Playing Nice

by Rebekah Crane

  Lil comes up to my locker the next morning, her shoulder leaning against the wall, red sunglasses propped on her head. She hasn't worn any eyeliner since the first day she went without it. It's as if some of the clouds parted and sun was able to hit Lil's heart.

  Maggie called a cleaning crew and had the words power-washed off the trailer. Little bits of red and blue still cling to the outside, but at least the words are gone. All that's left is color.

  "Do you think I should find my dad?" Lil asks.

  I look at her, surprised. She's only ever brought him up that one time. "Do you want to?"

  "I don't know. He's probably a total dick. I mean, he did bail on us. I just wonder if I'm like him. Like, maybe he grinds his teeth at night or can't stand the taste of asparagus like me." Lil spins her nose ring around. "I just … I don't even know where I'd start."

  "Here," I tear a piece of paper out of my notebook. "Write down what you'd say to him."

  Writing it down is almost as good as saying it. The simple act unlocks the words in your head and pours them into the universe.

  Nodding, Lil takes my pen and writes. I don't look at the page. I don't need to know what Lil wants to say. It's her truth, not mine.

  When she's done, she folds the paper up and puts it in her back pocket. Maybe someday she'll be able to hand deliver it. Or maybe it will stay in her pocket and get washed over and over until it disintegrates into a ball of wrinkled paper she finds months down the road. Whatever. At least she did it.

  "Want to come over after school?" she asks as we walk down the hall.

  I'm about to respond when Matt Three-Last-Names comes into view. His blonde hair bobs amongst the heads of the crowd and my stomach sinks to my toes. Emotions rush over me, tingling my veins and twisting my insides. My feet beg to move forward and grab him and ask why he isn't emailing me, but I lock my knees still, swallowing the tightness in my throat.

  His arm reaches in the air, black jelly bracelets lining his wrist, and lands around a petite brunette. Meghan Whitlock. I trip over my own feet. I didn't think that was even possible.

  "Whoa there, Pollyanna. You okay?" Lil asks, grabbing my arm and saving me the embarrassment of falling on my face.

  "Yeah," I say, and shake my head. Matt and the brunette are gone when I look back down the hall. "I'm fine."

  "You sure?"

  I nod and swallow the lump in my throat.

  Fine. The world's worst word.

  ***

  By the end of the day, I can't take it any longer. My heart keeps swelling and breaking. Then I remind myself that Matt and Meghan could just be friends. Guys and girls can like each other without ripping one another's clothes off. It happens all the time. And Matt is friendly to everyone. If there's something I've learned this year it's that not everything is as it seems.

  I trudge out to my car, misty rain covering my face. I slam my backpack down on the front seat and run my fingers through my hair. My brain hurts with all the thoughts swarming around it. Meghan in her short cheerleader skirt with no spanks underneath. Matt's hands. My tight thighs. Maybe I should've been more aggressive? Should've pinned him down and let him ride my Lazy Susan or strum my guitar strings or at least touch my boobs.

  Clenching my fingers around the steering wheel, I know where I need to go. I'm sick of being Saint Martina Hart, the girl with the rotten, unused tight vagina. I pull out of the parking lot and head toward Main Street.

  A few people walk around Vinyl Tap, picking up records and CDs and smiling like they're walking down memory lane. The Bob Marley poster still hangs on the wall and I draw in my breath sharply. That night at Lake Loraine, locked forever in a song.

  I walk back to the storage room door and lean my ear against it. Smooth guitar chords resonate through the wood. Matt is on the other side. This is it. The moment I open myself up to whatever he wants to do. Seventeen years in one body and now I want to be transported into another one. One like Meghan Whitlock's and Lil's and half the other girls in my school.

  Everything looks the same as it did the night of my parents' party. Boxes and posters still line the walls. The air is filled with sex, sweaty and thick.

  Matt sits in a chair in the center of the room, playing like life is oozing out of his fingers. I peek past the door and just listen, letting the music work its magic on me. Hearing it wipes the ache away from my heart, and I know I want to kiss him again. Even my lady parts seem to jump, finally ready for a change.

  I touch my black jelly bracelet. I was overreacting about Meghan. Matt's busy with guitar and school. His pothead mom probably doesn't even have a computer, and he's stuck using the school's computer lab. I smile as Matt plugs the last chord of the song; knowing all is forgiven, I step toward him, releasing the tension I've kept locked in my thighs for seventeen years.

  Clapping echoes in the space, but my hands aren't moving.

  "That was so good!" a female voice yells. It's a little too peppy. A cheerleader. Tension zings back up my legs and snaps anything that was open shut, throwing away the key.

  "Did you really think it was good, or are you just being nice?" Matt asks, placing his guitar on the ground. I've heard that before.

  "It was good … and I plan on being nice." Meghan Whitlock walks into view, a short denim skirt and tight pink top barely covering her skin. She might catch a cold in that outfit. I know I should shut the door and leave, but I can't. My eyes are fixed on them, like I'm waiting for a car crash, unable to turn away.

  Meghan straddles Matt on the seat. That was a move I was going to make, but I'm not sure I would have done it so smoothly. "Very nice," she says.

  He smiles at her, a devilish grin. "I was hoping you'd say that."

  Vomit rises in my throat when I see his hand travel up her thigh and under her skirt. I close the storage room door as quietly as I can and step back, clapping my hand over my mouth. I might throw up. I thought stuff like that only happened in movies. His hand. His words.

  I run out of Vinyl Tap, knocking my shoulder into a long-haired man inhaling incense smoke by the counter. Air. I need air.

  Tripping out the front door, I take a deep breath, swallowing down the bile in my throat. I want to cry. Crying would make me feel better. But I can't. I'm frozen.

  The entire way to Lil's, my mind can't shake the image. I turn off the car and get out, staggering up to the trailer like a zombie. Meghan Whitlock?

  "Where the hell have you been? I thought you were coming over after school?" Lil's head pokes out of the trailer door.

  "Sorry, I got caught up," I say weakly.

  "I want to show you something." Lil ushers me into the trailer and holds up a T-shirt. GO BUCK YOURSELF is written in all-caps on the front; on the back is a deer holding its middle hoof up. "I found it in a magazine and thought it was perfect. What do you think?"

  I stare at the shirt, but all I can see is Meghan on Matt's lap. His hand up her skirt. That should have been me. Could have been me.

  "Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?" Lil asks.

  What is wrong with me? Why doesn't Matt like me? Why didn't he want to do that with me? Why is it when something hits your brain it also hits your lungs and takes your breath away? I walk over to the bin of records and start searching through them. I don't know what I'm looking for. Maybe a song to drown out my thoughts. Maybe the Led Zeppelin record I know Lil doesn't own. Maybe my sanity.

  "Take it easy with those," Lil says, picking up the records I've strewn on the ground.

  "I need music. Maybe the Ramones or the Pixies or what was that other one you played last week?"

  "Sonic Youth?"

  "That one." I dig even further into the batch.

  "I don't think abusing my record collection is going to help you, Pollyanna."

  I turn and look at Lil, tears welling up in my eyes. "Why not? You do it." The words come out all wrong, with venom on the tips, but I can't stop myself. Everything inside of me feels pointed.

  "What's that sup
posed to mean?" Lil tosses her new shirt on the bed.

  "Nothing." I go back to searching through the sea of songs, biting the side of my tongue so I don't cry.

  "No, seriously. What did you mean by that?"

  I whip around and the words come out before I can think about what they'll do to my best friend. "You hide behind music so you don't actually have to feel. But me? I've done everything right! I'm a nice person! I ruined my reputation. Lost my friend. And for what?! I'm in the same place I was months ago! Sitting in your trailer listening to the same damn songs!"

  "What?" Lil bites.

  I stop, realizing what I've said. It all sounds wrong. "Wait. That's not what I meant."

  "You ruined your reputation? Lost a friend?" Lil bites out each of the words, sharp and hard. "I'm sorry if I've been a burden on your precious perfect life."

  "That's not it," I say again, tears pricking my eyes. Why is the world caving in on me?

  "I think you better go," Lil says, and walks toward the door.

  "You're kicking me out?"

  "No, I'm avoiding the instinct to punch you in the face." She swings the trailer door open. I don't want to leave. I don't want Lil to throw me back out to the lions of life. Doesn't she understand that I need her right now?

  "But ..." I want to talk, to explain the situation with Matt and Meghan and his hands. "I need to tell you about Matt."

  "Matt?" Lil barks. "When are you going to wake up? I told you to stay away from him. He's stringing you along so that maybe one day he can take a ride in that unused body part you're carting around two and a half feet above the ground. That's it. Stop being naive and move on."

  "You think you're so superior just because you've had sex," I say, wiping tears from my cheeks.

  "If the smell fits," Lil crosses her arms over her chest.

  "You're just jealous."

  I see the words catch Lil in the stomach like a wrecking ball. All the blackness comes screaming back to her eyes, and she looks at me with nothing but vacant darkness.

  "Get out."

  I want to take it all back. I didn't come here to fight. I came here to be with my best friend, to find some sort of calm in my sea of crazy, and all I've done is smash everything to pieces.

  But I don't say that. I run out of the trailer, tears streaming down my face, and drive away from the only place in the world that feels real.

  ***

  Ice and then a heating pad. Ice and then a heating pad. Just like Ms. Everley said. It works. Kind of. When I wake up in the morning, small red puffy circles rim my eyes. I look tired. You're just jealous. It rings in my ears. I shake my head to get the noise out, but it doesn't work. My mind's filled with sweet guitar chords and angry words and Meghan Whitlock's peppy voice. I choke back vomit.

  Lil said sex isn't really about the physical. It's about the change on the inside, the part of your soul where you know your true self. I was going to give myself to Matt. And deep down I know I still want to give that to him. So why won't he have me?

  As I sit in English the next day, I'm afraid to look in Lil's direction. She's sitting next to me in the seat she stole from Alex on her first day of school. It's hers now. Most days I look forward to this time when we get to be in the same space. But today it's different. I'm ashamed and mad and still confused as hell. Her words about Matt get my skin all prickly and make me want to yell at her again. But then I remember what I said, all the things I didn't mean, and I fall into a gaping black hole of shame.

  "Marty? Are you going to answer the question?" Ms. Everley says.

  I'm staring at the word FUCK, carved so deeply into the top of my desk. "What?" I say, snapping back to the present. "I didn't hear you."

  "Mr. Darcy's proposal to Elizabeth. What did you think about it?"

  I blink. Pride and Prejudice. "Well," my mind stumbles over last night's reading. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lil yawn and roll her eyes. "I think Elizabeth and Darcy are both kind of assholes. I mean, he wasn't lying when he said that marrying her would be below him. But she wasn't lying when she said his proposal sucked. So I guess they're both screwed, right?"

  Ms. Everley stares at me the same way she looked at Lil that first day, like a ball she never saw coming just smacked her right in the face. "I guess to some extent that's right." She pauses. "I'm not sure Jane Austen would've put it so eloquently."

  "Sorry," I mumble, and scoot lower in my desk.

  I try to look at Lil without actually turning my head in her direction. I know my response wasn't an apology, but if the world is filled with a bunch of assholes, I'd rather be friends with her than anyone else.

  I walk out of the classroom in a daze, thinking about Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth and how life was so much easier when no one kissed until they got married.

  Alex falls into stride next to me, matching his pace to mine.

  "Interesting response," he says.

  "Is that good or bad?" I ask.

  "I just mean that you're filled with new developments. I like it."

  New developments. That's how I feel, kind of. Like the earth keeps shifting under my feet. Some days I take so many great steps forward and others I take the wrong steps backward and end up with shit all over my shoes.

  "Do you want to go to the Carpenter party with me this weekend?" he asks.

  I stare at him, not sure what to say. He looks cute in his red Minster High Baseball T-shirt and jeans. He runs his hand through the mop of brown hair on his head. No arm accessories. My stomach rolls.

  "Um," I say. It's the annual 'Minster High School Passing of the Torch' party. Every senior and junior is invited. The seniors get drunk and cry about how high school is over while the juniors laugh and say they'll never be like that when they're seniors because who would want to stay another year in this dump of a school? It's held on the Carpenter Farm. Mrs. Carpenter had eleven boys. The rumor is that she kept trying for a girl, but it never happened. One of the boys is almost always a senior or junior.

  "I ..." I don't know what to say to Alex. The truth is, I wasn't planning to go since Lil and I aren't the most popular people in the school. But then it hits me like a light turning on in my head: Matt will be there. It's a party after all, with beer and probably pot.

  Lil walks out of the classroom door as Alex stands, big gorgeous smile on his face, waiting for my response.

  "I'd love to go to the party with you," I say loudly enough for Lil to hear.

  "Great!" Alex almost jumps out of his red Converse. "I'll pick you up at seven."

  The satisfaction of showing Lil I'm moving on, even though I'm only fake moving on, pops in my heart when I see Alex get so giddy. It's replaced with guilt, heavy enough to pull my arms and chest clear to the floor.

  "Great!" I repeat. I say the word the way I used to say all my words, with a forced emphasis on every letter in hopes I might believe in my soul that it's what I mean.

  Except, unlike before, I know now that it's untrue. That behind the word is vapor and behind the vapor is a picture of Matt and I'm playing nice so Lil thinks I'm stronger than I really am and so Alex doesn't hate me.

  CHAPTER 17

  I stand in my closet, picking through things to wear for the party, and see the red scarf I wore the night Lil and I went to Lake Loraine. Lifting it off the hanger, I press it to my nose. The dried leaf smell of that night is still locked in the fibers. I can practically feel Matt's sexy arms around me and hear Bob Marley's pot-filled voice in my ears. My stomach is a ball of nerves the way it was that night, except this time I know what Matt Three-Last-Names' lips taste like and I'm determined to have it again. Screw Meghan Whitlock and her short, panty-showing skirt.

  I pick up my phone and call Lil. It rings five times and goes to voicemail.

  "Wait for the beep."

  Beep.

  "Lil, it's Marty. I'm sorry I was an ass, but you were an ass, too. Please come tonight. Okay, bye." I hang up the phone and stand in my closet. I know Lil doesn't like school functions,
but this technically isn't one since there will be beer and pot and probably a lot of people making bad decisions.

  I grab the gold dress I wore that night at Vinyl Tap and put it on. I know I should be getting dressed thinking about what Alex would like, but my mind can only think about Matt. Matt and Lil. Without them this year would be nothing. The days would have passed as the seasons changed and all I would have to show for it would be a yearbook. Glossy pictures instead of a real living breathing life.

  Alex knocks on the front door at exactly seven. I bound down the stairs, too much bounce in my step, and fling open the door.

  "Wow. You look great," he says.

  "Let's get out of here," I say as I grab my purse off the hook.

  "Wait, Marty! We want to meet your date," my mom yells from the kitchen.

  I roll my eyes and take a step back as my parents come barreling into the room.

  "So this is the famous football player we've heard so much about," my mom says, her glass of wine swaying back and forth in her hand as she talks. She's lying, probably to make it sound like I'm closer to my parents than I really am. I'm sure she wants Alex to think we're a family who sits around the dinner table like a bad show on the CW, one where the mom and daughter are best friends and talk about sex and their periods and penises. They eat candy and French fries night after night and never get fat. Too bad my mom made me eat asparagus tonight, even though I told her I hate how it makes my pee smell.

  I'm going to pretend you didn't just say pee at the table, she said into her napkin as she dabbed the corners of her mouth. I didn't say a word the rest of the dinner.

  "I wasn't sure you existed," Mom says brightly.

  "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Hart." Alex holds out a hand for her to shake. My mom smiles and gives me the eye. Alex already has the high-school-boyfriend-I-probably-won't-sleep-with-your-daughter-just-heavy-petting stamp of approval.

  "We need to go," I say, grabbing Alex's arm and yanking him toward the door.

  "You two have fun!" Mom sings. Either she's drunk off her Chardonnay or bubbling with pride that her daughter, the one she thought was a lesbian just months ago, is going on a date with a respectable boy.