Just Roll With It: a Just Us novel

by Niki Hager

  "Does your sadface have anything to do with you being here every weekend night, and him being … wherever it is he goes and then showing back up whenever it is he feels like it?"

  "You've noticed too," I say dryly.

  "I've noticed. I do live here too, you know. And for the record, you're my best friend too. You've always been kind of a hermit so I assumed you didn't want to go out to places you don't know, with people you don't know. Stuff like that has always been a trigger for you."

  "I'm better. I haven't had an attack since I started dating him, except for the damn speech. He keeps me calm. Roman always comes home afterward and he even tells me about his nights and where he goes. He even makes the plans in front of me. He never even once asked me to come. He is the sweetest when he's with me and I know he likes me so I'm at a loss. I don't get it. I don't think he even realizes it bothers me."

  "Maybe you should tell him."

  "It's not so easy. I definitely don't want to come off as the clingy girlfriend, especially now when he knows about some of my issues. Right now he thinks I'm the cool girlfriend who lets him go do his own thing."

  "I call bullshit. Sorry, but it is. You can be a cool girlfriend and still want to be included. Which is the way it should be, anyway. There is a big difference between being clingy and being involved. But you're right, I know he likes you too, so I wonder what's up. You should find out."

  "Aaaaaah!" I suddenly scream out loud, causing Enzo to jump and spill some of his beer on his shirt. "My thoughts are more tangled than my necklace chains right now!" I yell.

  "Wheeew." He whistles. "They must be pretty bad then, because I've seen your jewelry box, and let me tell you, the shit is a hot mess I wouldn't wanna touch," he says, while wiping at his shirt.

  "Not helpful!" I yell at him. "Maybe I should text him."

  "Good idea." He tips his beer bottle toward me in salute. "Text him a smiley face, bitches love smilies."

  My lips tug up at the joke, but the moment is short lived when I actually start to think about texting him. "I'll do it later," I say, backing out and losing my nerve.

  "No. Life is happening now. Don't wait. You, dear, have let waiting become a bad habit of yours. Like with your necklaces for example. They wouldn't have gotten so bad if you would have put them away properly the first time. Now look at the mess you've made," he lectures, leaning forward and pointing at me the whole time.

  "Are you using my necklaces as a metaphor for life?" I fake offense, placing my hand over my chest.

  "You used it first. And it was dead-on; it suits you perfectly." He leans back, crosses his leg over his knee, rests his arm on the back of the couch, and looks at me.

  "Fine, I'll text him."

  Me: hey babe where r u guys at? enz got home we r bored thinkin bout meeting u?

  I read out loud as I type, like I normally do whether I'm alone or not. When I glance back up, I see Enzo giving me the evil eye. Whoops.

  "I never said to text him I would! I don't want to go out, I just got home!"

  "Oops. Too late, I hit send. Will you anyway, for me?" I give him my best pouty lip.

  "Fine, but only because I think you need to get out more," he relents.

  Five minutes go by, and the textpectation is killing me. Then ten minutes go by, and then fifteen before I realize he probably isn't going to text me back.

  "Don't worry about having to go anywhere; he didn't text me back," I shout toward Enzo, who's back in the kitchen again.

  "Then obviously he was very excited to see your text and fainted," he yells over his shoulder from the fridge as he grabs another beer.

  I can't help but laugh. Then I can't stop. I'm laughing hysterically when I take a turn for crazy and the laughing becomes crying. Enzo is familiar with the process. He walks back into the living room, and as soon as he sees me, drops his head in frustration.

  "Okay, shit. Crying Rigbee. I'm used to panicking Rigbee, but I am not okay with crying Rigbee. Are you going to be okay?"

  "No. I'll probably cry myself to sleep. Or worse not be able to fall asleep because I'll be too busy thinking about why he didn't text me back, and it will replay over and over in my mind. Just kidding."

  "Telling me you're just kidding about something so painstakingly true is not convincing enough." Enzo looks at me with sympathy in his eyes.

  "I'm fine, really."

  "Bee."

  "No. I'm fine. I'm being normal, right? Girl cries over boy. It's normal. I'm being normal. So everything's good, I'm good," I say brokenly, between catching my breaths.

  "If you say so," Enzo says, seeming skeptical.

  "I say so. I'm just going to go to my room and try to go to sleep now. Night."

  "Goodnight," Enzo quietly says back as I walk away to my room.

  I check my phone and the clock says midnight. I've been trying to sleep, but I keep tossing and turning and thinking. All I want to do is sleep, but my brain won't stop talking to me.

  So, of course, I do the one thing I always do when I can't sleep—I get on the Internet. First, I check my Facebook. Then of course comes Instagram, in case I missed anything on Facebook. An hour later and I have my thirty-five dollars’ worth of stuff in my shopping cart on Amazon to get the free shipping so I decide to hop on over to my Pinterest page and make a whole night of it.

  Twenty life hacks and thirteen new fashion trends later, I hear the front door open again. I know for a fact who it is, and it's not Enzo. I don't get up to rush to the hall and greet him like before, because to be quite honest, I ran out of fucks to give about fifteen pins ago.

  "Honey, I'm hoooome!" I hear Lyle yell.

  I've had it. The ropes on my mood swings snap. Before I realize what I'm doing, I march out to the living room with my messed up bed head and my Minnie Mouse pajamas. I'm going to tear into someone like a bag of chocolate covered pretzels on the first day of my period—equally violent and immediately satisfying.

  "Hey, Bug. Did you have a good night?" Roman asks as he leans down to give me a kiss. Goddamnit, he called me Bug. Being mad is not going to be as easy as I thought.

  I push him away and then proceed to Lyle who is in the kitchen looking for the beer Enzo has annihilated.

  Lyle looks at me and says, "You totally should've come with us! It was crazy!"

  Well, maybe if someone would've invited me!

  "Out!"

  "What?"

  "Roman and I need some alone time so I need you to go home tonight."

  "Oooh, I get it," he says and then winks at me. I really don't think he does get it. "You two need a little bow-chicka-wow-wow time."

  "Just get out. We will see you tomorrow," I say a bit more calmly because I know Lyle didn't do anything wrong and is an innocent bystander who's about to become a casualty of war. I need to watch what comes out of my mouth when I get hypersensitive.

  "All right, all right. You're out of beer anyway, and I think the Uber Goober is still down there, so you two have fun." He jokingly winks and makes his way out the door.

  "What's wrong, Bee?"

  "What's wrong? Are you serious?"

  "Um, yeah?" he says unsure.

  "What’s wrong is we have been dating for over a month now and every weekend it's the same thing. You and Lyle go off and do whatever fun thing is happening at night and you have never, not even once, asked me if I wanted to go. You never bring me or invite me. So I thought maybe you only do guy stuff.

  “Until earlier today, when I heard you guys invite and get all excited about taking Nina, whoever the fuck she is. And then you still didn't invite me. Are you embarrassed of me? Is that why?"

  "No! Absolutely not!" He lets out a sigh and pinches the spot on his nose between his eyes as if the conversation is giving him a headache. "You've got the whole thing backwards, the opposite is true, actually."

  "You're gonna have to elaborate, because you're not making any sense."

  "Look, the people I hang out with … Well, they are a bit intense," he sa
ys, and then rubs a hand through his thick messy hair. "I know you get anxiety and panic attacks during certain situations, and these guys typically cause trouble, to say the least. I didn't want to scare you.

  “These are the paintball team guys and they won't hold back for anyone. I didn't know if I wanted to introduce you to our world yet. I didn't think you would want to be around certain shit. I was keeping you safe." He keeps shifting his weight back and forth, and now he's rubbing both hands through his hair.

  He's nervous. I don't know how his friends could possibly be as bad as he's making them out to be. They couldn't be if he hangs out with them.

  "Look, I am not a piece of glass. I am not fragile when you're around. I won't break into pieces."

  "When I'm around?" He takes a step closer to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. eyeing me with a worried expression, and asks, "Do you get attacks when I'm not around?" Damn, you mouth. I shift my weight uncomfortable with the accusation.

  "What? No. Not really. I … I don't have anxiety when you are gone, I'd just be happier if you didn't leave me, or if you brought me. That's all."

  "I'm not going to leave, so don't worry. And if you want to come to parties with me, you know you can. But I am telling you the truth when I say you might not have fun. They are crazy and they do things you've probably not been around. I was afraid if you hung out with me, with them, the scene would scare you away. Afraid you would think I'm like them and not want to be around me anymore."

  "You could've let me be the judge of the situation instead of making the decision for me," I tell him.

  "You're right. I know you're not exactly the spontaneous kind of person, which is okay, but we tend to do things last minute. We hear about a party going on the same night and we go. You like to plan to go to things and don't lie, you know you do." He's got me there.

  "Hey now, as long as you gave me enough time to get ready, I could be totally spontaneous."

  He bursts out a laugh, and I see the ridiculousness of what I've said.

  "I meant, get ready, as in get dressed and put makeup on. Not prepare myself mentally." I give him a dirty look.

  "I'll tell you what. One of the guys is throwing a huge New Years’ party. Why don't you come, and I'll introduce you to everyone there okay?"

  "New Years' almost a whole month away."

  "I was thinking we could spend a few weekends, just you and me, until then. Sound like a plan?"

  "You and me?"

  "Just you and me."

  Vodka, Gin, and a Trash Bin or Vodka Shots and Puking Pots

  100 Resolutions- Lawrence Arms

  Rigbee

  My sides are starting to go numb from being squished between these three guys in the backseat of The Ghost. We're on our way to the New Years’ party and Roman is driving, of course, so when Lyle called shot gun, being the stubborn ass that he is, he made sure to let everyone know calling shotgun was legit and I got bitch seat. I am not panicking. Really, I'm not. Just because I can't breathe, my heart beat is sky rocketing, and I'm sweaty and shaky does not necessarily mean I'm panicking, right?

  The party we are going to is in Lansing, so the drive shouldn't take too long, only an hour or so, but I'm taking a big leap out of my comfort zone with the carpooling because I'll ultimately be stuck there until these five guys want to leave. I have no means of escape.

  On my left is Malik. He is tall and muscular and would be totally intimidating if not for the fact his blond hair is perfectly styled, his clothes are too nice, and he doesn't seem to have a stitch of ink, unlike everyone else. After the initial shock of how big he is, I've come to realize he's kind of a pretty boy. Thomas is on my right, stuck in bitch with me, and on his right is Wes. Wes is smaller than Malik but still bigger than Thomas. He is also a good looking guy. His hair is a unique color, not quite red and not quite brown. The color makes him look younger than he is, and looking younger makes him seem comfortable to be around.

  Every one of Roman’s friends I have met so far have all been pretty attractive, and I'm starting to wonder what exactly they put in the paintball team's water. We picked Malik and Wes up because they were both on the way, and so far, they seem nice. Not exactly the crazy kind of friends Roman was so furiously warning me about.

  Although he seems to have exaggerated on that front, I can still tell you one thing—they all seem very comfortable with each other. The entire ride is comprised of explicit conversation chock full of inside jokes I don't get, sex innuendos—toward one another—and stories of past paintball tournaments and the crazy shit always going down. It all sounds strangely impelling. I'm nervous to see how tonight stacks up.

  I have zero words to describe the view before me as we walk through the threshold and into the chaos. Guys everywhere. Most without shirts on. Some sitting around, most jumping off the backs of couches, playing beer pong, screaming at each other, shooting each other with paintball guns in the house, spilling drinks on each other, and overall running around like crazy people to the loud sound of death metal and punk. Maybe he wasn't exaggerating.

  Cigarettes and stale beer impale my senses as I walk into a thick wall of fog the bodies have formed. I see through the haze a few girls are here too. Most in their best revealing New Years’ Eve outfits mindlessly perched on some guys’ lap.

  Roman must have seen some expression on my face I wasn't aware I was making, because he turns to me and says, "Those girls are mostly groupies, loyal to any Atomic-Anarchy party thrown, and will sleep with just about any of us to get an invite. There are only a few who have been around for a while, but those are the ones who have really been around, if you know what I mean. Most girls don't last long."

  What have I gotten myself into?

  "Atomic-Anarchy?" I ask, having never heard the term before.

  "Atomic-Anarchy, our team name," he explains.

  The majority of the room starts to notice we have arrived and loud "heys" and "yos" erupt from every corner. They must already be pretty drunk because they're overly ecstatic. Hands are being thrown up in excitement and hugs are going around. Not the man kind of hug, either, with one arm around the shoulder and a fist bump or some shit. No, these dudes are full on squeezing one another and picking each other up off of the ground. I'm pretty sure I saw one guy grab another guy and give him a big sloppy kiss on the cheek.

  I also noticed the beer pong game going on must be strip beer pong because there goes someone’s pants. I usually walk into a room and wonder if people will like me, but right now as I walk into the party, I don't think that's my number one concern.

  Roman walks me to a group of guys over by the keg.

  "Ah, is she the famous new girlfriend we've been hearing about?" a guy with short blond hair and baby blue eyes asks.

  "Bug, this is my buddy Reece, we're in his house. He's the poor sucker throwing this party."

  "Nice to meet you, thanks for having me," I say.

  "How sweet, look how polite she is." He smiles a genuine smile. I wonder if not all of the girls brought here are very respectful.

  "Yep, he finally got himself a good one," Lyle makes a point to tell the group and slap Roman on the back.

  "Cheers to that!" a guy with long brown hair and a lip ring says and then hands me a shot.

  I'm not a big drinker, especially after the Ren-Fest fiasco. I have a whiskey and Coke every once in a while when I paint, but I am definitely not one to throw back a shot, so when I attempt my first one I'm not surprised when it sits too long on my tongue before reaching the back of my throat. Water floods my mouth and my face burns fire while I work to keep the liquid from coming back up.

  "Shit, shots suck," I manage to cough out.

  My body shudders involuntarily as I hand the small plastic cup back to the pierced lip guy.

  "And she's a lightweight! She keeps getting better," Reece announces.

  I give Reece a look conveying how I feel about being called a lightweight. He doesn't know me enough to judge.

 
"It's okay, darlin’, lightweight’s a good thing. You see, most of the chicks who show up here aren't like you."

  "Like me?" I try but fail to not feel offended.

  "Yeah. You know, nice and innocent."

  Again with the innocent. I look around the room at the group of people, and to my dismay, he's right. I'm not like these people. I'm not normal. I've gotten better since dating Roman, but I'm still not quite there. I will always feel out of place when all I want to do is fit in. I'm so tired of being nervous all of the time. I want to know what it's like to be like one of the girls here. I want to genuinely have fun without worrying for once in my life.

  I grab another half-filled shot cup off of the counter and down it. This time I make sure it bypasses my tongue and goes straight down my throat. In about fifteen seconds, I go from having severe anxiety about tonight to not giving a fuck.

  "Shit yeah! We've made it through another clusterfuck of a year!" I hear Reece yell at the room full of people as he gets up and stands on a chair. "This year may we all get happy, get laid, get paid, and get ready to get your drink on!"

  He cheers the room, and I hold up my empty cup to toast.

  "You might want to go a little easier now for the rest of the night," Roman whispers to me while taking my cup away to set back on the counter. "You're not used to drinking liquor straight. I don't want you to get too torn up too soon."

  I know what he's trying to do, and his effort is going to backfire because his comment only makes me want to try to fit in even more.

  So what's a girl to do when she's trying to fit in? Beer pong. Ten minutes later and my pong teammate is Malik. We're playing against Reece and some other guy who I think said his name is Levi. The first ball I throw I miss and I'm instantly reminded of how I'm in a game of strip pong.

  "Show us your boobs!" a number of guys around us, including Levi, shouts when I miss my third throw. I take off the sparkled tank I am wearing first, but luckily the top was made of more material then most girls here are wearing and I was able to wear a bra.

  "Boo," I hear a couple more people yell when they notice my twins were not ready to be displayed. Most of the girls here are not wearing bras so they expected I wasn't, either. If I miss my next shot, my only choice is between bra or skinny jeans. I think I'll choose bra because I have nice boobs, and I'm not sure I want to walk around in just my panties.