When we drive up to her Barbie Mansion house, I sigh and pull my aching body out of the van to go around back and help her with her bag. I mean, I think she’s got an attitude and it’s totally unfair, but I get why she’s in a bad mood—although leaving me drunk in a cow pie should definitely make us more than even. And like she said last night, New Girls BFFs would never let a boy come between them. So I decide to take the high road and play the peacemaker.
I lift up the van’s back door, grab her bag, and give her an apologetic half grin. “Hey, I’m sorry about—”
“Save it,” she says, shooting me one last ice-cold stare before plastering a fake smile on her face, waving energetically at my parents, and bounding up her cobblestone sidewalk.
The breeze is cool even though the sun is bright. I pull up the hood of my sweatshirt and tuck the sides of a red plaid flannel blanket around my legs. I lean against a large, flat rock by the creek and scribble in my journal like crazy, retelling my version of last night’s events as best I can. It’s not pretty.
As I write about the main character, the little nerdy girl who just started a new school only to alienate her best friends in order to make herself look good in front of her dream guy, I feel sick to my stomach. Maybe it’s the hangover, but I think about the last time I was out here, when Luke told me that he hoped I wouldn’t change on the inside, and feel sick.
I sigh and lie back, closing my eyes and holding my journal against my chest, and listen to the water trickle by. What I want to do is crash on my bed and sleep the whole nightmare away, but what I need to do is sort out all the drama with a good friend, which is why I’m waiting for Luke. Kimi’s Hangover Cure—a McDonald’s Happy Meal, two extra-strength Tylenol, and a bazillion cups of water—did make it possible for me to stumble my way out here. It also gave me the strength to withstand Momma’s silent treatment and Dad’s dinner lecture on “being a responsible teen.” I’m not sure what they know, but I’m not offering up any details. And even though it’s been two hours and it kind of seems like Luke’s not going to show, I don’t have the energy to make myself go home and call him again.
I feel Bandit hobble over my legs, but I keep my eyes closed against the overcast sky. It took us a while to get out here, but I feel good about his progress, and I certainly wasn’t in a hurry. He’s more cautious now, wobbling around the blanket, his nose leading him but not far. He may wander a few steps, but even if he’s distracted by a rabbit or a butterfly, he’ll watch instead of chase. He cocks his head at every sound, keeping an eye out and constantly looking back at me, making sure I’m still here.
I feel Bandit’s nose on my forehead and smile. It’s the best I can do under the circumstances. I rub his head, careful of his wounds, and look down at my watch. Almost four o’clock. I stare out toward Luke’s house, straining to see a figure on the horizon, but I know he’s not coming.
And I could really use one of his hugs right now.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
“So are we gonna talk about what happened Saturday night?” I ask Luke on the bus Monday morning. He didn’t sit with me, but it’s not that big of a bus and I moved up to where he was and plopped myself down right next to him. We need to talk.
“What? About you going to homecoming with Wolf? Oh, okay, congratulations,” he says sarcastically, looking out the window.
“Oh, is that it?” I ask earnestly. “You’re mad ’cause I said yes to Wolf? Join the club.”
“No,” he says, still looking away. “I mean, he’s a douche bag for sure, but I don’t give a damn if you go to homecoming with a Jonas Brother. It just makes me sick how you throw yourself at him.”
“What?” I ask, indignant.
“Yeah,” he says, turning to face me full on. “He only asked you because he hates that guy Mark. It’s so obvious! He’s totally using you, and you don’t care.”
“Ever think he might just like me?” I ask, hoping to convince myself, too.
“He’s not that smart a guy,” Luke mumbles, looking back out the window.
We bump along in silence for a minute and I grab a hair clip from my backpack. “So you’re not mad about homecoming, you’re just mad I like Wolf. Is that it?”
He laughs bitterly. “Yeah, that’s it. You’re going to some stupid dance with some pretty-boy jock and I’m jealous.” He lays the sarcasm on pretty thick, although I never brought up jealousy. That actually never crossed my mind. I think back to the day we wrestled by the creek and blush.
“Well, it’s just one date,” I say, trying to soften things. “I don’t know why everybody’s getting their panties in a wad. I mean, Mackenzie acts like it’s the end of the world!”
“Because it is!” Luke says, totally frustrated. “To people like her, it is the end of the world. She’s used to getting her way. God, she and Wolf are actually made for each other. They’re spoiled rich kids who get by on their looks and money,” he says bitterly and turns from the window, leveling me with the intensity of his eyes, “and it makes me sick that you try so hard to be like them. The Ricki Jo I know likes people for their sense of humor and, I don’t know, their hearts or whatever. But now”—he pauses, sighs, and lowers his voice, then his eyes—“now it’s like you’re this other person.”
I’m speechless. I want to defend myself, defend my friends, but I’m so stunned that I can hardly think straight. Luke, my loyal, steady, never-talks-about-his-feelings best friend, is having no trouble whatsoever laying it all on the line. And it hurts.
He glances up at me and his expression changes. “You’re surprised?” he asks sincerely.
“I just thought you were mad about the Candace thing,” I say quietly.
“Yeah, that sucked, too, actually,” he says. “That really sucked. The Ricki Jo I grew up with—hell, the one I knew two months ago!—wouldn’t have trashed her like that. And she wouldn’t have let them talk her into getting wasted. Which reminds me: You’re a pretty annoying drunk.”
I bristle.
“And, I don’t know,” he continues. “You used to not care about clothes and makeup and sucking up to everybody. I don’t know how to explain it. You’re, like, their puppet or something. You do whatever they say and”—he pauses and looks away—“I feel sorry for you.”
I feel tears prick my eyes and my throat get tight. But I know this feeling. I’m not sad; I’m angry. Angry to be made to sit here and let my oldest friend tell me how much I suck, let him pity me, just because I’ve made a few social improvements. So what? I’m a cheerleader, I dress nicer than before, I have cool friends. He should be happy for me. Happy! Not sorry.
And I’m not their puppet. Sometimes, I mean, I’m kind of their project, but A) that’s totally different, ’cause they’re just trying to help me and teach me new stuff, and B) I’m the one who wanted a change. And I’m finally pretty sure that I’m totally in the Fabulous Five now, even though things are rocky at the moment.
“I don’t need your pity,” I say through gritted teeth, fighting the tears. “It’s actually me who feels sorry for you.”
A single tear falls. I curse it in my head and quickly wipe it away with the back of my hand.
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Me?”
“Yeah,” I go on, wanting to hurt him back. “Like, for instance, you’re obviously awesome at basketball, but you can’t play for PCHS ’cause your dad’s a drunk and can’t run his farm right without his boys, and so you’re jealous of guys like Wolf. And you hate that I have popular friends, and you hate that they have money, and you hate seeing me moving up and out of redneckville.”
He stares at me, completely stunned. I expect anger, but see only hurt, and my heart twists. Without realizing it, I mirror his expression perfectly.
I can’t believe I just said that.
“Yeah,” he says quietly and turns away.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper immediately.
“No,” he says to the window. “You need those friends.”
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I look at the back of his head and quiver. I don’t know what to say. I’m so angry that I’m shaking, but so mortified, too. I shouldn’t have—
“I’m through,” he says, his voice cracking, as he pulls on a pair of headphones.
“Through?” I question fearfully, blinking big tears to the corners of my eyes.
“I’m a laid-back guy,” he says and then sighs, leaning his forehead against the window, defeated. “I like to laugh and cut up. I hate drama, hate being around those stuck-up idiots. I’m not ‘fabulous’ and I don’t wanna be. I don’t like the way I am around you, when you’re around them. And I don’t like the way you are when you’re around them. So I’m through.” He looks down at his iPod Shuffle and hesitates before pushing Play. “Ericka.”
Then Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama” blares through the headphones and I take the hint—our conversation is over. I slide down in my seat and replay Luke’s words over and over in my head. I think about the fact that I’m getting everything I want. And I think about what I may be losing along the way.
As I walk into school, it seems like any other day. The kids around me move through the hallways the same as always, exchanging secrets and high fives and gossiping about their weekends. I duck and weave through the throng, walking quickly toward my locker. A smile creeps onto my lips as I wonder if any of my schoolmates know that I’m going to homecoming with David Wolfenbaker. Then I see Mackenzie’s full blond ponytail right in front of me. I slow down and feel my smile fade.
“There she is,” Wolf says as I squeeze between him and Kimi.
“Oh my god, Ericka!” Kimi screams. “I was totally going to call you yesterday but I felt like crap and just glued myself to the downstairs couch and watched Gossip Girl reruns.”
“Ha! I felt pretty bad, too,” I admit, moving my hand toward the dial on my locker.
“Allow me,” Wolf says, and I realize that he’s already got it open.
“I’m gonna have to change my combination,” I tease.
“So stupid,” I hear Mackenzie say and glance over. She’s not looking at me, but from the evil smirk on Laura’s face, I can tell that the comment was definitely meant for my ears.
I try to shake it off and refocus on Kimi and Wolf. “I am never drinking again.”
They laugh with me as the first bell rings.
“Well, never again…” Wolf says, putting his arm around my shoulder. I swoon a little and push my shoulder into him, hoping some of his magic cologne will rub off on me. I’ll smell that shoulder all day long. “… until Friday.”
I lean away and look up at him. The thought of drinking—just the idea of pouring that poison down my throat again, of the crying and the cow poop and the headache and the vomit, and the fact that Friday is only a few days away—is almost too much.
“Right?” he says, massaging my shoulders a little.
Almost.
Sarah and Jimmy join our group and start making plans.
“I say a stretch limo,” she says. “I live by Ericka, so we’ll pick her up first and then make the rounds. That way all of us can go together and we won’t have to worry about a designated driver, aka parent. Plus, we can totally party in there and nobody’ll know.”
Jimmy lifts his eyebrows at Wolf and they pound fists, obviously excited by Sarah’s plan. She’s counting heads and I notice that she includes Mackenzie and Laura, plus whoever they’re bringing. That should make for an interesting evening.
“Oh my god,” Kimi says, bending down beside me as I unload the contents of my backpack into my locker. “Is that the hair issue?”
She grabs my October issue of Seventeen and starts flipping through it madly.
“Yeah,” I answer. “We have a meeting for the school paper today and I’m using that to help me with my first article. I think I’m gonna do a quiz.”
“Lame.” I hear Mackenzie’s voice again and look past Kimi to see her still facing away, yet leaning against a closed locker nearby. Laura is covering her mouth, but the giggles burst through. I roll my eyes for her benefit and shoot her a mean stare. I hope she’ll pass that one on to her jealous friend.
“I thought so,” Kimi answers, turning expertly to a page in the middle. “Check out this style, girls. It’s not exactly what I’m doing, but it’s really close to this updo I saw in Elle, and it’s what you’ll see on me Friday night. This is my style. So find your own.”
She shows us an elaborate style in the “Hot Homecoming Hair” section, braids everywhere tucked into soft curls and somehow drawn together under a half chignon. I examine the style and feel my eyebrows inch upward. No need to tell me to lay off, ’cause I don’t have the patience or number of hands possible to create this look.
“Whoa,” I say, wondering how she’ll do it with her short bob. I sigh to myself. Like the teen models smiling up at us from the magazine, she’ll probably get salon treatment, extensions even, ’cause I know her mom will let her skip school and drive her up to Lexington if she asks. Meanwhile, our small town offers me the choice of doing it myself or asking my cousin Allie to do it after she teaches kindergarten Friday.
“Does it look good with your dress?” Mackenzie asks, half turning toward our group.
“I don’t have my dress yet, but it will,” Kimi answers confidently.
“Oh, yeah! What’s your dress look like?” Wolf asks me.
I blush deeply and hate myself for it. I still can’t believe I’m going to homecoming with David Wolfenbaker.
“My mom told me to ask you so she’ll know what kind of corsage to get,” he goes on.
He told his mom about me.
“Um, I’m not sure,” I say, hating how high my voice sounds. “I’m going shopping after school.”
Actually, Momma’s driving me over to Lincoln County so I can borrow a dress from the daughter of a woman she works with; and although I’ll never admit that part, it does make me feel better that Kimi doesn’t have her dress yet, either.
The late bell rings and we round the corner into Mrs. Wilkes’s room. We take our normal seats and I feel like I’m sitting next to a glacier, with Mackenzie sitting sideways in her chair, her back to me. Then she whips around suddenly and reaches her arm across the table to grab Wolf’s. “Just make sure to get a wrist corsage,” she says, turning on her killer smile. “The kind that pin on tear holes in our dresses.”
He looks surprised and nods. Then she turns to me with that same huge smile and I gasp. She lets go of his wrist and then wraps her hand around mine. I flash a relieved smile, glad to be moving on.
“Oh, and Ericka’s wrists are super tiny, so maybe get something for a flower girl.”
The girls all laugh, some good-naturedly and others rather hatefully, and I feel my ears turn red. I smile back tightly, loosen my wrist from her grasp, and turn toward the speaker as Mr. Bates starts his morning announcements. Wolf catches my eye briefly, widens both of his, and gestures cat claws, clearly loving the attention.
Spanish was always my favorite class, but now, ay ay ay!
“Now, I know that homecoming is around the corner and Breckinridge, Kentucky, isn’t exactly Mexico City, but I still thought Actividad thirty-eight—‘Common Phrases on a Date’—would tie in perfectly this week,” Señorita explains in the middle of class. “So, in your parejas, por favor, and share your answers from this afternoon’s assignment before turning them in at the end of class. Sí?”
The desks screech and kids groan as we turn to face our partners, but I can barely swallow my excitement. Wolf also looks a little pink to me, but my momma says I have an overactive imagination.
“Rosa Juana,” Wolf reads out of his workbook, sounding like a total hick. “Tu pareces hermosa en your vestido esta noche.”
I giggle. “Um, nice Spanglish,” I say, reaching across his desk and scratching out his mistake.
He laughs and we work through the rest of the assignment together. Since we’re both brainiacs (although only one of us actually
looks the part), we finish early and spend the rest of the time talking about last weekend.
“So I guess Mackenzie’s pretty pissed at you, huh?” he whispers.
I roll my eyes. “What gave you that idea? The fact that she left me lying in a pile of cow poop Saturday night?”
He covers his mouth to keep from bursting out laughing. “Dude. That was sick.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I whisper fiercely, leaning over my desk toward him. “Trust me, it was sick to the max, and none of you losers helped me up.” I throw my pencil at his chest and he fakes like it stabbed him in the heart.
“Loser? That’s cold,” he says, slipping my pencil behind his small, perfect ear. “Seriously, I hope you got home okay, though.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m sure you were so worried,” I say sarcastically.
“I was!” he says, mocking indignation. “You were really drunk.”
“Yeah, well, I could tell you really cared when you called Sunday to check on me.”
His smile falters and he clears his throat; he was clearly not expecting that. I keep a little smile on my own face and sit back in my desk with my arms crossed over my chest; I want to keep things light and fun, but it’s hard. I was, apparently, pretty messed up Saturday night. A good guy would’ve called, right? And good friends, too? I mean, somebody should’ve called.
“Your mom didn’t give you the message?” he finally asks weakly.
I laugh out loud as the bell rings, shaking off the brief tension. He can’t help but join in. “Pretty lame comeback, Wolfenbaker,” I say as I turn my desk back toward the front of the room.
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