Tousle Me (27 page)

I’ve barely got my key in the lock when a low groan reaches my ears from somewhere beyond the door.

Great. Just fabulous.

I ease the door open—and then pause, baulking at the gassy stench. It’s like Sparkles’ farts but…worse. Fresher. Meatier. What the chips?

“Hey Cammie!” calls a familiar voice.

“Uh…Enid? Is that you?”

“Yep,” she says smugly.

I slam the door shut again and hurl myself into the corridor, falling flat against the wall in fear. “You, uh…you aren’t doing what I think you are, right?”

“Well let’s see!” Her yell fades into a grunt. “If you’re thinking that I’m just watching TV, it would not be true. But if you’re thinking—” GRUUUUNT, “—that I’m curling out some serious Raj’s Revenge on your e-reader of choice, then yeah.” She coughs, grunts, and then sniggers. “That would be accurate.”

“Enid!” I screech. “Don’t you dare!”

There’s a faint plopping sound, and she inhales deeply. “Too late.” A beat. “Wow. I, like, excelled myself.”

“I can’t believe you’d go to these lengths when all I did was kiss Archer!”

“All you did?
All you did
?” The shuffle of footsteps rolls toward the door, and then she yanks it open. Her cheeks are flushed, and she’s still doing up her fly. “You really have no idea, do you?”

“I have ideas,” I mumble.

“Cammie, you float through life like a—a—a thing that floats—”

“A feather?” I supply helpfully.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Everything comes so easily to you—advance review copies, unicorns. Billionaires. All I ever wanted was…” She trails off, rubbing her suddenly puffy eyes. “…Was Archer.”

“But all you do is look for guys who aren’t Archer.”

“Do you see Archer ever looking for me?” she snipes.

“Oh.” I wrap my arms around myself; the hall just got really cold. “I guess not.”

“You might as well change your name to Mary Sue and be done with it,” she mutters. “And I’ll change mine to Maleficent, or whatever.”

“Aw, Enid. You’re not the villain here. Is that what you really think?”

“Well yeah.” She shifts about awkwardly.

“It’s not your fault that you aren’t a really powerful wizard,” I say, putting a comforting hand on her arm. She shrugs it away.

“A wizard? What?”

Enid may not understand, but I do. For the first time in…well, many pages…I’m not confused. “It sucks to be a girl. Especially a girl in a romance novel. Doesn’t matter what we do—we can’t win. There are all these crappy rules we aren’t aware of like,
oh no, you can’t go out with him, he hasn’t been a complete shit to you yet.
And then just when he’s started being nice, it’s all,
no, we’re going to make him a stubborn douche, or a murderer, because that would be too easy!
”

Enid leans against the doorway, her brow creased. The distinct stench of poop still lingers between us, but I’m trying to ignore it since we’re having a deep McMoment.

“So what you’re saying,” she goes on dryly, “is that it’s okay for Archer not to return my affections right now, because it means he probably will eventually?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard.” The she snorts a little. “Of course, the biggest load of crap I’ve ever
seen
is currently steaming up your Kindle screen.”

I flinch. “Yeah. Not funny.”

“What’s not funny is that you actually think all this is about guys.”

I purse my lips. “Since we’re arguing over Archer...seems like it’s about guys.”

“We’re not arguing over Archer! Sure, I like him. I like him a lot, and seeing him crush on you like a puppy is hard. Some days, it’s super hard. But I don’t think he should be forbidden to do it. I can’t make him like me, Cammie.
You
can’t stop his feelings for you. But what you can do is be a little more observant where your buddies are concerned, and hell, maybe even be sensitive about it.” She balls her fists, hands by her sides. “Is that so hard, seriously?”

I don’t know why she keeps saying I can’t do things. I have Goodreads and nice boobs—I can do anything.

“This is about you and me,” she says, quietly now. “This is about me asking you just to be a friend, and not a judgemental ditz.”

I think about what Archer said when I asked him to get a drug habit, or put a hit out on a relative. About how he didn’t know how to be that guy. These things Enid is asking of me…I’m not sure I know how to do them. “Is there a YouTube tutorial for this?”

She rolls her eyes. “Probably.”

“I—I’m sorry, Enid.” Oh God. I think I’m actually crying. “I…I just got caught up in…” The awesomeness of being me. Huh. Probably shouldn’t put it like that. “I’ve been a dick.”

“Yeah. A little.”

“But you did just shit on my Kindle,” I say through my teeth.

Enid begins to laugh. “Like I’d actually do that!”

“You…ooh, you had me going there!” I throw my arms around her and squeeze tightly. “I can’t believe you even threatened me with something like that.”

“I have to amuse myself somehow.”

“But if you didn’t do it…” I pull back, sniffing the air with a wince, “what the hell’s that smell?”

She gives an apologetic shrug. “A girl has to use the bathroom.”

“Ew.”

“I did a good job with the noises and stuff, huh?”

“You did,” I say suspiciously. “But what would you be passing if not for poop?”

She gives another little snort. “Not the Bechdel test, apparently.”

“Fair maidens!” Archer calls from down the hall, a six pack under his arm. “Are we watching the results show, or are we watching the results show?”

Enid hurries up to him plastered in a delighted smile. “I thought you had to rest up before your big day?”

“Like I’d miss this.” He flashes his handsome grin at us. “Plus, I don’t know if you heard…but they let Fjorn Brimstone back in on a wild card. So now it’s him, Cognac Façade, and that rapper.”

“Snoop Marmot?”

“Yeah.” He clicks his fingers. “Him.”

“They let Brimstone back
in
?” I screech. “What are they trying to do to me?”

Archer walks up and pats me on the head. “They do all this to specifically piss you off, Cam-Cam.”

So it comes to be, fair readers, that we’re all on my sofa like ye olde times, watching
X Factor
, catching up and making witty and ironic comments about all the contestants. Archer sits in the middle and Enid and I snuggle either side of him, reaching into his lap for popcorn. It might look like we’re both rubbing our tits against his pecs while we masturbate him through the popcorn bowl, but that would be wrong. And as Cognac Façade fall prey to a gruesome defeat by Fjorn’s blasting screamo version of ‘Single Ladies,’ I weep, Enid chortles, and Archer punches the air.

“That was amazing!” he exclaims. “And I’m starving. Let’s order pizza.”

“Defeat does nothing for my lack of eating issues,” I sulk.

“I’ll work it off tomorrow,” says Enid, reaching for her cell. “I’ll load up the Domino’s app. Shall we get a Barbecue Beef Blastard or a Veggie Surprise?”

“Wasn’t the surprise a big heap of pork, last time?” Archer asks. “Because if so, I’m totally in.”

“Also, Enid, you’re paying,” I inform her. “We still don’t have cash after we got held up the other night.”

She jerks up, nearly dropping the empty popcorn bowl. “You got held up? What?”

“We didn’t mention that?” I look down, feeling like the dick friend again. “Captain Purity saved us and everything.”

“He saved…both of you?” Enid glances between me and Archer with a dubious expression. “Even Archer?”

“Well yeah.” Archer adjusts his collar. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Oh my God,” she murmurs to herself.

“Oh my God!” I slap a hand over my mouth.

Archer frowns. “What?”

Archer’s…A VIRGIN!

Jeez, I sure hope there won’t be any bats at the tournament tomorrow. They’ll hear his secret virginity alarm, and then they’ll take his spam truncheon on a journey to the depths of bat vag despair. Dnananananananananana BAT VAG.

“You know,” Archer says, looking uncomfortable, “I hate to bring this up, but it smells like crap in here. Did that freaking unicorn leave a mess?”

“I don’t think so. He hasn’t been here all day.” My eyes fall on Enid. “Unless…”

“Hey!” she protests. “I told you, I did not shit on your Kindle.”

Archer grimaces in disgust. “What?”

“Yeah.” Enid gives an earnest nod. “Like I said. I didn’t.”

Something thumps in the bathroom, and we all twist round to stare at the door.

“I let Hentai Pete do it,” Enid says blithely.

At that point, skinny, ginger Pete comes parading out of my en-suite with a proud smirk on his face and my Kindle in his hand, topped with a brown load of OH PLEASE GOD NO. The stench wafts as he passes, and we all cringe back into the sofa.

“Enid,” he says, “you owe me fifty dollars.”

“Fifty dollars for one crap?” Archer asks, incredulous. He turns to Enid. “I can’t believe you got him to do that. I’d have done it for twenty.”

“You would not,” I scoff.

“Hell yeah, I would.”

“You’re revolting. All of you,” I sulk.

“Says the girl who kept a rancid frozen octopus in an aquarium for like, five days.”

* * *

I’m greeted the following morning by a text from Hunter:

Dr woke up. thrush neg. It is on like donkey kong xx

I have no idea what Donkey Kong is, but it rhymes with dong, so it makes me go all whimsy in the girlcore.

So…T minus six hours until I find out who’s won my vajayjay; the murderer, or the sweet guy who would crap on my stuff for just twenty bucks. Huh. I know who
I’d
choose.

Last night was hard enough after Enid’s harsh words and Cognac Façade’s defeat. Now I have all the tension building up, since we’re so close to the last scenes. Sniffle. I’d read, but you know, there’s SHIT all over my Kindle. Maybe I’ll try a paper copy, like the new Juniper Armenseabass—
Oxycontin.
It’s about sexy aliens addicted to drugs.

Meh.
So
not working. It’s just full of the steamy alien making out, and then all I can think about is the possible making out I’ll be doing with Hunter tonight…how I’ll finally lose my virginity alarm. And if Archer wins the joust, then what? Would Enid ever forgive me? I know she was all noble about it yesterday, but come on...she’d hardly be booking a piñata. Also, I’d then have to bone Archer, who is hot and all, but kind of like my brother except for how he’s not an evil abuser with a penchant for Extreme Dino Mudbath Scalectrix Praise Jesus 2000.

By the way: fuck you, Brody. Fuck you in all your holes, and then some new ones made by wasps who like Sean-a Paul. I’m so glad to finally be working through my issues.

Where was I?

Oh yeah. Trying to distract myself from the jousting match that is basically a shitstorm waiting to happen. Labron said there would be reporters and everything since the Eine Richtung-inspired renewed interest in Hunter; I sure hope they don’t distract Sparkles with their smart phones. I also hope his Internet cold turkey night ended well, and not with him goring Ryan Gosling the one-eyed snake before he drank all Labron’s Courvoisier and Red Bull and used all Hunter’s baking supplies.

Shitstorm
would be such an awesome title for a new adult book. It’s totally going on my wish  list, right after
Clusterfuck
and
The Little Cock That Could
.

* * *

“Knights and maidens! Knaves, countrymen and whores! Gather ye, gather ye, for upon us is the fucking legal tournament of the joust!”

No, it’s not Fat Frat Boy. I guess he got lured away by an all-you-can-eat buffet, or something. The referee guy today is wearing a muddy tunic and a medieval hat; I shall call him Chaucer. Since I’m an English major, I know about all that kind of stuff.

I guess the weather man didn’t get the memo because the drizzle and grey clouds are not ideal for jousting. Or for my sexy outfit. I debated on whether to go for the Gruffalo onesie, or maybe the lederhosen again, but eventually decided that if Hunter doesn’t win, the memories might be too painful for him. So I’ve gone with my leggings, biker jacket and dried-out Uggs that I Febreezed to death earlier. Enid and I both have the little handkerchiefs for waving, and she has—to use Archer’s technical term—a pointy hat with a scarf coming out of it. She looks very pleased with herself whenever she puts it on, though if the wind picks up, she could end up skewering a vag.

The tournament is being held in UCLAP’s impressive football stadium, and it’s drawn an equally impressive crowd. The thick smell of smithy smoke wafts though from the tent of emergency repairs, and there’s even a Gabriel’s Wrapture concession stand next to the colorful horse tents. Hunter, of course, has set up on the other side of the stadium so he can retain some privacy. And stay away from the horses (but don’t tell him I told you that).

As the crowd heats up, wandering minstrels from the UCLAP catwalk posing and beatboxing societies strum their lutes to entertain. Enid lends one her hat and they pose for a joint selfie.

“Vogueth!” they say in unison, pasting on their cheesiest smiles.

“You know,” she says as she climbs back on to the bleachers, “I could get used to this jousting groupie thing. I like the atmosphere.”

“It smells like horse crap and burnt iron,” I say, grimacing.

“To you, maybe. To me, it smells like hope. Like the future.”

I put on my best Morgan Freeman voice. “In a world where the past smells like the future—”

“Shut it, Cammie.”

“In a world where your best friend pays a ginger midget to defecate on your e-reader...”

She rolls her eyes. “Haters gonna hate.”

“In a world where haters gonna hate, unicorns gonna gore, Archers gonna pillage and Hunters gonna besmirch—”

“Seriously.” She claps a hand over my mouth. “How much sugar have you had today?”

“None,” I slur. Then I yank the half-empty bottle of vodka from my massive tote bag and almost swing it right into her nose. “But like Labron says…I am three sheets to the mothafuckin’ wind, y’all.” Turns out it’s kinda hard to deal with my resurfacing cupboard issues, plus the worries about Hunter, without turning to a shitload of liquor. I hit up the store shortly after I closed
Oxycontin.