Slow Burn (40 page)

I stare at him, freaked out.  Dad’s face is drawn in lines of exhaustion from all that
profound talking, but an awed smile blooms on his mouth.  It’s the smile of someone who’s falling in love.  With a Cerise?  Too much too soon.

Oh, man, he’s looking at me like he wants me to say something.  Am I supposed to say I approve t
hat he’s moving on?  I guess I do, but the little girl in me whose dream of having her parents reunite under fireworks of renewed love is crushed.

“That’s awesome, Dad,” I say finally, forcing a smile. 
“I’m glad you’ve found someone who makes you happy.”

His whole body relaxes in relief.  “Thanks, hon.  Of course, it’s too soon to tell, but I—”

And he’s off.

My dad’s in love with a Cerise.  I can’t even. 

I’m making turkey rice soup
, and it’s weird not to be in a rush, while trying to get ready for work at the same time.  While I’m waiting for the turkey bones to cool so I can pick them, I check my news feed on my phone.  It’s been a while since I’ve logged on, and I’ve apparently missed a lot of updates and parties.

A post from a friend of a friend catches my eye.  Johnny Parker is tagged in one of her photos.  I zoom in on the picture, and my heart drops. 
A dark-haired girl is straddling Johnny’s lap.  They’re kissing passionately, and one of his hands is under her short skirt.  The caption over the picture says “Get a room!”

Well
, it’s good to know Johnny is back to his manwhore-ish ways—and not alone in his room, like, pining over me.  Whatever.  I give a quick shrug, pretending to myself it doesn’t hurt, and wishing it didn’t.

Oh,
get over it, Juliet.  Johnny did.  So he’s out with yet another girl.  He’s got a whole harem of them.  Who cares.

I text Heather to ask if her she wants to come over for turkey rice soup
, and she accepts with a smiley face.  Then, on impulse, I text Dean and invite him.  I don’t think he’s going to reply, but then my phone beeps a minute later with a text from him asking what time he should be there.  This inexplicably lifts my mood.  I really am happy that Dean is starting to become such a good friend.  Maybe Johnny told him to look out for me since he’s too pissed at me to do it himself, but…I like him.

I finish making the soup, and throw some biscuits into the oven.
  That should be good enough, right?  I’m sure it will be—Heather will eat anything, and Dean doesn’t seem the picky type.  Yuck, I need to grab a quick shower, though.  I find a piece of popcorn in my bra, and I’m not sure how it got there—oh, that’s right, I nuked a bag of it last night right before bed.  Gross.

Heather walks in on me in the shower, and I freak out at first, thinking it’s Dean for so
me reason.  When she finds out he’s coming, she gets awfully excited for a girl who only likes girls.  But then when he shows up in a big black truck, and Heather immediately starts peppering him with questions about Sloane, I realize why.  I forgot I had told her that Dean and Sloane hang out.

“Our fathers do business together,” Dean replies to Heather.  “I’ve known Sloane for a long time.”

Hm, I wondered why he was friends with her when he’s anti-drug, and she’s so obviously…pro.  I wonder what he thinks of her little habit?

Heather opens her mouth, no doubt to grill him further, but I kick her under the table. 
She gives me an apologetic goofy grin, then asks Dean what his Thanksgiving plans are.  She’s such a goober.

After dinner
(where Dean again does the dishes, meticulously washing them off and loading them in the dishwasher), I don’t want them to go, so I persuade them to play Monopoly with me.  Except when I haul out my mom’s old set, we discover half the pieces are missing—and five jellybeans, hard as stones, are mixed in with the houses and hotels.  Why did we even keep it?  Heather is completely grossed out by the jellybeans. 

Mom walks into the living room while we’re trying decide what to do next.  I jump up from the couch, startled by her sudden appearance.

“What are you doing home?  I didn’t hear your car,” I say rapidly, glancing from Heather to Dean. 

Mom, wearing her navy scrubs and looking exhausted, is staring at Dean
.  “I’m going back for another shift after I take a nap,” she says vaguely.  She tears her gaze from him, and gives a little wave to Heather.  “Hi, Heather.”

“Hi, Mrs. Somers,” Heather chirps from her sprawled position on the floor in front of the TV.
  She casually kicks a leg back and forth.

Mom looks back at Dean, then at me.  Her eyebrows are raised in question.  “Oh, this is Heather’s friend, Roberto,” I say, gesturing at him.  “He doesn’t speak English.”

Dean seems to freeze.  Then he he cocks his head at me, his brow furrowing in bemusement.  I avoid looking directly at him. 

Mom raises an eyebrow, clearly disbelieving.  But she thinks it’s Dean I’m messing with.  She flashes a cynical smile at him.  “Roberto.”

He nods stiffly back.  “Signora.”

Mom hesitates, about to comment, then shakes her head and trudges toward the stairs.  “See you later, kids,” she mutters.

It’s weird after that.  Heather and Roberto leave, and only one of them is amused.  When they’re gone, I recall how tired Mom looked, and decide I’m a crappy daughter.  For the next hour, I run around the house doing chores.  When she wakes up, I’ll bring her a bowl of soup and some biscuits.  She really has been working hard lately.  I wish she would take a break once in a while—this schedule can’t be good for her health.  I resolve to be more thoughtful and understanding. 

This inspires me to go upstairs and write a long letter to myself.  Mostly rambling, I rant about the bad choices I’ve made over the years, and
the fact that I have no clue what I want to do with my life.  What college do I want to go to?  What do I want to major in?  Why don’t I know these things already?  I write down some tentative goals and resolutions, and the list is pitifully short.

W
riting everything down, then re-reading it helps put things in perspective.  Also, I’m a terrible speller when I’m ranting.  I fold the paper up into squares and stick it under my pillow, nodding determinedly.  Then I go downstairs to prepare Mom’s dinner.  I heat up the soup, butter the biscuits, and add a slice of spice cake to the tray.  Then walking slowly, I carry the tray up to her room, careful not to spill anything.  I hope she’s hungry.

But I’m too late.  She’s already left for work again, probably wh
ile I was writing a my letter.  Great.  Feeling stupid, I take the tray back down and stick it in the fridge.  Except for the cake.  That cake is toast.  So is the tub of coffee ice cream in the freezer.  It was only half-full, anyway.

Afterwards, I waddle upst
airs.  I’m going to find my manifesto, and I’m going to eat it.

******

Chapter 32

I’m restless, oddly agitated
—and very crabby.  I guess I could blame it on being that time of the month.  There’s a pop quiz in Calc, and I’m pretty sure I failed it.  I can’t seem to concentrate, and my thoughts are scattered in dozens of directions.

I see Johnny outside of Johnson Hall, talking with a couple of guys I don’t recognize.  I don’t look that closely, though.  I’m determined to ignore him, the way he’s been ignoring me.

Except this time, I feel his attention on me as I walk toward him.  His gaze is like a physical touch, a hot tingling sensation that pricks just under the surface of my skin.

On impulse, I turn my head and meet his stare.  Our eyes lock, and
his clear blue ones widen fractionally, reacting to the nervy challenge in mine.  As I pass him, I toss my head in disdain.

My hand is suddenly caught in a strong grasp, an
d I’m tugged back, facing Johnny.  He looks down at me, his face darkening with some indecipherable emotion.

“Teeny,” he says huskily, almost pleadingly.

For an infinitesimal space of time, I am frozen.  Then my senses kick in with a vengeance, and I yank my hand out of his grip.  I walk away on legs that have turned to jelly.  I don’t look back.

The encounter is strangely cathartic, and I decide I’m going to the party on Friday.
  I might even bring a date.

I do bring a date.  It’s Heather.  We get
ready at my house like we’re preparing for war.  For me, more confidence equals more makeup.  That’s probably a bad philosophy.  But I have Heather there to make sure I don’t go the way of the hooker, and I’m pretty pleased with the end result.  My deep magenta dress is flirty, with a low neckline—but not obscenely low.  Heather’s wearing a slinky sparkly blue top, and tight black jeans.  She looks lanky and sexy, and if she had a pink cowboy hat, she would totally be able to pull it off.

The scene that greets us at Johnny’s and Dean’s house is so similar to the night of that fateful party that I unwillingly get flashbacks.
  I haven’t been back since that night, I just realize.  Cars are parked haphazardly everywhere, and the girls are still dressed skimpily, despite the noticeably cooler temperature. 

Mack is out front.  He gathers Heather and I up in a spine-adjusting hug, lifting the both of us off our feet with scary ease.  Big Mack Aina. 
His grin is beautiful and blinding as he recounts how Leclare killed in the championship game.  Heather and I jump and down in excitement for him, and he joins in.  The three of us bounce around and giggle like fools.  God, I love Mack.  If I were famous, I’d hire him as my bodyguard, and make him carry me places, like to the kitchen for a snack.

“Way too crowded in the house—let’s go around!” Mack says to us, and gestures for us to follow him around the main house, to the back.

The scene in the backyard is more mellow than the last time I was here.  Glowing neon orbs bob gently in the swimming pool, transforming it into some kind of magical fairy pond.  There are a few girls in bikinis, but they’re huddled in the Jacuzzi—oh, there’s Laun—Dani—in a pale yellow bikini.  Her long hair is up in a messy bun, and she’s laughing and chatting with the other girls in there—her fellow cheerleaders, I guess?

Along the way, I spot Tanya standing with a group of people.  I blink in surprise.  She looks pretty hot in an expensive-looking ultra-feminine white dress.  Her sentient curls are everywhere, blowing gently in the wind like silky ribbons—not at all murderous
tonight.  I call her name, and she gives me a huge grin.  Glad to see she’s enjoying herself.

One of the twins—Ryan, I think—stumbles in front of me.  His face is an alarming shade of red
, and he’s giggling maniacally.

“Juliet!  Kick me in the nuts!” he shouts, holding his arms out in invitation.  “Go on!  Don’t worry, I won’t feel a thing!  My whole body’s completely numb!”

“Yeah, that’s not a good thing,” I say.

“Get out of here, dumbass.”  Mack gives him a good-natured shove that sends Ryan staggering sideways. 

I’m distracted by Heather’s squeezing my hand hard enough to cut off circulation.  She’s looking up at the balcony overlooking the pool.  There’s Sloane, looking absolutely beautiful, staring down at us.  I give her an enthusiastic wave, and Heather lets go of my other hand to yank my arm down.  Ouch.  It’s so strange to see Heather like this over someone.  I don’t like it.  Wait…am I jealous?

I surreptitiously search for Johnny as we follow Mack up the curving staircase.
  He’s here!  He’s straddling a chair, nursing a beer, and talking to Ben and Nick.  God, he looks good.  His hair is tousled by the wind, and he absently runs a hand through it.

Ben spots me first, and raises a bottle to me in greeting.  Johnny turns to see who Ben’s looking at.  Does his expression soften when he sees it’s me?  I can’t tell in the dim light.

Well, he doesn’t appear to be with anyone tonight.  I’m relieved.  I don’t know if I can handle being around him when he’s kissing on some other girl.

“Hi, Juliet,” Johnny s
ays cautiously.  He slowly scans me from head to toe, and I flush under his scrutiny.

I have to act casual.
  “Hi—”

“Juliet!”

Kara suddenly appears in front of me, wearing a violent shade of lip gloss that makes her look dangerous and witchy.  She smiles at me, and I swear it’s genuine.  “Your dress is awesome!  I love that color on you!  It looks good with your skin tone.”

Uh.
  I look for Heather to see what she makes of this, but she’s gone, man.  I turn reluctantly back to Kara.  “Thanks,” I say feebly.  “I like your lip gloss.”

Kara tosses her red hair over her shoulder.  “It’s called Ninja Red.  I’ll let you borrow it, if you want.”

“Wow, great.”  I force a smile, then sidle away.

Bitch is up to something.  I don’t know, I don’t want to know.  Maybe she heard that I suspect her of setting me up with the smoke bombs.  I don’t trust how sincere she looks right now.  Someone that can flip her emotions around like that
…how can no one else be freaked out by it?

I want to consult with Ben about this, but he’
s sitting next to Johnny—and Nick.  My first instinct is to avoid that area.  But…