Ditched (19 page)

I just wanted him to be honest. Was that too much to ask? Did he think I couldn’t handle knowing he was sel ing drugs or making meth or burying bodies or whatever il egal stuff he was into?

I had to know what was going on. We needed to talk.

I hit 2 on my speed dial, but immediately it went to voice mail. None of this made sense. Why wasn’t his phone on? Had he taken Al yson’s advice? How could he make me believe he was a handle-first type of guy—for months!—and then in one night become someone else completely?

Baffling.

I decided I’d better listen to Mom’s message. It was on the worthless side, too.

—Just got home from the fundraiser. There was a little
problem when I got home but I’ve figured it out. Don’t worry
about me . . . I didn’t want you to think I was getting too involved
again. That’s why I didn’t bother you with it. You’l be home by
two, right? Did everyone love your shoes? I knew they would!

No, Mom. They didn’t al love my shoes.

And why would she cal me with some household problem? It was
my
prom. I couldn’t fix a toaster or whatever from the dance floor! Not that I had danced with anyone.

Not intentional y, anyway.

But at least she’d figured it out on her own.

191

My mind drifted back to Ian. This was exactly the type of thing I’d talk to him about—my wel -intentioned, overbearing mother figured out her own problem.

But I couldn’t talk to him—for some reason his phone was off. It didn’t feel like I’d ever get closer to the truth.

“I love it!” Serenity yel ed from the back room.

Through the beaded curtain I could make out the silhouette of her and Mike in the far corner. Hugging.

Swaying. Him gazing at her new tattoo, her gently resting her head on his shoulder.

Them—ridiculously sweet.

Me—total y jealous.

I had imagined Ian and me standing just like that right before we kissed. But he had been wil ing to give that up for a flag twirler who told stories with dramatic hand gestures.

Maybe Al yson was more interesting. Maybe he liked that she’d joined the flag corps. That she was the head of the prom committee, as embarrassing as that would be. That she had a Journey song for her ring tone—by choice, not force.

And that she didn’t care what anyone thought about any of it. She did what she wanted. No worries.

She wasn’t like me at al .

I pushed my way through the beaded curtain. “I want a tattoo.”

“What?!” Serenity herded me over to the corner for a quick lecture. “I know Ian’s being a dick and al , and lord knows I’ve made life-altering decisions in the name of 192

hunger, but do you real y want to do this? Be rational, okay?

Eat some peanuts.”

Her argument was understandable, but for the first time that night, my mind felt clutter-free. “I’m not doing this because I’m hungry. I want to do something without worrying about the consequences.”

She nodded. “Okay, okay. That’s solid.” She gave me a quick hug. “Just making sure you have a clear head.” She guided me by the shoulders and led me into the chair opposite Fritz.

He was on a stool next to a bright work light, cleaning needles.

Gulp.

Serenity clamped down on my shoulder. “Want me to stay with you?”

The Mikes were out in the store playing air guitar to Led Zeppelin, making Bliss giggle almost to the point of hysteria. “No, you go hang with them. I can do this.” She waved sweetly as she pushed her way through the beaded curtain, and I was alone with Fritz. He continued to clean his tools. He whistled. He did not talk.

“So, can you show me some pictures or something?” My toes bounced, eyes darted, nerves rattled.

Fritz glanced at me over his glasses.

“Of tattoos,” I added. “Some choices?”

“So
you
want to be the risk taker tonight, huh?” He crossed his legs in a deliberate fashion, as if he wasn’t so convinced.

193

“I need to take a risk. And I need to stop caring.”

“So which is it? You need to take risks? Or you need to stop caring?”

“It al sounds good to me. Can’t I do both?” I pushed down on my knees to get my toes to stop bouncing.

He shrugged and motioned to my stomach, which was grumbling loudly. “They’re
your
needs.” True, maybe al I needed was a veggie burger. But I knew I needed Ian, too.

At least his friendship. That was one thing I couldn’t bare to lose.

Ian was the guy who would cal to check in on me three days before my period started because he knew I’d be acting erratic, even though I explained it was perfectly normal for a girl to curl up in bed with a hot water bottle. One day, he final y realized I didn’t need his emotional support, I just needed licorice and Motrin.

But what I loved most about our friendship was the way he said my name . . . always dripping with adoration. And annoyance. I had always figured that’s what had drawn Ian to me. My adorably low tolerance for PMS mixed with my annoying al -black wardrobe. It was sexy to him.

Probably.

“Give me a tattoo.” The words came out, but then my heart did that jumping thing and my head did that annoying weighing-of-consequences thing. Ugh. “But don’t give me a real one,” I blurted.

194

“You worried about what other people wil think?” I lowered my head. “Yes.”

Fritz flashed me a smile, though it was barely visible behind his wooly beard. “Wasn’t planning on it. It’s my policy to never dril on people who haven’t eaten. Hungry people make bad decisions.” He pul ed a drawer wide open. “Pick one.” There were lots of choices. Hearts. Lions. Disney characters. “That one,” I said, pointing to a punk Tinker Bell with ripped wings and fishnets and combat boots. She was the spitting image of me. She was supposed to be sweet and beautiful, but she was ripped and torn. Al I needed were combat boots. Which would have been an improvement over these shoes.

“Nice choice.” Fritz pul ed out a towel, a bowl of water, and a damp sponge. It didn’t take long, but he did have to press pretty hard.

I can’t say it was painless.

While he worked his magic, I explained everything to him. How Ian and I met, how he handed me the bat handle first, how he brought me the licorice and Motrin when I was on my period, how he wore that green shirt, how we flirted and dipped our toes in the water but never plunged. And then I told him how Ian ditched me, and about Al yson.

He shook his head. But didn’t say anything.

“What?” I asked.

Fritz put his tools away. “Sounds like you don’t have all the pieces to this puzzle.”

195

“Like?”

He shrugged. “Al I know is the best buds come straight from the plant. The source. Not from some guy on Lexington Avenue sel ing it to you in a dirty Ziploc. If you want to know how he real y feels about you, you gotta go to the source.”

“Lexington Avenue?”

He tilted his head down, looking at me over his glasses, and blinked heavily.

“You mean Al yson? I’m not about to waste one second talking to that—”

He raised his hand, stopping me. “Ian.”

“But al I seem to be getting are excuses—”

“I don’t think he’d go from being a handle-first kind of guy to a ditcher in one night. Find the puzzle piece. Go to the source.”

I breathed in deeply. “You sound like one of those ninja wise men.”

He pointed behind him to a display of bumper stickers.

One read: go to the source. “Instant wisdom,” he said,

“for only a $1.29.”

“Thanks, Fritz.”

When the tattoo was dry, I joined the girls and the Mikes in the poster section, where the guys were discussing whether one of the skeletons in the posters was
actual y
speaking to them.

Serenity and Bliss ran over to check out my new tat. I couldn’t bring myself to tel them it was only temporary.

196

They’d know I was a poser. A fake risk taker. A loser in all caps.

But Bliss grabbed my arm. “Oh my gosh!” She covered her mouth, then said, “Serenity, this is the most bitchin’

press-on!”

Serenity rubbed my arm gently. “It rocks, Sweetness.”

“Aren’t you guys gonna make fun of me? It’s not a real one.”

She pul ed up her strap to the side and pointed to her heart. “Temporary.” She threw her arms in the air. “We’re not
that
stoned.”

I smiled. “Solid.”

Just before we left, my eye caught something in a display sitting on the counter top. Silver and shiny. A ring. A huge Muppet-looking daisy ring, two fingers wide.

Ohmygosh, ohmygosh.

Fritz stepped up to the counter. “Like it?”

“Yeah.” My fingers shook as I flipped over the tag. It read: handmade, one of a kind.

for someone special.

$350

My stomach plummeted to the floor.

Oh. My. Sweet. God. I had no idea.

“Some guy bought that ring a few weeks ago.” Fritz shrugged and sipped on a Capri Sun. “But he returned it the next day.”

197

I whipped my head up at him. “Did he say why?”

“Said his girlfriend was too worried people would make fun of it.” He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “He was pretty choked up about it. Why would his girlfriend care that much about what other people think?”

Fritz slid the ring on my finger. It fit perfectly. My eyes fil ed with tears—I couldn’t hold them back. My words sputtered out. “He cal ed me his girlfriend?” Fritz nodded. “Did we just find a piece of the puzzle?” I wiped my face. “Yeah. We did.”

Without a moment of hesitation, I pul ed out the credit card Mom gave me for thrift store shopping and placed it on the counter. I knew Mom would read my statement and see how much I’d spent—an entire year’s al owance.

But Ian Clark had cal ed me his girlfriend. In public. At a head shop!

I final y knew how he felt—and it was before he had ever even kissed me. Apparently he didn’t need to know how I kissed to seal the deal—he had tried to seal it with this ring.

And I wouldn’t accept it. I pushed it away . . . pushed
him
away. That’s what this was al about.

Me.

Fritz rung me up and said, “Here’s the box. . . .” I shook my head. “I’l wear it out.” My voice cracked.

“Thank you, Fritz.” I studied the ring again, knowing I would never take it off. Wel , maybe for showers . . . Oh, what the hel —no, I would never take it off.

198

My eyes wandered to my royal blue watch. One a.m. “Oh my god.”

“What’s wrong?” Serenity spun me around.

“It’s so late. I have to find him. We have to go!” I grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out toward the parking lot, the Mikes and Bliss fol owing—adorable magnets that they were.

We al piled into the Cadil ac, which didn’t take long because I practical y shoved them in while apologizing for groping them, but we had to go! I gunned it out of the parking lot, making the tires squeal. I was hel -bent. And yeah, total y crazy crackers.

“Where are we going?” Mike gripped the door handle for balance as he rearranged plastic bags in the glove compartment.

“To a party.” My hands tightened around the steering wheel because I was determined to get there fast. And also to keep Beast from drifting.

“Rockin’,” Mike said. “Which one?”

“The Hampton Inn.” I turned to him, my face flushed.

“I have needs.”

“That’s right, sister.” He slid his beer over to me.

“Not that kind.” The wind swirled around my head, and I sensed the remote pings of an unfamiliar feeling: hope. “I need to get to that party.” I clenched my jaw. “I need to find out if I’m stil his girlfriend.

199

13

Nacho Cheese

“CAN WE PUT on a different song?” I ask, sounding like I’m trying to change the subject—which I am—but the singer is wailing lyrics like, “We were always meant to say good-bye.”

Gilda doesn’t even argue, and runs over to turn off the song. Donna folds her arms and gets back to the topic at hand. “It’s a
sticker
?”

“No, it’s a temporary tattoo that eventual y rubs off. He said it’l last for almost five days.”

“A sticker.”

I sigh and rub the tattoo gently, careful not to peel it off.

I’m sure Gilda is trying to find something instrumental.

200

She probably senses that song lyrics might send me spiraling.

“And you’re in pain. Did you say
pain
?” Donna cocks her head to the side.

“He pressed down real y hard with that sponge. Fritz is very thorough.”

She’s not impressed with my Tinker Bel .
I’m
not even impressed. And it’s not like Ian wil ever see it. This thing wil disappear after one shower, I’m sure.

But he would’ve been proud of me. I total y had the intention of getting a real tattoo. Intentions count, right?

If only I knew what yours were, Ian.

Maybe we always
were
meant to say good-bye. Country songs don’t lie.

I freaking hate country songs.

The speakers are now blaring soft jazz, and Gilda jogs back, clapping her hands like she’s starting a cheer. “Let’s focus on the important stuff, Donna. Ian wants her to be his girlfriend. This is fantastic!”

Donna pauses, unsure how fantastic this is, then final y says, “I have to admit, this is an interesting turn of events.

Captain Scumbag seems to be a complicated fel ow.” I bite my tongue, contemplating whether to tel her about his col ection of snow globes. She wouldn’t find him complicated . . . she’d find him baffling. And so do I.

The bel rings, and an elderly man shuffles up to the counter. He careful y pul s a fifty-dol ar bil from his ancient, cracked wal et, which is stuffed to the max with pictures of 201

what I assume are his grandkids. He’s dressed in his Sunday best, red bow tie and al . He clears his throat and looks at Gilda. “Twenty on pump two and a fifth of whiskey.” He turns to Donna and shoots her a wink. “Footbal al afternoon right after church.” He snatches the bag of liquor and nods at Gilda. “Gotta get fueled up.”