“Hi, I’m Marco,” he says, holding out his hand. “We haven’t been introduced.”
“Melanie,” she says. “But everyone calls me Mel.”
Mel wants him, so that means we have to take him with us, because I have worked a lot of shifts with that girl and I know for a fact Mel could use some love. “Get in,” I tell Marco.
“Vicks!” yells Jesse.
“Jesse!” I yell back at her.
“It’s my car!” she cries.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t pull that. It’s a road trip, you gotta relax. Let’s take a vote. I say yes. You say no. Mel, you’re the tiebreaker. What’s it gonna be?”
Mel glances at me, then at Jesse. Her expression seems pained.
Then she looks at Marco. She blushes. “I think Old Joe would want us to take him,” she says.
Ha! I knew she liked him.
Marco grins and we all pile into the car.
7
MEL
MARCO IS SITTING next to me in the back.
This should make me happy—and it does—but I’m also hot and unable to catch my breath. Something about him is making my stomach tight. Twisty.
From nine till ten, Vicks and Marco made small talk. It’s so effortless for her. She just talks and jokes like she doesn’t care at all what anybody thinks. I could never be like that. Even back home with Laurie and the other girls at my old school, I couldn’t just talk. I didn’t want them to think I was too chatty, too plain, too boring.
I guess I was myself around Alex, since he was always hanging out at my house. He used to Rollerblade with Blake and fake-flirt with Nikki. We’d eat Pringles and have chess matches and listen to music and try to teach ourselves how to play piano.
I wonder if Laurie knows “Chopsticks.”
Vicks and Marco seem to have run out of conversation, because now they’re listening to “Drops of Jupiter” in silence. Like they’re lulled by the mellowness of the song.
But not me. I desperately have to pee. Not that I’m going to admit that.
I do not talk about those types of things in public.
Especially not in front of Marco.
It’s not that I like him or anything. Because I don’t. I mean, I don’t not like him, but I barely know him. He’s just some random guy sitting next to me in a random car.
Meanwhile, I’m convinced Jesse is purposefully driving over potholes to cause me physical pain. Bump. Bump. Bump. She knows I have to go to the washroom because she saw me down that entire Diet Sprite. “How are we doing on fuel?” I ask in my most nonchalant voice. “Do we need to stop?”
“Are you kidding?” Jesse asks. “We’ve got three-quarters of a tank. Why, do you need to stop?”
It’s because I voted against her. That’s why she’s punishing me. The swing voter strikes again. No matter which way I go, I always make someone unhappy. It’s too bad, because when we were at the museum, she made me think that…I don’t know. Made me think she’d started to like me.
Vicks likes me, I guess, but it’s not like she’d notice if I was gone.
“No, I’m fine,” I say, squirming. I can’t be the only one who has to pee, can I? Damn that Diet Sprite.
Bump. Bump. Bump.
Ow. Ow. Ow.
Vicks is staring out the window deep in thought, oblivious to Jesse’s unique form of torture.
And Marco is…Marco is sitting beside me, smelling like salt and peppermint. He’s tapping his fingers against his knee. His nails are jagged and ripped up. He reaches into his backpack, takes out a pack of Certs, and offers me one.
“No, thanks,” I say, noticing that he’s inched closer to me now, closer than he was before, and his knee and my knee are almost touching.
“You don’t take candy from strangers?”
I laugh. “I try not to.”
He pops one into his mouth. “Safer that way. You shoulda searched me when you had the chance. Tested my Certs for poison.”
“I see a sign for Fenholloway,” Jesse pipes up. “Exit 382?”
This is it. Good-bye, Marco.
“That’s the one.” He picks at a piece of ripped cuticle on his thumb.
“That must hurt,” I say, courageous now that I’ll never see him again.
He wiggles it. “Sometimes.”
“Bad habit.”
“I know. One of many.”
“So why don’t you stop?”
He’s watching me now and it’s burning up my skin. “Don’t you do anything you know you shouldn’t do?”
“I’m in this car.”
“You shouldn’t be here?”
Well, you’re not supposed to get into a car with strangers, yet here I am. All three of them—strangers.
No, I probably shouldn’t say that.
“I, um, didn’t tell my parents,” I lie. “They don’t know where I am.”
“They probably think you’re lost somewhere in your house,” Jesse pipes up from the front.
I bite the inside of my cheek. I hate that she just said that. I want Marco to think I’m mysterious, not some spoiled rich kid. “It’s not that big.”
“Puh-lease,” she says, laughing. “It’s like a museum. Well, not Old Joe’s museum, but, like, the Louvre.” She pronounces it Loo-vur. “You can practically charge admission to get in.”
I sink into my seat.
“So how long are you staying in Miami?” he asks, letting his knee fall all the way to the right, so his jeans are grazing my bare thigh.
“Just the weekend,” I answer.
“Where are you staying?”
“A hotel, I guess? I don’t know. We’ll figure it out when we get there.”
“It’s already after ten. You’re not driving straight there tonight, are you?”
“I don’t think so. We’re not supposed to be on the road after…” I let my voice trail off because I’m being a wimp again. “Are we driving straight there tonight?” I’m hoping no. Forget breaking the law; if there’s not a bathroom break soon I’m going to burst. “How far is Miami from here?”
“It’s a good five hours,” Vicks says. “We need to find a place to crash.”
“Mel’s springing for a hotel,” Jesse says. “Right?”
He’s looking at me again.
“Right, Mel?” Jesse persists. “Unless you’re going to go back on your promise.”
“I can pay for a hotel,” I say quickly. I turn back to Marco. “Do you know if there are any nice places to stay nearby?”
“Oh, yeah, there’s a Hilton right off the exit,” he says.
“Do you know if there’s a Marriott?” I ask. “My dad’s a frequent customer, so I bet I could get us a suite.”
His cheeks redden. “I was kidding. There’s no Hilton. There’s a Super 8 Motel.”
Vicks and Jesse burst out laughing.
“I knew that,” I lie again, wanting to crawl under the seat.
Jesse is still laughing when Marco turns to me and says, “Why don’t you guys come with me to Robbie’s? You could crash there. He’s having a house party.”
I feel sick and then excited and then sick again.
“Oh, we are so there,” says Vicks.
“We are not,” says Jesse.
“Make a left here,” he says. “You are not crashing or you are not coming to the party?”
She puts on her blinker and veers left. “No to both.”
“Now make a right at the next light,” Marco instructs.
“Let’s go to the party and then decide,” Vicks says. “We can always leave.”
“Left here,” Marco says.
Jesse turns and we can hear the party even before we see it. The thump, thump, thump of a heavy bass makes the road vibrate. My insides are thumping too, but not from the music. His jeans are still touching my leg.
“It’s the house on the—”
“Yeah, I got it,” Jesse says. “We’ll just drop you off.”
The one-story white house we pull up to has a wid
e front yard crowded with girls in short jean skirts and fluorescent halter tops, and guys with baggy jeans beginning at their knees. “Oh, just park,” Vicks says. “We’ll stop in for a second.”
Jesse veers onto the wrong side of the street into an empty spot, but she doesn’t cut the engine. She looks hard at Vicks. “I think you’re forgetting what this weekend is about.”
“I have to pee,” Vicks tells her. “So if you don’t want me urinating on your seat, you better park the car.”
Ha! I knew I couldn’t be the only one.
8
JESSE
“MARCO-MAN! YOU’RE HERE!” calls a waify-looking blond guy who’s so pale he’s almost see-through. He’s sitting on the kitchen table next to a gum-chomping brunette. They’re both drinking beer straight from the bottles, and my stomach goes down, down, down. I hate parties like this. I suck at parties like this.
“Hey,” Marco says. He sweeps his arm at the three of us. “Everybody, meet Vicks, Mel, and Jess.”
“It’s Jesse,” I say.
“Jesse. Sorry. Can I get you guys a brew?”
“Sure,” Vicks says.
I shoot her a look. I thought we were here so she could pee, not so she could fill up again.
“I’ll take one, thanks,” Mel says in a shy little voice. She’s such a teensy little thing, and she somehow seems even teensier around Marco. She’s gazing at him with big eyes—big blue eyes in a teensy-weensy girl—and Marco pauses for a second and grins, just at her. She turns bright red.
One beer’ll knock Mel flat—yet another reason to hit the road. A tipsy Mel is not something I need to see.
“I would kill for your hair,” the gum chomper says. “Are your highlights real or out of a bottle?”
Nobody answers. Her words hang like bubbles. Then I realize she’s talking to me, and I say, “Huh?”
She rolls her eyes. “Never mind.”
“Real,” I say. “They’re real.”
Marco grabs three beers out of the fridge and passes them out, starting with Mel. When he gets to me, Vicks says, “Don’t bother.”
“I don’t drink,” I say. It comes out stiff. I don’t mean for it to, but it does, ’cause that’s what happens to me in situations like this. I’m much more of a hang-out-and-watch-TV kind of girl. Or games. I do like games.
Tonight, for our weekly game night, Mama was going to make her sugar cookie cake with a layer of cream cheese and then cherry pie filling and then strawberries and kiwis and those baby oranges out of a can. R.D. was gonna bring his drink cart so we could all have icees.
I don’t like admitting it, but there’s a part of me that wishes maybe I was there instead of here.
Except, no. I’m off to Miami, thanks very much, just as soon as Vicks and Mel finish their stupid Buds.
“So, you guys up for staying a while?” Marco says. He looks straight at Mel, and I swear the girl stops breathing. Which is kinda cute. Only there isn’t any point crushing on a boy you’re never gonna see again.
“Sorry,” I say. “We gotta go.”
“No, we don’t,” Vicks says. She glances at Marco, then she glances at Mel, a smile dancing around her lips. “Hey, Mel, come find the bathroom, ’kay?”
She tugs Mel toward the hall, both of them giggling, and Marco is left with just me.
He shifts uncomfortably. “Well…”
I turn away, and Marco gets the hint. He says something pointless about catching me later, and in my head I’m like, Yeah, sure, whatever. Go play beer pong or put a lamp shade on your head, I don’t give a hoot.
He leaves, and now I’m the one left with just me, miserable and alone.
9
MEL
“HE SO WANTS you,” Vicks says, grabbing on to my arm and leading me down the hall.
“He does not!”
“He does. He was watching you the whole trip.”
“He was not,” I say, laughing. I love the way she’s holding on to me. Like we’re friends.
We spot a girl in pigtails waiting outside a closed door, assume it’s the washroom, and join the line.
“You better go for him.”
“Vicks, we don’t know anything about him!”
She laughs. “We know he’s hot.”
“He could have a girlfriend.”
“He didn’t mention anybody.”
“So? Doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”
“A guy with a girlfriend doesn’t invite three stylin’ girls to a party. Trust me. I’d kick Brady’s ass if he did that.”
“I guess,” I say, suddenly nervous.
“What’s your problem? You don’t like tall, dark, and handsome?”
“I don’t like…” I don’t like putting myself out there. I don’t like feeling exposed. After all, I told Alex how I felt about him—no, I showed Alex how I felt about him—and look what happened there. “I’ve had some boy issues.”
The bathroom door opens, a guy with a goatee comes out and the girl in front of us hurries in. Vicks takes a long swig of her beer, and I do the same. Gross.
I should have asked for a wine cooler.
“You should jump him. Drag him into one of the bedrooms and have your way with him.” Vicks whistles. “I would totally go for it if I were you.”
“Then you go for it.” I take a long disgusting sip.
“Hello? Brady?”
“Right,” I say, and remember how cute Brady was, how happy to see her he was, the few times I saw him at the Waffle House. For the first time I feel a question in my mind about Vicks. I mean, if we were on the way to visit my boyfriend, I wouldn’t want to stop at some house party with a bunch of people I don’t know. Not that I’m some expert on having boyfriends.
I hear a flush, and Pigtails comes out. I rush inside—I don’t think I can wait another second—but Vicks follows me.
“Oh, um…”
I’m freaked out, but in a way I’m oddly flattered. She likes me! She’s coming to the bathroom with me! We’re really friends! But can I actually pee in front of her?
Vicks doesn’t seem to notice my emotional ambivalence, and begins playing with her hair in the mirror. “Hurry, I really have to go.”
Okay, then. I put my beer on the floor, tug at my pants, and crouch over the toilet seat.
“Are you squatting?” she asks, eyeing me in the mirror.
“Kind of?”
“At someone’s house?”
“Don’t you?”
“No. I mean, at a public toilet definitely, but not at a house.”
“But it could be germy.”
I wipe, flush, and then quickly cover myself with my clothes. I wash my hands while it’s Vicks’s turn, and then dry them on my hair.
She washes her hands and pulls a lip gloss out of her purse. “Want some?”
“No, thanks.”
She laughs. “Too germy?”
“No, I’m just not into makeup,” I admit.
“Why not?”
“My sister’s the pretty one,” I say, the words falling from my lips faster than I want them to. “She doesn’t like when I get more attention than she does.” As I say it, I realize how sick it sounds.
Vicks’s eyes are the size of two steering wheels in the mirror. “That’s crazy. We’ll get Jesse to make you up; she’s like a makeup artiste. I barely know what I’m doing.”
Someone pounds on the door. “Hurry up in there!”
“Keep your pants on!” Vicks screams.
“Who are these people?” I ask, laughing. “Ready?”
“Wait, we need a toast.” She picks up her bottle, and I do the same. “To strangers in Fenholloway,” she says, and we clink.
It’s not clear to me if we’re drinking to Marco, to the other people in the house, or to us.
We slowly make our way back to the crowded kitchen. Jesse is going around picking up beer bottles and depositing them in the recycling bin, but Marco and the blond guy are gone.
As Jesse scowls and wipes
up a spill, Vicks sneaks behind her back, opens the fridge, and takes out another beer. I stop myself from giggling and giving her away. Vicks winks and twists off the top. We creep back out without Jesse even noticing.
We spot Marco on the front lawn. There are drunk people all over, some laughing, some hollering, and one attempting to do a handstand.
But I don’t really notice them. All I see is Marco.
“Go talk to him,” Vicks urges.
“By myself?” I ask, panicked.
She pushes me toward the front door. “I’ll hang out for five minutes, and then I’m disappearing.”
“Hey,” he says, waving us over.
Vicks elbows me. “I’m off.”
What? “That wasn’t five minutes!”
She winks and backtracks into the house. I take a small sip of beer—gross—and walk over.
I ease myself onto the grass, so Marco and I are facing each other, sitting cross-legged and less than a foot apart.
“It’s so hot; I miss the snow,” I say, and kick myself inside. Why start with the weather—the most boring topic in the universe?
“Where’d you see snow?” he asks me.
“I’m from Montreal. It hits zero degrees, like, all the time. Zero Fahrenheit. It hurts to breathe when it’s that cold.”
He stretches his leg out in front of him. “I’ve never seen snow.”
“You’re kidding.”
He shakes his head.
“My brother, sister, and I used to build these insane snow forts in the backyard,” I tell him. “There’d be like five rooms with tunnels in between, and we’d haul our stuffed animals in there and bring hot chocolate in thermoses.”
His eyes light up. “Do you ski?”
“No.”
“I want to, if I ever get up North. I water-ski, though. You ever tried that?”
“No.” I can’t believe all the stuff about him I didn’t notice in the car. The faint scissor-shaped scar on his square jaw line. The way he picks at his fingers when he talks, but keeps them still when he listens.
“It’s wild. You should try it.”
I’m about to say, Sure, I’m up for anything, but then I stop myself. Why lie? I’m never even going to see this guy again. “Um, that’s probably not going to happen. In fact…can I tell you a secret?”
How to Be Bad Page 7