Rock Bottom Girl

by Score, Lucy

  * * *

  Vicky: Please tell me you guys made out after I left.

  Me: How did you know??? Were you lurking in the shadows with night vision goggles??

  Vicky: I saw him pull in as I was leaving. Figured his lips had a homing beacon on you. Was it just as good as the first time?

  Vicky: Don’t even try to go radio silent on me. The last time Rich and I had sex, he kept his socks on.

  Vicky: I need to live vicariously through your swinging singlehood.

  Me: Fine. There was a kiss. It was nice.

  Vicky: *Hulk smash meme*

  Vicky: NICE?? JAKE WESTON LAYS ONE ON YOU AND IT WAS JUST NICE???

  Me: Go tell Rich to take his socks off.

  22

  Marley

  A millennium ago. The Kiss.

  “I don’t know, V. I’m just not happy. I mean, Travis is great.”

  “So great,” Vicky agreed, digging into the Styrofoam cup of chicken corn soup, a staple at cold weather soccer games. “But?”

  “But I don’t know. I feel, like, ungrateful saying it out loud.”

  “Ungrateful like you owe him a debt of gratitude for dating you?” Vicky looked at me like I’d just declared that Russia had invaded Pennsylvania.

  “Well. Yeah. Kinda. I mean, look how much nicer everyone has been to me since we started dating.”

  “And by nicer, you mean Amie Jo stopped calling you Zit-Faced Loser to your face. I told you the fastest way to shut her up is to punch her in her goddamn mouth and call it a day. She comes after you because there’s no consequences. You don’t freak out on her. You don’t defend yourself. You just wilt like a pretty little flower.”

  Vicky was annoyingly right. I just didn’t have the weaponry to defend myself from mean girls. As far as I could tell, Amie Jo wasn’t human. She’d named me an enemy on the playground in kindergarten and had dedicated her life to being an awful person to me. Dating Travis had been the only respite from her bitchy nastiness.

  “Can we get back to the Travis thing?” I asked. The action on the field stopped with the whistle, and we watched twenty-two long-legged guys jog off the field for half-time.

  “Fine. Tell me why you’re having doubts about breaking up with Prince Travis, the mostly okay boyfriend.”

  Vicky had been involved in a relationship with Rich Rothermel since the end of 10th grade. She said she just didn’t want to commit the time to a decade or two of dating, so she was going to marry her high school sweetheart. But not until they were thirty and done with their two-year backpacking trip around Europe.

  With her future already planned out, she was more than willing to help me shape mine.

  “He’s nice,” I said. “And sweet and thoughtful.”

  “Uh-huh. How’s the sex?” Vicky was skilled at cutting to the heart of an issue and then poking it in the eye.

  “It’s…okay.”

  I’d held on to my virginity until senior year, not liking any of my short-term boyfriends enough to hand it over to their clumsy, sweaty hands. But when Travis Hostetter swept his blond hair out of his blue eyes and flashed me that All-American dimpled grin on the first day of school—miracle of miracles—I’d all but stuffed my v-card in an envelope and addressed it to him.

  I liked him. I really did. He was a great guy. But…

  “I don’t have anything to compare it to,” I reminded her.

  “Trust me,” Vicky said, jabbing the plastic spoon at me. “You’d know if it was good.”

  “Ugh, I feel like an ungrateful ass. So the chemistry isn’t really there for me. Is that a good enough reason to break up with him? And is being moderately more popular a good enough reason to not break up with him?”

  “You got yourself a real conundrum there,” she told me. “Bottom line, are you happy?”

  “No, but—”

  “No buts. There’s your answer.”

  I knew she was right, but it didn’t alleviate the guilt I felt for not being more grateful that the guy picked me from obscurity and had done all the right boyfriend-y things. Travis Hostetter was a great guy. He just wasn’t my great guy. He’d make some lucky girl an amazing boyfriend if I could lady up and release him back into the wild.

  I felt eyes on me and looked up to see Travis waving to me from the bench.

  I raised a hand back and cursed myself for not swooning. The feelings I had toward the blond Adonis in his heroically grass-stained socks were friendly, not lusty. And that made me defective.

  “You ready to go back?” Vicky asked, jutting her chin in the direction of our rowdy circle of friends. Together, we were an island of misfits in the middle of the shark-infested waters of high school.

  “I think I’m gonna grab a hot chocolate,” I told her. I didn’t actually want the gritty, powdery crap. But I did want to be alone with my thoughts.

  “Okay,” Vicky said. “I’ll see you back on the bleachers.” She meandered off, eating her soup while she walked. I headed back toward the concession stand and then veered off behind the bleachers. Here I was separated from the action, the people, the lights. Here I was all alone even with a few hundred people crowding the stands, lining up at the restrooms, and stuffing their faces with fake orange cheese nachos at the concession stand.

  “Hey there, Mars.”

  I recognized the voice before I turned around.

  There, leaning against one of the bleacher supports all James Dean-y, was Jake freaking Weston.

  My heart gave a little pitter-pat somersault in my chest.

  “Hey, Jake,” I said lamely. I was in a committed relationship. I shouldn’t be having a physical reaction to the very non-Travis guy before me.

  He was wearing a leather jacket and jeans. A flannel shirt was tied around his waist. And he had a chain peeking out of his pocket. His hair was a little longer than fashionable. Like he was too cool to care about things like haircuts and grooming.

  “Thought you’d be watching your boyfriend play,” he said with that sexy rebel smirk.

  Jake had worked his way through an impressive portion of the female sex in our class and last year’s graduating class. Rumor had it a substitute teacher had her eye on him.

  “Just needed some air,” I said. Well, that was a stupid thing to say. We were outside. There was nothing but air out here.

  “You know what I think?” he asked.

  I shook my head. I should have walked away, but my feet were moving toward him as if he were using some kind of Star Trek tractor beam on me. It was the facial hair, I decided. It drew me in like a platter of chocolate-covered donuts.

  I’d known of him for a few years since he’d transferred to Culpepper from New Jersey in the middle of our sophomore year. We were in the same class in a very small school. But he remained an enigma in a way the guys I had gone to kindergarten with couldn’t.

  He walked different. Talked different. Carried himself different.

  “What do you think?” I asked, stopping a careful two feet away.

  Jake pushed away from the support and took a step into my space. He was taller than me. I liked that, too.

  Nervous, I took a short step back and found a metal post pressing into my back.

  He advanced on me slowly like a lion prowling toward a fat, sick gazelle. Jake rested a hand above me and leaned in. “I think you’re with the wrong guy, Mars.”

  Yeah, I was imagining this. I was standing in line waiting for my brown sugar water from Sue Clempet, Booster Club president who wore not one but two crosses around her neck should anyone fail to notice the first one. I was not under the bleachers, breathing in the clean, naughty scent of the class rebel while my very nice boyfriend was probably scoring another goal on the field.

  I blinked. Then I worked my mouth closed when my jaw started to hurt.

  “Uh. What?” I asked.

  He had really pretty lips. For a guy. They quirked up in one corner, amused by my gazelleness.

  “I don’t think Travis is the guy for you,”
Jake said, running a thumb over my jawline.

  My heart was hammering against my ribs so hard I worried they might crack and puncture a lung. That would not be cool. “What makes you say that?” I asked mechanically. I was a robot needing input.

  “You’re the highlight of English class,” he said, rubbing that thumb over my lower lip. Danger! Danger! Warning bells clunked and clanged to life.

  “Go on.”

  He grinned, and my knees nearly buckled. This was what I was missing from Travis. This insane physical reaction. The sweaty palms. The ragged breathing. The dark pleasure of knowing I was about to make a huge, amazing mistake.

  “See? That right there. You entertain me.”

  Entertain like a puppet show kind of thing or a sexy exotic dancer slithering down a pole? There was an important difference.

  “I entertain you?” I repeated.

  “I think we’d have fun together.”

  Travis talked about our future. Applying for the same colleges. Whether or not we could talk our parents into letting us go to the beach together this summer. Asking me what I wanted for Christmas.

  Jake talked about fun.

  Like I was one of those girls who would let him into her jeans and then cheerfully wave him off when the fun was over.

  “I’m not really a fun kind of girl,” I said stiffly.

  “Hmm.” He dipped his head in close. I could feel his breath on my cheek while my own caught in my chest. “I think I’m going to kiss you.”

  The hell you are, sir!

  “Okay.” Damn it! Betrayed by my mouth. I should have pushed him away. Kicked him in the kneecap. Called him a dirty temptation.

  Instead, I stood perfectly still while he pressed his lips to mine.

  They weren’t Travis’s lips. They didn’t move like his, didn’t taste like his. And, good Lord, when his tongue swept into my mouth, I knew without a doubt that this irresponsible, heady rush of lust was what I was looking for.

  He kissed me thoroughly and didn’t pull back until the crowd on the bleachers exploded over some play on the field. Jake looked at me and smirked.

  “Think about it,” he said with a wink. And then he turned and walked away, leaving me trembling against the metal support.

  It was then that I noticed Amie Jo glaring at me. Her hands were on her hips, pom-poms sprouting from them.

  I was a dead woman.

  23

  Marley

  I didn’t dare turn on my vibrator when I got home. Not in my bedroom with my parents and that Airbnb guy from Seattle just down the hall. So I’d settled for a quick dance with the shower head before going to bed and dreaming about dry humping Jake in the high school parking lot. I’d need six showers a day at this rate.

  I passed out cold on my bed, the lousy game a distant memory replaced by some very pleasant flashbacks to Jake’s mouth.

  The next morning, I walked into school and came to a full stop when a boy with dark curly hair and a magenta face walked past me. Holy shit. I’d forgotten about the tomato-ing. Pranking deserving victims was one of my reasons for living. But a well-executed kiss from a U.S. history teacher had me forgetting about my diabolical plot and its success.

  “Cicero!” a voice snapped.

  I had to bite six holes in my lip to keep from laughing. Coach Vince stormed toward me. Half of his face was his usually brawny tan. The other half looked like it had suffered an unfortunate fruit punch explosion.

  “What can I do for you, Coach?” I asked innocently.

  Morgan E. and Angela stopped a short distance away.

  “I want to know what you know about this,” he said, gesturing at his own face.

  “Well, we only met that one time. I’ve gotta say you really didn’t make a good first impression. But keep at it. I’m sure you can do better.”

  He snarled at me, but any fearful effect was ruined by the red stain. “If I find out you or your team of losers had anything to do with this, I will make your life a living hell. Do you hear me?”

  His volume was high enough that I was pretty sure everyone in a hundred-yard radius heard him. The students in the hallway were gawking at us. Teachers were poking their heads out of the classrooms.

  “My advice, Coach Vince, is to get your finger out of my face and lower your voice. My team and I were at an away game yesterday. My guess is I’m not the only one in this town who thinks you got exactly what you deserved.”

  “Ooooooh!”

  Morgan E. and Angela stepped up to flank me, their arms crossed over their chests like sassy teenage bodyguards who were not amused.

  Our audience was thrilled.

  “Uh, Coach?”

  Vince turned, and I caught sight of Milton Hostetter… or his brother. His face had been spared for the most part, but that pretty blond hair was now a lovely shade of pink. Oh, Lord. Amie Jo was going to kill me.

  I was a hell of a lot more afraid of her than the overgrown jackass in front of me.

  “I’ll get to you in a minute, dumbass,” Vince roared at the kid.

  I felt a little bad for him. I mean, he didn’t choose to have Vince as an authority figure. “Coach Vince, I’m going to suggest that you back up out of my face and leave school property until you can control your temper.” The asshole wasn’t even on the faculty here. He was a sales guy for a cabinet factory out of Lancaster.

  “I’ll leave when I’m good and ready.”

  That fat finger was in my face again.

  “What are you laughing at, Haruko?” Vince demanded. “Didn’t my country bomb the crap out of yours a few years back?”

  “Is there a problem here?” a voice snapped.

  The cavalry had arrived. Jake and Floyd worked their way through the crowd to stand next to me. Angela and Morgan stepped to the side.

  “I was just explaining to Cicero here that if she had anything to do with that prank yesterday, she’d be hearing from my lawyer.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t your lawyer who did it?” Jake offered.

  “Yeah, I heard that you didn’t pay him after you lost that suit against your next-door neighbor and their hedgerow,” Floyd added.

  “Guy’s got a lot of enemies,” Haruko said from her classroom doorway. She scratched at the corner of her eye with her middle finger.

  Vince glared at her before turning his attention back to me and stabbing his finger in my face.

  “Careful there,” Jake said, his voice low and controlled.

  “I know you did this!” Vince hissed.

  “Like I said. I had an away game yesterday,” I reminded him.

  “What about the night before?” Vince demanded.

  “She was with me,” Jake said.

  “Ooooooh!” The gathered students really liked that.

  “Is that so?” Vince snarled.

  “Are you calling me a liar?” Jake asked calmly. He sounded amused, almost bored. He was way scarier than the tantrum-throwing Vince. I liked it.

  “If either of you think you can mess with me or my team again, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer!” With a parting growl, the man turned and stormed out, knocking Milton out of his way.

  “Well, that was fun,” Floyd said, watching him go.

  “All right everyone. Show’s over. Get to class,” Jake said, herding students toward classrooms and hallways.

  “Marley Cicero!”

  Jesus, what was with people sneaking up on me?

  Amie Jo stormed down the hall under a full head of steam. “Did I hear Coach Vince accuse you of doing this to my poor sweet boy?” she demanded, yanking Milton’s head down so I could see the pink cast better.

  “Oh, shit. You’re on your own,” Floyd hissed and turned tail into the gym.

  “Coward,” I called after him.

  “We were at an away game yesterday, Mrs. Hostetter,” Morgan E. reminded her. “We weren’t even here.”

  “How convenient,” Amie Jo hissed, eyeing me like a mangy raccoon. “But I seem to recall you being
mean and violent in high school.”

  I scoffed in her face. “I was mean and violent in high school? Are you forgetting the time you tried to run over Shelly Smith in the parking lot?” Shelly had made the unfortunate mistake of running against Amie Jo for class secretary our junior year.

  Of course the entire town was always happy to forgive Amie Jo for her bad choices. Mine, however, still lived on.

  “I know exactly what you’re doing,” she hissed at me. “You’re pretending to be innocent, but I know what you’re capable of.”

  I’d once broken into her locker and filled it with a dozen of the largest pairs of granny panties that I could find at Walmart. It had cost me two weeks of lunch money, but it had been so worth it. They’d fallen out at her feet between classes and been waved as flags by hilarious classmates.

  It occurred after she’d called me an ugly whore during gym class when I missed her set in volleyball.

  And then there had been Homecoming 1998 when I’d taken things way, way, way too far.

  The warning bell rang, and students reluctantly left the scene of what was shaping up to be a girl fight.

  “Go on to class, Milty,” she told her son. “I’ll take care of this.” She waited until the hallway was mostly empty before sidling closer to me.

  “Now you listen to me, Marley Cicero. I know you. And I know you had something to do with this. Maybe you’re just jealous that I got Travis and you got nothing. Maybe you feel bad that your life is so pathetic. Maybe the only joy you get in life is by staging these childish pranks. I get it. I wouldn’t be able to stand myself if I were you either. All alone in life. You’re a what not to do. A human Pinterest fail. But don’t you ever do anything to my sons’ hair again.” Her voice screeched higher.

  I absorbed the words. Used to the verbal weapons Amie Jo and people like her employed.