I cried as I tripped through the door of the trailer and tore off John’s police jacket and To Protect and Serve T-shirt, which had begun to sear my skin. Of course, I had to wear something to work, but laundry had not been high on my priority list for the past week.
The first shirt I grabbed from my closet was my Cookie Monster T-shirt. I’d always loved the CM, an uninhibited glutton who lived like he was dying. I’d stopped wearing the T-shirt when I dyed my hair blue because the CM and I matched a little too well. But I didn’t have time to search for something else this morning. Purcell had already stayed almost an hour late for me.
I cried as I burst through the door of Eggstra! Eggstra!, shoulders squared for the huge argument I was about to have with Purcell that would send half the customers running from the packed diner. But when Purcell and Corey saw me, they both left food burning to rush over to me and ask what was wrong.
I cried harder. Their anger I could have dealt with. I didn’t know what to do with sympathy. “I’m okay. I’m fine,” I choked out. “Just a little teen angst. Nothing to see here.”
Corey ran back to the grill to flip the ham, then reluctantly raked it into the trash. Purcell still stood next to me. Looking at the floor, he mumbled, “Take another hour. I can stay.”
“Oh, no. Working will help me. And you’ve stayed so long already.” I wiped at the tears under my eyes. “Do you want me to teach you to read?”
He looked as shocked as I felt at hearing myself. I went on, “I don’t know how to teach someone to read, but there are workbooks and stuff I can check out of the high school library. Are you on day shift next week?”
He nodded.
“We can do it after school, in the lull before the dinner crowd.”
He held up his fist. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I touched his fist with my fist. This seemed to be right, because he took off his apron and headed out the door. I guessed he had accepted my offer with thanks. It was hard to tell, since we’d just now become friends.
I tried to dry up as Corey and I cooked breakfast for the throngs of people from the car factory who got off work at 7 A.M. and the travelers headed home from spring break. But every time I saw the reflection of my Cookie Monster T-shirt in the toaster, I wanted to pull my hair out.
Hours later, toward the end of my shift, after the lunch crowd had thinned, I called Tiffany. Again, I didn’t know who was more shocked: Tiffany, that I was calling her, or me, that I was calling her. Soon she be-bopped in and slid onto a stool at the counter.
I poured her a cup of coffee. “Sorry to drag you up here on your one weekend of spring break left.”
“No prob. It’s not like I have a boyfriend to hang out with or something. I’ve been asleep since Thursday.” She eyed the coffee. I moved the cream and sugar toward her as a hint. She mixed some in clumsily, like a coffee virgin. Then she looked up at me, and her face fell into concern. “Oh my God, Meg, what’s wrong?”
What wasn’t wrong? I told her the whole story of how John took me to the beach, we almost had sex, I induced his nervous breakdown accidentally, and he gave me a panic attack on purpose.
When I finished, she sat blinking at me for a few seconds. Then she exclaimed, “You had sex with Johnafter?”
I glanced around the diner at the patrons trying not to stare at us. “I told you, no,” I said quietly. “But I saw the promised land.”
She looked right into my eyes with a steady gaze. “Is he a good kisser?”
I held her gaze. “John does everything well.” Then I watched my hand wipe absently at the counter. “I should set the record straight about something I said to you on the phone Wednesday. I still don’t think it’s a good idea for you to have sex with Brian just to get back together with him. But since you came to me for sex advice, I want to revise what I told you about sex not being any good. With Eric, I was half thinking about something else. With John, there was nothing but John. The frontal lobes fizzled out on me, and only the trusty old medulla was still operating. There was nothing going on but breathing”—I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly—“and touching. Now I can see how sex could be really, really fantastic if the guy was slow and caring and thorough and obviously very into you, and if you were in love.” I was so tired of crying by then that I watched with a weird detachment as my tears plopped onto the countertop in small wet circles.
“How are you going to get him back?” Tiffany asked.
I sniffled. “That’s why I called you. I want to dye my hair its natural color. Of course, natural color is a relative term. When I get off work in a minute, will you go across the street to the drugstore with me and help me figure out what shade my hair used to be?”
“Wow,” Tiffany said. “It’s hard to remember back that far. Wasn’t it dark brown? And with your blue eyes, you’re going to look striking. Wow.” She took a sip of her coffee and grimaced. “You think dying your hair will get Johnafter back?”
I glanced at my reflection in the toaster. “I think it will help me connect with him. You know, John’s going to live in this town forever. And there’s nothing I’d less rather do. But I’m almost to the point with him that I’d be willing to live in a triple-wide and bake warm fruit cobbler for him and listen to the police scanner while he was at work.”
Tiffany choked on her coffee. “You are?”
“No, I’m definitely not. I almost am. I’ll never quite get there. I have too much fear of becoming my parents. But I feel this connection with John. I can’t discount him just because it’s inconvenient. And it would be inconvenient. I want to go to college. I want to live in Key West. I want to see the world. But I think if I keep going at this rate, I’ll see the world by myself. I’ll move to Key West by myself, and live there by myself, and leave again by myself. I never realized that’s what I’ve been doing. I mean, look at my hair. I get along here in town because people here have always known me. No one at college will know me. And if you see someone you don’t know with blue hair, around here where the manga aesthetic is hardly the norm, what do you think to yourself? Blue hair says stay away from me.” I ran my fingers down one strand and held it out in front of my eyes to study it. “But you think if I dye it brown right after all this happened with John, it will look like I’m desperate to get him back?”
“No,” she said slowly. “Not now that you’ve explained it. I think it will look like you’ve finally decided you’re not dying of leukemia.”
Oh.
My parents would be happy about that.
As they were driving away to Graceland, I had asked my dad to bring me back a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich. He told me they weren’t bringing me shit. My mom would probably try to sneak me a teddy bear wearing an Elvis T-shirt or something equally cutesy anyway. But when they got back tomorrow night and saw my brown hair, yeah. They would wish they’d bought me that blue jean jacket with the Graceland mansion Bedazzled on the back, I just knew it. And then I would sit them down and have a heart-to-heart with them, and I would apologize. For everything.
Tiffany pushed her coffee away. “When do you think you’ll see John again? Are you planning to rob a bank?”
“Ha. He may be at a college party in Birmingham tonight. That was the other reason I called you. I need you to go with me.”
“No way,” she said. “I don’t want to drink.”
“Believe me, I don’t want you to drink. Ever. Again. You don’t have to drink. A college party isn’t that big a deal. It’s a lot like a high school party. The boys are still stupid. They’re just taller and hold their liquor better.”
“Why do I have to go with you?” she whined.
“I’m not positive John will be there. He might stay away to avoid seeing me. And Eric might be there. You know how drunk he’ll be. It would help if I went with someone to run interference for me.”
“Meg, if you think John won’t be there and Eric will, robbing a bank sounds like a better idea to get John’s attention.”
I
shook my head. Blue strands fell into my eyes. I pushed them out of my face in annoyance. “Will Billingsley will be there. I need to talk to him. We’ve had a few chats about John and the bridge, and he never warned me about John’s brother.”
“Will Billingsley?” She perked up and leaned forward. “I used to have a little crush on Will Billingsley. We were on the debate team together.”
I rolled my eyes. “I swear, Tiff, if my ass made good grades, you’d want to date my ass.”
“Hey!” She slapped her hand on the counter. “You have a thing for jail. You date boys in it, and you date boys who put other boys in it. I have a thing for good grades. Which is more healthy?”
“That settles it,” I said. “Tonight we’ll go on a boy-hunt together. Maybe this outing will turn out better than our last outing.”
“My first college party.” She put her chin in her hand and studied me. “Are you getting an apartment near the university in the summer? Do you have a roommate yet? I don’t have a roommate.”
I rubbed at a knot of tension in the back of my neck. “You mean, we would sign a lease together?”
“Think of all the fun we’ll have!” Tiffany gushed. “We’ll shop. We’ll go dancing. We’ll giggle about our strange taste in boys. You’ll get me in trouble. I’ll keep you out of trouble. It will be perfect!”
“I’m not good at plans,” I said. “I gave it a shot this morning. I made a plan to cure John of the bridge, and you see how that worked out.”
“But it was your first time. The first time isn’t so good.”
I snorted. “A day of firsts for you. You just made your first sex joke. Congratulations.” I held out my hand.
She shook my hand across the counter. “Roomie.”
Part of me wanted to jerk my hand away in revulsion, but this was not polite. And more of me looked forward to having a…friend. “Roomie, maybe. Yes, okay, roomie.”
“Hooray!” She let go of my hand and put both her arms up to signal a touchdown. “Now if you and John could make up at the party tonight, it wouldn’t be such a bad spring break after all.”
“I doubt he’ll be there,” I admitted. “But just in case he is, I don’t want to stand him up.”
19
To get a space, Tiffany had to park all the way down at the Devil fountain at Five Points. She and I hiked past the ornate 1920s façades in our grown-up heels and clubbing dresses. The trees along the sidewalk budded spring flowers in the cool night.
With every step, I felt another tingle of anticipation. I hoped John would be at the party. I hoped against hope he would like my new look. And then, when we turned the corner and I saw his truck—well, you would have thought I was horny for Fords. I wanted to run up the steps and into Rashad’s apartment. Which would have been decidedly uncool.
Buzz-kill of the evening: just up the hill from John’s truck was Eric’s Beamer.
Rashad greeted us at the door and welcomed us into his home. He met Tiffany cordially. He raised his eyebrows at my hair and told me he’d always had a soft spot for brunettes. But behind him, the party degenerated into college. Life-size posters of Jimi Hendrix covered the walls. Beaded curtains hung in the doorways. Christmas lights outlined the windows. The stereo blasted Kanye West. Couples made out in the corners, and knots of people laughed together and sipped beer.
As I wove through the crowd, leading Tiffany, searching for John, I recognized a few people who used to go to my high school. If they’d worn their jeans too short before, they’d figured out the proper length when they came to college. If they’d teased their hair up to Jesus before, city living had taught them about straightening serum. At a party back in our town, they would have talked about deer hunting, or the half-price sale on eyeliner at Target. Now, between beats of the music, I caught snippets of conversation about Harper Lee, and Condoleezza Rice, who had grown up in Birmingham, and Alabama’s ex-governor who was in and out of jail (it happened to the best of us). Philosophical college conversation.
It was so cool!
I hoped John didn’t miss it.
Tiffany and I emerged into the kitchen. I braced myself for John to appear when the refrigerator door closed. But it was only Will, holding a pitcher.
“Tiffany Hart!” he hollered.
“Will Billingsley!” She tilted her head in that way I’d found so annoying when she did it to John. Now it was cute.
Will gestured with the pitcher. “I was pouring myself some iced tea. Would you like some tea?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Is there booze in it?”
He looked into the pitcher. “Just tea. No imbibing for me tonight. I have two papers due Monday. Homework over spring break. Can you believe that?”
“No!” she exclaimed, stepping closer to him. I do my homework clearly was the mating call for their species. “Yes, I would love some tea.”
He turned to me. “And—I’m sorry—how about your frien—” As our eyes met, he started back. “Meg! I didn’t recognize you.” He frowned and held the pitcher away from me. “No tea for you. How could you do that to John? I got home from the beach at four this morning, and he shows up at my apartment at eight, distraught, fully armed, waving his nightstick!”
Tiffany put both hands over her mouth. She moved them away to say, “Oh my God,” then put them back.
“I didn’t know his brother got killed,” I hissed, lowering my voice in case John was sneaking around. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“You did know his brother got killed!” Will insisted. “You and I had a conversation about this at the beach. You compared John to Mulder searching for his lost sister. I know I remember. I wasn’t that drunk.”
“I was talking about The X-Files! It was an analogy, a very loose analogy!”
“Oh,” he said, and his shoulders relaxed. “Well, this morning, I convinced him otherwise. I also made him believe you’re a manipulative bitch. Sorry.”
I was gearing up to tell Will what I thought of him when I was attacked from behind. Eric picked me up, put me on the countertop, and pushed his hips between my legs. Which was all the more offensive because the skirt of my dress was short. Leering at me with red-rimmed eyes, he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Is your ride-along with John over?”
He was going to ask me if I needed a new ride. If he asked me if I needed a new ride, I was going to slap him.
“Do you need a new—”
I raised my hand.
He caught both my wrists in his hands and squeezed. Hard.
I leaned around him. “Tiffany,” I called, trying not to sound desperate. “Remember why I brought you here?”
“Unhand her, dumbass,” Will yelled across the kitchen.
With a sidelong glance at Will, Eric let go of my wrists and backed up a pace.
“My ride-along with John is not necessarily over,” I told him haughtily.
Eric made a face. “You mean you’re fucking the fuzz?”
“Not yet. But check back with me.” Since he was still practically between my thighs, I decided this might be a good time to ask a question that had been bothering me for the past few hours. If I was nice enough at first, and he was stoned enough, maybe I’d get a straight answer. “Did you know John’s brother was the boy who died on the bridge?”
Eric shrugged. “Sure. Everybody knows that. It happened when we were in third, maybe fourth grade.”
“And when you suggested that we go to the bridge, was that because you knew John would find us down there and freak out?”
“Not the first time,” he said. “I didn’t know then that he watches the place. But when you and I parked down there, yeah.” He met my gaze, with absolutely no shame.
I went cold in the tiny kitchen, and the beat of music from the next room seemed to swell louder. I couldn’t believe I’d ever thought Eric and I were a lot alike. “That’s evil,” I said.
“You ain’t seen evil yet.”
I thought he was going to grab my crotch or something
, and I jumped down from the counter to prevent such an unfortunate event. But he didn’t try. He just walked out of the kitchen.
“Meg, when do you want to get our apartment?” Tiffany called. “I know you always say you’re leaving town as soon as you can in June, on graduation night. But Will thinks it would be easier for us to get a lease starting on July first.” They were standing very close together. The pitcher of tea sat on the countertop, forgotten.
I walked over to them, nodding. “That would be okay. I can stand to hang around town a few extra weeks. I may try to enjoy my last few months of high school. I might even go to the prom, if I had a date.”
Tiffany’s eyes sparkled at Will, like she knew who her prom date was, if she could argue a college boy into coming.
Will leaned back against the cabinets, grinning at her. “What’s your major going to be?”
“Either English or pre-med.”
“English or pre-med,” he mused. “That’s quite a spread. Let me give you a hint. Next fall, don’t go around telling people you’re majoring in English or pre-med. You’ll sound like a freshman.”
“Oh, yeah?” I asked. “What are you majoring in?”
“Chemistry,” he said defensively. “Or interpretive dance.” He winked at Tiffany.
She beamed. “I was going to major in English,” she explained. “But I’ve had a life-changing experience that makes me think I might want to go into medicine. I’ve been riding around in an ambulance all week.”
Will leaned forward and asked conspiratorially, “Were you one of the naughty ones on the bridge?”
Tiffany smiled a secret smile.
“You don’t look naughty,” Will said. He gestured to me. “This one, I can understand, but you? What’s your GPA?”
“It’s 4.0,” she said.
“You’re the freaking valedictorian?” he exclaimed.
She just grinned. “What’s your GPA?”
Going Too Far Page 18
