The Thirst Within (8 page)

“Not… while I was there.”

She looks at me oddly, as if puzzled by my
choice of words. “Anywhere?”

“I… sort of did, here.”

“What! When did this happen?”

“
Shh
!” I have to shush her. “There’s not
much to tell. But anyway….”

And for the remainder of class I have to tell
her about meeting Thierry—all three times—and how on the third time we kissed.
When I describe the kiss, I blush, and when I look over at Kerin she has a
ridiculous grin on her face. I crush her fancy immediately when I continue to
describe how the brother then showed up from Illinois, Thierry’s subsequent
call, and how since then I’ve never seen Thierry again.

She’s upset I didn’t tell her, and even more
upset when she finds out that John saw him. Not only this is bad because John
saw me interested in a guy, but more so because he got to see Thierry and she
didn’t.

***

The next time that I have a shift with John, I
try to be friendlier towards him. I’m not exactly into him, but he
is
cute, and he seems like a nice guy. I want to give it a try. All this talk with
Kerin about Thierry has left me feeling feelings I’d rather not feel. I need to
remember my place.

I return John’s smiles, and I’m responsive when
I think he’s flirting. Not that I can tell. I think he likes me, but he doesn’t
make any advances. Either he’s shy or he doesn’t really want me and I’m just
confused. Both options are quite possible. I do talk frequently with him, at
school, work and even on the way to work, since we take the bus together when
we leave directly from school. I mention the things I do at the house when I
don’t have to work—hinting that I’m not going out with anyone at the moment.

Finally one day, the first Monday in February,
one week after my tell-all conversation with Kerin, and three weeks after I
last saw Thierry, John makes a move. On the way to work after school, as we sit
on the back of the bus I’m lamenting that today’s shift is longer than
usual—four hours instead of two—because I’m already tired, and we’ll get back
home late.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I sort of like the
longer weekday shifts. Since we’re already commuting, I don’t mind working the
extra few hours. The paycheck’s a little fatter, and I get to hang out with you
longer.”

Oh! My heart picks up nervously, as this is the
first open declaration of affection I hear from him. Not that he acknowledged
any deep feelings, but still. He wouldn’t say that if he didn’t like me. I have
to respond.

I smile like I like what I hear. “Yeah, that’s
nice,” I say.

“I’m sorry you’re tired, though,” he says. His
eyes are intent, and search my face, as if looking for confirmation, or
reciprocity of feelings.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, and smile as if to shrug
it off.

With a determined look, he leans forward and
kisses me briefly on the lips.

“Sorry,” he says right away.

“Oh, hey,” is all I reply, but I’m smiling,
because I sort of liked it. It’s not the assault to my central nervous system
that Thierry’s kiss was, but—whatever, I shouldn’t even be thinking about
Thierry.

I lean forward and kiss him, to shut up my mind
about Thierry, and this time we kiss for a little while. I feel a butterfly or
two in my stomach, from the thrill of kissing someone new. The bus comes to a
stop and we stop, giggling like we’re doing something we shouldn’t be doing. I
mean, PDA on a bus—no one wants to see that.

We keep talking about other things and make it
to work in high spirits. The four hours today go by really fast, as we spend
every free minute we have talking about stuff. We take our break together and
grab something quick to eat, but like always, he pays for his food and I pay
for mine.

Turns out, we have very little in common, but I
like listening to him talk, and he seems to enjoy my stories, too. After work John
takes the bus with me back to the Garden District, even though that’s not the
most direct bus to take him to his home, since he lives a few blocks north from
me in Central City. He’ll have to walk some fifteen or twenty minutes, but he
says it’s worth it.

I walk home from the bus stop, in a daze,
trying to figure out what I feel. I like John; he’s a nice guy. I liked kissing
him. I think. It was a welcome change, for sure. I think I’ll kiss him again
tomorrow at school.

When I get home, late, June hands me an
envelope—the first piece of mail I get at the Harrises’. It’s my first phone
bill. I thank her and go to my room to open it. I’m afraid of how much it’s
going to be and I don’t want to do it in front of her. When I finally rack up
the guts to do it, I take a peek, and it’s five hundred dollars.

Five hundred dollars
??

Tyra the store associate had warned me of a
one-time activation fee and prorated charges on top of next month’s charge, but
this
? And Thierry had waved his hand off, like it was nothing. I had
imagined the wave had meant, nah, don’t worry, it’s only like ten extra
dollars. And he’s not here now! I have to pay
five hundred
dollars
?
I may be able to pay it, but I can’t justify it. God, help me.

Oh wait. It’s $516.50
CR
.

CR
. Is that
credit
?

I read through the summary, looking for the
outline of charges. I do have a balance, but it’s currently
negative
.
How?

And then I see it.

$600 CR. January 14. The day after I purchased
the phone. Someone, I’m assuming Thierry, must have made a payment of six
hundred dollars to cover my fees and data plan… it almost covers my entire bill
for more than half the year.

That was the Monday after we’d last seen each
other. He knew he wouldn’t see me anymore, but kept good to his word that he’d
help me out, paying for the data he insisted on me getting, and made sure to
keep me covered for a little while. Tears spill from my eyes as my heart battles
with my brain, and yells that Thierry cares for me. That I don’t like John, and
that I never will.

Thierry… what have you done to me?

Where are you
?

***

The next day, the second I get to school I tell
Kerin about John. She starts squealing with excitement but I stop her. I tell
her that I’ve changed my mind and will tell John that we can’t be more than
just friends. Her face drops. I explain that after John and I kissed I thought
about it—well, it was more like, I read the cellphone bill, but I don’t tell
her that—and decided I didn’t like him and I couldn’t pretend.

I blush when I think of how Thierry and I
kissed, and later that night he told me we couldn’t be more than just friends.
I hope it doesn’t hurt for John as it hurt for me. It can’t—he can’t possibly
feel about me the way I felt about Thierry. But still, I’m a little
embarrassed.

So I tell Kerin that I won’t have lunch with
her and Lynn—they’re talking again—and that I need to have lunch alone with
John. She agrees, but tells me she expects to be told all the details.

I dread lunch, but it happens.

John takes it well, and even laughs, saying
that he also had a great time and that it’s okay, but that I should forgive him
if I ever catch him staring at my lips.

I smile at him gratefully, and we eat our
lunches talking normally about other things, like we’re really just friends.

If only I could do the same with my own
breakup.

Mardi Gras is the biggest festival in New
Orleans. I quickly find out about it because there are parades and floats going
all over town. It means
Fat Tuesday
, since it falls the day before Ash
Wednesday, which is the first day of Lent. From what I hear, because Mardi Gras
is the last day of the Carnival season, per the tradition that’s synonymous
with all sorts of celebrations and involves music, parades, floats, heavy
drinking, lots of tourists, and lots, lots of people.

This year Mardi Gras falls on February 12. The
weekend before is when the majority of the drinking takes place, and when Kerin
wants to go. Lynn refuses to go to the festivities because it’s supposed to be
a gigantic wild orgy, but Kerin assures me that it is not, and asks me to
please go with her. I say that I’ll have to ask Uncle Roland and June, but if
they’re okay with it I’ll go with her.

My parental units are surprisingly apathetic,
and I guess I have to thank Fiona for it. I know she’s allowed to go out to
parties as long as she’s with her girlfriends; so, I think June knows she’d be
pretty hypocritical if she were to tell me to stay home when her daughter gets
to go anywhere she likes.

Kerin is ecstatic about going with me. She
warns me, though, that I have to wear purple, green, and gold, and drags me to
see some of the parades the prior weekend to catch some beads off the floats.
We leave after my morning shift and go shopping afterwards. We go to a cheap
clothing store and I get a form-fitting glittery purple top. Kerin gets a shirt
with the tackiest fleur de lis I’ve ever seen. I really do have fun; this is
the first time I do something with Kerin outside school.

The whole time she tells me about the weekend
and what to expect. She explains that people will be dressed in crazy costumes,
but it’s okay, I shouldn’t be scared.

Too late.

One night during the week prior to Mardi Gras, I
knock on Fiona’s door. “Come in,” she calls.

“Hey. Are you doing something for Mardi Gras
this weekend?” I ask her.

“Duh, Tori,” she answers, impolite as ever. She
says it like I’m so stupid for asking. “The girls and I are going out Friday,
Saturday and Sunday, the whole weekend. Of
course
we’re going.”

I have a vision of Fiona getting drunk and
flashing her boobs. Every wild thing that Kerin described, I see Fiona doing.

“You should totally go,” she continues.
Something in her tone, and her use of the word “go” as opposed to “come” makes
me believe she’s not inviting me to go with her. Fine. I’m going with Kerin
anyway.

“Yeah, I will, actually. Maybe we’ll meet
there,” I say, to be the bigger girl.

“Definitely,” she says, and as always, sounds
just like how popular celebrities talk to their fans on camera: polite,
friendly, and enthusiastic, but you can tell they don’t really give a shit.

***

Kerin and I are drunk. Or on a safe path to
getting there.

This is the first time I drink, and I’m not
stupid—or so I think—so I know not to drink too much. Besides, beer tastes terrible.
But I’ve only had
one
and I’m already tipsy. We would’ve had more, but
we keep getting carded everywhere we go.

We’re only on our second beer, all courtesy of Kerin’s
oldest brother Aiden, who’s in town from Baton Rouge where he goes to college.
Luckily he’s not one of those older brothers who are overprotective of their
little sisters. He’s here with his own buddies and pretty much lets us do
whatever we want, as long as we don’t flirt with his friends.

Aiden has dark skin like his sister, but his
eyes are a light hazel, not dark brown like Kerin’s. I like how his eyes
crinkle when he smiles; it makes him look older. He seems nice enough, at least
to Kerin, and me by extension.

We’re in the French Quarter having a good time
laughing at the craziest costumes, when I feel my phone buzzing in my clutch purse.
It’s Fiona texting me that she scored a second-floor balcony through some guys
she met. Apparently she and her girlfriends got in a fight with the guys from
school they were with and decided to follow these other “hot” guys. Now she
says we should go meet up with her.

Kerin and I are drunk so we get super excited
with the idea. We tell Aiden where we’re going, but he doesn’t let us go alone.
He and his buddies escort us to the bar.

“We’ll be right here!” Aiden shouts over the
loud music. “Do you need another beer?” he asks, best brother ever that he is.

“No, thanks, we’re good!” We say, raising our
second bottle, which is still going.

The guys seat themselves around the bar on the
first floor and order drinks. Kerin and I go wait for Fiona by the stairs.

Finally Fiona comes down and I have to do a
double take.

“Wow, Fiona. You look nice,” I say, even though
sober me would never encourage her ego this way. She looks like she wants
people to tell her that she’s hot. So I give her this small victory, why not?
It looks like she put a lot of effort into her outfit; she’s craving attention.
She’s wearing a gold sequin mini dress that looks painted on her, so short that
I’ve no idea how she can sit down, and so low that I’m not sure how her boobs
stay in place. It’s so skimpy that only about a third of her skin is covered. But
she looks great, in her own slutty way, with Mardi Gras-colored accessories. The
best thing is, I saw her leave the house. She wasn’t wearing
that
.

“Thanks, Tori! And Karen,” she sings happily,
mispronouncing Kerin’s name. “I’m
so
glad y’all are here… and you actually
look great; they’re gonna love y’all! Come, let’s go upstairs!”

We thank her, basking in the glow of Fiona’s
approval like two regular losers from the masses. I wouldn’t normally do this
but Kerin is like, in love with her or something, and I’m tipsy and in a
cheerful mood.

We climb the stairs, following Fiona, and I
hold my hands out in front of me in case I need to catch her. Her small frame
wobbles in five-inch heels. When we reach the top she announces with glee that
more ladies have arrived, and immediately two guys hand us a fresh beer. We
down the one we’re carrying and set the empty bottles on a table before heading
outside to the balcony. It truly feels nice, to be up here, and cheer to the
people down on the street.

Megan, Lauren and two other girls from our
school are in Fiona’s group, and with Kerin and me that makes seven girls total,
but there are about ten guys around them. There are other girls in other groups
but they seem to have a regular girl-to-guy ratio. The guys surrounding us are
questionably cute. The hottest one is named Dean; he’s like James Dean for
sure. And of course, he’s the one dancing with Fiona—or maybe I should say
grinding. I fear for his jeans, because her dress is covered in sequins and
with all that friction he’s bound to rip his pants before long.

All other guys are still trying to get their
game on with the few available girls, but no one’s leading, since our two
leaders are busy with their hands on each other. So all the girls gather around
themselves, yelling over the loud noise, pretending to admire each other’s
outfits.

Fiona returns, and she’s drunk. Drunk Fiona is
actually nice to be around. Or maybe I’m drunk so I don’t care.

“Guys, I’m
sooo
glad y’all made it!” she
tells Kerin and me, for the second or third time. This time though, she adds,
“You know, the manager guy over there was threatening to kick us all out
because we didn’t have enough girls for all the dudes they have here,” she
says, and makes a
pfff
sound. “Nothing wrong with a sausage fest!”

Of course, Fiona would only want to hang out
with me because she needs the girl head count. There; that should bother me,
but it doesn’t, right now. Beer good.

“Glad to be here!” Kerin says.

“Yeah… we should flash!” Fiona yells.

“Let’s!” Megan says enthusiastically. “Bra or
no bra?”

“Uh, bra!” Lauren says, in the exact tone that
Fiona said “duh” to me earlier in the week.

Fiona yells, “No! No bra! Lauren, who cares
about Laurenota? Let her rip.”

“Laurenota?” I ask.

We then learn that Lauren’s left boob is
unnaturally larger than her right, and her so-called friends call it Laurenota.
And of course she’s self-conscious about it.

To make her feel better I tell her I can’t tell
a thing from where I stand—and she’s showing a fair amount of cleavage—and that
in fact, all that matters is that her boobs are huge.

That leads the talk to big boobs.

Kerin grabs mine. “Oh my God your boobs are so
big,” she says in complete awe, like she’s never noticed them before.

“They’re okay,” I say dismissively. “I mean,
look at Lauren, for God’s sake.”

“Yeah, but yours, they’re still like,
huge
,”
she says, laughing. She grabs one again and squeezes. “I mean, look at this!”

A few of the girls—and maybe some guys,
probably—do look over, and opinions are asked.

My boobs are grabbed by all hands female, and
deemed big but not huge, healthy-sized. Kerin’s boobs are small for her height,
but she’s skinny so they look great, and anyway she has fashioned a cleavage
using a push-up bra. Fiona’s small frame perfectly goes with hers, we all
agree. Megan’s are small but perky and she’s really proud of them, so she’s
been flashing all day in exchange for Mardi Gras beads. The two other girls—they’re
either Kristen or Kirsten and Darla or Darcy, I can’t ever remember their names
because I don’t hang out with them at school—have also a nice rack, which one
of them claims has gotten them free alcohol all day, so far. I briefly consider
that’s an early form of prostitution; I don’t say anything, but I laugh out
loud.

The guys that brought us up here are absolutely
happy with the change in topic. All the girls are huddling close to each other
not allowing boys in, but Dean the Fiona Grinder doesn’t take no for an answer.
His rough compliments eventually win her over, and he pulls her away to dance
again.

Trent, a debatably cute guy, has been trying to
buy me a drink for the last half hour, but I’m still milking my third beer. The
girls say he’s hot, although not as hot as Dean, but still, I should go for it.
To me, he’s only okay cute, since I’ve kissed Thierry, who’s hotter than all of
them, and met his asshole angelic brother Corben. Still, this Trent’s
available, he’s one of the cutest guys around here, and he’s talking to me; a
dangerous combination on a girl with self-esteem issues partying with her
overly popular, beautiful stepcousin. So I dance with him, swaying with the
loud music. I don’t feel a thing for him, but I like the way dancing with him
makes
me
feel.

I notice Fiona and Dean step off to the side,
to another balcony, and start making out. The other guys take the lead and
suddenly everyone’s making out by the balconies.

My self-appointed beau Trent tries to go for me
too but I politely decline. He makes fun of my slow beer drinking, and when I
complain the beer tastes terrible he says he’ll get me a “girly” drink, which
is apparently any sugary drink with alcohol. I follow him to the bar, and hang
out by a tall table near the stairs, sort of hidden from the bartender, just in
case he tries to give Trent a hard time about buying alcohol for minors,
although I have the feeling that no one cares. I finish my beer while he gets
the drink.

When he comes back he hands me the drink, but I
set it down. Finishing the third beer made my head swim. Trent tries to put his
arms around my hips, maybe to help me regain my balance. I decline his help and
shake him off, but he just grabs me more forcefully.

“Trent, I’m fine. Let go,” I say. I try to pull
away from him, but he’s still got his hands on me.

“C’mon girl, don’t be shy,” he says, trying to
make his voice sound appealing. “Let’s dance again.”

“No, I need to stop for a sec,” I say, still
fighting him.

“Stop squirming, then. I don’t want to make you
uncomfortable,” he says, “But you’re just so damn hot.”

“Trent, let
go
of me.”

He grabs the hem of my shirt and tries to force
it up.

“Come on,” he says, ignoring me. “Let me see ’em.
You were doing it a second ago.”

“I was
not
. Fuck you,” I say, and slap
his hand away. I push him back with all the force I can muster, which is not
much, but at least he gets the message that I’m pissed off.

He’s pissed off too.

“Listen, you bitch—” he begins, but he’s
interrupted in a blur of movement, and abruptly falls to my left. I follow his
trail and see him on the floor, his nose starting to bleed profusely.

“Call
any
woman that word again, and
I’ll punch your sorry face until you’re unrecognizable,” a cold voice says above
me. It sounds so dangerous that it would make me shit my pants, if I thought it
was directed at me. I look up, dazed, and see…
him
.

Thierry.