Very Bad Things

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

She grimaced. “Okay, Dr. Oz, but what about the movie experience? Popcorn without butter is weird. And if I say something is weird, it really is.”

  I laughed. “I would avoid the Raisinets, too.”

  “This should be interesting,” she said, her eyes sparkling with glee. Ah, she liked my teasing.

  I pointed at the raisin on the box we could see through the glass case. “Think about it. Underneath that chocolate is a small, dark, shriveled up food thing that used to be fat and juicy. But they fiddled with it. Tweaked it. Makes you wonder what else they did.”

  “You know, you’re really starting to be a dud here,” she said, snickering.

  “You guys are so cute. How long have you been dating?” asked the girl working the concessions, who’d been watching the back and forth between us.

  Nora shot me a grin. “Him? Nah. He’s too old for me.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “There’s only seven years between us.”

  “Six,” she said softly, looking shy all of a sudden.

  “How’s that?” I asked.

  “Today’s my birthday,” she said, shrugging. “I’m nineteen now.”

  I stared at her blankly. Damn. Buttercup was a whole year older than I’d thought.

  Nora turned to the counter girl. “I’ll take the extra large combo with a Diet Coke. Make it buttered, please.”

  “Are you seeing Casablanca or O Brother, Where Art Thou?” I asked as the girl turned to make her soda.

  “O Brother. What’s not to love about bluegrass and Homer? And George Clooney? Only one of the sexiest guys ever.”

  I looked at her in surprise.

  “What? You don’t think Clooney is hot? He is kinda old, I guess,” she chuckled, shooting me a little smirk.

  “Just never took you for a Cohen Brothers fan . . . and, no, I do not think Clooney is hot.”

  She laughed.

  The counter girl put the huge tray down on the counter. “That’ll be twenty-six dollars.”

  “We’ll take another soda, please,” I said, pulling out my wallet. I paid the new total and picked up the tray.

  She looked at me with wide eyes. “Thanks for paying for mine, but you didn’t have to. It’s not like we’re on a date,” she said, following me as we turned around to head for the theaters.

  “Yeah, well, we’re seeing the same movie, we may as well sit together,” I heard myself say.

  She peered around me, like she was looking for someone. “Won’t Tiffany be mad?”

  I cracked my neck and tried to sound nonchalant. Truthfully, I hadn’t asked Tiffany to come. “She couldn’t make it.”

  She stood there for a moment, and I felt this prickle of unease go up my spine. Damn, was she here on a date? It was her birthday.

  “Mila had to cancel on me and go to a family function,” she said. “So I guess this is a date.”

  I tried to come up with a smart comeback, but I had nothing. What I should have said was hell no, this ain’t no date. But it seemed that being near her made me do insane shit. Truthfully, I felt a little intoxicated from being near her.

  We walked in and found seats. She placed our large drinks in the cup holders while I balanced the tray on my legs.

  “It’s hot in here,” she murmured, slipping out of her sweater and my eyes bulged at her tiny shirt. Shit, where was the rest of it? I fidgeted in my seat, cursing my body’s reaction to her. Thank fuck, we had an arm-rest between us. I still scooted as far from her as I could.

  The lights dimmed and the movie previews started, but I couldn’t stop myself from sneaking glances at her, watching her as she watched the screen.

  “It’s rude to stare, you know,” she said, taking a sip of her soda. I watched how her lips wrapped around the straw.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you,” she said.

  “Not staring.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Maybe I was looking at that spider crawling on your seat,” I said, wanting to shake her up a bit and make her as flustered as I felt.

  “Liar,” she said.

  I laughed out loud, liking how she called me out. “Okay, you got me. I was looking at your red hair. I like it.”

  She blushed. “Thank you.”

  I studied her. “You’re a mystery, Nora. I mean, why would you ruin my car? Was it because I saw you in the parking lot at BA and didn’t help you out with your mom?” I asked, hoping I could get her to open up.

  She peered into the popcorn bucket, and I regretted bringing it up. She’d said she was sorry and that she’d help Teddy.

  She shrugged. “No, it wasn’t personal. There’s nothing you could have done that day anyway. She’s just like that. She blows up but then gets over it.”

  I nodded but didn’t believe her. I’d seen Mrs. Blakely’s face. She’d looked fucking evil.

  Our movie finally started, but I barely noticed because all I could think about was that we were together and alone, and she was easy to be with. “I like you,” I said impulsively, turning and holding her gaze with mine.

  “Yeah?” she said, seeming pleased. “Why?”

  I faltered, not sure about my words. “Because you’re like . . . I don’t know . . . a Lamborghini in a parking lot full of Kias. Special.”

  Her lips parted and a tiny rush of air came out, like she was surprised. My breath quickened, staring at her lips. She’d worn this deep red lipstick that matched her hair, and it turned me on big time. She licked her lips, and I ached to kiss her mouth. I wanted to lick it, nip it, suck on it; I wanted to own it.

  I wanted to give her a kiss she’d never fucking forget.

  I thought of that rush you get when you ride a roller coaster, how it climbs higher and higher and then does crazy twists and turns, and you feel like you just might fly right out of your seat. Would a kiss with Nora be like that? Would her mouth taste like the cherries on her skirt? Would the first flick of her tongue against mine send a bolt of pure lust straight to my dick? Would her skin smell like peaches?

  I leaned in a tiny bit closer, feeling heady and strangely euphoric. If I could taste her lips one time, maybe I’d be content and this craziness would pass? But, deep down, I knew a simple kiss would never be enough with her. I’d want to fuck— I felt my phone buzz.

  Sighing and looking away, I pulled it out of my pocket.

  It was Tiffany.

  --Wanna meet back at your place later tonight? Say yes, and I’ll wear the pink nightie. xoxo

  “Checking in with the ole girlfriend?” Nora asked as I put the phone away. “You know, I don’t think she’d like it very much that you’re here with me. The movies is way better than a date in the park.”

  “Not my girlfriend, but yeah, it’s Tiffany.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “I told you I don’t do relationships, and she knows that. She does what she wants, and so do I.”

  She nodded seriously. “Yeah, I get it. She’s your fuck buddy.”

  My entire body went hot as lava at her words, my pulse beating fast and furious as I pictured me fucking Nora, not Tiffany. Memories of her propositioning me at the restaurant kept playing through my head, how she’d described what she wanted, how she’d wanted me to take her from behind. Had she done that shit on purpose, knowing I’d drive myself crazy thinking about it?

  I wondered if she’d ever made love in a movie theater. It was practically empty tonight. We could move to the back row, and she could sit in my lap while we tore into each other. I could wrap my hands in her long red hair and give her the ride of her life. No one would ever know. Unless she was a screamer. Fuck. I was losing my mind over this chick.

  This had to stop.

  AFTER THE MOVIE, we walked back to the lobby, and while she went to the restroom, my mind was on her list again. I wondered who she was having sex with since I’d turned her down. I shouldn’t care, but I did.

  She was probably fucking Cuba already. Or Sebastain. Or both.

  I stood there, waiting for her to come out. Sh
ould I stay with Nora tonight, maybe talk to her about her list, or should I go be with Tiffany? But, I was lying to myself because I wanted more from Nora than talking. I wanted to do things with her I shouldn’t and being alone with her was dangerous territory.

  Tiffany, on the other hand, was older, available, and knew we were short-term. She was the obvious choice. Yet, why did I feel like if I chose Tiffany, then I’d be giving up and missing out on a possibility that could be incredible? That, maybe, if I chose to stay with Nora, my life’s direction might swivel and change into something entirely different? Something I’d never known.

  She came out of the restroom. And, damn, she looked spectacular, making me forget my own name as she strolled across that lobby in those red heels and tight as hell skirt. She shot me that sexy smile, and I got an instant hard-on. And yeah, seeing her walk toward me was like hearing the sweetest fucking rock ballad ever, playing loud and clear in my head. You know the ones, songs about love and how you never believed it existed, until you met her; songs about how you’ve been alone for what seems like forever, but she’s gonna make it alright; songs about how you can’t breathe without her. Yeah. It was like that.

  And then it happened. Something big shifted inside me . . . inside my heart.

  Fuck. Me.

  “Sorrow is sometimes what awakens us.”

  –Nora Blakely

  I OPENED THE door to go back out to the lobby. Sitting beside him for two hours, smelling him, feeling the warmth of his arm close to mine, had made me hungry for more. We’d had fun together, bantering back and forth, laughing and joking during the movie. I felt an intense connection with him, and I think it had all started the moment I’d seen him at the open house. Even while Mother had been ranting at me, I’d clung to him, recognizing that maybe my heart could be his. And maybe it was ridiculous, but tonight I’d felt like he was right there with me, wanting the same thing.

  I walked toward him and smiled, feeling like everything was going to be okay if we were together. He watched me the entire way, his piercing pale eyes roaming over my body like he wanted to consume me. Heat coiled deep inside me, my body yearning for his.

  “Good movie. What now?” I said with a bright smile, knowing I sounded eager, but I didn’t seem to be able to help it.

  He didn’t speak. He just stared at me with this torn expression on this face, like he was wrestling internally with some serious conflict. I’d only been gone for ten minutes, tops. What had happened?

  “Leo?” I said nervously after several long seconds of silence.

  He shook his head and stared over my shoulder, avoiding my eyes; he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. And whatever we’d shared tonight, I felt it slipping slowly away from me. I felt him withdrawing, could see the distance growing in his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” I implored, louder than I should have. But I didn’t care if people stared. All I cared about was wiping that awful, divided look off Leo’s face. “Tell me,” I said, feeling smothered by his silence. I grasped his hands, interlacing our fingers.

  He blinked down at our joined hands and swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing painfully. He lifted our hands up and kissed mine reverently, like he adored me, like he wanted me. But then I saw what was written plainly on his face. Regret. Soul-wrenching, heart-stopping regret. No, please don’t do this, I begged in my head, refusing to accept what he was going to do. I didn’t want to let him go.

  Not before we’d even begun.

  He squeezed my hands, like he needed my touch, like he could have held on to them forever. But his actions didn’t match his words. “Nora. Whatever this is between us, it can’t be. I have to let you go,” he choked out, pulling his hands from mine. And it felt like he’d punched me in the gut, the force of it knocking me back a few steps.

  “No, please,” I said to him, shaking my head, knowing he was throwing away something wonderful, something I’d only just discovered.

  He looked pained as he cupped my face with his hands and kissed me tenderly on the forehead. “Happy birthday, Buttercup,” he whispered. Then he turned his face into a mask and walked out of that theater and out my life.

  I went home alone that night and drank my birthday vodka until I didn’t hurt anymore, until I didn’t remember that Leo had deserted me.

  A FEW DAYS later, the first day of class at Briarcrest arrived. Since I’d spent the night with Aunt Portia, I’d gotten up early to drive in from downtown and help her at the shop. So while she baked, I made the coffee, set up the cream and sugar station, and helped with the early morning rush. At seven, I used her upstairs attic room to dress for school, choosing a pair of green skinny jeans and a white peasant blouse with blue flowers embroidered on it. I straightened my hair until it hung in burgundy ribbons down my back. I slid on my Tom Ford sunglasses and looked at myself in the mirror, practicing fake smiles.

  Ready for BA! Go, Tigers! Yeah, right.

  Located right outside of Highland Park, BA rested on twenty acres and was a feast of academics, superb athletics, and extracurricular offerings. With the majority of its students matriculating into Ivy League colleges, it was hailed as one of the best private schools in the country.

  I whipped my white Volvo into the parking lot, next to a Mercedes and an Aston Martin. With a mission in mind, I hopped out of my car and walked through the grand stone entrance of the main school building, not stopping to say hi to anyone. Nope, I went straight to the counselor’s office. I’d had an epiphany since Leo left me at the movies. I realized if I really wanted to crawl out of this dark hole I’d dug for myself years ago, then I’d need to start with big changes, like my future. I needed to wipe out everything from my old life.

  When Mr. Beasley saw me, his eyes grew wide, and he blanched, no doubt remembering the incident. He told me to have a seat while he shut the door.

  “What can I help you with, Nora?” he asked, eyeing my red hair. I was tempted to grin maniacally at him just to freak him out, but he wasn’t the reason I was messed up.

  “I need to know what credits I need to graduate,” I said, getting down to business. “Considering that I take a full load every year, I know I have more than enough already, but I’m sure there are some classes this year I need for state requirements.”

  He tapped a pen against his desk. “May I ask why?”

  “No.” How on earth did I explain to this man that I needed to break away from this place as fast as I could?

  His forehead creased. “Is this something you need to talk about, my dear?”

  “Just tell me what classes I need,” I said, beating my fingers against the arms of the leather chair, worried about the scowl on his face. “I’ve been a model student here since seventh grade. I made this school look good when I won the spelling bee, and my debate team has given this school numerous trophies. I think you owe me here.” I sighed, hating to act like a rich brat, but if I had to, I would. “And if you won’t let me do this, then I’ll drop out of BA and take my tuition with me. I’ll enroll in another private school and make them look good.”

  This, of course, was a bald-faced lie. If he didn’t let me do this, then I was screwed. No way would Mother pay for me to go somewhere else. Dad’s entire family had graduated from this school, which meant I had to as well. If he didn’t do this, then I’d have to drop out and get my GED.

  He settled back in his leather chair. “You know this will knock you out of the running for Valedictorian, and I know your parents will be disappointed if you don’t graduate with highest honors.” He gave me a pointed look. “If you do this, then Drew Mansfield will be valedictorian.”

  “Drew can have it,” I said.

  “What about scholarships? You have the full ride to UT, but you might decide to go somewhere else. You’d talked about Princeton,” he said, and I felt myself getting antsy. I didn’t want him asking too many questions.

  I shifted in my seat. “Things have changed. I’ve changed.”

  Mr. Beasley ta
pped at his computer, and my thoughts drifted a bit, getting muddled as I thought of Drew Mansfield, my academic nemesis and former crush who’d stabbed me in the heart. Our GPA’s had been in a race against each other since we were freshmen, and we’d traded off awards and medals every year. One year I’d get the Calculus award and the next year, he would. One year he’d win the Dallas Area History Contest, and the next year, I would. He was the captain of the debate team whereas I was co-captain. I was editor of the yearbook and he was co-editor. Not only was he intelligent, but he also played basketball and lacrosse for BA. Basically, he was the male version of me, only athletic.

  We’d also had a fling. It’d started this past January on a debate trip we took together to New York. We’d ditched our chaperones on the first day and roamed around Central Park, with Drew walking beside me. When the other debate members weren’t paying attention, he’d hold my hand or whisper in my ear how beautiful I was. I’d wanted him since seventh grade, and I think he’d wanted me too, but he’d also had a serious girlfriend since sophomore year.

  But, they’d broken up a week before the trip.

  The next day at the competition, Drew’s team swept the debate, soundly trouncing my team and the other schools’, winning a first place ribbon. With his height and commanding voice, he’d been riveting to watch and, boy, I was riveted. I thought I was in love.

  That night we’d gone back to the hotel and piled in Drew’s room to celebrate by orchestrating pillow fights, ordering pizzas, and prank calling the front desk to ask for condoms. By two in the morning, everyone had gone back to their rooms except for me. Even though we were both exhausted from the excitement of winning, it didn’t stop us from giving each other heated looks that eventually led to us taking our clothes off. We spent an hour kissing, touching, and teasing each other. He told me he wasn’t a virgin, and I wasn’t surprised. He might have been labeled as a geek, but, as an athlete, his physique was lean and tight and hard. I lied and told him I was a virgin. And, in my mind I kinda was.