Perfectly Messy (23 page)

I groan as I slide into the driver’s seat.

He’s going to kill me.

***

“Dad, Mom—as we said, they are fake. We wanted you to hear about it from us,” Lucy says, resting her hand on her dad’s arm. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Mr. Zwindler’s face is Jim Gaffigan pale. I shift in my chair, filling his silence with an awkward creak.

“Well…” Her mom takes a deep breath but doesn’t finish her sentence. Finally, she puts up her palms. “I have no grounds to stand on here. I lost my virginity when I was fifteen.”

“MOM!” Lucy barks and I bite the inside of my cheek as my own face heats. “Why would you tell us that?”

“It’s true.” She sips her tea. “I was
experienced
.”

“I’m not
experienced
, Mom.”

“I’m not saying that. I was misguided. Wandering, you know? I had it all wrong.”

“Sarah, is this really the time to share this?” Mr. Zwindler says, his tone clear.

“Yes, why not? I want them to know my past. This one time…”

“Sarah.” Mr. Zwindler’s eyes bulge as he interrupts.

“Okay. I’m only saying that knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t advise my previous actions.”

Lucy locks her fingers. “Mom. I really don’t want to talk about this right now. Not in front of Justin. Please.”

“Do not tell me what I can or can’t share.” The edge of her voice has me biting my tongue until the taste of iron seeps into my saliva.
Whoa.
So that’s the tone Lucy’s been talking about. She continues, “Even if you feel ready, you aren’t. Not yet.” Mrs. Zwindler’s eyes meet mine and I nod, legitimately terrified. “You just… everything gets too serious, too fast. Trust me.”

“Mom, the photos are fake though. We aren’t doing that.”

Mr. Zwindler shuts the laptop in front of him. “I’m sorry. I just…you have to understand, even if these are fake, being alone in a bedroom at a party isn’t appropriate.” He looks at me and it takes all of my strength to meet his eyes. “You went way too far.”

“I understand, Mr. Zwindler. That situation won’t happen again.”

Her mom snorts through a laugh. “Everyone at this table knows that’s an absurd promise.”

“No, Mom. We aren’t going to put ourselves in that situation again.”

“Right…”

“Mr. and Mrs. Zwindler, the photos are fake. Please know that. Doing stuff like that isn’t in our plans.”

“Right now,” her mom adds, making everything uncomfortable all over again, because she’s right. I mean, sex does matter to me, but I want to wait and do it the right way. Not risk hurting Lucy in anyway. My dick can survive solitude if it means I protect her heart.

Lucy covers her face again while her dad coughs. “What do your parents think?” Mr. Zwindler changes the subject. Thank goodness.

“They believe they are real.”

“We should probably speak with them about this. Do you mind giving me their number? I’d like to arrange a time where we can all get together to chat.”

I enter my code into my phone and find Dad’s contact info. “There you go.” Mr. Zwindler’s phone buzzes on the counter behind him with the text.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Mom, Dad, do you believe us? That they are fake?”

Mr. Zwindler rubs his forehead. “I want more than anything to believe they are. But I don’t know what to believe right now.”

Her mom throws up her hands. “Again. No grounds for me to stand on here. The thing I’m curious about is who took this photo and why are they trying to ruin your lives?”

Mr. Zwindler clenches his fist. “You’re right, Sarah. Whether these are fake or not, it’s wrong the photo was taken. More could be coming.”

The color drains from Lucy’s face. “We won’t be in that situation again, Dad.”

“If these really are fake, they could edit anything together to destroy your reputations.”

“So you agree they are Photoshopped?” Lucy asks.

He shakes his head. “I’m not passing judgment on that yet. But we need to talk with Justin’s parents. Soon.”

I pull open my Google calendar on my phone and glance through Dad’s meetings. “My father has an opening Wednesday night at six,” I offer. “I’ll write you in.”

“Are you sure that won’t be imposing?”

“He lives on a schedule. It’s usually booked up months in advance.”

“Is it always like that?” Mrs. Zwindler asks and I have the urge to squirm. For the first time, I’m realizing how abnormal it is. “Yeah,” I say as I try to control the flush of my face. Labels fill his calendar, occasionally an orange family label pops up. But even then, those set aside times have been infringed upon a lot lately.

Mrs. Zwindler smiles and squeezes my hand. “I think Wednesday night will work great for us.”

“Please invite them over for dinner. I’ll make something good.” Mr. Zwindler. “Not exactly how I imagined meeting your parents,” he says. “But I like you, Justin. I do. So right now, I’m trusting you.”

“Thank you.” We shake hands. “I appreciate your confidence in me.”

He smiles as he takes my glass. I shift in place, hating the truth that Mr. Zwindler trusts me more than my own dad. Mrs. Zwindler pats my arm. I want to bolt but I don’t. They’ve got to know that something’s up with me and my dad. What are they going to think about my parents? Mrs. Zwindler pats my hand again as Mr. Zwindler says, “Things will change with your parents, Justin. If they are anything like you, they’ll come around.”

“Thanks,” I say before excusing myself to the restroom. Grasping the sink, my breath slowly fills my lungs with a spiraling, gray feeling. My parents were always solid to me. Lucy’s parents were the ones I worried about, especially her mom. Her bluntness and her brash approach to life, unhindered by what others think, is so different than the politically correct nature my parents face the world with. It’s refreshing. It’s real. I love it.

I had been worried Mom and Dad wouldn’t like Mrs. Zwindler. My reflection glares back at me, trying to kill the conceit I never knew I had. I hate myself for fearing Mrs. Zwindler would embarrass herself. No… embarrass me. How critical of me. How cruel. At least she’s real. Can I say the same about my parents right now? No.

My fingers grasp my hair, but I refuse to pull. No balding for me.

The spiral of gray doesn’t let up though. Now, all I want is for Lucy’s parents to care about my own. Please don’t let my parents mess this up and play it fake. The Zwindlers will see right through it.

Okay, time to get back into the kitchen. If I stay longer, they’ll think I’m crapping and I really don’t need that right now. I flush the toilet and wash my hands. This could go horrible on Wednesday. I replicate Dad’s political game face, feigning confidence in myself as the gray spiral engulfs my lungs. I won’t let this go bad. Lucy means too much to me. I’ll find a way to make this work.

Lucy

This shouldn’t be so terrifying. It’s not like I have anything to apologize for. I tug at my sleeve, watching Marissa pass the front window of the coffee shop. The bell rings as she opens the door and glances at me. Her face is straight, solemn.

I wave back as she heads over to the counter to order something.

Everything in me screams for escape. Why would I listen to her after everything she put me through? But after that hour crying together in the janitor’s closet and her direct approach to get me back on that basketball court, everything nags at me that I need to talk with her, get to the bottom of what she’s trying to tell me with her eyes every time we pass in the hall.

Marissa smiles as she slides into the booth across from me. The strum of Ian’s guitar and his pure tone fills the air.

“Wow,” Marissa says. “He’s good.”

“Yeah, his name is Ian. He’s cool.”

“Right,” she says as she turns back toward me. I wait for the assessment of his hotness or something more, but it doesn’t come.

“So…” she sighs. “I don’t really know how to ask this… it’s embarrassing.”

“Yeah?”

“Were you the one who brought me home? On New Year’s?”

“I was.” I take a sip from my Earl Grey Tea.

“Good. I mean, it’s not good that you had to drag me home. But I’m thankful it was you and not someone else. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” My eyes are stuck on her face, like she’s some freak animal exhibit at a zoo.
Who are you?

“Can I ask you another weird question?”

“You don’t need to ask permission, Marissa. That’s why I’m here.”

“I know. I’m just trying to be different than before.”

Her response twists around everything I know about her. “Oh, well…” My gosh. What do I say to that? “I appreciate that…” She smiles lightly and something in me eases. Maybe Marissa
has
changed. “So, what’s on your mind?”

“Can you tell me why?” She leans in, eyes intense. “Why you helped me when you had every reason in the world to leave me or exploit me?”

The plastic of the booth squeaks as I shift. Whoa. That was not a question I was prepared for. “I don’t know. I knew there was no way I could leave you like that. It wasn’t fair.”

“But it would have been fair. I was horrid to you. Wouldn’t it have felt good to leave me there?”

“Maybe?” I shake my head. Would it? No, the guilt of leaving someone in need like that would have eaten me raw. “No. Honestly, it wouldn’t have. There’s no way I could leave you like that. No one deserves that.”

“Even when I asked for it?”

My eyebrows peak. “You asked for those guys to take you to a room and take topless photos of you?”

“No, but I do remember feeling like it was fun.”

“Was it?”

Her face pales. “No. It was horrid.” She rubs her eyes. “I’m really messed up, Lucy.”

Yeah. Totally.

“I’m sorry for trying to rule you. For manipulating you. For being jealous about Zach and stepping in, creating drama for fun.” Her eyes drop from mine. “I’m a bad person.”

An electric current slides over my skin as I respond, as I have no idea what I’m about to say. “You’re not. You wouldn’t be here if you were.”

“I want to change, Lucy. I do. I just don’t know how. I’m stuck at school. Everyone has already determined who I am. It’s just easier to be that way than change.”

“Easier paths are usually the wrong ones,” I say, thinking about all of the foolish, hurtful battles I’d had with Mom. “I’ve taken that road way too many times. It doesn’t work out.”

“Was putting up with me as a friend an easier path?”

“Easier than being myself? Definitely.”

“I’m sorry.” She reaches out and touches my hand. “I want to change.” Her voice is steady and soft, so different then her usual upbeat and pushy tone. If this is the real Marissa, it’d be damaging if I rejected her. She’d retreat forever. I know how much strength it takes to step out and be real for the first time.

A deep breath steadies me as I say the words I never thought I could. “You’re forgiven.”

“Thank you.” She taps the table. “So, how do I change?”

Impressive. She’s ready to move on. “I have no idea. Pretty sure that comes from within.”

“Yeah. That’s the hard part. There’s not much in there.”

“Yes there is. Trust me, I felt the same way about myself. There’s way more to you than you know.”

“Thanks,” Marissa says lightly. “So, how’s everything going for you after the photos? Is your mom freaking out?”

“Not really. I think she believes me.”

“Seriously?” Her tone drifts toward her dramatic side. Her facial expression shifts. “Sorry, bad habit. Trying to change my impulses, I swear.”

“Yeah. My mom and I communicate much better now,” I add. “She’s still…”

“Different?”

“Right. But I appreciate it now. She’s there, that’s what counts.”

“Yeah…” Marissa gets a spacey look. Is she picturing her own mom passed out on the couch? She shakes her head clear. “So what’s next?”

“My parents are meeting with Justin’s tonight to discuss the situation.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“You have no idea. I’ve been trying to picture our parents sitting together for a long time. It’s got this peasant family versus royalty feeling. Not that his parents make me feel that way about my family, it’s just our parents are so different.” My phone buzzes, Justin’s call. I let it pass, not wanting to be rude. Then it buzzes again, with a text.

“Feel free to read and answer. No big deal,” Marissa says, pulling out her own phone.

“Thanks.” I glance at the text and my heart plummets.

Justin: There are new photos out. Give me a call when you can.

New photos? How? From where? When?… We haven’t had a moment alone together since all of this shook out. And of all days, tonight? Our parents are supposed to meet.

“What’s wrong?” Marissa asks.

“New photos,” I say as I click on Justin’s name.

“I’m on it,” Marissa says, pulling open her browser.

Justin answers before the first ring finishes. “Lucy, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why this is happening. Did you see the photos?”

“No,” I glance at Marissa’s fingers flying over her phone, tracking down the photos through her expertly navigated gossip sites, “but I will soon.”

“I’m so sorry, Lucy.”