Things Jolie Needs to Do Before She Bites It

by Kerry Winfrey

  Noah turns and lifts his hand with a smile. A good sign. “Oh, hey, Jolie.”

  I skip down the steps, past a few people whose faces are just blurs, and cross the lawn toward him. “What are you drinking?”

  He lifts his cup in my direction and rolls his eyes. “Orange soda. Alcohol and caffeine dehydrate your vocal cords, you know.”

  He sniffs the air as I get close to him. “Or, uh, maybe you don’t know.”

  “I just had a little,” I say, attempting to stand up straight with a hand on one hip.

  Noah smiles and takes a sip. “Right. Was the party too much for you, too?”

  “What?” I ask.

  He tips his drink toward the porch. “Honestly, I can’t stand these things. Why do I want to watch Marcus Brennerman puke into a space helmet, you know? That’s why I came out here.”

  Oh, geez. Noah really is a nice guy. I may have only picked him for my kiss plan because of his looks, but it turns out he’s actually kind of great. He’s pretty much the cutest guy in school, just like I’ve always thought. Unless you count Derek, which I don’t, because Derek’s my friend. Or at least he was, before tonight. Either way, maybe kissing Noah will be all it takes—maybe once we lock lips, the ensuing chemistry will take over and we’ll fall in love and everything will be perfect.

  A late-spring breeze blows past us, and I hear the leaves rustle. Noah’s hair lifts up slightly. We’re still just looking at each other, and I don’t know how long it’s been, ten seconds or ten minutes or ten years. I can’t let this moment pass. I push all the other thoughts out of my mind—my confusion, my fear, Evelyn, Derek, Toby—and launch myself toward Noah.

  I close my eyes, my hands grabbing his (just as soft as I imagined) hair as I press my lips into his. This is what I’ve been waiting for. What I wanted when this whole thing started a month ago. I want to be feeling it all right now—fireworks and soda bubbles and full-body tingles and that red convertible speeding down the highway.

  But what I feel right now isn’t soda bubbles. It’s more like a flat, warm Diet Pepsi. And I can’t help thinking about all the little moments I’ve had with Derek over the past month, and how just touching his arm feels more exciting than kissing Noah. I’ve been so worried about not getting a chance to kiss someone before my mouth possibly goes numb, but it might as well be numb right now.

  I pull back quickly and wipe my mouth. “I made a mistake.”

  “Wow,” Noah says, looking away from me. “Uh, Jolie…”

  “Oh, no. Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, covering my face with my hands.

  “I didn’t know you—I didn’t think we—” he stammers.

  “That was a bad kiss, wasn’t it?” I say from behind my hands.

  “I think if you tell the other person it was a mistake, that’s a pretty good sign it wasn’t a great kiss,” Noah says, and I look between my fingers to see him smiling.

  “It’s just … I wanted to kiss you before I even knew you, because you’re all cute and tall and you’ve got that hair, but then it turned out you’re nice, too, so I thought you’d be the perfect person for my first kiss because I’m about to have surgery and I’m afraid I’m going to die or have a numb mouth and not know when I have corn on my lips and—”

  “Hey.” Noah reaches out and grabs my shoulders. “Maybe just take a breath.”

  I inhale deeply and relax.

  “I think,” Noah says, looking directly into my eyes, “that you’re a great person. But I didn’t … I didn’t even know … Well, I thought you and Derek were a thing.”

  Derek. The name shoots into my heart like a spear. “Oh, no,” I groan, because now I get it. I get it that I didn’t want to kiss just anyone, not even a very cute anyone with soft and voluminous hair like Noah. I wanted to kiss a very particular someone. And the realization pokes through my boozy fog that this may be, in fact, a pretty big problem. Because I don’t want my friendship with Derek, one of the few people who actually gets me, to change. But also because I may have already screwed up that friendship or relationship or whatever-ship by openly rejecting him on the steps of Toby’s house right before I had what may be the worst kiss in the history of the world.

  Suddenly, I remember the last thing Abbi said to me when she was describing how a kiss felt: That’s what it feels like when you’re kissing the right person.

  “I think … I’m going to…”

  I lean over and puke right on Noah’s shoes, then sit down on the ground. I run my fingers through the grass and sigh. “I’ll just rest here for a while.”

  “I’m gonna help you get home,” Noah says, picking me up with his hands under my arms. “You’re obviously not driving anywhere tonight.”

  I can’t argue with that, so I let him put an arm around me as he helps me toward his car. “Noah,” I say sleepily. “I feel a lot better now.”

  “I’m glad,” Noah grunts, straining to drag me along with him.

  “Sorry about the puke. But I have to … I have to ask you something. What would you do if you thought you might like someone, but you didn’t want to mess up your friendship?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t have romantic feelings for any of my friends.”

  “No, I’m not talking about you,” I say, struggling to piece my thoughts together in coherent sentences. “I’m talking about…”

  “Hey, Derek!” Noah says, and my eyes snap open.

  “Hey,” Derek says. I can’t fully focus on him. I just see his disappointed eyes. His pursed lips. His keys jangling in his hand.

  “I, um … I came back. To make sure you were okay. I wanted to make sure you didn’t try to drive. But it looks like you managed pretty well on your own.”

  Oh no. I think about how this looks: Noah’s arm around me, my smudgy, too-bright lipstick, Noah’s rumpled hair.

  “We’re not—” I start.

  Derek holds up a hand. “Save it, Jolie. I’ve gotta get home. Have a nice night.”

  He walks away, and I just watch him go.

  “He seemed angry,” Noah says slowly. “Did I do something to him?”

  “You didn’t do anything,” I say, leaning against him. “I did.”

  And then I puke. Again.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Without opening my eyes, I stretch out my arms and feel a warm body. I bolt upright with a shriek, then almost fall back down as my head spins.

  “You’re awake.” Evelyn yawns and rubs her eyes.

  “Wait, why are you here?” We’re both crammed into my twin bed, and I’m wearing mismatched pajamas. Late morning sunlight is streaming through my white lace curtains as I blink a few times, trying to remember what happened last night. “And how did I get here?”

  “After you puked on Noah the second time, we decided you needed some help getting home.”

  I groan. If someone has to specify which time you barfed, you know it wasn’t a good night.

  “And I called Abbi to make sure she could help us get inside without waking up your parents. We both tried to get pajamas on you, but you were very floppy.”

  I look down at my pajama top, on which only two of six buttons are buttoned.

  “But I thought you left the party,” I say, piecing together what I remember. “Because you were—are—mad at me.”

  “Hello?” Evelyn looks pissed. “No matter how mad I am at you, I’m not going to leave you drunk and alone with some dude, even if it is Toby. That’s, like, Being a Decent Friend 101. Marla and I stayed on the porch and kept an eye on you until we took you home.”

  I’m suddenly filled with so much warmth for Evelyn that I think I might puke a third time. “You stayed.”

  She nods.

  “So you saw…”

  “The kiss. The puke. Derek. The return of the puke.” She holds up fingers as she lists everything. “Noah’s shoes didn’t survive, by the way. He threw them in Toby’s pond, where the contents of your stomach are probably giving some fish alcohol poisoning.”
<
br />   I want to crawl back under the blankets and stay there for, oh, a few years. And not just because my tongue feels like it’s wearing a sweater. It’s because a thick layer of shame is coating my entire body.

  “I kissed Noah,” I say flatly.

  “Yaaaay!” Evelyn sings, then when she sees how I’m looking at her, offers up a tentative “I mean … booooo?”

  “It sucked,” I say. “Like, if that’s what kissing is like, then I don’t know why people do it. Smashing our mouths together? Who invented that?”

  Evelyn raises her eyebrows, which are much fainter than usual since she’s not wearing makeup. “In my limited experience, it generally feels better than a mouth smash.”

  “It’s just … Abbi and Google made it sound like it was going to be so great, but honestly, it was like my mouth was already numb. I wasn’t into it, Noah wasn’t into it…”

  “Please tell me you didn’t google what kissing feels like,” Evelyn says, putting a hand on my arm.

  “Not the point.”

  “Well,” she says, “I think you might have already hit on the point. You weren’t into it, Noah wasn’t into it … In general, if both parties aren’t into it, it’s going to suck. Do you actually like Noah?”

  I swallow. “I think he’s really sweet. And nice. And he’s cute.”

  Evelyn stares at me.

  I slump. “Fine! I don’t like-like him, okay? I just couldn’t stand the thought of not meeting my goal before my surgery, and there’s no one else I could kiss! Maybe Peter, but I’m definitely not interested.”

  Evelyn stares at me. “Can we please stop acting like you and Derek aren’t totally in love with each other?”

  “We’re not,” I say reflexively.

  “Oh, really?” Evelyn asks. “Then why are you guys always, like, staring at each other meaningfully? Why is it that whenever I talk to you I feel like this is a romantic comedy and I just interrupted you right before you’re about to kiss?”

  Heat floods my cheeks. “I don’t know what’s going on, okay? Maybe I like Derek. I mean, probably.”

  Evelyn raises an eyebrow.

  “Okay, I do!” I say, throwing my hands up. “But I tried to never think about it, because I knew there was no way he could ever like me. And even when he was acting like he did, I figured it was just because he knew I was going to get surgery soon and I’d be prettier.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Derek,” Evelyn says.

  I sigh. “It’s not Derek. At Toby’s, he told me he’s liked me since we were kids.”

  “I hate to be a know-it-all, but duh.”

  “But now I don’t know what to do. You don’t just make out with someone you’ve known your whole life.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because!” I croak. “Because … what if it sucks? What if it ruins everything? What if it doesn’t work out? What if it’s like the kiss I just had with Noah, and then we can’t be friends anymore because I just look at him and think about flat Diet Pepsi?”

  Evelyn shakes her head. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about, but you’re ignoring one important thing: What if it’s great?”

  I shake my head. “The thing with Noah was fine, because I knew that if I kissed him and he wasn’t into it, or if he thought I was disgusting or ugly or he pushed me away, it wouldn’t matter. Because I don’t know him, you know? Yeah, sure, he’s a great guy, but I haven’t known him that long.”

  Evelyn nods, encouraging me to go on.

  “But Derek…” I trail off, tracing a pattern on the comforter with my finger. “He actually knows me, all the good parts and the bad parts. And if he…” I swallow. “If he changes his mind … If he decides I’m not good enough … that means something. I don’t know if he’s temporarily delusional or just desperate or what, but this can’t be for real. And I’d rather save my dignity than get humiliated or crushed.”

  “Jolie,” Evelyn says quietly, “he broke up with Melody. For you.”

  I stare at the comforter.

  “The way you see yourself … that’s not real, do you get that?” She reaches out and puts a hand on my arm. “This is about way, way more than a guy, however great Derek is. This is about you, and I wish you could see you’re worth it. Now and later. Before surgery and after. With an underbite and without.”

  I sniffle and brush away a tear that escaped from my eye.

  “You’re a good friend,” I say as I blow my nose. “But I’m scared. I wish I wasn’t, but I just am. I know you don’t get it because you’ve never been afraid of anything in your life, but that’s the truth.”

  Evelyn laughs. “Do you seriously think I’ve never been scared of someone not liking me?”

  I nod slowly.

  “Well.” Evelyn takes a deep breath. “I guess this is as good a time as any to tell you … I’m dating someone. Like, officially. Like, exchange-letterman-jackets-in-an-old-movie official.”

  I almost fall off the bed. “What? What’s his name?”

  Evelyn smirks. “Marla.”

  One million thoughts run through my head, and those one million thoughts coalesce into one name that makes its way out of my mouth. “Marla?”

  Evelyn throws her head back and laughs. “Seriously, Jolie, haven’t you been wondering why we’ve been hanging out so much?”

  “But I didn’t even know you like girls.”

  She shrugs. “Neither did I. But I like Marla. She’s not as much of a hard-ass as she seems—or, well, actually she is, and that’s what I like about her. She’s just as driven to get into Harvard as I am to get into Parsons. It’s nice to be around someone who understands staying in on a Friday night to work. And since you and Derek are kind of in a two-person club…”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “It’s the truth.” She looks down at my comforter, seeming different from the usually confident Evelyn I know. “I’m glad you guys have each other, but sometimes there’s no room for me. So when Marla and I clicked, it just seemed like you guys wouldn’t really miss me if I wasn’t around that much.”

  “Oh, Ev,” I say.

  She holds up a hand to stop me. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. That’s the thing. It’s like, whenever we hang out, you’re reminding me I should be studying or doing my homework, but I already have a mom, and frankly, sometimes she’s too much mom for me to handle.”

  “I thought you wanted me to help you!”

  “I do.” She exhales forcefully. “It’s just … I don’t want that to be the entirety of our friendship, you know? You and Derek have your bad-movie club or whatever, and it’s not like I even want to come to that, but I do wish we had more of our own things.”

  “I’m so clueless. I’m a terrible person,” I moan. “I’m at number one on the list of terrible people, right above Justin Bieber when he was in his rebellious phase and he abandoned that monkey in Germany.”

  “That poor monkey,” Evelyn murmurs.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been sucking so hard,” I say. “We need to make some new friendship traditions. Maybe we need a handshake? Or we can make some bracelets? Or…?”

  Evelyn laughs. “Or maybe I can just come over, and we can watch The Golden Girls together and not talk about English essays or history tests.”

  “Deal,” I say, holding out my hand and attempting to make up a handshake on the spot.

  “I think we need more practice,” Evelyn says.

  There are three solid knocks on the door. “Everyone decent?”

  “Yes!” I say as my dad pokes his head in. “Duh.”

  “Just letting you girls know I made some pancakes,” he says.

  “What kind are they?” Evelyn asks. “Do I dare hope?”

  “Blueberry,” Dad says with a smile.

  Evelyn fist-pumps. Dad’s blueberry pancakes are legendary.

  “Has there ever been a problem that blueberry pancakes couldn’t solve?” Evelyn asks. She’s mostly right; we used to have Dad’s blueber
ry pancakes after our childhood sleepovers, and they kind of did solve all our problems back then.

  Evelyn reminds me to brush my teeth and take a quick shower before we head downstairs because I smell, as she puts it, “like roadkill.” Luckily, Mom already left for a morning shopping trip, and Dad is too engrossed in his latest paperback to notice my first hangover.

  My stomach settles once I have a few pancakes. But as I think about everything that happened last night and a fog of mortification settles over me, I have the sinking feeling that my current problems are gonna require a whole lot more than simple carbohydrates.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I’ve texted Derek approximately thirty-seven times (but who’s counting?) since the Confession, as I’ve been referring to it in my head. It has a better ring to it than the Night I Ruined a Friendship and Also Puked Twice. He hasn’t responded once.

  The upside to all of this is that I have a lot of free time on my hands, most of which I spend constantly replaying what I said to Derek, then coming up with all the big dramatic speeches I should’ve given about my true feelings and how scared I am and how important he is to me.

  In my head, there’s definitely an instrumental soundtrack behind those words. It’s all very stirring.

  But I can’t exactly give Derek said speech because, of course, he’s not talking to me. The worst part is that while we have to see each other constantly during our last week of junior year, he won’t even acknowledge my existence. I spend trig class staring at the span of his shoulders and imagining what would happen if I reached out and touched him. Probably nothing good. Either way, he partners up with Sean Morrison, and I’m forced to become partners with Greg Walker, who doesn’t know a sine from a cosine.

  And then junior year ends with a whimper, and I have nothing to do. I mean, other than worry about my impending surgery, which is scheduled for exactly two weeks after the last day of school. Evelyn and I still hang out, but she’s with Marla a lot, which means Netflix and I take our already close relationship to the next level. I easily finish Jane Eyre and move on to the film adaptation, but Dad doesn’t like making fun of how Michael Fassbender growls all his lines, so the whole experience is just depressing.