SLOW BURN

by Christie, Nicole

  “He’s drunk?” I groan, dismayed.

  “Yeah,” Dean says like that’s the biggest understatement in the world. He shifts uncomfortably, his broad shoulders not quite fitting in the space between the chains. “He’s alright—his mom’s with him.”

  Oh, no. He’s going to wake up to all kinds of trouble. I bury my face in my hands. “Does he hate me?” I ask pathetically. My voice is low and probably muffled beyond comprehension.

  Dean doesn’t reply right away, so I peek up at him. He glances down at me with his unreadable cop face. “He hates himself,” he finally says.

  My heart gives one heavy thump before taking the express elevator down to the bottom level. I hate this. I hate what we’ve done to each other, and I hate that I have to fight the urge to run to Johnny and start the cycle all over again. It’s sick, sick, sick.

  Feeling sorry for the both of us, I push off with my foot to make the swing sway back and forth, while surreptitiously searching Dean’s perfect features for signs of condemnation or reproof. I see neither, but that doesn’t mean he’s not thinking it. I suddenly, desperately want to know his opinion.

  “I hurt him,” I blurt out. “Badly.”

  “You hurt each other.”

  “I was ready to get back together with him, Dean. Before I…did something really stupid. Do you think we—no, I guess it doesn’t matter since we can’t ever recover from this.”

  I stare at his face like the answer will appear in neon there. But Dean’s shaking his head, looking down at his hands. “It’s not my business,” he says in a preemptive attempt to discourage my solicitations for advice.

  I wasn’t gonna go into detail about the break up—he is Johnny’s stepbrother after all. Instead I say, “God, I wish I could press a rewind button, and take back everything hurtful I’ve ever done to anyone.”

  “Why worry about what happened in the past?” he replies with a shrug. “You can’t fix it; you can only try to make up for it.”

  I let that sink in for a while. Sometimes I feel like my relationship with Johnny is a fragile glass bowl that’s been broken and glued back together one too many times. If there a way for either of us to make up what we’ve done to each other…

  A soft sigh escapes me as I tilt my head back to stare at the unusually cloudy night sky. “How many times do you get cut by the same thing before you decide it’s time to throw it away?” I wonder.

  Dean’s response is maddeningly practical: “When you start to bleed.”

  ******

  Chapter 28

  I wake up sometime during the night, feverish and with a roiling tummy. Yeah, that’s right—I’ve got the stomach flu! I can’t go to school today! Never have I been so happy to be bent over the toilet, puking my guts out. My poor throat, though, has been through a lot these past few days. I’ve developed a slight rasp that I’m starting to think might be permanent. Mom zips into my room just long enough to take my temperature, and stick a pitcher of cool water on my nightstand. She doesn’t want to risk catching my germs, and passing them onto her patients—which I absolutely understand. Besides, I’m definitely past the age where I need her to hold my hair back while I puke. But when Heather comes by after school to do it for me, I’m so grateful I cry. She also brings some of her mother’s chicken soup with her—and even though the smell of it makes me dry heave, I still appreciate the thought.

  Today is Halloween, and I’m still feeling weak and kind of float-y. I can keep small amounts of food and liquid down, which is a huge step up from last night. I lie in bed feeling sorry for myself. I love Halloween, and I’m going to miss the awesome haunted house at the rec. Heather is going to take my place as the creepy ghost in white who jumps out at people in the hallway. I love her for doing it, but she’ll never be able to do the terrifying job I could have done. Halloween’s the one time of the year where the size of my head works to my advantage. Wish I was joking.

  I creep outside to refill the giant bowl of candy Mom left on the porch for the trick-or-treaters, and when I come back in, I hear my phone making noises. I shuffle back to the couch, keeping my blanket securely wrapped around my shoulders. Plopping down on the cushions, I grab my phone from the armrest to check it.

  Hm, it’s from Tanya.

  Tanya: OMG! Just heard from my friend Chelsea, she goes to Canon, that her sis went to a party at her bf’s cuzin house and Johnny’s there with this girl named Angelina who’s cuzins with Chelsea’s sis bff and she told Chelsea’s sis that Johnny and Angelina hooked up last night! OMG! Do you want the address?? According to the sis, Angelina is super pretty!

  I read the text again, more slowly this time, and as the words sink in, so does the nausea. What. The. Hell. Well…he got over me pretty fast, didn’t he? What happened to thinking about me all the time, Johnny? Were you thinking about me when you were doing it with super pretty Angelina?!

  I seesaw between devastation and an unholy fury, back and forth, until I end up in a cold empty place full of regret and former child stars. I desperately want to be unaffected by this, but I’m not, and I can’t pretend to be. It hurts, and it sucks. A part of me wants to dismiss it as a stupid rumor, but I can’t. Tanya’s information—though never a firsthand account—always turns out to be fairly accurate. So I’m pretty sure there’s an Angelina, and she’s super pretty, and Johnny had a freaking great time with her.

  Silly pride has me answering Tanya’s text with a casual calm I wish I felt. I type that since we’re not together anymore, Johnny is free to do what he wants. Then I turn my phone off, and turn my attention to the television, where a bunch of teenagers are getting hacked to death by killer clowns.

  Happy Halloween.

  After a two day respite, I’m back at school. At first, I’m paranoid that everyone’s looking at me and whispering—then I decide I don’t care. Some people say hi to me, some don’t. Britney looks right through me when we pass each other in the hallway. I guess my near death experience is old news.

  On my way to Government, I bump into Mr. Rigby, the school psychologist. He’s a short guy in an expensive-looking suit with a likeable open face that says “I’m here for you; tell me all your problems.”

  “Hello, Jennifer!” he greets me like we’re old friends. “You haven’t yet made that second appointment to see me.” He lowers his voice, and leans toward me. “We really need to discuss your options. I have brochures.”

  What? I flinch away from him. Why is he looking at me like that?

  Mr. Rigby flashes a sympathetic smile, and pats me on the shoulder. “Come see me after lunch. And don’t skip eating this time! Can’t have you fainting in class again, Jennifer.”

  I nod my head obediently. “Yes, sir.”

  His smile grows even wider until he’s positively beaming. “Good, good. I will see you in my office. Now hurry to class before you get another tardy slip.”

  “Okay.”

  I didn’t intend to make a liar out of Jennifer, but when it’s time to head over to the cafeteria, I just can’t do it. It’s been a weird day. I could handle Nick’s apologetic looks in Government, and Kara’s bizarre fake nice attempts at conversation (thankfully Arianna is her usual bitchy self)—but when I run into Johnny on my way to the bathroom—and he barely acknowledges me with a nod—I just can’t. I hide out in my car, and eat crackers. Actually, it’s not so bad in here. I can eat in peace, and listen to music, while playing that addictive candy game on my phone.

  It’s the perfect set up—until a scowling teacher raps on my window, catching me with a mouthful of crackers, bopping my head around to a song playing on my phone. Turns out, you can’t hang out in the parking lot during school hours. Never mind that groups of other kids are out there as well. One guy is even selling soap from the trunk of his Mercedes. But I’m the one who gets busted. So typical.

  To cheer me up, Heather picks me up after work for a double date with Ben and Arianna. We meet them at the movies, and Heather and Arianna giggle to each other, and share
popcorn while Ben and I play a drawing game on our phones. No one mentions Johnny, and that’s just fine with me.

  On Friday, Mack grabs me at my locker and refuses to put me down until I agree to come to his party tonight after the game. Though I’m gasping for oxygen, I manage to tell him that I promised to go to a party with Heather. Then to distract him, I ask if my friend, Tanya Copeland, can go to his party.

  Mack looks puzzled for a moment, then his face clears. “Oh, the cute girl with all the hair? Yeah, yeah, she’s in my French class. Sure, she can come! Actually, I think Nick might have a thing for her.”

  He says it in a joking way, but it gives me an unpleasant feeling in the pit of my stomach. Though highly unlikely, what if they hooked up—and Nick accidentally lets it slip about that night? It would be all over school! I almost don’t want to tell Tanya about Mack’s party after that, but I know she’ll be thrilled at the invite, so I tell her the news in Biology. She’s so excited, she gives a little scream right there in class. Nobody reacts, not even Sepulveda, who’s been staring wistfully at the back of her hands for the past few minutes.

  “Do you think I can bring Bobo?” Tanya asks, leaning toward me. Her curls are fairly springing with joy.

  “Um, yeah. I guess. He’s not going to start any trouble or anything, is he?” I ask worriedly. “I heard he doesn’t really get along with Mack’s group.”

  “You mean that thing with Johnny? Ancient history.” Tanya waves her hand dismissively. “He’ll behave—I promise. Oh, he told me he asked you out—and at first you said yes, but then you turned him down later. Is that true?”

  She sticks her face close to mine, dark eyes avid with curiosity. Instinctively, I pull away. “I’m not ready to date yet,” I mutter, looking away. “I shouldn’t have said yes in the first place.”

  “Oh, well, don’t feel too bad. Bobo likes to ask out every girl he meets. It’s like a social experiment for him.” Tanya shrugs and rolls her eyes at the same time. “So it’s not like you broke his heart, or anything.”

  Bobo is a player? I’m amused, but kind of offended. Tanya quickly changes the subject, talking about what she’ll wear to the party. I don’t get the chance to tell her I won’t be going. I really did promise Heather I’d go to Tamara Fife’s party with her. It’s a huge deal for her because Sloane’s coming! But…there seems to be some confusion as to whether Sloane knows that she’s Heather’s date. That’s where I come in—as the back-up, in case events take an awkward turn. How could they, right? But tonight is important to Heather, and I’m going to be there to support her no matter what.

  I’m actually looking forward to going. Despite what I might have implied before, I miss my former school, and most of my old classmates. I’ve only kept in touch with Tamara online, but she’s great. Like Heather, she can be friends with anyone, and her parties are always a cool mix of people. It will be fun to catch up with the Jefferson gang—as long as no one asks me about Johnny.

  “I heard you and Johnny Parker broke up!”

  “Did Johnny really cheat on you?”

  “I saw him at Frizby’s with Janelle Lopez—my little brother’s best friend’s sister goes to Valley with her! They were all over each other!”

  “Juliet! Did you really throw oranges at Johnny when you caught him cheating on you with some girl at homecoming?!”

  This is only a sample of what I hear all night. Some are sympathetic, some are snide—Healani Bauer and Elena Moran, two of the acknowledged prettiest girls at school, are gleeful (yet oddly non-malicious). They’ve always been absently nice to me, but tend to start really offensive comments off with, “no offense, but—”

  “No offense, but you two weren’t really in the same…league,” Healani says after they corner me in the kitchen. “So it must be kind of a relief, right? I mean, he must’ve always had girls way prettier than you after him all the time.”

  “Actually,” I begin, holding up a finger, “Johnny told me it’s a relief being with someone slightly hideous. He said really pretty girls are high maintenance.”

  “Really?” Elena tilts her head to the side, pondering. “Oh, yeah, I guess that’s true.”

  “He also said that guys prefer plain girls because we have to try harder.” I widen my eyes in sincerity. “You know? We do.”

  At this point, they’re both staring at me, not quite dumb enough to miss the sarcasm in my expression. Then Healani lets out an uncertain little laugh, and I take that as my cue to clumsily sidle away.

  Now I really want to lock myself in a bathroom, and go through all my pics of me and Johnny together (yes, I still have a few on my phone) to see just how mismatched we really were. I thought we had looked good together, both of us with an unconventional attractiveness. Or maybe I was the unconventional and he was attractive. Whatever. It’s not like I haven’t heard this before. I don’t know, I guess I’m feeling sorry for myself again.

  I want to whine to Heather about it so she can kiss it and make it better, but she’s having so much fun right now. Sloane is a big hit, and everyone is in awe of her. She stays close to Heather the whole time. I don’t know what to make of it, but when I try to move in to interrogate her, I feel someone slowly reeling me back by my long hair.

  “Don’t even think about it, Jujubee,” Heather sing-songs in my ear.

  “What? I say innocently, rubbing the back of my head. “I wasn’t gonna do anything.”

  “Sure you weren’t,” she mutters. She flashes a bright smile at Sloane, who’s looking our way. Then she says out of the corner of her mouth, “I’m fine, Jule. Go have fun—and stop worrying about me.”

  And just like that, I’m dismissed. Heather prances back to Sloane, who is now glancing around at her surroundings in a slightly puzzled way, like she’s not sure how she came to be surrounded by such mediocrity.

  Okay. I know when I’m not wanted.

  Tanya’s been texting me every few minutes with updates on her night. According to her, Johnny was a total beast in the game against Farron, and is now hanging out in Big Mack’s heated pool with a blonde—who, according to one of her sources, is an out of town friend visiting Hayley Dixon, a cheerleader.

  I decide not to acknowledge that, but then she sends me a crystal clear pic of Johnny, looking sexy in his dark blue board shorts, and a tall girl in a red bikini with what looks to be some kind of snake or dragon tattoo visible on one of her shoulders. She’s leaning cozily against his side while his head is turned, and he appears to be talking to someone off camera.

  I immediately save the attachment so I can zoom in on the picture. I stare so hard at it, the image feels tattooed onto my retinas. His hand is on her hip, and hers is resting casually on his stomach—the kind of touch that says, “Hey, Juliet! Guess where my hand was thirty minutes ago?”

  I guess deep down, I didn’t really believe Johnny was seeing other girls—but I’m looking at the photographic evidence right now, so…yeah. Well, guess now there’s no doubt he’s moved right on. Good for him.

  I’m inexplicably mad at Tanya, though I don’t think she sent the pic to deliberately torture me. She thinks she’s looking out for me by spying on him, but it kind of makes me want to punch her. My thumbs, acting independently of my brain, starts furiously texting a response:

  I am licking chocolate sauce off the body of an incredibly hot guy right now. Want me to send you a pic?

  And send! Seconds later, I receive a reply.

  Dean: No thanks

  Wait—what? Oh, shit! I sent that to Dean! How the hell did I do that?! Mortified, I quickly type back.

  Me: Sorry that was meant for someone else as a joke!

  Dean: Ok

  Me: Seriously! There is no guy!

  I grab Tamara and her friend, Josie—and snap a pic of the three of us making duck faces at the camera. Then I send it to Dean, as if that’s proof that—oh, damn it, I should have looked at it before I hit send. Tamara’s boyfriend, Charles, totally photobombed us. Ugh, why is he preten
ding to lick my head?

  A couple of minutes go by, then I get another text.

  Dean: Where are you

  Me: Party with my old Jefferson classmates! R u still at Mack’s?

  Dean: Cut out early. Got some things to do

  Me: Want some company? This party blows.

  Why did I just type that? How rude am I? I’m only joking, but that doesn’t come across in a text message—unless you put an emoji, or something. I hastily compose a retraction, but Dean’s reply comes in before I can finish it.

  Dean: What’s the address?

  Wow, he’d really let me tag along? I bite my lip, considering. Oh, why not? I’m curious to see what Dean Youngblood does in his spare time—and my enjoyment of this party ended with the Healani and Elena encounter, anyway. After only a brief hesitation, I text him Tamara’s address. He replies that he’ll be there in fifteen minutes. I’m actually kind of excited. I don’t want to be here, anymore. The mix of loud music and loud voices is starting to give me a headache, and I have to work to fake smile my way through questions about Johnny. I could use some fresh air, and the company of someone’s who’s quiet, and really pretty to look at.

  Well, he is.

  *******

  Chapter 29

  I try to get Heather’s attention to let her know I’m leaving, but she’s very busy thrilling a crowd of people with one of her hilarious stories. She’s behaving herself for Sloane tonight—I haven’t seen a drink in her hand once. Sloane, however, looks slightly glassy-eyed. I don’t know if she’s on something, or just bored. I hope it’s the latter. I send a text to Heather to let her know I’m leaving with Dean, and to call me if she needs me.