How to Be Bad

by Lauren Myracle

  Jesse: “Repent.”

  Me: “Regret.”

  “Wine coolers,” Mel says. “Yeah, I know that’s two words, but it’s my game so I make the rules.”

  “Ooh, wine coolers, huh? Now where did you get that idea?” I ask.

  Mel bites her lip. “Unfortunately, last night was not the first time I’ve had more than is good for me.”

  “Do we get to hear that story?” I ask.

  “No.” She laughs. “We’re playing the game! Jesse, your turn. Wine coolers.”

  Jesse: “Bad breath.”

  Me: “Garlic.”

  Mel: “Vampires.”

  Jesse: “Bite marks.”

  Me: “Hickeys.”

  Mel: “Band-Aids.”

  “You did not cover your hickey with a Band-Aid!” I shriek.

  “I had to! It was so obvious,” Mel confesses. “But I’ve only had one hickey.”

  “Let’s move on,” Jesse says. “Peroxide.”

  Me: “Hair.”

  “Did you really peroxide your hair?” asks Mel. “I hear that’s so bad for it.”

  “I tried,” I tell her. “But it didn’t work. I ended up getting the frost-and-tip and leaving it on for twice as long as the box told me to.”

  “Wow.” She fingers her own brown hair. “I would never have the guts.”

  “It’s just hair,” I tell her. “It grows back.”

  A silence follows. “Hey, you guys?” I say eventually. “I’m sorry I messed up the toll booth thing.”

  “S’okay,” mutters Jesse. “I’m sorry I stole the car.”

  My cell vibrates. We’re only going ten miles an hour, and I can tell it’s not Brady. It’s some number from Niceville, but one I don’t know. I hit “accept.” “Hello?”

  “Is this Victoria?”

  “Depends who’s asking.”

  “This is Twyla Fix, Jesse’s mama.”

  “Hello there, Ms. Fix,” I say.

  Even though I know she’s probably pissed as shit, her voice still has that bounce in it, the one that makes Abe at the Waffle House blush. I’m tempted to hand the phone to Jesse, because I’m still mad at her, car game or no car game. But then I look back over my shoulder and see her waving frantically that she won’t—she can’t—speak to her mama, and she’s my best friend even if she did call me a sinner.

  “Is Jesse with you?” asks Ms. Fix. “I need to talk to her real bad.”

  “Oh, she just went off to pick up stuff for lunch with our friend Mel, you know, the hostess at the Waffle? And my boyfriend, Brady,” I lie, my voice sounding like a straight-A, student-government good girl. “Brady’s taking us on a tour of the school.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Brady goes to the University of Miami, you remember, I told you when you took me and Jesse to Applebee’s? He’s on the football team and he’s taking anthropology,” I say, to make him sound respectable. “We’re going to have a picnic down by the ocean, if the weather holds. Doesn’t that sound nice, Ms. Fix?”

  “You girls okay in that car with the storm?” she asks. “Where are you sleeping?”

  “We’re okay. We got a hotel across the street from campus,” I tell her. “Mel’s mom and dad gave her money for it. She has a credit card and everything. Don’t worry, it’s a nice clean place. Parents stay there when they come visit their kids at college.”

  “I really gotta talk to Jesse. You know when she’s coming back?”

  “The sandwich shop is kind of a ways from here. Could be half an hour, an hour? I can have her call you back if you want.”

  “Do you know she left me without any way to get to my job?” Ms. Fix says, beginning to sound irritated. “Do you know I had to catch me the bus going all over town to look for her, and then was late to work and got docked an hour’s pay? Do you know I was up half the night, waiting for her to come home?”

  “No, ma’am,” I say. “I did not know that. I’m so, so sorry if I caused you any problems. You know I begged her to take me down to see Brady. I miss him so much now that he’s in college, I just begged her and begged her to take me here. Jesse’s the loyalest friend, Ms. Fix. You should be really proud of her. She took off work to help me and everything.”

  Mel is giggling into the fabric of her T-shirt and Jesse is staring out the window with her hand over her mouth, looking like tragedy just struck.

  “Well,” says Ms. Fix. “I’m not happy with her. Do you understand me, Vicks?”

  “Oh, I do,” I say. “But really, I take responsibility for everything. I just missed my boyfriend so bad and I had to, had to see him. You know how that is, don’t you?”

  I say it like I’m lying. But it’s true.

  Ms. Fix sighs on the other end. I can hear a dog barking. “My break’s over,” she says. “I gotta go.” She pauses. “You’re young and in love, huh?”

  I swallow hard. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “That’s a great thing, first love,” she says. “You treasure it now, you hear?”

  “I sure will.” I was trying not to giggle before, but now I’m trying not to cry.

  “I want Jesse calling me the second she gets back.”

  “I’ll tell her,” I say.

  Ms. Fix hangs up and I wipe my eyes on the bottom of my sodden T-shirt. “She’s off your back for an hour or two, at least,” I tell Jesse.

  “I owe you,” she says.

  “That’s for damn sure,” I say. “Hey, do we have any water?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Jesse says. She gestures out the window at the deluge.

  “Hey, I’m thirsty,” I say. “Lying for your friends takes it out of a girl.” Really, I just want to get rid of the lump in my throat.

  Mel looks around on the floor of the front seat and shakes her head. “Anything in the backseat?”

  “Just a half-empty bottle of orange juice that’s been sitting here since yesterday,” Jesse reports.

  “Gross.”

  “Isn’t there anywhere to pull over and buy something?” asks Mel.

  “Nope. All I can see is rain. Rain again. And then more rain,” I answer. “At least it’s not another hurricane.”

  “What letter are they on now? G?” Jesse wonders.

  “Nah, we had Greg offshore a few weeks ago. Didn’t make it inland. Now we’re on H.”

  “Um, guys?” Mel interrupts. “Could Harriet be the name of a hurricane?”

  “Sure,” Jesse says. “They name ’em in alphabetical order. So the next one’ll be Harriet, or Helen. Something like that.”

  “They were talking about a Harriet in Dunkin’ Donuts,” Mel says. “Saying she was headed for Cocoa Beach and they wanted their relatives to leave town. But I just thought—”

  “We’re in a hurricane?” I interrupt.

  “Mel.” Jesse is serious. “Are you telling me you knew we were driving into a hurricane and you never said anything?”

  “I didn’t realize what they meant,” Mel explains. “I thought they were talking about a cousin or a nasty old aunt or something. Mean Auntie Harriet.”

  “You are so clueless,” moans Jesse. “This is dangerous. People’s houses get knocked over. Whole neighborhoods flood. Hello? Katrina?”

  Mel starts blinking repeatedly, like she’s about to start crying. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t realize.”

  “We have to get off the road,” says Jesse. “We can’t keep driving in this.”

  And I want to do what Jesse says—but the water is coming down so hard I can’t see more than a foot in front of me—and the roof of the Opel is starting to leak.

  18

  MEL

  EACH RAINDROP IS like a bomb against the foggy windshield, exploding into a circle of water. Kabam! I’ve never seen rain this gray, this hostile. This everywhere. It’s like being underwater with your eyes open. I am a jerk for not paying more attention to the Dunkin’ Donuts ladies. But how was I supposed to know?

  Jesse has scooted over to the middle of
the backseat and perched herself on the edge so she is practically sitting in the front row with us. “Vicks, get off the road.”

  Vicks’s hands are stiff and white and glued to the steering wheel in the ten and two position. She’s shaking her head, back and forth and back and forth. “And go where? I don’t even know where I am.”

  She’s driving about two miles an hour. The wipers are barely even crawling across the windshield. They slush one way, then they slush back.

  The sound of thunder rips through the sky and the whole road feels like it’s shuddering. Next comes a bolt of lightning. I hold my breath when the sky lights up and for a brief second we see the gushing water. Then it’s dark again and a gust of wind whips my side of the Opel. It looks like it’s the middle of the night instead of eleven in the morning.

  I try desperately to see through the foggy window. “Um, stay straight. I’ll watch for a sign.”

  Jesse reaches over to Vicks’s shoulder and pats it. “Just go slow.” Her words are soft, like she’s putting a baby to sleep. “Straight and slow. I’m sure we’ll see somewhere to stop.”

  We keep driving. No one talks. The only sound is the rain pummeling the car.

  “Wanna play free association some more?” I ask, trying to slow my speeding heart. I turn back to look at Jesse. “Where were we? Peroxide?”

  “Mel, please,” Vicks says. “Not now.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You should have told us about the hurricane, Mel,” Vicks finally says. “It was really irresponsible of you not to.”

  “I’m sorry,” I repeat, sinking back into my seat, blood rushing to my head. “I honestly didn’t know.” I try to sink back farther but the seat won’t let me in. My eyes are getting watery—great—so I turn to the side window. My throat is closing up. I stare out the side window and watch the fat raindrops slide sideways like they’re running away from the front of the car.

  “I just don’t understand what you were thinking,” Vicks continues, her voice rising. “I mean—”

  “Come on, enough,” Jesse says. I notice that it’s my shoulder she’s now patting. “Mel didn’t know. She said she was sorry.”

  Vicks lets out a throaty laugh. “Sometimes that’s just not enough though, is it?”

  Silence.

  “Hey, look!” Jesse says. “A sign!”

  I see it! I see it! It’s a big green sign! I press up against the window to try to make the words out on said sign. But the windshield keeps getting slammed with water. I can’t see anything. How useless am I?

  “It says…Disney World is up ahead,” Jesse says. There’s wonder in her voice.

  “We can go if you want,” I rush to say. “I’ll buy the tickets.”

  “Really?” she says. Then she reins herself in. It’s weird: I can sense her doing it, like Disney World isn’t something she’s allowed to want. “It’s raining,” she says. “We need a hotel, or at least a restaurant where we can sit for a few hours.”

  “Of course,” I say. “I meant, like, tomorrow. Or whenever it clears up. I love Disney parks. I’ve been to the one outside Paris.”

  I wish I would shut up. Not only am I babbling, but I sound like I’m showing off. I don’t mean to show off. And how do I know Jesse hasn’t been to Paris? “Have you been to that one?” I ask. Shut up, shut up!

  “Can you forget about your fancy life for a second and focus on finding a place we can be indoors?” Vicks retorts.

  I turn back toward the side window and follow the running raindrops. “I think I see a hotel. Maybe. See? It’s a building, anyway. Do you think it’s a hotel?”

  Vicks sighs. “How do I know? Does it look like a hotel?”

  “Um…I think.” It’s hard to see anything. It has flags on it, I think. Black flags.

  “We’ll wait in the lobby until the rain lets up. Someone tell me how to get there?”

  “Take the next exit,” Jesse says. “Just take it super slow on the off ramp.”

  Vicks flicks her turn signal. “My phone is vibrating. Will someone get it?”

  Jesse reaches into Vicks’s purse for it. “If it’s Mama, I’m not answering.”

  “Five, five, five, two, one, five, eight,” Jesse reads out. “Not Mama.”

  Those numbers sound familiar. Wait a sec. “Hey, that’s my number!” I twist around to the backseat.

  “Yeah?” Jesse answers Vicks’s phone. “Who am I speaking to?” Her eyes widen. “Ohhh. Hello, Marco. Mel did what? She did? Ah.”

  I try to catch my breath. Marco is calling Vicks from my phone? What does that mean? That he regrets not kissing me? And then I realize that all it means is he found the phone and saw my Canadian maple-leaf sticker and he knew it was mine and then he found her number in my contacts list and now he’s calling to tell me that he has it. He is being nice. He is nice. Just because he didn’t find me attractive doesn’t make him not nice.

  “Is anyone paying attention to the road?” Vicks asks. “I need help finding the turnoff.”

  I turn back toward the front, my heart thumping. “Sorry. Keep driving, I see a sign. I think it says…Treasure Chest Hotel?” I twist back to Jesse, who is making smoochy Marco faces at me.

  To Marco, she says, “What? I can’t hear ya. What? Yeah, we were in a bit of a rush to hit the road. What? Speak up! Yeah, we realize that now. Thanks, genius.” She rolls her eyes at me. “But we’re already in it.”

  Vicks is following a narrow lane up toward the hotel.

  “Do you want to talk to him?” she mouths to me.

  No. Yes. I take a deep breath and put out my hand.

  But then Jesse’s forehead wrinkles. “Did I tell Mel about what? What pool?”

  What pool indeed? I didn’t go into a pool. Did I go into a pool?

  The car swerves to the left.

  A weird strangled expression takes over Jesse’s face. “No, Marco, I’m not kidding. This is Jesse, not Vicks, and I want you to tell me what the heck happened in the pool with you two.”

  Vicks was in a pool with Marco? My Marco?

  “Oh, I will,” Jesse says dangerously. “Only why don’t you tell her yourself?”

  The rain is now pounding against my head. Inside my head.

  I look at Vicks and she is pale. Jesse’s face is a mask of stone. I wonder what I look like. I examine my outstretched hand. It looks stupid and small. My nail polish is chipped.

  I drop my hand and put it in my lap.

  “Fine,” Jesse says. “You know what? The reception here sucks.” She pings the cell closed.

  My throat is on fire. My tongue is on fire.

  Jesse returns her hand to my shoulder.

  “Vicks, anything you’d like to tell us?” she says. Her voice is soaked in acid. The acid drips through her fingers and into my shoulder. Now my arm is on fire.

  “I…did something dumb,” Vicks whispers.

  I imagine that I’m a windshield wiper who can slosh her words away. I can’t believe it’s happening again. I can’t believe what an idiot I am. I can’t believe I thought she was my friend. She’s not a friend, she doesn’t care about me. She doesn’t even care about her boyfriend, the great and wonderful Brady. I shouldn’t care, she’s nobody to me. Just some girl I met at a stupid job. A stupid job I don’t even want. She can be a slut if she wants because it shouldn’t matter to me. None of this matters to me. I don’t even know why I’m here. I don’t want to be here.

  I open my mouth to breathe. But there’s no air. I need to get out of this car.

  I search for my voice. “Can you stop the car, please?”

  Vicks snaps her head toward me. “What?”

  “She said stop the car,” Jesse says. There is a fierce glee to her anger.

  “No,” Vicks says.

  I need to get out. Now. “Stop. The fucking. Car!”

  The car jerks to a halt. When I get out, the rain digs into my face and arms, soaking me, my shirt, my shorts. My feet slosh in my sandals.

  It hurts to be ou
tside. The wind whips my hair into my mouth. The car crawls along beside me.

  There is no sidewalk, only road. I plow through the puddles until I reach the hotel driveway. Three curving buildings loom side by side, each at least thirty stories high. In front of the middle building are massive gold-plated letters set against black sails that scream TREASURE CHEST DELUXE HOTEL AND CONVENTION CENTER. Giant pirate ship replicas are docked in front. It is beyond cheesy.

  The slut pulls into the parking lot and I find refuge under the hotel awning.

  A bellhop in a white satin ruffled shirt, black pants, and an eye patch looks me over. “Do you need a towel, miss?”

  “No, thank you.”

  He opens the heavy door for me and I step inside the huge pirate-themed entranceway. Treasure maps are framed on the walls. I wipe my feet on the gold welcome mat but it doesn’t help. I leave footprints on the aquatiled floor with every step. Gold chests stuffed with glass jewels clutter the lobby. Parrots squawk in gilt cages, and the ceiling is draped with fishing nets.

  Forget waiting out the storm in the lobby. Maybe the rooms will be less hideous?

  The young woman behind the reception counter is wearing a red corset, a black choker, and a fur-trimmed pirate hat. “Hello!” she chirps.

  “Hello!” chirps the parrot on her bare shoulder.

  “I’d like a room, please.”

  “For tonight?”

  “Yes, please. For three people.” I’m on autopilot. Why am I getting a room for three? Vicks doesn’t deserve a room. Maybe I’ll let Jesse inside but make Vicks wait it out in this pirate cheese-fest.

  The pirate types something on her keyboard. She has fake pirate nails. Long black talons with tiny skulls on them that are clicking against the keyboard. Each click sends a bullet into my brain. Click, click, click. “Unfortunately, we’re full tonight.”

  I snap in half. “What? How can a hotel this size be full?”

  “Due to construction we’re only using the south side of the complex, and I’m afraid all of those rooms are committed. However, it’s possible we might have some cancellations due to the weather. Would you like to wait by the cannons or visit the Jolly Roger, and then check back in an hour or so?”

  No more explosions. No more drama. What I want is a nap. “You’re telling me there’s nothing available?”