by Kylie Scott
"Yes."
"Okay. Thank you."
A strand of gray hair had escaped mom's neat blond bob. It glinted bright beneath the harsh store lights. Grandma had gone gray in her thirties too, as she loved to point out to me with creepy glee. Yet Mom had always seemed indestructible, tough and ready to take on the world for me. I resented that gray hair mightily.
"You're growing up way too fast lately. I can't keep up." She cupped my cheek with a cool hand. "Did you have a good time with your new friend?"
"Yeah, I did." I smiled, covering her hand with my own. "Hang's nice. I think she might even be trustworthy--shock, horror."
"You're really not going to forgive Georgia, are you?"
I turned away, our hands falling from my face. "No. I just . . . I can't."
"Edie." Mom frowned. "You two have been friends since you were tiny."
"Sure." Nausea twisted my stomach. Hangover or Georgia, I couldn't tell. "And then she completely sold me out, insulting the person who saved my life in the process."
"People make mistakes."
I shook my head. "I know. Believe me I know. Her talking to one journalist about me, I could forgive. Going on every show and speaking to anyone who'd give her the time of day? Not so much."
"Oh, kid." Public space or not, Mom wrapped me up in her arms. "Things have been hard for you lately."
I attempted a smile. It didn't quite work.
"I'd like to meet your new friends sometime."
"Sure. Sometime." No way did I want to know what her reaction to John would be like. If there ever came a time in the future when he felt like talking to me again. Mom had watched him get taken away in cuffs from the Drop Stop, just like I had. She'd also heard about his former life as the friendly neighborhood drug dealer.
Nope. Even if I managed to pull a miracle and win him back, Mom and John didn't need to meet.
"I did kind of mess up something last night," I said, sort of needing to talk about it. God knows it owned my poor alcohol-damaged mind. My fingers knotted all on their own. Talk about a guilty conscience.
"What do you mean?" asked Mom.
"I jumped to the wrong conclusion about one of my new friends and might have slightly been a complete ass to them."
Mom's nose wrinkled and she took a step back. "Damn. Did you apologize?"
I nodded.
"It didn't fix things, huh? Well, if they're important to you, you keep apologizing," she said, patting my cheek with her cool hand. "And find new and varied ways to apologize. Bake them brownies, write them a song, build them a cabin in the woods, go wild with it."
"Maybe."
"You know I'm here for you, don't you?" she asked, eyes bright.
"I know." I grasped her hand.
"Whatever you need to talk about, I want to hear it. The robbery, your new school, how things are going with your therapist, relationships, friends, boys, girls, anything . . ."
"It's okay, Mom. Really. I'm fine." If you overlooked the insomnia, occasional panic attacks, and general crazy going on in my head. "Things are calming down."
She sniffled.
"Oh my God, we're in public. Do not cry," I ordered. "This is not a moment."
"Of course it is. We're hugging it out in the middle of a department store." Mom squeezed me tight. "It's a beautiful mother-and-daughter moment. Let's ask that passing stranger to take our picture."
I rolled my eyes. Then a mark on her neck caught my attention and I squinted. "Mom? Is that a hickey?"
"What?" Her hand flew to the tiny bruise below her ear. "No, of course not!"
"It is." My mouth, it gaped. "You're seeing someone."
Guilt was pinched lips and wide, panicky eyes. "Of course I'm not. Don't be silly. When on earth would I even get the time?"
"Mom--"
"Between you and work, my hands are full." She smacked a kiss on my cheek and smiled. "I pinched a bit of skin taking off a necklace last night, that's all. The lock caught."
"You know I wouldn't mind," I said, watching her carefully. Not quite believing. "You're allowed a life. Just disregard my disgust at the thought of you getting it on with anyone."
"I appreciate that, honey." She gave me a dry look. "But Edie, I'm not seeing anybody."
Slowly, I let out a breath. "Okay."
"Coffee and cake-pop?"
"Would be potentially lifesaving right now."
She grinned. "A girl after my own heart. C'mon."
And all was well again. Mostly.
On Monday, I put a bag of homemade cookies on John's desk in English. He raised a brow, then stowed them in his backpack. We didn't talk.
On Tuesday, I handed him a cupcake as we passed in the hall. The word sorry hadn't quite fit on top, but I thought the S done in green icing said a lot. We still didn't talk.
On Wednesday, out of both baked goods and money, I slipped a haiku titled "I'm the Worst" into his locker. Writing a song was out. At first I'd attempted a sonnet, until the realization that I sucked at poetry struck home, and anyway haikus were shorter. I didn't actually see him that day.
On Thursday, in English once again, I placed a small, neatly wrapped brown paper package on his desk. Tired shadows lay beneath his eyes. He cocked his head, curious or confused, I couldn't say.
"Lettuce, ham, Swiss cheese, and pickles," I supplied.
"You made me a sandwich?"
"Yes."
"Huh."
"You don't have to eat it if you don't want to."
"No," he said, placing a proprietorial hand on the sandwich. "I want to."
"Okay." With that settled, I turned in my seat, facing the front of the class.
"Edie?"
I looked over my shoulder. "Yes?"
"You're forgiven," he said. "You can stop with the presents."
I exhaled slowly. "That's good. I'm running low on ideas. Tomorrow it was probably going to be me offering to carry your books."
"You were gonna carry my books?" Amusement filled his eyes.
"Sure. Why not?" I asked. "If it went on into the weekend, I figured I'd wash your car or something."
He paused. Then shook his head, long hair falling forward to hide a grin. "I should have held out."
"John, I don't think you're a bad person--and I do trust you."
He just stared at me. "Thanks."
Suddenly, breathing came easier. Like my now healed ribs had shrunk, but now returned to their normal size. If John had decided I'd been too much drama, I'd have survived. I know this. Forgiveness felt much better, though. The clip-clopping of heels announced the arrival of our teacher. I faced forward with a smile.
That night . . .
Me: You awake?
John: Yes
Me: What are you doing?
John: TV. You ok?
Me: All g. Want to study?
John: there in 15
Guess he was antsy because as soon as he arrived, he suggested a drive instead. We went to a roadhouse out on the highway leading into the state forest. It was a long, cabin-type building with a big Bud sign lit up on top. Bet they hung dead animal heads on the walls. Even in the middle of the night, a few trucks and bikes were out front.
"I don't have a fake ID," I said, asphalt crunching beneath my feet.
"You won't need it. Owner's an old friend of my dad's."
"Wow. First time under-age drinking in a bar."
He held up a hand and we high-fived. A warmth filled my chest that had nothing to do with alcohol or drugs. It felt good to have my friend back.
Inside, there were booths and a long wooden bar, tables in between. Country music poured out of an old-style jukebox. Dead animal heads--I knew it. A small dance floor and a couple of pool tables sat to the side.
"Do you play?" I asked, heading in that direction.
"Sure."
"John." A waitress in her mid-twenties sidled up to him with a very welcoming grin. Very pretty with a tight denim skirt. Next came a full-body-contact hug. They either alrea
dy knew each other in the biblical sense or she wanted them to. Lay your bets.
"Ruby. Hey." He gave her a squeeze before stepping back. "This is my friend Edie."
"Hi." Her smile wavered slightly as her eyes flicked over me. They'd definitely done it. "Welcome."
"Can we get a cider and a beer?" he asked.
"Coming right up!" Ruby sashayed off, throwing a little extra something into the sway of her hips. Of course, John watched.
I set up the balls and selected a stick, rubbing a little chalk on the tip. As for me, not jealous because that would be pointless. Completely and utterly futile. The stupid part of me that insisting on mooning over him could just shut up.
John cleared his throat. "Hope that's okay?"
"What?"
"Cider? I noticed you're not really that into beer, so . . ."
"Oh, right. Cool. Thanks." Shoulders relaxed, breathing easy. "Do you want to break?"
"No, you go."
Leaning over the table, I lined up my shot. The white ball smashed into the side of the neat triangle of colored balls, sending them scattering in every direction. One kerplunked into a corner hole. Very gratifying.
"Nice," said John.
I loved this, the brush of the felt against my fingers and the feel of the stick in my hand. Especially the satisfying crack the balls made upon impact followed by the sound as they rolled through the tunnels beneath the table down to the end. I was in the zone now. For the next shot, I sent another ball down. And then another.
"You've played before," he said.
I squatted a little, lining up the next shot in my head. "Mom had this boyfriend for a while. He was great. He had a table, taught me how to play."
John made a noise in his throat.
"I think he wanted to take things further with Mom, but she wasn't ready. Pity." The shot went wild and I winced. "Damn. Your turn."
Ruby came back with the drinks, setting them on the tall table beside John. She winked. He smiled. I gulped half of my drink.
"Here's to friendship," I said, and set the glass back down.
John took down a stick and bent over the table, taking his shot. I tried not to look at the way his jeans melded to his butt, and failed. As per usual, what I screwed up he achieved with reckless ease. One ball went down, followed fast by another.
"Have you seen your brother lately?"
"Yeah." A storm cloud moved across his face. "He came over the other night, wanted to talk to me about getting back into selling. I told him no. Again. My uncle won't have him in the house; he knows what shit Dillon's into. There was some yelling. It wasn't good." He missed the shot, came over to the table, and started in on his drink. "Anyway, how's the therapist going?"
"Well, we've moved beyond only talking about movies." Guess we'd hit the no-holds-barred part of the night. I took my shot and the ball sunk. "I told him about you."
John's face went blank. "Yeah?"
"His professional opinion was that our being friends after going through such a traumatic experience together could be both beneficial and harmful."
He said nothing, bringing the bottle of beer to his lips.
"Therapists talk in circles sometimes."
A grunt. "But you're talking to him about your focus and insomnia and stuff now?"
"Yeah." I nodded. It hadn't been easy, but I'd done it. And been given another prescription and some coping techniques in the process. We'd see if they worked.
"Good," he said.
Another ball sunk. "Should I not have mentioned you?"
"Whatever helps, I guess."
"Are you sure?" I asked. "I can stop talking about you with Mr. Solomon if you'd rather I not. He was just asking about my friends."
"It's okay, Edie."
"I don't talk about you with anyone else," I said. "Just in case you were wondering. I know what it's like to have people talking behind your back. Gossiping and shit."
"Not even with Hang?"
"No. Well . . ." I scrunched up my nose. "Generally, no. Nothing personal. Apart from the unfortunate incident with the texting."
An ironic smile from him. "Right."
"Sorry." I got into position, bent over the table, the stick in my hand. "Again."
"You're forgiven. Again." He swallowed some beer. "It was the sandwich that did it. Never had someone bring me lunch before."
Smiling, I took aim and shot. The ball fell into a corner pocket. I moved across the table from him, lining up the next one. Almost time for me to oh so graciously win.
John watched me in silence. I'd have loved to know what was going through his head. Except then his gaze dropped to the gaping vee of my shirt's neckline and there it stayed, stuck on my breasts.
No way.
And it wasn't like I hadn't worn a bra. They weren't freestyling or anything. Also wasn't like he hadn't seen me in wet underwear at the lake. If memory served me right, he'd noticed them then too. Briefly. Still, the way he now stared enthralled you'd have thought the boy had never ever seen a pair. Like a girl was some strange foreign object.
Slowly, I straightened.
Trance broken, he looked at me, eyes wide. He'd been busted and we both knew it.
"You're about to get buried," I said.
He blinked repetitively. "Edie, I--"
"Six feet down, John." I nodded to the balls on the table.
Frown in place, he turned his attention there too. "Oh."
"Mom says I shouldn't joke about death, but I don't know . . . gallows humor feels about right after what we went through."
He said nothing.
"Don't you think?" I asked, stalling, giving him time to pull himself together. Praying things wouldn't get weird. Weirder. I'd only just got him back as a friend; I couldn't lose him again. It'd been a random ocular accident, no more. After all, we both knew I wasn't his type. Still, maybe I should make more of an effort to get laid. Apparently, sex made for a wonderful stress-buster. And right now, my best male friend was making me feel a little wound up.
Yes, genius. I'd found my next first to strike off the list.
"Yeah, I do," he said eventually and nodded toward the table. "Best of three?"
I smiled. "You're on."
After I'd beaten him another time or two, he drove me home. Nothing happened between us. I mean, of course it didn't.
"I'm just saying, I think that educationally the movie had a lot to offer," said Hang, chewing on a straw.
Friday night and we were at a party in the field past the Old Cemetery Road skate park. Far enough out of town to avoid any interest from concerned parents, citizens, or the police. Yet close enough for plenty of people from our school and a few others to show up.
Car lights lit up the space. One had its hatch up, speakers blasting music out of the back. Another had the prerequisite beer keg and red Solo cups working overtime.
"Beast Man," said Hang in a low, deeply disturbing voice.
I wept for me. Or pretended to. "It was so wrong. I still want to gouge my eyes out."
"Please. You loved it."
"No, I didn't."
"Yeah, you did. Another first gone--you've now watched a porno." Hang grinned. "I can't believe my brother had that on his computer. That's blackmail material for life."
"I'm never watching anything like that ever again," I said, taking a sip from my cup of beer. Like it or not, it was the only thing on offer at this party. "I feel dirty, like my soul is stained."
"Oh, it is. You'll be burning in hell with the rest of us now."
Sadly, I nodded. "And I keep seeing that poor, innocent cave girl sacrificing herself to Beast Man's unnatural lusts. She was so brave."
"She saved the clan."
Hand to my heart. "A role model for all young women."
"Yes," sighed Hang. "I want to be just like her when I grow up."
We both lost it, exploding with laughter.
"Good evening, ladies," said Anders, appearing out of nowhere as per usual. How someone so big s
nuck around so easily, I didn't know.
"Hey, Anders." I smiled, wiping away tears from laughing so hard.
"What are you two on?" he asked, eyes curious.
"Life. We're high on life."
He did not look convinced. "JC's skateboarding. I got restless, figured I'd come talk to you guys."
"Lucky us," said Hang. "You know there's plenty of other girls here you could bother."
Anders gave her a look. No idea what it meant.
Hang's elbow knocked against mine and she nodded to someone nearby. Red hair, medium height, cute. The boy from Trig had arrived. Apparently, the very same person who had asked my new bestie about me and expressed a keen interest in meeting same. I drank some more beer, trying to be cool as opposed to the usual sweaty, nervous wreck. It didn't work.
"He's here," said Hang.
"I see." Deep breath in, slowly let it out. "I don't know."
"Nice, nonthreatening, knows what he's doing if his last girlfriend is to be believed."
"What are we talking about?" hissed Anders, bringing his head down to our level. "Who are we looking at?"
"Nothing. Go away," said Hang.
"But I want to be one of the girls!"
"No." She put a hand over his face and pushed.
He made a weird kind of "ugh" sound and retreated into the night.
"You were the one who wanted to get your v-card punched," she said calmly. "But it's totally up to you, Edie. You're in control."
More beer. "Remind me. What was my reasoning again?"
Holding up her hand, she ticked off her fingers one by one. "It can be messy, painful, potentially embarrassing. And you just want to get it over and done with so when you meet someone you want to be in a relationship with, which could be years from now, you'll be equals."
"Right, that makes sense." I nodded. "The logic is sound."
"Plus, if he really does know what he's doing, there should be an orgasm in it for you. Win! But, it's also another first you wanted to experience in case you somehow die tomorrow in a bizarre accident," she said. "Caught in a stampede of runaway llamas. Mauled by a pack of rabid shih tzu. That sort of thing."
"You mock me, but it could happen." I snapped my fingers. "Just like that you're gone, dead. The end."
"All right, my morbid friend. Whatever you say." She took my beer, finishing it off. "Bump into him as you go get a new drink. Talk to him--I hear guys like that."
My feet stayed put.
"Or not. You're sleeping over at my place, so you've got the whole night," she said. "You can always decide later. No pressure."
