The Best Friend (12 page)

A
s Lishia made her way toward the bar, she spotted Todd and several others gathered over by the dancing area. They all had drinks in their hands and were smiling and laughing, acting like they were having a fabulous time, looking like a magazine advertisement for some kind of alcoholic beverage. Lishia imagined herself walking up to the group with a drink in her hand. She would casually greet them—act as if she were one of them. Todd would be surprised that she was drinking . . . then his eyes would light up as he saw her in a whole new light. Soon they would be dancing and—

“Someone as gorgeous as you shouldn't be alone, Lishia Vance.”

She turned to see Brandon Procter smiling hopefully at her. She didn't know Brandon too well, but Riley liked him. It seemed they were always sharing some private joke, and Lishia suspected he had a secret crush on Riley, but she was a little out of his league. “Does that line usually work for you?” she said teasingly.

“Oh, you cut me to the core.” He put his hand to his chest like her words had hurt. “But seriously, you do look gorgeous tonight.” His smile reappeared.

“Thanks, Brandon, you're sweet.”

“I don't want to be sweet.” He took a sip of his drink and scowled.

“Sorry.” She shrugged, glancing back to where Todd was now dancing with Vanessa again. Maybe she was too late.

“There are two things wrong with you tonight,” Brandon held up two fingers and grimly shook his head.

She frowned at him. “What?”

“First of all, you're alone.”

“Oh . . .”

“And that seems wrong.”

She nodded. “I agree. What's the other thing?”

He pointed at her. “You don't have a drink in your hand.”

“Oh.” She giggled. “I was actually about to fix that.”

“Allow me.” He gave a mock bow. “What would you like?”

She bit her lip. “I, uh, I'm not sure.”

“Well, they have everything here. The good stuff too. What's your favorite drink?”

“I don't really know.” She lowered her voice. “I've never actually had a drink. I mean, my parents don't drink at all . . . and, well . . .” She shrugged.

“Oh . . . ?” His eyes lit up. “So you probably want something that tastes sweet, right?”

“I, uh, I guess so.”

He nodded. “I know just what you need. Stay right here and I'll be back in a jiff.”

She felt nervous as she waited for Brandon. What would her parents say if they knew what she was about to do? Of course, they would never know. And maybe she would simply taste the drink, and hold it in her hand, and pretend like she was a grown-up too. Play their little game.

“Here you go, babe.” He handed her what looked like an innocent glass of orange juice.

“I wanted a real drink,” she said with disappointment.

“That is a real drink, trust me.” He grinned.

“What is it?”

“A screwdriver. Orange juice and vodka.”

“Oh?” She took a sniff, and it didn't smell like orange juice usually smelled.

“Go ahead, try it.”

She took a cautious sip, and although it didn't taste particularly bad, it didn't taste like regular orange juice either. Unless it was tainted. Surely they wouldn't serve bad orange juice here. It must've been the vodka.

“Like it?” he asked hopefully.

She shrugged. “I guess it's okay.” She looked over to see that Todd and Vanessa were still dancing, and she felt fairly certain that her chances with Todd were steadily diminishing. She had to admit that Vanessa looked exceptionally pretty tonight. Wearing a red, sparkly cocktail dress with her hair piled loosely on top of her head, she could easily pass for being in her twenties. No wonder Todd was so taken with her.

“I think Vanessa is getting her Christmas present early this year,” Brandon said slyly.

“What?” Although she was pretty sure what he was referring to, she decided to play dumb.

“You know,
Todd
. Vanessa has been trying to bag that boy for years. It looks like tonight is her big night.”

“Oh . . .” Lishia took another sip of her drink, then looked away. “Yeah, maybe so.”

Now Brandon started rambling about last night's pathetic game and this year's basketball team and how they were so lousy, especially compared to last year's team. “But that's because all the good players were seniors and graduated.”

She nodded, pretending to be listening, but she was actually having a hard time focusing—and she felt too warm. “Is it really, really hot in here?” she asked absently.

“Yeah, it's getting pretty stuffy.” He took her by the arm. “Let's go out and get some fresh air.”

Feeling foggy and slow, she let him lead her outside, where they walked around a bit, and he continued to talk about everything and nothing. Finally they stopped and sat on a garden bench, and the next thing she knew, he was kissing her.

“Hey,” she said in a fuzzy-sounding voice, “knock it off.”

But he continued trying to hold on to her and kiss her, acting like she liked it, although she did not!

“Hey!” she said more loudly. “I said stop it!” Then she pulled away from him and stumbled back toward the house, letting herself in one of the patio doors. But of course, it felt even hotter in there now. And everything seemed kind of hazy or smoky. She felt very strange. She looked at the nearly empty glass still in her hand and wondered if she could possibly be drunk.
On one drink?
“Must find Riley,” she muttered to herself.

Making her way through the crowded, blurry room, she finally found Riley. “I need to go home,” she told her in a slurred voice. “I don't feel so good.”

Riley peered at her. “Are you drunk?”

“I dunno. I only had one drink . . . I think. I can't remember.”

Riley threw back her head and laughed. “You're drunk, Lishia!”

“I'm no drunk—I just don' feel so good. I wanna go home.”

“Go sleep it off, Lishia. I'm not ready to leave yet. We're still having fun.” She turned to Dayton, probably saying that Lishia was drunk, and now they both started laughing—pointing and laughing.

Lishia didn't know what to do. She looked around the room. Everyone seemed preoccupied, or maybe she had turned invisible. She didn't see Brandon around, but she wasn't about to go outside again in case he was waiting for her. What was wrong with him anyway? More seriously, what was wrong with her?

She went over to where she and Riley had dumped their purses on a bench by the powder room, dug until she found hers, and pulled out her phone. But who could she call? Not her parents—they couldn't see her like this. But she needed someone to help her—and she needed them now.

She went into the powder room and closed the door, trying to focus on the numbers on her phone, but the buttons all blurred together, and then they vanished. When she came to she was on the floor next to the toilet. She picked up her phone again, wondering who to call. Who would help her? She closed her eyes and squeezed the phone to her head, trying to think—and the next thing she knew, her ex–best friend was on the other end, saying, “Lishia? Lishia? What do you want?”

“Janelle?” Lishia was stunned. “Is that really you?”

“Of course it's me. You're the one who called. What do you want, anyway?”

“Oh, Janelle, I need help,” Lishia sobbed into the phone.

“What's wrong?”

“I jus' need help.” Lishia slumped down onto the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest and clutching the phone to her ear. “Please help me. Help me, Janelle.”

“Where are you?”

“Vanesha's housh,” she said in a slushy voice. “I'm so sick, and they won't let me go. I need to go . . . and I can't. I need help.”

“It's Lishia,” Janelle was telling someone else. “I think she's at Vanessa's house, but she sounds like she's drunk. She keeps saying she needs help. But what—”

“Lishia?” Now someone else was talking on the phone.

“Huh?” Lishia let out a sob. “Please help me.”

“This is Megan. Are you drunk?”

“I only had one—not even—and I'm sick . . . I feel so sick. Everything is spinning around and around.”

“We need to go help her,” Megan said loudly. “We're coming, Lishia. Hold on. We'll be there in about fifteen minutes, okay?”

“Oh . . . kay . . .”

“Stay on the phone,” Megan told her. “Here, Janelle, you talk to her so I can drive.”

“I don't know what to say,” Janelle said. “Are you really sick, Lishia? Or is this some twisted little game?”

“I'm sick!” Lishia started to cry now. “Sick.”

“Where are you?”

“Vanesha's.”

“I know. I mean where in the house are you?”

Lishia looked around the spinning room, shades of gold and green going round and round. “I dunno.” She looked at the toilet with what looked like lumpy orange juice floating around in it. Had she thrown up? She tried to remember what this room was called. “Bath . . . room,” she finally said as the spinning images turned darker and she slumped over, feeling her forehead clunk against the hard, cold floor . . . and then nothing.

C
ome on,” Megan said loudly. “Let's get her out of here.”

Lishia looked up to see Janelle and Megan. They were tugging on her arms, and Chelsea was behind them. “Come on, stand up,” Janelle told her.

Lishia's legs felt rubbery. “I am st-st-standing.”

“Come on,” Megan said. “Let's move it.”

All three of them pushed, pulled, and tugged to get Lishia out of the house. As they left there were a lot of curious faces watching and people making comments, saying things like how people shouldn't drink too much and make fools of themselves.

“I jus' had one,” Lishia slurred back at them. “Jus' one. Tha's all.”

“Yeah, right,” Janelle said once they were outside. “If you only had one, it must've been supersized.”

“Or maybe just one bottle,” Megan said.

“At least she threw up,” Chelsea said as they helped Lishia into the back of Megan's car, where she slumped down into the seat. “That should help some.”

“Hopefully she won't throw up again,” Janelle said.

“I'll sit with her,” Chelsea offered.

“Don't let her throw up in my car,” Megan said.

Their voices continued to bounce around in the car. Sometimes Lishia caught their words; sometimes they floated right past. But one thing they all agreed on was that she was drunk.

“I think we should take her to the emergency room,” Chelsea said.

“What can they do for her there?” Janelle asked.

“Make sure she's okay,” Chelsea said.

“Really?” Megan sounded unsure. “Should I take her to the hospital?”

“No.” Lishia sat up and rubbed her aching head. “No hospital. No, no, no.”

“Take her home,” Janelle said. “Let her parents decide.”

“No, no, no,” Lishia said again. “Please, don't take me home.”

“How much did you really drink?” Janelle demanded.

“I dunno . . .” Lishia tried to think. “Jus' one. Orange juice . . . and something.”

“What kind of something?” Megan asked.

“I dunno.” Lishia took a deep breath, willing herself to feel better. She did not want them taking her to the hospital—or home. “I'm gonna be okay,” she said in a shaky voice.

“I'm so disappointed in you,” Janelle said. “It's like you've turned into someone else, Lishia. Why?”

Lishia sighed. “I dunno.”

“I'll tell you why,” Janelle said. “Because you've turned your back on God, Lishia. And look where it got you.”

Lishia started to cry. She knew Janelle was right, but why did she have to be so mean about it? “You turned your back on me,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“I said you turned your back on me.” Lishia turned to face Chelsea. “You tossed me aside for her.”

Chelsea looked sad. “I'm sorry,” she said gently. “Is that how you feel?”

“Uh-huh.” Lishia sniffed.

“I thought you were the one who turned your back on Janelle,” she said.

“I thought so too,” Janelle said sharply. “Every time I asked you to do something you refused, Lishia. You shoved me away and you know it.”

Lishia started to cry harder now. “I did not.”

“Yes, you did. You were always—”

“Stop it,” Chelsea said. “Don't pick on poor Lishia, Janelle. Don't you think she's been through enough for one night? Be nice to her.”

“Chelsea's right,” Megan said gently. “Lishia called us for help. Not to get lectured, Janelle.”

“Are you feeling any better?” Chelsea asked.

Lishia shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Let's stop at 7-Eleven and get her some soda to drink,” Chelsea suggested. “That might make her feel better. Then we can decide what to do next.”

“Don't take me home like this,” Lishia pleaded.

They sat in the 7-Eleven parking lot, sipping on sodas and discussing Lishia's fate.

“Lishia can spend the night at my house,” Megan offered. “I mean, if we're sure she's going to be okay.”

“I'm going to be okay.” Lishia took another slow sip. “I feel better already.”

“I'm still curious about how much you had to drink,” Janelle said. “I don't want to be mean, but it's hard to believe one drink could've done that.”

“Do you think anyone could've tampered with your drink?” Megan said suddenly. “I've heard that some guys use that date rape drug and—”

“Oh, that's ridiculous,” Janelle said. “You saw the party. Vanessa's parents were there and everything—”

“Yeah, and I have to say that was pretty weird,” Chelsea said. “What kind of parents let their kids have a party like that?”

“Unfortunately, there are lots of parents who think that's okay,” Megan said.

“Not mine,” Lishia said sadly.

“Speaking of parents, it's nearly my curfew,” Megan said. “I need to get you guys home.”

“But I can stay with you?” Lishia asked hopefully.

“As long as you're sure you're okay. I don't want to have to take you to the ER in the middle of the night. My mom would freak.”

“I feel a lot better.” Lishia sighed. “Thank you, guys, for helping me. I don't know what I would've done without you. I was so out of it, I barely remember calling Janelle.”

“Yeah, I was pretty surprised to see it was you on the phone,” Janelle admitted. “We were just leaving youth group, and I had just turned my phone on and it was ringing.”

“I think it was a God thing,” Megan said. “I've been praying for you, Lishia. Even tonight, when we broke into small groups to pray, I asked everyone to pray for you. I thought you were going through something hard.”

“Thanks,” Lishia muttered, trying not to cry again. Megan had no idea.

“Well, I hope you learned a lesson,” Janelle said a bit sharply.

“Janelle.” Chelsea had a warning in her voice. “Lighten up, okay?”

“It's only because I care about her,” Janelle said defensively.

“Well, try to care a little more gently,” Megan suggested.

Megan and Lishia made it into Megan's house a little before midnight. “My mom and sister have probably gone to bed,” Megan whispered as she grabbed some snacks from the kitchen. “Just be quiet on the stairs.”

Soon they were safely tucked away in Megan's room, munching on junk food, which was surprisingly soothing to Lishia's stomach. “You know,” Lishia said as she crunched on tortilla chips, “I was wondering about what you said about that date rape drug.” She told Megan about Brandon getting her drink for her and how he was quick to take her outside and begin putting the move on her. “Almost like he knew what was up.”

“Seriously?” Megan looked alarmed. “You think he slipped you something?”

“Well, he sure disappeared fast—I mean, after I started feeling bad and told him to leave me alone. I never saw him after I went back in the house to get help. It's like he took off. And I swear to you, Megan, I only had that one drink.” She then confessed as to why she even did that. “But I will never, never do that again. I swear I never want another alcoholic beverage in my life.”

Megan laughed. “I guess that's one way to stay on the wagon.”

“I can't believe what a mess I've made of my life.” Lishia felt tears coming again.

“Oh, it's not that bad,” Megan assured her. “At least you figured out that you're not into drinking.”

“No, my life is a lot worse than what happened tonight, Megan. Trust me, it's really a great, big, messed-up mess.” Now she started to cry.

“Why?” Megan asked. “What's wrong?”

“Everything,” she sobbed.

“Are you pregnant?”

Lishia stared at Megan in disbelief. “No way—of course not.”

“Oh, well, you made it sound so bad . . . I just figured.”

“I guess the only good thing about my life is that I am not pregnant.” Despite herself, Lishia smiled.

“So what is it that's so terrible?”

“I feel like I sold my soul to the devil.”

“Huh?” Megan reached for a cheese curl.

“And the devil's name is Riley Atkins.”

“Oh . . .”

“Can I trust you, Megan?”

“Absolutely.”

And so, for the first time since Lishia got sucked into Riley's twisted world of schemes and scams, Lishia began to tell the whole ugly story. By the time she finished, she could tell that Megan was truly shocked.

“So, let me get this straight.” Megan's brow was creased. “Riley tampered with the votes so the real alternate cheerleader was knocked out of the running and you'd replace Gillian?”

Lishia nodded. “Michelle really won. Riley told me Michelle would've been disqualified anyway, although I'm not so sure that wasn't just another one of her lies.”

“And Riley got Todd's party busted so Gillian would get arrested?”

“She told me she left early and called from a pay phone.”

“But how did she know Gillian would still be there and intoxicated?”

“Because Gillian was totally wasted, and she'd been thrown in the pool. I suppose Riley knew she'd gone upstairs to get out of her wet clothes.”

“And she did all this just because Gillian was going out with Dayton?”

“It seems extreme, I know. Especially considering Dayton hadn't really been that into Gillian.” Lishia shook her head. “The more I get to know Riley, the more I think she does things like this because she is mean—just plain mean.”

“She's always been pretty manipulative,” Megan said. “Remember the time she tricked Janelle into doing her homework for a month back in sixth grade?”

“Now that you mention it . . .”

“I tried to warn you a few times.”

“I know, but it was already too late by then. Riley's been holding stuff over my head almost from the get-go. It's like she had it all planned out, how she'd blackmail me and keep me under her thumb. When I questioned her on it, she actually threatened to tell Mrs. Glassman that I was the one behind everything. You have to admit, it makes sense. I mean, why should Riley go to all that trouble for me? She already had her place on the squad. It would be totally believable that I had schemed this all up. She could even say that up until recently, she and I hadn't even been friends. So why would she go to so much effort—just for me?”

“I'll tell you why she went to so much effort, Lishia. She wanted to own you.”

“But why?”

“Because she wanted a best friend she could totally control.”

“And she got one, all right.” Lishia wiped her nose on a paper napkin. “I am such a pathetic wimp. I let her reel me in.”

“Why do you think she went after you?” Megan peered curiously at her.

“Because she knew I was such a pathetic wimp?”

Megan smiled. “I think it's because she knew you'd make a really good friend. Because you're loyal and trustworthy. And I'm sure on some nicer level, if she has any such thing, it's what Riley wanted too. The problem is, that girl is too messed up to know what to do with a truly good friend.”

“What am I going to do, Megan?”

Megan's expression grew serious. “You have to come clean.”

Lishia groaned. “Coming clean will mean everyone will know how totally filthy I really am.” Lishia felt a hard lump growing in her throat. “My parents have been so proud of me, even my grandma. And I actually had fun cheering at our first game and being with Amanda. She's so sweet. Was that game really just last night? It seems like a month ago.”

“You've been through a lot tonight.” Megan yawned.

“And I put you through a lot too.” Lishia shook her head. “I'm sorry to drag you through all my mud.”

“It's okay. I think it's actually kind of exciting to be involved in this.”

“You mean my big, fat, messed-up life?”

“I mean helping you put it back together again. Because you must know you have to fix this, Lishia. You have to get your heart right with God again.”

Lishia closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and wished she could turn back the clock. “The truth is, I can hardly stand to imagine what God thinks of me now.”

“God hasn't changed, Lishia. He still loves you. He always has. He always will. He wants you to come to him and confess everything—kind of like you just did with me—and then he wants to forgive you and give you that clean slate you're wanting.”

Lishia opened her eyes and let out a long, tired sigh. “I wish it was that simple, Megan.”

“It is that simple. Tell him you're sorry, and he'll help you straighten things out.”

“I would . . . but at the moment I'm so exhausted I can barely think straight.”

“Yeah, me too. But if you want to pray before you go to sleep, I'm willing to pray with you.” Megan gave a hopeful smile.

“I . . . uh . . . I don't think I'm ready for that quite yet. I mean, when I get my heart right with God—and I plan to—well, I want to do it right. I want to be 100 percent sincere. I don't think I can do that right now. Okay?”

“Okay . . . if you're sure.”

She nodded. “I'm sure. I'll do it later.”

However, instead of falling asleep, Lishia was still wide awake an hour or more later. So much was running through her head—almost like she was in hyper-mode. Mostly she was trying to figure an easy way out of her big, fat mess—a nice, neat way she could escape Riley and public humiliation at the same time. She imagined a scenario where she would get evidence about Riley breaking the code of conduct and then blackmail Riley to get her to back off. But then she realized she would simply be imitating Riley—and she didn't want to stoop that low. She considered gathering evidence and turning in all the cheerleaders, including herself, so that everyone on the squad (well, except Amanda) would be disciplined, but that seemed mean-spirited and spiteful.