******
Chapter 22
It’s Saturday, and I feel much better. My chest and throat hurt a little, but not bad enough that I can’t eat the homemade brownies Heather brought over last night. Mrs. Jones is an excellent baker, by the way—Heather should so be fat. Johnny calls from his phone, which was still in his locker—though our texts have been mysteriously erased. He and Dean come over after the game—even though I told Johnny I have no plans to leave my bed. So it’s really awkward with them standing in my room while I hide under the covers the whole time. Johnny got me a gorgeous plush carousel unicorn, buttercup yellow with a sparkly horn. He seems unfazed by my room, which I haven’t had time to un-crazy for his visit. Dean brings me cherry Jell-O, which is weird, but surprisingly thoughtful, considering my sore throat. It’s hard to eat it under the confines of my blanket, but I manage.
Oh, Leclare won over Easton High, thirty-two to fourteen.
That has Johnny in a great mood, and he tries to convince me to go to the dance with him before I head over to my dad’s. I stubbornly refuse, reminding him of Michelle’s party tonight. Of course, he immediately decides he should go with me. Though I’m really tempted to say yes so he doesn’t go to homecoming, I resist. He got crowned king last night, and it wouldn’t be right if he didn’t show up. I don’t ask who won queen, and he doesn’t volunteer the information.
I do homework at Dad’s until Michelle comes to get me. I remain super mopey
—even though she pampers me like a princess. She takes me to the mall to get a new phone, and now we’re eating huge ice cream sundaes in her newly renovated kitchen. The stainless steel counters are awesome.
“You have to go to that dance, Juliet,” Michelle declares, licking whipped cream off her thumb. “Screw my party—homecoming is an important rite of passage. God, that was a great night for me. I got so drunk, I threw up all over the back of Mrs. Dempsey’s head.”
I make a face at her. “That was a great night for you?”
“Well, yeah. That bitch gave me a D in Spanish.” She laughs, her gaze faraway as she reminisces. “I told her I was pregnant, not drunk, and she felt so sorry for me—she got me all these brochures on teen pregnancy, and available resources for teen mothers. I had to pretend I had a growing baby bump for the rest of the school year. Man, I was so trashy.”
She looks worriedly
down at her stomach, smoothing a hand over it. I can’t detect a change yet—maybe she’s a little thicker in the waist, but that could be because she ate half a Mexican restaurant for lunch, followed by these sundaes. Hell, I look a little pregnant, too—I was right there with her, burrito for burrito.
“There’s no way I’m blowing off your party,” I say firmly, pointing my spoon at her.
“I know how long you’ve waited for this to happen…I wanna be there to celebrate with you.”
Michelle’s face softens, blue eyes getting all sparkly. “I know you do, sweetie. But I don’t want you to miss out on celebrating with your friends, too. I know it’s been hard on you, going back and forth all these years
—cut yourself some slack. Besides, you aren’t gonna miss anything special. Unless you’re into watching me and my friends sing eighties hits karaoke all night.”
“Actually, that does sound like fun. Thanks to you, I’m all about the eighties.” I laugh, but it quickly turns into a sigh. “I don’t have a costume, anyway.”
“Mmph. What’s the theme?” she asks through a mouthful of Rocky Road.
“Zombie Apocalypse.”
“Oh, my god, that’s so easy! I can have you looking like a hot dead chick in fifteen minutes, no problem! Remember those pictures of me in my Goth phase?”
Oh, yeah. Uncle Derek keeps a couple in his wallet so he can take it out and laugh at her sometimes. “I don’t know,” I hedge, tapping my short nails on the counter. “Everyone’s gonna be talking about the
smoke bomb incident, and I really don’t feel like answering questions about what happened.”
I expect sympathy from my aunt, but she puts her spoon down with a bang, her expression exasperated and stern. “
Juliet Somers! Put your big girl panties on, and quit being so wishy-washy! Do you want to be with Johnny—yes or no?”
“It’s not that simple—” I begin heatedly.
“Yes, or no?!”
I blink. “Yes?
”
“Then quit angst-ing, and
do something about it now! Go to the dance, make up with him—but don’t have sex with him. Don’t even show him boob.”
“Michelle!” I shriek, grossed out.
“Seriously.” She giggles like pre-teen. “Never show the boobies until you’re married. ‘Cause if you do, they’ll, like, fall off. Or something just as bad.”
I roll my eyes at her.
“I love you, but you’re a freak.”
“Way to have respect for your elders.” She stares down at her half-eaten sundae, suddenly pale. “I need meat. Red meat.
Maybe beef jerky,” she mumbles contemplatively.
“Want me to get you some?” I offer, half-standing.
“No, I want you to go to the dance, and talk to your boyfriend.” She sighs. “I think he’s a controlling asshole, but…obviously he has his good points.”
“But what about Dad? He—”
“He’ll be fine. I’ll cover for you.”
Tiny
flowers of excitement begin to bloom in my chest. “Are you sure? Because I really don’t have to—”
Michelle holds her hand out like a traffic cop, haltin
g my sentence. “No, you really do. But if you miss my baby shower—then we’ll have words.”
Impulsively, I lean over to hug her. “You’re so awesome.”
“I
am
awesome. I’m going to make the world’s best mother, right? I’m awesome, and cool—and I have an endless amount of patience…”
Uncle Derek wanders into the kitchen, looking sweaty and harassed. “Hey, Chelle, I co
uldn’t find those color-changing candles anywhere. Do we really need them for tonight?”
Poor Uncle Derek.
It’s like watching that part of the horror movie where the demon takes over the girl’s body. Michelle’s face suddenly contorts into a snarl, teeth bared. I swear I see something evil pass through the blue depths of her eyes as she starts screeching at him in what can only be the language of tongues.
Uncle Derek flinches. He does the smartest thing he can in that situation: he makes a run for it.
I’m already halfway to the door myself.
“Where are you going?”
Michelle’s completely normal tone of voice stops me. I cautiously turn to face her, and find her face smooth, pretty, and slightly puzzled. “I was just going to see—uh, check on…I don’t know.”
“Well, I know.” Michelle beams, and hops clumsily off her stool. “We’re going to the mall, baby!”
Oh, great. She’s pregnant with a demon baby.
We find the cutest black dress at Darkly Eden, a weird little store that also sells wiccan candles and flavored lube. I desperately look away when Michelle holds up two bottles and frowns back and forth between passionate strawberry and kinky coconut lime, trying to decide between them.
Anyway, the dress is sexy and
short, held up by a spider web of straps, with a torn chiffon skirt. It’s not very apocalyptic, but I do feel kind of mysterious and witchy in it. I snatch up these adorable clomping back shoes that also have nothing to do with zombies, but they make me look tall and edgy, so I’ll take ‘em. I also buy crazy long spidery lashes, which Michelle assures me will look fantastically spooky if we line my eyes with black kohl. I debate whether I should get this cool electric blue wig to go with my outfit, but then I try it on, and—ick, I look really stupid. Maybe I should get it for Heather…I bet it would look hot on her. She could totally rock it at Alfredo’s party tonight.
Hm. Maybe it would help convince her to drop me off at the dance on her way to the party.
“I think you’re making a huge mistake.”
It’s hard to take Heather seriously when she’s wearing the blue wig I bought for her, and a strangely decorated spandex body suit. When I ask her what she’s supposed to be, she informs me that she’s a part of the female anatomy, and invites me to guess which part. I vigorously decline.
“I thought you like Johnny,” I say after a short pause to fix my droop
y spider eyelash. “His cheating ass, notwithstanding.”
“I do like Johnny. And I like you. I just don’t like the two of you together,” she clarifies, tugging at her body suit while she’s stopped at a red light.
“Why do you have to get back together with him? Dude, I think you’re just seriously horny for him.”
I try to roll my eyes, but the fake lashes make it so
weird. “I don’t know if I’m going to get back together with him. I want to talk about the possibility of trying again.”
Heather grimaces at that, but then she mutters, “God, this suit is giving me a serious wedgie.” She clears her throat and glances over at me. “Well, Jule, since you asked for my opinion—”
“I didn’t, actually.”
“—I’m going to give it you, straight up.
I think every relationship has, like, a shelf life—and your relationship with Johnny is about four months past its expiration date. He was good for you for a little while, but now it’s time to move on. Seriously, every girl needs a scorching hot romance—the kind that burns you up, and leaves you feeling hung over and all kinds of bitter. And with a weird puke-y taste in your mouth—like when you’re super drunk, and shit keeps coming up your throat? Anyway, it’s a good learning experience—but like all tattoos, it should be temporary, or you’ll end up regretting it at some point in your life.”
“Says the girl who’s never had a
real relationship in her life,” I point out, making sure she can hear the irritation in my voice. I don’t like being second-guessed, not when I’m having my own doubts. “And you’re too scared of needles to get a tattoo.”
She nods wisely. “Relationships are like needles.”
“I thought they were like tattoos?”
Heather waves a hand around. “Whatever. The point is—you’ve really been coming out of your shell, lately. Ever since you started hanging out with those guys. Nick, Mack, Ben…Dean.” She smirks when she says Dean’s name
—I can’t imagine why.
I give her a suspicious look. “
Yeah, they’re Johnny’s friends—and now they’re mine, too,” I say slowly, trying to subtly emphasize the word “friends.”
“You’ve been hanging out with them a lot.”
“Yup.”
By her raised eyebrows, and the way she’s looking at me instead of the road, I can tell she’s about to say something else I don’
t want to hear—like how I should date one of Johnny’s friends, or something stupid like that. So I invoke the one name I know will derail that train right in its tracks.
“I hear Sloane’s going to be at the dance,” I say casually. “You sure you don’t wanna come with?”
Heather’s entire body seems to vibrate at the mention of her crush’s name. “I can’t,” she says with a sigh. “Alfredo will burst a blood vessel if I don’t show up—Funzi’s flying in from Bogota. Damn, I bet Sloane would look hot as a dead girl. Take lots of pics for me, okay?”
“Um, sure. You know I’m all for unhealthy obsessions…but do we even know if she likes girls?”
“Mmm. She gave me the impression she could go either way. Like, I was making it obvious I was interested in her—and she was kinda encouraging it. Look away, Jule. I have a huge wedgie that I need to fix right now, and I don’t think you want to see this.”
I quickly face the window as Heather starts shifting in her seat
. “It sounds like she might be leading you on,” I say to my reflection.
“Maybe,” she replies cheerfully. “And maybe I’ll convince her
I’m utterly irresistible. You can turn around now.”
“You
are
utterly irresistible, Heather,” I say, turning to her with a grin.
“Aw, thanks, boo. I love you, too.” She makes a kissy face at me. “Too bad we’re not attracted to each other. We’d make a
n awesome couple.”
“I
wouldn’t be a good lesbian. I think I’d do better as a gay guy,” I muse, fingering one of my long poky eyelashes like I’m petting a cat.
“Okay,” Heather agrees, and scratches her wig. “Well, Cinderella, here we are. You look great.”
“Thanks, dear. Don’t wait up for me.” Nervous, I ran a hand down my skirt before opening the car door.
“I won’t. Go get your man.”
“I will go get my man,” I say with a confidence I don’t have. “I’ll text you later.”
Why am I so anx
ious? I know Johnny wants me back, I think I want him back—so why do I feel this…breathless uncertainty? Look at me, I’m shaking. I feel like—like a nerdy girl foolishly about to ask the most popular guy in school to prom. In front of an audience.