Authors: Susan Colebank

Black Tuesday (20 page)

BOOK: Black Tuesday

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But Missy, whom Jayne had known since seventh grade, counted as someone who had known her for a long time.

And liked her look.

Missy twisted the lid of her water back and forth, fidgeting. “So, anyway, now that I've got you here, I just wanted you to know I never wanted to be captain.” Jayne's face must've showed the disbelief she felt. “Really. I wanted to be more like a cheerleader than a captain, you know? Cheering the girls on during matches, making them signs. Then you broke your arm and I got it.”

“You would've gotten it even if I hadn't broken my arm. I was running late the day . . . the day of my accident. And Coach said he'd give you the title if I was late to practice again.”

“Whatever. Coach loved you. The girls on the team really loved you.”

“I don't think so.”

“Jayne, don't be an idiot.” What was up with everyone calling her stupid tonight? “You were so focused on winning. You worked on everyone's game to get them to the level they needed to be at to win State. I mean, we did great at State. Third and all, which was awesome. But my doubles game sucked, and a couple of the girls had bad nerves and blew their matches.”

Missy fiddled with the bottle. “If you'd been the captain, we would've gotten to first. And maybe I would've made the team at Stanford.” She looked up. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to get together this fall, play some matches with me? Then I could try to get on the team as a walk-on in the spring.”

She trailed off, her eyes wide. Expecting an answer.

“I have to say something, Missy. I thought you hated me.”

“Hated?” Missy laughed. It sounded a little off, though. “Never hated. Maybe not appreciated. You know, you're not the only one wanting to get into a good school. You have your grades
and
you have tennis. I just have tennis. Colleges love that kind of stuff.”

Which was a favorite mantra of Jayne's. So she understood where Missy was coming from. She understood it a lot.

“Yeah, I'll practice with you. But be forewarned. I haven't even picked up a racket since . . . well, April.”

Missy swallowed some more water. “By the way, how are you doing?”

Jayne didn't have a chance to answer. “Whatcha doing out here, darlin'?”

Darian was swaggering toward her, a joint in his mouth, a red plastic cup in his hand.

What a nice way to end a perfectly lovely conversation. Having your drug dealer boyfriend interrupt you, drunk.

“Talking.”

She turned her back to him. “Missy, you live pretty near me, don't you?”

“I think so.”

“Will you give me and Ellie a ride home later?” Jayne avoided looking at Darian.

“Sure thing.” Missy's eyes went back and forth between the two of them. “Oh, look at this. I need more water.” Missy backed away, full water bottle still in hand. “I'll be back in a minute.”

“Hey, you're not mad, are you?” Darian asked.

Jayne ignored the question. She didn't answer stupid questions.

“I'm sorry I got pissy back in the car.”

“You were more than just pissy, Darian.” Jayne couldn't even look him in the eye. She felt like she'd lost a good friend.

More than a good friend.

“Jayne.”

Jerkwad.

“C'mon, Jayne.” He'd stepped closer. His breath tickled her cheek. “I was a jerk.”

“Yeah, you were.” Her arms were still crossed. But Jayne stayed where she was. She was listening. She was still pissed, but she was listening. “And why were you a jerk?”

She wanted to hear him say the words. If he said the right words, maybe she'd give him another chance.

“Because I treated you real bad.” He kissed one corner of her mouth.

“And?” At this point, she sort of didn't care if he knew the “and.” She liked the kisses. And the words he was saying.

He kissed the other side of her mouth. “And I'm sorry. Sorry for calling you a whatever-year-old.” He backed up and looked into her eyes, his hands on both her shoulders. “Sorry for getting too out of it to drive you home.”

Jayne felt herself swaying. And she hadn't even had anything to drink.

“Well, well.” Jayne smelled the cigarettes before she saw Lori. “Looks like our Jayne here is still with the cute boy. Is the cute boy mentally deficient?”

For a moment, Jayne had a feeling that she was talking to the devil herself.

It was time to send the devil back to hell. “Jealous much, honey?”

SOMEBODY KILL ME.”

“I think you're doing just fine doing that yourself.” Jayne stood over the supine figure in Ellie's pink-on-pink-on-pink bedroom. She dropped a bag at the foot of the bed. “The way you chugalugged that stuff last night, you're going to have a nice, early death.”

The fully clothed lump groaned.

“Dr. Jayne is here to help you with whatever ails you.” She rustled through the bag.

“Can you stop that?” Ellie lowered her voice as if the sound of it was hurting. “I've got a headache.”

“Headache, you say?” Jayne reached into the bag and pulled out something round, firm, and red. “Eat this.”

A bloodshot eye opened and attempted to focus on her. “What in the hell is that?”

“A persimmon.” Jayne carried it to Ellie, who took it tentatively. “The hangover Web sites recommend it for headaches. And so did Dad.”

“Dad knows?” Ellie tried to sit up but promptly lay back down again, groaning.

“No. But I remember him saying it once.”

“God, be more careful with what you tell me. I about gave myself a coronary.” She draped an arm over her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Four-thirty.”

“In the afternoon?”

“That's what happens when you go and drink that kind of crap.”

Ellie mumbled something.

“What?”

“Everclear.”

Jayne didn't know too much about alcohol, but she knew enough to know that was about as close to gasoline as alcohol could get.

“Do you have anything for nausea?” Ellie moaned.

“Ahh.” Jayne pulled a bottle out of the bag and handed it over.

“Prickly pear cactus?” Ellie had both bleary eyes on Jayne. “Are you just messing with me?”

Jayne started to the door. “Now, would I do that?”

“Yes.”

Jayne smiled. She felt for Ellie and her hangover. She did. She'd had one, and only one. She never planned to have one again.

She was all for learning from her mistakes.

“Where are you going?” Ellie asked.

“Up to my room. I've got a paper for Arizona history due soon.”

“Jayne?” The word came out in a throaty whisper.

“Yeah?” Jayne stood there, waiting. Thinking about the 3,200 words she still had to go.

“Did I do anything I'll regret later?”

“Well ...”

“Tell me.”

“There was some dancing on a table. With some skirt flip-page.”

“Holy crap.”

Jayne turned to go, ready to get back to the paper. The paper she needed for her A in stupid Arizona history. But she couldn't in good conscience go without being a big sister. She wasn't her sister's keeper anymore, but . . .

“Elle, you've gotta stop drinking. You're going to find yourself in a really bad position one dayâ”

“Thanks for the lecture, Jayne.” Her tone said she wasn't that thankful. “Don't really feel up to it now, though.”

Jayne left. She almost collided with her mom, who was putting on an earring. She was dressed in a pale lavender gown, the bridesmaid uniform picked by the weatherman's fiancÃ©e.

“Ellie feeling better with that stomach flu?”

“Why don't you check on her?” Maybe it was time for Ellie to get a dose of Gen, and not just Jayne-buffered Gen.

“Don't have time.” Gen checked her makeup in the hallway mirror. “Tell her I'll see her tomorrow. Saturdays are just nuts, with my show this morning and now this wedding. Haven't even said hi to you girls all day.”

She air-kissed Jayne, not waiting for an answer. “Have a good night. See what you can do to make up that GPA .”

Jayne stood there, left with the smell of Gen's two-hundred-dollar-a-bottle perfume and the feeling she wanted to pierce/ cut/tattoo something hanging in the air.

By the time she let herself into Larry's rain forest about an hour later, the anger was full-blown.

She didn't need this Psych 101 crap, but her mom had gone out of her way to drop her off on the way to the wedding.

And Gen had made sure to tell her that, too.

And now she was lying on her back, her forearm covering her eyes, willing herself to feel calmer. Counting to ten.

To twenty.

To 820 by the time Larry came out to get her.

“Are you doing okay, Jayne?”

“Hunky-dory, doc.” Jayne eased herself off the couch and walked into his inner office. With each step, she attempted to shake off her mother.

“Can you shut the blinds, please?” The light made her angrier. She closed her eyes, thinking of home. At least there she would've been in her room, blinds shut, comforter over her head.

She heard the plastic slats hit against each other as they closed. “Migraine?” he said.

“Sure.” Easier than explaining the real reason.

“You take anything?”

“Don't need to.”

Larry didn't say anything, and Jayne concentrated on willing the anger out of her body.

“Jayne?”

“Yeah.”

She heard him chuckle softly, non-annoyingly. “If you want, I can get you a magazine. We have a new
National Geographic
, too.”

Jayne laughed. Hey, the doc was funny.

“How was your week, by the way?” he asked.

“Long.”

“Yeah? Why was that?”

She told him. Pretty much everything. At this point, she didn't care if he told her parents.

A minute or two after she'd finished, he said, “That's quite a week you had.”

“What, you don't have those kinds of weeks at your age, doc?” Jayne laughed. She imagined him getting a tattoo and having a friend steal for him and finding out his crush was a drug dealer.

“I'm an old married coot with three kids in college. Those kinds of weeks are few and far between at this point in my life.” He chuckled. “Thank God.”

A few more minutes passed. The tension seemed to be ebbing out of her. She heard Larry watering, which also helped with the anger thing.

Huh. Maybe this counseling thing really could work.

She picked up the
National Geographic
. It was a new one. She opened it up and started to read while Larry continued to water.

HEY, YOU.”

Jayne turned to see Ryan beckoning her over. Like she was a queen and Jayne was her peasant.

Screw that.

Jayne went back to highlighting the Arizona Outreach manual. She'd finally dedicated herself to reading the thing and was about two chapters into it.

“Hey, did you hear me?”

Jayne looked up. Ryan had moved next to her, a manila folder in one hand.

“Maria wants you to help us figure out the schedule for the next couple of weeks.”

“Why me?”

Ryan snort-laughed. “Beats me, princess.”

“Don't call me that.”

“Oh, excuse me, Princess Solitaire.”

“I quit playing solitaire weeks ago. And I'm not a princess. I would have one helluva nicer life if I was a princess. So stick to what you know, goth girl.”

Jayne pushed herself out of her chair and made her way to Maria's.

That had felt good. Really good. Great, actually.

Maria was on the phone. She was always on the phone. Jayne knocked on the doorjamb.

“Yeah, okay, we'll talk about this later, okay? Thanks.” She motioned Jayne in. “Hey, girl. I can't deal with the schedule for August, so could you and Ryan do it for me? Ryan knows the routine, but it's good to brainstorm with someone as you're working on it.”

Jayne didn't really want to be in the same room as a person she'd just called “goth girl,” much less work with her for a few hours. Stupid bigmouth.

“Sure thing.”

Two hours and twenty-eight schedules later, Jayne was ready to call it a day. And maybe rethink her opinion of Ryan.

Maybe she was a goth, but she was smart. She probably did really well on the analytical section of her SAT. The whole “If Person A doesn't like Person C but Person B can only work Tuesdays and . . .” equation was probably a piece of cake for her.

Jayne pretty much just double-checked Ryan's work.

“It's six. You're done for the day about now, aren't you?” Ryan picked up the schedule requests and paper-clipped them together. Ryan was organized, too. An odd concept for someone whose accessories of choice were a dog collar, about twenty piercings (at least to the naked eye), and a blood-red mouth outlined in black liner.

“Sure am.” Jayne looked at the clock, looked at the work they'd just done, and put her head on the table. “I'm tired.”

Ryan laughed. “I bet. You really haven't had to do too much critical thinking around this place since you got here.”

“Nope.” Jayne lifted her head, but rested her chin on her crossed arms.

“Feel like taking a cigarette break with me?”

BOOK: Black Tuesday

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