“Not an option,” Pax says.
I’m not sure I’ve ever smiled so much. “Better jump on it, buddy.”
Reese glares at me before walking toward Jenn. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets, his eyes focused on the floor. He shifts nervously from foot to foot as he speaks to her. I know the exact moment he says it, because I watch her eyes go wide and then she just nods at him as she grimaces. Like she’s just smelled something rancid. This is priceless.
Reese returns to his seat and tips back his bottle.
“Not needed, man,” Pax says.
Reese shakes his head at us. “Trust me, it’s needed.”
We all burst into laughter. Everyone except Reese, who is flicking beer caps onto the floor.
My third turn, when I have to draw a pick, I breathe a sigh of relief as I grab Sid’s. Until Reese leans over and whispers something into his ear, eliciting a confused look from Sid. I’m in trouble.
Reese sticks his hand out to Sid. “Trust me.” Sid nods and clasps his outstretched hand. “I’m going to go get your dare,” Reese says as he walks away.
“You have to play the rest of the game with her here,” Sid says. I have no idea what he means. Everything looks fuzzy around the edges and I wonder if Reese is bringing Jenn over here.
“With who?” I’m confused, until I see Reese wandering back, one arm slung over Vee’s shoulders. She usually makes her way back onto the bus after we perform. I hadn’t even realized she had stuck around.
Reese pulls his chair back and waves Vee to it. “Take my chair.” Like he’s being a gentleman and not the world’s biggest jerk right now.
Vee leans forward in her chair, her elbows on her knees. “Reese said you needed one more person.” She’s looking at Sid, who is shuffling the cards together again. “What’s the game?”
“We’ll walk you through it as we go,” Sid says. “You need a pick to throw in.” Sid fishes in his pocket but comes up empty, and I grab one of my spare black picks and hand it to her. With her eyes fixed on the pile of picks, she gives me a mumbled “thanks.” Is this ever going to get less awkward?
The answer is yes. Two rounds later, Vee is talking to me in full sentences. An hour later, I’m starting to forget she might hate me.
“Go over there. Right now.” She’s practically yelling, as she points a finger at Sid, who has a row of empty glasses in front of him. “Tell them”—she laughs before she can finish—“tell them they remind you of your mom.” She giggles, and I can’t help but laugh at how amused she is with herself. “And invite them back to the bus!” She says it in a dramatically sexy voice, then her face gets serious. She points a finger at Sid. “But don’t you dare bring them on that bus. I mean, how deranged is someone who actually wants to hook up with a guy who compares them to his mother.” Vee’s nose is scrunched up and she shakes her head. “Gross.” She bounces in her chair. “Go! Go!”
Sid pops out of his seat like he’s actually excited about his task. “On it,” he shouts as he walks away, red cup still in hand.
I laugh, and Vee meets my eye, clearly amused that I’m amused by her challenge. We’re sharing a smile when Tad wanders into the room, his camera hanging at his side for once.
“Time to go.” Tad waves his hands toward the exit. “And neither of your bands were eliminated, if you care.”
Vee gasps, and her face is serious. She looks from me to Reese with a guilty look on her face, then bursts into laughter. We all join her, way past caring about anything Tad is saying.
By the time I make it to my bunk, everything is spinning.
A string of whiny, mumbled curses drifts out from behind Vee’s curtain. She’s got to be in bad shape.
“Stick one leg over the edge of the bed. The room will stop spinning,” I say, looking over at her bunk as she pulls the curtain open.
One leg slides over the edge and she turns to look at me. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“I still hate you,” she says.
“I know. Don’t worry, tomorrow you probably won’t even remember being nice to me tonight.”
She doesn’t say anything, but there’s the faintest hint of a smile on her lips as we silently race toward unconsciousness.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THEN
CAM
At school, there’s an unspoken rule: No touching. Friends only. I don’t know when it started, sort of like I don’t know when I started thinking of me and Vee as “more than friends,” or when seeing her became as necessary as my 7 A.M. coffee. For weeks, I’ve been barely surviving on four hours of sleep, after leaving the beach. I don’t know how Vee does it. She’s actually cheery in the morning. I’ve resorted to drinking caffeinated mud, just to get through the day. That alone should be proof that I have a serious problem when it comes to Vee. I love my sleep like I love my food: in large quantities, whenever I can get it.
Learning that Vee had subconscious lines that weren’t meant to be crossed only required a few shoulder smacks. Figuring out the actual location of that line was a lot harder. The same way she never came right out and asked questions, she also didn’t come right out and tell me when I was crossing the line. But she always let me know. It took a handful of tumultuous days, a shitload of trial-and-error, and a few elbow-bruised ribs, but I finally figured out what was, and was not, acceptable at school. Or at band practices. Basically anywhere we were in public together, where it wasn’t covered in sand and drenched in darkness.
But like any good rule, I’ve found loopholes. Standing behind her, chest to back, hasn’t earned me a slap or an elbow to the ribs. Any time I feel the urge to touch her—which is becoming more and more often—I find myself sliding in behind her and resting my hands on her shoulders. I do it while I talk to her, or while she talks to someone else. While I wait for her at her locker. Once in a while, if I catch her with her guard down, I can drop my hands to her waist. I usually have two minutes max before she coyly wiggles out of my grasp.
I want to ask her what the problem is, but I think I already know. Because when Vee told me about the drama with her parents, it felt a lot like an explanation. I could practically hear the unspoken words: “I’m not looking for a boyfriend.” Sometimes I don’t even know if that’s what I want. It’s not what I deserve. Sometimes you don’t know what you want until you just do. It hits you like a wave, knocks you underwater, and when you surface, all you want is this one thing. It’s like gasping for air. All I can think about right now is how much I want Vee.
It’s ten o’clock on a Friday, pitch dark, and she’s slipping on the leaves that are caked onto the sidewalk. She’s almost fallen three times and still, she’s stayed six feet ahead of me the entire three-block walk from my apartment to Todd Winter’s house. Todd is a senior jock and a huge Melon Ballers fan. He invited all of us to his party, and even Vee—respecting Nonni’s wishes—said yes. She had sounded like she was chewing on rusty nails while doing it, but she said yes. And she didn’t put up a fight when I said we were going together. At least not until we left my apartment and she decided to leave a five-foot gap between us the entire walk. The same walk we make almost every night at two in the morning—hand in hand in the dark—when we walk from the beach back to my car. After hours of practically spooning on the beach. “This is dumb, Vee.”
“What?” She sounds annoyed.
“You know what,” I say, jogging to catch up to her, and grabbing her hand in mine.
She pulls it away in one tiny, sudden movement.
“Seriously. What the hell, Vee?”
Her eyes are fixed in front of her, on the giant house we’re approaching. “Just don’t, Cam.”
“I don’t get it. You can’t cuddle on the beach with me every night and then ignore me all day.”
“Ignore you? I see you all day. And we don’t cuddle.” She says the last word like she’s appalled by it. As if I’ve accused her of pulling the wings off of butterflies.
Please. We cuddl
e the shit out of each other. “Oh, we don’t,” I say.
“No … we don’t.”
“I must be confused. Then I guess we can try out a few of our favorite ‘not cuddling’ positions at the party and see what people think. Maybe do some spooning on the couch. That’s your favorite, right?”
“You’re disgusting,” she says.
“And you’re being ridiculous!”
We attract some curious looks from a group of smokers by the garage as we approach the house. Vee falls a few steps behind. She grabs me by the wrist and pulls me into a small clearing of trees along the sidewalk, taking us out of sight.
“You don’t want this. If you did, you would have done something weeks ago.”
She’s panicking, talking herself out of this before it even starts. And I should be doing the same; I should be running.
“And we’re graduating in seven months,” she says.
“So?” I know exactly what she’s implying: seven months until she leaves. Seven months until I’ll leave. In seven months, she’ll be at Michigan State with Logan and Anders and I’ll be … I don’t even know. She sure as hell doesn’t. “I’m trying to hold your hand, Vee. I’m not asking you to marry me.” I kick at the leaves on the sidewalk, scraping them away with my shoe. “Though we’ve already talked about our wedding, so this whole ‘no holding my hand in public’ thing seems sort of ridiculous, don’t you think?”
She looks at me pointedly. “That was a joke.”
Obviously. “Is this about Logan? About what people will say?”
“I don’t care what people say—”
Yes, you totally do.
She looks down at her toe, stabbing it into the concrete next to mine. “But I do care what Logan says. What happens when we make … whatever this is … official? He’ll know I didn’t want a relationship with him. I just don’t want to rub it in his face. Everything’s already weird, Cam.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “And the band knows what went down with Logan and me. They’ll think I’m a hussy for hooking up with you.”
“You’re overreacting. No one’s going to think you’re a … hussy.” I shake my head trying not to smile, but I can’t help it. “No one even says the word ‘hussy.’” Vee looks like she wants to smack me again. I wouldn’t mind her touching me.
“There’s this nurse who wears red lipstick and scrubs with black stilettos on them. Nonni calls her a hussy.” She giggles nervously as she rests her forehead against my chest. Instinctively, my hands go to her back, holding her. She sighs, bumping her forehead against my chest again, like she wishes it was a wall and she could do some real damage.
“Who cares what other people think?”
“I care,” she finally admits, her breath hot against my chest. “Sometimes I care a lot.”
“Dakota doesn’t care.” I push a strand of hair behind her ear. “And I think Dakota’s pretty amazing.”
She sighs.
“We don’t owe anyone an explanation. Not even Logan. Our relationship is our business.”
She looks up at me. “We have a relationship?” Her face is covered in shadows from the nearby streetlight.
“We don’t have to label it, if you don’t want to,” I say.
She shakes her head. “I don’t.”
Part of me wants to argue with her. To stake a claim and push for what I’m pretty sure I want. But what does a title matter? What right do I even have asking for one? I can’t promise her anything.
I’m frozen on the sidewalk, not sure what to do, until she finally looks up at me again.
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“Okay … whatever. Dakota’s in.” Suddenly she can’t look at me, her eyes roaming from my chest to her hands, to the street. “Just no making it official, or whatever.” She gives me a sly smile. “Whatever, I guess. We’ll do this relationship our way.”
“Whatever?” I can’t help the dopey grin that I know has invaded my face. “That’s very romantic. You should write greeting cards. They’d say really poignant things, like ‘I think you’re better than a stick in the eye’ and ‘Will you maybe be my valentine if no one else is available?’ Forget college or music—that’s your calling.”
“Whatever,” she says, pulling away from me and nudging my shoulder with hers. That move, I’ve learned, is as close to “I’m sorry” as Vee gets. She smacks me when she’s mad, nudges when she’s sorry, and pokes me in the ribs when I’m embarrassing her.
“Okay then.” I take her hand and pull her back onto the sidewalk, pushing a few loose strands of hair behind her ear before leading her toward the house.
VIRGINIA
This isn’t the first party I’ve been to. It’s not even the third, or the seventh. It is the first one I’ve ever felt truly comfortable at. Maybe it’s stupid or naive, but I feel like someone is watching out for me now. Cam doesn’t just like me—he fought for me. He made me feel wanted. Tonight, my goal is to not think so much—to see what it’s like to really let go. I should probably know my limits before I head to college next year. I’m not going to play babysitter to Cort or anyone else. Cam has promised to stay sober so he can make sure no one slips something in my drink or shoves me in a trunk. He’s my insurance policy against ending up on a MISSING poster tonight. Tonight, I’m getting tipsy in the name of making Nonni proud. Not weird at all.
“Ohhhmigosh.” Cort throws herself at me as I enter the marble-covered entryway of the ultra-contemporary condo we’ve just entered. She wraps her arms around my waist, and tries to pick me up, even though I’m a head taller than her. It’s only been a month since the last time she was home, and already she looks different again. Her hair has gone from a shoulder-length bob to a shaggy blond pixie cut, with tiny streaks of green. Her nose has a tiny diamond stud in it that’s still pink around the edges. “I can’t be-lieeve it! You’re actually going to do it!”
Cort sets me back down and almost topples onto me in the process. She’s wearing tight jeans, black ankle-breaking heels, and a strapless red top—in October. She looks like she belongs in a dance club, and I wonder if this is how everyone dresses at the college parties she’s going to now.
I have lots of experience with Drunk Cort. She’s a louder, more emotional (if it’s even possible) version of Sober Cort. And she’s physical. Sober Vee wakes up with bruises the morning after a party, thanks to Cort’s bear hugs and couch tackles. Sometimes being her friend is literally painful.
I put my hands on her shoulders, steadying her. “Whoa, there. Where’s Anders?” I’m looking across the crowded room and scanning faces. Every square inch of the house is covered—in people, bottles, cans, or cups.
“Dunno.” She shrugs. “He begged me to come to this. Now I’m here and he gets mad and walks off.” It annoys me a little that she seems annoyed to be here; I’m letting the conversation end, because Cort plus Anders plus alcohol usually equals tears and screaming in the end. And I don’t plan on playing referee tonight.
“Let’s get you another drink,” I say, throwing my arms around her again. “I’ve missed you.”
“You! You need a drink!” Cort waves her arms in the air, and then gives a questioning look at Cam. He’s taking full advantage of our new pro-touching-in-public agreement, with one hand on my waist and the other on my shoulder. “Well, hellooo!” Cort says, as if he just joined us and hasn’t been plastered behind me since we got here. “You must be Cam.” She’s giving me a not-at-all-sneaky sideways glance. Nice, Cort.
Cam sticks his hand out to her. “And you must be the infamous Cort.” He shakes her hand while his other still rests on my waist.
“Ohhh, infamous. I like it.” Score one for Cam. “You’re going to take care of our girl, right?” Cort looks like she’s challenging Cam to a staring contest.
“Yeah, I’ll take care of her.”
I look up at him over my shoulder.
He winks at me. “Or whatever.”
Cort’s hands go to her
hips and her eyes narrow. “What was that?” Cam probably thought she was too drunk to catch his little move, but he doesn’t know Cort. At this point, she’s acting a lot more drunk than she actually is. “What was that wink about?” She’s looking between me and Cam like she’s trying to make a choice. Probably determining the weakest link.
“There was no wink.” Cam removes his hands from me and shoves them in his pockets. Smooth.
“You winked,” Cort says.
Cam keeps his voice serious. “It was a blink.”
“‘Whatever’?” Cort throws up air quotes in front of her. “I know a wink when I see one.”
“Shots!” I push Cam in the direction of the kitchen and pull my wobbly best friend into a sideways hug as he walks off. Cort is giggling, her flushed cheeks heating even more.
“Have I mentioned how cute he is, Vee?” She gives him a long, exaggeratedly appraising look as he walks away, and I smack her. “And I think he’s kind-of sort-of in love with you.”
“He’s not in love with me. Not kind of or sort of. We’re friends. Don’t be stupid.” I don’t like lying to my best friend, but Cort can’t keep a secret from Anders. And Anders tells Logan when he has an itch. So telling Cort about me and Cam isn’t an option right now. I just need a few weeks before I start beating the proverbial drums of change, that’s all. And he’s not in love with me, so I’m not even lying. I’m just not elaborating.
“Friends. Right.” Cort waves her hands in surrender. “I’ll drop it, because I know you’re weird about this stuff. But you’re not just friends. And yes, he totally is in love with you. Kind of and sort of.” She jabs my shoulder with her finger. “I know these things.”
“You know nothing,” I say. She’s known him for exactly two minutes.
“I. Know. Everything.” Her words are slow and dramatic.
“You’re staying at Cam’s with me, right?” Cam’s parents are out of town and he invited the three of us to stay at his apartment, since it’s walking distance from the party. It’s half the reason I agreed to come.
Love Songs & Other Lies Page 11