Authors: Mar'ce Merrell
Wicked Sweet (8 page)
Party Paranoia
.
.
P
arker is the most attentive date I could imagine. And in spite of the Cranium geekiness, Chantal is the best friend of my dreams right now, oh, except for the group visit to the bathroom. I think she thought the last pieces of the chocolate cheesecake she snagged for each of us on the way would keep me busy.
arker is the most attentive date I could imagine. And in spite of the Cranium geekiness, Chantal is the best friend of my dreams right now, oh, except for the group visit to the bathroom. I think she thought the last pieces of the chocolate cheesecake she snagged for each of us on the way would keep me busy.
I wait for her outside the bathroom door, locked in place by the crush of people in the hallway. The Girl Scouts make a delicious cake, even if it doesn’t look so great. It’s tart and sweet in perfect proportions. I eat the last bite and wipe away crumbs. As I apply my lip gloss I notice that my hand is shaking. What’s taking Chantal so long? I’m not the one who panics in this friendship, but I’m finding it hard to breathe when I’m not next to Parker.
I can’t shake the feeling that I’m failing to integrate. I’m the girl Parker brought instead of Annelise, the girl who’s never been at their parties, the girl who has only finished half of a vodka cooler while girls all around her are at the stumbling stage.
Culture shock fades
, I try to reassure myself,
they’ll get used to Chantal and me and we’ll get used to them
.
Culture shock fades
, I try to reassure myself,
they’ll get used to Chantal and me and we’ll get used to them
.
“That bitch doesn’t know who she’s messing with.” I hear Annelise’s voice and I keep my head down. “Board games? That boy needs booty and I’m sure Little Miss Brain can’t compete with me.”
Oh. My head throbs. What am I doing? What is taking Chantal so long? I tap the bathroom door.
We need to go.
I look down at my jeans from the sale rack, and my secondhand T-shirt that’s tight like everyone else’s but isn’t a great color. I’m pretending I’m ready for the next step, and everyone must see through it.
Oh. My head throbs. What am I doing? What is taking Chantal so long? I tap the bathroom door.
We need to go.
I look down at my jeans from the sale rack, and my secondhand T-shirt that’s tight like everyone else’s but isn’t a great color. I’m pretending I’m ready for the next step, and everyone must see through it.
“Jillian.” It’s Parker. “I was looking for you.” He checks to see if anyone is listening, but they’re all shouting over the music at each other. “I … um … can we go somewhere quiet?”
I can’t think straight. I know I’m supposed to stay at the door, but I don’t want to hear Annelise again or, worse, run into her. I’m not too sure about going with Parker, either. I allow myself to be led away, through the kitchen, to a doorway.
Oh. Please don’t let this be a bedroom.
Oh. Please don’t let this be a bedroom.
The Competitive Edge
.
.
I
see her standing alone for the first time all night and I plan my final move. I weave through the crowd, my focus on the damsel in distress and the final photo challenge. Hip-hop plays. I am in the flow.
see her standing alone for the first time all night and I plan my final move. I weave through the crowd, my focus on the damsel in distress and the final photo challenge. Hip-hop plays. I am in the flow.
“Chantal.” I set my hand in the small of her back. “Looking for Mr. Right?”
She tenses up, moves away. “Have you seen Jillian?”
“No. And it was a joke. The Mr. Right. Never mind.” I follow her through the hallway, the living room, and the kitchen. We stop by the food table. She stands on her tiptoes, trying to spot Jillian in the party surf. I suggest maybe Jillian’s in the backyard.
“Let’s take a cupcake outside and look for her.” Cupcake must be the magic word because Chantal heads for the back door. We leave the air-conditioning and the heat makes me sweat instantly. I use the bottom of my T-shirt to wipe off my top lip.
Chantal scans the perimeter and gives up. She leans against the wall, her arms crossed. At least she’s not a moving target.
“You kicked ass at Cranium,” I say. “A total outwit and outplay performance.”
“Thanks.” Her arms drop, but she still looks uncomfortable. “It was fun.”
“You had fun?” I try my biggest smile on her, tilt my head like she’s a puppy.
“Yeah. Mostly.” She looks at me and away.
“Oh … I didn’t really think you were Horton the Elephant. I don’t know why I get like that. Embarrassed, I guess. You know what they say. A guy torturing you means he really likes you.”
“Yeah?” She’s totally not buying it, but at least she’s looking at me.
This is as perfect a moment as any. I fumble with one hand to set my phone on the camera function. I’m about to reach for her face, pull her into me.
“What was with your nose picking?”
Can she not let that go? I shrug. The moment is gone. “Immaturity.” Now what? “Oh. The cupcake.”
I pull the paper wrapper off the cupcake and split the cake in half. Frosting globs all over my fingers. “Open up.” I hold the cake up.
Chantal balks.
“It’s chocolate. Come on.” I shove my half into my mouth and smile. She leans forward, squeezes her eyes shut, and takes what I offer her.
“See, it’s good. It’s great. Isn’t it?” I know I have to make my move. I get the phone ready and my left hand slides along her cheek. Camera ready, I hold her face in my hand, lean closer.
The Laundry Room
.
.
“H
ey, I know it’s not a trendy café or anything, but it’s quiet.” I lift Jillian onto the washing machine and stand in front of her. She giggles, but not in an Annelise flirting way. It’s more relief. Or nerves.
ey, I know it’s not a trendy café or anything, but it’s quiet.” I lift Jillian onto the washing machine and stand in front of her. She giggles, but not in an Annelise flirting way. It’s more relief. Or nerves.
All I think about is how much I want to kiss her. And this isn’t just about completing a challenge.
I lean in to get closer.
Oh. No
.
.
I
t’s not that I don’t want to kiss him. I do. I do. The laundry smells of clean soap and Parker’s man smell—sweat and peppermint breath mints. It’s impossible to resist. But …
t’s not that I don’t want to kiss him. I do. I do. The laundry smells of clean soap and Parker’s man smell—sweat and peppermint breath mints. It’s impossible to resist. But …
“Um …” I lean to the right, out of the path of his lips. “I … just need to ask you a question.”
“A question?” Parker stands straight, runs his hand through his hair. Oh. That is so hot.
“Are your parties always like this?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” His hands end up at his waist and my eyes hover.
Oh … back to business.
Oh … back to business.
“Um … I’m in the laundry room with you and Chantal is somewhere with Will. I mean, I think she must be with Will. Right?”
Parker shrugs and he’s adorable. “I’m not sure where Chantal is, but I’m here in the laundry room with you right now because I want to be alone with you. Not in front of everyone else.”
“That’s it?” He could say anything and I’d melt.
He nods. He leans in again.
I am so ready for this kiss. Except. “I promised Chantal I’d stay with her …”
“She’s with Will.”
And she’ll be okay. She doesn’t need me
right
now.
right
now.
The Cake
.
.
T
he cake is dry and the frosting hard. I try to swallow but it coats my teeth and tongue. I don’t notice, until it’s too late, that Will has slid his hand up to my face. And now he’s getting closer and, now, his face is in front of me.
he cake is dry and the frosting hard. I try to swallow but it coats my teeth and tongue. I don’t notice, until it’s too late, that Will has slid his hand up to my face. And now he’s getting closer and, now, his face is in front of me.
His lips touch mine and I want to pull away, but I don’t because I promised to be normal. And a kiss is no reason to freak out. I try to imagine it’s someone else’s lips against mine, and that works. Mitch, my crush from the ninth grade. My lips tingle and I’m okay with the right hand settling on my waist. But then, he’s pressing his mouth hard on mine and his tongue is pushing into my mouth and his tongue has leftover chocolate goo on it and my stomach lurches. I try to twist away and it seems Will thinks this is some kind of great technique because he twists his head back and forth, his tongue goes wild in my mouth. And then he’s got his full weight against me, grinding into me.
Ugh.
Ugh.
I open my eyes and see that he’s looking up at something else while he’s kissing me.
And now the taste of beer and cupcakes and possibly nacho chips with hot salsa comes through Will’s tongue and my nausea rises. I push my hands against his chest and press, hard. He grips tighter. More tongue. My stomach begins its revolt. I can taste vomit in the back of my mouth.
A flash goes off. He’s taking a picture! I bring my knee through his legs and he groans. Until I lift it and slam it into his crotch. I let the vomit in my mouth go. In Will’s mouth. I run for the back door, but I don’t make it. I stop and finish barfing where I’m standing. I hate vomiting. I hate how my eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of the sockets and my stomach convulses so hard it burns. In between retches, I yell for help.
“Jillian!”
Rescue
.
.
A
s soon as the screaming starts I know; it’s Chantal. Parker hovers.
s soon as the screaming starts I know; it’s Chantal. Parker hovers.
“I have to go help.”
“Those are cries of joy.”
“Sorry!”
He slips his right hand under my hair, cups the back of my neck, and pulls me close. “Will can help her.”
“I can’t.” I pull away but I don’t want to.
“Okay. I’ll help.” Parker slides his hands under my arms, lifts me from the washing machine, and sets me down. His arms wrap around me again and I wonder if maybe Chantal has solved her own emergency. If staying here isn’t the better idea.
“I really have to go.” I push back from Parker and leave the laundry room, cross through the kitchen.
I’m at the back door when I hear Chantal again. “Get away from me,” she hisses.
She’s on her knees, piling paper napkins on top of a circle of puke. She hasn’t noticed a few bits clinging to her hair. When I say her name, she doesn’t even look up.
Parker helps me drag her to one of the deck chairs. He goes off to talk to Will.
“We have to leave,” she says after we clean her up.
“I don’t want to go yet.”
“Jillian. I have publicly barfed.” When I don’t rush to sweep her away, she adds, “I put up with Will. And I even let him kiss me.”
I didn’t kiss Parker because I was worried about you.
“I came here for you.”
“I know. I know.” It’s that moment that shifts your world, where you decide that despite your best friend’s dire need for help, you want what you want. Annelise is in that house and if I leave, she’ll be the one in the laundry room with Parker. I pull out my finest debating skills. I tell Chantal I’m not ready to leave. How we have to salvage our first double date so it will be memorable in a good way. I explain how running away feeds the nerd girl stereotype. I offer a suggestion, “You could laugh it off, joke about it. They’ll think it’s funny.”
“Like
that’s
what I want.” She stands. “We have to
go
.”
that’s
what I want.” She stands. “We have to
go
.”
I’m considering what else to say when Parker shows up. He offers to walk us to Chantal’s house.
My prince.
Of course Chantal insists we have to walk by ourselves but Will saves the day by saying he needs to apologize to Chantal. She refuses to walk with him for four blocks, but finally gives in when he promises he won’t touch her. Ever again. Parker, I decide, is close to perfect.
My prince.
Of course Chantal insists we have to walk by ourselves but Will saves the day by saying he needs to apologize to Chantal. She refuses to walk with him for four blocks, but finally gives in when he promises he won’t touch her. Ever again. Parker, I decide, is close to perfect.
Now What?
W
ill doesn’t want to walk Chantal home, but he owes me. After all, I was the one who got him a date with Chantal.
ill doesn’t want to walk Chantal home, but he owes me. After all, I was the one who got him a date with Chantal.
It didn’t matter that Chantal barfed. On him. That, in fact, made the whole challenge better, even considering his gonad injury. I have to admit it was pretty entertaining. That Chantal lives up to everyone’s expectations.
I thought the night was going to go my way, not Will’s. Now I’ve got seventy-two hours to complete the challenge. And if I don’t, it will be the first and only challenge I’ve failed.
“So …” I slip my fingers through Jillian’s. “I’m thinking we have to salvage this whole thing somehow.”
“For sure.” Jillian slows her pace and we fall back. Chantal pounds the blacktop with Will struggling to look cool as he tries to keep up with her. I have to come up with a rescue plan for Jillian and me, and Chantal. A triangle I didn’t expect to draw. A black Chevy truck inspires me—sleek design, shiny grille—I bet the engine roars. Tailgate. Or barbecue. Jillian hasn’t been to my place, but my family might scare her off. Ideal: a group event that ends early and leaves Jillian and me alone.
“How about a barbecue at my place? Monday.”
“Another double date?”
We watch Chantal cross from one side of the street to the other.
Will follows, shaking his head. “That’s not gonna happen. But … we can invite other people. Maybe someone else for Chantal? Got any ideas?”
Will follows, shaking his head. “That’s not gonna happen. But … we can invite other people. Maybe someone else for Chantal? Got any ideas?”
“I promised I’d never tell anyone so you can’t tell Will. She sort of crushed on Mitch in the ninth grade.”
“Mitch? I thought he was gay.”
She gives me the look that says I’ve crossed over the line. I remember, now, she won a debate on the right to have a gay support group at the high school. “Not that it matters if he’s gay.”
“He is shy.”
“Okay, Mitch and who else?”
“The physics study group? They’re … eccentric, but Chantal likes everyone. And … I do, too.”
I laugh. “Oh, another round of Cranium? Or maybe bridge building with straws?”
“Parker!”
I check to see how mad she is, but she’s smiling. “I’m sure they know how to party. In their own way.”
“Tell me you’re not brainiac prejudiced.” She stops and the momentum falters. I stare into her eyes and … she’s hot … and my brain (and other parts of me) are responding to this physical attraction. But there’s something else. It’s like desire with an edge. An edge of curiosity. I want to know her more. Or it’s part of the game. It’s hard to know with all this … um … rising action.
“I’m not prejudiced against brains. Not at all.” I pull her into me. It’s a great line for revving up to the challenge. I hold her. I am so ready to kiss her.
As I’m about to seal the deal, she stops me. “Um … the only thing is, I don’t think the people at tonight’s party will jell with the physics group. Do you?”
Tonight’s party. I’m trying to pinpoint the person or persons she’s specifically talking about but I don’t have to; she says it. “Like Annelise,
for instance, would not have a good time at a party with the brains, unless she was making fun of them.”
for instance, would not have a good time at a party with the brains, unless she was making fun of them.”
“No. We won’t invite her.” Jillian’s hands rest at my waist. This is my opportunity, but now I’m thinking about Annelise. I’d tried to avoid her all night, but she caught me when Jillian went to the bathroom. She slid up against me, her cleavage exposed in that hot bra with the black lace. I almost wasn’t able to untangle myself. Did Jillian hear about that? Maybe she suspects that Monday will be our third and final date.
“Jillian.” Chantal races toward us. “I’m not walking with Will anymore. I’m walking with you.” She grabs Jillian’s hand and pulls her away.
“Gotta go.” Jillian holds an imaginary phone to her ear.
I give her the thumbs-up. Looks like we’re on track for Monday whether she heard about Annelise or not.
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