked with his, her small body folding into him like a missing puzzle piece.
“Do you know that guy or something?” Kevin asks, scratching at his loin cloth.
“I thought I did.” The music is too loud. It’s cutting into me. My head is throbbing.
“I used to date that girl,” he says. “One word: clingy. I feel like I should warn him or something.” Kevin finishes another drink and tosses the empty cup to the floor. “I need some fresh air. You coming?”
I turn around and face the wall. I can’t watch this. Not sure what my problem is because they’re just pretending. And we planned this. I planned this. Even if they aren’t pretending, this isn’t a big deal. Loch doesn’t belong to me. He’s a friend. He’s Loch.
But I don’t want them doing whatever it is that they’re doing.
Adrenaline (or perhaps alcohol) rushes to my head. I need to do something. Anything to pull them apart. A diversion! I stand on an empty chair, which wobbles under my weight. These high heels make me terribly unsteady. I’d better make this quick. A few eyes move my way, but the entire room listens when I raise my cup into the air and shout, “Everybody drink and MOOOO!”
Surprisingly, a series of moos echoes throughout the house. Small moos. Loud moos. Drunk moos. People cheer. I’m a hit! The music roars.
In the crowd, I spot Ollie. He’s leaning against the wall, his eyes closed, ready to fall asleep. Why does he want to go to snowboarding camp anyway? Why would he want to leave us the summer before college? Doesn’t matter. He’s unhappy. His unhappiness needs to be fixed. I raise my cup in his direction. I got him into hot water with his parents. I can get him out. Somehow.
I spot Cowboy and Katie in the corner. She’s talking to him, smiling, asking him questions. Cowboy shrugs and nods and shrugs and nods, his face as red as a tomato, until Katie gets bored trying. She waves goodbye and moves across the room to talk to someone who will actually talk back. I raise my cup to Cowboy and vow to help him, too. I don’t know how or if that’s possible. But I will try.
So maybe this year won’t be about Champ. So what? It can be about helping each other instead. Growing together. As long we’re tight as always, it doesn’t matter. I just don’t want to lose these guys.
After I finish my beer, I feel myself falling, falling, falling. The chair whips out from beneath my boots. I’m spinning through the air until soft hands wrap around my waist and bring me upright again. Soft, vanilla-scented hands.
My cheek presses against his chest. All I can see are the letters on his shirt. I run my fingers over the stubble along his chin and the light freckles on his left earlobe.
“Damn, Toni. You’re already drunk?” Loch’s giant arm drapes over me.
“Did he see? Did he see?” Emma asks. Her cat ears are crooked again as she searches the party for Kevin.
“He saw,” I say, wrapping my arm around Loch’s waist. “He said he needed air. You know what that means…”
“It worked!” As Emma bounces up and down, her cat ears fly off her head. “He wants me back! He’s upset!”
“It could mean that he needed some air,” Loch adds calmly. “It’s starting to smell rank in here.”
Emma kisses my cheek and grabs my hand. She pulls me away from the comfort of Loch. No, I don’t want to leave him. Not yet.
“I gotta see the look on his adorable face,” she says.
As she pulls me through the crowd, cigarette smoke settles into my hair. Gross. Outside, the cold air whips across the fields in soft bursts. A clan of vampires hangs out on the front lawn, smoking and laughing, and a drunk green fairy pretends to fly across the grass. An annoyed carrot watches her from a distance, checking her watch.
“I don’t see him,” Emma whines.
Loch appears—I love it when he just appears—and hands me a bottle of water. “Here,” he says. “You look thirsty.”
I lean my head on his shoulder as I drink. When did I get so tired? He wraps his arm around me again, and I close my eyes, drifting away until the sound of someone barfing grabs my attention. Someone to my right is puking on a beautiful white rose bush. When the culprit reveals himself—loin cloth and all—a gasp escapes Emma’s glossy lips.
“Emma,” Kevin slurs. “Hey…”
It happens quickly. Emma grabs Loch’s face and presses her lips to his. For some reason, I expect him to back away, explain that he doesn’t like her like that, but Loch accepts the kiss. Kevin shouts something. Someone, somewhere, laughs. A white deafening noise sounds in my ears as I bend over, my stomach flipping.
My turn to barf.
ten
THE NEXT DAY, I RETURN TO MY usual beauty routine—low ponytail, washed face, maybe some ChapStick—but I do adopt one change from Emma’s Movie Makeover. I stick with the hairspray she gave me, only because I like the citrus-y smell of it. But my face remains lip gloss-free. After a night of pretending to be someone else, everything at Winston clicks back into place. Or so I think.
The second I step out of my car on Monday, fidgeting with my basketball shorts, Lemon walks straight up to me and says, “I need a fake date with Micah!”
I fall against my car door in shock. “Huh?” The group sessions aren’t improving my speech skills.
Emma approaches, her spotless white coat wrapped around her, hair flying about in ever
y direction. The day is windy, bitter. “I hope you don’t mind,” she says. “I told Lemon about what you did for me this weekend. Kevin has called twelve times since the party. Twelve.”
Lemon places her hands on her hips. “I. Need. Micah. NOW.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I pull my coat sleeves over my hands. “I don’t pimp out my friends. He was doing me a favor, that’s all. His body isn’t for that.”
Lemon makes a face, kind of like she’s sucking on, well, a lemon. “GROSS. I need him as a cover. I’m not interested in his body.”
I look to Emma. She explains. “Lemon’s parents don’t approve of her sexuality.”
“My parents are impossible,” Lemon says. “They refuse to let me see my girlfriend. They keep me on lockdown, but if I had a boy to go out with, they may be more lenient. Ecstatic, probably. They would let me stay out all night long if they thought I was with a boy.”
As we walk to the main building, Lemon’s high heels scratch against the pavement. I can’t believe another Winston girl is actually speaking to me. I move my heavy book bag to my other shoulder and say, “I’ll check to see if he’s available.”
“I’ll pay a ridiculous amount of money,” Lemon says.
How much is ridiculous? But I don’t ask. This is too weird. I’m not selling Loch. I’m not even sure that first round was successful. It was just a mess. Literally.
“Good to know,” I reply with a nod.
Lemon’s black bob bounces with shine as she trots along and grabs my wrist, her pink nails digging into my skin. “Please. You don’t know how much I need this. Any boy will do. Emma says you know lots of guys. Guys who aren’t assholes. I need help. Have you ever been in love?”
Her question catches me off-guard, like I’ve just been called on in class but I haven’t really been listening. I respond with another oh-so-eloquent, “Huh?”
“Have you ever been in love?” she repeats.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Love. The word alone makes me queasy. Aren’t we all too busy and stressed out to be in love anyway?
Emma and Lemon exchange a look, and then Emma answers for me. “She’s never been in love.”
We’re inside now, pushing through the crowd. As my book bag slams into various shoulders, I mumble apologies under my breath, annoyed. Of course I’ve never been in love. Who has time for that? I feel like I’m late for class. I pick up the pace. Or maybe I just want to get away from this conversation.
“Okay. MONEY,” Lemon says. “Not everyone understands the nature of love, but everybody gets the nature of money. Name your price, Tonya.”
“It’s Toni,” I correct.
Emma falls back a step, hiding behind a false quiet persona.
“I need a boy for next Friday night,” Lemon continues. “A boy who can be mature about my relationship. Which means he won’t ask to watch us kiss or anything stupid like that. Oh, and he should also have a car. He should know how to say a complete sentence. He should also have some manners because my parents will have to meet him.”
As I open my locker and drop my book bag on the floor, Lemon slides something into my palm. A large wad of cash. I look at her, perplexed. The desperation behind her green eyes is sort of disturbing.
“I can’t take this.” I try to hand the cash back, but Lemon folds her hands behind her back and shakes her head. Across the hall, I catch Shauna Hamilton glaring at me. She looks suspicious. I hide the money behind the locker door, praying no one sees it and labels me a drug dealer. Or a guy dealer.
“That should get me one reliable guy for Friday night,” Lemon says. I open my mouth to protest, but Lemon interjects in an unsteady voice that shuts me up. “Please, Toni.”
I press my business book against my chest, pondering her offer. I don’t know if I can get her what she wants. Loch will probably be working Friday. But—Ollie. Cowboy. They might be available. I don’t want to admit this to Lemon or anyone, but I’m not as dude-savvy as I once was. I think the plaid skirt is scaring them away this year.
Instead, I tell her I’ll do my best, and that seems to be good enough for her. She hugs me before skipping down the hallway, singing a love song I don’t recognize as her black bob disappears into the thinning crowd.
I adjust my basketball shorts again. What am I getting myself into?
Emma tries to slink away, but I grab the strap of her bag, holding her in place. “Not so fast,” I say. “I didn’t know I was starting a service here.”
“I’m not the only girl around here who could use a dependable guy,” Emma says, pulling her hair back into a sleek ponytail. “Some of us need a trustworthy platonic male. I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t tell Lemon how you helped me.”
I let go, close my locker, and lean against the cold metal, sighing. “I’m glad you’re back with Kevin. You look happy.” She really does. A subtle glow oozes from her cleansed pores.
“I’m not back with Kevin.” She smooths a loose hair.
“I’m confused.” I make a face. “How did I help you then?”
“You made him realize his mistake,” Emma says, examining her nails. “But I won’t take him back right away. Nope. He needs to suffer.”
Her ponytail flaps behind her as she disappears around the corner. I stare at the money in my hand. I still don’t know about this. After several moments, the first bell rings. I tuck the cash inside my book and hurry off to class.
After lunch, I settle into a bathroom stall, close the door, and lean against the brick wall, feeling the weight of the money in my palm. I count it. Twice. Lemon handed me $200 to rent my best friend on Friday night. Just to pick her up, chat up her parents for a few minutes, and then drop her off later. As easy and simple as a chauffeur service.
$200.
I remember what Emma said. About other girls needing my help. How many Winston girls needed a fake date? How much would they pay for one?
345 girls at Winston. Approximately 30 Friday nights in a school year. Based on Lemon’s $200 fee for each Friday night date, that’s a $10,345 profit for the year. If I provide a second or third guy for another date that same night, that number triples. Maybe a young lady would need to rent a boy for a fake study date on a Tuesday or something.
Bam.
Another $200.
A semester’s tuition at UVM is something like $27,000, including room and board. I looked it up when he told me about his situation. Loch could save cash by living at home for the year, but I doubt he would want to do that. Plus, I could charge more. If demand increases and supply remains unchanged, the price for goods will increase.
There’s a demand.
I’ve got the goods.
I know three trustworthy gentlemen for the job. Well, maybe not exactly gentlemen, but I could work on that. Help them become whoever they need to be for a particular evening.
No sex stuff. That I want to be clear on. Just friends helping friends with money. What could be the harm in that?
I run my fingertips over the bills, folding them before sliding them into my sock. I smile, pull out my phone, and text the guys. If cash won’t get us all back together, nothing will.
eleven
A WEEK LATER, THE GUYS AND I ARE together again. At last! All four of us! We’re watching Monday Night Football in the Garrys’ basement. It’s not the monster hunt I had proposed—Ollie and Cowboy didn’t want to miss the game—but I’ll take what I can get.
The New England Patriots (Boo! Hiss! Boo!) are playing the Indianapolis Colts (Yay! Yeah! Woo!). I’m the only one rooting for the Colts. My dad was a huge Colts fan and spent a large chunk of his childhood in Indiana. Some of my earliest memories involve my dad, football, and a giant mound of nachos. A picture of me sitting on Dad’s shoulders, my arms raised, both of us dressed in Colts’ gear, sits on the mantel in the living room. A thin layer of dust covers it now because Mom often skips over it when she cleans. I think she’s afraid to look at it too closely, like she might get sucked into t
he past and forget about her new life with Brian.
During halftime, I propose my business plan to the guys. The Colts are winning (naturally) so they’re all in a bit of a bad mood, but I hope to change that.
“Gentlemen! I have gathered you here today for a very specific purpose,” I announce. I stand on an overturned trash can as the basement buzzes with subdued chatter and random belches.
Loch shifts his weight on the crumb-filled couch. “Finally!” he says. “Get to the money you mentioned. Don’t make me sit through more football.”
Cowboy is hunched in a brown armchair in the corner, happily flipping through his American History textbook, waiting for halftime to be over. Ollie is slouched beside Loch on the couch, sipping a Mountain Dew. Some dribbles down his chin as he stares at the television. He won’t look at me and keeps checking his watch every five minutes. I get it. He’s still mad. This will fix it, though. This plan will make everything better again.
I need all of them in on this, not just Loch, although he will benefit the most. If I can get all three involved, we can bring in more money. Plus, this is something we can do together. Life can be like old times again. We can bridge the divide.
“It also involves women,” I add. All eyes on me. I smile, struggling to keep my balance as the trash can wiggles beneath my weight. “I need you, gentlemen. The girls at Winston need you.”
“Again. You mentioned money,” Loch says, impatient.
“Emma isn’t the only girl at my new school in need of a fake date,” I continue. “Winston girls don’t have much opportunity to forge male friendships. They’ve had boyfriends, sure, but no one they can really trust. Boys, according to them, have very bad intentions. They’ve never known the benefits of a platonic relationship with the opposite sex or the favors that may come with such friendships.”
Ollie raises his hand. “I have bad intentions. Very. Bad. Intentions.”
I point to him and say, “You want to fall in love, Ollie. It’s obvious from the stash of romantic comedies you keep under your bed.”
“So what are the Winston girls like?” Cowboy asks.