Of All the Stupid Things

by Alexandra Diaz

  She smiles as she eases me down onto the bed, and I close my eyes.

  Whitney Blaire

  MY HEAD IS THROBBING AND THE ROOM FEELS LIKE IT’S shaking. No, not the room. Just me. I open one eye. It’s not easy. My contacts are dry and seem to have crusted my eyes shut. I can just make out the orange hair of a bad dye job. I roll over and pull the covers over my head. The shaking continues.

  “Go away,” I mumble.

  “No, no, no. You wake up right now.”

  “Carmen, please, just leave me alone.”

  Carmen yanks the covers off. “No. You get out of bed or I bring my spray and get you out.”

  When I was little, Carmen always sprayed me with a water bottle when I did something wrong, like make a mess after she had just cleaned up. I wouldn’t put it past her to still do it. “Okay, fine. I’m getting up.”

  Carmen watches as I roll myself out of bed. My head still hurts and I can’t focus very well. Carmen’s eyes stay on the bed. For a second I wonder if I only thought I had gotten out of bed but was really still there. I turn to see if I can see myself sleeping.

  Nope, no Whitney Blaire sleeping away her hangover. Instead my eyes land on a blood stain on the ivory sheets.

  “Niña, what did you do?”

  I lean against the bed post. It’s all coming back. The fight with Tara, Mother’s note, the party, the gin and tonics, David. As soon as I remember that, I feel the soreness between my legs. “I must have started my period.”

  “No! You don’t start period.” Carmen stomps her foot. “You have a party and bring a boy to your room.”

  I don’t say anything. Carmen knows she’s right and nothing I say can change that. She knows me too well. I stare at my feet. There seem to be two of them.

  Carmen sighs. “Okay, you get dressed and I make you breakfast. Then you help me clean the house. All day we clean. Until the house looks good again.”

  My fantasy of leaving a mess to make a statement goes out the window. The P.S. on Mother’s note that last night I saw as permission now doesn’t seem to mean anything. The only thing I want now is for them not to find out. I wouldn’t put it past them to sue their underage daughter for misconduct, or subject me to hours of pointless therapy. “You’re not going to tell my parents?”

  Carmen hesitates. “I don’t say nothing if you help me clean. You don’t help, then I don’t clean and I call them right now.”

  I lick my lips. “Let me put on some old clothes.”

  The mess is worse that I thought. I remember going downstairs after I showered. There were people everywhere. Drinking, eating, having a good time. Normally I would have been thrilled to know that I had thrown the party everyone would be talking about. But after being with David, I had just wanted everyone to leave, especially David, who for some reason wanted to stay and help me clean up. I remember screaming very loud. Once I had everyone’s attention, I told them to get the hell out. They all listened, even David. Not many people wanted to mess with me. I didn’t want to mess with me. Then once they’d all left, I took a few gulps of something someone left and went straight to bed.

  And here I am now. Scrubbing a puke stain off the Persian rug. I’ve already filled the dishwasher twice and taken out the trash a few times. I want to call Pinkie. Try a little Tom Sawyer manipulation to get her to help me out. But it’s Sunday. She’s doing her little church thing. And there’s also the fact that I don’t think I invited her to the party. I hadn’t wanted her to ruin it. It had ruined itself.

  By now David must have asked her why she wasn’t at the party. I wonder what else David will tell her. I don’t want her to know. On the other hand, I’d like to tell her. But I won’t. She won’t want to talk to me. Not after I left her out. Not after I did what I did. And I don’t want to hear it.

  I also want to talk to Tara since she’s been through this whole being-with-a-guy thing before. I want the old Tara before Riley came and turned her against me. But the Tara I want to talk to doesn’t exist anymore.

  I scrub the stain a little harder and hope Carmen is right about club soda.

  Tara

  I COME DOWNSTAIRS AND SEE MOM WITH HER HAIR loose wearing an old shirt at the kitchen table with her checkbook, a pile of receipts, and the calculator. She’s frowning at the numbers. She looks up when she hears me and then glances at the oven clock.

  “Good grief Tara, do you feel okay? It’s almost eleven o’clock.”

  “I know,” I say, but then look at the clock anyway. “It’s just that I have to tell you something.”

  Mom pushes the papers aside and folds her hands on top of the table. “Okay.”

  I shift from one foot to the other, then cross my arms and look at her. “I’m seeing someone new.”

  Mom’s head tilts slightly. “And you think I’m not going to approve? Is he a Republican?”

  I don’t know whether she’ll think that or the truth is worse. I take a deep breath. “It’s Riley.”

  Her mouth drops slightly. She blinks a couple times and then swallows. She runs her hands through her auburn tangles and then stops. Very slowly, she pushes herself away from the table. She fills her mug with more hot water. The tea bag she had left in the bottom half floats and turns the water a pale green. Sound asleep, Sherman snorts from under the table.

  “So, what does this mean, Tara?” She swishes the tea around. “Are you gay now?”

  I unfold my arms and shove my hands into my shorts pockets. That thought had been going around my mind as well. And I don’t know how I feel about it. And I don’t know how it changes those disturbing thoughts of Brent and Sanchez that still come to mind. I don’t know why images of those two bother me so much. I’ve tried changing the costar to anyone other than Sanchez with Brent, especially Whitney Blaire. When I think about Whitney Blaire with Brent I’m overcome with fury. When I think about Sanchez with him, I’m disgusted. I wonder if that makes me a hypocrite, especially since I’m with Riley now. But when I think about Riley and what we’ve done together, I’m overcome with giddiness. The two scenarios are so similar, and yet they make me react so differently.

  “I don’t know,” I answer Mom’s question honestly. “But we like each other. Like each other a lot.”

  Mom drinks half her tea and makes no motion of having burned her tongue. “This is going to take a while to get used to.”

  “I know. For me too.”

  Mom nods as she dumps the rest of the tea down the sink. She puts the kettle on again. She throws away the old tea bag and puts a fresh one in the mug. She was drinking Sencha before; now it’s Lapsang Souchong.

  Rummaging through the cupboard, she pulls out a bag of cashews. I hear her crunching the nuts as she pops them one by one into her mouth. The kettle whistles and she pours herself a fresh cup of tea. The room fills with the smoky smell as she lets it steep. She wraps her hands around the mug. Steam rises over her face. She takes a few slow sips and then she lowers the mug and finally looks at me.

  “Well, the least I can say is that I like Riley better than I liked Brent.”

  I let out my breath and smile. “Yeah, me too.”

  “And she makes you happy?” Mom watches me closely.

  I smile more. “Yeah, she does. Happier than I’ve been in a really long time.”

  Mom drinks some more tea and nods a few times. “Good. Good. Real good. That’s the most important thing. And what do your friends say? Have you told them yet?”

  My smile disappears. “No, I haven’t told them, but by the way they’re acting I think they already know.”

  Mom sets her tea down. “What happened? Is it because of Riley?”

  “Yes…No. Well, kind of.” Just thinking about what Whitney Blaire did to me makes me want to scream. I walk to the back door and then return to the table. It takes two steps each way. I feel myself losing control but at the moment I don’t care. “Whitney Blaire is a backstabbing bitch, and I hate myself for hanging out with her for as long as I did. Stupid whore.”


  Mom doesn’t say anything. I don’t usually swear, but then again, I don’t usually have my best friend seduce my ex-boyfriend.

  I go to the cupboard and pull out the chamomile tea. There’s just enough hot water left in the kettle to fill my mug.

  “I’m sorry to hear you two fell out,” Mom finally says. “And what about Pinkie? Or should I not even ask.”

  I sigh and slightly shake my head. “No, she’s fine, I guess. I just needed some space from her and her never-ending worrying for a bit. But now that I’m with Riley, she barely looks at me. Now that I’m gay, or whatever I am.”

  Mom sets her mug down and looks at me. “It isn’t an easy thing to accept. I’ve always thought I was very open-minded and I’m having a problem getting used to it.”

  I don’t say anything. I know she’s right. But at least she’s taking this better than Riley’s parents, who are in denial, and because of it don’t know anything about me yet.

  Mom continues. “A lot of other people are going to act strange around you too. Maybe just at first, maybe forever.”

  “I know, I know all this.” I take the bag of nuts and grab a handful. I’m usually not so open about my thoughts and actions, but I need to justify them to Mom, to myself. “But I can’t help it. I think I’m in love with Riley. Every part of me is attracted to her. Not just physically, but emotionally and mentally and all those other bits. When I’m with her, everything feels right, and safe. I feel like nothing can go wrong. I’ve never felt that before. Not with Brent, not with anyone.”

  Sherman whimpers in his sleep. His nails scratch against the floor as his legs twitch.

  “You’ve been hurt badly by the men in your life,” Mom points out. “It’s understandable.”

  I swallow a cashew without chewing it. It scratches my throat, but I manage not to choke. “Do you think Dad and Brent made me gay?”

  Mom takes her time answering. Her tea is almost finished. “I don’t know, Tara. I just know that you need someone to love and someone you can trust. You haven’t found that in men.”

  This time I chew the cashew until it’s butter in my mouth. “I never thought this would happen to me. Riley says she was born gay. But I never liked girls before I met Riley.”

  Mom reaches over and squeezes my hand. “So maybe you’re someone who falls in love with a person, not a gender.”

  I hadn’t thought about that. I always thought people either liked boys or girls. But I was attracted to Riley from the moment I saw her hair floating behind her. I don’t know if it would have been the same if she had been a guy. Maybe not. Because some of the things I like about Riley are her female attributes.

  The thought of Riley’s body makes me blush. It’s all so weird and different, but at the same time it doesn’t feel wrong. And like I told Mom, Riley makes me happy. And like she said, happiness is a good thing.

  I let out a breath and squeeze Mom’s hand back. I might not have much of a dad, but I’m lucky to have such an awesome mom.

  Whitney Blaire

  SOMEONE’S CALLING. I SCRAMBLE AROUND MY NIGHT table for my phone. I squint. It’s David. Again. He’s been calling me so much. This is like the fourth time he’s called today. He seems to think we have something to talk about.

  But there’s nothing to talk about. We both got what we wanted, and he should be happy with that. He shouldn’t expect more. I don’t.

  And yet he keeps calling. I don’t know what his problem is, probably just hanging around Pink too much.

  Pink’s been calling a lot too. I’d like to think David put her up to it, but really, when does Pink need an excuse to use her phone? I’ve sent her regular text messages, just to let her know I am fine. The last thing I need is for Pink to come over here and break in thinking that I’ve been kidnapped or something. Then the alarm would go off and I wouldn’t want to explain to Father why one of my friends was trying to break into the house.

  No, it was easier to send Pink those texts saying I was fine, just suffering from cramps. I still don’t know what David told her. I’d like to think Pink would have said something in her messages if she knew. Or maybe she is waiting for me to tell her. Well, she can wait. She’s not going to get anything out of me.

  The phone stops ringing, but now it’s beeping to let me know I have messages. I press some buttons to stop the beeping but ignore the messages. I look at the time on the phone. It’s 6:30. I’m not sure if it’s A.M. or P.M. The room is just a black hole with the curtains drawn. I can’t see a thing.

  I blink a couple more times. There it is, 6:31 P.M. That means Mother will be home soon. Which means I need to raid the kitchen before she comes.

  As I stand, I realize how hungry I am. I don’t know when the last time I ate was. Yesterday? When was yesterday? At the moment I have no clue, but it doesn’t matter.

  There’s nothing to eat in the fridge. Digging around, I find a Corona Light in the back. I pop that open while I look for something else. Some forgotten chocolate caramels are in a drawer. I chew them and keep moving things around. I finally come across low-carb bagels, some lox, no cream cheese. But there is fat-free veggie dip. That works.

  Still chewing the caramels.

  Then I head to the pantry. Nothing in there either. I rummage around the shelves until I find some microwave popcorn. Perfect.

  With the neck of the Corona between my fingers, I hold the plate with the bagel and the rest of the chocolate caramels. In the other hand, I have the bowl of popcorn. I close my bedroom door just as I hear the garage door open. When Mother calls through the intercom that she is home, I tell her I’m busy with my homework. I lower the volume of the TV and eat another caramel.

  The phone rings again. Jeez, David. Lay off will you? I’m getting tired of hearing from you. I press NO so that the call goes to voice mail and stops ringing. Thank God. I can’t stand that ring tone anymore. I go online and search for a new one. Doesn’t matter what it is, just one that doesn’t drive me crazy if I hear it a millions times a day. I find one. Some hip-hop boy band I’ve never heard of. That explains why it’s free.

  That done, I get back to the TV. At one point Mother’s voice reminds me not to stay up too late studying. By three A.M. there’s nothing good on anymore. I get my phone and finally listen to the day’s messages. David’s messages. All five of them.

  “Hi Whitney, it’s David. Where are you? Call me back, will you?”

  I press a button. The robotic voice tells me it’s deleted and goes on to the next message.

  “It’s David again. Hey, are we still on for tonight?”

  I turn the phone in my hand then delete the message.

  “Whitney, I’m getting worried. Can you please call me?”

  No hesitation to delete that one.

  “I just talked to Pinkie and she doesn’t know where you are. I’m thinking of calling your mom. Are you okay—?”

  Delete before he finishes.

  “Whitney, I know when I’ve been forwarded to your voice mail. If this is some kind of sick joke, you suck.”

  I press the delete button one last time and throw the phone across the room.

  I don’t know what time it is when I get woken up. At first I think it’s David screaming at me, but then I realize it’s Mother through the intercom.

  “Darling, are you in the bathroom? Can you hear me? I’m leaving now. Is your little friend driving you to school today, or do you need me to take you?” She waits a few seconds and speaks again. “Darling, speak up. I can’t hear you.”

  I roll out of bed and shuffle over to the intercom. Whoever’s brilliant idea it was to install the intercom all the way on the other side of the room right next to the door is going to die. I press the button and talk. “Yeah, I’m fine. Pink should be here in a few minutes.”

  “All right, darling, have fun at school. I’ll see you this evening. I shouldn’t be too late. Your father is back from San Diego tonight. Don’t forget to turn off your curling iron before you go. Did y
ou hear me?”

  “Yeah, fine. Bye.” I let go of the button and shuffle back to bed. I trip over the phone on the floor. I pick it up and send Pink a text: STL SIK BT DNT WORY C U L8R. Then I pull the covers over my head and go back to sleep.

  Pinkie

  I LOOK AT THE TEXT MESSAGE FROM WHITNEY BLAIRE saying that she is still sick. On Monday she sent a text saying that she was having horrible cramps and couldn’t possibly go to school. It’s Thursday now. I swear, that girl has perpetual cramps. Sometimes I just don’t know when to believe her. I’m pretty sure she was complaining about cramps a week ago when we had that SAT-prep test. I wish she’d tell me the truth instead of pretending to be sick. I know something is going on.

  David’s been acting funny too. Sunday at church he was practically jumping out of his skin and had this goofy smile on his face.

  “What’s with you?” I had asked.

  David smiled impishly to let me know that he knew something that I didn’t. “That was some party last night, wasn’t it?”

  I blinked. “What party?”

  “Whitney’s party.”

  I remember my eyes widening. “Whitney Blaire had a party last night?”

  “Don’t you remember? Everyone was there.”

  I focused hard on folding the program in half. Corner to corner, then running my hand down to make the center seam. “Tara too?”

  “I don’t think so, but I was too preoccupied to notice.”

  I grabbed an insert and put it in the program I had folded. I waited for him to elaborate, even though I didn’t really want to know. When he didn’t, that frustrated me more so I had to ask. “So, you had fun?”

  “Yeah!”

  “And?”

  David got a dreamy look in his eye. “And Whitney and I are dating.”

  The program fluttered out of my hand. I had to get on my hands and knees to pick it up from under the table. I straightened up and said, “Really?”