The Accidental Bad Girl

by Maxine Kaplan

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, hon, it’s Dad.”

  “Hi. What’s going on?”

  “Well, Ken Doll, your mother and I have decided that you should probably be grounded. So I wanted to catch you before you made plans.”

  I shook my head. “I’m what?”

  “Grounded.”

  “What does that mean? I mean, what do you mean by grounded?”

  “I think it means you’re not going out this weekend. Is that OK?”

  “Actually, Dad, I just—”

  “Oh, damn it, honey, my patient just got here. We’ll talk about it at dinner, OK?” He hung up.

  “Goddamn it!” I yelled.

  Gilly started whistling. I turned to him, and he looked down at me with wide eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said with exaggeration. “I know how important your relationship with none-of-your-business is. I don’t want to intrude.”

  “Oh, shut up.” I looked at the boy leaning against the lockers, waiting for me to tell him what was bothering me. “Why are you always here when I’m losing it?”

  He shrugged, a real smile hiding behind his smirk. “Just lucky, I guess.”

  I scowled back at him. But rather than leaving or deepening that smirk, he turned his face into a parody of my angry face, bringing his eyebrows all the way in and scrunching up his nose.

  Involuntarily, I laughed, and his true smile crept out further, like the sun peeking around a storm cloud.

  “You really want to know why that call made me mad?” I asked, looking into his abnormally silver eyes.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “I’m supposed to meet someone at a bar in Red Hook at eleven o’clock tonight. A drug dealer, actually,” I added, stumbling over the words slightly, but he didn’t react. “So time and place are kind of nonnegotiable. But my dad just called to inform me that I’m ‘grounded.’”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  I stared at him. “Isn’t it kind of obvious? ‘Need to go somewhere’ plus ‘can’t go somewhere’ equals ‘problem.’”

  “Sneak out.”

  “My parents don’t exactly go to bed at eight. I don’t know how that’s going to work. What? Why are you laughing?”

  He shrugged, his mouth twisted up again. “I just think it’s funny that Miss Popular Party Girl doesn’t know how to sneak out.”

  I snorted. “Dude, my mother bought wine coolers for my fourteenth birthday party. I have never had to sneak out. I just . . . go.”

  “You’ve snuck back in, though, right? Quietly, so you won’t wake them up?”

  “I guess. But that’s not the same thing.”

  He made his patented Gilly duh-face. “The skill set is the same,” he said. “The only difference is, you need an alibi. You need to give them a reason to believe you’re still in the house, but also a reason not to check on you. Develop a narrative.”

  As I listened to him, I was doing the algebra in my head. What plus what equals: I’m in my room early on a Friday night, but don’t check on me? What equation would they believe?

  An idea started accreting in my head. A disturbing idea. But an idea that might work.

  I turned to Gilly, this time with an appraising eye. If you ignored the social tics and the constant aura of gloom, as ever present as the chain with a million keys clipped to his belt, he was well-constructed. Wide shoulders, muscled arms. Must be all the climbing around in the rafters and carrying heavy cables.

  And, actually, now that I was noticing things about Gilly, his mouth was . . . acceptable.

  “What?” he asked. His voice jolted me out of my stare, and I quickly looked away from the deep dip of his upper lip. Among other things, his voice had reminded me that Gilly didn’t like me.

  “Nothing,” I said, relocating my attention anywhere other than his mouth and his shoulders. “I had an idea for a second, but it’s not going to work.”

  He opened his mouth and then shut it. He turned to leave. I rolled my eyes at his predictable awkwardness.

  He turned back and, jaw visibly clenching, said, “I’m not busy tonight. I could help you sneak out.”

  I made my voice as skeptical as possible. “You could?”

  “I could. I mean—look, I’m not hitting on you.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not getting any ideas.”

  “I could just hang out with you, and you would be credibly socially satisfied that if you said you were going to bed at ten, your parents would believe you. Or if they’re really as relaxed as you say they are, I could just . . . stick around. And they wouldn’t, you know, want to check on you.”

  He added, “And I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  I took a step closer to him, now trying to catch his eye. “Why would you help me?”

  He avoided my eyes. “I’m making a documentary: How to destroy your reputation in six months or less.”

  “No, really, why?” I touched his arm.

  Eventually, after we’d stared at each other for a moment, he sighed and shook my hand off. “I don’t know. Maybe I feel bad for you. Maybe I’m bored. Maybe it’s morbid curiosity. Now do you want my help or don’t you, Barbie?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  So that’s how, half an hour later, I was standing on the front step of my brownstone, fishing for my keys in my backpack with Michael Gilbert, of all people, by my side.

  “So, this is it,” I said, opening the door and waving him in. “Mom? Dad?” No answer. “Oh, thank god, they’re not home yet.” I swung my backpack to the floor.

  Gilly had been hanging back on the stoop, but following the parental all clear, he strode quickly past me, looking all around the dusty woodwork of my foyer. “Your room upstairs?” he asked, heading for the stairwell.

  “Yeah—hey there, wait a second, cowboy. Who said you were going up to my room?”

  “I can just leave if I’m not welcome.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine, go ahead. First door on the right. I’m going to get a soda. Do you want anything?”

  “Yeah.” He bounded up the stairs before I could ask specifics. A couple of minutes later, balancing two Diet Cokes, I hip-bumped my way into my room to find Gilly sitting on my bed, going through my nightstand drawer.

  “What, exactly, do you think you’re going to find in there?” I asked, coolly putting his glass next to his hand. The only stuff in that drawer was hairbands, Q-tips, my sleep mask, and Dead Sea mud. That’s not where I kept the incriminating stuff.

  He took a sip of his Coke, fiddling with a frayed scrunchie. “Not much,” he said. “Especially since I’ve already been through your desk.” He fished my secret bourbon out of his pocket. “Can I have some?”

  I snatched at the flask, but he held it high above his head. Even sitting down, he was too tall for me.

  “I’m not judging,” he said, with a friendly-ish quirk of his mouth. “Relax a little. I’m on your team, remember? Today.”

  I sucked it up. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Go ahead.” After watching him pour, I sat down next to him and held my glass out. “Me too.”

  Leaning over me slightly, Gilly obliged. We sat for a moment in silence, not looking at each other.

  He turned to face me. “So what’s so important about this dealer?”

  I cocked my head at him. “What, you don’t know? I’m a drug-addicted slut, spiraling toward rock bottom.” Gilly didn’t respond except to shake his head a little.

  Downstairs, a key turned in a lock.

  “Kendall?” my mom yelled up the stairs, slamming the front door.

  “Well, at least she sounds normal today,” I muttered. Gilly had bolted upright and was downing his drink like there was a fire drill.

  “You really don’t have to do that. At least”—I hesitated, remembering that all of a sudden grounding had entered my life—“I don’t think you do.”

  Gilly slammed his glass down and wiped his mouth. “I’m just getting in character,” he said.

  “What?”

 
; Mom pounded up the stairs to my room, carrying my bag. “Ken Doll, I know this is really bad-mommy of me, but I’m kind of looking forward to your first grounding.” She stopped short when she entered my room and saw Gilly sitting on my bed.

  She looked from him, to me, and back again. “Hello?” she said/asked, seemingly keeping an eye on each of us. “I’m Judith. You are . . . ?”

  I opened my mouth to preempt whatever wackiness Gilly was about to commit, but before I could, he jumped to his feet and bounced over to my mother, arm outstretched.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Judith.” Gilly enthusiastically shook her hand. “Are you sure it’s OK that I call you Judith? I didn’t want to call you Mrs. Evans, in case that’s not your name. I apologize for coming over on the spur of the moment like this, but Kendall is so much better at calculus than I am and we have a test on Monday. Oh god, sorry, here’s your hand back.”

  As he gave this speech, my mouth opened wider and wider. This was not Gilly. This was an eager, friendly boy with a confident handshake and a smooth, upbeat cadence to his speech. I looked at my mother and saw her eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise.

  “It’s no problem . . . Michael? It’s Mikey Gilbert, isn’t it? Kevin Gilbert’s son?” I had no idea what she was talking about.

  My mom went on. “I used to work with your father at Brader & Hayden. I’ve seen your picture on his desk, and of course I remember that you go to school with Kendall. I’m so glad you two are finally chilling.”

  I winced. “Yeah, well, we haven’t had any classes together before,” I said quickly—I know an opportunity when I see one. “One of those weird things. I know I’m grounded, but can Mikey stay for dinner?”

  My mom looked perplexed. “Well, if you don’t go out, that means you’re still grounded. Those are the rules, right?”

  “Sure?”

  “Is pizza OK with you, Mikey? No dairy allergies or anything?”

  “Bomb dot com, Judith. Pizza’s great.”

  My mom grinned, and Gilly turned around to look at me. I nearly fell off the bed when I saw his teeth-to-face ratio. Gilly with a big, gleaming smile was a disturbing sight.

  “OK. Awesome! I’ll go make the call. It was nice to finally meet you, Mikey.”

  “You, too, Judith. Thank you for inviting me to dinner. That’s really generous of you.”

  My mom left the room, crossing in front of Gilly to hand me my bag and to mouth, “I love him,” punctuating the statement with a surreptitiously pointed finger.

  As soon as she was gone, Gilly transformed again. He shivered slightly, not in disgust but as if he were cold. He shook his head to the side, like he was trying to get water out of his ears, and collapsed onto the bed, kicking his feet at the floor.

  He looked over at me. “What are you staring at?” he asked irritably.

  “Uh . . . what the hell was that?” I leaned forward, trying to find that sweet, open, silly boy in his current face. “That was some serious acting! That was . . . kind of awesome. Where did you learn to do that?”

  Gilly just shrugged, but I thought I detected a smile. “It’s no big deal. I just wanted to make sure your mom let me stay for dinner.”

  “But your whole body, the entire way you carry yourself changed. Can you do other characters, too?”

  “Oh, whatever.”

  I studied him. “Why do you just do tech? Why don’t you try out for the plays? I bet you’d be really good.”

  His face hardened. “That’s not going to happen. And it’s not ‘just’ tech, OK?”

  I put up my hands. “Sure, Mikey.”

  He groaned. “Ugh, that was awful. But it was a lucky break. I was hoping she’d remember me.”

  “I don’t think I ever knew they worked together. My parents are a little forgetful about telling me stuff like that.”

  He gave me a look. “Yeah, well, you can forget you ever heard someone calling me Mikey.”

  “You actually like people calling you Gilly?”

  Gilly swigged directly from the bourbon bottle, coughed, and sputtered. “Not really,” he said in a choked voice. “But it’s better than a lot of other things they could call me. For example, Mikey.”

  “You really know how to look on the bright side, don’t you?” I held my hand out for the bottle. He handed it over, and I stowed it under the bed. I did not need a drunk dork on my plate tonight.

  “So you never answered my question,” he said, turning to face me.

  “What question?”

  “What’s so important about meeting this one drug dealer, at this one bar, tonight? You’re pretty desperate to score, for somebody I would lay money on not being that into drugs. And I don’t have to know you well to know that,” he added as I opened my mouth to interrupt. “You just put the nearly full bottle of bourbon away after not even finishing one weak mixed drink. So what’s going on?”

  He’d caught me off guard. I knew it would be careless to trust him, but his face was earnest and concerned. And he was here.

  Try him. The words imprinted themselves across my brain.

  “Have you ever done ecstasy?” I kept my eyes down but sensed him shift on the bedspread.

  “No,” he said shortly. “Ecstasy makes you love everyone. I have no interest in participating in that.”

  I looked up and locked eyes with him. “You have to promise not to tell anyone. Even if you don’t believe me, you can’t try to get me committed or anything. Or I start calling you Mikey really loudly all over school.”

  He grimaced and nodded.

  I drew a deep breath and started the story. “The first day of school when I got hurt . . . I didn’t really fall. There was this stranger, this tall girl, who attacked me in the bathroom.”

  I kept checking in with Gilly as I talked, trying to read his reactions, but his face stayed mostly impassive, and he didn’t interrupt. His mouth tightened a little when I got to meeting Mason in the basement, but other than that, he didn’t move.

  “Simone seemed like the best bet for knowing who supplies Howell kids or, at least, the best bet who’s still talking to me,” I finished. “And it looks like I was right. This bar I’m meeting Trev at, the Fish Hook, is the one in the picture on my profile. It’s right next door to where the warehouse party was. It’s the only lead I’ve got anyway.”

  Gilly stood up and paced around my room. He stopped in front of the mirror. When he spoke, he directed it to my reflection.

  “Am I missing something? Why aren’t you going to the police? You have Mason solid on accessory to assault, kidnapping, and drug dealing. You know where his office is. You can identify two of his people, names and everything. And you know where one of his probable dealers operates. Case closed.”

  “Going to the police just gets Mason arrested. It doesn’t solve my problem.”

  “Yes, it does!” he insisted. “Mason’s gone, game over.” Startled at the fire in his voice, I took a moment to collect my thoughts. “First of all,” I said slowly, “stop yelling at me. Second of all, Mason getting arrested does not solve my problems. It is not my problem that Mason sells drugs. My problem is that my future is on the line. Mason has given me two options: I help him and I get to keep my future, or I don’t and he takes it away. I don’t think him getting arrested would dissuade him from screwing me over. And I don’t know how much more getting screwed over I can handle.” Gilly was still staring at me. “What?” I asked.

  “You are unbelievable. Does the fact that turning him in to the police might be the right thing to do factor into your math at all?”

  I felt my face flush. “Of course it does. I’m not an idiot, and I’m not a bad person. But this is my life, and frankly, making any world but my own a better place right now is not my top priority. And if I have a chance to get out of this bullshit situation, I’m going to take it. I have my own problems.”

  His lip curled. “Your problems. Like what?”

  I pulled my backpack over and picked out a box of Plan B. I
took his earlier suggestion and spiked it at his head. He dodged just in time.

  “You don’t know me,” I said.

  We stared at each other furiously, tension tangible in the space between us. I clenched my fists and noticed him doing the same.

  My mother called up the stairs, “Ken Doll, your father’s home. Why don’t you and Mikey come down and join us?”

  I stood up and faced Gilly. “No one’s forcing you to be here. Back out now if you want.”

  “I said I was in,” he said brusquely, heading for the door. “But you’re going to owe me, Barbie.”

  By the time I got to the bottom of the stairs, Gilly had put his mask back on. And on it stayed throughout dinner. I really did have to hand it to him: He was a natural actor.

  I mean, by the time dinner was over, he was helping my mom load the dishwasher and chummily asking far-too-pointed questions about my childhood propensity for dressing in my dad’s clothes and pretending to be an old man, and whether any pictures existed.

  “You know, we really should get started on the calc homework,” I cut in, stepping between him and my mom. “We’re going to go upstairs, OK, guys?”

  “Well, it was great to meet you,” called Gilly over his shoulder as I dragged him back up the stairs to my room and slammed the door shut.

  “I wanted to see you as a grandpa,” said Gilly, his smirk still twisting his face.

  “Forget it,” I said, sliding to the floor. “I think I’ve made myself vulnerable enough for one day. You want to talk about our plan for getting out of here?”

  He dropped to the floor, too, losing his smile. “Let’s do it.”

  I checked the clock. “OK, it’s eight now. I should leave for Red Hook at about ten fifteen. So maybe around ten, we should make an appearance in front of my parents, go down for tea or something, so they know we’re going to be hanging out for longer. They’ll probably start watching a movie in their room around then anyway, and we can sneak out fifteen minutes later.”

  “Will they buy it?”

  “You know what? I think they will.” I looked up at him. “I have to thank you. You seemed so sweet. They’re going to be so glad I’m making nice friends, they won’t question anything.”