Of All the Stupid Things (27 page)

I close my eyes and cover my head. I crumple to the ground until I’m compressed as much as possible. My forehead presses against my biceps while my forearms curl over the top of my head.

I’m suddenly very sure that whoever was with Brent that day in the gym, it wasn’t Whitney Blaire. I don’t even know how I let myself think she was sleeping with Brent. Maybe I let myself blame her because it was the easy thing to do. Easier to think it was her than to accept the truth about Brent.

“Oh, God. Whitney Blaire,” I say, or maybe just think.

A hand rests between my shoulders. Riley places her other hand around my legs. “I’m sorry. I should have never accused her. It was a really stupid thing to do. I’m so sorry.”

I don’t say anything. I want to stay in my little cave and never come out. But I’m vaguely aware that I’m still in school, crouched against the lockers, where I can still be seen.

“I never meant to hurt you,” Riley whispers and tightens her hold. Slowly, I unfold just a bit. Just enough to lower a hand and pick up Riley’s. It’s dry, but still as strong as it was when we first met. I run my thumb over her fingers, feeling the calluses of her grip.

A little more clearly, I start hearing people walking by and inquiring what’s wrong and Riley trying to convince them that I just need to be left alone. Gathering myself up, I get back to my feet. Riley keeps apologizing as she leads me away to a refuge. I keep my eyes shut, but by its location I know that she takes me to the same bathroom where I heard the initial bad news about Brent.

It takes a few more minutes before I get myself together and open my eyes. Riley’s tanned face is white with worry and guilt. I take her hand again and hold it to my face. It feels real. But what if the relationship is fake as well? “I’m sorry,” Riley repeats.

I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it. I have to believe it is real. Or at least could be.

“Do you think you’ll ever tell your parents about me, about us?”

Riley closes her eyes as she brushes her lips over the part of her hand I kissed. Taking a deep breath, she looks up at me. “Yes, I think I need to. They should know I’m in love. But only if there’s still something between us left to tell.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” I reassure her. “But I don’t want to lose Whitney Blaire either.”

Our hands still interlocked, she now kisses my hand. “There’s no reason why you should. Not from me, at least.”

Riley stands on her toes to kiss me.

I let out a big breath. I don’t blame Riley for letting me think Whitney Blaire was in the car with Brent. I blame myself for not realizing that as much as Whitney Blaire flirts, she’s never been a boyfriend stealer.

She always reminded me how lucky I was when I started dating Brent. I did wonder why she hadn’t gone for him herself, but she said he wasn’t right for her. Now I wonder if that was her way of saying she was scared of rejection, and maybe even intimacy. Not going for him and still thinking she could have a chance with him would be better in Whitney Blaire’s mind than knowing she didn’t have any chance at all.

I remember one time when the three of us were at my house and for some reason Pinkie wasn’t there. Brent offered Whitney Blaire a ride home, but she turned him down, saying she wanted to walk. Whitney Blaire hates walking. Only now do I see what she was doing. Or rather wasn’t doing. Resisting temptation. And being loyal.

Oh
,
Tara
, says the little voice in my head.
You screwed up big-time and now it might be too late
. I agree with the voice. Whitney Blaire doesn’t forgive and forget very easily. I know she acts tough and self-assured to hide her insecurity. And loneliness.

I need to talk to Pinkie. I owe her an apology as well for pushing her aside. I know she’ll forgive me. Then maybe she’ll help me work on Whitney Blaire. I have to try.

Whitney Blaire

I DON’T SEND DAVID A TEXT UNTIL MONDAY AFTER school. I managed to avoid him throughout the day; I just didn’t know what to say. Finally I settle for a simple
SORRY
.

Instantly he replies:
I NEED
2
C U
.
WE NEED
2
TALK
.

I walk the length of my room and back again. I don’t really want to see him or talk to him, but I see his point.
OK
, I reply.

I shower for the second time that day and change my clothes. As I blow-dry my hair I wonder if I should make a big effort and dress to kill, but then think that would be cruel. A little makeup, my favorite worn jeans, boots, and a blue top that Pierre once said brought out my eyes. Just the act of getting ready perks me up a bit, even though I’m not looking forward to what David has to say. With a deep breath, I head out.

We meet at a café that’s between our houses. He’s already there with his arms crossed. He doesn’t hug me. I nod and dump my coat over the chair. He starts to get up, but I wave him away and order the mochas myself: one regular, one skinny with whip. I bring them to the table and use a wooden stick to swirl the chocolate on the whipped cream. David takes a sip of his and then finally speaks.

“Whitney, at the party—”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” I interrupt. “Look, it just happened and that was that.”

David doesn’t let it go. “But if there are, um, complications, I—”

I don’t know what he’s talking about but I guess it has to do with me being out “sick” for a week. “I’m fine. Honestly.”

I flash him a smile and hope he doesn’t realize it’s a fake.

He sits there staring at his drink while I pretend all’s well.

“What’s going to happen between us?” he asks his drink.

I prepare a surprised look, which he doesn’t see. The look then changes to a frown that wasn’t prepared. “What do you mean?”

He looks up now, half annoyed, half I don’t know what. Confused maybe. “Well, I kind of thought, that you know, after what happened, we’d be a couple. So are we, or not?”

I twirl the wooden stick around in my drink.

David continues. “You’ve been playing me for years, and that was okay because I thought that maybe, someday, something would happen. And then it did. But then you turned all moody bitch on me. I thought maybe it was because…but I guess not. So now, now I don’t know where I stand.”

David picks up a sugar packet and shakes it so that all the grains fall to the bottom. I know it’s my turn to talk, but I don’t know what to say. I can’t wave it away with a pretend laugh like I might have done another time.

I sigh. “You need someone better than me, David.” Now I’m the one speaking to my drink. “You said so yourself. I’m a moody bitch. I’m…I don’t know. Ask my mother. Scared of commitment or whatever. You deserve someone else.”

“I know,” he says. I snap up to stare at him. Although I meant was I said, I didn’t expect him to agree with me. “But I can’t. I—”

I cut him off. “Don’t say it.”

David bends his sugar packet one way and another. “Don’t you like me even a little?”

I take the time to really study him. His hair isn’t spiked today, but the haircut still looks okay. He doesn’t wear glasses so his eyes are fine. There’s a pimple on his chin, but at least it’s not gross looking. His teeth are decent. Put together, though, there’s just nothing special about him. On there other hand, there isn’t anything actually wrong with him either. He’s a nice guy. But maybe that’s the problem.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“You were all over me at the party,” he mumbles hopefully.

“I was drunk,” I answer back, but not as defensive as I might have.

It’s a few minutes before David speaks again. “So this is it.”

I drain the last of my drink and scrape the side of the glass for any last trace.

Two guys from school walk in. The black guy is in one of my classes and I’ve always thought he was hot, though I’ve never talked to him. His friend is pretty cute too, but a bit short. Our eyes meet for a second as they walk by. I look back at my glass, which is still empty, and finally turn back to David.

“I think we should go back to how things used to be and take it from there.”

He stops playing with the sugar packet, which is just about to tear in the middle. “So what does that mean?”

“It means we’re friends,” I say, and then before I can change my mind, I add, “But with the chance that something more might happen.”

Pinkie

SOMEONE IS KNOCKING ON MY BEDROOM DOOR.

“Come in, Angela,” I say since she’s already been in three times. She doesn’t believe that Nash hasn’t called at all in the last ten days and certainly doesn’t believe that I don’t have his number. Which is fair enough. I only deleted it from my phone. I know I have the number somewhere else. In fact, I’m sure I could remember it if I tried, but I don’t tell her that. I try not to tell myself that either.

I look up from my homework. It’s Daddy instead.

“What’s that you’re doing?” He looks over my shoulder. “Trigonometry? You shouldn’t worry about that.”

I close the textbook. “Mrs. Bensche hinted that she’s going to give us a pop quiz on Monday. I just want to be sure I’m ready.”

“It’s Tuesday, Mousie,” Daddy reminds me. “And you have a four-day weekend coming up. You study too hard. You know, I wouldn’t mind seeing you have some fun now and then. Go on a few dates—of course, after we give him a full criminal background check.”

“Daddy.” I roll my eyes and then wait. I can tell he isn’t in my room to chat about my lack of a social life.

Daddy sighs and sits on my bed. “So, Mousie, you know I’m going to Seattle on a business trip first thing Friday morning right?”

“Of course. Barbara’s been planning a girls’ weekend with Nana, Angela, and me. I heard her talking about egg-yolk masks and mayonnaise conditioner.”

Daddy makes a face. “My poor mama, now she’ll never go back home. Thank goodness I’ll be out of the way.”

I grin. Daddy always pretends that he can’t stand living with three girls, but I know he loves it. I once caught him watching a girly teen film when he thought we were all asleep. He claimed that he wanted to know how teenagers tick. Which, as far as I’m concerned, shouldn’t even apply, because as far as Daddy knows, I’ve never done anything rebellious in my life.

Daddy’s smile leaves his face. “But anyway, I just found out that I’ll be gone for more than just the weekend. They want me to go to Tokyo for a week afterward and then give a presentation in New York before coming back home. So I’ll be gone about fifteen days.”

I don’t need to look at a calendar to understand what he isn’t saying. I set my reading glasses on the desk and sit down next to him on the bed.

“But Daddy, you can’t. You have to be here. You’ll have to tell them you have a prior family commitment. You’ll miss Mama’s…I mean, we have to go to…”

“Sweetheart, this trip is very important. I can’t back out of it.”

I push some stuffed animals out of my way. “There has to be something you can do, even if you have to pretend you’re dreadfully ill. Or what about your passport? I’m sure it’s expired.”