It was already eleven o’clock when my sweet, sweet Mickey D and I waltzed through the front doors of the Route 119 truck stop. And I must say, it was nothing like I remembered. The rugged, manly feel of the place, which had charmed me in the light of day, seemed foreign and threatening. And a noxious, eggy smell hung so thick in the air I felt like I was swallowing live chickens.
“See, this isn’t so bad,” I said, with a healthy dose of self-delusion. “It’s just, uh, very functional. It serves its purpose, you know?”
Apparently Mick wasn’t as prone to self-delusion as I was. “Its purpose?” he repeated, skeptically surveying the assortment of vulgar trucker gear at the front of the store, including a set of mud flaps that featured a particularly curvaceous feminine silhouette. “And what exactly would that be?”
“Oh, come on. Relax,” I said. “We’re not here for any of this.” I locked my arm around his and pulled him toward the restaurant. “We’re here for the food. And the company. Remember?”
“Well, the company is delightful. You’re right about that,” he said. “But don’t get too comfortable here. I have a feeling this is going to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”
“Deal,” I agreed. “As long as you promise to just let us be us tonight. I’ve missed you like crazy.”
Mick answered me with a tender kiss to the top of my head that broke my heart all over again. Then, in the twitchy glow of the fluorescent lights, we honed in on a couple of counter stools and a grimy plastic menu.
“Hmm…eggs or waffles?” I mused. “Or maybe cheese fries? Decisions, decisions.”
“You should get the waffles,” Mick said, sounding pretty sure of himself. “They’re your favorite, aren’t they?”
I didn’t remember telling him that.
“Well, technically it’s the Belgian waffles I really love, but these look good too,” I said. “In the picture, at least.”
“Then get ’em. Get anything you want,” he said, like he’d just won the truck stop lotto. “I’m treating.”
“You don’t have to. I have money right…” I patted down his sweatshirt in search of my cash, which I eventually realized I’d left in my blazer at the Fisks’.
Mick smiled. “Like I said, I’m treating.”
“I’ll owe you one then. I’ll take you out next time. Somewhere nice,” I promised. “And maybe I’ll even throw in a movie too—if you behave.”
There it was, right on cue: the crinkly-eyed grin I’d been waiting for. “You drive a hard bargain,” he said with a chuckle. “Hard but irresistible.”
It was a good thing the waitress showed up right then to take our orders, because hearing the words hard and irresistible from such an unbelievably sexy guy (who just so happened to be the love of my life) was making me blush. If the steamy conversation kept up, I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions. Seriously.
So as cutesy as it was, Mick and I ordered the same exact almost-midnight snack: waffles and a root beer float. And a few short minutes later, our waitress slid the feast in front of us and asked, “Can I get you kids anything else?”
“No, thank you,” Mick said.
I smiled one of my rigid picture-taking smiles. “All set.”
While I sat there sipping my float and gawking at Mick’s gorgeous profile, I tried to figure out exactly where things had gone wrong between us. And, as usual, one thing was abundantly clear: I’d screwed up. I hadn’t had enough faith in him. In us. It was a mistake I was determined not to repeat if Mick ever gave me another chance, if he ever loved me enough to trust me just one last time.
Twenty
I HATE to contradict T.S. Eliot, but April is definitely not the cruelest month. Not in my universe. Not by a long shot. In my life, that honor goes to December. Specifically, December of my junior year. And not even the whole month either—just like the first, oh, twenty-eight days or so.
Because if I’d expected things to be different between me and Mick after our late night truck stop date (which, of course, I had), then I was in for a rude awakening come Monday morning, since when we returned to school, all my desperate love fantasies turned out to be nothing more than wishful, deluded thinking. Mick was as walled-off as ever, and I was powerless to do anything about it.
Things with Lars, on the other hand, were hurtling forward at the speed of light. Apparently he’d taken my little promise to let him deflower me as the gospel truth, because ever since the party, he’d been stuck on the idea like it was his new religion. I mean, every three seconds he had a fresh epiphany detailing when and where he should conquer me. But honestly, I was sick of all the talking and planning. Somehow he’d managed to suck the fun out of the big bang, which is pretty hard to do—for most people, at least.
And just when I was getting a good down-in-the-dumps rhythm going, who should suddenly crash my universe again? My lame college-boy brother, that’s who. I swear, his body clock must be set to annoy-Flora time, because when I could least stand the sight of him…well, there he was.
“Want any of this?” Will asked, holding up the box of Frosted Flakes. In the week he’d been home, he’d said a total of maybe three sentences to me—not that I was complaining, really.
“Nah. Not hungry.”
He dumped a fresh pile of cereal into his gigantic not-for-cereal bowl. “Your loss.”
I dragged a chair out from the kitchen table and sat down. Because the truth was, I needed to talk to Will about something…well, some things actually. “How’s Temple?” I asked as an icebreaker.
“Fine.”
Perfect. Just what I needed: monosyllabic answers. At least he hadn’t just grunted, I guess. That was something.
“What’s your favorite class?” I asked, figuring he might have to string together a minimum of two or three words to answer.
“Like you care.”
“Busted,” I said, holding my hands up like a red-handed bank robber. “Don’t shoot.”
“What’s wrong with you? Are you off your meds or something?”
I changed my strategy. “I haven’t seen Natalie in a while. Is she back from Tulane?”
Will swirled his spoon around in his soggy cereal; meanwhile, I waited and stared. “I don’t know,” he said eventually, shaking his head. “We broke up.”
I hate to say it, but I saw that one coming. And after everything I’d been through with Mick, I actually sort of felt bad for my brother. Apparently we had more in common than I thought.
“Mick and I broke up too,” I reported. “But I’m trying to get him back.”
Will squinted. “I thought you were going out with some foreign exchange student from…”
“Iceland,” I said, filling in the blank. “How’d you know about that?” As far as I was concerned, my relationship with Lars was flying below the radar.
“Mom told me.”
“What?! Mom told you? But…but…she…”
Will rolled his eyes. “She knows, Flowbee,” he said with a sneer. “Obviously, you’re not as slick as you think you are.”
“That’s not the point,” I objected. “The point is…” What was the point again? Oh yeah, “How’d she find out?”
“Take a wild guess.”
My mind was blank. Honestly, I couldn’t think of a single thing that could have tipped her off.
“Mrs. Haskell,” Will said, clearing up the mystery.
Damn that Jessie and her big fat mouth. Didn’t she have anything better to do than meddle in my personal life? I mean, why was she telling her mom my business anyway?
“Well, technically I am dating Lars—for now. But only because I thought Mick didn’t want me,” I explained. “And now Mick won’t let me break up with Lars, because he thinks I’m confused. What do you think I should do?”
Will looked as perplexed as if I’d asked him to decode some ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, which was a pretty logical response since I’d never come to him for advice before. Ever. But this time was different. I needed a guy’
s opinion.
“How should I know?” he said. “Do what you want.”
“But what would you do?”
“One thing I wouldn’t do is go out with someone I didn’t like, no matter what anyone else had to say about it,” he declared. “That’s just plain stupid.”
“Gee, thanks.”
It wasn’t like I hated Lars. If Mick Donovan had never existed, I probably would have been happily, obliviously glued to the Icelandic prince. Unfortunately, though, my life was a bit more complicated than that at the moment.
I bottom-lined my request. “Do you think you can talk to Mick for me? He might listen to you. Maybe you can get him to give me another chance.”
With a you-must-be-joking scowl, Will said, “Eh, not really my thing.”
“Come on,” I begged. “It’s no big deal. I’ll just invite him over, and…”
“Don’t think so,” Will interrupted. “Mom seems pretty fond of this what’s-his-name. She’s never gonna go for you and Mick. She hates him, remember?”
“She’s never even met Lars. How could she like him better than Mick?” I asked, irritated. “Not that I give a shit. It’s none of her business.”
“Whatever. I’ve got stuff to do,” Will said, tucking the cereal box under his arm on his way to the pantry. “Just think twice before you poke a bee’s nest, if you know what I mean.”
Okay, could he be any more unhelpful? In one breath he was suggesting I break up with Lars, and, if I understood his mysterious warning correctly, in the next breath he was saying I shouldn’t bother with Mick either. Oy vey. I guess he just wanted me to be miserable period.
December twenty-eighth was one of those days that starts out like any other day but ends up changing everything. And since it was winter break, Jessie and I had plans to spend the day hanging out at the DuBois Mall—shopping, gorging on copious amounts of sugar, and generally making fools of ourselves. But the catch was, we needed a ride. And who should come to our rescue but Jessie’s sort-of boyfriend, my sweet, sweet, Mickey D.
“Hey guys,” I said, climbing into the back of the Buick (and reverting to my second-class citizenship).
With the enthusiasm of a paperweight, Mick said, “Hi.”
Honestly, I couldn’t wait to stop playing these idiotic games. If Mick didn’t snap out of it pretty soon, I might just teach him a lesson and fall out of love with him.
“Ready to do some damage?” Jessie asked gleefully. “Because I’m armed and dangerous.” She whipped a credit card from her bag and shoved it in my face.
“Nice. Where’d you get that?” I asked.
She grinned. “It was a Christmas present from my rich uncle Stew.”
“You don’t have a rich uncle Stew,” I said with a chuckle. “So…”
“Okay, you’re right. It’s just a prepaid Visa. And it only has fifty bucks on it. But trust me, I’m gonna get my money’s worth.”
“Well, I’ve got eighty-five dollars of dog walking money burning a hole in my pocket,” I challenged. “So let the games begin.”
Jessie turned to Mick. “I hope you don’t mind doing girlie stuff all day,” she said with a frown. “You poor thing.” She rested her hand on his knee, which nearly sent me into a grand mal seizure.
“That’s okay. I have some things I need to do at the mall anyway,” Mick said. “Do you know if there’s a toy store or a bookstore there?”
“There’s a Walden’s,” I said, beating Jessie to the punch. “But I don’t think there’s a toy store, unless you’re looking for board games or video games.”
“Actually I’m looking for princess books, a stuffed St. Bernard puppy, and a pair of roller skates,” Mick reported, without even cracking a smile.
On that odd note, something clicked in the back of my mind. “Oh, for Jo-Jo and Kat?” I asked, proud of myself for remembering his twin sisters’ names.
Jessie’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”
“My sisters,” Mick explained. “Well, two of them anyway. They’re turning nine.”
Now I know this sounds pretty twisted, but I was delighted Jessie was out of the loop on Mick’s family, because that meant there was still something special—something private—between me and Mick.
And I was still on a superiority high over my inside knowledge, when we arrived at the mall. “I’m thinking chocolate chip cookies and a chocolate shake,” I announced, skipping ahead of Jessie and Mick in the food court.
While I waited in line for my sugar fix, Jessie eventually joined me—sans Mick. “So what’s the plan of attack?” she asked. “Store by store or random hit list?”
“Well, we’ve gotta do all the big ones—Ross, Old Navy, rue21,” I listed off. I paused to extract the first precious mouthful of chocolate from the fat straw the clerk had just handed me.
“I like Ross,” Jessie said. “They usually have weird stuff cheap. That’s where I got that skirt, you know.”
She must have been referring to what she’d worn to the Fisks’ party. “The tutu?” I asked, with a subtle eye roll.
She nodded.
“Let’s agree to stay away from tutus just for today, shall we?” I said.
Jessie thrust her lower lip out in a cartoonish pout, which sent us both into a fit of the wild giggles; hence, I was still recovering from lung spasms when we sashayed into Ross to kick off shop-a-palooza.
I reached for the cart Jessie had just plucked from the rack. “No way!” she barked. “This is a competition! Get your own!”
“Whoa. Chill,” I said. Talk about overreacting. I jerked another cart loose. “May the best woman win.”
We shook hands and blew each other air kisses, then parted ways for a friendly game of bargain hunting. And since shop-a-palooza was a yearly tradition, Jessie and I had the rules down pat: Heap your cart full of as many exotic, sparkly items as you could find—preferably at the lowest prices—then proceed to the dressing room to annoy the poor clerk to within an inch of her life.
I rounded the corner of the lingerie section just in time to witness Jessie slipping into the dressing room ahead of schedule with an overflowing cartful of goodies. And by the look of the paltry half a cartful of stuff I’d amassed thus far, my shopping nemesis was on the fast track to kicking my ass.
So in a last ditch effort to raid the juniors’ clearance rack, I stepped out of the lingerie section into the aisle. And that’s when I felt an unexpected hand on my arm. “We need to talk,” Mick said softly over my shoulder.
The seriousness in his voice took my breath away.
He stepped beside me. “Just leave this here,” he said, looping my cart back around. “We won’t be long.”
I wanted to remind him about Jessie, to alert him that she’d notice my absence in a heartbeat, but I was speechless.
“Come on,” he said, winding his fingers around mine. “There’s a bench outside.”
I looked back, half expecting to see Jessie charging after us. But apparently she was already knee-deep in a pair of skinny jeans. There was nothing stopping me from following Mick wherever he would take me, which, disappointingly, actually turned out to be the bench in front of Ross.
We sat down sort of sideways, knees touching, facing each other. “So I think there’s something you should know,” he said, sandwiching my hand between his.
Please let it be that he can’t live without me. That he realizes we’re meant to be together. That he’s done denying the obvious.
He continued gently, “About Lars.”
“Huh?”
“I’m worried about you,” he said, shaking his head. “I never should have let this happen. It’s my fault he’s done this to you.”
“Done what?” I said uncertainly. Maybe Mick thought I’d gone all the way with the Icelandic prince, in which case I could hardly see how it would’ve been his fault.
Mick’s whole body tensed. “Taken advantage of you,” he said with venom. “Made a fool of you. Used you in his demented game.”
Suddenly my sweet, sweet Mickey D had morphed into a raging fiend, which, I must admit, kind of turned me on.
“He hasn’t done anything,” I said in Lars’ defense. “Other than, well, what any normal guy would do. He’s very goal-oriented.”
I thought my little remark was kind of funny, but Mick wasn’t amused. “This is serious,” he scolded. “If what I’ve seen online is true, at the very least he’s…he’s a jackass.”
It was the first time I’d heard Mick swear, as far as I could remember anyway. Another turn on. And even though I still had no idea what he was talking about, if it meant he approved of me dumping Lars, I was eager to hear more. “Okay…?” I said.
“And he may be a criminal. A rapist.”
All right, stop the presses. The Lars-bashing had crossed the line. “He’s not a rapist,” I said. “We haven’t even done anything yet.”
At that juicy tidbit, Mick’s eye stopped twitching, which I took as a sign he wasn’t actually going to Hulk out on me at any moment.
“I’m glad about that,” he said, stroking my forearm with his rough fingers. “But lots of other girls may not have been so lucky.”
That was it. I needed him to make sense—and pronto. “I’m not trying to be rude. Honestly, I’m not,” I said. “But can you get to the point? I mean, I still have no idea what…”
“He’s filming himself having sex with different girls,” Mick blurted, “and posting it online. And some of the girls look like they may have been drugged.”
Okay, now my eyes were twitching. Eyes. Plural. “No way. That can’t be…”
“If it’s him—and I’m almost certain it is—he also has a list. A perverted list of things about these girls,” Mick continued. “Like details of their sexual experience and descriptions of their bodies. And you’re on the list, Flora. You’re his work-in-progress.”
An icy chill rolled through me. “What do you mean if it’s him?” I asked, clinging to the only reality I knew. After all, nothing about Mick’s outrageous story made sense. Absolutely nothing.
He bit his lip and shook his head. “The videos are out of focus,” he admitted. “And he’s using a fake name. But I’ve been investigating him since the party, since I saw him touch Brittany Gallagher behind your back.”
Film at Eleven Page 16