Ditched (23 page)

“Nope.” Brian pul ed his gloves down tight.

“We’re not vandalizing anything? Or spray painting anything?” I gripped the petite steering wheel tightly.

No answer. Now they were adjusting each other’s knit hats.

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I babbled on as I continued to drive, stealing glances at them in the rearview mirror. “I appreciate tradition and al , but that doesn’t always make it a smart idea. I mean, on Easter we boil eggs and paint them and leave them in the yard . . . for like a
long
time. That’s not sanitary. That’s not smart. Tradition should be questioned sometimes. Just saying. Don’t you think? Guys?”

Final y Brian leaned up to talk to me. “We’re helping people.” His voice was calm. “We like them to see what life is like for other people.”

“That’s cool. I think. Wait, how do you—”

“We . . . rearrange. That’s al .”

“There!” Boner’s voice squeaked. “Pul up to that gray house.”

They both peered out the window, scoping out the place.

The house was dead—no lights. And there were no other cars around. Which wasn’t shocking since it was four o’clock in the morning.

Oh my god. Four o’clock! Mom was going to kil me.

Please be a deep sleeper tonight, Mom.

“Looks like it’s a six-footer,” Brian said. “Hook latch.

Opens from the outside. Yeah. Perfect.” Boner cracked his knuckles. “They’re definitely caging something big behind that sucker.”

I turned back to them. “What do you mean,
caging
?” They ignored my question. “Stay here,” Brian said in an eerily calm voice. “Leave the engine running. This wil only 237

take a sec.” Then he shoved Boner out the door. “Go!” They scrambled out of the car, fal ing twice on the lawn when Brian tripped over Boner’s big feet. They’d clearly hit up the keg one too many times at that party. Once they both stopped laughing and shushing each other, they managed to unlatch the fence.

They disappeared, and within seconds I heard a yelp.

And then another yelp. After the third yelp, they re-emerged, Brian with a package tucked inside his tuxedo coat.

As they jumped into the backseat, Brian scooped the package from his jacket and placed it on the front seat next to me.

A Chihuahua.

He was shivering. Or maybe it was a she?

He/she was adorable. Almost pathetic. It only had three legs. The spot where the front left leg should be was just a mess of fur and a rumpled scar. “You stole this dog? This little, sweet, three-legged dog?”

“It’s not sweet.” Brian’s voice was no longer overly calm.

“Drive!”

“Where?” I punched on the gas.

“Up on the right,” he said, calming down but stil barking out orders. “That white house on the left. Chain-link fence.” I stepped on the brake, slowing the car down. “Wait. You guys are dog swapping?”

Brian sighed, like he was relieved. “Awesome, right?

You’ve done this before?”

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“No! I have not
swapped dogs
before! This is ridiculous!

This poor, sweet, little dog.” I reached over and lifted the tag on his collar. His name was Chompers McGee. “Aww.

He’s so—”

Suddenly I learned how he got his name.

Chomp!

“Oooowwww! That little shit! He bit me! !”

“That sucker’s fierce, man.” Boner said with a pained look on his face. “No wonder they stash him behind a six-footer.”

“It may be somewhat il egal”—Brian leaned up next to my ear and gently wrapped the silk handkerchief from his tuxedo pocket around my finger—“but I’l guarantee you when they find their dog, they’re gonna spoil it with treats and let him sleep wherever he wants. They won’t take him for granted anymore.” I saw him smile big in the rearview mirror. “We’re like modern-day Robin Hoods. Or Robin Hounds.” He laughed.

I rubbed at my freshly wrapped wound and final y managed to stop the bleeding by pressing on it with the soft cloth. The pain quickly dissipated, as though Brian’s cloth had healing powers. Or maybe I was ignoring the pain and concentrating on the adorable explanation Brian had just given on the profound importance of dog-swapping.

Robin Hounds? Okay, that was cute.

Boner relaxed his face as he leaned back in his seat. “Plus, it’s funny, dude. We’re swapping dogs, bro!” 239

The guys high-fived.

Brian leaned over the seat again. “Yeah, and earlier tonight”—his arms dangled next to mine, and I could smell his cologne, which I normal y hate on a guy, but this cologne seemed to be drawing me toward him—“we hit up a bunch of houses on the way to prom.”

It was a spicy cologne, but with a sweet overtone. Like raspberries and cayenne. “Uh-huh,” I said in a sort of daze.

“We swapped Great Danes, Labradors, Jack Russell terriers . . .”

I took a deep breath, a little deeper than normal, Brian’s smel making me feel relaxed. “Uh-huh.”

“But Al yson made us stop. She didn’t get the whole Robin Hound thing. You’re so cool for doing this.” Brian touched my shoulder.

I liked it. But it also jerked me back to reality. I was in a car with Brian Sontag, not Ian. We were having a conversation, and I was not doing a good job keeping up.

I was trying to smel him. Boy smel s made me dumb. I cleared my throat and sat up straighter. “Why’d Al yson make you stop?”

Brian sat back and shook his head. “That girl doesn’t get tradition.”

Even though it was the most ridiculous tradition I’d ever seen two drunk guys conjure up, I had to admit, the level of cuteness about the whole thing could not be ignored.

We drove Chompers to his new temporary home, three 240

houses away—a house that belonged to a golden retriever named Bubbles. Seriously? We couldn’t have picked Bubbles up first?

We swapped two more dogs, then drove one street over. Brian cracked open a beer he’d swiped from the party.

Boner counted how many seconds it took him to down it.

Eleven.

Apparently, this was the other part of the tradition—

slamming beers after each swap.

They clearly needed a hobby. And some maturity. And a designated driver.

We swapped a German shepherd for a shih tsu. A pit bull for a poodle. An Irish setter for a springer spaniel—which wasn’t much of a swap, if you ask me, because both breeds are hyper and wiggly, which was why I’d convinced Mom to go with a Labrador retriever. They are even tempered. They don’t complain. They don’t like confrontation. And they bring stuff back to you.

I decided it was time to talk them out of the next swap and go back to the Hampton Inn, where hopeful y Ian was waiting for me, because Brian’s once-adorable explanation had denigrated to a drunken, “We’re teaching people to appreciate life, and shit.”

“I have to get back to the hotel.”

“No! More swaps!” Brian and Boner yelped and laughed and burped and pumped their fists in the air.

They were tanked. And I needed to go get my Ian. “Sorry 241

guys. The field trip’s over.” I pul ed the car into a driveway to turn around, and I saw headlights coming down the street.

The lights slowed a few houses away from us and pul ed into a driveway. As it made the turn, I could see it was a limo.

Brianna’s limo.

“Oh, shit.”

“What is it?” Brian and Boner scrambled to sit up straight enough to see out. The three of us watched in silence as the limo driver—my so-cal ed parking-lot therapist who had me convinced Ian
wasn’t
interested—opened the back door and out fel a clearly drunk Brianna with Al yson steadying her by the arm.

“Oh, shit,” Brian said softly.

The two of them made it almost halfway up the driveway before Al yson glanced in our direction.

Her ghostly pissed-off face revealed that she recognized the Prius.

“What the hel , Brian?!” she yel ed, throwing her arms in the air, which caused Brianna to stumble around without her support.

Brian popped open the back door, but paused to look at me with a helpless face, like a runaway stray dog. “Come with me, Justina. I’l explain everything to her.” Al yson and Brianna stormed over, Brianna holding her hand out to an invisible rail to keep herself steady. We met them halfway, on a neighbor’s lawn, dampened with early morning dew.

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“Lookie. It’s Justina,” Brianna slurred. “And she’s with two guys. Whatta shocker!”

Before I could answer, Al yson jumped Brian with the mother of al lectures. “How dare you leave me at that party.

I had no ride home and someone could have slipped me a roofie and I’d be dead and naked and embarrassed somewhere if it weren’t for this limo driver, asshole! And tel me you did
not
go out and swap more dogs. That shit’s il egal, you know!”

“Sorry, babe.” Brian leaned over and gave her a quick peck on the forehead. “Cal me later.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

And that was it. That was it? That was his entire explanation?! He sauntered back to the car and fel into the backseat without a care in the world.

And there I was alone on a damp lawn at five o’clock in the morning, face-to-face with Evil #1 and Evil #2.

I wanted to melt like a stick of butter, but I couldn’t. I was going to have to deal with this. “It’s not what you think,” I said.

“It
is
what we think.” Al yson crossed her arms and put on her best I-would-never-do-something-so-slutty face.

“You left a party with two guys, Justina. And one of them was my date!”

Which, truthful y, did sound pretty bad. Why hadn’t I told someone where I was going? “I swear, Al yson. I was just—”

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“Your reputation isn’t going anywhere, is it?” Brianna stepped closer to my face, her vodka breath making me nauseous. “You’re a slut, Justina.”

I turned my face away, and my body flushed with anger.

And shame. But they didn’t know the truth—I was trying to find Ian.
Where are you, Ian? Please swoop in. Please.

“Go wait by the limo.” Al yson nudged Brianna away.

“I’l deal with this.”

Brianna threw her fireworks finale of hurtful words at me as she staggered away. “Love al the stains on your dress! You shoulda worn black so you could cover ’em up with a Sharpie!

Hahaha!” She approached the limo and reached out to the trunk to hold herself up, but puked by the back tire.

Tears dripped down my face. I could barely get the words out to tel Al yson. “I wasn’t trying to take Brian from you.

I . . . I thought you were trying to take Ian.” She pressed her lips together, not like she was mad, but like she was holding back. She sighed. “It’s not what you think, Justina. He doesn’t have feelings for me like he does for you. Do you even know how lucky you are?” She tugged at her ponytail nervously. “That guy deserves . . .” She paused, her eyes reddening. I could almost see the wheels in her head turning—she was thinking about him. I understood the painful expression that sprawled across her face—I’d had that look before, too. She glanced down at my hand—more precisely at my bare, ringless finger. She bit her lip, looking unsure as to whether she should finish her 244

thought. But she did. “Ian deserves someone who wil accept what he has to give.”

I considered tel ing her how I found the ring and bought it, and how my mom was going to kil me for spending so much money. . . .

But then I realized it wasn’t important.

Here I was wasting al this time wondering how he would kiss me, wondering if he’d loop pinkies with me when we walked down the hal . . . wondering if he was truly boyfriend material.

When the truth was, I wasn’t girlfriend material.

I couldn’t face Ian. I had ruined this night. I had ruined everything with him. He’d tried to make me his girlfriend and I’d rejected him. I went to prom with him and ended up kissing one guy and leaving with two others. There was no apology for that. No note scribbled out on a napkin would make up for not being the girl he hoped for. He deserved better . . . and Al yson should be the one to tel him.

Eva’s note to Ian was exactly the truth.

I rubbed my bare finger. “You’re right, Al yson. He deserves someone special. He deserves better. Tel him I’m sorry.” I spun around to go back to the car.

But as much as I knew deep down that I wasn’t what Ian deserved . . . stil . . . I
had
to know. I whipped back around.

“Al yson?”

She turned to face me. “Yeah?”

“Did you ever see the crease?”

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“The what?”

“The face he gives when you go back and forth with him and it almost goes too far—he pul s his mouth up to the right. There’s a crease there. Did you ever see it?” She crossed her arms and let out a deep sigh. She looked defeated. “No. I never noticed it.”

I clutched at my stomach. I had hoped it was true. That lovely, tiny thing was just for me. “Thanks,” I said, my voice weak and quivering. “I . . . I just needed to know.” I don’t know what difference it made to me, I just knew it did. But Ian and I didn’t seem to be able to land in the same spot at the right precise moment. This night symbolized everything between us—we kept slipping by each other.

So I turned and went back to the car, back to Brian, back to my past.

I could hear Al yson’s beautiful shoes behind me, retreating up Brianna’s driveway. When I reached the car, Brian held the back door open for me. “We’re done swapping.

Let’s go for a drive.”

“But you guys need a designated driver,” I said.

“Boner doesn’t drink.

“But what about al that fal ing down? He’s wasted.”

“He’s clumsy.”

Boner pointed to his unusual y large feet.

And so Boner drove as we cruised the back streets blaring AC/DC with the windows down. My hair was flying as Brian and I screamed the lyrics at the top of our lungs.

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“Hey,” Brian said as he reached over and put his hand on top of mine. He kept bouncing his head along to the song, then leaned in and yel ed so I could hear him. “Prom sucked.” I nodded.