How to Be Bad

by Lauren Myracle

  That was probably not the best thing to say, because Jesse picks up a Coke and throws it at her, narrowly missing her head. The can lands with a thud on the carpet.

  Whoa. I think someone may need a little trip to my therapist, Dr. Kaplan.

  “Are you crazy?” Vicks shrieks.

  The three of us stare at one another—me and Vicks at Jesse, and Jesse at Vicks. It’s some sort of showdown.

  “I punched Vicks in the face,” I say.

  Jesse turns and looks at me blankly, apparently unable to understand what I have just said.

  “It’s true,” Vicks says, putting her hand to her jaw. “She did. I told her to. Do you want to punch me too? Or did you just want to lob the Diet Sprite at me now?”

  Jesse has the grace to look embarrassed.

  “Your loss,” says Vicks. “One-time-only offer.”

  “Vicks wanted me to express my anger,” I explain.

  Jesse gets up out of her chair. “Maybe…maybe I need to express my anger too.”

  Vicks puts up her barbecue-stained hand. “Too late. Offer expired.”

  “Fine, I’ll just stay mad at you,” Jesse says. She sits back down. “Cheater,” she mutters.

  “Well, guess what?” Vicks says. “I no longer have a boyfriend to cheat on. I broke up with Brady.”

  Shock registers on her face. “You did? When?”

  “Last night.”

  “Why?” Jesse blinks repeatedly.

  “Because it wasn’t working. I don’t want to be that girl.”

  “What girl? The girl with the great boyfriend?”

  “No, the girl who chases a guy when he couldn’t care less and makes an ass of herself.”

  “Oh. Wow. Okay. Are you—”

  A double knock from outside interrupts her.

  “Room service!” a man calls.

  I jump to open the door, and a guy in red pants, knee-high boots, and a black pirate hat tilted rakishly on his head rolls a white linen–covered table into the living room. On it are three silver place settings with matching coverings. The scent of red meat makes my mouth water.

  He wheels the food in. “Just leave the tray outside and someone will pick it up.”

  I sign for it and add a 25 percent tip.

  “Thank you.” I close the door behind him.

  “What did you get?” Jesse asks.

  “Three steaks. One for each of us.”

  “Oh. That was—”

  The lights go out. Along with the sound of the TV and the hiss of the air conditioner.

  I scream.

  “It’s just a power failure,” Vicks tells me. “Because of the rain.”

  The room is black. I look at the red numbers on the clock to get my bearings—it must be backed up by batteries—and then slowly make out my surroundings. There’s the couch, with Vicks on it. The wheeled-in table. The door to the bedroom. Light slithers through the openings in the drapes.

  “Maybe it’s a sign from God,” Jesse says.

  “Do you really think that?” I wonder. I fold myself into the seat next to her.

  “Do I really believe it’s a sign?” Jesse asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “Do you believe the lights going out was a sign from God?”

  “Maybe. He might be trying to tell us something.” She pauses, then adds, “You believe in God, right? I mean, Jewish people do believe in God.” Uncertainty flickers across her face. “Right?”

  I almost laugh, but I stop myself. “Yes, Jewish people believe in God, I just—I don’t know what I believe.” I consider. “I don’t not believe in God. I don’t know. It’s just that…a lot of bad things happen in the world for there to be a God, no?”

  Like hurricanes so bad they flood people’s trailers.

  Jesse shakes her head. “God has a plan for us. I know He does. But we could be on the wrong path without even knowing it, which is why sometimes bad stuff happens.”

  Wow. She’s really sure of things. I hug my knees. “I don’t know if I believe in a grand plan,” I say tentatively.

  “Then what do you believe?” she asks.

  “Um. Maybe in free will? I mean, if I hadn’t gotten drunk, then I wouldn’t have made an ass of myself and I might still be on speaking terms with Marco.” I make a face. “My bad. Not God’s.”

  Vicks laughs. “Well said.” She opens the drapes to let in what little light there is with the storm. “Now, can we eat?”

  “Yes!” Jesse exclaims.

  I wonder if this means they’ve called a truce. A Vicks-broke-up-with-her-boyfriend-and-we-have-no-power truce.

  I remove the silver coverings and pass along the plates of food and cutlery. The knives are miniature cutlasses, which is hilarious. Vicks brandishes hers and says, “Arrrr!”

  But I’m still thinking about God. I wish I believed in signs from God. I wish I believed in God the way Jesse believes in God. Although Jesse’s idea of God sounds kind of…harsh. Still, life would be a lot less scary if I believed there was someone looking out for me.

  I spread my napkin onto my lap, and Jesse does the same.

  “Will someone pass me a Coke?” she asks.

  “Go find the one you threw at me,” Vicks says.

  “Careful,” I say. “I know someone who opened a Perrier bottle that had been shaken and it exploded and pierced her eye.”

  Jesse winces. “Ouch. A friend?”

  “A friend of my housekeeper’s.” I feel dumb as soon as the words leave my mouth.

  “You have a housekeeper?” Jesse asks. She uses her cutlass to cut into her steak, then brings a bite to her lips.

  “Yes.” Now she’ll probably start again with her all-rich-people-are-going-to-hell speech. “She lives with us,” I add, just to get it all out there.

  She chews, swallows, and then says, “Lucky.”

  “Does she cook?” Vicks asks, her mouth full.

  “Yes. She’s good.”

  “Not as good as me though, I bet. At least not with a waffle iron.” Vicks makes a show of getting off the sofa and reaching to retrieve the can Jesse threw. “Look: aluminum. Should be safe. But I’ll open it over the sink.”

  I cut a piece of fat off the tip of my steak, and push it to the end of my plate.

  When Vicks returns, she makes a show of handing the opened and intact Coke to Jesse. “Here you go, matey. Mini-explosion, but I contained it.”

  “Thanks.”

  I cut off another bit of fat.

  Vicks scoots back to her spot on the couch. “Mel, are you going to eat or play with your food?”

  I stare down at my plate. “Eat. I’m just getting rid of the gross parts.”

  “I like the fatty part,” Jesse says, skewering into a bit of marbled meat. “Mmm.”

  “Yuck,” I say.

  “Try it,” she says. “It’s juicy.”

  “Pretend it’s foie gras,” Vicks says.

  Yuck. “I never eat foie gras. My dad loves it though.”

  Jesse takes a gulp of her drink. “What’s foie gras?”

  “Pieces of fat,” Vicks says, stuffing a handful of chips in her mouth. “Technically, goose liver. But basically, just really expensive pieces of fat.” We’re chewing in silence when Vicks says, “So, Mel.”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you going to call Marco back?”

  “What? No.” I poke my fork into a slice of potato skin and hold it out. “Anyone want?”

  “Sure.” Vicks reaches over and takes it. “But he does have your phone.”

  Damn. Right. “Maybe we’ll stop in on the way back. You’ll wait in the car and I’ll run in and yell, ‘Hey, what’s up! Remember me? Crazy drunken girl?’”

  Vicks snorts.

  Jesse shakes her head. “Why do you think you got so drunk?”

  “Four wine coolers have that effect,” I say.

  “I realize that, thanks. What I meant is why did you let yourself get so drunk? And in the car you said that it wasn’t your first time having too much to
drink. So why is that? I think you’re insecure.”

  No kidding.

  “Hello, do we need a lecture now?” Vicks says, rolling her eyes.

  “You’re trying to bolster yourself with alcohol,” Jesse tells me.

  “Why, thank you, Faith Waters,” Vicks quips.

  “You’re welcome,” Jesse says.

  I nod. “I know that’s what I’m doing. But, see, without booze it’s not so easy for me to just talk to people, you know?” I mean Marco, but I also mean the two of them. I watched them laugh and mess around all summer, and I remember how much I wanted to be in on the joke.

  “That’s bullshit,” Vicks says. “You were flirting with Marco in the Opel. So unless you snuck some whiskey from the Wakulla Museum, you’re full of it.”

  I think about what she said as we finish our meals. I was flirting with Marco in the car. I was definitely flirting with him on the grass. And I liked the girl on the grass. She was flirty, funny, confident—and pretty sober. Until she freaked out and ruined it.

  When we’re done, Vicks stretches her arms over her head and says she needs a nap. I place the mostly empty plates back onto the trolley, and roll it outside. The hallway is brighter than the room because of the pink emergency lights that line the floor.

  When I get back, Vicks and Jesse are both in the bedroom, lying on opposite sides of the bed, like parents in a sitcom.

  I close the drapes and then crawl into the spot between them and put my head on the flattish corner of Jesse’s pillow. She moves over so I can share.

  The gesture makes me so happy, tears prick the back of my eyes.

  Instead of speaking, we listen to the sound of the rain crashing against the windows.

  “I wonder how long it’ll last,” I say eventually. Then I start to worry. “What if we’re stuck here for days?” I ask. “Without power, without AC, with only barbecue chips to eat?”

  “We’ll sacrifice Eli Weinberger,” Vicks says. “And eat him.”

  “What if,” I continue, “when we finally get outside the place has been destroyed and turned into some sort of wasteland? What if—”

  Vicks yawns. “What if we take a nap?”

  The yawn is contagious, and soon Jesse and I are yawning big and loud and I’m feeling full and lazy. I bury my face into my half of the pillow.

  At some point the power comes back on. Instead of waking up Vicks and Jesse, I quietly make my way off the bed and turn off the lights and TV. I close the drapes. When I go back to the bed, I see that Jesse has somehow rotated 180 degrees and Vicks is kind of cuddling with her feet. They look cute. And they can’t fight when they sleep.

  I worm back in and close my eyes.

  22

  VICKS

  “WHAT TIME IS it?” Mel moans. “It feels like midnight.”

  “No way,” Jesse says. “It can’t be midnight, can it?”

  “Brace yourselves, kids,” I tell them, looking at my watch. “It’s only four in the afternoon.” I woke up about an hour ago and have been staring at the ceiling, trying not to think. But I let them keep sleeping, ’cause that’s the kind of stylin’ pirate/sex goddess I am.

  “Are you kidding?” says Mel.

  Jesse sits up. “Listen.”

  “What?” I am out of the bed, shoving my feet into my Vans.

  “The rain has stopped!” Jesse runs over and pulls the drapes. Sun washes the room with light. All three of us shield our eyes.

  Goes to show. We were expecting an enormous disaster—and now it’s just over. We ate steak and slept through the worst of it.

  “So what happens now?” I ask.

  Mel starts bouncing on the bed. “Disney World!”

  Jesse bolts up. “For real? Oh my gosh. Can we go to Epcot?”

  “Sure,” says Mel.

  “Yay!” Jesse’s face breaks into the first real smile I’ve seen in a long time.

  Personally, I would be more up for Universal, but Jesse’s got an Epcot dream and who am I to squelch it? My posthurricane resolution is: no more spats with Jesse. No teasing, no baiting her with comments that bring out the Christianpants. “Epcot!” I yell, and I start jumping on the bed too.

  Jesse gets up and jumps, and we’re all three jumping on the beds like we’re five years old, yelling, “Epcot! Epcot!”

  Then Jesse leaps off the bed and heads for the hall door. “Only—ooo, that means we’re leaving the hotel, right?”

  “Well, yes,” I say. “That’s the way it works.”

  Jesse giggles. “Okay, in that case I just need to make one quick call. Two minutes. I’m using your cell.”

  “What?” I ask. “You are being weird.”

  Jesse turns and winks—actually winks—at me. “Never you mind,” she says, and then trots through the living room and disappears into the hallway, closing the door.

  “I hope you’re calling your mother!” I yell after her. But she can’t be. She wouldn’t be winking if she was calling Ms. Fix. I look at Mel, who shrugs and goes into the bathroom. Because she’s Mel, she also shuts the door, and there I am, surrounded by doors and not a single answer.

  I march into the hall.

  “Uh-huh,” Jesse’s saying. “It has big pirate ships in front of it with black flags; you can’t miss it.”

  “Who are you talking to?” I whisper.

  She winks again.

  “Sure, Marco,” she says. “See you then.”

  She clicks shut the phone, and I piece it together. Jesse called Marco. He’s coming here to surprise Mel.

  I’m so glad, I squeal. “Yay, you!” I say, squeezing Jesse’s arm.

  “I know—yay, me!” she says. She hands the phone back to me. “He’s like an hour away. I called him after I gave Mel her makeover.”

  “You did? That’s so…” I don’t know what it is. Sweet? Romantic? Totally old-school Jesse?

  “He really likes her,” my friend says, giggling. The friend I know and love. The friend who’s full of funny little secret plans and ideas. The one who hangs lists in the staff bathroom. Buys armpit hair. Arranges for possible boyfriends to show up, a hundred miles from where last detected.

  “That’s so great,” I tell Jesse.

  “Yeah, I know,” Jesse says. She stops giggling and kind of sucks her lips in. “So you’re not, you know, going to be all weird about it?”

  Because of my slutty Marco ambush, she means. A hot flush come to my face.

  “Vicks, don’t,” she tells me. “I have a good scheme going here. You’ve spoiled enough; I don’t want you spoiling this.”

  And F you very much, I think. Only, she’s right. I might spoil it.

  “He must think I’m the biggest bitch,” I say. “How am I gonna look him in the eye?”

  “Just be Vicks,” says Jesse.

  I’m wary. “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning stand up tall like you always do and act like nothing ever happened. You’ve toughed out half a million things worse than this. “

  Actually, that is entirely true. Like I toughed out my hot-dog gas.

  Jesse says, “Remember when Abe walked in on you in the staff bathroom and your pants were down? You lived through that, right?”

  “Don’t remind me,” I say.

  “You didn’t just live through it, you rocked through it. You made jokes; you didn’t act embarrassed; you made the whole thing perfectly okay for Abe and everyone else, just by holding up your head. ’Cause Abe was just about to die of humiliation. I mean, geez Louise, he saw your hoohaa!”

  “Okay,” I tell her. “Enough with the memories. I’ll be fine.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise. I’ll just pretend I can’t remember a thing. But help me if I suddenly go silent. If I go silent, you know I’m weirding out.”

  “Got it.”

  “Guys?” Mel sticks her head out the door. “What’s up?”

  Jesse bursts into the hotel room. “We’re going to Epcot!” she cries. “What else?”

  �
�Oh, excellent,” Mel says. “Let me just grab my purse, eh?”

  “No, no, no, no, no,” Jesse says. “Not so fast, missy.” She makes a show of sniffing Mel. “Um, you need to take a shower.”

  “I do?”

  “You do.” She propels Mel back inside the room. “We all do, but you first.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Mel is cowed.

  “What, you want me to lie?” Jesse says. “This is Epcot we’re talking about. We can’t go stinky to Epcot.”

  “I’ll shower, I’ll shower,” Mel says, and disappears back into the bathroom. Jesse looks at me, and I look at her. We collapse into giggles.

  23

  MEL

  A HALF HOUR later, the three of us have showered, changed, deodorized, and are finally ready to go.

  “Wait, let me do your makeup again!” Jesse says.

  What? “You already did my makeup,” I say.

  “I know, but you washed it off.”

  Jesse glances at the clock. “Please? Just a little. I want you to try it out in public.”

  “Yeah, Mel,” Vicks says. “You definitely should.”

  Why are they being so weird? “Okay, sure. If you really want to. Thanks.”

  I kinda liked the makeup. I still felt like me…just more defined. Less invisible. My eyes were more blue, my smile shinier.

  Maybe Nikki doesn’t have to be the only pretty one.

  Jesse does a quickie application, and then we finally leave the room and take the elevator down to the atrium.

  And I see him.

  Marco.

  Sitting on the lobby couch. The same smooth skin, black hair, brown eyes. A new rumpled and untucked black T-shirt, clean jeans. He’s looking around the marble and gold lobby with a slightly baffled expression on his face.

  I feel sick.

  Happy.

  Confused. Embarrassed.

  Fluttery. I don’t know what to do with my hands. “What is he doing here?” I ask. I notice Jesse and Vicks are nudging each other and grinning.

  “He came to bring back your phone,” Jesse says.

  Vicks slaps her arm. “Don’t tell her that, she’ll believe you. He came to see you.”

  “But how did he know—”

  “Jesse called him.”

  Jesse smiles at me. I don’t know what to say. I want to turn around and go back to the room and hide under the covers. Then Marco spots us. Spots me. His face breaks into a huge smile.