“Oh.” I wrap my arms around myself; the hall just got really cold. “I guess not.”
“You might as well change your name to Mary Sue and be done with it,” she mutters. “And I’ll change mine to Maleficent, or whatever.”
“Aw, Enid. You’re not the villain here. Is that what you really think?”
“Well yeah.” She shifts about awkwardly.
“It’s not your fault that you aren’t a really powerful wizard,” I say, putting a comforting hand on her arm. She shrugs it away.
“A wizard? What?”
Enid may not understand, but I do. For the first time in…well, many pages…I’m not confused. “It sucks to be a girl. Especially a girl in a romance novel. Doesn’t matter what we do—we can’t win. There are all these crappy rules we aren’t aware of like, oh no, you can’t go out with him, he hasn’t been a complete shit to you yet. And then just when he’s started being nice, it’s all, no, we’re going to make him a stubborn douche, or a murderer, because that would be too easy!”
Enid leans against the doorway, her brow creased. The distinct stench of poop still lingers between us, but I’m trying to ignore it since we’re having a deep McMoment.
“So what you’re saying,” she goes on dryly, “is that it’s okay for Archer not to return my affections right now, because it means he probably will eventually?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard.” The she snorts a little. “Of course, the biggest load of crap I’ve ever seen is currently steaming up your Kindle screen.”
I flinch. “Yeah. Not funny.”
“What’s not funny is that you actually think all this is about guys.”
I purse my lips. “Since we’re arguing over Archer...seems like it’s about guys.”
“We’re not arguing over Archer! Sure, I like him. I like him a lot, and seeing him crush on you like a puppy is hard. Some days, it’s super hard. But I don’t think he should be forbidden to do it. I can’t make him like me, Cammie. You can’t stop his feelings for you. But what you can do is be a little more observant where your buddies are concerned, and hell, maybe even be sensitive about it.” She balls her fists, hands by her sides. “Is that so hard, seriously?”
I don’t know why she keeps saying I can’t do things. I have Goodreads and nice boobs—I can do anything.
“This is about you and me,” she says, quietly now. “This is about me asking you just to be a friend, and not a judgemental ditz.”
I think about what Archer said when I asked him to get a drug habit, or put a hit out on a relative. About how he didn’t know how to be that guy. These things Enid is asking of me…I’m not sure I know how to do them. “Is there a YouTube tutorial for this?”
She rolls her eyes. “Probably.”
“I—I’m sorry, Enid.” Oh God. I think I’m actually crying. “I…I just got caught up in…” The awesomeness of being me. Huh. Probably shouldn’t put it like that. “I’ve been a dick.”
“Yeah. A little.”
“But you did just shit on my Kindle,” I say through my teeth.
Enid begins to laugh. “Like I’d actually do that!”
“You…ooh, you had me going there!” I throw my arms around her and squeeze tightly. “I can’t believe you even threatened me with something like that.”
“I have to amuse myself somehow.”
“But if you didn’t do it…” I pull back, sniffing the air with a wince, “what the hell’s that smell?”
She gives an apologetic shrug. “A girl has to use the bathroom.”
“Ew.”
“I did a good job with the noises and stuff, huh?”
“You did,” I say suspiciously. “But what would you be passing if not for poop?”
She gives another little snort. “Not the Bechdel test, apparently.”
“Fair maidens!” Archer calls from down the hall, a six pack under his arm. “Are we watching the results show, or are we watching the results show?”
Enid hurries up to him plastered in a delighted smile. “I thought you had to rest up before your big day?”
“Like I’d miss this.” He flashes his handsome grin at us. “Plus, I don’t know if you heard…but they let Fjorn Brimstone back in on a wild card. So now it’s him, Cognac Façade, and that rapper.”
“Snoop Marmot?”
“Yeah.” He clicks his fingers. “Him.”
“They let Brimstone back in?” I screech. “What are they trying to do to me?”
Archer walks up and pats me on the head. “They do all this to specifically piss you off, Cam-Cam.”
So it comes to be, fair readers, that we’re all on my sofa like ye olde times, watching X Factor, catching up and making witty and ironic comments about all the contestants. Archer sits in the middle and Enid and I snuggle either side of him, reaching into his lap for popcorn. It might look like we’re both rubbing our tits against his pecs while we masturbate him through the popcorn bowl, but that would be wrong. And as Cognac Façade fall prey to a gruesome defeat by Fjorn’s blasting screamo version of ‘Single Ladies,’ I weep, Enid chortles, and Archer punches the air.
“That was amazing!” he exclaims. “And I’m starving. Let’s order pizza.”
“Defeat does nothing for my lack of eating issues,” I sulk.
“I’ll work it off tomorrow,” says Enid, reaching for her cell. “I’ll load up the Domino’s app. Shall we get a Barbecue Beef Blastard or a Veggie Surprise?”
“Wasn’t the surprise a big heap of pork, last time?” Archer asks. “Because if so, I’m totally in.”
“Also, Enid, you’re paying,” I inform her. “We still don’t have cash after we got held up the other night.”
She jerks up, nearly dropping the empty popcorn bowl. “You got held up? What?”
“We didn’t mention that?” I look down, feeling like the dick friend again. “Captain Purity saved us and everything.”
“He saved…both of you?” Enid glances between me and Archer with a dubious expression. “Even Archer?”
“Well yeah.” Archer adjusts his collar. “Why wouldn’t he?”
“Oh my God,” she murmurs to herself.
“Oh my God!” I slap a hand over my mouth.
Archer frowns. “What?”
Archer’s…A VIRGIN!
Jeez, I sure hope there won’t be any bats at the tournament tomorrow. They’ll hear his secret virginity alarm, and then they’ll take his spam truncheon on a journey to the depths of bat vag despair. Dnananananananananana BAT VAG.
“You know,” Archer says, looking uncomfortable, “I hate to bring this up, but it smells like crap in here. Did that freaking unicorn leave a mess?”
“I don’t think so. He hasn’t been here all day.” My eyes fall on Enid. “Unless…”
“Hey!” she protests. “I told you, I did not shit on your Kindle.”
Archer grimaces in disgust. “What?”
“Yeah.” Enid gives an earnest nod. “Like I said. I didn’t.”
Something thumps in the bathroom, and we all twist round to stare at the door.
“I let Hentai Pete do it,” Enid says blithely.
At that point, skinny, ginger Pete comes parading out of my en-suite with a proud smirk on his face and my Kindle in his hand, topped with a brown load of OH PLEASE GOD NO. The stench wafts as he passes, and we all cringe back into the sofa.
“Enid,” he says, “you owe me fifty dollars.”
“Fifty dollars for one crap?” Archer asks, incredulous. He turns to Enid. “I can’t believe you got him to do that. I’d have done it for twenty.”
“You would not,” I scoff.
“Hell yeah, I would.”
“You’re revolting. All of you,” I sulk.
“Says the girl who kept a rancid frozen octopus in an aquarium for like, five days.”
* * *
I’m greeted the following morning by a text from Hunter:
Dr w
oke up. thrush neg. It is on like donkey kong xx
I have no idea what Donkey Kong is, but it rhymes with dong, so it makes me go all whimsy in the girlcore.
So…T minus six hours until I find out who’s won my vajayjay; the murderer, or the sweet guy who would crap on my stuff for just twenty bucks. Huh. I know who I’d choose.
Last night was hard enough after Enid’s harsh words and Cognac Façade’s defeat. Now I have all the tension building up, since we’re so close to the last scenes. Sniffle. I’d read, but you know, there’s SHIT all over my Kindle. Maybe I’ll try a paper copy, like the new Juniper Armenseabass—Oxycontin. It’s about sexy aliens addicted to drugs.
Meh. So not working. It’s just full of the steamy alien making out, and then all I can think about is the possible making out I’ll be doing with Hunter tonight…how I’ll finally lose my virginity alarm. And if Archer wins the joust, then what? Would Enid ever forgive me? I know she was all noble about it yesterday, but come on...she’d hardly be booking a piñata. Also, I’d then have to bone Archer, who is hot and all, but kind of like my brother except for how he’s not an evil abuser with a penchant for Extreme Dino Mudbath Scalectrix Praise Jesus 2000.
By the way: fuck you, Brody. Fuck you in all your holes, and then some new ones made by wasps who like Sean-a Paul. I’m so glad to finally be working through my issues.
Where was I?
Oh yeah. Trying to distract myself from the jousting match that is basically a shitstorm waiting to happen. Labron said there would be reporters and everything since the Eine Richtung-inspired renewed interest in Hunter; I sure hope they don’t distract Sparkles with their smart phones. I also hope his Internet cold turkey night ended well, and not with him goring Ryan Gosling the one-eyed snake before he drank all Labron’s Courvoisier and Red Bull and used all Hunter’s baking supplies.
Shitstorm would be such an awesome title for a new adult book. It’s totally going on my wish list, right after Clusterfuck and The Little Cock That Could.
* * *
“Knights and maidens! Knaves, countrymen and whores! Gather ye, gather ye, for upon us is the fucking legal tournament of the joust!”
No, it’s not Fat Frat Boy. I guess he got lured away by an all-you-can-eat buffet, or something. The referee guy today is wearing a muddy tunic and a medieval hat; I shall call him Chaucer. Since I’m an English major, I know about all that kind of stuff.
I guess the weather man didn’t get the memo because the drizzle and grey clouds are not ideal for jousting. Or for my sexy outfit. I debated on whether to go for the Gruffalo onesie, or maybe the lederhosen again, but eventually decided that if Hunter doesn’t win, the memories might be too painful for him. So I’ve gone with my leggings, biker jacket and dried-out Uggs that I Febreezed to death earlier. Enid and I both have the little handkerchiefs for waving, and she has—to use Archer’s technical term—a pointy hat with a scarf coming out of it. She looks very pleased with herself whenever she puts it on, though if the wind picks up, she could end up skewering a vag.
The tournament is being held in UCLAP’s impressive football stadium, and it’s drawn an equally impressive crowd. The thick smell of smithy smoke wafts though from the tent of emergency repairs, and there’s even a Gabriel’s Wrapture concession stand next to the colorful horse tents. Hunter, of course, has set up on the other side of the stadium so he can retain some privacy. And stay away from the horses (but don’t tell him I told you that).
As the crowd heats up, wandering minstrels from the UCLAP catwalk posing and beatboxing societies strum their lutes to entertain. Enid lends one her hat and they pose for a joint selfie.
“Vogueth!” they say in unison, pasting on their cheesiest smiles.
“You know,” she says as she climbs back on to the bleachers, “I could get used to this jousting groupie thing. I like the atmosphere.”
“It smells like horse crap and burnt iron,” I say, grimacing.
“To you, maybe. To me, it smells like hope. Like the future.”
I put on my best Morgan Freeman voice. “In a world where the past smells like the future—”
“Shut it, Cammie.”
“In a world where your best friend pays a ginger midget to defecate on your e-reader...”
She rolls her eyes. “Haters gonna hate.”
“In a world where haters gonna hate, unicorns gonna gore, Archers gonna pillage and Hunters gonna besmirch—”
“Seriously.” She claps a hand over my mouth. “How much sugar have you had today?”
“None,” I slur. Then I yank the half-empty bottle of vodka from my massive tote bag and almost swing it right into her nose. “But like Labron says…I am three sheets to the mothafuckin’ wind, y’all.” Turns out it’s kinda hard to deal with my resurfacing cupboard issues, plus the worries about Hunter, without turning to a shitload of liquor. I hit up the store shortly after I closed Oxycontin.
“Cammie!” She yanks the bottle away. “What the hell are you thinking?”
“Not a lot right now, Enid. Not a lot.”
“Well here’s a hint.” She unscrews the bottle. “Friends always share.”
At that moment, a guy dressed like a court jester bounds out and blows a horn.
Enid leans in. “You think they’ve got the costumes a little mixed up here?”
“Probably. But Hentai Pete looks kinda hot in that suit.”
“You are so not having any more of this liquor.” She sighs. “Oh well. I guess it means I’ll have to finish it. Bummer.”
“Ginger!” a deep voice yells.
I snap up from my slump at the bleachers to see Labron hurtling toward me, his face contorted with the worry of a conflict-inducing surprise emergency.
“Dude,” I say. “Wassuuuuuup?” Then I hold up a palm for a high-five, but he just stares at it like I’m asking for a line of blow.
“Is she…drunk?” he asks Enid, incredulous.
“The pressure got to her,” Enid explains, patting my knee. “Poor thing just can’t hack it as a romance heroine. I say somebody needs to take her place. You know. Like me.”
“Too late for that. Ginger! It’s an emergency!”
“In your pants?” I slur with a dirty grin. “Is the emergency in your pants, boo? Because I bet you’re packing some meat and potatoes, huh?”
“You know, I’d get mad and all, but I don’t even have time for that.” He takes my chin in his hand and looks me in the eye. “They’re meant to be ready for the joust in five minutes…but Hunter’s underground cage fight alarm just went off.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Enid looks from me to Labron, and back again. Then she stands up and skewers somebody in the eye with her pointy hat.
“Fnnnaaargh!” grunts the poor guy behind us, clutching his eye socket as he plummets down the bleacher walkway.
Enid winces hard. “Sorry!” She turns to Labron, who still looks like Armageddon is imminent. “Hunter’s under-whatsy-wha-ha?”
“Underground cage fight alarm,” he explains. “He can’t ignore it. It’s like an instinct, a reflex.”
“It’s primal,” I say, warning gripping my tone. “Oh God. If he’s not here…he can’t compete.”
“Yeah. Hot diggety dawg.” Labron shakes his head. “I need you to talk him out of it. Or restrain him. Or…something.”
“You want drunk Cammie to save the day?” Enid snorts.
Labron glowers. “You got a better idea, blondie?”
“Yeah,” I chime in. “Because if Hunter isn’t here, he loses. And if he loses, Archer wins all rights to my snatch, which will officially take him off the market. You wanted me to be all…shenshitive. So here I am.” I throw my arms out. “Don’t let Archer win my schweet little ass.”
Slowly, Enid puts the vodka bottle down and unstraps her hat. She lays it on the bench with care. “Labron?”
“Blondie?”
“Get me to this pansy’s tent. I have balls to reattach.”
I’ve
never seen Enid power-walk so fast. Of course, normally, I’m not staggering behind her like a zombie, but as I’m learning, I can’t be the best at everything. Most things, yeah—I just can’t help my wit and natural charisma—but hey, I’ll let this one slide.
Inside his medieval tent, Hunter is pacing around topless, tousled and dressed in his ripped jeans. ‘Eye of the Tiger’ rattles a tinny melody from his cell. His suit of armour hangs from a stand, bronzed and shining with a buffed layer of Schaffer’s Helmet Polish. Sparkles von Fancypants is in full black sequin saddle and reins, with a purple sparkly feather pluming from his bridle. He snorts with delight when he notices me.
“Gosling!” Hunter rushes toward me. “Have you seen—Jesus fuck, Labron! Where have you been? Where’s the limo?”
I take his hands in mine, though he yanks them out. “Hunter—”
“Dude.” Labron stands stiffly beside me. “I didn’t bring the limo.”
“But the cage fight! I’ve got eight minutes until it starts and we’re ages away. Shit. I can’t miss this, you know that.”
“But you have to compete in the joust,” I protest, my voice desperate.
“Neeeeigh!” Sparkles hoofs the floor in frustration.
“I can’t ignore the alarm!” he shouts. “You don’t know what it’s like…”
“Hey, Hunter.” Enid takes a deep breath. “I’m real sorry for this, okay?”
“What? Sorry for—”
Her fist lands squarely in Hunter’s face. He staggers back, oofs under his breath, and then passes out clean on the dirt floor in a heap of muscled flesh and cologne.
“Wow. Blondie, you are one fierce bitch,” says Labron, shaking his head in awe.
She flexes her fist. “Merci beaucoup.”
“Hunter!” I shriek, falling to my knees beside him. My Uggs will get all dusty, but who cares? My baby is injured, and he hasn’t even competed in…well…anything, yet. “Enid, what the chips did you do that for?”
“It will get him out of the cage fight funk,” she says matter-of-factly. “They do this all the time in movies. It’ll be fine.”
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