SLOW BURN

by Christie, Nicole

  Nick stares at me for a few seconds, then quickly turns and looks straight ahead at the road. “Oh. Um, yeah, actually. I, uh, I don’t remember putting one on, but this morning I found the wrapper on the floor, and the condom in the trash. So…I think we’re good. Oh—I’m clean, in case you’re wondering. I get checked regularly, because…you know...”

  My entire body slumps in relief. “Thank god. I’m—I don’t have anything, either. And I’m on the pill, but I’ve heard of people getting pregnant while on it. I started last year—because my periods were so painful and heavy. You probably didn’t need to know that.” I laugh weakly.

  Nick manages a sideways grin. “I just told you about a used condom I found in the trash. I’d say that makes us even. Do I turn here?”

  Oh, crap, I’m almost home! “At the next light,” I mutter miserably.

  I’m home before I know it. I don’t remember saying goodbye to Nick, or getting out of the car. I’m enveloped by a kind of numb terror as I let myself in the front door. I would give my entire carousel horse collection for the ability to fast forward myself into the future. Better yet—I wish I could back into the past and undo the past twenty four hours.

  Screw it. Let’s get this over with, and then if you need me, I’ll be drowning myself in the shower.

  Trying to keep my mind deliberately blank so I don’t faint or puke from stress, I take a deep breath and go looking for Mom.

  It’s not a big house—where the hell is she? She’s not in the kitchen, or the living room—or her room. I stick my head out the upstairs bathroom window to check for her car—but it’s not there. I guess I was in too much of a daze to notice before. Well, shit…is she driving around looking for me right now? Better check my messages.

  Hm, a bunch of missed calls from Johnny and Heather (and one from Bobo!)…nothing from Mom. I scroll through my unread texts—oh, there.

  WTF? This is her text, sent at 10:45 p.m. last night:

  Jules, hanging out w some grils from work. Styng at Carrie’s 2nite. C u tmrw unless u decide to go back to dad’s. hope u had fun @ dance

  Who the eff is Carrie? God damn—are you kidding me?! I was freaking out all this time over nothing? And since when does she hang out with the “grils” at work? What—did she go bar-hopping last night? I bet she did. I bet she got freaking drunk—and she probably slept with some random guy, which is why she didn’t want to come home and face me. Because I’d take one look at her and say—

  The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  No, wait. I don’t come home on the one night Mom’s had off in forever, and I nearly give myself a heart attack on the way here, thinking I’m in deep shit—only to discover that the woman who hasn’t gone anywhere but work and the grocery store in seven years was out trolling bars with her drunk and slutty friends! Not sitting at home, going crazy with worry about me, with a police scanner in one hand and her cell phone in the other.

  That’s great. OMG, what a relief, right? I should be down on my knees, thanking the gods that be.

  So tell me why I walk into my mother’s room and smash her favorite hand blown glass vase into about a million tiny pieces?

  And don’t just say ‘cause I’m stupid because…yeah.

  ******

  Chapter 25

  “So you’re not a saint—you’re human, like the rest of us. You made a big mistake—but it’s not the end of the world, Jule.”

  Heather’s bored, matter-of-fact tone pierces through my bubble of self pity like nothing else could. I’m lying on her pink princess bed like a starfish on a rock, staring up at the gauzy pink canopy, and kind of wishing I had one just like it over my bed.

  “I had sex with his best friend, Heather,” I say loudly, as penance. “That’s kind of unforgiveable. I can’t just blame it on being drunk, either. I put myself in that situation—and I wasn’t so wasted that I didn’t know what I was doing, you know? I could have stopped it, but I didn’t. Because I was pissed, and because…I don’t know. I was in the mood.”

  “Dude, you can say horny.” she says around the five pieces of minty gum in her mouth. Then she leans over and punches me lightly in the arm. “It happens, you know. Johnny did the same thing to you, so it kind of evens things up. You both got jealous, turned to alcohol—Johnny hooked up with an ex-girlfriend that he never told you about, while you were still together. You handed over your v card to his best friend—but you and Johnny were broken up. And you have to factor in him going behind your back to hang with her. So…”

  I watch as Heather holds both hands out, like she’s the scales of justice. She moves each hand up and down experimentally while thoughtfully scrunching up her mouth. Finally, she holds both hands, palms up, at an even height. She nods in satisfaction.

  “Yeah, you’re even,” she concludes, shaking back her red-blonde hair. “One bad deed cancels out the other, and you are now free to start over—if you still want to.”

  “Oh, my god. That’s bullshit, and you know it.” I groan, and roll over to face her. “I’m not getting back together with him. If I did, I would have to tell him—and then he’d kill Nick. And yes, I would have to tell him. And—I don’t even know how I can face him now. I feel so—ugh! Like, I should have appreciated my virginity more. You know? Now, one drunken mistake—and it’s gone forever. It deserved better.” I hang my head in shame.

  Heather shakes a little container of mints into her mouth, and mashes it in with her giant wad of gum. “Well, I don’t think it’s that big a deal, but then you know losing mine was more of a curiosity thing,” is what I think she says. “Remember the experiment? Mark—”

  “Julian,” we say in unison.

  I clap a hand over my mouth in sympathetic horror. “Didn’t you unfriend him recently?”

  “Mmph. No, he unfriend-ed me. He kept leaving stupid comments on all my pics—like, hinting about how he was my first, and how memorable it was. I finally wrote him back on my HizzyJones account, and I was like…” She pauses to spit out her gum, immediately pops more gum into her mouth, then continues. “I was like, look dude, the sex was not good. It was sweaty, awkward, and those moans you keep talking about were because of a bad cramp in my leg. I probably made it seem like I was having a good time, but that was only to make you finish faster. It was either that, or play dead. Then I said, no hard feelings—‘cause he’s really not a bad guy. Just annoying!”

  An idle thought has me pushing myself up into a sitting position. “Why do girls just…endure it when it’s bad. Why don’t we just tell the guys to quit that shit? Or, you know…ow.”

  “For real,” Heather agrees around a mouthful of gum. “But dudes are weird. They’d be all injured, and start posting cryptic memes to their profiles. Like the one—who keeps blowing up your phone?”

  I snatch my beeping phone off the bed, and stick it under one of Heather’s many pillows. “It’s Johnny.” I sigh explosively. “He knows I’m home, and Nick told him I’m not going to Mac’s today—I told him to tell the guys I wasn’t feeling up to it. Plus, Johnny heard from Ryan that a couple of people saw me leaving the dance, looking upset, so he figured out that I probably saw him dancing with Dani—so now, he’s freaking out, and thinking that I’m pissed at him. That’s why he keeps calling and texting, even though I keep reassuring him that I’m not mad—he wants to come over, but I’m not ready to see him yet. What should I do? Should I just tell him, and get it over with?”

  She chews contemplatively, not saying anything for a few seconds. Then she holds out her hand. “Gimme your phone.”

  I hesitate, but she stares me down until I comply. Reluctantly, I hand it over. She takes it from me, and immediately starts texting away.

  “What are you doing?” I ask nervously, watching her.

  “Buying you some time,” she replies calmly. She gives me back my phone, then reaches over to her nightstand to grab her own.

  “What did you say?” I move my finger across the screen, looking for the text.


  “Relax. I just said you had your period, and were all kinds of cramp-y. I told him you’ll see him in school tomorrow, when you’re not so bloated.”

  “What? Why did you say that?” I stare down at the phone’s screen, mortified. “I—that’s so embarrassing. I don’t talk about stuff like that with him.”

  “Are you serious?” Heather rolls her eyes. “What’s the big? Johnny’s a big boy—I’m pretty sure he’s aware that you have periods.”

  “Well, yeah, but I don’t discuss it with him. I don’t know…I know it’s weird, but it creeps me out to talk about biological functions with him.”

  “Hm. Is it just me, or does it seem like there’s a lot of ‘stuff’ you don’t feel like you can talk to Johnny about?”

  I shrug self-consciously, playing with the ends of my hair. “No. I just—I’m just really paranoid about what he thinks of me, I guess.”

  “Why?” she asks. “You think he’d dump you if he heard you peeing?”

  “Oh, god, no. You know I have a nervous bladder.”

  Really, I usually can’t use the bathroom, if there’s anyone within hearing distance. Not unless there’s a loud fan, or I have to turn the faucets on full blast. I know I’m not the only one. The weird ones are the people that leave the door partially open while they go. I wouldn’t do that even with Heather, and we’ve seen each other naked.

  “Yeah, and it’s the size of a pea—ha ha,” she says, and turns her attention back to her phone. “Hey, does my brother still text you?”

  “Only once in a while,” I reply, trying to make my voice sound casual. “Not as much as he used to.”

  Huh. See if there’s any more sticks of gum under my bed, ‘kay? Over by you—other side.”

  I hang myself over the edge of the bed, and check under the filmy white dust ruffle. Yuck. “No gum that I can see. Lots of wrappers, though.”

  “Shit. Wanna run to the store with me?”

  I pull myself back up, smoothing back my hair as I do. “Uh, no. What’s with all the gum-chewing and the mints, anyway? You haven’t been drinking today.”

  “Mm, no. I wasn’t gonna tell you ‘cause it’s so gross.” Heather looks up with a grimace. “Last night, Alanna C dared Funzi to kiss me. No big deal—it’s just Funzi, right? I was gonna play along with it, I opened my mouth really big—and drunk ass Funzi puked right in it.”

  “Gross!” I shriek, covering my own mouth with my hands in sympathetic horror.

  “Right?” Heather mumbles, snapping her gum. “I can’t get the taste out of my mouth. Wait, ‘Fredo sent me a pic of it—wanna see?”

  “Absolutely not.” I scramble off her bed. “I have to go, I have to study for a test tomorrow. Call you later.”

  Laughing, she springs up after me. “No, wait, you need to see this! It’s a great action shot!”

  She chases me down the stairs, and I’m so intent on getting away that I almost collide with her mother coming out of the kitchen.

  “Oh, hello, Juliet,” Mrs. Jones greets me, pulling back to avoid contact. “I didn’t know you were over. How are you?”

  I can feel Heather right behind me, practically breathing down my neck. I smile up at her mother—way up, because Mrs. Jones is a tall woman. “I’m great, thanks for asking. I was just leaving, actually. I have a test I need to study for.”

  “Oh, well, maybe you can come back for dinner. We’re having baked spaghetti, and I always make too much. Unless that doesn’t sound good after what happened last night?”

  My eyes widen in alarm. For a panic-filled second, I think, “she knows!” But then Heather nudges me in the back, and I realize I’m her cover story for last night.

  I know I told Heather that I wouldn’t lie for her anymore, but I can’t bring myself to rat her out to her mom right then and there. So I decide to compromise.

  “Last night?” I repeat, letting my mouth hang open. Drool should come out, I look so clueless.

  “The dinner party at Lianne’s?” Heather says from behind me. “That shrimp was bad—I was sick all night, remember? I couldn’t even drive us home.”

  “Ohh. Right,” I say blankly. “That’s why we stayed over at my…?”

  “Lianne’s,” she interrupts through gritted teeth.

  “Right. Lianne’s house.”

  I grin hugely at Mrs. Jones, who tries to smile back. Her forehead is wrinkled and her eyes are troubled, like she’s trying to work out a difficult math problem. She’s in total denial. I think I’ll have to actually spell it out for her one of these days.

  “Bye, Jule,” Heather says loudly, pushing me from behind. “Study hard for your test. I really hope you don’t fail miserably, and have to repeat a grade.”

  I gasp inside my head. How dare she use my recurring nightmare against me! I turn to glare at her. “Yeah, that’d be terrible. Almost as bad as someone puking in my mouth accidentally.”

  Heather narrows her eyes at me, but her twitchy mouth is a telltale sign she’s trying not to laugh. Mrs. Jones looks horrified.

  “Well, try to come by if you can,” she says, starting up the steps. “I really did make too much.”

  “Oh, don’t pressure her, Mom,” Heather calls up to her mother’s retreating back. “Juliet is too embarrassed to say, but she had the shrimp, too, and she’s still got the runs really bad!”

  “Classy, Jones. Real classy,” I mutter, nearly apoplectic with embarrassment. I want to go running out of there, but how bad would that look after what she just said?

  My ex best friend snorts with laughter. “Too much? That’s what you get for—oh, hey, Rob. What’s up?”

  No, she’s not kidding. Her older brother is standing there by the kitchen, and judging by the look on his face, he’s been there long enough to hear about the bad shrimp epidemic. Oh, well. Maybe he’ll stop asking me out now.

  “I’m just gonna go,” I say, shaking my head.

  Neither of the Jones siblings says a word as I let myself out. It’s for the best.

  I come home to find my mom sitting at the kitchen table, working on her laptop. We exchange mumbled greetings, and I stare daggers at her back until she turns around to look at me.

  “Do you know what happened to my red vase?” she asks, squinting like she’s having a hard time seeing me.

  “Yeah, I accidentally bumped into it last night.” My gaze is unwavering on her face. “Sorry. I tried to get all the little pieces.”

  Mom sighs and turns back to her computer. “I wish you’d been more careful. Aunt Greta made that for me as a housewarming gift.”

  I wait for more, but she’s focused on the laptop again. “Well, I’m really sorry,” I try again. “So, did you have fun last night?”

  She shrugs. “It was just pot luck at Carrie’s. We do it every week…you’re usually over at your dad’s.” Mom chuckles distantly. “There’s usually wine with the food, which is why a bunch of us stay the night. By the way, your artichoke bisque was a hit. Where did you get the recipe?”

  She took my bisque? I check the refrigerator, and sure enough, the pot is gone. I’d made it mostly for her, but I was hoping to have some later. Not that it’s a big deal, but…I’m really annoyed.

  “I got it off the internet,” I tell her, nudging a hip against the fridge to make sure it’s closed all the way. “I was going to have the bisque for dinner tonight.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  Sometimes I feel like I’m slowly being erased from my mother’s life. One day, she’ll look right through me. She’ll eat the food I’ve left for her, but she won’t think about where it came from—or she’ll notice someone’s keyed her car, and wonder who did it.

  Wasn’t me. I take my keys out of my jeans pocket and head for the door.

  Kidding. I trudge upstairs to take more aspirin, and possibly start my homework. It’s not like I was going to tell her that I made the stupidest mistake of my life last night. So…whatever.

  I hate that I’m crying right now. I hate that I’m
acting like a brat to try to get my mother’s attention. I hate that I crave it so much. What am I, seven?

  When am I going to grow up and get over myself?

  ******

  Chapter 26

  It’s Monday morning, and Ben and I are hanging out on the steps of McLaren Hall. He’s smoking a cigarette, and writing something on the inside of his wrist—which I’m not going to ask him about.

  I’m huddled one step below him, my shoulders hunched miserably, chin resting on my knees. I feel both depressed and nervous. I don’t want to run into Nick, and I definitely don’t want to see Johnny. I wish I had just stayed home. The second I arrived on campus, people started asking me about the smoke bomb incident. Everyone’s heard a different version. I like the one where I died.

  “I still think it was Kara,” I say stubbornly, lifting my head to look at Ben.

  He just shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t think so. She’s malicious enough, but smoke bombs ain’t her style. She’d more likely poison you.” He looks matter-of-fact as he exhales a cloud of smoke. “Have Mack take a bite out of your lunch before you eat it from now on. Dude has a cast iron stomach.”

  Um, I don’t get the feeling that he’s joking, and that has me a lil’ concerned. “Great,” I sigh. “So, there’s probably another person out there who wants to kill me.”

  Ben leans forward to pat me on the head. “Don’t worry, kid. We’ll find him—or her. Hell, Johnny spent all of homecoming interrogating—oh, everyone. Liddell was pissed. She’s trying to pass the whole thing off as a harmless prank gone bad. Our parents will get letters in the mail with the standard official bullshit...‘There’s no cause for panic, your little angels are safe with us. Don’t mind the crazy asshole starting fires everywhere and blowing shit up.’ Blah, blah, blah.”

  “You think the arsonist is the one who set the smoke bombs?” I shiver in my blazer. “But why target me? The fires started happening before I even came to Leclare.”