Authors: Laurie Elizabeth Flynn
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he whispers over Mrs. Hill’s rambling lecture about estrogen and ovaries. “But I do need a favor.”
“What kind of favor?” I whisper back. “I’m guessing not a sexual one.”
“I need you to tutor me tonight,” he says. “For real. I’m drowning, and I need help. Are you in or out?”
A wave of relief rushes over me. I nod, suddenly feeling ten pounds lighter. Faye won’t be using those condoms on Zach tonight if he’s with me instead.
“Come over tonight,” I say. “You, me, and my very good notes.”
His face breaks into a smile. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he says. “You—”
“Please don’t say I saved your life,” I whisper.
“That’s yet to be determined,” he says with a wink.
I face the board and suddenly remember that I’m supposed to meet Jillian after school. She has a test tomorrow, and I’m supposed to quiz her with the flash cards I made last night, all of the questions I made up to test her knowledge on stoichiometry. I message Charlie back.
Make it an hour after school—I have tutoring first.
My phone vibrates in my purse almost instantly.
Sure. This won’t take all night.
I write in the margin of my binder, where I’m supposed to be taking notes on whatever Mrs. Hill is talking about. Instead I scribble a note to Zach.
Can you come over at seven?
His arm hovers over the paper a long time, but when he pushes the notebook back, there are only three words. Three words and one winking smiley face.
Seven is perfect.;)
I’m still smiling when I meet Jillian in the chemistry room when the final bell rings. She notices.
“You’re happy about something,” she says, after botching her second attempt at balancing redox reactions.
I shrug. I’m thinking about Zach. Zach, who still wants my help, even though I have turned him down so many times. He keeps forgiving me.
I wonder what else he would forgive me for.
I glance at the giant clock on the wall before making a diagram on a scrap of graph paper. I have to meet Charlie in half an hour, but I’m not leaving until Jillian understands this. I owe her that much.
“Just remember this,” I say, tapping my pencil against the page. “The equation has to be separated first into two half reactions. Each half reaction is balanced separately before the equations are added together to give a balanced overall reaction.”
I draw out a formula for each half reaction. The reduction portion and the oxidation portion. All Jillian has to do is follow the formula. Why is it so hard for her, when it’s so black and white to me?
“I guess it’s just a balancing act,” she says, rubbing her temples. “Like everything in life. Right?” She looks up at me, like she’s expecting an answer.
“Right,” I say, even though my stomach starts to feel queasy when I say it. I feel like a total fraud. I don’t know anything about balance. I know everything about numbers, but I can’t read people to save my life. Maybe Zach is with Faye right now. Maybe when he comes to my house he’ll smell like her. Maybe when I’m done tutoring him he will be done with me, and Faye will, too. They’ll be happy together, and I’ll be on the outside, looking in.
“You know, you’re a good teacher,” she says when we’re done, after she passes the quiz I made for her and packs up the flash cards so she can study them at home tonight. “Much better than Mr. Sellers. You could do his job way better than he does it.”
I laugh, but it sounds empty. For some reason I think about Tommy.
Why me? Why Jillian?
“I’m going to pass this test,” she says, clutching her textbooks to her chest, as if all the wisdom in there will transfer into her. “I need a seventy in this class. And I’m going to get it, thanks to you.”
I give her a tight-lipped smile. It hits me, how important numbers are to everybody. Jillian needs a seventy. I lost my own virginity at age thirteen. I slept with fourteen guys. Charlie wants to celebrate two years with Angela. The Bad Actor deserved less than zero.
But the only number that’s important to me right now is seven.
Seven is perfect.
Charlie beats me home. He’s sitting on the porch, with his backpack at his feet, smoking a cigarette. I’m not surprised that he got here first, since I’m fifteen minutes late. What’s disarming is the cigarette. Charlie is supposed to be adamantly against smoking, at least according to Angela. I wonder how many other secrets he is keeping from her.
“You don’t smoke,” I say as I unlock the door to let us in.
“I wanted to try it.” He stands up and hefts his bag over his shoulder.
“Well, you can’t bring it in the house,” I say. “Kim would have a conniption. She’s strictly anti-nicotine this week. You should have caught her in her chain-smoker phase.”
“Bummer,” Charlie says, snuffing out the cigarette with his shoe.
I lead him into the kitchen, wishing I could shut the door on him instead. I don’t want him in my house. But I have no reason to keep him out.
“Where’s your mom?” he says.
“No idea. Probably Pilates. Or maybe the bar.” I laugh bitterly and pour a glass of water. “Want anything to drink?”
He looks at his wrist, even though he’s not wearing a watch. “Well, it must be five o’clock by now. And that means the bar’s open.”
“You want an actual drink? Now?” I cross my arms. This isn’t like Charlie at all.
He shrugs. “Why not now?”
I lean over the counter on my forearms. “I thought you wanted me to help you with something you’re making Angela.”
He leans in closer. “I do. But I was hoping to be inspired before I got started.”
I look at his face. He appears earnest enough, with the corners of his lips curling into a small smile. Whatever he’s planning, he’s nervous about it, and I guess alcohol does take the edge off.
And even though I want no part of his plan anymore, it’s too late to go back.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say. But Charlie reaches behind me, shoves my knee out of the way with his, and opens the cabinet where Kim keeps her liquor stash.
“Don’t be so uptight,” he says, grabbing a bottle of something amber colored.
“How did you know where to find that?” I say as he opens the cupboard where our glassware is stored. It’s unnerving exactly how well Charlie knows his way around this kitchen.
“Your mom’s pretty cool. Some moms offer you lemonade after you do their yard work. Yours offers me a long island iced tea.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine,” I say. “But let’s go upstairs.” As strange as Charlie raiding Kim’s liquor cabinet is, it would be far worse to have Kim come home and find Charlie in the kitchen. She would undoubtedly suck him into a stupid conversation and likely pepper it with sexual innuendos. Charlie’s eighteen—fully legal—so I’m sure Kim has hit on him at least once.
“You’re the boss,” he says as we walk up the stairs. I walk quicker than usual. I know that my skirt is short and I don’t want to know if Charlie can see up it.
When we’re in my room, I sit cross-legged in my desk chair to avoid the awkwardness that ensued when we both sat on the bed last time.
“Why do you hate your mom?” Charlie says, unscrewing the lid and taking a swig straight from the bottle.
“Excuse me?” I say, taken aback by his bluntness.
“You just seem to really hate her,” he says, sitting on the edge of my duvet. “She’s really pretty cool, for a mom.”
“No offense, but I’d rather not talk about Kim,” I say, gripping the armrests of my chair. “We’re here to talk about you and Angela.” I resist the urge to add,
And you know absolutely nothing about our fucked-up family situation, so don’t pretend you do.
“She just wants you to be happy,” he says, raising the bottle to his lips again. “She wants you to find a boyfriend.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Kim told you that? Why would she talk about that with you?”
He shrugs. “We talk about a lot of things. She says you haven’t found anyone special yet. She told me she gets her hopes up whenever someone new comes over.”
I stare at my fingers, clamped on the armrests. I’m gripping them so tightly that my knuckles are turning white. I knew Kim was a terrible parent, but I didn’t think she would stoop as low as discussing my love life with my best friend’s boyfriend. I guess I was wrong.
“She’s full of shit,” I say through gritted teeth. “If someone new comes over, it’s one of hers.”
Charlie holds one hand up in a gesture of surrender. “Whoa, chill out. I didn’t mean anything. Don’t shoot the messenger.”
I relax my grip and force my mouth into a smile. “Well, enough about Kim’s stupid fantasies. Now, let’s get to whatever you’re planning for Angela.”
“We are getting to it,” he says. “It’s kind of a big deal.”
“I’m sure she will love it, whatever it is,” I say. “Just don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Don’t stress out. I’m sure it’ll be something she will never forget.” I’m saying the words but not really meaning them.
Charlie does another shot of rum and shakes his head. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
He puts the bottle on the floor and stretches his arms over his head. His neck makes a cracking sound. “You’d never guess it, but I know it’s true.”
I pull my knees against my chest. “I think you’ve had enough to drink, Charlie. I don’t even know what you’re saying. I get that you’re nervous about … whatever it is you’re nervous about, but you’re not going to find any answers at the bottom of that bottle.”
He nods like I have just said something incredibly profound. Then he stands up and does a lap around my bed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. No more rum for Charlie.”
I glance at the clock on my nightstand. It’s almost five. Zach is coming at seven. I wish I would have told him to come earlier. I suddenly want any excuse to get rid of Charlie. Not to mention, the way he is referring to himself in the third person is creeping me out.
“So, Miss Mercy, where do I find the answers?” He throws his arms into an exaggerated shrug.
“In here,” I say, half-sarcastically, pointing to my heart. I expect him to laugh, to call me out on being a smart-ass. Anything except what he actually does.
He tries to kiss me.
He’s in my face so quickly that I don’t have time to move out of his way. I turn my head just in time so that his lips make contact with my cheek instead of my mouth. The smell of the rum on his breath makes my stomach lurch, and I use my hands to push him backwards. Except my swivel chair catches on something on the carpet and gets stuck, giving him another chance to push himself onto me. This time I almost flip out of the chair in my attempt to stave him off.
“Charlie, what the fuck are you doing?”
He’s breathing heavy and starts to laugh, which makes me even more confused and pissed off. I should have insisted we meet at school. This never would have happened there.
“Don’t fight it,” he says, coming closer. “There’s this thing between us. It’s just getting stronger.”
“What thing? There’s nothing here besides a mutual love for Angela.” I get out of my chair and point at the door. “I think you should go. You’re drunk.”
“Angela.” Charlie rubs his hand against his chin, like he’s thinking deeply. “Angela wants so much. Angela wants to wait until we’re married. And apparently Angela’s best friend Mercy thinks it’s important to be sure.” He glares at me, and I realize he knows I talked to Angela.
He knows, and he’s pissed.
“You can’t just change her mind,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “And you shouldn’t want to. She’s your girlfriend. You’re supposed to respect her. And if you leave now, I won’t tell her about any of this.” I hope he doesn’t realize that this is a complete lie. I absolutely intend to tell Angela everything about what just happened the second Charlie finally gets out of my bedroom.
He mock gasps. “If I leave now? Are you threatening me?”
I nod. “If you want to take it as a threat, be my guest. But get out now. Before I throw you out myself.”
“You won’t do that,” he says. “There’s something you need to do for me first.”
“And what might that be?”
He sits down on my bed and pats the empty space next to him. “I want you to give me my first time. From what I hear, you’re good at it.”
Of all the things I thought Charlie might say—that he was drunk, that he was nervous, that he was sorry for scaring me—
that
wasn’t one of them. My throat constricts, like my heart has leapt into it and blocked the air supply from the rest of my body. I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears, loud and panicked, like a fire alarm going off inside of me.
But I don’t give Charlie the satisfaction of my panic. I go with my first instinct instead—playing dumb to find out how much he really knows.
“I’m not sleeping with you, Charlie. I don’t know where you got that idea, but get it out of your head.”
He stretches his legs out and pats the comforter. “So this is where the magic happens. I have to say, when I heard about what you do, I didn’t believe it. But I found out for myself.” He grins, a maniacal smile that makes me feel like I’m going to be sick.
“What do you mean, found out for yourself?” I fall into my swivel chair because I’m afraid my legs might give out at any second.
“Well, you don’t just take these things at face value. Rumors are rumors. And locker-room talk is, well, locker-room talk. But I overheard Connor Reid in there one day, telling a couple dudes how he finally banged his girlfriend. With your help.”
I cross my arms in front of my chest, fighting off a fresh wave of panic. Connor Reid, number four, aka the Screamer. Except when I slept with him, he didn’t play soccer. He played baseball, so I thought he was safe. Exactly how long has Charlie known about me?
I stare icily. “So what? So some guy has a fantasy about me. Big deal.”
Charlie shakes his head. He’s still smiling, that shit-eating grin. “That’s what I thought, too. But I had some questions, so I followed up. Turns out, you have a huge following, and not just in one social circle, either. I figured
that
many people couldn’t all be liars. So I did my homework.”