My whole high school life, people called me Liz the Lez, Lezzy Liz, or some other stupid nickname that rhymed with Liz. In school, I had one friend; her name was Cassy, and when she moved senior year, I was on my own. Tim had gone off to Seattle to school, and my mom was working part time at a bar. When she wasn’t working, she was sleeping. I think that was one of the worst years of my life. Then on graduation day, when I walked across the stage, I looked down and saw my mom. She was looking at me, her eyes blood shot, and I could see regret written all over her face. After graduation, we went home; she ordered pizza and made me a cake. We pigged out, and she told me that she was sorry for not being there for me, but that she would make it up to me every day from then on. She stuck to her promise, and I truly couldn’t ask for a better mom. She helped me find myself, while finding out who she was without my dad.
“So do you want one?” Bill asks again, and I look over at him and shake my head. I’m tipsy already, and want to go home. It doesn’t help that I never wanted to be here to begin with. But standing out in the cool night air in a tank top, listening to some girl talk about how she’s going to try and trap one of the Mayson boys by getting knocked up, and that she doesn’t care which one it is, just as long as one of them is her baby-daddy, I know I need to go home. “Here, take my hoodie,” Bill says, taking off his red college hoodie and putting it over my head. “You look so cute,” he says, leaning in like he’s going to try to kiss me, so I lean back.
“I’ll be back,” I mumble, looking away from him and towards where my car’s parked.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No, its fine. I’ll be right back,” I say, leaving the warmth of the bonfire, heading in the direction of my car. I have no idea what I’m doing, but hiding seems smart at this point. “Me and my stupid, stupid brain, thinking that I could go out with Bill and forget about Trevor. Ha! That’s a joke, if I ever heard one. Oh no, what if it’s like, some weird virus, and I’m like, addicted to him? I mean, that girl was going to trap him, or any Mayson by having a baby. What if I become crazy and try to do that too?”
“Who are you talking to?”
I scream, jumping back, and end up falling on my ass. When I look up, I see the cause of all of my problems standing over me. “You scared the crap out of me.” I glare at him; he ignores me, pulling me up.
“How’s your bottom?” he asks, pulling me closer.
“Stop!” I yell, as he starts patting my butt where dirt and twigs are now stuck.
“You’re dirty, baby; just trying to help,” he says, holding up his hands in front of him.
“It’s fine. I’ll get it,” I grumble, dusting myself off. Trevor leans forward and his eyes narrow.
“Whose sweatshirt is this?” he asks, tugging at it with a look of disgust on his face.
“Bill’s,” I say, starting to walk around Trevor; but before I can make it two steps, I’m upside-down over his shoulder.
“What the hell are you doing? Put me down right now.” I kick my feet, trying to get him to put me down, but nothing is working. Then I’m right side up, but sitting on the tail of his truck. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?” I ask, then Bill’s sweatshirt is gone. “Hey, I was wearing that!” Suddenly, I’m wearing a hoodie that smells like Trevor; my senses go into over drive. “What are you doing?” I repeat, as he pulls my hands through the sleeves of his grey work–hoodie. Oh great, the Mayson logo on it, along with his name.
“You smell like that douche,” he says, looking irritated as he rolls the sleeves up on his sweatshirt. “Are you drunk?” he asks, leaning forward and looking into my eyes.
“I’m not drunk,” I whisper; having him this close and smelling him all around me is playing havoc on my intoxicated state.
“I’m taking you home,” he pulls me off the back of his truck and leads me to the passenger side.
“I’m staying here,” I tell him, trying to pull free. I don’t want to stay, but I really don’t want to go with him.
“You’re drunk. It’s late and I’m taking you home.”
“I’m not drunk. I can’t leave my car here, plus I drove Bill.”
He starts laughing, looking around. “So you’re here with that guy? He let you drive here, and he let you wander off drunk?” I see his jaw clench.
“Last time I checked, there wasn’t a law about women driving; and not only that, but I didn’t wander off. I’m not a dog who needs to be on a leash,” I say, becoming angry.