The Truth about Us

by Janet Gurtler

  My heart almost stops. Penny is here? I shake my head and resist the temptation to scan the room until I find her. “She’s probably outside.” Nance contemplates me over her bottle. “But she’s a bitch, right? Remember who your real friends are.”

  Someone turns up the music, and an old rock-and-roll song comes on. Nance wiggles her hips and pumps her fists in the air. She waves at someone across the room. “My brother’s here,” she tells me. “You should say hey to him. The way he’s asking about you, I think he misses you more than I do.”

  That thought grosses me out. Jennifer moves in closer. “Yesterday when we were suntanning, Scott tried to convince me to suntan topless so he could take pictures of me to show to his friends. What an ass!” Jennifer laughs, but her eyes gleam, letting me know she’s the one spending time with Nance during the day now.

  What she doesn’t know is instead of feeling bad, she’s making me miss the cranky seventy-five-year-old man I spend time with. I’d rather be in the greenhouse listening to him complain about his bowel movements than where I am right now.

  Nance throws her head back and laughs. “You should have seen Jess’s face when my mom caught her topless.” She imitates me by opening her eyes wide and wrapping her arms around her boobs, then laughs some more and throws her arm around my neck. “I miss you!”

  A senior who graduated in June spots Nance and grabs her around the waist, pulling her away from me. She squeals and throws both arms around him, and he lifts her in the air. Jennifer fake squeals and then jumps at him when he puts Nance down.

  With an arm around each of them, he leads them away without even a glance at me. Loneliness burns a little hole in my stomach as I watch them laugh and dance their way through the living room to the patio door. Jennifer turns for a split second before they disappear, a smug smile on her face.

  I feel alone, but watching myself being replaced doesn’t bother me as much as it would have a couple of weeks ago. I glance around for familiar faces, and my eyes open wider and my body temperature drops. I spot Penny. She’s walking inside from the deck. Even from the distance, she looks slightly different. She’s wearing eyeliner. Her reddish-brown hair is longer and curled. Her jeans are tighter than she used to wear them. They look awesome on her.

  She must sense me staring at her, because she glances over and our eyes meet. A familiar look crosses her face. Sympathy. She knows I’m alone and uncomfortable. I remember the way we always understood each other across a crowded room. The music and noise disappear, and for a moment, it’s only me and her in that room. I can hear her ask me if I’m okay without saying anything at all. I’m about to lift my hand and mouth hi when a tall guy swoops in and wraps an arm around her shoulder. He pulls her in, and her face disappears from my sight. My eyes open wider. Holy shit. That’s Keith Alex. The boy she’s had a crush on since seventh grade. And he’s hugging her. I can’t help smiling. She peeks under his arm for a minute and catches my reaction. I lift up my thumb and grin wider. Penny heaven right there. She smiles, and my heart is stuffed with happiness for her.

  Keith pulls her tighter and then leans down and kisses her on the mouth. I barely resist jumping up and down on the spot, as if we’re twelve years old and she’s reading me what she wrote about him in her diary.

  Keith sweeps her out of my view, and I stare at the empty space. Keith Alex and Penny Pierce! I want to rush over to her house later and ask every single detail of how they hooked up.

  Except I can’t. I miss her so much and hate myself all over again for messing up my right to be her friend anymore. Swallowing to kill my urge to cry, I dart past bodies, needing to get away. A drunken boy grabs me and steers me down a hallway, putting his arm around my shoulder and offering some of his beer. I duck under his arm and keep going until I round a corner and end up inside a kitchen. The ceiling is high and it’s huge, probably four or five times the size of our kitchen at home.

  The kitchen hidden away in the back of the house suggests Brittney’s mom either hates to cook or doesn’t want people to see her when she does. A group of kids are standing in front of a stove, close to an open window, blowing smoke outside. Noise from the backyard drifts in, and a smell hits my nose. Skunky pot. I pretend to search around for something, in case any of them cares what I’m doing.

  “Yo. You’re that girl,” a male voice calls. A boy leaning on the counter stares at me with squinty red eyes. The pockmarks on his skin are visible even across the room. “Aren’t you the girl whose mom was attacked?” he calls. “She almost died, right?”

  I narrow my eyes and give him my filthiest look as my insides jump around. What the hell? Doesn’t he know people aren’t supposed to say things like that to my face?

  “Leave her alone,” one of the girls says. She’s got dark black hair with green roots. Gothy. I don’t recognize her, but she’s looking at me with pity in her heavily made-up eyes.

  “What?” the boy asks. “That’s Allie West’s sister.”

  “So? Do you think she wants to talk about it here?” the girl asks. “Shut the hell up.”

  I say a silent thanks for her compassion. My thoughts for the boy aren’t nearly as generous.

  “Whatever.” The boy turns back to his friends and reaches for a pipe that’s getting passed around.

  The girl acknowledges me with a tiny nod. It shakes me though. It’s getting harder to breathe. I’m usually fuzzy around the edges, so if people notice me at parties because of my mom, I have no idea. God, I don’t want to think about what happened now.

  My throat scratches when I swallow, and sweat trickles down my back. My eyes go to the fridge. There has to be alcohol in there. A familiar urge nibbles at my brain. The pleasant buzz from a drink. Leaning against the kitchen island, the counter hard and cool on my hip, I run my hand over the smooth surface. It’s marble. My mom hates marble. She thinks it’s too showy. My dad likes it for the same reason.

  “You looking for a drink?” a girl calls from across the kitchen, a tiny redhead. It’s Brittney. She blended in with the other kids. “Take what you want.” She’s wrapped up under the long arms of a tall boy.

  “Thanks,” I call. One of the other kids says something, but it’s hard to hear what it is. Pushing off the counter, I walk to the fridge and open it. There’s an entire shelf of alcohol, and I grab a vodka cooler, pop off the lid, and chug. There’s an unexpected noise behind me, and I jump as a boy staggers inside the kitchen.

  Great. So not what I need right now.

  chapter thirteen

  Josh Reid stumbles into the kitchen, a big smile on his face, unsteady on his feet. He’s wearing his usual expensive jeans and chest-hugging T-shirt. He swims competitively and loves to show off the perks. He has a black hat perched on his head, and there’s no doubt, he’s a nice-looking male specimen. Too bad we don’t have anything in common except hormones. I hope for a second he won’t notice me, but of course I’m not invisible, even to drunk ex-boyfriends.

  “I thought I saw you heading toward the kitchen.” He shakes his finger and heads for me in a zigzag pattern.

  “Hey, Reid,” one of the boys at the stove calls. “What you doing here? I didn’t think you could breathe oxygen.”

  Josh’s eyes are glazed and red, and he’s clutching a bottle of Corona with a lime floating on top of the liquid like a dead fish. He lifts his free hand in the air, his middle finger saluted upward at the boy at the stove, but doesn’t take his eyes off of me.

  “Yo, Jess,” he says, a noticeable drunk slur to the s. He’s a lightweight drinker. “Looking good.” He walks over and touches my hip and then pulls his finger back, pretending to have burnt himself. Then he laughs, and it’s a silly drunk giggle that reminds me a little of Kyle, and it makes me smile.

  Josh misinterprets it. “Want to make out?” He winks and purses his lips, apparently trying to look sexy but barely passing for ridiculous. It’s embarrassin
g that drunk me actually fell for his crap.

  “Not really.” I throw my cap at him, and it bounces off his chest.

  “Hey.” He looks like I just farted or gravely injured him. “What’s wrong?”

  I barely resist rolling my eyes. “I’m too sober,” I tell him. Way too sober to talk to Josh Reid. Way over Josh Reid. Sober or not. Good on paper or not.

  He frowns. “I haven’t seen you in ages. You haven’t been to any parties lately. I tried texting you, but Nance said you don’t have a phone.” He tries to look sexy again. “What’s up with that? I miss you.”

  “Yeah?” I glare at him. “And why is that?”

  He frowns. This is not the usual script. If I were in the same state, we’d fight and flirt-insult each other for a while and then start making out. We’d do the whole hooking up thing, and afterward, we’d avoid each other. I sigh, seeing too clearly how pathetic it is.

  “You’re drunk.” I step backward, skimming my back against the kitchen island. “Ouch.”

  “And you’re not.” He takes a step and runs his finger along my cheek. I turn my face, but he takes my cooler and holds it up to my lips. “We should fix that. You’re way more fun when you’re drunk.”

  I push it back. “Not today,” I tell him.

  Not today, but every other time. Angry with myself and not missing the irony, I tilt the bottle back and finish half the cooler in one chug to try to bury that anger.

  “Hey.” He winks in an exaggerated motion. “That’s my girl.” He moves his gaze slowly up and then slowly down my body, and it makes me feel dirty.

  “Not your girl, Josh.”

  “Totally my girl.” He grins and reaches for my hand. “Totally my type.”

  “You mean female?” I narrow my eyes.

  “Burn.” He grabs his heart, stumbles a little, and laughs, taking another sip of beer. “My feelings for you are no secret.” He tips his hat further down his eye, trying to be sexy. Not succeeding.

  “Your feelings for me are fueled by alcohol consumption,” I remind him.

  He laughs again, but he’s starting to look like a priest in a lingerie shop. Things aren’t going as planned.

  “You’re hurting my feelings.” He leans down. “I have them, you know. Feelings.” He tries to look sexy and seems like he’s going to try to kiss me, so I lean back and move my head away from him.

  “You okay?” an angry voice interrupts.

  I look over. Braxton is in the kitchen. Frowning. I imagine an invisible question mark dangling over his head. He has a vodka cooler in one hand and a beer in the other. “I’ve been looking for you. I got you this.”

  Yeah. I am so freaking popular all of a sudden. And everyone wants to get me drunk.

  I step to the side so Josh isn’t looming over me anymore. “I’m fine. This is Josh. An old friend.”

  Josh takes a sip of beer. “Boyfriend,” he clarifies.

  “Ex-boyfriend,” I add. “If we want to be generous and call it that.”

  Braxton walks closer to us. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “She’s fine, man. Who are you?” Josh asks. Even drunk, he manages to give him a superior look. Josh’ll be a cutthroat lawyer someday. Just like daddy. His and mine. He never hesitates to go after people’s weak spots. “The help?” Josh adds, lifting his chin. He sees through Braxton. Josh drives a Porsche his dad bought him for his sixteenth birthday. He lives down the street from Brittney.

  “I’ll help you, fucker,” Braxton says and walks forward, rolling back his broad shoulders. I realize how big he is. Josh is long and lean and could easily outrun Braxton, which is good, because I’m pretty sure Braxton would kick Josh’s ass. Braxton puts his drink down on the island and stalks forward, so I place a hand on his chest, pushing him back.

  “Forget it. I said ex. And it was nothing dramatic. Josh is cool. We were just talking. I’m fine.” I glare at Josh. “You can go away now,” I tell him.

  Josh stares at me and then at Braxton. “Seriously? You’d rather hang out with this trailer trash?”

  I keep my hand on Braxton’s chest. “Get out of here, Josh. Don’t be an asshole,” I say. The two of them are giving me a headache.

  Josh stands taller and suddenly looks more sober. “Your taste in friends is pretty questionable.”

  “Clearly,” Braxton says, crossing his arms.

  I drop my hand. I have an urge to tell both of them to fuck off. They’ve sucked out the last of my positive emotions. I’d rather be in my bed, feeling like an unpopular loser, than here.

  “Whatever, Jess,” Josh says. “You want to hang out with freaks, that’s your problem.” Josh stomps to the fridge, opens it, and takes two beers but still manages to give us the finger as he continues his stomp out of the kitchen.

  “You okay over there, Jess?” Brittney calls.

  “Fine,” I call back. “But if you ever want to grow your own dope, try planting Josh Reid.”

  The group of kids around the stove laughs. At least someone appreciates my humor, because Braxton glares down at me.

  “You seriously went out with that guy?”

  I shrug. “If you want to call it that.”

  “Are you still into him?” he asks.

  “Obviously not. I like being single.” It’s a message and not a subtle one, but it’s time to make things clear in case he has ulterior motives. Which it kind of seems he does.

  Braxton gestures toward the counter where he put down the cooler. “I brought you a drink.” He hands it to me. I take it without a word. He holds his bottle up to toast. We clink and he chugs as I sigh. He drinks his beer in silence while I hold mine without taking a sip.

  “You know what?” I tell him. “I’m pretty tired. I think I’m going to head home. I can walk. It’s nice out and not far.”

  “Already?” Braxton’s cheeks are rosy, as if he’s mad but trying not to be. “We just got here.”

  “I’m sorry.” I sigh, not wanting to deal with his crush on me, but I don’t want to give him false hope either. “I guess I’m not in the mood for a party. And I left my mom at home alone.”

  He furrows his eyebrows. “Yeah? I left mine alone too. But she’s a big girl. She’s fine.”

  “My mom…” I start and then stop, sighing, and glance at the kids by the sink, but they’re not paying attention. Brittney and her boyfriend are making out. The others look zoned out. “She hasn’t been feeling well for a while.”

  “She’s sick?” he asks.

  “Long story.” I put the vodka cooler down on the counter, done pretending that drinking it is going to happen.

  “I should drive you home,” he says. “If you really want to go.”

  I point at his beer. “No. I’ll be fine. I’m good walking. Anyhow, I hope you’re not going to drive later.”

  “I have a DD, but I’ve only had a couple anyhow. And you shouldn’t walk alone. Not all guys are as nice as me.” He sips his beer, watching me.

  “It’s all right. It’s not far. And it’s nice out. I should find Nance first, let her know I’m leaving.”

  “Your friend with the boobs?” He grins adorably. “Sorry. But it’s true.” He takes a sip of beer. “I saw her outside, drooling all over Flynn.”

  My heart races as if I’ve been hit by a jacked-up defibrillator.

  “Flynn?” Without thinking, I pick up the cooler and take a big gulp. “You mean he is here?”

  “I told you. I ditched Flynn to come and get you. I didn’t tell him though, and he left for a while, but he came back.” He narrows his eyes, watching my face turn the color of a Christmas poinsettia. “Aw man, for real?” he says, shaking his head. “I thought you two didn’t like each other. I thought you were immune to the Flynnster.”

  “What do you mean?” I blink and cover my hot cheeks with my hands.

&nbs
p; Flynn is here? No way I’m leaving now.

  “He was a jerk to you that night I drove you home.” He shakes his head. “I’m the one who was being nice.” His voice has a whine in it, and I understand how it feels playing second fiddle. I’ve done it for Nance lots of times. It’s obvious he doesn’t know Flynn and I see each other at New Beginnings.

  “We’ve run into each other a few times,” is all I say.

  “He mentioned he ran into you and you weren’t as bad as he thought.” He shakes his head some more. “But I didn’t know you were into him.”

  The kids around the stove burst into laughter, and we both look over, but they’re laughing among themselves, not paying any attention to us.

  “I kind of hoped you liked me.” His face droops, and he looks like he lost his favorite bone.

  “I do like you…you know as a…”

  “Oh God. Don’t say it. As a friend? Please. It’s the kiss of death.”

  “It’s nothing personal.”

  “No? It seems kind of personal to me.” He crosses his arms and frowns.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just…” I sigh. I can’t make up a boyfriend to let him down because I’m afraid it will get back to Flynn. Whatever I say to him could get back to Flynn.

  My foot taps the tile floor, now aware that Nance is outside flirting with Flynn. I trust Flynn, but Nance, not so much.

  Braxton slumps against the counter. “Great. Another female friend.” He sips his beer and frowns. “Is there something wrong with me?” His voice cracks and makes me feel bad for deflating his ego.

  “Not at all. You’re a nice guy.”

  “A nice guy? That’s worse than liking me as a friend.” He stares at me and then chugs the rest of his beer and slams the bottle on the counter. “Fuck nice,” he says, and then he lets out a huge belch.

  “Good one,” one of the boys calls.

  Braxton and I stare at each other, and then we both start cracking up.

  “Gross,” I tell him. “But you’re still terribly attractive,” I add. “With really big muscles.”