Brown Girl Ghosted

by Mintie Das

  He stops when we’re far enough to be out of earshot of most of the tables. I lean against the wall like Meryl did earlier, hoping it has somewhat of the same effect. Then I remember my crop top and cross my arms across my belly. Austin steps in closer to me, rests his hand in the spot next to my head, and looks at me with this hot intensity like he’s Channing Tatum in Magic Mike.

  I didn’t know what to do after our hookup so I’ve been avoiding him. Honestly, I really don’t understand how high-school hookups work. That’s why my very random and quite awkward make-out sessions have taken place only when I’m far away in another country. This isn’t because I’m fancy. It’s just that there’s this thin line at school between sexy and slut, and I still don’t know where it begins and ends. Girls are supposed to dress, talk, and act like we want it, but if we’re actually getting it, suddenly we’re whores. Even worse is that it’s not just the other students doing the name-calling. There’s a vicious Parent Posse in this town that revels in gossiping about other people’s children.

  I haven’t had enough local action to even register on the radar of the Meadowdale busybodies. Actually, I would have been fine playing celibate until I left for college, but when Austin started flirting with me at the back-to-school bash, I hit back hard. For all I knew, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

  We got to shirts off and belt buckles loosened when I kind of just panicked. I don’t have a lot of experience with the mechanics of it all and I’ve never kicked it with someone I’ve been seriously crushing on. Austin is the first guy that I’ve really liked.

  So I made up an excuse about my period (not my best lie but I had to think fast) and dashed out the door. I break into a rash just thinking about it. He’s texted me a couple of times since but I kinda ghosted him.

  But now, standing here with his face so close to mine that I can smell the cinnamon from the Big Red gum he’s chewing, I wonder if maybe I didn’t muck it up as bad as I thought.

  “I was taking a walk around our hood,” Austin begins. “I do that sometimes to clear my head when I get stuck with my music.”

  I continue to inhale his scent of cinnamon, Irish Spring, and Axe body spray. Ever since Austin’s family bought a house in Fawn Ridge last year, Meryl and I have been strategizing ways for me to “bump into” him. Maybe that scheming is paying off. I hear a faint hunger moan from my belly and try to suppress it. Suddenly, nothing—even the Aiedeo—matters all that much.

  “It was pretty late. I’d say about one a.m. I was going past your place.”

  I try to keep myself from jumping too far ahead but I can’t help it. Is he going to tell me that he realizes I’m his muse and he has to be with me? Okay, maybe I’m going a bit overboard. These days, a guy swiping right is about as big of a declaration that a girl can hope for. Although, I remind myself, Austin isn’t like other boys. That’s what makes him so hot.

  Austin takes a deep breath. “And I saw someone sitting up way high in the elm tree outside of your bedroom and watching you through your window, Violet. I yelled at the guy—”

  “Wh—” Nothing he’s saying sounds like what I was expecting to hear. “What did you say?”

  “Last night, V. I saw a guy watching you. He was sitting on a branch, perfectly balanced, but he wasn’t holding on to anything. And this is gonna sound even crazier—I don’t know what kind of high-tech infrared gear he was wearing, but his eyes were all lit up like a bat’s. Before I could call the police, he just disappeared. I didn’t see him climb down or anything—it was like he just vanished into thin air.”

  I’m jolted out of my daze. What Austin is telling me doesn’t make any sense, but I cling to the words last night. Last night when I was fighting Dr. Jenkins and the Aiedeo. Someone saw it all. Someone else knows my secret.

  “I dunno, it was so weird that maybe I don’t know what I saw. Or maybe I thought it was a guy but really it was some kind of animal. I mean, it was pretty dark out.”

  I’m not hearing Austin anymore because my mind races with all the different possibilities. Each scenario makes the bad feeling in the pit of my stomach grow bigger and bigger. A wave of nausea rocks my body so hard that I feel woozy. There’s almost nothing in my belly so I don’t know what is coming up my throat, but it’s moving so fast that I can’t stop it from hurling out of my mouth and straight onto Austin.

  Six

  I ZIP UP MY HOODIE as a cool breeze rustles through the cornfield. A small crescent moon hangs low in the sky surrounded by a thousand twinkly stars. Everywhere I look, I see the tall, thin outlines of the corn stalks that are almost double my height and fifty rows deep.

  My immediate vicinity is filled with high-school kids in different stages of inebriation. Apparently, almost all of them are trying to squeeze in the last possible minutes of fun before the one a.m. curfew.

  I take a sip of beer out of my red plastic cup. I’ve been nursing it all night and now it tastes warm and bitter. Unfortunately, I don’t have a curfew, which means I have no excuse to leave.

  The first football game of the season is always celebrated with a cornfield kegger. A patch of corn is cut down and kegs are dragged in. Having a party in the middle of a cornfield provides protection from cops and the nosy Parent Posse, since it is almost impossible to see from the road. However, that also makes it nearly impossible to find.

  The address (which is something un-GPS-compatible, like RR5 and Highway 28) and the directions (take a right at the gravel road past the Hendersons’ farm, park your car near the ditch, walk twelve rows into the field, turn left @ the shed, et cetera) were posted on Heffers and Hos right after the football game.

  I’m pretty sure that, with the debut of our new uniforms and our dismal halftime show, one of the cheerleaders will be the next Head Heffer. It might even be me.

  Normally, thinking I may be singled out and ridiculed on H and H would make me go mental. But I’m already weighed down with so much shit—the Aiedeo, my mysterious stalker, vomiting on the love of my life—that I don’t have space left in my crowded head to process anything else.

  I raced out of the cafeteria too fast to see Austin’s full reaction to my hurling on him. If there is anything positive about it, which there isn’t, it’s that at least I did it away from the other kids, especially the Squad.

  “It’s like Kurt’s silent scream, you know?”

  I’m so occupied with my own thoughts that I haven’t even noticed the pudgy guy with a receding hairline and scruffy goatee standing next to me. Since these parties are usually only for high-schoolers, we need an “eternal senior” who is old enough to buy the kegs. There are a couple in the rotation but it seems that tonight, Fat Mike is the host.

  “Cobain.” Fat Mike gestures toward the portable Bluetooth player blaring out a depressing song that I don’t recognize. “If you’re into music, I’m a DJ. You should come by my place and hear me spin.” Fat Mike tries to wrap his arm around my waist but I step out of the way before he can.

  “Let’s try to stay clear of the local child molester, shall we?” Meryl says as she leads me away. “I know you probably want to commit hara-kiri after what happened with Austin, but I hate seeing you like this, V.”

  I was so mortified that I had to text Meryl. However, I left out everything about the peeping Tom and the Aiedeo. That stuff is too scary for a text. We needed a face-to-face, but between school, the game, and now the kegger, I still hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to Meryl alone.

  “Guys! Come over here and do a keg stand!”

  “In a minute, Lara!” Meryl replies.

  I arch my eyebrow. Meryl dances on tables, rides electric bulls, and does pretty much everything else you’d see in a beer commercial. But I prefer watching from the sidelines.

  “Guys, is your Heffers and Hos working?” Collette asks as she waves her cell around. “The Naomi pics were supposed to go up at midnight but I can’t get any reception out here.”

  The whisperings earlier on in the day about H and
H finding some scandalous shots of Naomi grew into a fury during the game. Now it seems that no one can stop talking about it.

  Sexting is yet another fuzzy area for me in the sexy-versus-slutty rules. We’ve sat through assemblies with well-meaning counselors warning us of the repercussions of sexting since we were twelve years old. Most of the girls that I know don’t send nudies casually. However, there are certain guys at school who routinely send dick pics like they’re doing us a favor. No one says or does anything about that, yet it seems the minute a chick sends a nude selfie—which is usually intended for her boyfriend or a guy she likes—she ends up as that week’s Honorary Ho on H and H or the photo is passed around in not-so-secret groups at school.

  “Seriously?” Meryl takes a swig of SoCo from her flask. “I can’t stand Naomi, but who cares about some photos of her in her birthday suit?”

  Collette looks at Meryl like she’s an alien. “Like, literally everyone cares.”

  Collette is right. There’s always buzz surrounding any potential H and H post, but this time, there’s a mad frenzy just because it’s Naomi. There seem to be a lot of horny toads who want to see her naked. But the more malicious sentiment is that she’s been up on her high horse for so long that everyone wants to watch her get knocked down. Although even for a conservative place like Meadowdale, a couple of nudies won’t break Naomi’s perfect image, although they do have the potential to dent it for a while.

  “I heard it’s not nude selfies,” Jessica pipes up. “Apparently, H and H has something much juicier on our perfect princess.”

  I see the eyes of Collette and a bunch of other people who are within earshot of us light up. The claws really are out tonight.

  “Like what?” Madison asks excitedly. No doubt she wants payback for what Naomi did to her yesterday at the funeral home. Her hazing is peanuts compared to what I had to go through with Dr. Jenkins, though. I get a quick taste of embalming fluid and blood in my mouth and it sends the beer in my belly swishing from side to side.

  Jess shrugs. “I don’t know. I just heard it’s more than pics.”

  “Whatever it is, Naomi deserves it. She’s so stuck up,” Toby Wilson says as he joins our circle. “Always going to those frat parties at the college because she thinks she’s too good to hang out with us high-schoolers.”

  All of us girls take a collective step back. Toby is a husky, hairy linebacker with clammy hands who we secretly refer to as “Sleazy Bear.” This is because he always makes any excuse to give a girl a “friendly” hug so he can cop a feel of wherever his sweaty palms can reach.

  “Well, I’m sure that Jim Talbert will be quick to fix it before it does any damage to Naomi’s precious Cornfed Cutie image,” Lara says snidely. “My mom works with him and she says he spends more time finding sponsorship deals for Naomi than managing his own funeral homes these days. She thinks he might even write Naomi’s blog for her.”

  “Totally knew that,” Collette says because she hates to be trumped when it comes to gossip. “Jim’s like a total stage dad.”

  I’ve never heard that about Naomi’s father but it doesn’t surprise me. That man always has dollar signs in his eyes.

  Collette’s eyes gleam. “I saw Trent and Naomi arguing after the football game. And I was like, Why would he be pissed about some nudies leaking, since he’s her boyfriend and she was probably sexting them to him, right? But if it’s something worse and it wasn’t with Trent, then—”

  “Collette, everything you’re saying right now is purely speculative.” Meryl sighs. “We don’t even know if H and H has something on Naomi. Or what that something may be. Or if the argument you claimed to witness between Naomi and Trent was even about any of that.”

  “Thanks, Judge Judy. But I’m not speculating or whatever law stuff you said. Naomi and Trent are both really good friends of mine and I just don’t want to see either of them get hurt.”

  “Well, if you’re so concerned about them, then maybe you should stop gossiping about them,” I snap.

  On any other night, I would relish spilling tea, especially if it concerned Naomi. But right now, I have a headache and little patience for idle high-school gossip when my problems are so much bigger.

  I’m spooked out of my mind. The Aiedeo might chalk it up as another shama, but I could have been killed last night. And that guy in the tree probably witnessed the whole episode—who was he and what was he doing watching me in the first place?

  I look around me. Standing in the middle of a gigantic field out here in the dark, surrounded by hundreds of corn rows where anything can be hiding, suddenly seems like a really stupid idea. I take another sip of my beer. Well, the alternative is to be hanging out in my bedroom by myself waiting for the Aiedeo or the peeper to come get me.

  “Whatever, Violet!” Collette fumes. “I totally know about you and Austin making out at the back-to-school party at Jeb Purdum’s house and I haven’t said anything to anyone.”

  “Except that you totally blabbed to me about it,” Jessica retorts.

  I feel my body burn from head to toe. This is exactly why I avoid local hookups. It’s impossible to keep anything on the down-low. If Collette knows about Austin and me, that means everyone knows. First, there’s the whispers behind your back, then comes the trolling, and finally you’re just scarlet-lettered until the next whore comes around. I’m not really sure just how much more I can take today.

  “Chill, Violet. If H and H was gonna post something about your hookup with Austin, it would have done it by now.” Collette checks her cell again. “Besides, this Naomi scandal is way bigger than you getting finger banged.”

  “WTF, Collette! Is that what you do for kicks? Go around secretly watching all of us?” I want to stuff her phone down her throat. “For all we know, you’re the anonymous asshole behind Heffers and Hos.”

  Collette smirks. “OMG, #FeistyGirl. Did I hit a nerve? So does that mean you did let Donnie Darko in your pants?”

  Austin does have a kinda broody vibe going on but that doesn’t make him Donnie Darko. I flip Collette off but secretly I love the reference and I’m surprised that a nitwit like her knows it.

  “I’d totally do Donnie Darko.” Jess winks at me. “Good going, V.”

  I’m trying to think of a comeback that will wipe the smug smile off Collette’s face when a loud voice interrupts my thoughts.

  “I seriously can’t believe you dragged me here.”

  The words are slurred but the tone of superiority is instantly recognizable. We all turn to see Naomi emerge from the corn holding a near-empty bottle of strawberry Boone’s.

  “Nay-Nay, it’s our senior year!” Tessa is a bit wobbly herself but not as wasted as Naomi. “This is the last time we’re ever going to get the chance to go to a cornfield kegger.”

  “As if those two are ever going to leave this town. Tessa’s gonna end up on the stripper pole at Chubby’s after graduation and Naomi’s bound for rehab before her senior year is even over.” Jess bristles. She’s obviously still pissed about her cheer demotion.

  “What is Tessa wearing?” Collette whispers. “Does she think she’s at a hoedown? Emphasis on ho.”

  I have to admit that Tessa does look like a second-rate rodeo hooker; she’s dressed in a super-tight flannel crop top that she must have bought from the little girls’ section at Farm and Fleet and a micromini jean skirt that does nothing for her hipless boyish body. Naomi, however, is rockin’ a pair of vintage cowboy boots and short-shorts, although she’s totally blotto. Together, they remind me of a washed-up country music duo.

  Their backup band consists of the usual suspects: Trent Thorman, Naomi’s long-term boyfriend and the football team’s star quarterback (he’s tall and chiseled, and with his farm-boy hotness, he could be the poster boy for a milk ad), and Trent’s best friend, Nathan Hunter, who’s a carbon copy of him down to the Hollister T-shirt and Levi’s 501s. They’re the type of guys that I bet a lot of cougars fantasize about.

  Nate’s way
less wholesome than Trent and has a wild streak that’s already gotten him two DUIs. While that would make most of us social lepers, Nate is the star pitcher of the baseball team. Both boys supposedly have the potential to go all the way to the pros and they’re from revered farming families that have lived in Meadowdale for generations. Around here, that makes them celebrities.

  The four of them form the exclusive inner circle of MHS, although Nate and Tessa aren’t a couple. I vaguely remember a rumor about her giving him head in the locker room after Nate pitched a no-hitter that won us State last year. However, Nate’s not the type to settle on just one girl when he has fangirls all over town. Like practically everywhere else in the world, here, boys don’t have to worry about ruining their reputations for slutting around.

  There’s another guy with them tonight. His long, lanky frame reminds me of a scarecrow. Caleb Rainey comes from one of only two families in Meadowdale that could actually be considered rich beyond county lines. I think they own a string of manufacturing plants that make farm equipment. Caleb has mo’ money than most of us so that’s why he has automatic entry into the popular group, although I don’t think anyone genuinely likes him. I get major mass-shooter vibes from him and avoid him as much as possible.

  I wonder why he’s here with those four, then I see him start to roll a joint and I get it. Nate’s a massive pothead during off-season and Caleb definitely has the finances to buy him whatever he needs.

  “Skanks!” Naomi shrieks as she starts stumbling toward us. “You all sucked so hard tonight.”

  “Does Little Miss Lush really think she can give us shit right now?” Jess hisses.

  Tessa tries to grab Naomi’s arm but Naomi yanks it away and continues zigzagging in our direction. It’s been a while since I drank with Naomi but I remembered her being more fun.