Vicious Little Darlings (12 page)

“Thanks for leaving me a note.”

“Sorry. I thought we'd be back before you got up.”

“I called both of you.”

“We left our phones at home.” Agnes perches on the edge of the bathtub.

“So, Hope's death finally got to her?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

I give her a sidelong glance.

“She's upset because of what happened with
you
.”

“Huh?”

“You don't remember? You called her some terrible names.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Does ‘malevolent witch' ring a bell?”

“No. Why would I call her that?”

“Your eyebrows.”

“Oh,” I say, and though I have no recollection of calling Maddy a malevolent witch, I'm glad I did.

“You were furious. You completely overreacted.”

“She demolished my eyebrows! She'd have a fucking conniption if I did that to her.”

“It's not like she did it on purpose.”

“I'm not so sure.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” I say, spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste.

“They're eyebrows. They'll grow back.”

“Whatever.”

“Your eyebrows
were
pretty bushy.”

“Thanks,” I say, and rinse. “You always take her side.”

“I don't know why you're so angry. They look fine now,” she says.

“That's because I penciled them in.”

“Well, that's what you're supposed to do.”

I sigh. “Forget it. I don't know why I even bother.”

“She feels awful,” Agnes continues. “She's been crying all day. She was just trying to make you look pretty. Besides, she was intoxicated.”

I rinse out my toothbrush and put it in its holder.

“So, you never answered my question,” she says. “Where did you go?”

“Nowhere.”

“Then why did you take the car?”

I shrug.

“Don't throw away a friendship over something as trivial as eye—”

“I went to see a guy. Men, remember them? Some of us still need them.”

Agnes's nostrils flare ever so slightly. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah,” I say, unable to suppress my smile.

“I'm glad. Here, this is for you.” She hands me a plastic bag. “It was Maddy's idea.” Inside the bag is a black iPhone. “So you can reach us,” Agnes says. “Anytime.”

After my shower, I tap on Maddy's door.

“Come in,” she says in a weak voice.

I open the door and find her lying in bed, wedged between her stuffed animals. For a second, I worry that she noticed her gray bear was missing, but then she smiles so I relax.

“You okay?” I ask.

She frowns. “I'm sorry about your eyebrows. I didn't mean to screw them up. I shouldn't have gone anywhere near your face after all those Jack and Cokes. I'm
so
sorry. I'll make it up to you, Sarah. I'll be your personal slave or whatever you want. Please, just say you'll forgive me. Say you still want to be my friend, because I don't know what I'd do if—”

“It's fine,” I say, sitting down at the edge of the bed. “Look, I penciled them in. You can hardly tell.”

“I'm a jerk.”

“No. I shouldn't have made such a big deal out of something so stupid. I don't even remember what I said. It was the alcohol talking.”

Suddenly Maddy starts crying. I reach for the tissue box on the nightstand, and when I hand it to her, she pulls me into an unexpected hug. “Do you really forgive me?” she sobs.

“Of course.”

“ 'Cause I don't know what I'd do if you stayed mad at me.”

“I'm not mad. Really.”

“I love you, Sarah Bear,” she says, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

Though I'm still annoyed, I decide to forgive her. How could I not? I just had the most incredible date of my life. I'm practically overflowing with giddiness.

Still, I do feel kind of ridiculous for comforting
her
when I'm the one without any eyebrows. I know that my brows alone aren't a big deal, but things are beginning to add up. She copied my haircut and she lies constantly. Did she or didn't she break up with Sebastian? I still don't know the answer, because her stories rarely make sense. On top of everything, she always gets what she wants. Yet I still like her for some reason. It's as though she's got some kind of voodoo hold over me.

15

S
low down,” Professor Connelly orders the class. “You're all going too fast. Pretend you're an ant crawling over the surface of the figure. Follow every curve. If the line goes into the figure, draw it. If the line ends, stop. We're not trying to make a perfect picture. We're looking for idiosyncratic character.”

She's circling the room, watching us sketch the male model: a tall black guy around thirty-five years old, with dreadlocks, a ton of muscles, and a big penis. The girls are all panting over him. This is what happens at a women's college. Everything gets reduced to sex.

Professor Connelly stops at my easel and stares at my drawing for an uncomfortably long time. I haven't been able to get the penis right. Is that what she's staring at? Finally, she leans in and whispers, “Nice drawing.” Then she props her hand on her hip and says to the class, “Come here, everybody. Take a look at what Sarah's doing.”

I steel myself before everyone crowds around my easel.

“Sarah has a very sharp eye,” says Professor Connelly. “Notice the character of her lines. Notice the overlap and the effective foreshortening. It's a pretty terrific drawing, isn't it?”

The class responds with a collective unenthused, “Uh-huh.” I fidget under the scrutiny of fifteen pairs of hot eyes, studying me as well as my drawing. Does the erratic quality of my lines give me away? Does it betray my fears, compulsions, or fucked-up childhood? Or does the weirdly drawn penis say more about me?

“Okay, back to work, everybody. I'll give you another five minutes. Then I want you to get out your pen and ink.”

Everyone shuffles back to their seats except Professor Connelly, who is still hovering over my easel. She puts her finger on the penis. “Fix that,” she says, then walks away.

I erase and start over, this time separating my mind from my body and approaching the task purely as an intellectual exercise. I take a good, hard look at the model's penis, heavy and purple, casually resting on the balls. But all I can do is bite down on my tongue and fight the urge to giggle.

After class, I take my drawing pad and art box down to the pond. Everything around me is golden, beautiful, the ground cloaked in thousands of yellow leaves. Although it's only October, the days are already getting shorter and there's a bite in the air.

I sit down and study my drawing, determined to get the penis right. I'm not going to let a dumb sex organ intimidate me.

My phone chimes with a new text message. It's from Reed.
Turn around
, it says.

I turn and there he is, standing behind me. I gasp. “What are you doing here?”

“I was driving to work and I couldn't stop thinking about you, so I decided to stop by.”

I feel myself flush, first from excitement, then embarrassment. I look like crap today: no makeup, dirty jeans, my ratty old sweatshirt smothered in charcoal dust.

He sits down next to me and we kiss. Then he looks at my drawing. “You're really good.”

Groaning, I say, “I can't draw the penis.”

“Oh, is that a penis?” He covers his mouth. “I thought it was a small raccoon.”

“Very funny.” I give him a playful shove. “Maybe you should model for me.”

A devilish grin appears. “Okay,” he says, and starts unbuttoning his pants.

“Not
now
!”

“All right, all right. You just let me know when.”

I shake my head. “You're crazy, you know that?”

For a moment I wonder about this character I'm playing, this girl who's flirting and laughing and having fun with a guy, this girl who seems like she's one half of a couple. Is she really me? I've never acted like this with anyone before, and yet it feels so natural. Was this always inside me?

My phone rings suddenly. It's Maddy. I ignore the call.

“My roommate,” I explain to Reed. “I'll call her back later.”

“Are you ever going to introduce us?”

“Sure. Sometime. Later on,” I say, though I can't picture Reed and Maddy in the same room. What would they talk about? Of course, Agnes would have to be there too, and that would be even more awkward.

Changing the subject, I say, “Where do you work?”

“I work for my professor. I tutor his kid in geometry twice a week.”

“I had no idea you were good at math.”

“Well,” he says, glancing at his watch, “there's a lot you don't know about me.” He gives me a sexy grin.

My phone rings. Again, it's Maddy.

I look to Reed. “It's my roommate again. Maybe it's important.”

“Answer it,” he says. “I have to get going anyway. I'm late for work.” He gets up, dusts himself off.

I answer the phone. “Hello?”

The line goes dead.

“Hmm,” I say. “The call got lost.”

“She'll call back,” Reed says, leaning down to kiss the top of my head. “I'll call you after work, okay, cutie?”

“Okay, bye.”

I watch Reed walk away, and then, while waiting for Maddy to call back, I redraw the penis. When I'm satisfied, I pack up my things and go.

The entire house smells of chocolate. Maddy is in the kitchen, braless, wearing a white tank top and hot-pink velour short-shorts.

“I called you,” she says, shoving a plateful of brownies at me.

“I know. I called you back but you didn't pick up.” I take one. “What's going on?”

“Nothing. I just wanted you to know that I made brownies.”

I bite into it. It's terrible: dry, brittle, and slightly salty.

“How is it?”

I force a smile. “Good.”

She places the plate of brownies on the counter. “So, are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to guess?”

“Tell you what?”

“Why you're smiling. Did you get an A on your psych exam or did you see that boy again?”

“What boy?”

“Agnes told me you went to see a boy the other day. Who is he?”

Part of me doesn't want to tell her because I know she won't like it, but another part of me is just too excited to keep it in.

I take another bite of the hard brownie and chew. Feeling Maddy's eyes on me, I finally say, “There's nothing to tell, really. He goes to Hampshire. I met him when you and Agnes were in Vermont. We're just hanging out.” I leave my brownie on the counter, open the fridge, and pour myself a glass of milk.

“What's his name?”

“Reed,” I say, taking a sip of milk before returning to the counter. “I don't know if you remember, but he was at the diner our first night here.”

Maddy sits down at the dining table. “The guy with the paper dolls?”

“Yeah.” Her memory is impressive.

“See, I really
am
psychic,” she says with a glint in her eye. “Actually, he was the only guy under thirty in that whole place. I remember thinking he was kind of cute. You had sex with him, didn't you?”

“No,” I lie. Some things are private, after all. “We just made out.”

“But you
will
have sex with him eventually.”

I shrug. “Probably.”

“So, let's do a reading on him.”

“A reading?”

“Yeah, so you can see if this is a good relationship before it gets too serious.”

“That's okay,” I say. Not because I don't believe in psychic phenomena; I just don't believe
Maddy
is psychic. Besides, I already know Reed's a good guy.

“Come on.”

“No, I don't feel like it.”

“Don't be afraid of the tarot, Sarah.”

“I'm not afraid,” I say.
Oh, what the hell. It's just a silly game.
“All right, let's do it.” Leaving the brownie behind, I take my glass of milk and sit down at the table across from her.

She reaches for her baby-blue Marc Jacobs bag. “I don't even need to use tarot cards. I use regular playing cards 'cause I've got
the gift.
” She pulls out a small deck of Tiffany playing cards and hands it to me. “Concentrate while you shuffle the cards. Try to focus all your energy on your question.”

I shuffle the cards. A part of me wants to believe that Maddy
can
unlock the truth. But more than anything, I just want to hear what I already know—that Reed and I are a good match.

“Okay, ask your question,” Maddy commands.

“Will Reed and I be happy together?”

“Put the cards on the table facedown.”

I do as she says. Maddy takes the top three cards and lays them facedown. Then, one by one, she flips them over. The first card is a two of clubs; the second, a three of hearts; and the third, a queen of spades.

“Now, let me concentrate.” Maddy places her fingers on her temples and closes her eyes. She looks so serious, it's kind of funny. Her lower lip begins to quiver. A minute passes before she opens her eyes again. “I'm sorry, sweetie,” she says, shaking her head. “It's not going to work out.”

My body tenses. “What?”

“He's hiding something.”

“What do you mean?”

Frowning, she says, “He's got a dark secret. I don't know what it is, but you don't want to get involved with this guy. He's not a bad person, but he's not a good match for you. Eventually he'll break your heart.”

“Sounds like a curse.”

“I'm sorry, Sarah Bear. But the cards don't lie. The good news is you can end things now, before you get hurt.”

“What else do you see?” I ask, feeling a little light-headed.

“Sure you want to know?”

I sigh. “Yes. Tell me everything.”

She stares at the cards. “This guy's an artist, right?”

My head swims. “You can actually see that in the cards?”

“Of course.”

I begin to panic. Can Maddy really read my mind? If so, does that mean she knows about Sebastian and me? I'm suddenly very afraid of her.

“He may be sweet now,” she says, “but later you'll see his possessive side. Like a lot of artists, he's insecure and totally self-absorbed. If you date him, you'll be stressed-out and miserable.” She looks up from the cards. “Good thing you didn't sleep with him, huh?”

But I
did
sleep with him.
And
I like him.

“By the way,” I say, changing the subject, “I forgot to tell you Sebastian called the other day.”

“He can keep calling, because I'm not calling him back. I have nothing to say to him.” Maddy comes over and puts her hand on my shoulder. “You okay? You look a little pale.”

“I'm fine. I barely knew the guy. And like you said, now I can end it before it gets too serious.”

“That's right. And we have each other, Sarah Bear. Who needs boys, anyway?” she says, wrinkling her nose.

I do.

Later, in my room, I'm too impatient to wait for Reed to call me, so I call him first.

He answers on the third ring. “Hey, you beat me to it. I was just about to call you.”

Butterflies. The sound of his voice alone does that to me. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“Do you want to do something tomorrow?” I ask. “During the day?”

I hear him shuffling papers in the background. “You don't have class?”

“Nope. Do you?”

“Nothing I can't skip.”

“No. I don't want you to do that.”

“Well, I do,” says Reed. “I'll come pick you up in the morning. How's nine?”

“Perfect,” I say. I can sneak out of the house before Maddy wakes. “Can you pick me up at the mail center?”

“Sure. I can't wait to see you.”

“Me too. Good night.”

“Sweet dreams.”

I hang up, reassured that what Reed and I have is special. I don't think he has a dark secret. And I don't think Maddy is psychic, even though she knew Reed was an artist. It was a lucky guess. After all, I'm an artist. Why wouldn't I be attracted to a kindred spirit?

What's important is that Reed likes me and I like him. A silly tarot-card reading by an information-withholding roommate is not going to change that.