"I don't own him. If he wants to have bad taste in women, that's his problem." It made me die a little on the inside, but no biggie.
"No way, you can't let this go. Friendship! Comradery!"
Maybe I should have told her the tale of him coming to my rescue when my back tire had blown out. But even though I really liked Hang, trust still didn't come easy. My privacy had been invaded enough in the last few weeks for me to now value it deeply.
She held out her hand, fingers beckoning. "Just give me your phone. I'll send him one small, concise message, that's all. Something along the lines of ‘I hope you had a nice day and that your penis falls off.'"
"No. We are not drunk-texting John."
Two hours later . . .
"Is cock splash one word or two, do you think?" asked Hang, chewing on her bottom lip while she studied the screen of my cell.
"You're calling him a cock splash?"
"Inventive, isn't it?"
"Yeah." I stretched out on the bed at her side. The ceiling seemed to be doing some trippy spinning thing. "I wish I'd thought of that one."
"It's like I told you, vodka helps with creativity. It unleashes the artist within."
"Obviously."
"My brother is not going to be happy that I stole that bottle out of his room. Though I really don't drink that often. Still, we should hide the evidence and not tell him. And we should definitely not let my parents find out." Her cell chimed again and she grabbed it off the bedside table. You had to admire the girl's ability to multitask. Who knew how many different people she'd been carrying on text conversations with tonight? "Oh, that's nice. Carrie and Sophia's dinner with Sophia's parents is going well."
"That's good." I sighed. "Everyone should be happy and in love and shit."
"Hmm. Either that, or drinking and sending boys imaginative and angry texts."
"Yeah."
A pounding noise came from the front door. We both sat up, startled, then we began laughing for some reason. I don't know, it made sense at the time.
"My brother must have forgotten his key." Hang climbed off the bed and I followed because curiosity, but also bathroom break time. Fortunately, we hadn't changed out of whatever clothes we'd worn to school. No one would be meeting me in my pajamas, for a change.
The house was a long, low-set brick ranch, the walls covered in big, bright, beautiful canvases. All of the paintings done by Hang's dad. If he'd been my parent and I'd been into art, I'd be intimidated too. He was good.
More pounding on the front door.
"Patience," called out Hang, flipping the lock and swinging the door open.
"Ladies." Anders filled the doorway, his smile wide. "You were wrong, JC. They're not messily drunk at all."
Something inside of me-my stomach, my pride, I don't know-sank lower than the floor. I grabbed Hang's arm, whispering, "You told them we were here?"
"Anders tricked me."
I frowned. "How?"
"He asked me where I lived."
"H-how is that a trick question?" I asked, bewildered.
Hang flailed.
The boy in question, however, chuckled his ass off. Jerk.
John pushed him aside, striding into the hallway. He was not happy. "Any particular reason you sent me the address for every STD clinic in the state?"
I opened my mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. "Well, you know, that's actually really useful information for anyone to have."
He remained unconvinced. "And you want my tiny, useless dick to shrivel and fall off why?"
"Man," Anders laughed. "That one cracked me up. Though they were all pretty good."
Hang grinned. "We did half each."
"Nice work." He held up his freakishly large hand and they high-fived. Awesome.
Meanwhile, a vaguely homicidal expression filled John's eyes. "Edie?"
"Like you don't know," said Hang, all goodwill and joy now gone from her face. "Turncoat."
John just looked at her, brows drawn tight.
"Erika," she spat at him.
"Erika?" John turned to me. "What about her?"
I looked elsewhere. The floor, the walls-these were all super-interesting things greatly deserving of my immediate attention.
"Beside your locker this afternoon," said Hang. "After all that shit she said to Edie. How could you?"
Anders whistled, leaning against the wall, getting comfortable.
"She was so upset, she ditched school for the first time ever," Hang continued, standing tall. "Her education is ruined. Because of you."
Smite me now please, baby Jesus.
John bent over, getting into my line of sight. "Edie, she came up to me and I told her to get lost. Is that what you need to know?"
"I . . . You did?" I asked. "But you let her grope you first?"
"Christ. I told her to get lost, okay? She just took a while to get the message." He straightened, pulling the usual rubber band out of his pocket and tying back his hair. "Plenty of girls out there. Why would I mess around with one who insults my friends?"
I didn't get to grope him, so why should she? Still, in the end he'd done the right thing. I sighed in relief, ignoring the quick jab of jealousy. "Oh."
"Well, this is awkward," whispered Hang.
John stood in front of me, waiting.
"Sorry," I said, grimacing. "But you have to admit, it looked really bad."
"We dating? We together or something and I didn't notice?"
"What? No."
"Well then?"
I frowned.
Arms crossed, he said nothing.
"Okay, so the insult texting . . . we got a bit carried away. I, um, I promise in the future I'll only use your number for good instead of evil."
"I'd appreciate it." His eyes, they still weren't happy. Couldn't really blame him, either.
"Okay kids." Anders clapped his hands together, rubbing them. "We're here now. What entertainment can you offer?"
"Want to watch a movie?" asked Hang, closing the front door.
"Solid idea."
Together, they wandered off toward the family room, discussing which film to pick. John and I, however, stayed put.
Fingers twined together, I offered him a small repentant smile. "Sorry for being a rampaging bitch."
"Next time you got a problem with me, Edie, come to me directly," he said. "You're right, I probably should have cut Erika off sooner. But how was I supposed to get her hands off me, hmm? Pushing a girl back in front of school cameras doesn't look good."
He might have had a point.
"I'm used to people thinking I'm shit, but I expected better from you," he said, eyes wounded.
"I don't think that."
"So why didn't you trust me?"
My alcohol-soaked brain had nothing.
He looked away, shoulders still stiff. "Only reason I talked to her in the first place is 'cause she had a message from my brother. She still buys from him."
"Oh."
For a long time he said nothing. "Tell Anders I'll see him later."
When he left, he didn't slam the door or anything. The quiet dismissal was almost worse.
"What about this one?" Mom asked, holding up another top. "It's cute."
I squinted at the item over the edge of my sunglasses. "Notice the part where it's not black?"
"Everything you wear has to be black?"
"Yes. Pretty much."
"Okey-dokey." With a heavy sigh, she returned the top to its rack.
We were in the approximately two square feet of space the department store had designated as being "Plus Size." Whatever. Usually, the internet had some goodies for me to wear. Like hiding those sizes away in cyberspace made the bigger, more fashionable brands remain cool and distanced somehow. Jerks.
"Can we go look at makeup now?" I asked. Sephora being the main reason I'd suggested driving down to Roseville to hit the Galleria. At least there, I didn't have to worry about squeezing into things.
"Sure," said Mom. "You do know you're not fooling anyone with those sunglasses, right?"
"I'm cool and mysterious."
"No, honey. You're hung over," she corrected. "I'd tell you off, only I did the same thing a time or two at your age and I prefer not to be a hypocrite whenever possible."
"And I love you for it."
"Hmm. Doesn't change the fact that I worry about you," she said. "I hope you were reasonably sensible and in a safe environment. You were at Hang's the whole night, yes?"
"I was." I pushed my glasses up on top of my head, rubbed at my weary eyes. "Bad things happen, I know. Promise we weren't doing anything dangerous."
Her frown continued. "And you know you can call me anytime, no questions asked, if you need a lift home."
"Yes."
"Okay. Thank you."
A strand of gray hair had escaped mom's neat blond bob. It glinted bright beneath the harsh store lights. Grandma had gone gray in her thirties too, as she loved to point out to me with creepy glee. Yet Mom had always seemed indestructible, tough and ready to take on the world for me. I resented that gray hair mightily.
"You're growing up way too fast lately. I can't keep up." She cupped my cheek with a cool hand. "Did you have a good time with your new friend?"