The Accidental Bad Girl

by Maxine Kaplan

  “Nice friends?”

  It was another pointed question. “OK, sure,” I said, raising my hands. “They never liked Audrey that much, and now they really don’t. What of it?”

  He scooted backward, hopping onto my bed. “So. How do we kill the next two hours?”

  That particular problem hadn’t occurred to me. Then I had an idea. An evil, excellent idea.

  I crawled to the other side of the bed and retrieved the bourbon bottle. I grabbed our used glasses and poured out two shots, asking, “Do you know how to play blackjack?”

  “Sure . . .”

  “Ever play for confessions?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Gilly lost for the fourth time. “You’re cheating,” he declared. “I don’t know how, but you’re cheating.”

  I smiled to myself and took a dainty sip of my drink. “Me? Cheating? That’s absurd!”

  He put his head in his hands and groaned, “OK. Truth. What this time?”

  Truth or Dare Blackjack was a game I had invented in ninth grade. Right after I taught myself how to count cards.

  “Let’s see,” I said, reshuffling the deck. “What do I already have on you? Shall I inventory it?”

  “That’s not necessary,” he said, his face still down.

  Expertly fanning out the cards and flipping them back together, I pretended not to hear him. “We have your first crush at Howell—Ellie Kurtz is kind of unconscionable, Gilly. I’d be embarrassed, too. We have your first wet dream, involving some Battlestar Galactica character, which is so sad, I don’t think I would have the heart to use it against you. And we have your first kiss, which I conveniently have no way of verifying—some girl at film camp, indeed.”

  “You know something, Barbie? You’re the horniest girl I’ve ever met. Do you ever think about anything but sex?”

  “What are we doing here if not dealing with the fallout of that exact tendency?” I replied, ignoring the sting. “Just for that, I’m going to ask how far you’ve gone.”

  He looked behind me and pointed. “No deal. It’s ten. Time’s up.”

  I checked the clock and dropped the cards. “So it is. Went faster than I thought it would.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m glad you had fun.”

  I decided to take pity on him. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first I’ve beaten. The things I know would frighten you.”

  I stood up and held out my hand to help him up. He gripped it with both of his, and gravity pulled me forward until a moment later he was standing and I found myself locked against his chest.

  “Your heart’s beating fast,” he said quietly. “Are you up for this?” I swallowed and extricated myself. “Yes.” I didn’t have a choice. I prepared for the incredibly uncomfortable task of faking sexual tension in front of my parents. It made me feel slightly dizzy. I was willing to do a lot to get what I wanted, but this felt, well, like a lie. It was a lie.

  And I didn’t lie to my parents.

  As we hit the bottom stair, I ran smack into my dad carrying a bowl of popcorn.

  “Hey, guys,” he said brightly. “Guess what? Mom called the Gilberts, and Mikey can stay for the inaugural viewing of the—wait for it—remastered, Blu-ray, unbelievably good-looking Star Trek: The Next Generation discs! At least for a few episodes.”

  Gilly hadn’t had a chance to put his Mikey mask on, and he stared at me, shocked. I felt myself go pale. Everyone knew I was good at math, but nobody knew that I was a dork to the point that those Blu-rays had been preordered for my birthday present. That was just for me. I had kept my public persona and private life separate. I wasn’t used to being myself in public. I didn’t know what that looked like, and I wasn’t sure I liked the look on Gilly’s face.

  I grabbed his hand and hoped my mother wouldn’t walk in. “Actually, Dad, Mikey and I were going to watch a movie on my laptop,” I said. “Is that OK?”

  My dad looked at us quizzically. “Why wouldn’t you want to watch it on the good screen?”

  Mom walked into the hallway and immediately zoomed in on our clasped hands. Her eyes narrowed, and I felt Gilly flinch under my fingers.

  “What’s going on, Greg?” she asked, casually rubbing my dad on the shoulder. But there was a knife-edge to her voice. She had spotted fresh meat.

  Dad, oblivious, answered, “Well, for some reason, Mikey and Kendall would rather watch a movie in her room than on the big TV!”

  “Interesting,” said mom, side-eyeing us.

  I took a deep breath. She really liked Gilly, or Mikey, rather. I’d pay for this in mockery later, but it needed to be done. “Yeah,” I answered, shifting closer to Gilly. “We won’t be too late. You can still watch something; we’ll be quiet.”

  Mom held up a finger and went into the kitchen. When she came back, she was carrying another glass of wine. She took a long drink, swallowed, and announced, “No, you won’t. You’ll either keep that bedroom door open or Mikey goes home.”

  I dropped his hand, appalled. “What?”

  She sniffed primly. “It doesn’t seem appropriate. It’s late.” “You have to be kidding,” I declared. “Tell me this is a joke. Dad?”

  He gulped. “Um—”

  “We’re serious.” My mom cut him off. “Not tonight, Kendall.” I was so angry I started laughing. “Gee, I wonder why all of a sudden you care who I have in my bedroom and when.”

  “I always care what you do.”

  “Please,” I scoffed. “Only when it starts to embarrass you or intrude on your day.”

  “I’m going to go,” blurted out Gilly. When nobody said anything, he nodded and bolted down the last step and out the door.

  As soon it shut, my mom hissed at me in a quiet, deadly voice, “I will not be spoken to that way.”

  “Yeah, well, neither will I!” I shouted. “You wanted to spend my whole childhood treating me like an adult, you had better damn well treat me like one now.” I turned and stomped up the stairs.

  “Come back here!” Mom screamed after me. “We’re going to talk about this!”

  “No! Leave me alone!” I turned back and, my eyes stinging now, said, “I thought at least you would be on my side.” I slammed my door and flung myself onto my bed.

  I wasn’t crying. I almost never did. But I was gasping, just reaching out for every breath. My knees were tucked up around my middle. I rolled over until I was lying with my stomach against my thighs and stretched out my arms.

  I felt the familiar buzz of panic build up behind my ears. I started to count.

  One. Two. Three. I took a deep breath. Four. Five.

  The clock said ten thirty. I had to pull myself together, so I did. Plan A was out the window. Plan B, I decided, was probably for the best anyway. I’d just sneak out by myself.

  Eventually, my parents’ door closed, and the buzz of the television started. That was one thing I had counted on. That sound had been my lullaby since I could remember.

  After I had changed my clothes, I picked up my shoes with one hand and stepped slowly toward my bedroom door. I kept my socked feet on the floor, moving from heel to toe as smoothly as possible. I gripped the doorknob so hard it hurt my hand and, centimeter by centimeter, pulled it open and shimmied through. I pushed the doorknob to close it and winced at the inevitable click.

  The stairs: They were carpeted, but they made noise even when nobody was stepping on them.

  I crouched by the top landing, contemplating my best route down, but then the hallway flooded with light as my parents’ door opened. I instinctively hit the floor, flattening myself and tumbling my torso down two steps, with a muffled thump-thump-thump.

  “Ahem-auugh-ahem.” My dad cleared his throat and, with the TV on pause, walked to the bathroom as I panted, prone across the stairs.

  My mom started to say, “Greg, did you hear—?” and was cut off by the flush. This was my window—with no time to stand, I grappled my way down to the bottom of the stairs and landed smack on the hardwood just as my dad yelled, “Wha
t?”

  “Did you hear something?”

  “We don’t have mice, babe, I’ve told you.”

  Their voices faded, and I let out a breath. I rolled up to my feet. I had landed right in front of the door. I reached out and unlocked it carefully. Finally, I stepped into the cool night air, locking up behind me.

  I hurried down the stoop and sat on the lowest step, slipping on and buckling my high-heeled Mary-Janes.

  “You made it.” The voice made me jump. I whipped around and saw Gilly emerging from behind a parked car.

  “Yeah,” I said, relaxing. “Only to be given a heart attack.” I leaned down to adjust a buckle. “What are you still doing here?”

  He leaned against a streetlamp, turning his brown hair into an incongruous halo. His forehead creased as he said, “You didn’t think I was going to just go home, right?”

  I stood up and headed over to him. “Actually, I did.” His expression stayed irritated and confused. “I really appreciate all your help tonight. And it was . . . kind of . . . fun, I guess. But I can take care of this part myself.”

  “Not a chance,” he said flatly and headed down the block toward the F train.

  I checked my phone. We were running late. I didn’t have time to argue. “I’m OK, you know,” I blurted out. He looked at me. “That fight thing. Everything’s fine. You don’t have to stay because of that.”

  His only answer was to shout, “Taxi,” and run into the street with his arm raised. A yellow cab pulled up out of nowhere. He opened the door and made an ironic bow.

  “After you, Barbie.”

  “Enough,” I muttered, frustrated. But I headed to the cab. The cab driver was blasting what sounded like a Bollywood musical score, too loud to talk over. I was relieved. I needed to get my head together. I leaned back against the worn leather seat, shut my eyes, and tried to do just that. But when I closed my eyes, I saw Audrey as she looked over her shoulder and called me a slut. That image was quickly replaced by Jo’s fist coming toward me. Finally, I saw Mason leaning close, seeming to loom over me, even though our faces were level. That last image wouldn’t leave. It kept coming at me and at me and at me, like a filmstrip caught in a loop.

  Gilly put his hand on my arm, and my eyes opened. “We’re here,” he said and paid the cab before I could reach my purse.

  As the taxi sped off, I surveyed the bar from across the street. The Fish Hook was squat, dim, and unremarkable, until someone opened the door to go outside for a smoke. Yellow lighting and intrigue briefly flooded the street as the swinging door revealed a glowing room filled with dark-clad people standing in close, loud clumps.

  “OK,” I breathed and crossed the street. I had reached the other side when I realized I was alone. I spun around. “What? What are you doing over there?”

  Gilly fidgeted, looking more like his normal self than he had all night. His normal self with a tinge of . . . what is that? Fear?

  What does he have to be scared of? I shook my head, suddenly filled with contempt. After all, I was the one taking risks here. “Great,” I muttered. “Very helpful. Fine, you wimp. I’ll do it alone.” I raised my voice. “Have a good night,” I called, with my widest smile. He started as if he’d been slapped.

  I turned around. This was it. I straightened my back as tall as it would go, strode to the door, swung it open, and walked into the musty-smelling light of the Fish Hook.

  Luckily, the bouncer was distracted by two fratty guys in the corner and didn’t even look in my direction. I headed to the bar and stood awkwardly against the scratched oak, until the bartender made her way down the line to me.

  “What can I get you?” she asked, moving fast in about three different directions, putting a credit card here and pulling a glass out from under there.

  “Um. Trev?”

  She stopped what she was doing and turned to actually look at me, pointing at me with a shiny green fingernail.

  “Are you Ken?” she asked. “Simone’s friend?”

  “Yeah,” I said, embarrassed. “Kendall. I don’t know why I said Ken in the text.”

  She laughed. “Trev told me to look for some high school dude named Ken. I didn’t expect you.” She opened the hatch and said, “Come on through. Trev’s in the back.”

  She took my hand and led me to another door, ushering me though. “Just holler for him. He’ll hear you.” The door slammed in my face.

  I was in a dank, unfinished passage piled high with cardboard boxes and plastic kegs, forming a sort of tunnel. It was shadowy and dusty. “Hello?” I called. No answer. “Trev?”

  I took a few steps down the hall, my heels clicking across the rough cement floor.

  “Trev?” I called again. There was a hacking cough. I followed the sound around a corner and reached the source.

  It was an alcove overflowing with papers and boxes. There was no desk, just a saggy leather couch and a matching, albeit patched, armchair arranged around a coffee table. A softly rounded body was doubled over at the waist, racked with coughing. All I could see of him other than his skinny jeans and Timberland boots was hairy arms, a mop of brown and black waves, and what looked like very impressive sideburns.

  I crouched down in front of him and put my hands on his shoulders, trying to steady them. “Are you OK?” He put up a hand as if to say, “Give me a minute.”

  “Do you want some water?” I asked, digging into my purse and pulling out a bottle. “It’s kind of old—”

  He grabbed at the water and threw his head back, swallowing it with a theatrical gargling sound. “Whew . . .” he whistled, still bent over backward above me. In a final, convulsive hack, he stretched his shoulders back, then forward, thrusting his face into view.

  Trev had enviably smooth skin, bright and terra-cotta brown. He had a pointy, substantial nose and a triangular chin. He smiled down at me, and his black eyes sparkled. “Whew,” he said again. “Thanks, lady-friend. I needed that. Did Kitty send you back to look for me?”

  So this was Trev.

  I pulled myself up to my feet, smacking the dust off of my black leggings.

  He pointed at me, but in a friendly way. “Who are you?” he asked, looking me up and down. After completing his circuit, his eyes lingering curiously on my bruise before smoothly moving on, he smiled. “Whoever you are, I am very, very pleased to meet you.”

  I felt myself relax. I tossed my hair over the left side of my face and smiled.

  “I’m Ken,” I said, raising my eyebrow at his surprised expression. “Simone’s friend.”

  He stuck his hand out. I took it.

  “I should have expected a friend of Simone’s to be both a pal and a total smoke show,” he said, shaking my hand vigorously.

  “And instead you were expecting some bro with creepily styled hair and inappropriately fancy cuff links?”

  He laughed. “Hey! You hear ‘Ken’, you get a certain mental image, you know?”

  I smiled. “I know. Malibu beach houses.”

  He dropped my hand and pointed at me again with a wagging finger. “Exactly, exactly. OK, take a seat,” he said, patting the couch. “Tell me what I can do for you.”

  A familiar sweet, piney, manure smell hung over everything. I couldn’t place it until I spotted the bong hidden discreetly under the table.

  So that’s why he was coughing. I took a seat on the couch next to Trev.

  “You weren’t very specific in your messages,” he said. “All I got was ‘dose.’”

  I rolled my eyes self-deprecatingly. “I’m sorry. A friend of mine always calls it that. I got in the habit. No, I was looking to roll on what you sold to Simone and Pete Morrison.”

  “You go to Howell?”

  “Aw, come on, don’t make me admit I’m a high schooler at a bar on a Friday night.”

  He grinned. “Hey, I’m not the cops. You look older than high school, is all.”

  I planted my heel on the table. “It’s all an illusion. When you’re as short as I am, you learn fast
that dark leggings, high heels, and a too-short skirt will get you as far you’re going to go.” I grinned at him, hoping he wouldn’t laugh in my face.

  He didn’t seem like he was going to laugh, though. He looked up my leg quickly and then back up to my face. “Well, mission accomplished. I look older than I am, too,” he said quickly. “I’m twenty-three.”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed,” I said, moving my leg back to a more comfortable position, inwardly exalting. I hadn’t had much of a plan other than to go to the Fish Hook and find out what I could. And Trev seemed more than willing to chat. That seemed like a liability for someone with his side hustle, but who was I to complain?

  “Yeah,” he said. “And I grew up around here, so I know a lot of Howell kids.”

  “I got that impression. You sell to a lot of kids in my class, right?”

  “Oh, sure. Your girl Simone, for one. A bunch of guys who graduated last year—you know Grant Powers, right?”

  “I know him.”

  “Well, him, Burke, Ryan, Dougie, those guys. In your class—you’re a senior, right?” I nodded. “In your class, obviously Pete Morrison, some chick named Ellie that Grant’s girl brought into the bar, Ricky, Lucas, Danica, and also this guy Lemon.”

  “Jacob Lemon?” I asked, surprised.

  “Yeah, yeah, sweet kid. All sunshine and rainbows, practically didn’t need the E. Had this really grumpy, mean-eyed little friend, though. Guy was kind of a pain in the ass.”

  I pictured the aggressive, angry Drew and grimaced. “I know the guy you’re talking about. I sympathize. I guess Howell’s such a small school, you’re probably our only connect, huh?”

  He leaned back with his arms behind his head and gave a smirky little shrug. “Maybe I have some influence,” he said, moving one of his arms to rest above my shoulders.

  I stiffened but kept my smile in place. “Well, I’m looking for two tabs,” I told him.

  “I’ll do you one better,” he said, moving forward and opening a drawer in the coffee table, taking out an orange prescription bottle. He handed it to me. “Here are four for the price of two. A getting-to-know-you present.”