Hot Dog Girl

by Jennifer Dugan

  His text sounds concerned. He wants to know if I’m okay, wants to know if I need to talk, wants to be there for me, it looks like, exactly as planned. Exactly on schedule. Exactly everything I ever wanted.

  And there’s that word again: everything.

  I hate it.

  I should be jumping for joy right now. I should be over the moon. I should be doing a happy dance on the way to my diving pirate wedding . . . but I’m not. I’m sitting here freaking out because my best friend wants to take her stuff back and keep her lips to herself. What the hell is the matter with me?

  I take a deep breath and slide my fingers over the letters on my screen. I swear to god I mean to text Nick, I swear to god I do, but something happens and my finger slips and whoops, look at that, I’m texting Seeley instead.

  Me: Please don’t bring my stuff back.

  Me: Like if you were going to when you get yours, I mean.

  Me: And if you didn’t think about that yet, then like, don’t.

  Me: And pretend I didn’t say anything.

  Me: Don’t let this give you any ideas.

  Me: Just keep not thinking about it.

  Me: Because . . . just because, okay?

  Seeley doesn’t write back to any of my messages. She doesn’t even open them, but I stare at the screen until I can’t anymore, until my eyes are burning out of my head. I don’t blink and she doesn’t write back. She doesn’t. And my head is spinning out at a million miles per hour because it just hit me that I might have feelings for my fake girlfriend slash best-friend-forever, who I’m pretty sure dumped me on both accounts last night.

  I’m definitely . . . something . . . with her. Something more than friends. Something more than friends that definitely should involve more kissing.

  But here’s the thing.

  Nick is around, and Nick is the easier choice. Even with Jessa still in the picture, Nick would be ten thousand times less complicated than trying to win over Seeley. But even thinking about Nick feels messed up, and strange, and twenty-five kinds of wrong because my brain is inside out over this girl, this girl who’s been standing right in front of me for almost my whole entire life, and I feel like I’m finally seeing her right now, for the first time, and she’s—

  She’s done.

  She’s coming over here to get her stuff.

  She dumping me as a girlfriend and a friend-friend, and I don’t know if I can stop her and I don’t know if I should. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe I’m just the kind of person you leave. Maybe it’s better this way, without her knowing how I really feel.

  Oh god, I can’t. What if I’m just still drunk or something? I mean I’m not, but like what if my judgment is eternally impaired from kissing Seeley while under the influence? What if these aren’t real feelings, what if these are vodka feelings that somehow got permanently imprinted in my brain? Is that possible? Oh god, I am never drinking again.

  I run to my laptop and google “vodka feelings” because I feel like that’s a thing that the internet would know about and talk about with each other, but all that comes up is people talking about whether different types of alcohol cause different types of moods, and dammit, guys, who even cares when I’m trying to figure out if I have real feelings for the girl who is planning to totally gut me by taking back every single shred of my life that she ever touched.

  YOU ARE NOT HELPING, PEOPLE OF GOOGLE.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and count backward from ten, the way my dad used to make me do when I was all little and irrational and whatnot. So, okay. Calm down, Lou, focus on counting, because we need to stop this line of thinking. It’s no good for anybody. I need to be worrying about fixing this friendship, not falling in love.

  Okay, deep breath. Let’s be logical about this.

  I mean, I’m definitely not in love with my best friend. That would be bananas. So no, I am definitely, definitely not.

  Definitely not.

  Just so we’re clear.

  CHAPTER 32

  I am definitely in love with my best friend.

  Fuck.

  CHAPTER 33

  I’ve been cleaning my room for an hour.

  I want it to be perfect.

  I shouldn’t care, probably. This afternoon, for all intents and purposes, Seeley will carve out my heart and feed it to me, while having basically zero idea that she’s doing it. I mean, she’s going to know she’s gutting me as a friend, but she won’t know that she’s also gutting me as a girl I’d like to spend a lot more time kissing and snuggling and generally staring at with goo-goo eyes.

  Anyway, deep breath and all.

  I flick my eyes to the mirror, staring at the five billion or so pictures of us shoved between the frame and the shiny glass beneath it. And because I’m a total glutton for punishment, I sorta wonder when exactly I fell in love with her. Because the whole thing feels so inevitable and eternal or something, now that I’ve gone ahead and wrecked it before it even got off the ground.

  To be honest, it sorta feels like maybe I was born loving her, like “property of Seeley Jendron” was stamped across the bottom of my heart this whole time—in a tiny hidden place where I couldn’t read it without the right perspective. I wonder what name’s written on hers. Probably not mine, at least not anymore.

  I mean, thinking back, I broke up with Malia last year because she wanted me to hang out with Seeley less. And I was always jealous when Seeley was with Sara and was all distracted and wrapped up in that. And I don’t really think there’s been like a single day since we met that we haven’t at least talked or texted. So, I mean—

  No, I have to stop. I can’t think about this anymore. Because like five minutes after I realized that I was absolutely, totally in love with Seeley, it hit me that telling her that would probably be the worst thing I could ever do to her. And I’ve done some pretty terrible stuff to her already this summer.

  I’ve sort of been obsessing over that all afternoon, running through everything that’s happened. And wow, okay, I don’t think I’m a terrible person, but I’ve definitely been acting like it. I’ve been selfish, the most selfish person in the world probably, I’ve been a liar, and I’ve been an all-around shitty friend. Which means, as much as I want to run up and tell her I’m in love with her, I know I shouldn’t. There’s no way she feels the same way, so telling the truth would just be one more selfish thing. It would ruin everything even more.

  There’s that word again: everything. I hate that word.

  I wipe at my eyes—I’m not crying, you’re crying, or whatever—and go back to cleaning my room. When she shows up here this afternoon, I’m going to apologize until her ears bleed, and I’m gonna find a way to make it up to her. Like, sure, I fell in love, but that’s on me. I didn’t think it would ever happen, I didn’t at all.

  I Just Didn’t Think: An Autobiography by Elouise May Parker, and all that.

  No, what Seeley deserves—what I hope she still wants—is a real best friend, someone that puts her first and doesn’t drag her into schemes all the time. And I think I can be that. God, I want to be that.

  So I sit in my chair, and I twist it from side to side, and I think of all the very perfect and not at all weird or revealing things that I am going to say to get our friendship back on track. And, maybe once or twice, I think about what it would be like to look at her and say, “I love you,” and imagine what it would feel like if she said it back. But mostly the other stuff, the friendship stuff, because that’s what matters the most, and I almost sort of have it figured out, the perfect thing to say . . .

  . . . when I realize that it’s getting dark, and she’s not coming.

  CHAPTER 34

  It’s been four days since Seeley texted.

  Four days since she didn’t show.

  And I’ve felt every second of them without her.

  I faked sick for the fi
rst two, spent them lying in bed rehearsing speeches and typing out texts to her and not sending them. But by day three my dad started to catch on— especially when I refused to even come downstairs and watch the Fourth of July fireworks on TV. The only thing worse than going through this is going through this with my father anxiously pacing outside my door. I couldn’t take it anymore. So here I am today, standing in a hot dog suit with my heart in my throat, staring at the breakroom door and hoping Seeley will walk in.

  “You never texted me back,” Nick says, shoving his face into my line of vision. “I was worried. Did you guys really break up?”

  I blink slow, and take a deep breath. There hasn’t been enough time yet for me to learn how to answer that question without feeling like I’m being swallowed up by the sun. I look at him, squinting, like if I try hard enough I could feel something for him again. If I could, maybe all the hurting would stop. Maybe everything would be okay. Maybe all the people I love wouldn’t leave. I don’t know.

  The breakroom is filling up with people on lunch, and he’s dripping all over the floor, his skin prickling under the air-conditioning, like it doesn’t even matter. I wonder where his towel is, and why he’s standing here soaked, as if he rushed right over when he saw me walk by in my suit. I squeeze my hands into fists at my sides, fighting the urge to yell in Nick’s face about how this is all his fault somehow. I know it’s not, but still.

  Why did he have to be cute? Why did I have to be stupid? Why did I have to crush on a sweet boy with a secret lisp who jumps into pools and bakes cupcakes and is just insecure enough to be endearing? And how come his girlfriend is the one who’s cheating, but I’m the one whose heart is broken? I glance down at the floor, nodding twice and keeping my lips pressed in a hard line, too scared of what will escape if I don’t.

  Nick runs his hands through his hair, sending rivulets of water streaming down his face. “Sucks.” His eyes are so full of pity when I look at him that I almost hate him. I swear to god, in this moment, I really could. The words are right there, on the tip of my tongue. It would be so easy to open my mouth and let them fall out, to tell him the truth about Jessa, if only to wipe that look off his face.

  It’s not fair that I’m the only one hurting here.

  Angie walks in with a couple of the girls from housekeeping, rolling her eyes when we make eye contact. Sorry, I want to shout. Sorry for everything and to everyone, but mostly to Seeley, who won’t even pick up her damn phone.

  I bite my lip and scrunch my eyes shut, because I can’t do this right now. I can’t. I’m trying to be a better person. For real. At least that would make this whole situation mean something—like if I grew and embraced the life lesson here or whatever. At least that would make it count.

  “Elouise.” Nick reaches for my hand. “Lou.” And I hate the way that sounds coming from his mouth. It’s all wrong.

  I think for a second that he’s going to say something deep, something meaningful and sweet, some attempt at trying to cheer me up, at making me feel better. I hold my breath, waiting, because I want something like that to exist, for something, anything, to be the Band-Aid over this gaping wound. And I get it now, I know that’s all he could ever be, that’s all anyone else could ever be: a Band-Aid, a butterfly strip, a temporary measure, because this is the after, and all of the good stuff got left behind in the before.

  “Yeah?” I ask, and my voice is just . . . it’s just aching.

  “Are we still getting together tomorrow night to get things ready for the bake sale? We’re still on for Saturday, right?”

  I pull my hand back, because even I have my limits. What does it really matter anyway? Why am I trying to be a better human being if it means I’ll still be without the one person in the whole world that matters the most to me? I guess if I’m going to be a shit person to Seeley, then I might as well be a shit person all around, right?

  I flick my eyes up to his. “Jessa’s been cheating on you with Ari.”

  It’s like the whole breakroom goes still. Nick is gaping like a fish, opening and closing his mouth with no words coming out, and I wonder if that’s what I looked like after Seeley and I got into our big fight. I bet I did. And man, this whole room smells too much like chlorine and heartbreak and other people’s food. My stomach flips, and I can’t be here anymore. I can’t.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, and then I bolt. I make it all the way to the second bathroom before I completely lose it. I duck inside, locking the stall door and peeling off my costume, letting the sobs wrack my body while all around me toilets flush and nervous mothers dart in and out, keeping their children safe.

  CHAPTER 35

  I blink slow and steady, long enough and slow enough that the whole world disappears and reappears between my lashes every single time. Now I’m here, I blink, now I’m not. I don’t feel particularly inclined to get out of bed, let alone face the outside world, where I have successfully destroyed not one but like a thousand relationships, effectively tearing apart almost my entire circle of friends during what was supposed to be the most magical, best, perfect summer of my life. The impossible summer has been impossible all right.

  I pull the blankets up to my chin and let my eyes drift closed. Is it possible to sleep until I leave for college next year? Probably not. Not on my dad’s watch, anyway.

  “Hon?” My dad cracks open the door. “You up yet? Don’t you have to be at work at ten?” His words are soft, like I might still be sleeping, but he knows me well enough to know that I’m definitely not. I know he’s noticed that Seeley hasn’t been around for nearly a week, and I’m sure the curiosity and concern is eating him up. I wonder if he’s called her parents yet. I don’t think I want to know.

  “I’m awake,” I say. “Sort of.”

  “Are we going to talk about whatever’s going on with you?” He pushes the door all the way open, leaning against the frame and tucking his hands into his pockets the way he does whenever he needs to look all small and nonthreatening. He used to do that around my mom a lot, especially when she was yelling at him. I haven’t seen him do it in a while.

  I pull the blanket back over my head with a groan. “No.”

  The bed dips under his weight as he sits beside me. “You know you can always talk to me, Elouise.”

  I frown. I know he really believes that, but I also know that may not include me telling him that I am definitely in love with Seeley. Because he’d probably freak, right? I mean, that’s what parents do about that sort of thing.

  “I can’t tell you this.” It hurts to say that. He pulls the blanket down, and I can tell it hurts him too by the way his forehead crinkles.

  “Lou, I know it might feel like that, but I promise you, you can. Whatever it is, let me help you.”

  “I think I’m in love with Seeley.” I blurt it out, just like that, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m brave or overtired or because I want to test this theory of his out right now. If anything is going to make him run screaming from my room, it would probably be that. He met Malia, sure, but even if I didn’t exactly hide it, I never came out and said she was my girlfriend either. And even if I had, this is a whole different ball game since Seeley’s practically a second daughter to him.

  He freezes for a second and then tucks my blankets around my arms the same way he did when I was little. “And?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “And? That’s all you have to say?”

  My dad leans back to look at me. “And what’s the problem with that? She doesn’t treat you well? Did she do something awful and now we have to hate her forever?”

  “We don’t hate her.” Even the idea of hating her hurts too much.

  “Oh, good, because that would have made it very awkward when her parents come for dinner next week.” He chuckles, clearly enjoying his own little joke. “But if we don’t hate her, if she doesn’t treat you bad, and if you love her, then why isn’t she he
re? I haven’t seen her for days, which has got to be a record for you guys.”

  “How are you being so cool about this?”

  “Cool about what?”

  “Cool about the fact that I told you I was in love with Seeley, who is a girl. And I’m a girl. So I’m a girl that likes girls. Sort of.”

  “Sort of?” He crinkles his eyebrows. “What does ‘sort of’ mean?”

  “I mean that I don’t only like girls, like I’m not, you know.”

  “A lesbian?”

  I turn about a thousand shades of red and wish the earth would swallow me whole, because my dad said the word lesbian and it’s the weirdest thing ever.

  He lets out a nervous laugh and shrugs. “What?”

  “It’s weird that you’re not freaking out.”

  The smile slips off his face a little, and he squeezes my arm. “I think I’m freaked out by the fact that you felt you had to keep this a secret from me. I know there’re things you don’t want to talk about with your dad. You’re allowed privacy, same as I am, but, Lou, don’t ever feel like you can’t. This is a big thing to feel like you had to hide.”

  I find a particularly interesting spot on the wall to stare at, afraid that if I look at his face, I’ll completely fall apart. “I wasn’t hiding it. I was just . . . not telling you.” I look up at him and he tilts his head. “Sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry.”

  “I bet you’re totally freaked out right now and trying to cover it up.”

  “Lou, this isn’t news to me, even without you putting it in so many words before. If you think I didn’t know what you and Malia were up to last year . . . ” He trails off. “And no, I’m not ‘totally freaked out’ right now. Are you ‘totally freaked’ that I like women?”