Liars and Losers Like Us

by Ami Allen-Vath

  “Oh please, I’ve known you since elementary school. You’ve never talked to me. But you’ve laughed. Everybody does.” As if a dam breaks, tears rush down her face. “You were sitting right next to me when someone left a dead mouse in my desk in sixth grade. The smell—” Her face crumples like tissue paper as she mops the tears into her wadded Kleenex. “The smell of it—for two whole days until I found it in the back corner in a sandwich bag. Don’t tell me you didn’t know about it. I remember like it was last week. You’re the one who told me to check my desk, remember? There’s no way you don’t.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t. I—I …” I don’t even want to finish because the look on her face takes me back to the way she looked when she pulled it out of her desk that day. Horrified, degraded, the tears, the face-slapping humiliation. I do remember. Our corner of the class was starting to get a weird stink. Kids were whispering and laughing at lunch and recess about someone putting something in her desk. “I didn’t do that. I don’t know who did either, I just heard about it—that’s why I told you to look. I wasn’t trying to be mean. I wasn’t even sure if it was true.” My heart’s racing and the look on her face is killing me and I just want to leave. Maisey Morgan isn’t going to make me cry. “I wasn’t in on it and I really was trying to help.”

  “Whatever. I’d hardly call that helping. I’m sure you were laughing with everyone else. Just like you’ve laughed a million times at a million jokes about me. You think you’re better than me with your perfect life. You get to walk down the hallway without wondering if someone’s going to throw something, trip you, or squeak and sing when you’re with friends or walking down the hall with your little sister who only just realized you were a loser once she got into high school with you.”

  “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m—”

  “Just shut up. It doesn’t matter anymore anyways. It’s all done, it’s over. I. Don’t. Care. I’m more over it than you’d even believe.”

  My throat clenches tighter but somehow I push more words out. “Like I said, I’m sorry for anything I’ve ever said or done to make you feel like I thought I was better than you. That’s crazy, but don’t think my life is perfect either. I don’t have a perfect life and everything isn’t as easy for me as you think.”

  “Save the act of contrition, Bree Hughes,” she says with such bite I can practically see the cold air coming from her mouth. Her smirk is so condescending that it resembles one I’ve seen many times on Jane Hulmes’s face. “This isn’t a confessional booth. You don’t get to say sorry and everything goes away. You and the rest of this school are the least of my problems, anyway. I told you, it’s done. Have fun on Prom Court and enjoy hanging out with all those assholes, seems like you’ll fit in just fine.”

  She plucks her glasses from the sink, wipes her eyes with her sleeve, swoops up her books, and leaves me in her dust.

  I can’t believe that the first time I’ve ever really talked to Maisey just ended with her telling me off. Who would’ve thought she had it in her? Although a part of me is flattered for her thinking I’m perfect and leading some charmed, popular, happy family life, I mostly feel like an ass. I don’t even know how I’d fix something like this. At least I said I was sorry. Maybe I can try to say something else to her another time. But definitely not right now. Right now, I have to get to class to turn in my assignment. Most importantly, I can’t wait to tell the only person I’m hoping will care right now about my good news. Sean Mills.

  SEVEN

  Gripping my phone, I run through all the reasons why I should call Sean. Of course my seat was taken when I walked into Language Arts. Kallie didn’t save it like she usually does so I had to sit in the front row, first seat in. Right in front of Maisey who was probably piercing me with sharper daggers than Kallie was. Being in front, I was also forced to leave class first when the bell rang. I didn’t even have the nerve to turn around and wait for Sean. I was too worried that Maisey would have more stuff to say to me.

  I jump onto my bed and relax into the pillows propped against the headboard. After tapping Sean’s number into my phone, my finger hovers over the call button.

  Just call him! Do it, do it. Okay … now. I pause. This is way different than last time when he had my notes and gave me his number. This is basically a “for no reason” call. Okay, c’mon Bree … Now. Okay … Now.

  My finger is still frozen. I decide to recite the alphabet backward and once I get to “A” I’ll call him. As I’m reversing LMNOP in my head, my phone startles me by ringing and buzzing in my hand.

  CHIP RYAN.

  “Uuuuuuugh.” I shove the phone under my pillow but then rationalize that if I can handle talking to Chip, I can definitely manage a call to Sean afterward. I snatch my phone back and answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey Bree, it’s Chip.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I reply. “Your name’s still programmed into my phone.” So I know when NOT to answer. “What’s up? Actually, how about this: Say everything you need to say and then we’re going to be done with it. Got it?” In spite of my shaking hand and my heart beating right behind my uvula, I am empowered.

  Silence.

  “Chip?”

  “Okay, sure,” he says. His uncertainty is funny, considering he’s had months to prepare. “Listen. I miss hanging out with you and I feel like you haven’t let me apologize.”

  Another pause.

  “Okay, fine. Go ahead.”

  “Really?” He exhales loudly into the phone. “I know I was a jerk but I had every right to be mad. You didn’t call or answer my texts and you stood me up. What else was I supposed to think?”

  “And?”

  “Okay. Either way, I was an ass. I shouldn’t have acted like that and I’m sorry, I really am. It’s embarrassing. I had to tell my dad what happened because of the driver’s side window and the fact that I broke my wrist. Then, of course he told my mom who made me see an anger management counselor every Thursday for the rest of the summer. It was all pretty stupid but I guess it was good. I’m not that guy. You know I’m not. I miss you.”

  I let the pause linger to make sure he’s done.

  “Thanks for apologizing and I’m sorry too. Sorry I had personal shit going on and avoided you and didn’t call to give you a heads-up. I’m even more sorry that I had to witness you getting all psycho on me. Thanks for calling and I hope you enjoy the rest of your senior year. Okay?”

  “Well, wait. Can we hang out and talk? Maybe this weekend? Prom is only two months away and I’m not sure if you got my message last week but I was thinking maybe we could go, just as friends, or whatever?”

  “Chip. No. That’s not happening.”

  “Is that also a no on meeting up to talk more?”

  “Yes, Chip—.”

  “Yes?” he asks.

  “No, Chip. I meant yes that it’s a no. It’s definitely a no. We’re not going to be hanging out like old times or like friends or like anything. Thanks for the apology.”

  I click End Call before he can mansplain another second. I type Sean’s number, pressing Send before I can change my mind. My heart is pumping hard but slows down as I finish my backward alphabet while waiting for him or his voicemail to pick up. I get to GF … ED and he answers.

  Instead of “hello” he gives a long drawn out “yooooo.” His voice is so cute and I stifle a nervous laugh.

  “Hey Sean, it’s Bree. Hughes.”

  “Bree, can I tell you something?”

  “Um suuuure?”

  “I have you programmed into my phone and I don’t know any other Brees. You can use your first name. We’re cool like that.”

  “Oh okay, got it.”

  “Funny you called, I was going to call you in a little bit.”

  My adrenaline is instantly leveled up. “You were?” I ask.

  “Yes, is that okay? Or are you only allowed to call me?”

  I flip the phone away from my mouth so he can’t hear my long anxious exhale. I fan m
yself to keep the blood vessels beneath my face from flooding.

  “Well, I called first so I win. I guess you owe me some sort of prize. I’ll need to collect it by the end of the week. Anyway …”

  “Sure, we’ll see about that prize. So, what’s up with Prom Court? Jane told me after school that you’re taking Kallie’s spot because she doesn’t want to be with Molly. What’s up with that?”

  “Kallie’s spot? No, actually I guess I’m taking Maisey’s spot. Funny how fast rumors get twisted.”

  “Oh, that’s kind of a bummer. I was pretty jazzed to see Molly get dethroned by the Morgan-ador.”

  “Yeah, me too, but I feel bad for her, she knew it was a joke.” I want to go into everything that happened today but don’t want to push it. I’m talking to someone way out of my social league here. I don’t need to remind him.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. That sucks.”

  “I know, right? So, what do I have to do? It says there’s just one meeting and the pep rally. That’s it? For some reason, I thought it’d be more than that.”

  “Nope, that’s it. There’s a meeting next Tuesday after school. I guess Prom Committee has a couple ideas that we have to yay or nay. Everyone knows it doesn’t matter though, they’re just going to do what they want. So, who cares? I don’t even have a date yet. I gotta get on it—I’d sort of told Jane I’d go with her as friends but then she backed out because of some other guy. Don’t you think it’s pretty sad to be on Prom Court and not have a date?”

  I think it’s pretty sad that Jane’s turning down Sean Mills. Naturally, this would be the part where I admit I don’t have a date yet either. Awk-weird.

  “Well, you have time, it’s like two months away. If you get desperate you can always ask a cousin. I don’t have a date yet either so that’s probably what I’ll do.”

  He laughs. “Oh okay, so you don’t know who you’re going with. That’s cool.”

  He says it like it actually is a cool thing. As if it’s by choice. I get another awkward don’t-know-what-to-say-after-that feeling, so I change the subject to avoid more weirdness.

  “So, next Tuesday after school. Guess I’ll see you there.”

  “Sure, sounds good.” He hangs up. One of these days I hope to tell him I hate that. I say good-bye to the air, then give my pillow a hug and whisper, “Sean Mills doesn’t have a date.” And then a little bit louder, “Woo-hoo!”

  EIGHT

  It’s Wednesday after school. Less than a week till the Prom meeting, which means six days until Kallie and I are forced to interact since she’s not budging on this silent treatment thing. It sucks. I want to be excited with her about being on court together. I want to ask her if she’s inviting her parents to the pep rally. I want to be able to ask for boy advice—as long as she’s not trying to pawn me off on a random friend of Todd’s. At lunch, I almost spilled everything to Sam and Kendall, the girls I sit with, but it didn’t feel right. They’d probably tell me I’m was out of my mind to think Sean would go for me anyways. Sam and Kendall are the kind of girls that talk about the really popular guys and girls as if they’re the cast of an E! reality show. They hate worship them, and it’s kind of uncomfortable. So instead of entertaining them with my first world guy problems, I listened to their dress shopping plans for the weekend. Sam’s single because our school doesn’t have enough out-lesbians or bi-girls to pick from, and Kendall just broke up with her boyfriend so they’re putting a whole group thing together. It’s something they’re trying to make cool by calling it “Prom: Parties of One.” I’m all for them debunking any stigmas about going solo, but I told them I’m holding out for a date.

  ****

  After school I throw on a sweatshirt, grab my laptop, and head over to Java Joint to study for next week’s Bio test.

  For a coffee shop on a Wednesday night, this place is packed. I scan the room and spot an open seat to throw my stuff on before ordering. As I’m waiting for my order I get caught up in a daydream about Sean walking in wearing a tuxedo, playing his guitar. He walks toward me and the crowd and even the tables part in a red sea sort of fashion. He’s singing that song “Will You Marry Me?” but changes the words to “Will You Go to Prom with Me.” Molly Chapman, Jane Hulmes, Sam, and Kendall sit at one of the tables clapping and wiping tears because it’s such a touching moment. The other coffee drinkers and employees do a cutesy flash mob dance that’s sure to go viral. When he finishes, he kneels down with a rose. “Bree. Will you accept this promposal rose?” My coffeehouse fantasy has me deciding whether or not to ask Sean for an encore or just say, “Yes, Sean Mills, of course I’ll go to Prom with you.”

  It’s such a corny daydream that I have to bite back a smile. In real life, I’m gripping an iced latte, heading for my table, trying to give off a vibe that says I’m comfortable hanging out at a coffee shop by myself.

  And out of nowhere there’s a tight grip and tug on my ankle and I’m falling. Something breaks my fall and I’m knocked into the reality where a backpack strap has somehow weaved itself around my ankle. The harsher reality is Sean Mills’s lap. Yes. Real-life Sean. With my latte. A large chai latte. On his lap. And me. I. Am. Mortified. For a quick second I wonder if I’m stuck in my daydream or it’s a bad dream or something else, anything else. Nope. I’m still here on my knees staring at Sean’s wet crotch. If I were in a sitcom, this is the part where I’d be all “Omigod I’m so sorry!” and try to dry his button fly with one napkin or the sleeve of my shirt.

  But everything inside me stays doe-in-headlights as Sean winces and says, “I’m so glad this is iced.” He laughs and grabs a pullover he had strewn over his seat to pat dry his pants. “Bree, are you okay?”

  Silence. I want to say something but my mouth isn’t working.

  “Bree?”

  “Um, omigod, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” I ask as he pulls me up to my feet. He uses his shoe to slide a few scattered ice cubes to the side. I glare at my feet as if the backpack on the floor owes me an apology. “I can’t believe I did that. I’m really so sorry. What can I do, I mean, um …”

  “I think I’ll be all right. But you might have to promise me your firstborn in case I’ve lost my ability to procreate.”

  “Seriously? Are you really okay then because––”

  “I’m just kidding, it’s fine. These jeans are pretty heavy-duty, can’t feel a thing. But since I don’t have an extra pair of jeans, do you think you could drive me home?”

  “Of course, I mean really, I should be offering you my jeans.”

  A barista sneers my way as she mops the coffee from the floor. I speed walk toward my table to grab my stuff and almost run right into Jane Hulmes, who, phone in hand, fingers and thumbs dancing away, is clearly walking and texting.

  She lifts her head and sweeps over me with these gorgeous deep brown saucer eyes. If they weren’t projecting that gleam of mean, I’d probably be offering to buy her a biscotti. “Excuse me Britney.”

  “Uhh-sorry?” I ask. I mean, really. She wasn’t watching where she was going either. “Bree. My name’s Bree.”

  “Oh yeah, I know that, my bad. Okay, well, excuse you. You almost ran into me.”

  “Sure. Sorry,” I say with a tight smile as she turns on her high-heeled boot. I sigh and grab my stuff. As I’m walking back to Sean’s table I realize I’m following Jane.

  I hope she’s not going where I think she’s—

  Both of us end up at Sean’s table and, um, yeah, awkward. Sean tells Jane he’s gotta go and is leaving with me. She shoots me another evil laser eye beam and I shrug, pretending to blend alongside two of the prettiest people at Belmont High.

  Jane shifts her gaze from me to Sean. “You didn’t drive? I can bring you.”

  “It’s okay, I don’t …” I say.

  Sean says, “She’s going my way anyway.”

  “Still. It’s cool, Britta, I’ve got it.”

  My eyes bounce back and forth between Sean and Jane as I gnaw the inside
of my cheek.

  “Britta, like the water filters?” Sean asks Jane and rolls his eyes, “C’mon Jane. You know her name’s Bree. I gotta get going. I’ll see you in Geometry tomorrow.”

  “Fine.” Her eyes bug out a little and she shrugs. “Well, try to have an answer for me by tomorrow please.”

  He slings his backpack over his shoulder and ushers me ahead using his free hand to hold open the door. I glimpse Jane out of my peripheral vision still standing at the table. I don’t catch the look on her face, but in my mind it’s a pretty sweet combination of pissed and envy.

  Sean follows me to my car, an old silver Toyota Prius that Mom and Dad bought from Aunt Jen and gave me for Christmas my junior year. I slide into the front seat, and right before clicking the unlock door button a second time to let Sean in, I speed-throw a makeup bag, book of Shakespeare sonnets, plastic baggie of hair binders, and three water bottles into the backseat. I apologize to Sean for the messy car and again about the coffee, but he stops me and says he should be thanking me for getting him away from Jane.

  “That girl thinks she can have what she wants just cause she’s hot. She hijacked my study session with a sob story about how her supposed date is now backing out of Prom. Then says she’s free to go with me—as if she’s doing me a favor. I’m surprised she didn’t slap me across the face when I told her I’d have to think about it. Her sense of entitlement is ridiculous.” Sean directs me with a series of rights and lefts to get to his house.

  “So, you didn’t drive—what’s up with that?” I ask.

  Sean scoots the seat back and adjusts the seat belt. “My mom dropped me off. We share a car now, now that …” He looks out the window. “Since my dad lost his job last year and took off last month to … pffft, I don’t know, I guess he’s living with his sister in Wisconsin somewhere.”

  “That’s funny,” I say.

  “Funny?”

  “No, I mean funny because my parents just got divorced and my dad’s living with his brother. It seems pretty lame.”