Uninvited

by Amanda Marrone

  I could be friends with Lisa again.

  By the end of second-period gym class, I’d almost convinced myself that it was possible. I was actually starting to breathe normally. I was feeling good and I didn’t even care that I was changing out of my shorts in front of everyone, when Marnie Shaw, the Mouth, sauntered over, wearing nothing but a bright pink thong.

  “Congratulations, Jordan,” she said, smiling at me like we’d been friends so long I wouldn’t turn beet red seeing her parade around practically naked. “I hear you’re going out with Michael Green. You’ll have to sit with us at lunch and tell us all about it!”

  Sit with us at lunch? I almost puked right then. But instead of tossing my breakfast all over her bare feet, I snapped. I mean, I may have fantasized about being popular, but I don’t think I ever really wanted to be. God, the maintenance involved would be overwhelming. Too much smiling, too much attention to clothes, too much worry. I had a hard enough time figuring out the people who liked me, let alone negotiating life around the Mouth and her friends.

  In a split second that fight-or-flight reaction sent crazy amounts of adrenaline surging through my body, and it was good-bye summer love. Michael and I weren’t the cozy little team I had envisioned. Michael and I were a mistake that nobody had noticed until school started. Well, school was in session and I’d had my reality check.

  “No,” I stammered. “We’re not.”

  Marnie nodded knowingly, like she hadn’t believed it was true. “Oh, I guess I heard wrong.”

  She turned and I watched her tan ass saunter away. That looks like it hurts, I thought numbly.

  I tuned out the whispering, the laughter, and the other locker-room talk, and rehearsed what I would say to Michael.

  I remember how cold the lock felt as I snapped it shut before I headed out. I left the locker room and went to Mrs. Verona’s office. “That AP chem class is going to be more work than I thought,” I told her.

  Mrs. Verona frowned. “But you’re on the AP track, Jordan, and your teachers felt this was the right spot for you, despite your uneven work in the past. I think dropping it would be a big mistake.”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m sure,” I said.

  “Well, I would advise giving it at least a full week, but if you’re determined to do it, have a parent sign the form and leave it in the box outside my door. You’ll need to sign up for the other section, as well.” She shut my folder and looked up at me. “And Jordan, if you ever want to talk, I’m here for you.”

  So I dropped AP chem and I dumped Michael.

  I regretted the latter decision for the next ten Months. Ten months of wondering why I was such an idiot. Ten months of watching Michael go on like that summer never happened. I wanted to take it all back. I wanted Michael back. I wanted him to beg me to take him back. I would even wear thongs and sit at the tables by the courtyard if Michael would just take me back.

  But he never asked, and I couldn’t tell him that I broke up with him because the sight of Marnie Shaw’s breasts set off a panic attack. I couldn’t tell him, and worse, he didn’t seem to care. The hurt and anger in his eyes was over in a flash. It killed me that Michael could let me go, that he could stop loving me. That he couldn’t look at me, look in my eyes and see it was all a mistake. He didn’t look back, and later that day he was making out with Marnie’s best friend on the fountain.

  But maybe he loved me all that time, like I loved him.

  Maybe he watched me and he felt as helpless as I did. Maybe he didn’t know how to fix it, either. Maybe once I said those words, once I told him we were too different, he started doubting those two months, doubting whether it was all real.

  Did I do that to Michael? Did I make him doubt that I loved him?

  I turn to the window and feel my stomach roil. I swallow back the bile rising in my throat. “Michael, let me see your face. I need to see your eyes.”

  “Jordan, just open the window. You know I love you. I never stopped loving you. Just let me in. Open the window and let me get warm. Let me in and we can be together again. Let me in so I can love you again.”

  “I love you, too, but I need to see your face, Michael. I need to see it’s still you.”

  “Just let me in. Please, please, let me in.”

  I hear his voice hiss with urgency; his words ring in my ears. My hand reaches out toward the bottom of the window and I can’t stop it. I don’t know if I want to stop it.

  “Open it. Open it. Open it. Do it, Jo. Keep going,” he whispers frantically as my fingers catch the bottom of the sill.

  I want to think clearly, but his voice is fogging my head. My fingers trace the sill back and forth, and I can’t stop them.

  “Keep going, we’re so close now. But you need to ask me in. Ask me in.”

  His voice is getting louder, edgier.

  “You can’t go on like this, Jo. I can stop it all, and we’ll be together again.”

  My body shakes as the sobs heave my chest up and down. I want to open the window. I want to, but I’m so scared.

  “Ask me in and I’ll open it for you. Just say the words and I’ll come in and take care of you.”

  My heart is beating wildly and I can’t unlock my fingers from the sill. I want to pull them back, to think this through, but Michael’s words are pounding in my head — controlling my hands, urging me on.

  “Remember how easy it was, Jo? Remember when it was just you and me? You’ve got to want that again. I know you do. Ask me in!”

  God, I want things to be easy again. I want to stop worrying about everything. I want someone to take care of me. I want Michael to take care of me. I pull myself up to the window and push it all the way up, amazed it slides so easily in the frame.

  “Oh, yes,” he hisses. “Do it, now!”

  My eyes get wide and I hear myself gasp. His voice is different now. It’s hard. Hungry.

  My heart triple beats and my head clears a bit. I’m not so sure now.

  I fumble with the screen, wishing I could make myself stop. I want to stop; a voice in my head is telling me this isn’t what I really want.

  My knuckles scrape roughly against the wire mesh; I pull my hand back, feeling the blood well up in the tiny scratches. I hear Michael moan; he must smell the blood. I stop searching for the latch and collapse against the screen, tears streaming down my face.

  “No, don’t stop! Damn it! Don’t stop!” he screams.

  “I need to see your face!”

  My wet cheek is flat against the screen, and Michael leans in and presses his mouth on the other side.

  “Jo, please.”

  His wintry lips sting my cheek through the mesh. The smell of coconut and something dark and wet, like damp earth, fills my head. I breathe in Michael’s new smell and gag as dinner comes racing up in my throat. I scramble out of bed and trip and stumble my way to the bathroom, where I empty my stomach.

  The toilet feels like ice. I wish I could stop crying and spitting into the bowl. I want to wipe the sweat from my lip, but I’m afraid I’ll get sick again if I move. Why is everything so cold?

  My stomach finally stops heaving. I reach out and grab a towel, pulling it to the floor and pushing it under my head. I pull another towel down and wrap it around my shoulders. I curl up into a ball, wondering if I will remember almost letting Michael in when I wake up.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I’m lying on the bathroom floor, trying to decide if I should get up. The doorbell is ringing and I wonder if my mom is still home. What time is it, anyway?

  Feet are pounding up the stairs. I sit up and the dull throb in my head gets worse.

  “Yoooo-hooo! Jordan? Where are you?”

  It’s Gabby. Janine is probably here, too.

  “Where is she?”

  “Check her bathroom.”

  “Go away,” I call out hoarsely I sound like crap.

  “What’s the matter? Is someone not feeling so good?” Gabby sings brightly from the other side of the door.
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  “I’m shutting the window, it’s cold as hell in here,” Janine says.

  I hear my window close and rub my knuckles over my lips, feeling the small scabs and bits of skin sticking out from where I scraped my hand against the screen. The cuts are still raw and I shake my head as I remember last night. Where would I be right now if I had gotten that screen open? What would I be?

  I want to tell them to nail my window shut so I won’t be tempted to let Michael in again.

  My toes are like ten little icicles; I push the towel down to cover my feet.

  “Should we check on her?” Janine says.

  “Give her a minute.”

  I hear someone else jog up the stairs. I hope it’s not my mom.

  “Look under the bed,” Rachael says, coming into my room. “Let’s see what made Miss America toss her cookies!”

  Apparently Rachael has made up with Gabby and Janine.

  “Your mom heard you throwing up last night,” she continues, “and according to the note she left, she would have checked on you if she wasn’t having ‘the worst migraine imaginable.’ She really thought she was going to die this time. Classic self-absorption!”

  “Well, that would be, what, the fifth time this year she was close to death?” Gabby asks. “I can just hear her. ‘Oh my… God, I thought this was the one! I thought my head would split open right there on my pillow. Gee, I hope Jordan’s okay. I think I heard her puking her guts out last night. I’d check to see if she’s still alive, but I have to get to a christening!’”

  In my mother’s defense, I use throwing up as an excuse to get out of school a lot, and she’s long past worrying about it. She just keeps telling me I need to wash my hands more often to avoid picking up whatever’s going around. She’s never figured out it has more to do with booze and/or faking it than poor hygiene.

  “Well, looky what I found!”

  I hear Rachael’s muffled voice. She must be half under my bed, fishing out the bottle from behind all the clothes and books.

  “Survey says: rum! And it’s almost empty. I sure as hell hope you didn’t drink all of that last night.”

  “Holy shit!” Janine says. “No wonder she freakin’ puked.”

  I stare blankly at the ceiling. Small specks of mold are growing, and I wonder if I need to worry about them. I think I read breathing mold is dangerous.

  “It wasn’t the rum,” I call out. “It’s this mold growing in here. I’ll be better once I get some fresh air. Why don’t you let me get myself together and I’ll call you later.”

  They’re laughing now. Someone is wondering if you can get high if you breathe in mold, though I’m not sure if it’s Rachael of Gabby. I hear my drawers opening.

  “Let’s find you something to wear tonight,” Rachael says.

  I get up slowly and sit on the toilet; I’m surprised I don’t feel too terrible. “Look, guys, give me a chance to wake up and I promise I’ll call you tonight.”

  Rachael laughs. “No way! We’re not leaving until you come out. I’ve examined your case and decided you’re suffering from agoraphobia. We’ve come for an intervention.”

  “And the party,” Gabby adds. “You said you’d go to Mark Menducci’s party. His dad got this new isolation tank, too. I used it at the last one and it’s incredible. Smoke a joint, get in, and you’ll be right with the world.”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s totally freaky!” Janine squeals. “And it’s even better if you go in with someone else.”

  Go into an isolation tank with somebody?

  I manage to stand up. I’m figuring it’s pretty late in the day because, other than the headache, I feel pretty good. I guess I’ve had plenty of time to sleep it off.

  I wish they’d just leave, though. There’s no way I’m going to the party tonight. Besides the fact that I’d have to worry about Michael, I have no intention of going anywhere I’ll have to watch Danny and Sara together.

  “I can’t go; I wasn’t invited.” I’m never invited. I just go with Gabby; she knows everyone and gets invited everywhere. Well, at least with our group. I’m always afraid I’ll get to the door and they’ll let her in but not me. It never happens, but for once it would be nice to be personally invited.

  “You weren’t invited because you’re a hermit and you never talk to anyone, but Mark said you could come.” Gabby says.

  “Yeah,” Janine adds. “Now, like, get your butt out of the bathroom and let us intervent you!”

  Gabby laughs. “You can’t intervent someone, you idiot. You have an intervention on someone’s behalf!”

  “Excuse me, Einstein. Sorry I’m not taking freakin’ advanced English classes like the rest of you.”

  “Janine,” Gabby says, “we love you even though you’ll never get more than a two hundred on the verbal SAT.”

  I splash some cold water on my face and decide to leave the bathroom before Janine threatens to stop driving us around anymore. Whenever Gabby starts making fun of her IQ, it’s the first thing Janine does. And where would we be without her car?

  I open the door and roll my eyes. The three of them are sitting on my bed, looking very serious. I sit at my desk chair and swivel it around to face them. “Intervent away.”

  Janine glares at Gabby “See, it is a word.”

  “Is not!” Gabby turns to me. “What happened to you yesterday, by the way?”

  “Mr. Pappas took me to task for taking one of my ‘day before the paper’s due’ days off.”

  Rachael snorts. “It’s about time someone busted you for those. It’s totally unhealthy the way your mom writes you whatever the hell excuse you need. Maybe now you can break away from that weird codependence stuff you two have going on.”

  “Yeah, well, Mr. Pappas agrees with you, and he also nailed me for cutting classes.”

  Rachael throws herself back onto my bed. “Hmmm! Maybe I should start misbehaving, I’d love Mr. Pappas to nail me!”

  Janine shudders. “Ew, he’s like, so old. He has no hair!”

  “I’m attracted to his intellect,” Rachael says, getting up to sift through my closet.

  “So where were you after he talked to you?” Janine asks.

  Gabby starts bouncing on my bed, raising her hand. “Ooooh! Ooooh! I know. You crumbled under the pressure and cut out of school. Then you raided the liquor cabinet, watched soap operas and inane talk shows where the half-naked guests have to be restrained from killing each other, smoked a few joints, and got royally sick.”

  I nod, and Gabby looks very proud of herself. I have to hand it to her; she really does know her stuff.

  “So, what’s the deal, Jordie-pie? Are you coming to Mark’s willingly, or do we have to take you there by force?”

  Honestly, I don’t know what to say. It would be such a relief to go out and have fun, but what about Michael? What if he follows me there? If I meet Michael out in the dark, do I have any say in the matter, or am I meat?

  “And don’t forget that someone special will be there!” Janine adds.

  “If you’re referring to Danny, I suppose he might be there with his girlfriend, Sara.”

  Rachael takes a sweater out of my closet and smiles slyly. “No, no, no! You’ve got it all wrong, and if you had stayed at school you’d know that. You still get Track Boy all hot and bothered! He came to our table at lunch yesterday looking for you.”

  “But I heard he was seeing Sara.”

  Rachael takes off her shirt, grabs my red sweater off the hanger, and pulls it on over her head. “Seems Danny wanted to talk to you because Gina Naples told him she heard Marnie tell you he was going out with Sara. But, for once, the Mouth was wrong. Sara was only hugging Danny before class because she got an A on a test Danny tutored her for and…” Rachael takes a deep breath. “Sara really likes Luke Malloy, and Danny would like to pick up where you two left off at that track party.”

  I’m positively giddy. “He said that?”

  “Well.” Rachael laughs. “You told me about sucking face at
the track party; I’m just filling in the pieces. But he did say he wanted to set the record straight. And why bother if he wasn’t still interested?”

  “Why didn’t you two hook up?” Janine asks. “You were all stoked and then… nothing?”

  “Michael died,” I say quietly.

  Gabby starts waving the bottle of rum up in the air like a conductor’s baton. “Yeah, so ding-dong, the asshole’s dead. What does that have to do with Danny?”

  He’s not all dead, I want to scream. He comes to my window every freakin’ night, that’s what it has to do with Danny.

  Rachael throws a beanie baby at Gabby. “For God’s sake, you have the sensitivity of a baboon. You seriously need to learn you don’t have to say whatever pops into your head!”

  Gabby shakes her head and turns to me, looking sympathetic. “Sorry you went out with an asshole.”

  Rachael scowls. “Don’t you have stuff to do?”

  “Yeah.” Gabby puts the bottle of rum on my bedside table. “Janine and I have to pick up a few party supplies from this new guy who grows his own weed.”

  “I’m staying here to keep an eye on you,” Rachael says. “And you said we could try on dresses.”

  She smiles, and I suppose the purple-hair crack has been forgotten.

  Janine is jingling her car keys and heading for my door. “I told Danny you were going to be at the party. He said he’d try to make it.” She throws her keys in the air and catches them with her other hand.

  “I think he’d be good for you,” Gabby says as she heads out. “He’s more your type.”

  How do you know what my type is? I think. Michael’s Words echo in my head. They don’t really know you. They don’t even care. I’m about to concede that one to Michael, but then I realize none of them had to show UP today. And yeah, Gabby’s totally snarky, but they all came over because they do care.