Flash Burnout

by L. K. Madigan

  Marissa sees me looking at her and looks away really fast.

  Gahh! Now Marissa thinks it's true, too.

  How could Cappie do this? There must be rules! You can't just broadcast stuff on the radio that's not true! Can you? It's slander, or libel, or something.

  "What should we do?" asks Shannon. Her cheeks are pink.

  All of a sudden I'm totally furious. My girl didn't do anything to Cappie. She doesn't deserve to be embarrassed in front of the whole school. If Cappie wanted to get back at me, she sure as shit should've taken it up with me.

  I stand up. "I'm going to the radio station," I say.

  "Blake, wait," says Shannon, her eyes going wide. "Don't. You'll just make it worse. Don't leave me right now, anyway. People will think it's true."

  I stand there steaming. "Fine. I won't leave. But we have to go tell Marissa. Come on."

  Shannon stands up and takes my hand. I feel like I'm walking across a stage in front of an audience full of people munching pizza and burritos.

  As we reach Marissa, I hear a couple of people murmur, "Oooh," as if a fight is about to bust out.

  I open my mouth to speak, but Shannon says in a rush, "Marissa, I didn't do it! I didn't request that song. I would never do something like that."

  Marissa exhales, "Oh, thank God! I couldn't believe—"

  "I know. I couldn't, either. Blake looked like he was about to faint," says Shannon.

  Both girls are all giggly and gossipy now, and I close my mouth. Problem solved. I call out in my best policeman voice, "Okay, move along, people. Nothing to see here. Go back to your lives, citizens."

  I'm itching to get my hands on Cappie, however. This is not over. Oh, no. Not by a long shot.

  "I'll see you guys later," I say to the girls.

  "Don't, Blake," says Shannon. "He's going to the radio station," she adds to Marissa.

  "Oh, no," says Marissa.

  I leave them fretting over my manly determination.

  Garrett catches up to me as I'm halfway to the Bomb Shelter, which is what the radio jocks call the station.

  "Blake, where ya goin', man? Don't you have a love triangle to manage?"

  "Shannon did not request that song!"

  "No?" Garrett chuckles. "That Trickster cracks me up."

  "I'll crack her up," I mutter.

  "What? What did you say?"

  "I said I'LL CRACK HER UP!"

  Garrett studies me. Finally he says almost gently, "Dog, you're taking this way too seriously."

  "She said on the radio—for the whole world to hear—that my girlfriend is jealous of my girl friend!" I rage.

  "I know. I'm just sayin'. Getting all up in her face is the exact wrong thing to do. She'll kick your ass without even breaking a sweat."

  "What?" I stop. "She would fight me?" Now there's an appalling thought: getting beaten up by a girl.

  "No, man. I was speaking metaphorically. That means—"

  I know what it means!"

  He nods. "So you understand that she may not lay a finger on you, but she would still kick your ass."

  I stop walking and glare at him for a long moment. Finally I say, "Why do you go along with it, Garrett?"

  "With what?"

  "She's using you, man. Coming over to the house ... doing whatever it is you guys do ... eating our food ... then acting like she doesn't even know you at school."

  Garrett laughs. "Is she cutting in on your share of the food, little guy?"

  Oh God, what I wouldn't give to be about four inches taller and forty pounds heavier, so Garrett would never be able to call me little again. "You know what I mean," I said. "It's like she's messing with your head."

  "Aw, it's not that way," says Garrett.

  "How is it then? Explain it to me."

  He shifts his gaze to a point behind me, not answering for a minute. The cocky grin on his face slips a notch. "It's like a game," he says. "We're hiding in plain sight. Walking around school like we don't know each other, when all the time we're, you know." He trails off, gazing into the distance. "She likes games. And hell, I'm free to see other people, if I want. She told me that right up front."

  "Really." From the look on Garrett's face, I wonder if "we" like this game, or if it's just Cappie.

  "Yeah." He shakes his head, as if clearing away a nagging doubt. "She's cool. Not like other girls."

  I'm still steaming, so I don't even care that I'm venting on my brother. "You know what she told me the first time I met her? That she was having a play date with you. A free hookup. That she doesn't date jocks." I stalk away from him, calling back over my shoulder, "So it's a good thing you're cool with the game."

  "Blake."

  I keep going. Hate.

  "Blake!" Garrett raises his voice. "Stop or I'll have to come after you."

  I don't stop. I don't care if he—

  Ow!

  My brother just punched me.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The telephoto lens has an inherent compression of space.

  —Mitsu ProShot I.S. 5.3 camera guide, 2007

  All hell has broken loose.

  Shannon is sitting across from me in a booth at Juke's, and she's crying.

  So yeah, that bites, and I've had an assful of this kind of drama.

  But the fun doesn't end there, folks!

  Cappie is here. With a guy.

  Who is not Garrett.

  Oh, and did I mention that Garrett is here, too?

  He came rolling in after the game with his pumped-up football peeps, all rowdy and proud because they won. They settled at the biggest table to receive their admirers, and sure enough, a couple of cheerleaders landed there first thing.

  I saw the exact moment when Garrett caught sight of Cappie. He was smiling at something that Willow, one of the cheerleaders, had said, when he glanced over her shoulder. It's hard to miss Cappie tonight: she's got those blue streaks in her hair, and she's wearing a teeny tiny black dress with her legs going up to her ears practically. (Niiice stems, though, I gotta say.)

  Anyone else looking at Garrett wouldn't have noticed him change expression. He's a stoic dude. But I've been looking at him for fifteen years, so I can tell when his smile kind of freezes and his eyes go tight.

  I rub my shoulder gently. It feels blue and green and purple. The color of a new bruise. But I don't have any desire to photograph it.

  I was going to throw a punch back at Garrett after he hit me, but I didn't, uh, want it to turn into a fight in the middle of school. So I just called him every dirty word I could think of while he stood there looking at me. When I ran out of words, he said, "Dog, I'm sorry, but I did tell you to stop. Now ... I was going to say that I'll talk to Cappie for you."

  "Oh."

  But I refused to say thank you.

  I guess he went to find Cappie after that, and I don't know what he said to her, but she's all over some other guy right now. He's a DJ at the radio station, too, so they must spend a lot of time together. He's got some sick dreads. Stone is his name, I think. He's looking kind of dazed, like he's not sure what to do with this bundle of Trickster, who's now licking salt off her fingers while she stares into his eyes.

  So, okay. Garrett and Cappie are doing the friends-with-benefits thing. They're not a couple. Whatever. But how cold is that? Hooking up with someone else in front of the person you're quote-unquote dating? Does she want to get back at him for some reason?

  At this very moment—I shit you not—Cappie turns her killer green eyes on me. And winks.

  In the meantime, I've got Shannon sitting across from me all teary-eyed and red-nosed. If I'm not trying very hard to make her feel better, it's because I am worn out with the effort of knowing what to do all the damn time.

  "I can't help it," she says again.

  "Yes, you can," I find myself snapping. "You can just stop crying."

  Which only makes her cry harder.

  I made the un-fucking-believable mistake of telling her I was worried a
bout Marissa. Bad call, Houston! Being honest with GFs appears counterproductive.

  These were my exact words: "I'm worried about Marissa. She was getting hammered at the game. Again! I hope she's not turning into an alky."

  A slow but steady undertow of misunderstanding proceeded to drag my ass out to sea.

  Shannon analyzed each word out of my mouth, then deconstructed the meaning behind my words, searching for hidden code in those innocent little sentences. By the time we got to Juke's, she was sniffling. All of our friends fled to safety, leaving us alone on our raft of tragedy.

  When Cappie and Stone make their exit, the buzz in the room goes quiet for a minute, then ramps up after the door closes behind them. I check Garrett; he has his chair pulled close to Willow and is leaning in to whisper something in her ear.

  Scholar-jock boy will be fine.

  Around eleven thirty Garrett stands up, and Willow follows. He comes over to my table and says, "Let's go, man. Shannon, do you need a ride?"

  Shannon has moved out of her sad and into her mad. "No, thank you," she says. "Kaylee's mom can take me home. See you Monday." This last line is flung without even looking at me. She stands up and walks away.

  Let's see, I can go after her and be the bigger person blahblahblah and apologize for something that is still unclear to me, or I can get the hell out of Dodge and wrap up this shitty day. Not only is my girlfriend mad at me and my arm is throbbing like a bitch, but I haven't made anyone laugh the entire day.

  "Get me out of here," I snarl, and bang out the door.

  ***

  When I wake up, I check my cell for messages first thing. There's only one, from Riley:

  Flake u left behind a pissed GF and bald jake's friend—i dunno his name—tried to hit that. But she went home w/kaylee. Dog ur my hero—don't cave!!!

  Rile

  My blood begins to simmer. Guy We Don't Know tried to get with my girl? He will rue the day!

  Except ... wait. Maybe she's not my girl anymore. In which case, I can't be mad that some other guy tried his luck.

  Except ... wait. She left with Kaylee. In which case, maybe she is still my girl.

  Houston advises me to stop orbiting Uranus and see if she sent me an e-mail.

  I boot up my laptop and check my e-mail. Nothing but spam.

  Huh.

  Maybe we are broken up.

  So what should I do, call and grovel at her feet?

  I don't think so. She caused a scene over nothing. If she's going to be that high maintenance, then fine. See ya.

  I go downstairs to breakfast.

  And you know what? I don't care what kind of hormonal hell Shannon dragged me through yesterday because I said I was worried about Marissa. I'm still worried, and she's the one I'm going to call first.

  ***

  "Be serious," says Garrett. He's standing next to my mom. More like towering over her.

  My mom's eyes narrow. She moves farther into Garrett's personal space. "I am completely serious, Garrett Thomas."

  Uh-oh, the middle name's out. I stop at the kitchen door, frozen in midstep. I can still back away.

  Garrett falters in his cockiness. We don't like to get Mom mad. She can stay calm way longer than the average person, but once she snaps, she can inflict major damage. But Garrett doesn't back down. "I'm awake, aren't I? It's not like I'm still in bed. I'm up and ready to go."

  "It doesn't matter whether or not you're awake. When you break your curfew and come home at two in the morning, you should expect repercussions. Actions have consequences."

  Garrett's glance skips over to me. We hate that phrase. We are allergic to that phrase. We have vowed to each other never to use it on our own kids.

  "Mom. I'm sorry. But please punish me later. I'm supposed to go observe at the ME's office this morning."

  "Maybe you should have thought of that last night."

  Uh. Right. In the middle of "driving Willow home," Garrett is going to say to himself, "Golly, I'd better not be late or Mom will refuse to let me go look at dead bodies." I stifle a snort.

  Mom glances at me, and I turn to stone. Remain. Perfectly. Still. Maybe she will forget I'm here. "Did you want to comment, Blake Daniel?"

  "No! Nonono. Sorry." Making Mom laugh when she's pissed earns me triple points, but it's a verrrry tricky stunt. I am not about to risk it just for Garrett.

  She turns back to him. "I realize you had plans today. I'm sorry you will have to miss them."

  Now she moves past him to the kitchen sink.

  Garrett clenches his fists. I can see sweat breaking out on his shaved jock head. "What am I supposed to tell the ME on duty? I can't come because my mommy won't let me go outside to play?"

  "If you like." Mom rinses her coffee cup and puts it in the dishwasher.

  "Mo-om! It's a job! I mean, not a paying job, but I'm supposed to show up when they tell me to."

  "That's not strictly true, honey," she answers. "You're still observing. You're not training. And if you're too embarrassed to call, your dad can do it."

  Garrett slams out of the kitchen; I jump out of his way just in time. I'm thinking that now is not the time to ask him what happened with Cappie.

  The Hewson boys are not having a good weekend.

  ***

  "Hello?"

  "Oh, good," I say. "You didn't choke on your own vomit last night."

  Pause. Then Marissa says, "Or anyone else's." We crack up.

  "Dude," I say after a minute. "Are you, like, turning into a drunk?"

  "No! God, Blake!"

  "Well?"

  "What are you, the party police?"

  "No, ma'am, I'm not." I put on a cop voice. "I'm merely a concerned citizen. Just the facts, ma'am, if you don't mind."

  Marissa sighs. "Partying with my friends on the weekends doesn't make me a drunk. And it's not like it's every weekend, anyway."

  "You sure about that, ma'am?"

  "Yes, I'm sure. Shut up! I can't believe you. Besides."

  "Besides what?"

  "I like catching a little buzz. Things seem easier."

  Before I can answer, she says loudly, "I'm not like my mom!"

  "What?"

  "Having a couple of drinks or a few hits doesn't mean I have a problem."

  "No." I can't agree fast enough. She's sounding mad, and I've never made Marissa mad before. I'm still trying to figure out what to do when I get Shannon mad. Do all girls get mad in the same way, or are there endless varieties and levels of girl anger? "Mariss," I say. "Come on. I didn't mean anything. I was just joking around."

  "Okay. Good."

  "Good."

  "So," she says. "How are you?"

  "Good."

  "Good."

  We giggle again. We keep talking, and the next thing I know, I'm telling Marissa about the fight I had with Shannon. I manage to leave out the fact that the fight started over Marissa.

  "You should call her," she says when I finish.

  I shake my head, as if she can see me. "Uh-uh."

  "She was probably just having a bad day."

  "Maybe."

  We keep chatting. She's so easy to talk to. Somehow we end up on the subject of my parents. "How wild is it that your mom and dad have been married all this time?" she says, like it's a Guinness Book of World Records event. "I hardly know anyone whose parents are still together."

  There's a question I'm dying to ask her, but it's so nosy. But she's my friend, and I finally decide it's okay to ask.

  "Marissa? Um ... where's your dad?"

  Silence.

  "I mean, I know about your mom. But I was wondering what the deal is with your dad. Why you live with your grandma."

  I breathe, waiting.

  She says so low I almost can't hear her, "He's in jail."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Camera: Latin for "room."

  Shannon's parents are sitting in the living room when I arrive, interfering with my plans for a make-up make-out session.

  My
girl called me today. She said she was sorry! I didn't even have to grovel. She said she didn't know why she was so emotional last night.

  So I begged Garrett to drive me over to Shannon's ASAP, but he flat-out refused. Dickwad. I can't wait till he needs a favor, so I can shut him down.

  My dad took pity on me but made me wait till he was done with whatever unimportant thing he was in the middle of. Grrr. I'm craving my driver's license.

  Now I'm rotting in Shannon's living room while her parents pretend they don't hate me.

  They always put on a show of niceness, but I know they want me to go away so they won't have to worry about their daughter having sex.

  We're not.

  But we might, you know. If things were different. Okay, a lot different. We both know people our age who are having sex. I think parents like to believe that that's not happening, but sorry, olds, it is. I'm not clear who it helps if parents are in denial, but whatever.

  Shannon's mom watches me like a hawk. When I catch her staring at me, she gives this pained smile, like she's got bad gas.

  Mr. DeWinter is really old. Like fifty, I think. He's out of touch with life in general, but he does like football. In fact, when we first met, he thought I was Garrett. "So you're the halfback, eh?" When I had to admit that he was thinking of my brother, his expression soured and has never changed since.

  "Have fun, honey," says Shannon's mom. "Take a sweater. You're going to freeze in that shirt."

  No, she won't, I think. I'm going to have my hands all over her.

  Shannon grabs a jean jacket. "Bye," she says to her parents, breezing out the door.

  I try to smile reassuringly at Mrs. DeWinter, but I have a feeling my smile looks as pained as hers.

  My dad is waiting in the car outside. He drops us off at the Meriwether Mall, where we walk around for a while, holding hands; then we go to a movie, pushing up the armrest between us so we can squish closer together.

  I couldn't even tell you what the movie was about. I was in a state of Shan-toxication through the whole thing. My nads must've been the color of blueberries.