You and Me and Him

by Kris Dinnison

  “Sure.”

  I unzip my backpack and pull out the flyer. Cece reads it, her eyes widening.

  “Are you going?” she asks.

  “Maybe.”

  “Nash won’t be there.”

  “I know.”

  Cece hands the flyer back. “What’s the point? What are you going to do if you go?”

  I fold the kegger information and tuck it into my backpack. “I’ve got to do something.”

  “You should go,” Cece says. “You should go, and if Kayla’s there, you should tell her off.”

  “You really think I can?”

  “I know you can,” Cece says, grabbing my hand. “But I’m glad it’s you instead of me!”

  Chapter 31

  I step into the dark hallway and cringe. The smell of sweaty boys and desperate girls stings my nostrils. Several of Cedar Ridge’s finest are already drunk enough to totter on high heels. I swing left into the kitchen. Grabbing a red plastic cup, I inscribe a capital M on it with a fading Sharpie and offer the cup to Sean Carp, who’s manning the keg. He looks at me, skeptical as he fills the cup halfway with nasty beer and too much foam.

  “You sure?” he asks as he hands me the cup.

  I nod and head back through the narrow hallway to the living room. I almost spit my first swig of beer right back into the cup. Nash and I never drink, mostly because of how much he hates his mom’s drinking. But Nash isn’t here, isn’t anywhere for me right now, so I swallow a little more beer and step into the main room. In the semidarkness I can see several couples making out in the corners while the as-yet-unattached talk in morphing clumps in the room’s center. I roll my eyes again and scout out possible escape routes that aren’t blocked by horny couples in mid-clutch.

  “Oh my God! Maggie!” someone squeals, and I spill half my beer as I am bumped from behind. No great loss.

  I wheel around but stop short. Standing in front of me is a very tipsy Kayla. She’s only keeping her balance by draping herself all over Tom. He doesn’t look totally sober, but he’s got way better balance than Kayla. Two or three of her groupies hover behind them. I take a swig of the beer and paste a smile on my face.

  “Hey, guys,” I say. “Great party, huh?”

  “What are you doing here?” she asks. Kayla clings to Tom like ivy on a tree. He keeps trying to detach her, but this only makes Kayla clutch his arm tighter. Even with Tom as support, she sways a little. Her friends whisper, watching me closely.

  “You don’t party!” She turns to Tom and says, “Maggie never comes to parties, Tom. Never ever!” Tom has given up trying to get Kayla to stand on her own now. Kayla grins and wags her finger in my direction. “But I’ve heard you are doing a lot of things you never do. Crossing over to the dark side, I hear. Naughty, naughty!”

  I still have my fake smile on, but I have a brief fantasy about throwing the rest of my beer in her face, maybe hitting Tom in the process. It would be unavoidable, really, as close as they’re standing. But I don’t; I don’t say anything. Maybe it’s pure chicken-shittery, but now that she’s in front of me, I realize I’m not really sure what I want to tell her. I need more time to sort out her mistakes from mine. More time to figure out what, exactly, I’m pissed off at Kayla about. She told people about the kiss, along with some pretty serious elaboration. She embarrassed me and wounded my best friend so deeply he won’t even talk to me. But she didn’t ruin my life. I did that myself. I’m the one who kissed Tom. I’m the one who let her back into my life.

  I lift my cup and drink a toast to Kayla, but she has lost interest by now and is squealing someone else’s name. She lurches across the room to her next victim, dragging Tom behind her. Catfight averted for now. Suddenly I feel sick from the sour smell of my beer cup. I need some air.

  I make a move for the patio door, but someone throws an arm across it right as I reach to slide it open. “Not leaving so soon, are you?” purrs a voice, and I look up into the face of the boy who groped me and called me “chunky monkey” in the hallway. Jack or Jay or Jake, something like that. He’s got at least a foot on me, with the thick neck of a wrestler or steroid user. Or both. His breath smells of beer and something stronger, skunky and acrid, like pot, maybe. He’s still upright, but his inhibitions are no longer a factor in his decision making.

  I feel the atmosphere shift as a couple other largish bodies move in behind me, corralling me and blocking me from the rest of the room. Gripping my beer, I try not to panic.

  “Yep, curfew and all that.” I move to duck under his arm, but he’s too quick in spite of the booze.

  “No, no, no. Not so fast. Let’s get to know each other a little better.” Jake—at least I’m pretty sure that’s his name—runs his fingers along my chin. I shiver, and he seems to take it for excitement. “Did your boyfriend move on to hotter pastures?” His voice still has that purr in it, but there is menace underneath.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Whatever. It looks like he’s left you to fend for yourself. That’s not very nice of him. But it’s nice for us. Maybe we should show your boyfriend what happens when he leaves his girlfriend alone at a party.”

  His friends start to press me toward the sliding door—gentle, but insistent. The two tree trunks in letterman’s jackets cross their arms and stand between me and the party while Jake backs me up against the door. I allow it because my skin crawls at the thought of them touching me.

  “Alone at last,” Jake says.

  “Yeah, just the four of us,” I say.

  J-hole stares at me. “That’s hilarious. You and that Tom guy think you’re fucking comic geniuses.” He puts his hands on the slider and leans in close. I can smell he’s put on way too much body spray, and it mixes with the beer and pot smells, turning my stomach. For a minute I sort of hope I puke on him.

  “Well, I’m not really in the mood for comedy right now. I’m in the mood for other things. And I’ve heard you offer just about all of them. Full service.”

  I freeze.

  “I’m here to find out if the rumors are true.” He starts sort of mauling my neck with his tongue. He has me boxed in. I squirm, trying for some leverage, but Jake has height and physics on his side. And I get the sense this is not his first time with an unwilling victim. He tries to kiss me on the mouth, but I keep swinging my head around, trying to keep him from making contact. He grabs my jaw, maneuvering my face so his lips can find the mark.

  “Hold still,” he says. “Just enjoy it.”

  “I bet you say that to all the girls.” I steady my voice, but my hands are shaking. I inch one of them behind me, trying to get a grip on the door handle. I’m still shifting, dodging his lips and looking for an escape route.

  “Jesus! I don’t even know if it’s worth it!” Jake grips my shoulders, trying to get me to hold still. “I shouldn’t have to work this hard to get some from a fat cow like you. Seems like you should be honored.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” I drop my head, pretending to be defeated. Meanwhile my hand finds the handle, and I brace myself to open the door.

  Jake smiles and turns to his buddies to share his moment of triumph. As soon as his eyes are off me, I open the slider, backing through it as Jake falls toward me. But he’s tall, and it seems like he’s going to land on top of me, so I raise my hands and pull my knee up to protect myself.

  The knee connects with Jake’s crotch as he stumbles, trying to catch his fall. Jake sucks in a huge mouthful of air and goes stiff, then doubles over in pain, clutching his damaged groin.

  “You bitch!” he wheezes.

  His friends rush in to help, and I run into the darkness of the yard. Crouching behind some evergreen bush that smells like a mixture of Christmas and cat piss, I gulp air as Jake pulls himself together and hobbles back into the party.

  My heart has finally slowed to a reasonable pace when I see Tom come outside.

  “Hello?” he says into the darkness from the corner of the patio.

&n
bsp; “Shit!” I say, putting my hand over my mouth. Tom is either not the guy I need to see at this moment or exactly the guy I need to see at this moment. Until I know which, I keep quiet.

  “Is someone out there?” Tom squints into the yard. He takes a swig of his beer. “Who is that?”

  “Screw it,” I whisper to myself, then move into the faint light from the living room. “It’s me,” I say. My hands are still shaking, and I can still smell Jake’s cologne. I keep my distance from Tom so he can’t tell how messed up I am.

  When he sees me, Tom shakes his head and looks off into the darkness. My stomach drops. Whoever he expected to see out here, it wasn’t me.

  “Yeah, sorry.” He turns back to the house. “I saw those guys come inside and thought someone might need help. Anyway, I’ll go.”

  “Tom, wait.”

  He doesn’t turn around, but he doesn’t move toward the house either. I take a couple steps closer to him. He finally looks, and now he can see something is wrong. My face starts to crumple, but I force it back to neutral.

  “Whoa, Maggie, are you okay?” he says, closing the distance between us in a few long steps. He drops his beer and reaches out to gather me into his arms, and I resist for a minute, but then let him hold me until the shaking stops. “What happened?” he whispers. “Was it those guys?”

  I nod.

  “Did they try to—”

  “Yeah. But then they got bored and moved on to a meaner, drunker version of the usual cow jokes.”

  “I’d love to be your knight in shining armor, but it looks like you took care of them on your own.” Tom pulls away so he can take a good look at my face. He’s swaying a little, his face flushed from the beer, and his hair is messy, probably from Kayla running her fingers through it.

  “I’m okay. I’m fine,” I say, and I think it’s the truth, at least for the moment.

  Tom smiles, his hands still holding my shoulders, and takes a step closer to me.

  I want to let him comfort me some more. But after the beer, and seeing Tom with Kayla, and the wrestling match with the Three Stooges, I can’t handle any more drama right now. I cross my arms over my chest against the cold and the crappy night and against whatever it is we’ve got to say to each other.

  “Thanks.” I step away. “I’m good now.”

  He watches me a minute, then shakes his head. “You know, I really like you, Maggie. But the whole thing with Nash got stupid. I wish it could have been better.”

  “Yeah, I’m really sorry you got stuck with Kayla. That must have been hard on you.”

  “Shit!” His voice is strained. “Why do you do that? You use all that crap to push everyone away. You duck and dodge anytime the good stuff gets close.”

  “This is the good stuff?”

  “That’s what I mean!” Tom keeps throwing his hands around while he talks. His slightly drunk, manic energy directed at me is a little frightening. “Ever since this whole thing started, you joke, and run, and put up every roadblock you can think of to avoid a real conversation.” He stops and rubs both hands through his hair, making it stand on end. “Look, I miss hanging out with you, Maggie. I miss our hikes, our talks, all of it.”

  “I’m the one avoiding real conversation? You’re the one who never gets real. Besides, what’s the big deal? I thought you just wanted to be friends anyway.”

  “But I miss you.”

  I raise my eyes, and Tom’s looking at me now. I stare at him a minute, trying to figure out if he’s saying what I think he’s saying. He closes the distance between us, wrapping his arms around me in one fluid motion.

  Then he’s kissing me. Again. He tastes like beer and cigarettes and peppermint lip balm. And for a second, I think I might let him keep kissing me. But maybe it’s Nash, or seeing Tom with Kayla, or being cornered by Jake, but I realize right now I don’t want Tom kissing me.

  I put my palms against his chest and shove him away. “Nope. Not happening. I can’t do this, Tom. I really, really can’t do this.”

  “Maggie, lighten up. It’s a kiss. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “But, Nash—”

  “Nash also needs to lighten up.” Tom grabs my hands, holding them gently and running his thumbs over my palms. The motion raises goose bumps on my arms, and I silently curse my own nervous system. “Are you saying you weren’t enjoying it?” Tom smiles, and my legs seem a lot less solid than they were a second ago.

  “Yeah, okay. But a little while ago, you said you wanted to be friends, and now we’re . . .” I don’t think I can actually say out loud what we were doing.

  “I do,” Tom says. “So?”

  “Do what?”

  “Want to be friends.”

  “Seriously?” I stare at him. “You are the master of mixed signals, Tom.”

  Tom sighs. He’s still holding my hands, but now it feels like comfort instead of seduction. “Maggie, you’re great. But this doesn’t mean . . .”

  I tear myself away from him before he can finish.

  “Look, Maggie. We’re drunk . . .”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Fine, I’m drunk. We’re here. It’s been a hard week. I thought we were . . . I thought you were just . . .”

  “Just what?” I ask. “Just slutty enough? Just lonely enough? Just desperate enough that we could hook up and have it not matter the next day?”

  “Look, I’m sorry, Maggie. I really am, but I don’t like you that way, not enough to be your boyfriend or whatever. I’m not . . .” Tom rubs his hand hard on the back of his head, making his hair stand out. “I thought you understood. I want to be friends. No more than that.”

  “Oh, well, forgive me if I’m a little confused. My other friends don’t shove their tongues down my throat.”

  “Sorry. I guess things got a little mixed up.”

  “It’s not things that are mixed up, Tom. It’s you. First you flirt with Nash, then me, then Kayla, and who knows who else? And I bet every one of us thought we had a chance with you.”

  “I tried to fix things. When I told Nash we kissed—”

  “Wait, you told Nash we kissed? I thought Kayla told Nash?”

  “Maybe she did, but I told him first.”

  “Why the hell would you do something so completely, obviously stupid? And you told me you didn’t tell him. I specifically remember you telling me you didn’t tell him.”

  “I’m sorry. I know. It sort of backfired. But I was trying to get Nash to see that I wasn’t going to be, that I couldn’t be the guy he wanted.”

  “And so you told him something designed to make him see that I’m not the friend he thought he had? Double heartbreak in one tiny little package. Perfect. Brilliant!”

  Tom shoves his hands in his pockets and shivers, glancing back toward the house.

  “Look, you’ve had an exit strategy since the day you got here, so I guess it doesn’t matter who you hurt or who you lie to. You won’t be around to clean up your own mess anyway.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

  I can tell he means it, but it doesn’t change things. Tom looks back at the door again, and I can see he wants to escape. I feel the same way.

  “Just go, Tom. I’m pretty sure we’re done here.” I step off the patio and feel my way in the darkness around the side of the house, scratching my arms on the huge arborvitaes along the way. By the time I reach the street, I am crying full out and start to run. I have to get away from the party, and Tom, Jake, and Kayla, and the whole fucked-up situation. The snow starts to fall, the huge flakes sticking to my eyelashes and teary face.

  Chapter 32

  That weekend I hike the shoreline trail twice. With the cold weather, I have it to myself. The smell of cedar and the repetitive sound of water hitting land help me slow my breathing and quiet my brain. Mom leaves me alone for the most part, and so does Dad. I text Nash about a dozen times, but he doesn’t answer. I hear from Cece, who wants to know if I went to the party. And Tom. He keeps sendin
g texts that range from apologetic to worried to frustrated, but I ignore his messages. Tom’s even more confused than I am. Besides, I need time by myself to think. Time to figure out how I can get my life back. But by late afternoon Sunday, I am a little stir-crazy, so I head to Square Peg.

  “Hey, beautiful!” Quinn calls out when I enter the store.

  I slouch onto one of the cracked vinyl stools behind the counter.

  “What?” Quinn asks, crossing his arms. “What?” he says again when I don’t answer, and then leans in. “Seriously, Mags, you look like somebody told you unicorns aren’t real. What. Is. Up?”

  My mouth forms a surprised O. “Unicorns aren’t real?”

  “You’re hilarious. Now tell me.”

  I flip through the records on the counter, somebody’s pile of classical cello music.

  Quinn cues up “Lady Sings the Blues.” Billie’s voice is gravelly and deep and makes me remember every one of the crappy things that has happened the last couple of weeks.

  “Nice.” I glare at him. “Kick a gal when she’s down.”

  “Hmmmmm?” Quinn says. “Whatever do you mean? I am doing what I always do, fitting the music to the mood.”

  I wait for him to say more, but he turns back to the ledger he’s poring over.

  “And you think my mood is blue? Billie Holiday, heroin-addicted, early death kind of blue?”

  “Not yet, but if you settle in there, anything could happen!” Quinn’s voice is cheerful. “I’m not going to let you get that comfortable.”

  “Nice.” I try to look bored.

  “Hey, someone has to pry you from your bunker of despair. And since your supposed ‘best friend’ is the one who put you there, I am acting as the proxy bestie.”

  “Proxy bestie? That’s not a thing. You totally made that up. Besides, Nash did not put me in the bunker—I did. With a little help from Kayla and Tom.”

  “Good point. But whoever put you there, I am here to make sure you don’t set up housekeeping.”