Of All the Stupid Things (22 page)

“Gator, it’s a chance for everyone who’s anyone to hear how great you are. You should be paying me for promoting you. You know, like an agent.”

Gator doesn’t say anything.

I sigh. Never mind profits, it’s time for negotiation. “All right, forget the commission. You just round up your boys and be at my house at, say, nine o’clock?”

“You’ll have food?”

“Loads.”

“Okay, I guess so.”

“Great.” I give him my address and hang up. I look again at the people I have in my phone, starting from the top. Adora. I think I did a science project with her a couple years ago. Was she the punk goth or the didn’t-shave-under-her-arms hippie? Doesn’t matter.

“Hello, you have reached Adora’s answering device. Imagine yourself free from the conflicts of the world as you leave a message. Enter a new realm of serenity for—”

I hang up and go to the next person. Andre. He’s been a bit weird lately. I think he thinks I spread his fake Brent rumor, which I didn’t at all since he told me not to. Now I wish what he had told me had really been true. Would serve Tara right. “Andre, Whitney Blaire. There’s a party tonight at my house. Everyone is bringing some food. How ’bout you show up with a pizza?”

Gator’s band sucks, but no one seems to care. The party’s going full swing as I walk around. People are laughing and dancing, drinking and having a regular grand old time. Good, good for them. Me too.

I picked the lock of Mother’s liquor cabinet earlier and poured myself a gin and tonic like I’d seen her do so many times.

It tasted like rubbing alcohol. I drained the first cup and filled it up again, this time adding some maraschino liqueur to it.

I made sure the cabinet locked once I closed it. No sense in letting my whole high school into my parents’ good stuff.

Now I’m nursing the second cup. Two gin and tonics and I’m having a ball, a real ball.

“Whitney.” David comes up to me holding half a beer and drapes his arm on my shoulder. “This is some party. Did I tell you how great you look?”

I smile. Let him say it however many times he wants. I know it’s true. Low-cut shirt and short skirt work wonders. Nice of him to notice, though. I smile some more, giving him the once-over. He’s taller than I remember, about an inch taller than me in heels. And he’s finally gotten a cool haircut. He has it all gelled and spiked. There’s even some stubble on his chin, making him look older. It looks good. He looks good. Damn good.

“So you really think I look great?” I circle my arms around his neck. My fingers trace around his shirt collar.

“Hell yeah!”

“Yeah?” I slide up against him. I tilt my head to the side and look up at him.

He presses against me as he reaches behind me to set the beer down. His arms go around my waist. “Yeah.”

I pull him closer. I smell soap and aftershave on his neck as I kiss it. My mouth moves up to his. His arms tighten around me. My fingers dig into his hair. Damn. The boy can kiss!

I run my hands down his chest. There’s definitely a nice body under there. A bit scrawny, but there’s potential. His hands stay on my bare waist, not letting them wander. I smile in mid-kiss. I know he wants more. I can feel it against my leg.

I pull away slowly. Then I take one of his hands. I start leading him away from the kitchen. He follows. He doesn’t say anything. I head up the stairs.

David stops. “Whitney, I—”

I let go of his hand and turn to look at him. “What, you don’t want to?”

“Yeah, but—”

“So, come on then.” I continue up the stairs. I don’t look back to see if he’s coming. His loss if he doesn’t. I open my bedroom door and go in. A few seconds later I hear the door close. I don’t turn on the lamp; there’s enough light coming from the window. I can see the shape of him standing there in the middle of my room.

I grab his shirt and pull him toward me. I start kissing him again. My hands tug at his shirt until I pull it over his head. Then I take off mine. His hands suddenly go crazy. Like he’s trying to touch everything at once. I chuckle. You’d think he’d never felt up a girl before. Still, it’s kind of cute.

And it feels good. It’s great to be wanted.

His hands fumble with the bra strap. He can’t unhook it. He pulls and twists it but can’t undo it. He stops kissing me. Not good. I hear him swear. Then he tries to pull the bra over my chest. I sigh. I reach a hand around and undo it myself. He gets the straps off my shoulders and tosses the bra across the room.

I move him onto the bed. Our other clothes come off. David stops again.

“We can’t. I don’t have anything.”

I roll over to my night table. In the back of the drawer are some condoms I snagged from the school nurse’s office. I hand him one.

I keep kissing and touching him as he gets ready. I want this; he can’t have any more second thoughts. He doesn’t seem to. He’s pretty eager but doesn’t seem to know quite what to do. I take it in my hand and show him where it goes.

I wince slightly. Everyone says it hurts and it does, but not too bad. It’s not great, but it’s not bad.

It only takes David a few minutes, then he’s done. He lies down next to me, playing with my hair. “Wow. That was great. I love you.”

I look up at the ceiling. It’s good to have it over with. Through the canopy, I can see the spinning fan. The gin and tonics are wearing off. I hear the music from the party below. I’d forgotten all about it and all the people that are in my house. I don’t even think we locked the bedroom door.

“You okay?” David asks. “Was I all right?” He gets up on his elbow and looks at me. In the darkness I can see his silhouette, but I can’t really
see
him. I hope it’s the same for him.

“Yeah, sure. Perfect,” I say.

David starts kissing me again but I push him away.

“I’m going to take a shower. You go back and enjoy the party.” I wrap the sheets around me and move quickly to my bathroom on the other side of the room and lock the door.

Pinkie

I’M WAITING FOR ANGELA OUTSIDE A STORE WHEN I SEE a pair of Converse, a suit, and a messy brown head walking toward me.

“Nash!”

He looks up and a second later, he has me trapped in a big hug and is rocking me side to side. “Hey, sorry I had to cancel this week’s meeting. I’ve been working overtime.”

I smile at him. As long as he doesn’t kiss me, I can think straight. “But that’s good. Lets you save up money. When do you think you’ll have enough to get to Harvard?”

He runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up more than normal. “Hopefully, I can go in the fall. I should know by the end of the year if I’ll have enough saved up.”

The comment David made about him never having even applied runs through my head. “So you’re all enrolled and set up?”

Nash makes a sound that means yes. “Just as long as I get the finances sorted.”

“That’s really exciting.” I’m glad David was wrong. I didn’t like thinking that Nash was too insecure to even apply to college. “But then we’ll have to get someone else to run the Honor Society.”

“Ah.” Nash puts his arms around my waist. “But there’s still plenty of time. And who knows, maybe the following year you’ll be at Harvard too.”

My mind races. He’s talking about the future, our future! That must mean that we’re together, right? Now I just have to get into Harvard. My grades are decent but are they enough? Will I have what it takes to get in? What is it about me that would make my application stand out? I should start working on it now, even though it’s still a year away. I have to do everything I can to make it as perfect as possible.

A voice takes me away from my collegiate planning. “Nash!”

We break away. Bursting out of the store, there’s Angela. She runs to Nash and throws herself at him. Her legs wrap around his waist as he lifts her up in a hug.

“Look, Nash.” She holds up her arm when he sets her down. “I just got these bracelets for my birthday. I’m eleven now, you know.”

“No way,” he says. “I thought you were thirteen.”

Angela flips her hair over her shoulder, a trick I swear she learned from Whitney Blaire. “That’s because I’m in the gifted program in school. They’re even talking about me skipping sixth grade next year and going straight into junior high.”

“No, they’re not,” I say. Angela gives me a look that says I’m dead for tattling on her. For a second I feel guilty, but then I remember that I’m the older sister and Nash is
my
pseudo boyfriend, not hers.

But Angela is not about to give up so easily. “Well, they’re at least saying that I can take advance classes. I hope they let me take Latin. Do you speak Latin, Nash?”

Nash shakes his head, but keeps smiling. “Only a bit. I took Ancient Greek instead.”

Angela’s mouth drops.

“Angela, we need to go.” Part of me is amused by her behavior, but the other part remembers that in a few years she’ll be competition.

Angela frowns. “But I haven’t seen Nash in such a long time.”

Nash bends a bit to get to Angela’s height. “Tell you what. This week I can’t, but next weekend I’m completely free. We’ll do something then, the three of us.”

“Really?” Angela’s eyes light up.

“Sure, I’ll call your sister later and we’ll set something up.”

“Cool!” She gives him another hug and then a kiss on the cheek.

Nash straightens up and hugs me.

“You’re not really going to call, are you?” I ask softly.

Nash laughs. “Course I am. Don’t I always?”

“No,” I answer truthfully before realizing I’m being rude.

Nash shakes his head like I’m teasing him. “Sure I do, you silly girl.”

He kisses me quickly on the lips. The world doesn’t stop turning; my feet stay planted firmly on the ground. I don’t even think about our wedding.

Then he waves and walks away.

Angela sighs. “I think I’m in love.”

“Get over it,” I say in a tone that is more Whitney Blaire than me. “He’s never going to call.”

“But he promised,” Angela whines.

“Well, then keep your fingers crossed but don’t hold your breath,” I say as I unlock the car. I think about what he said. Unless there’s some other Pinkie he phones, he’s never called me. Which means he’s either delusional or he’s a liar. Which are both worse than being a phony. And neither of which is a quality I want in the person I’m dating.

I was happy enough for a while with secret kisses in an empty classroom, but now I want something real, someone who’s there for me when I need him. Someone who returns my calls. Or even calls initially. Someone who doesn’t lie. And for what Nash has proved, he’s a lousy boyfriend.

At the red light, I pull out my phone. Angela is in the backseat staring dreamily out the window. Before I can think about it a bit more and change my mind, I delete his number. If a miracle happens and he does give me a call, let him leave a message with his number on my phone.

Tara