Those Girls (13 page)

“Join you… where?” She looked at him and then at me, confused as ever. I completely regretted agreeing to this, wasn’t
sure I even had yet, but I knew it was too late. I scanned the room for more booze, wondered if Lindsay had a stash of anything in one of the wicker drawers. Xanax, Valium, Percocet, heroin, anything. Did I have time to raid the bathroom? Would I get a buzz if I snorted enough Advil?

“We want to have a fucking threesome with you, okay?” I blurted out.

I stared at the white dollhouse at the foot of the bed. I used to have a dollhouse. I loved that dollhouse, played with it every day, dragged my mom to every store in the tristate area collecting all the little clothes and the little furniture and knickknacks. I accidentally kicked it and broke it doing On Demand Tae Bo.

“Are you kidding?” she asked.

Sam grinned. “No, we’re not. What do you think?”

Veronica held back a smile, which I thought was an odd reaction. I knew she’d die for a chance with Sam. I fucking knew it.

“Guys! I have a boyfriend! I can’t!” she said, with her hand on her hip, her wiry form swaying in the door frame. But she could, and she was going to. I could tell.

“Oh, come on,” said Sam. “Like you didn’t just watch him make out with your best friend? Like you and Mollie didn’t just kiss?”

Her face dropped a little. I stayed quiet.

“It’s not cheating, because it’s the three of us. It’s more a rowdy group activity, not, like, actual sex, which is between two people. This is just fun, silly drunkenness between friends.”

He ran the back of his hand down her arm; my skin crawled. I could have cried, but I swallowed it. I thought about the sacrifices people made for love, the desperate things people do to keep relationships together. There were swingers and fetishes and open marriages. People did weird shit to please their partners and keep things interesting all the time. If seeing me and Veronica together was what it was going to take to renew Sam’s lust for me, well, then that’s what I’d do. I guess. I convinced myself that this was badass. That this was the shit of models and rock stars. That I was about to be the coolest girlfriend ever. Sam would love me for this.

“Come on!” I said, knowing she’d need to see my enthusiasm for reassurance. “It’ll be a hilarious story to tell later. Well, way later. Like, after college later. Before that, this is our secret. We tell no one.”

V looked at Sam and looked at me, rolling her skinny ankles back and forth over her black platforms.

“Molls, you’re sure this won’t get weird? I’ve never done anything with another girl before.…”

I walked over to her and Sam, stomach in knots but mind made up. I looked him square in the eyes and kissed him, again. Then I kissed her, again—her lips still thin and wet, and tasting like cigarettes and coconut rum.

Sam pushed our heads together, took our hands, and led us to the bed. We sat. Then he leaned down and kissed her—my stomach turned, again. I didn’t know what to do now. I didn’t want to watch. I needed an activity. I undid his pants in an attempt to wedge myself between them, and it worked. He
stopped kissing her and sat between us. He lay down and put our hands on his chest. I just kept looking at him looking at her, wondering what he was thinking. Wondering if he wished I weren’t there, if he thought she was hotter than me, a better kisser, if he was thinking about how her boobs were bigger or her thighs were thinner. If he liked her better.

I kissed her again, trying to refocus this ordeal on that instead of them. He sat up and kissed my neck, while I kissed her. Then hers. Then mine. Our shirts came off, again, and I wondered what she was thinking. If she noticed I’d gained weight. If she felt satisfaction in knowing that she was hotter than me, thinner than me. If she was elated to finally get her shot at hooking up with Sam. If she thought this counted as that, because it didn’t. What was her motive in agreeing to do this in the first place? I wished I were drunker.

She kept looking at Sam and smiling. Never at me. Something felt so wrong. I almost got up and ran out, but then Sam looked at me and smiled—that same smile I got from the sidelines at lacrosse games, from when he opened a door and saw me standing on the other side, the one that was happy to see me, the one that was just for me—so I went in to kiss him more, so I could shut my eyes and pretend this wasn’t happening, that it was just the two of us, that this was fun, and that I was enjoying it. Veronica went right down and put his dick in her mouth. Of course she did. Stupid slut.

A
fter
Happy New Year!
all I saw was Drew and Veronica attached at the face. Like they were doing it out of spite, purposefully to illustrate to me and everyone else that they were together and Drew and I were not. I couldn’t process our kiss or Marc Seidman’s question—why he asked it, if he knew something I didn’t, if he, like everyone else, liked to joke about how we were
obsessed with each other
, or if he, as Drew’s other “best” friend, really knew something. Like how Mollie did, like how she had reasons and motivations behind her dare. Maybe he did, too?

But none of that really mattered. Here I was thinking about Drew and the kiss and the question and what it all meant and there he was thinking about Veronica and all the sex they were going to have. He laughed off the comment. Everyone did. So, so would I. Ha, ha. Drew and Alex, always hanging out. They’re so
obsessed
with each other. Ha, ha. Suuuuuch a funny old joke.

I snuck Fernando up to my room, briefly stopping at my mom’s party to wish her and all her friends a happy new year. She asked if I’d been drinking. I told her someone had brought
one bottle of champagne and we’d toasted at midnight. She, who had clearly also been drinking, made me promise that no one who drank would drive.
Obviously, Mom! How irresponsible do I look?

We made out on my bed for a while, and I couldn’t believe that I actually had a boy to make out with on New Year’s. This was so unlike me. I was never the girl with the boy. Drew was the only boy who’d ever been in my room.

“Sweet posters,” Fernando said of my wall full of concert posters. “We should go see some of these bands sometime,” he said between kisses.

“We should,” I said. I took a fistful of his thick hair. I continued to maul him, because I didn’t feel like talking.

We kissed for a while, and I went for his pants. Fuck it. Fuck it all, I thought.

“Hey, stop,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “I want to.”

“Alex,” he said, the inflection of the
exxx
on my name and the fact that he said my name all the time, like after he said anything:
Cool, Alex. Great practice, Alex. That’s an awesome T-shirt, Alex. You’re such an awesome, hip chick, and I love secretly making out with you, but I am still not asking you to be my girlfriend, Alex
was starting to get annoying. “You’re really drunk.”

And I was officially humiliated. Officially, no one would ever have any desire to have sex with me. I’d be the last virgin in the world.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he said, rubbing his eyes. I got off him and sat there, on my blue bed, legs straight before
me, my shoulders hunched in shame. “You’re just so drunk,” he said. “You’ll regret it.”

“What makes you think this is my first time?” I snapped back. I was starting to get the spins. I wanted to lie down, but I focused on my feet instead.

“I didn’t say that.…” He paused. “It’s just our first time, and I’d like you to remember it.”

I was such an asshole. I stared at my A Tribe Called Quest poster. I tried to think of one of their songs. Get it in my head, and let it relax me. But it didn’t work. Nothing would. What had just happened? Did I get rejected? Did I just offer my virginity to someone and he turned it down? Turned me down? This was not how it happened on TV. The girls were supposed to say no, not the boys. Of course, I’m a freak of nature. Of course, I’m that repulsive. I knew it. I’d always known it.

“Plus,” he added, “I’d rather not sleep with you the same night you’ve made out with another guy.”

“Oh, come on!” This night was just getting better and better. “It was Drew! It was a game!”

“Whatever,” he said, shaking his head. “We should probably go back downstairs.”

“Fine,” I said.

I stood up, and the room spun, Fernando spun, and what had just happened spun in my head, as did my emotions around and around between pissed, embarrassed, relieved, and confused. Fernando and I got to the top of the stairs to find my mom standing at the bottom, barefoot, arms folded, black eyes glaring at us.

We slowly descended with our heads bowed. I sent Fernando to the basement and stood on the second step, towering over my mother, who I was taller than anyway.

“What the hell are you doing with a boy in your room?” she screamed. It appeared her friends had gone.

“I was just showing him my posters, Mom. Calm down.” I stared at my bare feet.

“Do I look like I was born yesterday?” she asked.

“Mom, it’s not a big deal.”

She took my face in her hands, and I felt my stomach gurgle. “You are way too drunk, young lady. What the hell is going on down there?”

“Mom, chill. Nothing. Just my friends hanging out.”

I hiccupped. I knew what was next. I swallowed hard.

“Well, we are going downstairs together and kicking everyone out. It’s almost three
AM
. Party’s over.”

She grabbed my wrist, and the second I took one step, it was over. There it came. I swallowed the first wave, but another one was right behind it.

I threw up. On the first step. A little on her. Mostly on the step.

S
chool started on the second, and we spent the lunch period listening to Alex bitch about being grounded and laughing at her, because, seriously, who pukes on their mom? Fucking classic. Veronica’d been eerily quiet, not once interjecting her own projectile vomit story or mother gripe or whore antic, which was very unlike her. I wondered if Alex noticed that she was being weird and would be suspicious that something was up.

The thought that Alex could potentially find out about what happened on New Year’s made me want to rip my fucking throat out. I wondered if she’d be disgusted, jealous, feel left out even. As pathetic as it was, I knew that’s how I would feel if I found out that Veronica and Alex had had a threesome and I wasn’t invited. I almost felt like a traitor having done it with Veronica instead of Alex, not that she ever would have done it, but that’s really not the point.

I went over to Alex’s after school to spend some quality time with her before her mom got home and laid the smackdown on the grounding. One of my New Year’s resolutions: to
be a better friend. That, and to eat less. And to stop caring so much about what other people thought about me. We plopped down on her bed, and I thumbed through the pile of magazines on her nightstand.
People, SPIN, Rolling Stone, Vanity Fair, Cosmopolitan
—sweet,
Cosmo
.

“So you never really told me what happened with Fernando,” I said as I flipped to the “50 Things That Will Drive Him Crazy in Bed” article.

She sat cross-legged on her fluffy blue comforter, yanking the sleeves of her green sweater past her palms.

“I kind of want to kill myself,” she said.

“Oh god, that bad?” I sat up, leaving the magazine open to
#10: LOVE HIS ASSHOLE
.

“We were making out, and he basically told me he didn’t want to have sex with me.” She raised her eyebrows and stared at her tie-dyed socks.

“Like, ever? Is he saving himself for marriage or something?”

She laughed. “He said he didn’t want to sleep with me the same night I made out with someone else.”

I snorted a little bit in disbelief. Really? These fucking sensitive musician types. This is why I dated jocks. “That’s a joke, right?”

“I guess I understand.…” She trailed off, glaring at some poster on her wall—some rappers scowling, standing back-to-back with their arms crossed, exactly like how our moms used to make us pose together when we were little.

Alex’s room was pretty, pastel, just the way it was when she was seven, but now hiding under all sorts of chintzy crap like
band posters, dirty clothes, creepy pictures, and cryptic words cut out of magazines. I wished she’d just get it together and stop trying to cover everything up with all this angsty hipster crap, and just be the girl I knew with the best toys and funniest laugh in the baby-blue bedroom who stood back-to-back with me and smiled at the camera. When did we stop posing like that?

“That’s retarded. There has to be more to the story. Maybe he has an STD or something and doesn’t want to give it to you?”

“That’s mean,” she said.

I thought it was a valid statement. He did go to public school.

“I’ve met the kid twice. I don’t know. I’m just saying: that’s not normal. Guys don’t turn down opportunities to have sex. Ever. Trust me, I know.”

“Ugh.” She groaned. “This is so stupid. I’m going to be a virgin forever.”

“No, you won’t,” I said. Though, part of me wanted her to stay a virgin forever. Wanted her to stay pure and objective and nonthreatening, and to keep cheering from the bench, because once she was in the game, she’d officially no longer be on my side, but playing for herself. I needed to hold on to
someone
I could trust. Once she was out there, flirting—and, like, really flirting, not like Alex flirting, but flirting like she actually had an end game. Once she was really pulling from the same artillery Veronica and I’ve had at our disposals, it’d be over. Officially. It’d be every woman for herself.

“What happened at the ’Zu, after you guys left?”

A sharp chill ran down the back of my throat, but I swallowed it, as I’d gotten used to doing.

“Nothing,” I said. “Same shit, new year.”

“I can’t believe Veronica ditched Drew on New Year’s,” she said.

“I know. What a social-climbing whore.”

My eyes drifted back to the magazine.
#35: GET CREATIVE. BE SOMEONE ELSE FOR A NIGHT.

SAM PICKED ME UP
at Alex’s after basketball. He pulled into her driveway and honked the horn. I gave Alex a hug and told her to hang in there, that a month would go by, and in no time, she’d be back out there on the streets, at the parties, angsting away, wishing she were still grounded so she had an excuse to wallow in her room, with her notebooks and magazines and CD collection, where I knew she was secretly the happiest. She laughed and said that I was right, that she was actually relieved to have an excuse to hide out. I understood that impulse; I found myself a little jealous.

When I got into Sam’s car, he told me he wanted a burrito. The last thing I wanted was a fucking burrito. I asked him if we could get something healthier, maybe go to a real restaurant, but he said he’d been craving a burrito all day and that was what he wanted. I swallowed again. I was starving, so I wondered if I’d be able to just eat a few bites of a burrito and then throw it away. Probably not. I’d just get chips and salsa. Take a bite of his burrito. That’s what I’d do. A burrito would ruin my
whole week—it was sad, but it was true. I wasn’t going to let Sam get me fat and hate me again.

“So how’s Alex?” he asked, and then put his hand on my knee.

Things were better. As much as I cringed to think about why, I did feel closer to Sam. We’d shared this thing, had been through something together, had an inside joke of sorts. Even if Veronica had shared it, too. We’d have to do other things without her now so that this could just be one of our many things. Maybe I’d dress up as a sexy nurse or schoolgirl or tie him up—then we’d just be this couple that had weird, kinky, fun sex. The threesome would be just one more kinky thing we did together.

“She’s okay,” I said, putting my hand on his. “Annoyed that she’s grounded, embarrassed because she asked Fernando to have sex with her and he said no.”

“No way!” he exclaimed. “What a fag!”

“He said he didn’t want their first time to be the same night she’d made out with someone else.”

Sam took his hand off my knee, wiped his nose, and put it back.

“What a homo,” he said. “Well, if Alex wants to be our next guest star, I’m more than happy to add her V card to my collection.”

I laughed. And tried to mean it. I was also going to try to be less sensitive this year. Laugh things off, stop getting so mad about everything and being so miserable all the time.

“Seriously,” he said. “I’d bang Alex. She’s gotten pretty cute. I’m diggin’ this whole band-chick thing she’s got going now.”

I brushed my hand through his hair, rubbed the back of his neck, and took a deep breath.

“No more guest stars,” I said lovingly. “That was a one-time deal.”

I looked sincerely into his face, hoping he could tell that I was serious. That this meant something to me, that I didn’t want to fight about this or make gross jokes—that I was trying to have an honest moment with him and tell him how I felt.

“Aww, really?” he said.

“Really.”

He didn’t say anything, just looked out at the road. Both his hands were on the wheel now. He seemed disappointed. And I wondered if
just me
was ever going to be enough. What I had to do to make that so.

“But we can do other stuff…,” I said.

His eyes perked up a little. “Yeah,” he said. “Like what?”

“I could dress up for you,” I said. “I’ll be anything you want.…”

He looked over at me with that familiar devilish spark and rubbed his crotch a little.

“How about some road head?” he said.

“Right now?”

He took my hand and put it in his lap.

“You’re all sweaty and gross from practice!” I said, pulling back my hand.

“You said you’d be whatever I wanted, babe. Be a chick
who’s into shit like that, who takes care of her man after a tough practice.”

He yanked my ponytail and nibbled my ear a little, which he knew I liked. We were at a stoplight, so he leaned over and kissed me, had this
please
behind that devilish sparkle in those glass-blue eyes.

I unbuckled my seat belt, put my hands back in his lap, and took a deep breath. I gagged a little at first, but I tried to breathe through my mouth and be a chick who was into this sort of thing. The smell was ripe—sharp and pungent, like hot garbage, and my eyes watered. It was almost unbearable. I told myself to stop, that I didn’t have to do this, that if he loved me, he wouldn’t care if I did this or not. But I didn’t stop. I sucked it up and kept going, kept thinking that maybe after something like this, he’d realize that no one else would do shit like this for him, and he’d hold on to me, appreciate me, love me.