by Chris Myers
“I love secrets,” she says.
“Good, because I’m awesome at keeping them.” Other than my band mates, no one knows about that key, not even Currie.
Gabby finds the brass one. “Two. Very interesting. What’s this one?”
“It’s nothing,” I say, putting them back. That key is nobody’s business, except mine.
Gabby nudges me. “Touchy. Aren’t you?”
I just smile at her. She has no idea.
The blondes press against me. They’re both hot. I’d love to see them wrestle in a tub filled with Jell-O, but if I did either of them, I’d have to endure their tears and Jinx’s wrath. That doesn’t work out so well for me.
While the girls try to weasel me out of my jeans, Bailey finally arrives.
There is a God. Now, I can relax and have a good time.
She’s the only person I feel comfortable with at school, probably because she nailed me in junior high and would’ve been my first if the middle-aged brunch club hadn’t gotten to me first. Bailey’s been a regular since. She also doesn’t try to control me.
All the girls at school hate her, and it’s obvious why. Bailey is five-ten with stick thin legs, bottled blonde, sweet-sixteen designer boobs from her plastic surgeon dad—ya gotta wonder about the dude—and lips Brad Pitt would love.
“Can I speak to you?” Bailey asks.
She has one of those sultry voices that melts like Haagen Dazs on my tongue.
“No,” Iz says, jerking her hand from the inside of my jeans. I’ll miss her soft fingers twirling the hair below my belly button.
Bailey sighs. “Alone.”
“Excuse me, ladies.” I rise, take my beer, and lace my hand in hers.
“Thank you,” I whisper in her ear. With Bailey, satisfaction is guaranteed without the noose of forever.
“Don’t thank me yet.” From her breath, I’m guessing she’s been pouring straight pomegranate vodka down her throat for the past hour. This can only mean she spent some of that time arguing with her twenty-seven-year-old stepmom. Her home life sucks but not as bad as mine.
As we thread our way through the crowd, a guy says, “Lennon is the luckiest bastard.”
I grin. In some ways, I am. In other ways, I envy the simple life they lead, the holidays they share. They have yet to change stinky diapers or feed a squawking baby in the middle of the night when they have a test the next day, not that I’m complaining. I love Currie.
“Head?” The word dangles on Bailey’s tongue.
“The magic word.” I am only human.
Bailey leads me to the den and opens the door. I trip over a piece of cardboard at the threshold before she takes me inside and closes the door.
Hundreds of photos of Jinx’s dad are on the walls, the mantle, and end tables. Several candles are burned down to nubs. That’s weird.
An electric keyboard is propped against the wall. Vintage guitars rest in their stands, a Les Paul, a six string Martin—a little too warm for my taste, but it’s still an awesome guitar—two Guilds, an Airline Bobcat, a Gibson Sunburst, and a not-so-rare Takamine, which has a sweet sound. I had no idea Jinx owned such an impressive collection of guitars.
One hundred percent distracted, I set my beer down and pick up the twelve-string Guild. The jangle of this guitar blows me away. I whip through Stairway to Heaven, which I hate to admit is one of Jonathan’s favorites.
Bailey sinks into the sofa. “You’re so good. Why don’t you cut a CD with your boys?”
I shrug because then I would be Jonathan Tyler, my absent dad, instead of myself. I bring the guitar over to her and sing a song I wrote.
Bailey interrupts me. “And you have that pull-off-my-panties voice. Put that thing down.”
She draws me into her and kisses me hard. Her soft, manicured hands shove my shoulders against the sofa before she straddles me. She licks my lips then slides down to that oh-so-sensitive area.
Bailey is one of the few girls who almost gets me. She doesn’t judge me, and her tongue can touch her nose and knot a cherry stem.
It doesn’t take me long to settle into the couch. I’m ready to scream like a girl until Jinx storms into the room.
“Didn’t you see the sign to stay out?” Jinx yells. She picks up the cardboard from the floor in front of the door and tosses it at us.
“Shoot,” I say, catching it one-handed. That’s what I tripped on.
Bailey stops what she’s doing. No. No. No.
When Jinx steps into the room, I stuff the big guy back into my pants. This is all I need—Jinx, the valedictorian, catching me with my pants down. I can imagine her graduation speech now—Lennon Tyler will never amount to much unless he’s between the sheets.
“You’re such a pig.” Jinx looks away from me. She’s shaking so hard she’s her own earthquake.
What’s up with that? I was just getting a blowjob.
“It’s no big deal.” I can’t believe I just said that to Miss Frigidaire.
Fury spreads across Jinx’s face. That was a mistake—a huge mistake.
Jinx picks up my beer and throws it on Bailey and me. Bailey swears and falls over backward.
I jump up to shake the beer off. Jinx cowers and stumbles backward. I reach out to keep her from falling. My hand snags her blouse. It rips—oh frig—before I grab hold of her arm and stop her from tumbling backward.
Bailey stands up, wiping herself off. She narrows her eyes at Jinx.
“I’m so sorry, Jinx,” I say. “I’ll buy you a new shirt, two new shirts.”
Her face puffs up like she’s going to explode into tears. Please not that.
Using her arms, she covers the little bit of skin and bra that’s showing and folds into herself as if ashamed of her body. I shuck off my button-down shirt, because I always wear a tee shirt underneath to keep me warm in the winter, and drape it around her shoulders. She closes it tight around her chest, looking anywhere but at me.
“What the hell?” Jinx grabs the Guild I was playing, resting against the hearth, and gently stores it in its proper place. “How could you play one of my dad’s guitars?” Her voice chokes on the words.
I thought the collection was hers. That’s right. Her dad had an okay garage band. But why is she upset with me? I didn’t hurt anything. Well, maybe her shirt, but it would’ve been worse if Jinx fell and cracked her head on the stone hearth.
“Get out.” Her words are strangled as she points in the direction of the door. “Both of you.”
“I have to wait on a cab,” I plead. “It’s freezing outside.”
“Out. Out of my house.” Jinx stamps her tiny feet, which can only mean she’s so tight it hurts.
What am I thinking? She hates my guts and is terrified of me, which I don’t get. I’m harmless, just ask any girl. Girls are the dangerous ones.
“It’s too cold out there.” Not to mention I’m drenched in beer and I gave her my shirt. Since it’s much warmer inside, I walk to the front door with Bailey and pull out my cell.
“Absolutely not,” Jinx cries. “You can call outside.”
I call the cab anyway. It’s not like she can push me anywhere because I’m almost six-four and supposedly still growing.
“Do you need to go somewhere?” I ask Bailey.
“Your house?” Bailey has been inviting herself to my place since she first screwed me. It hasn’t happened yet.
“It’s a school night.” I never get drunk on those nights because I take Currie to dance and school every day, and she forces me to get up and go myself. With graduation in sight, I’m almost free from the drudgery of learning. Me being the good influence and all. My parents are both dropouts.
“But I’ll drop you somewhere,” I say to Bailey.
“Okay.” She grins big at me, letting me know she’ll finish what she started on the ride home. Yippee for me.
Jinx points a shaky finger outside. “Get out. Now.”
“See you tomorrow in choir,” I say, holding out my hand to s
hake on it, not that I’m looking forward to going. She’ll probably stab me with one of her over-the-knee leather boot heels that look incredibly sexy on her.
Jinx refuses my hand. I shrug on my leather coat, though it’s not warm enough to stand outside in, but it’s better than nothing. Bailey wears a sensible faux fur coat. I open the door and help her outside.
Why is Jinx mad at me? I gave her my shirt. I said I was sorry, and I’ll buy her a new one.
“Nice seeing you again,” I say to Jinx on my way out. “If I freeze my balls off, I know who to thank.”
“I hope they do.” Jinx slams the door on us.
I half-regret my closing comment while I stand shivering outside. The cold beer plastered to my chest doesn’t help. Bailey snuggles up to me. For some reason, I want to go back inside and figure out what the hell I did wrong. It’s not like the party didn’t have sex before I got there. This is weird for me because I normally don’t give a—I stop myself for Currie’s sake. I don’t want her talking like Gutter Girl or Mom.
My cell buzzes in my pocket.
The babysitter has texted me. I need to get home fast.
Dammit. What now?
CHAPTER TWO
JINX
I’m still shaking even after Lennon, the class slut, leaves. I grab a bucket of warm sudsy water, stomp back into the den, and slam the door shut. Like most of the girls my age, I had a crush on Lennon’s dad, the lead singer of Rage, eons ago. Lennon resembles him before drugs and hard partying ravaged his dad’s fall-at-your-feet good looks.
How dare Lennon touch one of Dad’s guitars? Tears prick the back of my eyes. I pick up Dad’s Guild and strum it. The neck is too large for my hands, but this guitar has an awesome sound.
After the guitar is back in its stand, I scrub the sofa that reeks of beer. It’s my own fault for throwing it on Lennon. The memory of him exposed makes my knees shake—not in a good way.
As I work the soapy water into the stain, the odor of stale beer wafts up to me. The stench isn’t coming out no matter how hard I rub the fabric.
The memory of beer breath and oily hands greasing my bare skin flood into me, making me want to puke. I scrub harder. I only have a few sketchy memories of that night, stepping on broken glass, the porcelain dolls leering at me.
Shivers ripple through me. I don’t want to think about that. Not now. Not ever.
Focus. Clean.
My hands cross my chest and rub the stabbing cold away from my arms. The morning after, I’d picked green glass out of my foot. The jagged shard could’ve erased that night permanently from my memory, but I didn’t give into another stupid idea like I had the night before.
I continue scrubbing, working the odor out of the fabric and the tension knots from my shoulders.
When my friend Gabby gets stressed, she binges and purges. Izzy just binges and still stays model thin. Rena goes shopping, but she can afford to do that. Me, I clean. I get out the vacuum next to ensure Dad’s room is spotless.
My cell phone belts out The Hate Song.
Dammit, it’s Step-monster. “What’s up?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“I’ll be home in a few hours.” His tone drips caramel sweetness that makes me want to gag. “Just wanted to give you a heads up in case you had any boys over.”
“Not me,” I say, my voice rising. I shouldn’t have let Iz talk me into the party. I’m so screwed.
Step-monster isn’t supposed to come home for a couple of days while Mom is out of town. I don’t know where he goes when she’s gone, and I certainly don’t ask or tell her about his disappearing acts. Mom doesn’t believe a word I say after He snooped through my room and turned over my medicinal weed to her. Ever since then, she believes Step-monster over me.
Great. Now, what do I do? He’ll see the party proof, and I’ll be doomed.
I can’t take this anymore. Using my phone, I recheck craigslist advertising for a keyboardist. Only an address and tomorrow’s date are listed. I’ve been looking for months for a job that nurtures my one true love, music, and pays more than my current job so that I can move out when I graduate—three months and six days away. But right now, I have other things to worry about.
Starting with the kitchen, I toss empty bottles and cups into an oversized garbage bag instead of booting everyone out. I hate confrontation. I don’t know how I’ll get them out or clean up this mess without Izzy’s and Gabby’s help. They’re practically comatose.
Rena wanders into the kitchen. She has wavy black hair, a booty that puts Beyoncé’s to shame, and perfect black skin. I don’t think she’s ever had a zit. Though I’ve only known her since sixth grade, she’s the closest friend I’ve ever had. She knows most of the whole truth—or lack thereof—about me. The best part is she doesn’t have a big mouth, and we can talk about almost anything, except Him.
“Hey,” Rena says. “Tell me it’s not true. That you kicked Lennon out of the party.”
Even Rena has a crush on him. Besides Byron, the guy who ripped her heart out, Lennon is probably the only other guy she’s been remotely interested in, along with half the school, even the gay guys like him.
“Lennon was in my dad’s room playing one of his guitars.” I sound whiny instead of outraged.
“He wouldn’t hurt it. He’s a serious musician.”
“I know,” I hate to say. I squeeze my eyes shut to block out the images of him half-naked.
“Why are you wearing Lennon’s shirt?”
His initials are monogrammed on the pocket. The worst part is his scent is intoxicating. “Lennon tore my blouse, but that was an accident.” I can’t blame him after he saved me from falling onto the hard brick.
“Are you going to sleep in his shirt tonight because I can take that off your hands if you aren’t?”
I give her a dirty look. “No, I’m not sleeping in it, and I plan on giving it back.”
My hands start shaking again. Rena gives me a shot of tequila because she knows I don’t like beer. I really need it, so I gulp it down in one swallow, reminding myself to brush my teeth before Step-monster gets home.
“What’s really going on here with Lennon?” she asks.
Rena knows me too well. “Bailey was giving him a blowjob in the den. He’s so big he scares the crap out of me.”
Rena spits out her beer she’s laughing so hard. “His big bone is what frightens you?”
My face heats up. “That’s not what I mean. He’s a big guy.”
“That’s what I hear,” Rena says, waggling her brows.
I swat her. “Stop it.” I shudder from the beer on her breath. The image of His hands covered in grease, feeling me up and the tang of His sweat percolates in my brain.
She laughs at me again. “I swear Lennon’s not like other guys.”
I’ve heard that before. “Yeah, right.”
Rena palms my shoulder. “He wouldn’t take advantage of you.”
“Lennon always stands over me in choir. He scares the shit out of me. I know he does it on purpose.”
“Maybe he likes you.”
“Well, I don’t like him.”
“I get that.” She gives me the hug I sorely need. “Someday, you’re going to have to trust a guy besides Zach.”
Deep down, I know she’s right. Zach’s my old boyfriend. If I hadn’t screwed up, we’d still be together. I would do anything to get him back.
“Why do all the girls like Lennon anyway?” I ask. “He’s slept with half the school.”
“It hasn’t been that many.” Rena lets out a laugh. “You weren’t here in fifth grade, when he got down on one knee and proposed to this girl in the cafeteria.”
I can’t imagine Lennon doing something so romantic and cute when he’s had a tidal wave of one-night stands. “What happened to her?”
“She moved away. She was only here that one year. I swear, it crushed his little heart.”
So, he was young and sweet once. That certainly changed.
I cont
inue destroying the evidence of the party while Rena watches me. The large bag is going directly outside to the garbage when I’m through destroying the party evidence.
“Why are you cleaning up now?” she asks.
“Step-monster comes home in a few hours.”
“That sucks.” Rena pitches in and scrubs the counters with a damp sponge. “I thought he wasn’t coming home for a few days.”
“Not any more. He just called to give me the good news.”
“You can spend the night at my house if you want.”
“Step-monster will be more suspicious and fuming if I’m not here when He gets home.” I work in panic mode, spilling alcohol on the floor from the half-empty red cups. “Will you kick everyone out for me?”
“No problem,” she says. “I’ll stay until the house is spotless. Don’t worry. We’ll get this done before Bill gets home.”
“What would I do without you?” It’s hard for me to imagine.
Rena grins at me and tosses a bottle into my open garbage bag. “You wouldn’t survive. That’s for sure.”
She’s absolutely right. I wouldn’t last one minute without her, but it’s not like I wasn’t there to soak up her tears over Byron. I’d do the same for her at any hour of the night, which I’ve proven countless times by sneaking out and lending her my shoulder.
As if it can’t get any worse, Alex saunters into the kitchen. “There you are.” He snakes his arms around my waist. “I’ve been looking for you.”
I tense—my body revolting against the memory of the aftermath of that night just before my sixteenth birthday. Chills run amok all over me. Okay, there are a few guys who scare me worse than Lennon. Alex is one of them. Who invited him anyway?
“Then you haven’t been looking very hard,” I say, wriggling out of his grasp.
“God, you look hot,” he says, eyeing me like a piece of candy. “How come you don’t dress that way at school?”
The leather boots and mini skirt were for Zach, though he didn’t show. He probably couldn’t pry himself away from his play-toy Kelly. I was hoping to make him jealous. Instead, my outfit has given most of the senior guys here the green light. That wasn’t my intention.