“I’m going to the dance floor,” Happy said. “Are you guys coming with me or not? I just feel the need to dance.”
“I’m in,” said Brooklyn. “This guy has been checking me out, and I think he may follow us.”
“I think I’m going to go home, actually,” Apple said. She felt so woozy suddenly that she wondered if it was going to be possible for her stand up, let alone dance.
“Don’t go! I just got here,” Happy said, pouting at her friend and grabbing her arm. “Let’s dance! Sailor told me the Fire Room is so freaking cool, all painted in flames. We should go check it out. And then we’ll go to the Ice Room, where they have these huge ice sculptures.”
“No, I think I really am coming down with something. I feel a bit woozy. I should go and get some rest,” Apple said.
“That’s the rum talking. You drank quite a bit, you know,” Brooklyn said.
“Yeah, silly,” Happy said, laughing. “You’re drunk!”
“Well, drunk or not, I’m not feeling great. So I’m going to head home. But you guys stay. Stay and have a good time! I have to go out and help with the clothing drive tomorrow, and I should sleep this off.” She could hear herself slurring her words. “Hey, Happy. You want me to ask Zen anything for you? He’ll be there tomorrow too.”
I’m definitely drunk, Apple thought. She had gone from not wanting to meddle in anyone’s life to actually offering to meddle.
“Nah, that’s okay. Oh, but Apple?” Happy said, grabbing Apple’s hand.
“Yeah?” Apple asked. Maybe now Happy was going to tell her what had really happened on the date. That it had been a total failure and that she felt like an idiot for thinking she might ever really like Zen.
“There’s something you should know,” Happy said. “Do you think you’ll remember what I tell you now, or should I wait for tomorrow?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Happy! I’m not that drunk!”
Apple instantly felt paranoid. Did Zen mention to Happy on their date what Apple had told him about Happy’s fling with the lifeguard?
“Just tell me,” Apple pressed.
“I wrote an e-mail to your mother asking her for advice,” Happy said.
Oh, Apple thought. Phew. Happy didn’t know that she had told Zen about the lifeguard. “Why? And when?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.
“When I got home tonight. I just thought you should know, since I know how much you hate that I think she’s good at giving out advice,” Happy said, looking slightly guilty.
“Just tonight? After your date?” Apple asked, bewildered.
“Yeah, to tell you the truth, I’m not that confident the date was all that great. So I really needed an expert’s opinion. I hope you don’t mind,” Happy said. “It just seemed like such an easy thing to do. And she is an expert, after all. And I didn’t want to ask you again, to ask Zen about it. You’ve already done so much for me.”
“No, I don’t mind,” Apple told her friend. “If you think it will make you feel better.”
“Thanks, Apple, for understanding,” Happy said appreciatively, giving Apple a huge hug.
Happy’s date must have really gone awry if she felt it necessary to go to Apple’s mother for advice—again.
“I understand. So why aren’t you confident?” Apple asked Happy, with concern. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“I don’t want to discuss it here. Some other time I’ll tell you. For now I just want to dance. Let’s go, Brooklyn.”
Apple hugged her two friends goodbye. She was shocked to realize that she was smiling as she walked out of Club Rox. She got into a cab that was waiting out front and gave the driver her address.
Maybe Zen wasn’t that into Happy after all, she thought. Maybe they realized that beyond their initial attraction, they had nothing in common.
She couldn’t help but wonder what Happy had written to her mother, though. No, thought Apple, I must resist the temptation. I’m never going to sneak into my mother’s personal e-mail again, even if she did it to me first. I’m not that person, Apple thought to herself. I believe in a person’s right to privacy. Happy would tell her what happened eventually, probably even the next day. Happy wasn’t the one who kept secrets and feelings to herself. That was Apple’s role.
Apple rolled down the taxi’s windows. The cool air was making her feel better. She looked out and saw the stars. Maybe life wasn’t that bad after all. Maybe it had just been a bad couple of weeks and now things would get back to normal and Zen would realize that the one he should have asked on the date was Apple.
As soon as she walked into her house, Apple knew she needed a distraction from her mother’s computer, which seemed to be calling out to her, “Log on! Log on!” She swore she could hear it whispering to her. No, I will not log on, she told herself. She thought she had clearly made up her mind during the taxi ride home, but it was as if she couldn’t make the decision stick.
She headed up to her room, noticing, for what seemed like the zillionth time, that the doors to both the spare bedroom and her parents’ bedroom were closed—which meant that, once again, her parents weren’t sleeping together in the same room. Apple wasn’t an expert on relationships, but it didn’t take a genius or a relationship expert to know there were marital problems in the Berg household, she thought. What if people found out that the woman who dished out relationship advice knew that her own relationship at home was a wreck?
She wondered if she had missed another blowout this evening. But her parents’ issues were not hers, Apple thought. Whatever was going on between them was between them. They were adults and should know how to figure their own issues out. She had her own problems. At that moment, her biggest problem seemed to be how she was going to force herself not to log on to her mother’s computer, to check out what Happy had written to Dr. Bee Bee Berg after her date that night with Zen.
She wandered into the kitchen. I’ll just make myself a snack, she thought, taking a box of cereal out of the cupboard. She took out a bowl and spoon and got the milk from the fridge.
Five minutes later, she was done. Now what? she thought. Her mind kept wandering to what Happy possibly had written. No, I’m not going to look, thought Apple. If Happy wanted to tell me what happened on her date, she would have. If she wanted to know what I thought, she would have asked me. I’m just going to go up and get ready for bed and go to sleep.
Twenty minutes after getting into bed, Apple knew it was fruitless to try and fall asleep. Her body was tired, but her mind was going wild.
Maybe it wouldn’t be that big a deal just to read what Happy had written. No one would ever find out, she thought. And Happy would probably tell her everything later anyway. No, I can’t, Apple thought. I can’t and I won’t. Her parents’ issues were not hers, and neither were Happy’s. And that was that.
She found herself saying to herself, “I can’t and I won’t,” even as she snuck by her parents’ room to make sure her mother was sleeping, and as she snuck by the spare bedroom to hear the sound of her father’s rhythmic snoring.
I can’t and I won’t, she thought as she tiptoed down the hallway into her mother’s office.
“How can I be doing this?” she asked out loud as she turned on her mother’s computer and waited for it to boot up.
She bit on one of her fingernails. What kind of person am I turning into? she thought. Apple wasn’t the nail-biter. Brooklyn was.
You are so mean, Apple thought to herself. Then, no, you’re not. You’re concerned about your friend. And you’re not going to fall asleep until you look at it anyway, so if you want to get at least a couple hours of sleep before volunteering tomorrow, you might as well just do it. It was normal to be interested in a friend’s problem. She was justified to be concerned.
She walked back to the doorway to listen for any new sounds of movement from her parents’ room. She couldn’t hear anything and headed back to the computer.
P-A-S-S-W-O-R-D, she typed quickly. Ap
ple thought if she did this fast enough, it would be over, like pulling off a Band-Aid.
She still felt tipsy from the rum she had drunk at Club Rox. Could she blame what she was doing on liquid courage? That was reasonable. Sort of.
The subject line caught her eye immediately. She knew it was Happy’s e-mail. It read, “Advice needed from Apple’s friend … again.”
So there it was—the e-mail that Happy had told Apple she had sent to her mother after her date.
Apple knew it wasn’t too late. She could log off, shut down the computer now, go back to her room, and just try to fall asleep. Or even just lay there not falling asleep. She still had the choice to read it or not. Apple knew this. But her head was telling her one thing, and her heart another.
Just like when she was ten, and her mother and Guy had caught her reading her mother’s mail, she found herself asking, “What’s the big deal?” And she followed her heart.
She clicked on the e-mail Happy had sent and read it, feeling a knot in her stomach as big as a watermelon. Maybe she shouldn’t have eaten that bowl of cereal. Cereal and rum just did not mix.
Dear Dr. Berg,
Thanks for your quick reply to my first e-mail. And thank you so much for giving me that advice. I have to admit that I didn’t follow all of it, but some of it, I think, worked. It’s hard to tell. Which is why I need your advice—again. Zen—that’s his name—didn’t seem exactly himself tonight. It seemed like there was something he wanted to ask me the whole night but couldn’t quite get out. I don’t know. Maybe it was first-date jitters or something. What do you think? The conversation went pretty well. But then, at the end of the night, when he walked me home, I think he wanted me to invite him in. I wanted to, but at the same time I also wanted the night to end, without there being some big finale. You know what I mean. It’s like when you’re having a great time at a party and you want to leave before you know it gets bad. That was what it was like. I didn’t want to get sick of him. Or I didn’t want him to get sick of me. I don’t know. But when I said goodnight, he leaned in and we kissed! And it was amazing! It lasted like five minutes. I didn’t want it to end, but, again, like a good party, I wanted it to stop, while I was still having fun. It’s hard to explain. And then, after, it was a little awkward, I’ll admit, because it did seem like there was still something he wanted to ask me … Am I being paranoid, Dr. Berg?
Xoxox
Happy
Apple suddenly knew she had to get up. She ran to the washroom attached to her mother’s office. She knew she was about to be sick. Really sick. She made it to the toilet just in time and held back her hair with one hand while she threw up. She tried to gag as quietly as possible. Sweat poured from her forehead. I am never going to drink again, Apple told herself. She suddenly had a pounding headache. How could this have happened? she thought, blinking back tears. She wiped her eyes and her face. She flushed the toilet. She rinsed out her mouth, splashed cold water on her face, and, unsteadily, started walking back to her mother’s computer, tripping over a garbage can on the way. Why didn’t Happy tell her and Brooklyn about the kiss? Why did she say that she wasn’t confident about the date, when they had ended up kissing? Happy and Zen kissed. Happy and Zen kissed. Happy and Zen kissed. Happy and Zen kissed!
Apple clicked Reply. The room was spinning and she had to force herself to concentrate on the letters on the keyboard. Focus, Apple, focus.
Dear Happy,
Thank you for keeping me updated. I hate to tell you this, but I think you may not be wrong in your feeling about being paranoid. Two things: if he seemed like he was trying to ask you something, it could have been that he is hiding something. This is never a good sign, especially at the start of a relationship. That’s just something for you to consider. I’m not saying I’m right, but just that it’s something for you to consider. Second, chemistry is a good thing, but it’s not everything. A good kiss could mean just that Zen is a good kisser, and nothing more. That’s something else for you to consider. If I were you, I’d play “hard to get” now. But, of course, I leave it up to you.
Dr. Bee Bee Berg
Apple reread what she had written, paying very close attention to each word. She knew she wasn’t exactly seeing straight, and it was hard to type without making spelling mistakes. Her mother and Guy never made spelling mistakes in their responses. Spelling was their pet peeve. This time Apple didn’t think twice about clicking Send. She shut down her mother’s computer and headed back to her bedroom. Now she was exhausted—emotionally, physically, and mentally. She plopped herself down on her bed, shivering under the covers. She just couldn’t keep warm. Her head still pounded and the tears kept springing to her eyes. Her mother was right—never underestimate what heartbreak can do to a girl, she always advised her viewers. Apple was drunk and miserable. She hated herself for sending out that e-mail without even a second thought, as if Happy deserved it. She also hated feeling like she had been run over by a truck.
Apple closed her eyes and passed out.
t was Saturday morning. Apple had woken up after a fitful sleep to a pounding head and to the image of Zen and Happy kissing. She couldn’t get them out of her head, like a horrible verse in a pop song. She groaned out loud when she remembered what she had done when she had got home. She should never drink again. The problem with drinking to forget is that you wake up and remember. And there could be nothing worse than drinking and e-mailing. She painfully got out from under her covers, feeling overwhelmed with nausea, partly because of the alcohol she had consumed, but mostly because of the thought of Happy and Zen kissing. You had a Girl Crazy Moment sending that e-mail out to Happy, like Aunt Hazel did when she thought it would be wise to sneak a peek in that guy’s house after she had spent the night. It was just a Girl Crazy Moment, and it will never happen again. You will never enter Girl Crazy Territory ever again like that, Apple told herself. If anyone should know better, it should be Apple.
You have to get your shit together now, thought Apple.
Though she felt like staying in bed all day, she knew she couldn’t. Zen and his mother were driving over in half an hour to pick Apple up on the way to the club.
She ran her tongue over her teeth and felt a thin disgusting layer. She decided to shower, taking her toothbrush in with her. After she toweled off, she walked to her closet and stood inside, looking at all her clothes. Her brain was so frizzled that it took her almost twenty minutes to decide what to put on. What outfit had Zen not seen her in? She felt like crap, but she couldn’t look like crap. Not in front of Zen. She chose a simple, tight black T-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans from Happy and swiped on some lip gloss.
The doorbell rang, and Apple ran downstairs.
“Hey, you ready?” Zen asked when Apple opened the door.
His mother waved to Apple from the car.
“As ready as I’ll ever be today,” she answered. She couldn’t look him in the eye. All she could picture in her head was his lips on Happy’s last night, and it was making her feel sick all over again.
“Wow. Apple, you look really tired,” Zen said.
“Thanks,” Apple said.
“You know what I mean. Did you have a late night?” Zen asked.
“Yeah. Sort of,” Apple said, grabbing her bag and shutting the door behind them as they walked to Zen’s mother’s car.
“You partied, didn’t you?” Zen said. “Admit it. I can tell. You literally look green.”
“A bit,” she admitted.
Apple didn’t know how she made it through the eight-minute drive to get to the club. Zen’s mother was asking her all about Dr. Bee Bee Berg, and telling Apple she had seen her mother’s photo in the newspaper again, and that she would love to invite Apple and Dr. Berg over for dinner one night. Apple didn’t say much. She couldn’t. She was scared that if she opened her mouth, she would end up puking.
Finally, after what seemed like an hour, Zen’s mother dropped them off and they headed to their post inside the club.<
br />
They sat at their table, watching the golf and tennis fanatics walk by. A few people dropped off boxes of clothes on their way to brunch.
“So, aren’t you going to ask what I did last night?” Zen asked suddenly.
Apple looked at him, picking her head off the table. She wasn’t sure how to respond.
“What did you do last night?” she asked him, robotically. Her voice sounded monotone. I already know what you did, she screamed in her head miserably. You kissed Happy! You kissed my best friend!
“I went on a date with your friend Happy,” Zen said, smiling with that dimple.
“Yeah, I know,” said Apple, trying to not sound as drained as she felt.
“Right. Of course you know. You guys are best friends. I keep forgetting,” Zen said. This annoyed Apple. Why couldn’t Zen even remember that Apple was Happy’s best friend? Was Apple that forgettable?
“Yeah, she told us at Club Rox,” Apple said.
“Wait. Happy went to Club Rox last night? What time?” Zen asked, sounding a little impatient.
“I don’t know. Maybe eleven,” Apple said, folding some clothes that had just been dropped off, and organizing them into different boxes. It was amazing what people were giving away. Some of the clothes still had the price tags hanging off of them.
Apple was so fatigued from not sleeping that she didn’t realize until after she’d said it that Happy might not have wanted Zen to know she went out after their date. She tried quickly to cover her tracks, feeling guilt-ridden again over the e-mail she had sent to Happy, pretending to be Dr. Berg for a second time.
“She met us. But Brooklyn and I dragged her out,” Apple said defensively. “It wasn’t like she planned on meeting us or anything.”
“So, what did you guys do there?” Zen asked, picking up a red cashmere sweater and attempting to fold it.
“We drank. We danced. Well, actually, Brooklyn and Happy danced. I left earlier than them. But when I was leaving, they were hitting the dance floor.”
“She was out dancing?” Zen said, more as a statement than as a question.
Rotten Apple Page 10
