Vicious Little Darlings (16 page)

“How was the dance?” I ask.

“He touched me,” she says, wincing.

“You were slow dancing,” I say. “He's supposed to touch you.”

“I mean, inappropriately.”

“Where?” asks Maddy.

“I'd rather not say.”

“You're the one who brought it up,” I point out.

“Tell us,” says Maddy.

“I don't want to talk about it,” Agnes insists. “It was somewhere intimate.”

“Your breasts?” I say.

“No.”

“Your butt?” asks Maddy.

“No!” Agnes replies. “The small of my back.”

“And?” I ask.

“And I didn't like it. He shouldn't have been so presumptuous,” says Agnes. “That's an intimate spot on a woman. Some would say the
most
intimate spot.”

Maddy and I ponder this for a moment.

“I don't know,” I say. “I can think of another spot that's way more intimate.”

Agnes scoffs, “The obvious spot, no doubt. Trust me, you're not supposed to touch the small of a woman's back—or her feet—unless you're her lover. Hoyt should've known that.”

“Maybe he wants to be your lover.” Maddy giggles.

“Maybe he was just trying to work his way down to your ass,” I say.

“Don't be vile,” says Agnes.

Maddy asks, “So, where
is
Hoyt?”

“He went back to his dorm.”

“Without saying good-bye?” I say.

“I told him to go. I said I'd dance with him once, and then we would go home. That was the agreement.”

“What did you guys talk about when you were outside?” I ask.

“Nothing much. Our families. School. He told me to tell you he enjoyed meeting both of you.”

“That's nice,” Maddy says.

“Whatever.” Agnes rolls her eyes. “Let's get out of here.”

“Fine by me,” Maddy says. “No one wants to de-virginize me anyway.”

“
What?
” asks Agnes.

“Nothing,” Maddy says, winking at me. “Let's go.”

19

C
an we stop at McDonald's?” Maddy whines, fifteen minutes into our two-hour drive home. “I'm so hungry.”

Agnes turns down the radio. “You can't keep eating junk food, Maddy. We have a cassoulet waiting for us at home.”

Maddy makes a face. “But we're still hours away.”

“I'll get us back in forty—”

Suddenly Maddy squeals.

“What is it?” I ask her.

She frantically rummages inside her purse. “I lost my wallet.”

“Are you sure?” asks Agnes.

“I can't find it anywhere.”

I say, “Maybe it's in your other purse.”

“No, that bag's empty.”

Agnes exits the highway and turns back toward Boston. “All right, let's retrace our steps. When did you last take out your wallet?”

“At Starbucks,” answers Maddy.

“Okay,” Agnes says, “we'll go back there.”

Ten minutes later, we pull up in front of Starbucks. We go in. The acrid smell of coffee burns the inside of my nose. We scour every inch of the place but don't find the wallet. Agnes interrogates the employees. “Sorry,” they say, one after the other.

We walk back to the car, taking the back alley just in case the wallet somehow ended up outside. A silver Lexus is parked next to the garbage bins and a prostitute in a black leather miniskirt, pink tights, and a white faux-fur jacket is leaning over the passenger-side window, chatting up the driver. A moment later, she opens the car door and the dome light comes on, exposing the driver's face. He's fortyish with thinning brown hair, a pinched nose, and glasses. He motions for the hooker to get in. This alone really depresses me. She climbs into the car and shuts the door. I watch as the dome light dims. The man looks back at me for a second and I feel a jolt of panic. His expression is not only desperate, but angry. It's the same look Maddy sometimes gets. She had it earlier tonight. Maybe that's why none of the Harvard guys approached her. They were afraid.

When we get back to Agnes's car, there it is: Maddy's patent-leather Louis Vuitton wallet, lying in the gutter next to the car. It's a surreal image, the hot-pink wallet resting on top of a withering banana peel. We stare at it. Was the wallet here the whole time? Why didn't anyone take it? The screaming fuchsia is kind of hard to ignore.

“My wallet!” Maddy shrieks. “It must've fallen out of my bag before we left for Harvard.” She then points to a McDonald's across the street. “Perfect. Now we can go eat.”

I roll my eyes at Agnes, but, of course, she would never doubt Maddy. It's hard for me to believe the wallet was here this whole time, conveniently lying next to the car and also across the street from McDonald's. She must have orchestrated this. But why? Just to get her way? Is McDonald's really that important to her?

Maybe not, but Maddy always gets what she wants.

After McDonald's, we head back toward the highway. I'm relieved to be going home. I feel gross and tired and disgusted with Maddy, and I really want to talk to Reed before the night is over.

Just as we're about to enter the highway, we hear a loud bang, followed by a force so strong that the car spins out of control. My body slams forward into the driver's seat; I feel as though I'm somersaulting through the air.

Everything goes still.

I hear Agnes and Maddy in the distance calling my name, but for some reason I can't answer them. I'm not in the car; I don't know where I am. They keep calling me, but I can't respond. I think my spirit got shocked out of my body. I try to wave my arms and kick my legs but nothing happens. And then I realize where my spirit is: above the car, suspended in the air. I try to get down, back into my body, but I don't know how. Meanwhile, Maddy keeps calling me.

And then, suddenly, I snap back in.

“Sarah, can you hear me?” Agnes asks, sounding close now. “We were in an accident. Are you hurt? Say something, wiggle your fingers—anything to let us know you can hear me.”

I hear Maddy whimpering in the background.

“I'm okay,” I say, slowly lifting my head. “I'm okay.”

Maddy reaches for my hand. “Oh, Sarah, I'm so glad you're all right. I couldn't bear it if you were hurt.”

“You scared us half to death,” says Agnes.

“What happened?” I ask.

“It was a hit-and-run,” Agnes says. “Some lowlife in a black sedan crashed into us and then took off.”

“Did you see his plates?”

Agnes shakes her head. “He was going too fast. Plus, we were spinning so it was hard to see anything.”

Maddy adds, “It was an American car. A Buick, maybe?”

“We have to call the police,” I say.

“That's the last thing on my mind,” Agnes says. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

“I'm fine.” Looking down at my body, I see no broken bones, no blood. If I'd worn my seat belt, I might have been able to avert the whole out-of-body nightmare. “How long did it take for me to respond?” I ask.

“About a minute,” says Agnes.

So, for a minute I was technically dead, floating in the air! But I decide not to tell Maddy and Agnes about that.

“I'm fine,” I repeat. “I don't need to go to the hospital.”

“You sure?” Maddy asks.

I nod and look out the window. We're smack in the middle of a deserted intersection. The ground, slick with oily puddles, is a fun-house mirror, reflecting light in distorted shapes. I see shrieking faces, decaying corpses, giant sticky insects. Maybe I
should
go to the hospital.

Agnes gets out of the car. I follow her out, making sure to avert my eyes from the fiendish puddles.

The back passenger side of the Mercedes is wrecked. Steam rises from the engine and there's a horrible burning smell.

Agnes kicks the side of the car. “Piece of junk. The air bags didn't even activate. They sold my father a defective vehicle. Wait till he hears about this.” She kicks the car again. “I'll call us a cab.”

Just as Agnes whips out her phone, a mysterious white Honda with tinted windows pulls up next to us. The window rolls down to reveal a dorky blond guy in his midtwenties. “Are you ladies all right? Do you need a lift?”

“No,” Agnes says coldly.

“Actually, yes,” says Maddy. And, in a single breath, she relates the events of the evening, including the Harvard party and the missing wallet, ending with, “Our friend needs to get to a hospital.”

“No,” I insist.

“We need to make sure you're okay,” says Agnes.

The guy gets out of his car. He's wearing the yuppie uniform: a baby-blue button-down shirt, chinos, and brown loafers. “Give me your keys,” he says to Agnes.

“Why?”

“I'm going to move your car. You can't just leave it in the middle of the intersection.”

“I'll move it myself.”

Maddy gives Agnes a look, and Agnes reluctantly hands the guy her keys.

“I'm Brian, by the way,” he says. “I'm a computer consultant.”

Maddy says, “Nice to meet you, Brian. I'm Madison, and this is Sarah and Agnes. We're college students.”

“Wellesley?” he asks.

“No, Wetherly.” Maddy bats her lashes.

He grins and, in a borderline superhero voice, says, “Don't worry, ladies. I'll handle this. First I'll move the car, and then I'll take you to the hospital.”

“We don't need to go to the hospital,” I say.

“Please, Sarah?” Maddy sobs. “We just want to make sure you're okay.”

“Fine,” I say. Those damn tears will be the death of me.

It's three in the morning when I'm finally released from the hospital. I'm surprised to find Brian in the waiting room, chatting up Maddy while Agnes bites her nails.

Maddy runs over to me. “What did the doctor say?”

“I'm going to live.”

“Wonderful,” Agnes says, getting up to pat me on the back.

Brian grins at us. “Ready?”

“Brian's driving us home,” Maddy explains.

“All the way back to Wetherly?” I ask.

“Yeah,” says Maddy. “Isn't that nice of him?”

“Are you cold?” Brian asks Maddy, once we're in the car.

Maddy is sitting up front, and Agnes and I are in the back.

“I'll turn on the heat if you are,” he says.

Maddy nods and Brian obediently adjusts the temperature. He's been plying her with compliments, as if he actually believes he has a chance with her, and Maddy is loving every minute of it. The worst part is, ever since Brian arrived, she's been using her cutesy voice nonstop.

I glance at Agnes, who is looking out the window. I close my eyes and think about what they told me at the hospital: that I could've died. Or at least sustained a spinal injury from not wearing my seat belt. When the ER doctor first told me that, it didn't register. She kept repeating it to get a reaction out of me. “I don't care!” I finally yelled back.

But I do care. I don't want to die. Before Wetherly, I might not have cared so much, but things are different now. I have friends who accept me, flaws and all, and who—despite our disagreements—want me to stay alive. Fate brought us together for a reason. I'm not sure what that reason is yet, but being with them has definitely changed me. They've opened me up, and if it weren't for them, I doubt that I would even have the guts to love Reed.

I died for a minute, didn't I, when I was suspended in the air? And it was Maddy's voice I heard, Maddy who brought me back to life.

20

T
he next morning I wake up with a paralyzed neck. I've had kinks before, but never like this. I can't turn toward the clock radio. All I can do is stare up at the ceiling. And then I realize: I'm not alone. Someone is lying next to me.
Please, God, not Brian.

The stranger moans, a moan which I distinctly recognize as Maddy's, and I breathe a sigh of relief. She rolls over, shaking the entire bed, and begins to make little smacking sounds. I place my hand under my head and manually lift myself up.

It's 10:17. I can smell Agnes's coffee percolating downstairs. I slide into my blue flip-flops and hobble down to the kitchen.

Agnes, dressed and aproned, is leaning over a sputtering skillet.

“Hey,” I say.

She turns around. “Morning. How are you feeling?”

“I can't move my neck.”

“That's whiplash.” She turns back toward the skillet, and I watch as she ever so carefully flips over a batch of silver-dollar pancakes.

I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit down at the dining table. Agnes slides a coaster under my mug and says, “I'll get the heating pad out for you after I finish up here.”

“I'm sure I'll be fine after a hot shower.”

She grabs a plate from the cupboard and fills it with pancakes. “Whiplash is serious. It can't be left untreated. Otherwise it'll come back and haunt you.”

She sets the plate of pancakes in front of me. “Thanks,” I say.

“
Bon appétit
.” After handing me a set of utensils, she goes back to glopping more batter into the skillet. “He's still here, you know.”

I look up. “Who?”

“Brian. He's sleeping in Maddy's room,” she says with a grimace. “He didn't even shower before he went to bed.”

“You let him stay over?”

“I had to. Maddy insisted. I wanted to get him a room at the Wetherly Inn, but Maddy said that would be rude. I knew he was too tired to drive back, but I really didn't want him staying here.”

“Where was I when all this was happening?”

“In your room. You went straight to bed after we got home. After you went upstairs, Maddy got Brian settled in her room. At first I thought she was going to share her bed with him, but then she came back and slept with me. I couldn't sleep a wink. I kept worrying that Brian would rob us. I mean, we don't know a thing about him. He could be a serial killer. Or worse.”

“What's worse than a serial killer?”

“Let's just say I wouldn't be too thrilled if Maddy decided to fall in love with this guy.”

I snicker, but the stern look on Agnes's face tells me she's not joking. “Don't worry. He's not her type,” I say. “Maddy could never like a guy that dull.”

“Sebastian wasn't particularly interesting.”

“No, but he was hot.” My face suddenly heats up. I wish I could take back those words.

Agnes smiles deviously. “I didn't know you thought Sebastian was hot.”

“I don't.” My ears burn. “I'm just saying he's better looking than Brian. I mean, at least Sebastian dresses well, even though he
is
kind of typical looking. But, personally, I think Sebastian's lack of brain cells makes him almost grotesque, don't you?”

Agnes just stares at me. My face must be covered in hives. I look down at the floor and try to will them away.

“Interesting,” she finally says.

“What is?”

She doesn't answer, and begins chopping potatoes.

I dig into my stack of pancakes. Desperate to change the subject, I say, “So, how did Maddy end up in
my
room?”

“Well, I couldn't sleep. I kept tossing and turning, until finally I just flipped on the light and worked on some problem sets. Maddy woke right up and said she was going to sleep in your room. Is she still sleeping?”

I nod, mouth full.

“I wish Brian would just hurry up and leave.”

“Why don't we bang some pots and pans outside his door?” I suggest.

“We don't want to wake Maddy.” While tossing the chopped potatoes into the frying pan, she explains, “I already feel bad that I kept her up half the night.”

“But you have to admit it was pretty nice of Brian to drive us back.”

“He had ulterior motives. He took one look at Maddy and that was it.” She sounds both proud and jealous.

If she starts talking about how gorgeous Maddy is again, I'll definitely heave. Yes, she's beautiful on the outside—we all know that—but it's her insides I'm not so sure about. Then again, it was Maddy's voice I heard when I was having my out-of-body experience. Maddy, in her own way, saved my life.

“There aren't many true Good Samaritans out there,” Agnes adds.

I shrug and take another bite while watching Agnes push the potatoes around with her spatula. “So, what are you going to do about your car?”

“Get a new one.”

“The damage wasn't that bad, was it?”

“No, but I don't want to drive a car that's been in an accident. It's bad luck.”

“But aren't the odds
against
you getting into another accident?”

“The laws of probability were designed for ordinary people with ordinary minds, Sarah. I believe in the extraordinary.” She walks toward me with the skillet. “Want some home fries?”

“Sure.”

She scoops some potatoes onto my plate, and sets a bottle of Heinz in front of me. I drown my home fries in ketchup and take a bite: crispy on the outside, soft on the inside. “You know what's really extraordinary?” I say to Agnes.

She turns to me. “What?”

“These home fries.”

Agnes gives me a sheepish smile and then turns away.

Forty minutes later, Maddy comes downstairs. I'm sitting at the dining table with a heating pad draped over my shoulders. Barefoot and glowing, Maddy is wearing a silk-and-ostrich-feather robe.

“Good morning, ladies,” she chirps. “Isn't today just the most beautiful day ever?”

“It's overcast,” Agnes says matter-of-factly, then continues wiping down the counter.

“But it's still beautiful.” Noticing the heating pad, Maddy gives me a curious look.

“It's for Sarah's whiplash,” Agnes explains, pouring Maddy a cup of coffee.

“Hmm … I think I might have a little whiplash too.”

Agnes hands her the cup. “Want me to rub your neck?” she asks, a little too eagerly.

Maddy scowls. “No! I was just kidding, Agnes.”

Embarrassed, Agnes quickly removes her apron and folds it into a perfect square. Without taking her eyes off the apron, she asks, “Did you sleep well?”

“I sure did,” Maddy says, plopping down at the table. “Yum, pancakes. I just love the smell of pancakes. Don't you think it's the best smell in the world?”

Okay, what is with her today?

“I'll fix you a plate,” Agnes says.

“Later. I want to shower first.” Maddy looks at me quizzically. “Are you feeling all right? You were talking in your sleep last night.”

“I was?”

“Yup, you were telling me all your secrets.”

“I don't have any secrets,” I say with a shrug, and then begin to worry. Did I say something about Reed?

“I'm joking. You were talking gibberish. Though I did hear you say ‘Reed' once or twice.”

Crap. Reed. I totally forgot about our date today, and I didn't even call him last night. I must have brain fog from the accident. He probably thinks I stood him up. We were supposed to meet at nine and now it's already eleven thirty.
Shit.

“Who's Reed?” Agnes begins wiping the stove with a sponge.

“He's the guy Sarah had a crush on,” says Maddy. “But it's over now—right, Sarah?”

“Right,” I say bitterly. I wish she would stop taunting me.

Agnes asks, “Is he the guy you told me about?”

“Yeah,” I say. “It's nothing. I just thought he was cute.” I turn to Maddy. “Weren't you going to take a shower?”

“Uh-huh.” She gets up. “I'll make it quick.”

When Maddy leaves, I tell Agnes I'll be right back. I run up to my room and grab my phone out of my purse. There are five missed calls from Reed. I call him back but he doesn't pick up, so I leave him a message telling him I was in a car accident but that I'm fine and that I'll call him later. Then I go back downstairs and pour myself another cup of coffee.

Agnes fixes herself a plate and sits down next to me at the dining table. “Where's the ketchup?”

“I don't know. It was right here.”

“That's odd. Maybe I put it away.” She gets up and rummages through the cupboards. “I don't know where I could've put it,” she says, sitting back down. “I'll look for it later.”

“So, why do you think Maddy is in such a good mood?”

Agnes finishes chewing, then says, “You know how people get after car accidents. It's a frightening experience. But we survived. Maddy's just a little euphoric.”

“Hmm,” I say. But I'm not so sure.

When Brian finally wakes up, he doesn't take a shower, skips breakfast (if you don't count the banana he grabs on the way out), and leaves with a hurried and awkward good-bye. He looks different in the daylight—less geeky, more creepy.

After he leaves, Maddy pulls me aside. “Come upstairs,” she whispers. “I want to show you something.”

I look over at Agnes, who's busy scrubbing the greasy breakfast dishes, and follow Maddy upstairs. Clutching my hand, she leads me into her bedroom and peels back the covers, revealing a huge bloodstain in the center of the bed: scarlet, thick, lumpy.

“What happened?” I say. “Did he get his period?”

“It wasn't him, Sarah. It was me. I bled. Because it was my first time.”

“You had sex with him?” I shriek.

Maddy covers my mouth with her hand. “Shhh …”

A shiver passes through me.

“Yes,” whispers Maddy.

“Eww.”

She gives me a playful shove. “Don't say that.”

I can't help staring at the blood. I didn't know you could bleed that much the first time. I didn't my first time. Of course, my experience was strange and awful. A dark bedroom with framed Vargas prints on the wall. He was nineteen, a high school dropout who lived with his dad in Nana's building. I was fifteen. I had seen him in the lobby once or twice and thought he wasn't bad looking. One day he invited me up to his apartment while his dad was at work. We sat on his couch, and he told me I would be pretty when I grew up. Then we went into his bedroom and did it. It was quick and it hurt a lot. I didn't tell him I was a virgin and he never bothered to ask. Later that night, I couldn't stop staring at myself in the bathroom mirror. I felt different and was looking for some kind of visible change. But, in the mirror, I looked exactly the same.

“Why him?” I ask Maddy.

“I told you last night I was going to lose my virginity. I couldn't get a Harvard guy to do it, but at least I got an M.I.T. grad.”

“Your point was to lose your virginity to someone smart? Trust me, your hymen can't tell the difference.”

“Sarah, don't make fun of me. I wanted to. And he wasn't that bad.”

“When did this happen?”

“A little while ago. After you got up, I snuck back into my room and seduced him. He seemed surprised. He had an instant boner. It didn't hurt too much, and now … I'm a woman!” she says, beaming with pride.

“Did he know it was your first time?”

“Not until he saw the blood. But by then it was already over. Then he got all nervous and said he had to go. That's why he left so abruptly.”

“Your virginity scared him off?”

“Well, yeah … that and the fact that he couldn't face you guys. I told him my friends were very protective of me, especially Agnes. Not like he couldn't tell. It would've been awkward sitting at the dining table with Agnes all stone-faced.” She pauses. “Promise me you won't tell her, Sarah. She'll kill me.”

“Okay.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

Are we in kindergarten? Reluctantly, I say, “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Maddy looks relieved.

“Did you use a condom?”

“Uh-huh,” she says, flipping her hair.

“He had one?”

“Yeah.” She nods.

What a louse. The guy carries a condom in his wallet while driving around looking for car-accident victims?

“I'm so happy, Sarah Bear. And relieved too. I feel more worldly now. And wiser.” She looks at me. “What was your first time like?”

“Bad,” I say. I don't elaborate. “We'd better go back downstairs before Agnes comes up.”

“You go down first,” she says. “Stall for me. I have to get this stain out of my sheets before Agnes comes up to get the laundry. You know how she is about strangers' germs.”

It's bizarre to me how happy Maddy is about having lost her virginity, especially since she lost it to a guy who means nothing to her. When I lost mine, I remember thinking that I would never be a virgin again. I could never go back to being a kid. I was instantly an adult, and from then on, I would always be having sex. The thought depressed me for weeks.

Obviously, Maddy doesn't feel the same way. Or maybe it just hasn't hit her yet. Then again, she doesn't have much depth. Once a thought enters her mind, it leaves just as easily, never to be pondered again. So maybe her behavior isn't unusual.

I go downstairs to find Agnes Swiffering the kitchen floor.

“Need some help?” I ask.

“No. Where's Maddy?”

“She's taking a shower.”

“I have to wash her sheets. Or maybe I should just throw them away and buy new ones.” She's serious.