The Taming of the Drew

by Stephanie Kate Strohm

  “Hey,” Taylor said softly, coming to sit next to me on the bed. After taking off his YOLO ring, he started rubbing my back gently. “You’re okay. We’re okay. It’s all chill up here. Things just got a little out of hand.”

  “A little!” I popped up from between my knees. Whoops—too fast. I put my head back down.

  “Yeah, out of hand.” As he rubbed my back, Taylor kept taking off his bling one by one, resting each piece on the bedside table with his other hand. “But it’s all good now. As long as you don’t barf on me.”

  “I think I’m okay.” Slowly, I raised my head to its normal, upright position. Not too bad. It was nice and cool in the bedroom, and everything smelled faintly of pine needles and Axe body spray.

  “Solid.” Taylor grinned, and placed two mercifully bling-free hands on either side of my face. “I’m feeling you, I think you’re feeling me, so I think we should feel each other.”

  I stared at him in silence, open-mouthed. What did one even say to the worst line of all time? Never mind the fact that I was teetering on the brink of queasy and had just witnessed several grave incidents of bodily harm. It was so quiet I could hear crickets. And a roaring in my ears that sounded suspiciously like Drew laughing.

  Drew. Why was he in my brain? I could hear him laughing in my mind so clearly, I could practically see him perched at the edge of the bed, like the ghost of Christmas Past or something. And Ghost Drew wasn’t wrong. This whole situation was pretty ridiculous. I could not seriously be contemplating losing my virginity to a blinged-out pro skateboarder after having just witnessed a poorly choreographed knife fight. I should have been straight out the door. And yet … I was still here. Ghost Drew smirked. He thought it was hilarious, clearly.

  “Hey, you.” Taylor tapped my temple gently. “What’s going on up there? You’re like a million miles away.”

  “Oh, n-nothing.” Nothing at all. Just having a mild hallucination involving my mortal enemy. Whom I had kissed passionately. Once. Accidentally.

  “Sweet.” He seemed satisfied with that non-response. “You just chillax right here, and I’ll be back in uno momento.”

  He then mouthed something that might have been “el baño” as he sidled out of the room and into the hallway. It was like that part in Toy Story 3 where Buzz Lightyear turned Spanish. Maybe it was supposed to be extra suavamente, but it really just made me think about Toy Story. Okay. I would get myself together, and as soon as the room stopped spinning, I would head back to the boathouse. And if I didn’t get caught, I vowed to the universe that I would be good forever and do whatever it took to repay my karmic debt.

  Like a tiny bomb, Taylor’s iPhone started beeping and vibrating. Startled by the din, I jumped about half a foot off the bed. The force of its vibrations were causing the phone to flop all over the nightstand like a fish, so I picked it up to stop it. I didn’t mean to spy, I really didn’t, but the words JESSA ANNIVERSARY! filled the screen.

  Jessa Anniversary … that was weird. Maybe it was his sister’s anniversary or something? I closed the calendar notification and the screen filled with Taylor’s iPhone background: a picture of him with his arms around another girl.

  She was beautiful, in a totally clichéd California girl way—giant sunglasses perched on top of her long golden-blond hair, deep tan, clear blue eyes, a few cute freckles sprinkled across her adorable nose. She was laughing, head thrown back, and grinning from ear to ear. The worst part of it was, she looked nice. I didn’t even want to hate her. Taylor looked ridiculously happy, too. And was he giving her bunny ears?

  “Hey, lady in red,” Taylor said softly. I looked up. He was standing in the doorway, shirtless. But not even his impressive abdominal musculature—or the fact that I wasn’t wearing red—could distract me from the Jessa conundrum. It was the first time a shirtless Taylor Griffith hadn’t sent me into heart palpitations.

  “So, who’s the blonde in the bikini?” I asked as casually as humanly possible.

  CHAPTER 20

  What blonde in what bikini?” Taylor asked. He noticed the phone on the bed. “Who? Jessa?”

  “As in ‘Jessa Anniversary’?”

  “Aw, shit, was that today?” He grabbed for the phone and started typing away at it, fingers flying.

  “I’m guessing she’s not your sister,” I said flatly.

  “What? No!” he said emphatically, looking up. “Gross! Jessa’s my girlfriend.”

  “Your what ?” I shrieked. I mean, I knew that’s who she was. I wasn’t an idiot. But I hadn’t expected him to admit it.

  “My girlfriend,” he repeated.

  “Yeah, obvious much! I got that! I can’t believe you have a girlfriend!”

  “Well, I do.” He looked confused, like he was trying to do long division in his head.

  “Why aren’t you freaking out?” I demanded. “Aren’t you pissed that I caught you in your lie?”

  “I never lied to you.” He shrugged. Damn him for being so calm! We could have been talking about Funyuns for all the emotion he was displaying.

  “And you were about to cheat on her on your anniversary!” I steamrolled over him. Never lied to me. Ha! Exhibit A—mystery Jessa.

  “The timing is mad regrettable, Red.” He winced. “That’s on me. That’s my bad. But I wasn’t going to cheat on her.”

  “What, you asked me over here to play Boggle?” I arched an eyebrow.

  “I wasn’t going to cheat on her,” he continued, like I hadn’t said anything, “because we have an open relationship when I’m on the road.”

  “Really.” I folded my arms protectively across my chest. I didn’t believe him for a second. That poor girl was probably innocently drinking her Kombucha on the beach right now without a care in the world, perfecting that perfect tan, no idea that her rindonkulously hot boyfriend was a philandering asshat. “That’s awfully convenient.”

  “I’m not frontin’, Red!” Taylor exclaimed, finally displaying something other than a megachill vibe. Thank goodness. There is nothing more aggravating than trying to fight with someone who is implacably calm. “It’s totally legit. I travel too much, and long distance is a major bummer. While I’m on the road, I’ve got a girlfriend, but not in, like, any kind of traditional sense. Jessa’s totally cool with it. She doesn’t ask me about what went on in Tokyo, and I don’t ask her what she gets up to in Hermosa while I’m gone. So it’s all good, Red.”

  “Really, is it? Is it, Taylor? It’s all good? Well, it’s not all good for me!” I shouted. He winced again. I knew I was getting really loud, but I didn’t care. “Did you ever think about that? Did you ever think about how I would feel? Because guess what? This feels shitty. This feel really, really shitty. I don’t want to be some sloppy second backwoods consolation prize because your bikini model is in another state.”

  “She only did that one campaign for Roxy. It’s no biggie. Nothing to be intimidated by.”

  She was an actual bikini model? “That’s not even the point, Taylor. And I’m not intimidated, FYI.” I shot him my fiercest glare, and he quailed in terror. “I want all or nothing.” I realized once I’d said it how true it was. I didn’t want to just sleep with Taylor Griffith, or anyone else for that matter, and then never see him again. I wanted more than that. “I don’t want to be some story you tell your bros—about the time you banged a redhead one weekend in Vermont. I don’t want to be a weekend. I want to be someone’s every day. I want to be someone’s Jessa. Except, you know, without the open relationship part. Because quite frankly that sounds like a disaster.”

  “Well, actually—”

  “Shut it!” I hollered. “I wasn’t asking for your opinion!”

  “So … this is not happening, then?”

  “Definitely not.” I threw his shirt at him. “And put on some clothes.”

  And with that, I prepared to flounce out of the room, making my grand exit. Unfortunately, after I flung the bedroom door open, my grand exit was stymied by a most unexpected sight. The st
aircase was filled with furniture. It looked like every piece of furniture from downstairs—couches, tables, chairs—had been piled together, completely obscuring the stairs and reaching up to the ceiling.

  “What the hell is this?” I shouted. I was facing an impenetrable, impassable barrier, and I started to feel panicked. Trapped.

  “What the … oh, man.” Taylor came to stand behind me. “That’s whack.”

  “Beyond whack,” I snarled.

  “Easy, Red. It’s no biggie. Just a joke or some shit. Why are you so mad?”

  “Why am I so mad? Why am I so MAD?” Taylor flung his hands in front of his face protectively, like he was afraid I was going to throw something at him. If there had been something at hand, I probably would have. “I am mad because your idiot friends have barricaded me in a room with the last person in Vermont I want to be around right now!”

  “They were just trying to be funny,” he said meekly as he retreated to the bed.

  “Funny? HA!” I barked sarcastically. “I’m not laughing. Are you?”

  “Not laughing,” he muttered. “This is some scary-ass psycho shit.”

  “You think this is psycho?” I laughed maniacally. “Trust me, we are nowhere near psycho. And you don’t want to be around when I get there. So help me get all this stuff out of the way!”

  I reached under the couch and pulled up with all my might. Nothing. I tried to pull the chair on top of the couch down, but it was wedged so neatly in between several other chairs and the ceiling that nothing moved. The whole thing was like a perfectly balanced, immobilized game of furniture Tetris.

  “Give it up, Red,” Taylor said lazily. “That shit’s gonna be mad hard to move. Just wait ’til the morning, I’m sure the guys’ll clear it out from downstairs. You can crash here. I won’t try anything, promise.”

  “I can’t ‘crash’ here.” I air-quoted. “First of all, I have a curfew, and to avoid getting caught, I need to be back way before the sun rises. Second of all, I cannot spend another minute with you, let alone hours. And third of all, I have a show tomorrow. Oh God! I have a show tomorrow!” With all this Jessa business, I had forgotten. I could practically feel Shakespeare’s ghost looking at me with baleful disappointment. Worst of all, Drew was right—Taylor had put the show in jeopardy. Well, I’d put the show in jeopardy. I’d never felt so stupid.

  “Whatever, Red.” Taylor flopped back on the bed. “Knock yourself out. But that shit’s not going anywhere ’til the morning.”

  Some help he was! Not that I was expecting much from that corner, but he could have at least tried. He clearly didn’t want to be trapped in a room with me, either; he was just too lazy to do anything about it. Lame. I gave the couch one more tug. Nothing. I kicked it as hard as I could, and it still didn’t move. Ugh. The stairs were not an option. There had to be another way out of here. Think, Cass, think. I started pacing around the room, hoping a trap door would appear in the floor or something. Or maybe I should just jump out the window …

  I strode purposefully over to the open window. Since it was only a cabin, I wasn’t that high up. But then again, I was still on the second floor. I stuck my head outside. The night breeze would have been deliciously cool if I hadn’t been contemplating jumping out of a window. Well, maybe I wouldn’t have to jump, technically. Taylor’s bedroom window looked out over the porch. I could easily climb out the window onto the porch roof, then shimmy down one of the supporting poles. That wouldn’t be so bad. Sure, I’d never climbed out a window before, but I’d climbed a tree. It couldn’t be all that different.

  I stuck a leg out the window. Luckily it was wide enough that I was easily able to pass through it.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Oh, right. Taylor. I’d kind of forgotten about him. The porch roof was surprisingly flat and sturdy. It would have been a nice place to hang out on a sunny day.

  “I’m leaving.” I stuck my head back in the window. Taylor was watching me curiously from the bed.

  “Dude, you can’t jump out the window! That’s insane.”

  “You’re insane if you think I’m spending the night here.”

  “Whatever, man. I give up.” Taylor suddenly appeared in front of me. “I can’t deal with your psycho vibe anymore.”

  “I’m the psycho? I’m not the one who watched his friends throw knives at each other as they slowly bled to death!”

  “No one’s dead! And you were there, too!”

  “You know what? You’re right,” I agreed, and he looked shocked. “Not getting up and leaving the minute the first knife showed up was completely psychotic. I never should have stayed. I never should have even come here in the first place!”

  “Whatever. Have fun breaking your neck, psycho.” And with that he shut the window closed. I stuck my tongue out at him from behind the glass.

  I wasn’t going to break my neck. Although now that the possibility had been mentioned, I felt less confident in my ability to clamber down the porch with ease.

  Carefully I scooted along on my butt until I reached the edge of the porch roof. There. The easy part was done. Now for the hard part. I peered over the edge of the roof and saw nothing but black. Somehow the porch roof seemed much higher up from here than it had looked from inside. But now all I had to do was shimmy down a pole until I hit the porch railing. Totally doable.

  My heart was in my throat as I reached a leg out into the inky darkness. I felt around until my foot connected with the supporting pole. Fortunately, it felt reassuringly solid. Oak? Maple? I transferred my weight off the roof and onto the pole. I was clinging to that thing like a giant red koala. What if I wasn’t able to move? What if I was just stuck here like I was back doing the rope climb in fourth grade? No. Failure was not an option. I took a deep breath and started to slide. It wasn’t so bad, really. Just scooting along the pole. But then, about halfway down, I heard a loud crashing sound.

  If Taylor thought the noise was me plummeting to my death, he didn’t bother to look out the window for my corpse. Which was, frankly, kind of rude. The crashing continued. Arms still clinging to the pole, I craned my neck to peer around the side of the house. I squinted into the darkness, trying to make out what was crashing around the silver trash cans. And then my eyes connected with two large glistening black eyes …

  Bear! I squeaked in distress and hugged the pole even tighter. Had the bear seen me? God, I hoped not. Why hadn’t I paid attention to Amy’s bear safety tips? What if bears really did hate Shakespeare? I was stuck up a pole with a ravenous, trash-eating, Shakespeare-hating bear prowling the grounds. Should I go back up to the roof? What was worse: being trapped inside with Taylor or outside with a bear? I tried to pull myself up, but it was like my arms had gone limp. I couldn’t move. I was stuck on that pole like a big stupid barnacle.

  Suddenly, two headlights flooded the darkness with light. I shut my eyes against the glare. As the battered Jeep rumbled over the gravel, my eyes adjusted just in time to see the bear lumbering away into the woods. Thank God. The last time I’d seen that Jeep it had been smack up against my fender—excuse me, bumper. Who could have guessed I’d ever be happy to see it again?

  “Cass?” Drew climbed out of the driver’s seat and made his way over to the pole. “What the hell are you doing up there?”

  “Things got complicated.”

  “A little late for you to bust out the koala impression, don’t you think?”

  “Funny. It just killed at the last party I was at.” Drew snorted in response. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I’m here to rescue you,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  My heart did some kind of weird, traitorous flutter. If I hadn’t been clinging to a pole for dear life I might have slapped myself.

  “What kind of half-assed rescue is this?” I said snidely, trying to squash any and all traitorous flutters. “Shouldn’t you have a cape? Where’s your sword?”

  “Sword’s in the bac
k of the car. I’ll get it out, if that’s really necessary. As for the cape—not gonna happen.”

  “Fine. A cape is unnecessary, since I don’t need rescuing, anyway. I can rescue myself, thank you very much.”

  “I can see that. You’ve clearly got a great handle on the situation here.” He chuckled.

  “I can get down by myself,” I insisted. And yet, my arms kept betraying me. Curses. I was 100 percent stuck.

  “Clearly, you can’t.”

  “Can, too,” I retorted.

  “It’s okay to let other people help you, Cass,” Drew said gently, and suddenly he was right behind me. “It doesn’t make you weak. Now, let go of the pole.”

  “Never!” I cried.

  “I’ll pry you off of there if I have to.”

  “I’m not a barnacle.”

  “You are the most barnacle-like girl I have ever encountered.” He placed his large, strong hands around my waist, and without the corset between us, he felt all too warm and near. “Please, for once in your contentious life, cooperate.”

  Drew easily peeled me off the pole and I sort of half fell into his arms. I guess I hadn’t been quite as high up as I’d thought.

  There was a scene in the play where Drew hoisted me over his shoulder so I knew he was strong enough to carry me, but being carried in his arms like this felt about a billion times more intimate. I really wanted him to put me down, but my legs felt all wobbly.

  “This is mortifying.” I hid my face as Drew carried me to the Jeep, but the only place to hide my face was in Drew’s neck. He smelled disturbingly good, like clean laundry and Christmas. Like home. “I’m like a stupid cat stuck in a tree or something.”

  “No scratch marks yet. Shocking.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” I muttered as he slid me into the passenger seat. “I’m not a giant baby.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. You sure do throw a lot of tantrums.”

  “Hey!”

  He shut the door behind me and walked around to the driver’s side.

  “Seriously, though. Why are you here?” I asked as he leapt into the driver’s seat.