“Seriously, Molly. Shut up. That’s the last thing I want to think about right now.”
“Wait, that’s not your dad?” I ask over my shoulder.
“No, what do you care?”
I turn around and Molly subtly shakes her head “no.” The urgency in her eyes stops me from asking another question. Molly flicks me in the shoulder.
“Well, I’d love to sit here and discuss my family tree and my mom’s social life, but I’m fucking tired. Can you unlock the door and let me out?”
“No problem.” I push the unlock button and barely lean forward so she can squeeze out.
Jane oozes sappy good-byes to everyone but me.
Sean yells after her, “Britta said good-bye Jaaane!”
Without turning around or looking back, she sticks up her middle finger and waves it back and forth in one of those pageant-style waves.
“Wow, she’s really into you,” says Sean.
“Her name’s Bree,” slurs Molly. “Don’t you know uughhh, my stomach hurts, try not to go so fast.”
“So, that wasn’t Jane’s dad?” I ask.
“No, that’s why I stopped you. She never talks about him. She told me her dad died when she was in kindergarten but then once a few years ago, her older sister said he left when they were kids. Jane’s funny like that so I never ask personal stuff.”
“Funny?” I snort. “More like bitchy. Whatevs.”
Molly moans again. “Do we—where are those bags?” the pep in her voice wilts away with each word.
“Oh no, hell no. I don’t do vomit.” Sean swerves over to the curb, slams the brakes and opens his door.
I jump out and help Sean usher Molly out of the car. “Just wait here,” I tell him. “I got this.” I guide Molly to the edge of someone’s lawn.
Molly groans. A waft of crisp green grass reaches my nose at the same moment she heaves a supersize vomity sludge onto the curb, the grass, and my purple Converse. I jump back and stop inhaling before I get a whiff of Homecoming Queen and Class Veep barf.
She gags, “I’m so sorry. Oh God, I’m being punished.”
I kneel down and flip my hair back, feeling more like I’m the one being punished. Molly’s hair is strewn about and stuck to the sides of her puke slobbery mouth. Using my own bare ungloved fingers, I peel the half-silky, half-slimy wet mattes of hair stuck to her cheeks. I reach for the black ponytail holder that’s usually on my wrist. Shit. I’d replaced it with my “lucky” rubber band.
“Hey Molly, do you have a hair tie?”
“You’re so—uuugghhhehh-buuuugh ughhh, BLECH. Ohhhh, God. Here, take this.” She slides a yellow-corded tie off her wrist. I wrap it twice around her sticky hair and it snaps. Figures. I take my Sean Mills rubber band off my wrist, sigh, and tie it into her hair.
In-between the next and last hurl of green slush, she tells me in a drippy slur, “You’re so pretty Bree, we should hang out more.”
Molly finishes her last heave, wipes the corners of her mouth—then a “fuck it” thought bubble pretty much appears over her head because she pulls her shirt up past her neck and does a full swipe of her face and chin. I try not to stare at the neon pink bra and her two perfect—nope, not perfect, boobs. Yay. One is totally bigger than the other. Cool girls. They’re just like us! Molly drops her shirt and hiccups. Well, it sounds like little hiccups but then I realize it’s the crescendo unto a full-on sob. Oh wow. Molly’s drunk crying about Todd. And how he’s her first love and they’re hiccup supposed to be, should be, sob planning Prom and college, and long-drawn-out wail getting engaged.
I should be the one crying here. So much for kissing Sean—or Sean kissing me. Molly’s cries vibrate her whole body and I wish she knew who she was really crying about. I doubt she’d even remember if I interjected in-between her sobs that the love of her life is not only dating Kallie, but also screwing Jane, the girl who’s supposed to be her best friend. Instead of saving Molly with a truth bomb, I throw in a few “Yeah, that’s toughs” and “Oh, you’ll be okays” while half carrying her back to the car.
TEN
Saturday morning. I wake up with a mental hangover. And Mom peeking her head through my creaky door.
“Get up. Let’s get brunch and do some shopping.”
“C’mon Mom.” I hug my knees under my blanket.
“We need some girl time,” she sings. I roll over and grab my phone. 11:09 a.m. Feels like 6:30.
“Sure. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be down.” I’m pretty sure that I haven’t gone shopping with Mom since … I’m not even sure. Maybe tenth grade.
As she closes the door, an ever so faint gust of Molly Chapman’s puke slivers past my nostrils.
What a shitty night. Instead of spending more time with Sean and maybe, just maybe, learning what his lips would feel like on mine, my lips got to feel what it would be like to get puked on. No, seriously. Molly puked in my face when she hugged me at the car door. So, as Sean walked Molly to her door, unlocking it for her and practically pushing her into her house, I realized—no, smelled—that no one was going to be hanging out with me anymore. The night was over. Aside from having to wipe my own face with my shirt, somehow my hair had sprayed puke in it, my shoes were inside a canvas grocery bag in the backseat, and my head kept reeling about the whole scene at the party and my next move.
As Sean got back into the car I said, “I guess my house should be your next stop—I’m a mess.”
“I figured, you gotta lay off the booze.”
“Yeah, I smell like beer and Hotshotz had a baby that was born in a sweat sock.”
We laughed a little and he even apologized for bringing me to the party as he opened my door to let me out of his car. This was the part where I would’ve been stressing about the kiss. Now I just wondered how bad he thought I reeked as I tried to get the hell out of his smell-line.
“Thanks for everything. The night wasn’t so bad, really,” I called over my shoulder, speed walking so he wouldn’t try to walk me to my door or anything.
In the shower, I realize my arm muscles are sore from lugging Molly around. As soon as I pop the cap from my shampoo bottle, I gag. The sweet apple scent is way too reminiscent of hurl. I end up grabbing an unscented bar of soap instead.
First thing I do after my shower is check my phone. No call or text from Sean, not that I care. I mean, he did say he’d call today but I hate the idea of waiting around for him, or any guy, to call.
“Breeeeee! You ready?” My mom calls up the stairs.
“Just a minute, trying to find a shirt.” I yell back. I’m glad I have her to occupy my time today. As I rifle through my drawers, a framed picture of Kallie and me stares me down. We’re goofing around, holding up fish we’d caught the summer before seventh grade. Dad took the picture while we pretended we were going to kiss the fish. Kallie’s fish did a floppy bounce out of her fingers and she actually did end up kissing it. We laughed so hard and Mom had tears running down her face.
I’m calling Kallie as soon as I get back home today.
Over omelets and orange juice my mom asks how things went with Sean last night. Maybe the smell of vomit was some sort of truth serum because I spill everything: The Jane and Todd cheating scandal, Drunk Molly, and my puke-soaked shoes. Mom gives me a short lecture on hanging out with drunk kids mixed in with an “I’m proud of you for making some good choices” speech.
“So can we look at some Prom dresses today or what? You can’t be a Prom Queen wearing jeans and tennis shoes.”
“Why not? I mean, I don’t even have a date.”
“Hmmm,” she says. “When is this Sean guy going to ask you? I’m guessing he doesn’t have a date if he’s taking you to the movies and on drunk driver ride-alongs.”
“I don’t think he has a date but that doesn’t mean he’s going to ask me, and if he doesn’t, it’s not the end of the world.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Okay, maybe it would suck a little. A lot. But if I
don’t have a date, I’ll just go with Sam, Kendall, and some other kids as a group. It’ll be fun.
“That sounds fun, but if he doesn’t ask you,” she smiles, “you should ask him.”
“Just thinking about asking him gives me hives. I don’t want to put myself out there like that, plus it’s Prom. I want to be asked.”
“Yeah, you’re right hon, you deserve it. There’s still time, so I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”
We thumb through a few racks of dresses at Macy’s but I don’t try any on. Instead, Mom buys me a new pair of purple Converse and says it’s my “Good Choice” award. I give a short acceptance speech at the counter. The cashier looks confused when I thank the alcohol industry and Molly for eating something green for dinner.
It’s really, really nice to see my mom laugh.
As we drive the forty-minute ride home from the mall, I practice a hundred different ways to tell my estranged best friend that her hot and amazing boyfriend is a dog-pig. Unfortunately no matter how I recite it, it all sounds the same.
The second I get home, I run upstairs to my room to check my phone. I’d purposely left it on my nightstand to charge. It seemed like a strategic plan that wouldn’t have me checking it every two minutes at the mall. Six missed calls, one voicemail, and two texts. One missed call is from my dad, and the other five are from an unknown number. I click the voicemail button.
“Hey Bree, it’s Todd. Can you please call me back. I think there was some sort of misunderstanding about last night. I’m not sure, but give me a call. Okay, well, just call me. Thanks.” Even though my messages are over, I wait to see if there’s an extra one that didn’t get listed. One from Dad. My stomach pangs with missing him.
Both texts are from Todd.
Bree its Todd. CALL ME ASAP
The other one:
BREE CALL ME WHEN U GET THIS THX
Call when I get this? Pffft. Don’t mind if I don’t.
I scroll through my recent calls and look at Dad’s number instead, but my phone vibrates, playing the song I programmed last night for Sean.
“Hello?” Please ask me to do something please, please, please, ask me out tonight.
“Bree. Hey, is it too late to see if you wanna do something tonight? Or do you have plans already?”
“Nope, I don’t. I mean, well I don’t have plans. I can. Yes. I can do something.”
“Are you suuuuuure?” he asks. “I think it’s against the rules to accept a date on the same night a guy asks.”
“I’m sure,” I say. “That’s so nineteen hundreds anyway. Plus, I was hoping we could get drunk and puke all over each other in your car tonight.”
“That sounds really hot. I didn’t know you were into that sort of thing. Cool. But can you drive? My car’s all puked out.” His laugh is so charmingly sexy.
“No problem,” I say into my phone as I tell the fluttering in my stomach to calm the hell down.
“Hey,” Sean says. “Have you talked to Todd?”
“Todd? No, why?”
“He called me to ask if the number he had for you was the same one I had. I guess Kallie gave him your number but he said you weren’t answering.”
“Yeah, I saw that he called but didn’t call him back and probably won’t. For reasons.”
“Sounds mysterious. Tell me about it tonight. What do you want to do?”
We do the whole “I don’t know, what do you want to do?” bit and in the end decide that I’ll just pick him up around seven and we’ll see what happens. After he hangs up, I hold the phone with a big nerdy smile on my face. My head falls onto my pillow and I yawn. “Sean Mills asking me out for two nights in a row … mmmmhmmmmmm,” I murmur.
ELEVEN
Breeeeeeeeeeeeee!” My mom’s yell echoes from downstairs.
My eyes dart to the clock on my wall. 6:44 p.m. Shit. Shit! I gotta go. I’m supposed to pick Sean up in fifteen minutes. I should’ve made some phone calls by now, too. I slide and hop off my bed, and am maybe a little relieved there’s no time for confrontational phone calls. I’ll call Kallie later and Dad too.
Mom yells again. “You want me to order pizza?” Her footsteps pound up the stairs.
“Sorry Mom!” I peek my head out the door. “Sean called. I’m picking him up in like five minutes.”
“Back-to-back Sean dates? Good for you. Sounds better than pizza. Have fun. Maybe I’ll call one of my girlfriends and get out too.”
“Just make sure you act like you don’t know me if we end up at the same bar,” I say.
I manage to put my hair back, brush my teeth, wash my face, and throw on some mascara in ten point five minutes. Good thing Sean lives so close. As I pull into his driveway, I slather on lip gloss, wondering if I should wait or knock on his door. Even though my heart rate most definitely picks up with each step, I decide to go to the door. I’m not trying to look like some creep sitting in the driveway in case his mom’s home. A petite woman, maybe in her late forties, with big brown hair and Sean’s blue eyes greets me.
“Hi, you must be … Bree? Right?” She smiles as I nod. “I’m Beth.”
“Yes, that’s me, nice to meet you.” I shake her extended hand.
Sean’s mom invites me into the house that opens right into the living room area. The house is small, the furniture and decor are modern and take up a lot of the space. It smells clean, like lemons and fresh laundry.
“Sean! Bree’s here,” she yells toward the hallway behind her. “He’ll be ready in a minute—probably changing again, you know how boys are,” she jokes. I laugh, imagining Sean trying on T-shirt after T-shirt.
“Sooooo, you’re the girl that Sean’s going to Prom with?”
Sean steps into the room as soon as she says it.
I stumble over my words as heat radiates beneath my cheekbones. My cheeks are constantly flushing, which is why I never wear blush. “Um, no, uh … um …”
“Mom, this is Bree. She’s on Prom Court with me.”
“But she’s the one you’re bringing as your date right?”
Sean stares past her at the oven. Maybe he’s thinking he wants to crawl in there. I know I am.
Beth’s eyes widen and she bites her lip. “Yes, that’s what I meant, the Prom Court. Right. It’s going to be so fun. I’ll never forget my own Senior Prom.”
“Well, we better go so we’re not late.” Sean escorts me back through the door I came in.
“Nice meeting you!” I say as the door closes.
Neither of us speak as we walk out to my car. I can’t think of anything good to change the subject with. My stomach turns at the idea of him accepting Jane’s invite to Prom. No way. Maybe he has another date already. I try to fight it, but that stupid “let down” feeling stirs around in my gut as I adjust my seat belt once in the car. My anxiousness is tiny little soda bubbles, starting from the bottom of my stomach and rising up, up, up.
My mouth stretches into the tiniest most uncomfortable smile. “Your mom seems nice—she’s cute,” I say.
“Yeah, she’s cute all right.” Sean answers as I pull out of the driveway. “And yeah, she’s just, um, weird. So, where’re we going? Whattaya wanna do?”
I have no choice but to let him off the hook. I can tell he’s embarrassed and doesn’t want to talk about it. Maybe he really is going with someone else. There’s Jane and a ton of other options he could’ve had in the last week or so. My mom’s right. I should’ve been the one to ask.
“Well,” I say, “I heard there’s a really good movie out right now, it’s about some lady trying to find her car in a parking ramp. I bet it’s amazing. Wanna see it?”
“Oh, I’ve seen it,” Sean says. “But the only good thing about it was my hot date.” The heat returns to my cheeks but I keep my eyes on the road as if he won’t notice.
“Aaaanyway, enough about your hot dates, are you hungry? Are you thirsty? Are you in the mood for a party? The beach? A concert? A carnival? A pony ride—what?”
He responds,
“A pony ride? That could be interesting.”
I smile and smack his knee.
“Just kidding,” he says. “Actually horses and ponies and donkeys and anything else like a horse freaks me out. Long story. Let’s get something to eat. Azumi?”
“Sounds good to me,” I reply, glad to have a plan. “But hold on. Horses freak you out, really?”
“Yeah, don’t tell anyone though. I don’t want to ruin the image I’ve tried to maintain. You know how people are these days, always assuming every football player loves a good ole-fashioned pony ride.”
I laugh again and attempt to stifle my giddiness. His flirting pushes aside my thoughts about his potential Prom dates. As he tells me a story about his dad forcing him to ride one of those depressed donkeys at the state fair, I try not to miss any turns to Azumi. I also rally myself back into thinking my chances of him asking me to Prom might still be pretty good.
He finishes his story and I let out another giggle. “That was really shitty of your dad, but a photo op is a photo op.”
“Hey, can I get a little sympathy here? I was traumatized by a burrow with a bum knee.”
I stifle another laugh. I cannot keep laughing at everything he says. I’m being way too easy. “I’m sorry, that’s awful. Are you also afraid of––Oh my god—I’m sorry, but are you—” And now I’m laughing at my own stupid joke. One I can’t even say because I’m laughing too hard. If there’s anything worse than overlaughing at a guy’s jokes, it’s laughing at your own. I finally manage to ask him if he’s also afraid of unicorns.
He laughs with me and says, “I guess that’d be a yes. Hopefully we don’t run into any tonight.”
When we pull in to Azumi, Sean jumps out, rushes to my side of the car to finish opening my door and closes it behind me.
“Thank you,” and then again when we get to the restaurant door.
Sean slides his hand across my lower back, almost gripping my waist as we walk toward the hostess. I lose a breath as a spine-tingly warmth waves down my torso.
The hostess smiles, “Hello Sean. Are you playing tonight?”
“Nope, off duty for the night. We came for dinner. Is there a wait for a booth?”
Liars and Losers Like Us Page 8
