No. Gregg sees it, too.
He frowns and pulls Liss’s chin toward him.
They kiss.
Chloe pours more juice into my glass.
I take a sip.
And another sip.
And I drink until it’s empty.
“So, Avery,” I say. “I have a question for you. Why did you pick what’s-her-face, Zebra-girl, no, what’d you call her, Liss?”
“Georgia…” Liss shakes her head at me. “Stop.”
But I don’t stop. It was funny, what she said, and I have to remember it.
“No, wait—” I laugh. “Hold on. Oreo cupcake. Yeah, that’s it. You said she looked like an Oreo cookie cupcake.”
“Georgia, really. Stop it.”
“No, wait. You’re right. She had a name. Mary. Yeah, Chloe’s cousin Mary.”
Avery looks at me confused, but all nice and curious, like she’s really, deeply invested in what I’m about to say. “What about her?”
“Why’d you pick her instead of me for cheer? I mean, she’s a freshman and she’s just as fat as me. And I could do a cartwheel, but she can’t. So, what the fuck? Why didn’t I make the team or squad or whatever?”
“Damn it, Georgia,” Liss nearly hisses at me. “Shut up already.”
“What? You said it,” I say. “I’m just pointing out the blatant nepotism that runs rampant in the halls of WHS.”
“Georgia,” Liss sort of quiet-yells. “I. SAID. SHUT. UP.”
Avery just laughs kind of fake to blow it off, but everyone else gets real silent, real fast.
Evelyn breaks in, just to fill the air with something. “So, um, Daniel, when do you guys leave for your trip?”
“Oh.” He doesn’t want to answer. “That first Saturday of winter break. We’ll be gone the entire time.”
And then they all sort of join in, all except for Liss, who’s obviously pissed, but she’s so far away, and I can’t feel my fingers, I can’t feel my tongue, I can’t feel anything, really, everything around me feels so heavy and slow.
So, I lie back.
And then,
I’m there with them, in Belize.
I’m snorkeling next to Daniel.
His hand is in mine.
The waves ripple around us.
Colorful, tropical fish tickle my skin.
“Hey, Georgia, want to try it?”
Someone’s handing me a net to catch a fish.
I could learn how to fish here.
That’s item #8, I think.
“Georgia … hello? You want to try it?”
It’s Evelyn’s voice, calling to me from beyond a barrier reef. What is she doing here in Belize?
“Georgia—”
“What?”
I open my eyes.
I look up.
Oh, dear Lord.
I fell asleep on Daniel Antell.
Holy Mother of all things good.
What have I done?
I lift my head off of him. I wipe the corner of my mouth.
I drooled on Daniel Antell.
I look around, and everybody’s staring at me. I sit up. Daniel’s wiping off his arm. “Are you okay?” he asks.
Damn it all. And Evelyn, who’s sitting on the floor beside me, is poking me and asking me something.
I wipe my chin. “What did you say?”
“Wakey, wakey, Georgie-girl. It’s happy fun time.” Evelyn’s holding a Ziploc bag with crumpled leaves of pot in one hand and a glass pipe in the other. She’s oblivious of how mad I am at her. “Time to spark some bud.”
I wipe my eyes and look over at Liss.
How long have I been asleep?
It sort of floods back—what Avery said to me, what I said to Avery—along with a raging headache.
“Come on, Georgia,” Evelyn says. “Let’s give it a go, shall we?”
“Oh, my head,” I blurt out. “It’s pounding.”
“Perfect.” Evelyn laughs. “This is medicinal. It’ll make your headache disappear!”
“Wait, what?” I look at Avery. “We’re smoking that here? Inside? What about your parents?”
“They don’t give a shit.” Avery laughs. “They still smoke down here at night when they think I’m asleep or when I’m cheering away games. They won’t even notice the smell.”
I’m still groggy and drunk, and the room is spinning like I’m at the center of a tornado. “I don’t know. That doesn’t sound like a good idea at all. And anyway, I’m not so good at inhaling.”
And then Avery to Liss: “I thought you said she was cool.”
There it is.
It’s out in the open, in front of Daniel and Chloe and everyone. Georgia Askeridis is a loser. She writes dumb lists, says mean things, rats out her best friend, falls asleep on people, drools on them, and can’t inhale to save her life. After a sudden ascent up the social hierarchy—an acceptance, if you will, into the home of Avery Trenholm—comes my quick descent into dorkdom. Who knew it would all end so quickly?
“May I speak to you in the other room, please, Georgia?” Oh, great. And as a result, I’ve pissed off Liss. Shit.
I get up off the couch and follow her into the kitchen.
I don’t want to fight with Liss. So she told them about my list. Who cares? This is all dumb. “I’m so sorry. I’ve never drunk this much, and apparently I can’t because it makes me say stupid shit. I’m really sorry, so sorry.” My head is pounding so bad. “And I fucking fell asleep. I just guess I couldn’t handle all that juice—”
“What? Oh, I don’t care about that. Look, Evelyn’s the one who started talking about your list. I tried to stop her—I mean, I did stop her from telling them more. And as for Avery, she’s idiotic. And she’s so drunk, she won’t even remember any of this by Monday.”
“Oh.” Okay. Well, then. Phew. “What, then?”
“Gregg, that’s what. He’s an asshole who’s being an asshole.”
Besides her inability to curse creatively when she’s drunk, what she’s saying doesn’t add up. Nice Gregg? Sweet Gregg? Perfect Gregg? Well, that doesn’t make sense. “What’s going on?”
“He fucking called me cheap and easy.”
“Wait, what? He called you that? I don’t believe it.…”
“Well, believe it. He said I’m throwing myself at Daniel, of all things. I mean, Daniel. Why would I even do that? Gregg took me in the other room and told me tonight’s not happening. He said I’m too drunk and he’s pissed about me going to Belize, that he doesn’t trust me.”
“Holy shit.” I rub my eyes. How long was I asleep? “I don’t understand. I thought things were going well. Are you sure? I mean, you’ve been drinking a lot.” And I saw it, too. I saw how you looked at him. “I mean, we’ve all been drinking a lot. Are you sure that’s what he meant?”
“God! Why are you defending him?”
“I’m not defending him. I just think it was a misunderstanding, is all.”
“Fuck it all, anyway.” She slams her palm on the granite counter and then spins around and opens the fridge. “I need a beer.” She grabs a bottle, twists off the cap, and chugs. “Screw it. This tastes like piss. I’m getting high.”
This could be bad. “Well, wait a minute. Slow down. Is that really the answer?” Ugh. I sound like my dad.
“Yes, it’s the answer. God. Avery’s right. You can be so fucking uncool sometimes, you know that? You sound like your dad.”
“Don’t get mad at me. What the hell did I do?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” She retreats and shakes her head.
“Well, why am I here, then, if I’m so uncool?”
“Forget it.”
“No, why, Liss? Why are we in Avery’s house? Why are we kissing up to these jerks?”
“They’re Gregg’s friends, that’s all.”
“Okay, so fine. You’re kissing up to make nice with Gregg. Whatever. But then I don’t understand: Why are you mad at me?”
“You could be on my side, you
know.”
“But I am on your side—”
I think.
She’s not listening, though. She’s drunk on anger and beer and juice and Lord knows what else. She chugs the bottle and throws it empty into the sink. “Where’s Evelyn? Let’s get this party started already.”
And then she’s gone.
And I’m here in No-Woman’s-Land—no, strike that—No-Liss-Land, alone.
* * *
Evelyn lights up and passes around the joint, and at first I pass, but then I see Liss sitting next to Daniel, and she’s laughing and flirting, and they’re still talking about fucking Belize.
And then she places her hand on his biceps,
and he smiles,
and he leans in close to Liss
to Liss, of all people,
my best friend,
my only friend,
and the next time the pipe comes around, I think, Fuck it,
and I try,
I really try, but I cough so much Avery laughs, and then even Chloe laughs,
Chloe, who I thought was kind of nice—
and Liss doesn’t bother to defend me this time.
But I try it again, anyway.
I breathe it in,
and I hold it,
and I breathe again.
And then.
I’m kissing Gregg.
I don’t know how this happened.
His face is on mine, and mine is on his, and he tastes like earth and sweat and salt.
His neck is smooth.
His cheeks are smooth.
His lips are smooth.
We’re on a bed.
Inside a guest bedroom or Avery’s room or Avery’s parents’?
I don’t know.
We’re on a bed, and it’s dark, and he tastes like earth and sweat and salt.
And it’s my first kiss,
and my second and my third,
and then, I lose count.
And I want to stop,
but I can’t.
He tastes like soil.
I think I know this to be true.
And then,
Liss opens the door.
And then,
She turns on the light.
And then,
I’m running.
Liss screams behind me.
And then, I’m outside,
And the snow burns my bare feet.
I can’t find the concrete,
If only I could find the concrete,
I know it could be warmer.
I crawl on my hands and knees and dig for the concrete.
I know it will be warmer.
I think I know this to be true.
And then,
Liss screams at me,
but I can’t hear her.
And then,
my mother is there, standing
in front of me.
She’s a Picasso.
Her breasts hang heavy.
Her thighs thick and round.
She’s a leaf,
a pendant,
a chandelier.
She’s a Mondrian,
all black and red,
rectangle and line.
She’s a blue square.
A back alley tag.
She’s a Mullican,
radiating spheres of needles
her face brown with dried blood.
And I am inside,
pierced with the promise of the sun.
She is right there,
her hand on my cheek.
It’s warm and it’s real.
I know this to be true.
* * *
I don’t know how I made it back home last night, but I’m in my bed and I don’t want to get out. I don’t want to open my eyes, I don’t want to move my body, but my body has to pee, and I need coffee and water and something in my stomach, something to help this feeling of death under my skin.
I roll myself out of the covers and force myself to look in the mirror.
What have I done?
Oh, Mom, what have I done?
This wasn’t on the list.
* * *
I eat lunch alone, and I walk home alone, and I spend nights alone. I write to her, and I call her, and I text her, and I try to stop her in the hallway, but it’s no use. Liss won’t let me say what I want to say.
Evelyn texts that she’s sorry—first about telling everyone about the list (she didn’t know it was a secret) and then about the pot. It was laced with something, she thinks, and she’s sorry. She says she wants to hang out, but she’s the last person on earth I want to spend time with.
I’m over it. All of it. The drugs and the drinking and the just fucking up in general.
I skip Marquez’s class all week just to avoid seeing Daniel. No need to share any more crazy with him. I consider it my last, well-deserved sin.
As for Gregg, thankfully I don’t see him all week, but the Friday before winter break he walks up to my locker just as I’m packing the last of my stuff before heading home for the two weeks.
The halls are mostly empty except for a few stragglers who are exchanging presents and cleaning out their lockers. No one got me a present, but then again, no one’s really talking to me, either.
Gregg hovers over my shoulder. “Happy holidays,” he says all smug and smarmy, a Santa hat hanging over his brow.
Ugh. What a creep.
I ignore him. I focus instead on my locker. There’s not much in it, a few books and some extra clothes, but I’m stuffing it all in my bag, just to keep busy, just to avoid looking Gregg in the eye.
Daniel walks up to his locker. Fuuuuuck. Worst timing.
“Hey, bro,” Gregg says to Daniel. Ugh. He would use a word like “bro.”
But Daniel ignores him. He just opens his locker and starts packing up his stuff, too. Oh, how I wish I could tell him how it was just all a terrible, awful consequence of a series of terrible, awful mistakes and stupid, stupid hallucinogens. How I wish I could start all over again.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I can see Liss down the hallway. Holy shit. Really? I’ve managed to avoid these people all week, and now the universe conspires against me to put me in the most awkward position ever?
And Gregg is standing there, his back against the neighboring locker, staring at me, smirking. “I haven’t seen you all week. Where you been?”
“What do you want from me?” I finally snap at Gregg.
“I enjoyed what happened that night at Avery’s.…” He says this low, with a crooked, creepy smile on his crooked, creepy face.
“What? How—” I murmur low. “How can you say that? Liss is my best friend.…”
“Yes,” Gregg says. “I know that. And I feel awful. Really, I do.”
I can’t see what Liss ever saw in him or especially why I kissed him, but I can see why she believed everything he ever said to her. He says this like he believes it. He’s good at pretending to be sincere. I think he even convinces himself that what he says is the truth.
“But you’re so different,” he continues. “You’re so … pure or something. Innocent. I like it. Not like Liss.”
Ugh.
What a fuckhead.
That’s just disgusting.
I can see that he believes this, too.
I want to hit him.
So I do.
I hit him on the face. My palm whacks his cheek—twice, actually—and he jumps back, and I jump back, and I can feel all eyes on me—Daniel’s and Liss’s and those of random strangers in the hallway. Crinkled Christmas paper falls from their hands.
“What the hell?” He holds his red cheek in his hand.
“Gregg, I hate to disappoint you,” I say, “but you’re never going to find a girl better than Liss. And you’re an asshole for trying.”
I slam my locker shut, turn on my heels, and head toward my best friend.
Maybe she’ll see what I’ve done and forgive me. Maybe she’ll see that I saved her from
what certainly would have been the worst mistake of her life.
She gives me a look of death, shuts her locker, and runs away from me.
Daniel runs past me toward Liss. They’re out the door, together.
I deserve that.
There’s nothing I could say or do that will change what I did.
But I’m sorry.
God, am I sorry.
For so many things.
11
Two weeks of winter vacation. Fan-fucking-tastic. Two weeks of sitting at home, alone, watching TV, and playing on my phone. After four months of not logging on, I check Instagram, but it’s really not that interesting since I don’t follow that many people—mostly my suburban cousins posting happy-family pictures of them sledding and ice-skating and other Rockwellian scenes. Liss is on all the time, but I never post anything. I check to see if she’s blocked me yet, but she hasn’t. I guess she has better things to do, like fly to Belize with Daniel Antell. I see that on the first day of break, she posted a photo of the runway before she left Chicago O’Hare International Airport (#goodbyesnow #belizebound #wanderlust #adventure) and then the next day, she posted a shot of her legs in a hammock and palm trees in the background (#hammocklife #travel #belizecity #neverleaving). And then that Sunday, she posted one of her standing in her bikini on the edge of a boat: “Great day snorkeling the Belize Barrier Reef. Turtles, sharks and stingray. #unbelizeable #youbetterbelizeit #bucketlist.” Avery and Chloe like this. Ugh.
I look out the window. No palm trees here. I wish I could say that winter in Chicago looks as pretty as a postcard, but the truth is that it doesn’t. All of that snow that’s been accumulating over the past few weeks started to melt last week when the temperatures rose for a few days, but then it got cold again, which means the city streets are now blanketed by huge drifts of frozen brown slush. You can’t walk three feet without slipping. I went down to Walgreens on the first day of vacation to buy some wrapping paper for my dad’s present (socks and undershirts—it’s what he asked for), and I nearly broke my neck. It’s the opposite of romantic. It’s a veritable winter wretchedland.
At least on break, I can sleep all day.
At least on break, I don’t have to talk to anyone.
At least on break, I don’t have anyone else to piss off.
I shut off my phone and go to bed.
* * *
I spend the first few days of vacation reading and sketching and watching shitty movies on Netflix. Considering everything that’s happened, it’s not so bad sitting here, doing nothing. I don’t know why I ever tried doing anything in the first place.
How to Be Brave Page 12
