Slow Burn (34 page)

I watch as Heather holds both hands out, like she’s the scales of justice.  She moves each hand up and down experimentally while thoughtfully scrunching up her mouth.
  Finally, she holds both hands, palms up, at an even height.  She nods in satisfaction.

“Yeah, you’re even,” she concludes, shaking back her red-blonde hair.  “One bad deed cancels out the other, and you are now free to start over—if you still want to.”

“Oh, my god.  That’s bullshit, and you know it.”  I groan, and roll over to face her.  “I’m not getting back together with him.  If I did, I would have to tell him—and then he’d kill Nick.  And yes, I would have to tell him.  And—I don’t even know how I can face him now.  I feel so—ugh!  Like, I should have appreciated my virginity more.  You know?  Now, one drunken mistake—and it’s gone forever.  It deserved better.”  I hang my head in shame.

Heather shakes a little container of mints into her mouth, and mashes it in with her giant wad of gum.  “
Well, I don’t think it’s that big a deal, but then you know losing mine was more of a curiosity thing,” is what I think she says.  “Remember the experiment?  Mark—”

“Julian,” we say in unison.

I clap a hand over my mouth in sympathetic horror.  “Didn’t you unfriend him recently?”

“Mmph.
No, he unfriend-ed me.  He kept leaving stupid comments on all my pics—like, hinting about how he was my first, and how memorable it was.  I finally wrote him back on my HizzyJones account, and I was like…”  She pauses to spit out her gum, immediately pops more gum into her mouth, then continues.  “I was like, look dude, the sex was
not
good.  It was sweaty, awkward, and those moans you keep talking about were because of a bad cramp in my leg.  I probably made it seem like I was having a good time, but that was only to make you finish faster.  It was either that, or play dead.  Then I said, no hard feelings—‘cause he’s really not a bad guy.  Just annoying!”

An idle thought has me pushing myself up into a sitting position.  “Why do girls just…endure it when it’s bad.  Why don’t we just tell the guys to quit that shit?
  Or, you know…
ow.
”

“For real,” Heather agrees around
a mouthful of gum.  “But dudes are weird.  They’d be all injured, and start posting cryptic memes to their profiles.  Like the one—who keeps blowing up your phone?”

I snatch my
beeping phone off the bed, and stick it under one of Heather’s many pillows.  “It’s Johnny.”  I sigh explosively.  “He knows I’m home, and Nick told him I’m not going to Mac’s today—I told him to tell the guys I wasn’t feeling up to it.  Plus, Johnny heard from Ryan that a couple of people saw me leaving the dance, looking upset, so he figured out that I probably saw him dancing with Dani—so now, he’s freaking out, and thinking that I’m pissed at him.  That’s why he keeps calling and texting, even though I keep reassuring him that I’m not mad—he wants to come over, but I’m not ready to see him yet.  What should I do?  Should I just tell him, and get it over with?”

She chews contemplatively, not saying anything for a few seconds.  Then she holds out her hand.  “Gimme your phone.”

I hesitate, but she stares me down until I comply.  Reluctantly, I hand it over.  She takes it from me, and immediately starts texting away.

“What are you doing?” I ask nervously, watching her.

“Buying you some time,” she replies calmly.  She gives me back my phone, then reaches over to her nightstand to grab her own. 

“What did you say?” I move my finger across the screen, looking for the text.

“Relax.  I just said you had your period, and were all kinds of cramp-y.  I told him you’ll see him in school tomorrow, when you’re not so bloated.”

“What?  Why did you say that?”  I stare down at the phone’s screen, mortified.  “
I—that’s so embarrassing.  I don’t talk about stuff like that with him.”

“Are you serious?”  Heather rolls her eyes.  “What’s the big?  Johnny’s a big boy—I’m pretty sure he’s aware that you have periods.”

“Well, yeah, but I don’t discuss it with him.  I don’t know…I know it’s weird, but it creeps me out to talk about biological functions with him.”

“Hm.  Is it just me, or does it seem like there’s a lot of ‘stuff’ you don’t feel like you can talk to Johnny about?”

I shrug self-consciously, playing with the ends of my hair.  “No.  I just—I’m just really paranoid about what he thinks of me, I guess.”

“Why?”
she asks.  “You think he’d dump you if he heard you peeing?”

“Oh, god, no.  You know I have a nervous bladder.”

Really, I usually can’t use the bathroom, if there’s anyone within hearing distance.  Not unless there’s a loud fan, or I have to turn the faucets on full blast.  I know I’m not the only one.  The weird ones are the people that leave the door partially open while they go.  I wouldn’t do that even with Heather, and we’ve seen each other naked.

“
Yeah, and it’s the size of a pea—ha ha,” she says, and turns her attention back to her phone.  “Hey, does my brother still text you?”

“Only once in a while,” I reply, trying to make my voice sound casual.  “Not as much as he used to.”

Huh.  See if there’s any more sticks of gum under my bed, ‘kay?  Over by you—other side.”

I hang myself over the edge of the bed, and check under the filmy white dust ruffle.  Yuck.  “No gum that I can see.  Lots of wrappers, though.”

“Shit.  Wanna run to the store with me?”

I pull myself back up, smoothing back my hair as I do.  “Uh, no.  What’s with all the gum-chewing and the mints, anyway?
  You haven’t been drinking today.”

“Mm, no.  I wasn’t gonna tell you ‘cause it’s so gross.
”  Heather looks up with a grimace.  “Last night, Alanna C dared Funzi to kiss me.  No big deal—it’s just Funzi, right?  I was gonna play along with it, I opened my mouth really big—and drunk ass Funzi puked right in it.”

“Gross!” I shriek, covering my
own mouth with my hands in sympathetic horror.

“Right?” Heather mumbles, snapping her gum.  “I can’t get the taste out of my mouth.  Wait, ‘Fredo sent me a pic
of it—wanna see?”

“Absolutely not.”  I scramble off her bed.  “
I have to go, I have to study for a test tomorrow.  Call you later.”

Laughing, she springs up after me.  “No, wait, you need to see this!  It’s a great action shot!”

She chases me down the stairs, and I’m so intent on getting away that I almost collide with her mother coming out of the kitchen.

“Oh, hello, Juliet,” Mrs. Jones greets me, pulling back to avoid contact.  “I didn’t know you were over.  How are you?”

I can feel Heather right behind me, practically breathing down my neck.  I smile up at her mother—way up, because Mrs. Jones is a tall woman.  “I’m great, thanks for asking.  I was just leaving, actually.  I have a test I need to study for.”

“Oh, well, maybe you can come back
for dinner.  We’re having baked spaghetti, and I always make too much.  Unless that doesn’t sound good after what happened last night?” 

My eyes widen in alarm.  For a
panic-filled second, I think, “she knows!”  But then Heather nudges me in the back, and I realize I’m her cover story for last night.

I know I told Heather that I wouldn’t lie for her anymore, but I can’t bring myself to rat her out to her mom right then and there.  So I decide to compromise.

“Last night?” I repeat, letting my mouth hang open.  Drool should come out, I look so clueless.

“
The dinner party at Lianne’s?”  Heather says from behind me.  “That shrimp was bad—I was sick all night, remember?  I couldn’t even drive us home.”

“Ohh.  Right,” I say blankly.  “That’s why we stayed over at m
y…?”

“Lianne’s,” she interrupts through gritted teeth.

“Right. 
Lianne’s
house.” 

I grin hugely at Mrs. Jones, who tries to smile back. 
Her forehead is wrinkled and her eyes are troubled, like she’s trying to work out a difficult math problem.  She’s in total denial.  I think I’ll have to actually spell it out for her one of these days.

“Bye, Jule
,” Heather says loudly, pushing me from behind.  “Study hard for your test.  I really hope you don’t fail miserably, and have to repeat a grade.”

I gasp inside my head.  How dare she use my recurring nightmare against me!
  I turn to glare at her.  “Yeah, that’d be terrible.  Almost as bad as someone puking in my mouth accidentally.”

Heather narrows her eyes at me, but her twitchy mouth is a telltale sign she’s trying not to la
ugh.  Mrs. Jones looks horrified.

“Well, try to come by if you can
,” she says, starting up the steps.  “I really did make too much.”

“Oh, don’t pressure her, Mom,” Heather calls up to her mother’s retreating back.  “Juliet is too embarrassed to say, but she had the shrimp, too, and she’s still got the runs really bad!”

“Classy, Jones.  Real classy,” I mutter, nearly apoplectic with embarrassment.  I want to go running out of there, but how bad would that look after what she just said?

My ex best friend snorts with laughter.  “Too much?
  That’s what you get for—oh, hey, Rob.  What’s up?”

No, she’s
not kidding.  Her older brother is standing there by the kitchen, and judging by the look on his face, he’s been there long enough to hear about the bad shrimp epidemic.  Oh, well.  Maybe he’ll stop asking me out now.

“I’m just gonna go,” I say, shaking my head. 

Neither of the Jones siblings says a word as I let myself out.  It’s for the best.

I come home to find my mom sitting at the kitchen table
, working on her laptop.  We exchange mumbled greetings, and I stare daggers at her back until she turns around to look at me.

“Do you know what happened to my red vase?”
she asks, squinting like she’s having a hard time seeing me.

“Yeah, I accidentally bumped
into it last night.”  My gaze is unwavering on her face.  “Sorry.  I tried to get all the little pieces.”

Mom sighs
and turns back to her computer.  “I wish you’d been more careful.  Aunt Greta made that for me as a housewarming gift.”

I wait for more, but she’s focused on the laptop again.
  “Well, I’m really sorry,” I try again.  “So, did you have fun last night?”

She shrugs
.  “It was just pot luck at Carrie’s.  We do it every week…you’re usually over at your dad’s.”  Mom chuckles distantly.  “There’s usually wine with the food, which is why a bunch of us stay the night.  By the way, your artichoke bisque was a hit.  Where did you get the recipe?”

She took my bisque?  I check the refrigerator, and sure enough, the pot is gone.
  I’d made it mostly for her, but I was hoping to have some later. Not that it’s a big deal, but…I’m really annoyed. 

“I got it off the internet,”
I tell her, nudging a hip against the fridge to make sure it’s closed all the way.  “I was going to have the bisque for dinner tonight.”

“
Mm-hm.”

Sometimes I feel like I’m slowly being erased from my mother’s life.  One day, she’ll look right through me.  She’ll eat the food I’ve left for her, but she won’t think about where it came from
—or she’ll notice someone’s keyed her car, and wonder who did it.

Wasn’t me.  I take my keys out of my jeans pocket and head for the door.

Kidding.  I trudge upstairs to take more aspirin, and possibly start my homework.  It’s not like I was going to tell her that I made the stupidest mistake of my life last night.  So…whatever.

I
hate that I’m crying right now.  I hate that I’m acting like a brat to try to get my mother’s attention.  I hate that I crave it so much.  What am I, seven?

When am I going to grow up and get over myself?

******

Chapter 26

It’s Monday morning, and Ben and I are hanging out on the steps of McLaren Hall.  He’s smoking a cigarette, and writing something on the inside of his wrist—which I’m not going to ask him about. 

I’m huddled one step below him, my shoulders hunched miserably, chin resting on my knees
.  I feel both depressed and nervous.  I don’t want to run into Nick, and I definitely don’t want to see Johnny.  I wish I had just stayed home.  The second I arrived on campus, people started asking me about the smoke bomb incident.   Everyone’s heard a different version.  I like the one where I died.

“I still think it was Kara,” I say stubbornly, lifting my head to look at Ben.

He just shakes his head.  “Nah, I don’t think so.  She’s malicious enough, but smoke bombs ain’t her style.  She’d more likely poison you.”  He looks matter-of-fact as he exhales a cloud of smoke.  “Have Mack take a bite out of your lunch before you eat it from now on.  Dude has a cast iron stomach.”