Smash It!

by Francina Simone

  His face drops and he lets go of my shirt. “Seriously?”

  I shove on my shirt. “You said you’re cool with just doing it and whatever.” I’m breathing hard. I need to get out of here.

  “So you used me?” He’s staring at me, and I’m trying to figure out when Dré grew into the guy who’s no longer a vault but open with whatever is in his head. When he became someone whose words could slice me open and gut me in an instant.

  And when did I become the vault?

  “You’re the one who’s into the casual thing.” I get what I did was wrong, but some of this had to be mutual. It’s not like he wanted to be my boyfriend after we had sex—twice. He’s the one who’s all cool with not owning another person.

  “So I don’t have feelings? You made rules and now you’re crossing them every chance you get.” He’s trying to understand, but doesn’t he realize even I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore?

  I don’t know who I am anymore.

  “Bullshit.” All I know how to do is fight this. “You’re feeling me up all the damn time. Touching me everywhere and always saying spank bank...” I feel the half-truths on my tongue, and I know he hears them just like I do. But I can’t accept this ugly as all mine.

  “Because I—I thought you liked it. I—clearly I was wrong.” He runs his hands over his face and hair and paces to the window.

  I blink fast. “You could’ve said no.” Why didn’t he? Why did he hold me and kiss me and—I can’t breathe.

  He squints at me, and there is this disconnect between us. I see it in his face. It goes blank, and it’s like that rubber band holding us together snaps. I feel the break. “You can be so fucking selfish it’s astonishing.”

  I can’t stand the way he’s looking at me. It makes me feel like everything we are is tainted and—I smooth my shirt over my body. “Good job on the big words.” I don’t know why I said that. He’s not stupid. I don’t know why I keep talking. My words and my feelings are the exact opposite of each other. One trying to defend the other. I can’t make it stop.

  “Fuck you,” he says, and I leave.

  I cry all the way home and in my bed, and I don’t stop until I wake up in the middle of the night to close my blinds. Eli has his open, and he’s in his room with the light on. It’s almost midnight when he looks up at me as I turn on my light.

  It’s all coming at me like a wave, and I close my blinds before he can see me cry.

  Right there on my mirror is the stupid fucking list, and I hear Eli in my head, saying, I didn’t realize the Year of Fuck It meant fuck everyone you know.

  I rip the list off my mirror, and then I’m screaming into my pillow.

  Chapter 30

  Dré’s not talking to me. I tried to apologize in the morning before classes started, but he gave me the cold shoulder. I feel like we both said things that weren’t okay, and I’m kind of irritated that I’m always the person to apologize first.

  He called me selfish, and I’ve spent most of our friendship being selfless. I let him and Eli shine, and the moment I started doing my own thing, everything fell apart. I’m not getting cut any slack for making one mistake.

  I shouldn’t have used him to get Eli off my mind. I get that. But Dré knew it was casual sex. That’s all it was.

  After a few days of the cold shoulder, I start eating lunch and doing my homework by myself, because Lennox and Jackie are on the other lunch schedule. Rehearsals are packed from 4:00 to 8:00 at night with a thirty-minute break for dinner, so I spend my spare time studying with Lennox or Jackie.

  We’re in Lennox’s car going to the McDonald’s when Jackie turns around and sighs. “Okay, bitch. What the fuck is wrong with you now?”

  They’d been talking about their film projects, which they turned in. I kind of drifted, staring out the window.

  I shake my head, still looking out the window. What isn’t wrong? I’m sitting fourth chair flute because even Spitty Patty, who sounds like her tongue is flopping around in her mouth, is performing better than me. I got a C on my history test, and I didn’t read the book I have to write a paper on due tomorrow in English.

  “Nah, bitch. You’ve been pouting and quiet for days, and I notice you ain’t around your little friend.” Jackie has a way of telling me my business even when I’m clearly not trying to share it. Cleo was right; the theatre department feeds on drama, and I can’t help but feel like I was better off before I auditioned for this musical.

  But fuck it. Keeping all this shit in my head isn’t doing me any better either. “Dré’s mad at me because we had sex again.”

  Lennox breathes out, puts her arm against her window, and rests her head in her hand. “I swear you like looking for trouble.”

  I don’t know what that means, because I’m about the least confrontational person there is. I went to a Halloween party dressed as myself because I don’t like attention. “How is this my fault?”

  Lennox pulls up to the order box and orders our food. We get our food before she says anything. “I told you. You’re not a casual person. I’m not even sure Dré knows how to be casual—especially with you. It was a bad idea. I told you that.”

  “You told me to have sex with Dré.” I get my large fry and Oreo McFlurry. I start scooping out the ice cream with my fries, and, I swear, something that is usually the gateway into heaven tastes like cold grainy crap right now.

  “Because I was sure y’all would get together. And that was before I knew how deep this Eli thing went. And, if I remember correctly, we told you sex with Kai was a bad idea because you’re not a casual person. To top it all off, you’re not exactly good at giving all the facts. I always find out crucial bits afterward.”

  I eye her, because I’ve noticed she’s been talking to Eli like he’s a person and not a monster. She’s kind of a hypocrite. One minute, I’m not responsible for his feelings, and then the next, I’m not considering them.

  Jackie butts in. “Wait. I still don’t know why he’s mad y’all smashed.”

  “He thinks I used him for sex.” I feel ashamed, saying that out loud. It’s not like we’re dating, so maybe we’ve been using each other?

  “Did you?” Lennox asked.

  It isn’t any of their business. “He could have said no. I didn’t force myself on him.”

  Jackie sucks her teeth. “Bitch, you’re so wrong for that. Dré’s a decent dude, I don’t even know why he fucks with you.”

  “Shut the hell up, Jackie.” I know my tone is off. She looks at me like she has to check that I’m actually talking to her.

  “Bitch, I ain’t Angelina. Don’t come for me,” she says, eyes wide.

  “No, but you’re still annoying. You’re loud as fuck and I’m tired of your dumbass opinions.” I want to get out of this car. I’m tired of them judging me. They’re always talking about me and my problems. I’m conveniently reserved as the entertainment. The whole theatre department is probably laughing at me.

  We’re quiet on the way back, aside from Jackie mumbling under her breath when she turns up the music. When we’re out of the car, Lennox stops me. “O.”

  It’s getting dark outside and it’s not even six o’clock. I pretend to be fascinated by the streetlights humming above us.

  “You owe her an apology.”

  “I don’t owe anybody anything,” I say. I’m always apologizing. I’m always smoothing things over. I’m always the one keeping the peace. I keep the peace between Eli and Dré. I have to apologize to Eli because his family life sucks. I have to apologize for not waiting on him to tell me how he feels. I have to apologize for doing what Dré wanted to do anyway.

  This is the Angelina shit all over again. I have to apologize for standing up for myself. Fuck. It.

  Lennox stands there with her keys in her hand and her bag in the other. “Whatever,” she says. Her green jumpsuit sw
ishes as she walks away.

  * * *

  I’m sitting in the back row doing my homework, listening to Mrs. G lecture us about how we have two weeks before opening night, and we’re still singing like somebody is shaking a cage of freaked-out birds. I don’t know how she knows what that sounds like, but I’ll take her word for it.

  I’m trying not to catch her attention right now, because she already spent an hour yelling at Dré and me for messing up our number. I’m not feeling it. I can’t fake it. I can’t smile and beg him to stay with me when it’s so degrading. I hate Shakespeare.

  I have to become a whore onstage when I know my friends are basically judging me for the same thing Bianca gets thrown in jail for. I stand up for myself like Emilia stands up to her husband, and everyone turns their back on me. Emilia—news flash—gets stabbed, so fuck Shakespeare and his tragic fucking women.

  Mrs. G keeps telling us to use this opportunity to make a statement about all the problematic issues, but I’m at the point where I want us to do something different. Call the whole thing off and do Sweeney Todd instead. It’s a bunch of weirdos murdering people and baking them in pies, what could go wrong?

  I also want to be somewhere else because Dré’s walking over to Eli, and he sits next to him. At first, they don’t say anything, but after a few minutes they’re talking and then doing some dumbass handshake.

  I want to vomit.

  Dré has sex with me, and all is forgiven, they’re friends again.

  I have sex with Dré and I’m—I’m not Bianca.

  I’m Desdemona.

  My gut squeezes with horror. I’m stunned. I’m living in some freak version of Othello where Iago ends up being a decent guy, Cassio and Othello work it out—but Desdemona? She still ends up dead.

  I’m up and running to the bathroom. I don’t throw up, but I am crying. I feel like an idiot, because I’m bawling my eyes out into the sink while trying to splash cold water on my face to keep from getting red and puffy.

  Somehow Eli has turned me into the monster. Everyone is mad at me. I’ve lost my two best friends, and they’re happy to move on without me. Jackie and Lennox aren’t talking to me. I haven’t been to work in forever, so I don’t even have Al. I have only this puffy-eyed girl staring at me in the mirror.

  Cleo walks in, and I know God is up in heaven somewhere laughing, because what the fuck.

  “Hey,” she says. We haven’t talked much since I pretty much told her to kick rocks and stay out of my business. But we’re family, and family never stays out of your business. “Don’t let Mrs. G get to you. You weren’t that bad. I mean, Dré’s not helping any, it’s not all you.”

  She thinks I’m crying because I got yelled at. It’s better than explaining to her that maybe she was right. Maybe I should have stuck to the shadows, because my life has never been worse.

  I just nod. And wipe my face. I leave before she finishes using the bathroom, because there is only so much pity I can take.

  At the end of rehearsal, we pick straws and Eli and I are left with the short ones. I’ve never known dread until this moment. It’s not a dark cloud, it’s a fist around my heart threatening to squeeze me out of existence.

  We have to organize the prop closet. Now that all the props have been created, there are a ton to put back, so no one will trade with me. I try to swallow the panic that rises in my throat with every step to the props closet, but my hands are shaking as I open the door.

  “I guess you’re stuck with me,” Eli says when I walk into the room. We haven’t spoken in so long that he feels like a stranger. A stranger who’s turned all my friends against me and smothered me out of existence.

  “I bet you’re all having a laugh about it.”

  He shrugs. “We only like to laugh at you on Tuesdays.” He’s looking at me, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

  “Fuck you, Eli.”

  He groans. “Look, I’m trying, but you’re not making it easy.”

  I gape. He’s such a fucking asshole. “Well, I’m only a slut on Wednesdays,” I snap back at him.

  He looks confused and then his eyes go wide. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Fuck you. Really. Fuck you. I know what you meant.” I actually don’t know anymore but fuck it. I’d rather be safe than be the butt of the joke.

  He looks completely offended. Like I should have thought his joke was funny—or been able to tell it wasn’t a joke. Whatever. “It’s not what I meant,” he says, his voice getting louder. “I—fine. Forget it.” He turns around and goes back to ignoring me.

  My hands are twitching with energy, and my heart is thumping in my chest. I’ve thought for so long about all the things I want to say to him. All the hell I’d let him have when the moment came.

  The gate floods open. “You’re really good at that. The whole pretending to care and then cutting people off. Your family would be so proud.” I never rehearsed that. I never once thought about bringing up his family’s drama.

  On both sides of his family, he has grandparents who either don’t acknowledge his existence or barely talk to him at all. His mom talks to only some of her family here in America, and they always disrespect his dad in front of him. She’s terrified of her family completely disowning her, so she doesn’t stick up for Yosef or for half of what Eli is—I don’t know, we almost never talk about it, and I never bring it up.

  Except I just did.

  He’s staring at me. I expect him to say something about how my dad walked out on me, or something about me sleeping with Dré. I’m readying myself for anything, because I think the last plank on our bridge just snapped.

  The anger fades from his face, and he’s just standing there. He’s so still I could blow him over. “I’m only going to say this because you were there for me at the lowest point of my life and because I know you—you’re better than that.”

  He walks out and leaves me to finish the props by myself. I’m kind of glad he doesn’t come back, because I feel so ugly I could die.

  Before we all leave, we gather in a circle to close out rehearsal like we do every night, and when it comes time for Mrs. G to tell us, You know what to do, she doesn’t. Instead, she looks at each of us and says, “You guys can do better than this. We’re not going to smash it tonight, because when you say it, I want you to mean it.”

  She walks away from us, and we all stand there, quiet, not meeting each other’s eyes. Then we just walk away, one by one, because what else is there to do?

  Chapter 31

  My sister is home when I get inside. My mom thought it would be a fun surprise. I’m kind of stunned, because everything running through my head is making it hard to compute why she’s standing in the kitchen making mashed potatoes.

  “Hey, Amber.” She’s normally only home for the holidays or the occasional long weekend. I love my sister but I’m not in the mood to chitchat about how great Atlanta is or whether or not I’ve started picking out colleges.

  “Hey, baby sister.” She calls me that now. She didn’t always. When we were younger, she called me things like Olive Garden and Fungus Freak—I used to love mushrooms. Now she calls me baby sister, and I think it might be because I’m getting older. Who knows?

  She looks at me and then Mom, and then kind of nods her head like she’s making sure we didn’t run anybody over on the way home.

  Mom and my sister are now looking at me. I know Mom noticed how irritable I am because when she picked me up from practice today, she just turned up the music in the car and chatted about how hard it is booking an aquarium that lets people take their vows in a shark tank.

  Amber sighs. “I’m just going to say it. What’s wrong with her?” They do this—talk about me as if I’m not in the room. It’s always been a thing, so I don’t even care anymore.

  “Puberty.” My mom has been saying that for the last five years. May
be this time she’s right, because I’ve really lost it and I can’t figure out when it all started to slip out of my hands. I’ve literally screwed my life into a catastrophe.

  I sit at the counter and eat mashed potatoes and steak and pick at the green beans. My mom’s already left to shower. Apparently ten o’clock is way too late for normal people to eat.

  I bring Amber up to date about the play and rehearsals and leave out everything in between—which is pretty much my entire life since Halloween. It feels like a long time. Looking back, it’s been about three months, but they’ve been the most intense three months of my life.

  This is how we communicate. Updates between dry patches. I love my sister but she’s twenty-six and in a world of her own. We have nothing in common except the fact that we’re sisters. That’s kind of comforting though, that two people can exist connected by such an arbitrary thing and still love each other—Amber makes a face and tells me to chew with my mouth closed because I look like a cow—sometimes love each other.

  I’m in the middle of explaining my schedule when Amber interrupts me.

  “So, I’m bringing my girlfriend down next month.”

  I’m not sure why that was important enough to interrupt my very detailed description of my daily schedule. Then I realize it’s the way she says girlfriend. “Oh? Shocker,” I say. I don’t mean it to come out so sarcastic, but my sister’s been gay for like—forever. But she doesn’t think anyone knows. At least that I know of. She’s always been super secretive about her friends, and she has these mysterious “best friends” who then disappear without a trace after a few months or years.

  I don’t know why she’s always been scared to tell me. I’m notorious for not making people feel uncomfortable—or I was. I just figured, one day, she’d be old and I’d be old and she’d finally tell me she was a lesbian and I’d cackle an old-lady laugh and then die?