Tainted Love

by Addison Moore

  Thursday feels more like Friday since everyone knows that the Friday of homecoming is an official senior ditch day. I finish saying goodbye to Jennifer and Melissa in the parking lot, only to find a certain dark-haired preppy planted on the back of my car. Russell.

  “Careful, you might dent the engine.” I’m only half-teasing. I Think I Can doesn’t exactly have the greatest giddy-up in her these days. Twice on my way to work last week I thought I’d need to push her uphill.

  He jumps off and heads over to the passenger’s side as if I’ve just offered him a ride. “Are you free?”

  “No. I promised my brother I’d watch his band do warm-ups for their gig tonight. I’m working later, so I’ll miss the actual show.” It’s true. Seth is so totally psyched about getting to perform in a legitimate establishment I think he’s actually nervous.

  He tilts his head. Those sleepy blue eyes of his rival the color of the sky, and my insides implode with heat. I hate that he has this effect on me. I hate that I can’t control how my body reacts whenever he’s around. Russell James has made me a prisoner in my very own skin.

  “Yeah, you can come, but you’ll have to follow me. I’m headed to work after.”

  “That’s too bad. A bunch of us are seeing Commando tonight. We can hit the late show. You working at ten?”

  A jumble of words gets caught in my throat. A movie? Is he asking me personally, or am I just an add-in to some glorified group date? My body ignites with heat once again at the thought of sitting in a darkened room with him for two hours.

  “I’m actually closing.” I’ll be off at ten for sure, but I don’t have two dimes to rub together between giving most of my check to my mom and putting gas in the Gonorrhea Ghia. Gas is up to $1.09 a gallon. I for sure don’t have $2.75 to spend on a movie ticket, even though I’m actually getting paid pretty decent at $3.35 an hour, so I really don’t have anything to complain about.

  Russell happily follows me in his Beamer. All the way through downtown San Ramos, I get a kick out of seeing his BMW in the rearview mirror. Once we park, I pull the bottle of Babe from the glove compartment and effectively gas myself out of the car.

  We head into Dancing Waters, with its dark wood interior, the maroon felt lining the wall behind the stage. Seth and his band are already up there rocking out to the sound of their new song. They’re punk, so every one in the band is sporting a pretty impressive Mohawk.

  “That’s my brother!” I shout over the music and wave at Seth as he rails into the microphone.

  “Cool!” Russell shouts as we take seats near the back. He pulls out his camera and takes a picture of me tossing him a peace sign with the stage in the background. “What’s the band’s name?”

  “The Sex Machine!” I shout at the top of my lungs just as the music cuts out, and we share a laugh.

  Seth bounces over, and we stand to greet him. If my brother is anything, he’s intimidating to a fault. He pulls me into a quick sweaty hug. Seth has always been my buddy. Beneath the guyliner and Black Flag T-shirt, we’re essentially the same person.

  “Who’s this?” He shakes Russell’s hand, but I catch his eyes riding over him, and I can feel the preppy judgment falling wordlessly hard.

  “This is Russell James.” I place my arm around Russell’s shoulder as a signal for my brother to back down. “He’s my partner in yearbook. We’re just shooting a few pictures for school.” I guess I’m over giving him the silent treatment. In hindsight, it was all a little silly to begin with, especially since this relationship is strictly in the friend zone.

  I catch Russell frowning at the descriptors I’ve chosen for him, and a twinge of satisfaction settles in. I wasn’t so crazy about the descriptors myself.

  “Nice to meet you, Russ.” Seth glares at him playfully for a second. “You hurt my kid sister, I hurt you—remember that.” He bounces back to the stage, and I laugh before turning to Russell, only to find him stone-faced.

  “What’s the matter, Russ? Amanda doesn’t have a big brother to threaten you with?”

  His dimples dip in without a smile. “No, and if she did, it wouldn’t matter. It’s not like I’m with her or anything.”

  Now it’s me ditching the smile. “Amanda seems to think you’re with her.” Among other people, but I’m leaving his mother out of this.

  The music starts up again. The room floods with people, and before we know it, the dance floor is filled with bodies slamming into one another.

  Russell has that look on his face like he wants to continue our conversation, but I take him by the hand and try leading him to the dance floor.

  “No way.” A dark laugh strums from him as he holds up his camera to prove a point.

  “Fine! You can take a picture of me. Just make sure to get my good side!” I give a quick wink as I dive into the mosh pit of bodies gyrating all over the place. My brother’s voice permeates every corner of this dive bar as I thrash and smash my way into everyone in the vicinity.

  An arm grabs me from behind, and before I know it, a pair of lips covers mine. My heart gives a few jackrabbit thumps. I’m kissing him. We’re kissing.

  I wasn’t expecting this so soon, for sure not in front of my brother. But I’ve wanted this. Deep down, I’ve wanted to kiss Russell James ever since that first day in yearbook. A moan comes from me as I soften to his touch. The flash of a bulb forces my lids to fly open, and I lean back to find Slam looking down at me with his head shaved bald, that perennial smirk embedded on his face.

  “Shit!” I jump in a panic and slap him hard over the face before bolting out the door.

  “Wait!” he calls after me as the quiet hush of the street falls over us. “I missed you, babe. Haven’t you missed me?” Those playful eyes of his are glossed over, and I can’t help wondering if he’s high. He pulls me close, practically falling over my body as he stumbles around. I can smell the weed and the vodka on his breath, his atrocious body odor, none of which I happen to miss.

  “Get off.” I try to free myself from his stronghold, but he’s bearing his full weight on me.

  “You heard her.” Russell plucks him off, and Slam does a double take.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m with her.” Russell puffs out his wall of a chest. His dimples depress in that hot way only his can, even without a smile.

  “What do you mean you’re with her?” Slam leans in, leery of the line Russell just fed him.

  “I mean I’m with her. You don’t like it? You can eat shit.” He gives him a shove to the chest, and Slam falls hard against the building.

  “Dude”—Slam shakes his head, that look in his eye suggests he’s about to dismember and eviscerate—“I’m about to tear you a new asshole.”

  “No! Stop it, John!” My voice rubs raw as I scream his name. “I don’t want you laying a hand on him! For God’s sake, Glen Heights needs him in one piece tomorrow night!”

  Russell huffs a dull laugh, never once taking his eyes off Slam. “He’s not capable of hurting me.”

  And on that note, Slam comes out swinging—at dead air mostly, but once he connects with Russell’s gut, you can hear a hearty thud, the air expiring from his lungs. I cringe behind my hands, and just as I’m about to run back into the club and pluck my brother offstage, Russell decks him a good one, and blood actually splatters across Slam’s face.

  “You broke my nose!” He inspects the red stain on his hand. “You broke my fucking nose. This isn’t over.” Slam’s voice cracks as he ducks back into the club.

  “I’m sorry, Russell! Are you okay?” I run over and pull him in by the collar, landing his face just inches from mine. The girth of his chest warms my body. His heavy breathing trickles over my forehead, and in a strange way it feels nice. Russell sheds that mile-wide grin of his, and, for a second, all is right with the world again.

  “I’m fine. Are you okay?” His arms land around my waist, heated and heavy, and an intense wave of wanting sweeps over me. Everything in me loosens all at
once as I stare, mesmerized into Russell James’s eyes. Never in my life have I wanted a person more—wanted a kiss more.

  I give a tiny nod, suddenly unable to speak, a first for me, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear I’m in need of medical attention.

  A moment thumps by, all the traffic, the people on the streets, the noise from the band inside begin to dissipate as Russell’s eyes lock onto mine. Slowly, ever so slowly, he dips his head closer to mine, and I do the same toward his.

  The door to the club flings open and out flies my brother, prompting me to jump back a good three feet until there’s not a single limb that belongs to Russell James next to mine. God forbid they get broken. Seth is sort of a nutcase when it comes to his baby sister. It’s a wonder Slam is still among the living.

  It takes five heart-stopping minutes to assure Seth I’m fine before Russell and I take off in our separate cars.

  But all the way to the Galleria I can’t seem to wipe that goofy grin off my face.

  Maybe we’re not in the friend zone after all.

  Not many people will claim this, and, if they do, most will likely not mean it, but I’m starting to believe Hot Dog on a Stick is my destiny. It’s easy work, and I like it. I like the smell of the cornbread batter. I like the sizzle as I place the dripping dough into the deep fryer. And I love the tiny microphone attached to the cash register that amplifies my voice across the vast expanse of the food court as I command the attention of hundreds of hungry shoppers. I’m also seriously in love with the lemonade, and I get to listen to the mall music, which is pretty much new wave, so it’s really not all that bad a deal.

  At about eight, the Galleria starts filling up again as the kids from Glen crowd it for the movie theater on the top floor. I spot Melissa and Joel heading up the escalator and give a brisk wave. Jennifer mentioned she wouldn’t be coming tonight since she has a tutoring appointment with another family on the Hill. Her little side business of churning out scholastic nerds for those willing to shell out a shiny dime is on the rise for sure. I think about it a sec. I’m not sure I can see Jennifer working at Hot Dog on a Stick. Melissa maybe. But not Jen, she’s a bit too much of a bookworm. That coupled with the fact she’s capable of burning water in the kitchen would solidify the—

  My thoughts stop dead in their tracks as Russell jogs up, that celebrated smile already plastered to his face. “Looking good.” His brows flex as he inspects my hat, and I give it a little yank for him.

  “Can I get you anything?” My heart thumps wild as if I were the one that just sprinted over.

  “Yeah, you.” His dimples go off, and I blush ten times hotter than naturally allowed. I think I’ve just essentially deep-fried myself.

  What’s this? Is Russell James openly flirting with me? And if he is, I’m convinced he means it. Strangely enough, I kind of think I like it. I know I do.

  “We’re seeing the early show instead.” He nods toward the escalator. “I can hang out until you get off.” He ticks his head back, and his hair feathers perfectly when he does it. There’s not a darn thing that boy can do wrong.

  Before I answer, a tall blonde bounces up alongside him and bursts into laughter once she gets a good look at me. Amanda.

  “Ohmigod.” She laughs into her shoulder in an effort to contain her ridiculous self. “I like can’t even imagine.” She looks back up with her lashes crisscrossing like a gaggle of broken spider legs. “Um, like, I’ll take an order of fries and a lemonade.” She touches her hand to his face and coos up at him as if she were petting a cat. “Can you get that for me? I’ll run up and save us a seat.” She shoots me a look before reverting her attention back to him. “For like a second, I seriously thought you ditched me.” She gives a soft pat to his face. “I’ll like get us some popcorn just to round out the night. We need to keep your energy up for tomorrow. And—I’m talking about after the dance.” She gives a cheesy wink and slinks back toward the escalator that vomited her up here in the first place.

  I scoop out the fries and swipe a lemonade off the back before ringing them up. “Is that all?” I’m not sure why I’m so pissed all of a sudden, but it’s like one second he’s almost asking me out, and the next his so-called girlfriend is pawing all over him. Why do I get the feeling I’m the other woman in this sultry tale? I’m so never ever going to be the other woman. I loathe the other woman.

  “Hey, I’m sorry she’s getting under your skin.” He hands me a twenty, and I ring up the transaction, slapping his change against the counter, which by the way, is totally not the way they trained me to do.

  “She’s not getting under my skin. I’m not the one she was molesting. She’s your girlfriend.”

  Russell takes a step back and stills for a moment, staring up at me as if he were suddenly speechless. “She’s not my girlfriend, I swear. She’s just—”

  “Someone who’s warming your seat for you.” I nod past him at the building line. “You’d better go. I’ve got customers to help.”

  Russell doesn’t break our gaze, just gives a slight nod and steps aside. He doesn’t take Amanda her fries or lemonade. Instead, he simply walks away.

  About an hour later, I make up an excuse about having cramps and take off early from work. The last place I want to be when that movie lets out is sweeping the food court in time to have Amanda Prescott rub her very real or very imagined relationship with Russell James in my face.

  Friday night, I don’t go to the game. Instead, I help Melissa and Jennifer get ready for the homecoming dance afterwards while they tell me how great it was watching Glen sweep our senior year homecoming victory under their belt.

  “You should totally come to the dance.” Jennifer teases her bangs, separating what she calls her baby bangs with her fingers. She picks up the curling iron and meticulously curls them under, then proceeds to spray that hot iron rod with Aqua Net until there’s a lethal level of alcohol airborne in the room. “It’s like your senior year, too. In twenty years, who is really going to care if Russell James turns out to be a douchebag?”

  My stomach clenches when she calls him that. Apparently, I’m going to care according to my hormonally swayed body.

  “She’s like so right.” Melissa steps out of the bathroom in her bubblegum pink lace dress with the corseted back. It’s so freaking cute that both Jennifer and I break out in a choir of aww. Jennifer looks pretty great, too, with her electric blue bubble dress. It’s short and sassy, much like Jennifer herself. They each went to the mall and had their satin shoes dyed to match the dress—something I couldn’t dream of doing in a thousand years. They don’t dye your shoes to match your dress down at the Salvation Army, and that’s where they house pretty much all the shoes I can afford these days.

  “In fact”—Melissa steps back into her closet and pops back out with a black dress draped over her arm—“I might have something kind of cool you can slip into.”

  Jennifer pulls it from her and fans it over the bed as the three of us inspect it with dubious suspicion.

  “What is it?” I finally ask. I mean, I know that technically it is a dress, but it’s a strange black mesh with a bunch of purple underlays, and it has a collar the size of a basketball that fans out around the top, circa 1685.

  “It’s my Halloween costume.”

  A hard groan emits from me at the thought.

  “Before you get worked up—” Melissa holds up a hand.

  Jennifer shakes her head, adding, “Or insulted.”

  Melissa winces. “Is it that bad? I really thought it was kind of cute.”

  “What’s it supposed to be?” I ask, pulling it off the hanger and holding it up to my body.

  “A sexy vixen.” Melissa says it unsure as if our lack of enthusiasm for the dress suddenly zapped all of her confidence.

  “It’s short. I’ll give it that.” I swing my black boot from underneath it.

  “I think it can work.” Jennifer starts peeling off my jacket, and before I know it, I’m squeezing into a cheap dime
store rendition of a seventeenth century slut. I step forward and inspect myself in the mirror as Melissa helps layer my pearls back over my neck.

  Jen helps tease my hair, and Melissa crimps the back.

  Melissa does a spastic rendition of a seal clap. “You totally look like Cyndi Lauper!”

  I pull on an entire sleeve of rubber bracelets and inspect the final look in the mirror. “Dear God—I think I love it.”

  “So, like you’ll come to homecoming?” Melissa slaps her hands over her mouth in anticipation.

  The thought of my two best friends experiencing all those great milestones without me sends a pang of grief through my heart. Jennifer is right. I shouldn’t let anyone rob me of this.

  “I’m so going to homecoming!” We engage in an odd little happy dance before I pull out my Russian Red lipstick and trace my mouth out in a bow. “It’s my senior year. If anyone tries to ruin my good time, they’ve got another thing coming.”

  Amanda and that gloating face of hers haunt me for a moment.

  I hope I’m not the one who has another thing coming.

  Jennifer drives us over to the homecoming dance right after Joel picks up Melissa. We head to the front of the gym festooned with a rainbow of balloons arching their way up over the doorway. My adrenaline kicks up a notch as we enter those hallowed halls for what will be our last homecoming at Glen Heights High.

  The Clash’s “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” pumps through the sound system, and I’m already feeling the need to bounce around the dance floor, so I start to head in that direction, but, instead, Jen navigates me toward a table set up near the refreshment stand with a giant glittery sign that reads Vote for your homecoming king and queen!

  Jen’s eyes grow large for a moment. “Oh, never mind! This is totally stupid. Who cares about the king and queen? That’s like totally bogus anyway.” She tries yanking me back in the direction of the dance floor, but now it’s me headed toward the big silver foiled box with the words Cast your votes here.