A thought occurred to me: I looked lit up. What if I was? I drew a line around my head and chest and lowered the brightness in that area, then heightened it in the area around me. Darkened, brightened. Darkened, brightened. Eventually the picture was in equilibrium, and I saw the whole image.
I wasn’t looking into the light. I was looking into Audrey. More specifically, I was looking up at Audrey, previously too dark to see, who had just thrown her arms around my waist. She was smiling widely at the camera, wearing a gold-sequin-lined-and-laced black silk tank top with thick straps and a heart-shaped neckline that showed off her collarbones. That night was the first time she’d worn it.
I knew where the picture was taken.
The picture was taken on one of the first really warm days of the year last spring, a Friday. After school that day, I’d sat on Audrey’s tidily made-up bed, messing up the formerly folded orange sunburst throw and watching her try on the black-and-gold top.
“Well?” she had asked, twisting in front of the mirror.
“Looks good,” I said, watching how she sparkled at her edges as she dipped and spun, evaluating the angles. I plucked at my black cotton V-neck, feeling plain. “So where are you and I and your new top going tonight?”
“We’re going to a party in Red Hook.” She looked over her shoulder at me and smiled. “A warehouse party. Grant knows the people who are throwing it.”
“Audrey, is this a rave? Are we having a very special episode?”
She just laughed.
So of course I ended up going to the stupid rave.
Three hours later, we’d met Grant and some of his buddies at the Carroll Street subway station.
“Hey, I’ve got a surprise for you,” said Grant, his arms around Audrey’s waist. He whispered something to her, and she made a face like she’d smelled something bad. She squirmed out of his grasp, grabbing my arm and drawing me to her side.
Grant made a pouty face. “OK, buzzkill. You’re lucky you’re so cute. Come on, ladies.”
“What was that about?” I asked her as we walked.
“Nothing. He’s just being an idiot.”
We arrived at the party, which was in a cleanish, unadorned gray building pulsing with electronic chords and beats. I remembered wishing that I could go to the comparatively quiet-looking bar next door. I hadn’t been feeling myself at parties lately. It was as if I were watching people interact through glass at an aquarium or a zoo. I could wave at the walrus in the tank, but I couldn’t swim with him.
That bar, I realized, pulling up the photo album on Facebook, was the one my hacker had tacked onto my profile.
I hadn’t been feeling myself at parties, but I’d had fun at that party. The music made me happy. Audrey, for once, let Grant do his own thing and stuck with me. We danced together, and that was unusual for us. With Audrey off with Grant at parties, normally I didn’t dance. It meant dancing alone. Dancing with boys at parties wasn’t really dancing—it was more like sexual judo.
That night I felt every tiny exertion of each muscle, really felt it from the top of my skull to my toes, and every motion filled me with the pure pleasure of being in my body. And yes, I had had a shot of tequila, and the air was shimmering and bright. But it wasn’t just that; the connective tissue in my body was clicking into place. I had assumed it was because I had Audrey with me.
But, come to think of it, I didn’t feel lonely when Audrey went to the bathroom. I kept on dancing. Alone.
Grant pushed his way through the crowd. “Hey, you having fun?”
“Yeah,” I said, looking up at him and grinning. “Thanks for inviting me.”
Grant smiled his wide, easy smile. “Of course,” he said, knocking me on the shoulder. “You’re my bud.”
I reeled and punched him lightly back. “Damn it, Grant, I’m a girl.”
He suddenly leaned in close and whispered with his face right against my ear. “Can you keep a secret?” A stream of warm air hit my neck, just between my earlobe and my chin. I shivered.
“Sure.”
“I got some ecstasy. I already did it, but Audrey won’t. Want to get happy with me?” Just as abruptly as he had leaned in, he grabbed me around the waist and hugged me roughly, clumsy and sweet and—as I suddenly, insanely, noticed his thick, deep brown eyelashes—dangerous. Like a pit bull.
Just then, Audrey showed up and spun me away from Grant into her own arms. “Don’t hog my friend!” she shouted.
Back in the computer lab I gulped, looked at the picture, and decided that the “doses” had to be ecstasy. It was the only lead I had. And there was only one person I could think of to ask for help.
I caught up with Simone after school as she was loading books into her backpack at her locker.
“Hey, Simone,” I said, sliding into a sitting position next to her on the floor.
She flipped her bangs out of her eyes and smiled slightly at the sight of me. “Hey,” she said, zipping up the backpack and turning to face me, legs crossing gracefully under her. “How’s it going?”
It was amazing how much subtext Simone could convey with a hair flip and the flat delivery of a generic question. I had to smile back. “OK.”
“Rough night last night?” she asked, archly.
“Didn’t quite go as planned.” I swallowed and barreled ahead. “I want to ask you something, but I don’t want you to judge me.” I added quickly, “Or think that I judge you.”
Simone crossed her arms and waited, her face impassive.
“So . . . do you know where I can buy some ecstasy?”
Simone quirked her nose and left eyebrow, twisting up her face.
“What?” I asked, shrinking at her expression, thinking: Oh no, she never did any drugs, all that partying was just a rumor, shit.
She shook the expression out of her face, flickering back to normal, and said, “Nothing, I just figured you would know. You hung out with all those seniors, and I know they did ecstasy.”
“Oh,” I said. “No, I never did. But they’re the only ones I know who did it. And, um, I didn’t want to ask them.”
She looked down at her fingernails and bit at one. “I once went in on a buy with Pete Morrison. I didn’t really like it that much. But then, I did it with Pete, and he’s a dick.” Her voice went up a few decibels higher than usual at the word “dick,” and I winced.
“From who?” I asked, trying to keep my voice cool. She looked up at me blankly. “Who did you buy it from?”
She stared for a moment before responding, in that unnerving way she had. “Can I ask why you’re asking me?”
“Why I’m asking you or why I’m asking?”
She shrugged. “Either.”
I cast around my mind, searching for one of any number of plausible reasons. But her face was so open and neutral that I heard myself say the truth. “You’re the only one I could think of who would tell me and also not tell everyone else I asked. You’re the only one who wouldn’t enjoy being asked.”
She didn’t visibly react, but she did take out her phone and scroll down. She handed it to me, and I copied the number under “Trev” into my phone. I handed it back to her, and she broke into a genuine smile as she stood.
“What?” I asked. “What did I say?”
She laughed. “The truth! At long goddamn last, someone in this school speaks the truth.” She stalked out the door, stiletto heels clicking across the linoleum.
Quickly, before I lost my nerve, I took out my phone and sent a text to Trev:
Hey, this is Ken, a friend of Simone’s. Is there a good time to pick up a dose?
CHAPTER EIGHT
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I got home. I had never been “in trouble” before. When there aren’t any rules, it’s kind of hard to break them.
But what I definitely wasn’t expecting was the smell of burnt sugar and the Who’s “Baba O’Riley” blasting on the stereo.
“Hello?” I called out, shutting the front door. “Who’s home
?”
There was no answer, so I followed the bittersweet smell into the kitchen.
My mom was sitting alone, a glass of red wine in front of her, along with a tray of perfect, sweet-smelling Rice Krispies treats. There were two pans of failures piled on the stove behind her.
This was unprecedented.
“Hi, Mom,” I said awkwardly, sitting across from her. “What’s going on? Decided to come home early?”
She nodded and took a swift, solid gulp of wine.
“What’s with the baking?”
“I do know how to bake, you know,” she said huffily. “We used to bake all the time when you were little. Don’t you remember?”
“Not really.” I picked up a square and took a bite. Caramelized marshmallow oozed over my tongue.
She stared at me. “You don’t remember making a gingerbread house with me?”
I didn’t know what to say. “Vaguely?” I offered.
My mom’s shoulders sagged a little. She picked up her wineglass again. “This is weird, isn’t it?” she asked flatly. “I meant this to be nice, but it’s weird.”
My dad wandered into the kitchen in bare feet and a T-shirt. “Oh, hi! School’s out already?”
I sat back. “Yes,” I said cautiously. “It’s four thirty. What are you doing home?”
“Just kicking back. How’s AP Bio this year?”
I was nonplussed. “OK, do you guys have something you want to say to me? What are you doing home?”
At this, my mom sighed and stood up. “Not really, I guess. I just thought . . . I don’t know. Never mind. I thought I should be home? It was stupid, maybe. I’m going to order dinner. Chinese OK?” She left the room without waiting for an answer.
My dad called out, “Judith?” and went after her. I sat in the kitchen for a minute, finishing my Rice Krispies treat. Then I excused myself and sent myself to my room.
×
Fridays at Howell, every senior had last period free. We were supposed to use it for study hall or college counseling, but this was the first week of school, so everyone was just hanging out by the lockers.
I slid into a sitting position, my back against my locker, and nodded to Lucia, who had Dennis’s head in her lap. “Hey, guys,” I said, boldly.
“Kendall.” Lucia smiled tightly and kissed Dennis on the forehead. Dennis looked contented to the point of being asleep. I felt a familiar stab of jealousy at how safe they looked with each other.
“Hi, Kendall.” I froze at the familiar voice, not quite believing it. There was a rustle of fabric, and then the familiar scent of lavender soap washed over me as Audrey sat down.
I looked at her. She was smiling calmly, as if nothing at all had happened. “Where’ve you been all week?” she demanded. “I haven’t seen you at all.”
“I’ve been here,” I said cautiously.
Audrey sighed dramatically and put her head on my shoulder. I exhaled sharply. Audrey went on blithely, “I was so not ready for this week. My sleep is so off, Kendall. I’m going to get duffel bags under my eyes.”
My chest tightened, but I made myself speak. “You always say that, but you never do.”
“So what are we doing this weekend?”
A warm glow began to inflate my rib cage, flooding my system with a deranged hope. “Besides sleep, you mean?”
“Yes, Mother, besides sleep.”
My brain started to catch up to my body, tried to send it a warning, but I couldn’t stop the flood in my chest. “Movie?”
Audrey adjusted herself on my shoulder, flipping her hair back. “We could do that tonight. Tomorrow, Ellie’s having a party, though. It’s at her older brother’s apartment.”
“Oh, cool. Does he still live in that loft by the water?”
“Yup! Out of town and the liquor cabinet is all ours.”
“Thanks for telling me. What time?”
“What do you mean?”
“What time does the party start?”
Audrey laughed. “Oh, you’re not invited, Kendall.”
I stiffened.
Audrey nuzzled in closer. “Ellie’s got to return the apartment exactly as she found it, or no more parties there,” she said. “She can’t risk anyone bringing a bunch of strangers and trashing the place. I mean, her brother’s coming back really early on Sunday. You understand, right?”
I shook her off. Audrey pouted, and I noticed that the hallway was oddly silent. I looked around at everyone pretending to not look at us. Audrey did the same and went on, raising her voice as she did so.
“Kendall, talk to me,” she said earnestly, grabbing my wrist. “I’m your friend.”
“Get away from me,” I hissed at her, trying to extricate my arm. Audrey suddenly let go and buried her face in her hands. When she looked up, there were tears in her eyes. I would have been impressed if I hadn’t been there the first time Audrey cried on demand, to get out of trouble when she snuck into the hotel pool on the eighth-grade field trip to DC. But I had been the only one there, so when she did it now, a hush fell over the hallway as Audrey hunched over and her shoulders shook.
“When you did what you did with Grant, I was angry, but I hoped our friendship would eventually get past it,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, it was a real betrayal, but I told myself to remember how frustrating it must have been for you, to watch your friend with the guy you secretly wanted. I felt bad for you. But it’s because I assumed you liked him, not that it was about sex!”
She drew a raggedy gasp and continued, with narrowed, clear eyes staring straight at me. “Now I’m just worried about you, Kendall. Despite everything, I still care about you, and I don’t want you to put yourself in dangerous situations. Grant is one thing, but strangers? Where are you meeting these guys? How old are they? Are you being safe?”
At each question, her voice went an octave higher, painting pictures in my head—and in everyone else’s heads. “Look, just be careful, sweetie,” she said. “I’m still here for you. It’s senior year, after all. Promise you’ll come to me if you ever get into trouble?” I stared at her, horrified, petrified, as she sighed and pulled a Duane Reade bag out of her backpack.
“Here,” she said, unwrapping it. “Please, be careful. For me, if not for you.”
Audrey dropped the contents of the bag onto the linoleum floor with a clatter and walked away, giving everyone a clear view of the pile of Plan B boxes at my feet.
I picked up one of the boxes and examined the price tag: $20. I looked closer and counted nine boxes. Audrey had spent $180 on this demonstration.
The silence thickened with whispers and muffled giggles until finally the bell rang. As people charged around me out the door, I arranged the boxes into a neat stack and waited. I sat where I was, trying to turn myself into a boulder in the river, immovable and uncaring.
My eyes on the stack, my ears burning, straining to hear my name and praying not to at the same time, I waited until the doors swung shut with a final clang and the bustle faded away.
I stood slowly, picked up one of the boxes, tossed it into the air, and served it as hard as I could, sending it flying down the empty hall. I rammed the light box so hard, I jammed my arm socket. But after doing it once I couldn’t stop, so one by one, I sent the boxes spinning and skittering down the hall, spiking, drop-kicking, and pitching until I was sore.
When I was out of boxes, I rammed my elbow into the locker next to mine and spat, “Future housewife flunky fake-ass bitch in a padded bra!” I kicked the lower locker, making a visible dent. “Shit!”
Someone snorted behind me. I spun around as Gilly unfolded himself from his corner, stood up, and crossed his arms, his mouth twisted in amusement.
“Great,” I said, still shaking with rage. I spread my arms out wide. “I’m all yours, douchebag. Go ahead. What lame but still completely hostile tidbit do you have to add to my total humiliation?”
Gilly seemed to consider his answer before speaking. “‘Flunky’ should really enter the
everyday lexicon,” he said finally. “It’s a good word. Nice one.”
“Thanks.” I slammed my back against the locker and slid down, trying to relax my keyed-up muscles.
“I can’t really speak to the padded bra—they look OK to me—but I wish you had said all that to her face. Or at least spiked the Plan B into the back of her head.”
This time I snorted. I looked up at him, accidentally making eye contact. Immediately, he jammed his hands in his pockets and looked sharply away.
“Thanks for the support,” I said, reaching out my arm for a hand up. Gilly stared for a minute, confused, and then got it, grabbing my hand with a jerk. I clasped it, lacing my fingers with his. As he lifted me up, his fingers tightened, and I was surprised at their wiry strength.
Face-to-face, still holding my hand, he shrugged and said, “I don’t like her much.”
“Yeah, not like me, right?”
“You’re already having a bad week. I feel like the pain is due to be spread around. Audrey’s on deck, karmically speaking.”
I looked down at our hands, still clasped together, and back up to Gilly’s scornful but direct face. He dropped my hand as if it had burned him.
“So why’d you stick around?” I asked, my heart rate finally slowing. “Just to critique my improv skills?”
He smiled wryly. “Oh, I was going to collect the Plan B. I was running really low.”
I laughed a little. “Oh, yeah, me too.”
“Like you have any use for it.”
I looked at him and saw that he was looking at me with what seemed strangely like understanding.
“That sounds mean,” I said slowly. “But are you trying to be . . . nice?”
“By saying I don’t believe you’re getting laid on the reg? If you want to interpret that as me being nice, go ahead.”
My cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I fished it out.
Hi Ken. 11 P.M. at the Fish Hook. I’ll be behind the bar.
“Who’s that?” asked Gilly.
“Uh, that would be a really good friend of mine named ‘None of your business.’”
Just then, my phone started ringing in my hands. I picked it up.
The Accidental Bad Girl Page 5