High School Hangover (2 page)

“Laney, that was rude. He’s a sweet kid,” Mom says, zigzagging her head trying to visually dodge the crowd to wave good-bye to Jack.

“He’s a total waste of oxygen,” I say, hating how mean I sound, but remembering how stupid I felt when I realized that I was starting to have feelings for Jack only to have him stand me up the day of our lab presentation.

“Whatever you say,” Mom says. She gives me a suspicious look, which I expertly ignore. Thankfully, I never told anyone that I was starting to crush on Jack. Not even Erika. I really don’t know what I was thinking, anyway. Just because a guy can make S’mores on a Bunsen burner doesn’t make him boyfriend material.

I strategically navigate my grandparents through the streamer and balloon decorated hallway.

“Wait, there’s cookies and punch,” Grandma says, using the same tone that someone might to warn people of a fire. I’m not escaping this place anytime soon. I give up and hide out next to the school’s trophy case while my grandparents stock up on cookies like sweets have just become illegal.

My grandparents are total kleptomaniacs. If it’s free, it isn’t safe, which I guess isn’t technically stealing, but they usually take enough for a family of ten. They steal ketchup packets, jelly tubs, creamers, and anything else that isn’t nailed down in a restaurant. Now that they live with us, our refrigerator is constantly overflowing with useless condiments, but I can’t imagine our house without them. I love listening to them talk about how things used to be. I would gladly go back to a time when there weren’t about ten different ways to be socially rejected by people.

Mom rolls her eyes at me and heads off to chaperone them. I snicker as I see her scold Grandpa as he tries to pilfer a fourth chocolate chip cookie. My grandparents have been a good buffer between me and Mom these last three years. Anytime Mom tried to have a heart-to-heart, I could pretty much count on one of them to interrupt us, saving me.

“You’re still mad about that chem grade, aren’t you?” Jack asks, startling me.

Jack is like the human equivalent of the sneaky neighborhood cat everyone despises, always ambushing your morning newspaper with a bloody mouse carcass or spraying your once-sweet-smelling rose bush when you least expect it. Luckily, it only takes a split second for me to remember my beef with Jack and react accordingly.

“I asked you to do one thing,” I remind him, my words suddenly laced with acid. I refuse to make eye contact with him, so my eyes just ping-pong off his outrageously-in-need-of-a-cut naturally curly chestnut hair, his heart-shaped lips, and his adorable ear lobes. Oh, no, I’m doing it again. I can’t believe how into him I let myself get. At the time, I felt like the feeling was mutual, but then he stood me up. The worst part was that he wouldn’t even ’fess up, he just made up some ridiculous story about how our project got stolen out of his locker. Like anyone would want to steal a chemistry project. I refuse to fall for Jack’s charms again.

“I tried to get old man Snow to change your grade. I even offered to do extra credit to make up for
your
grade,” he says, his voice almost pleading at the end.

“I know, I know, somebody stole the project out of your locker, blah, blah, blah. Being your lab partner that quarter earned me the only B I’ve ever gotten in my entire life,” I explain so slowly that even a toddler could understand how big of a deal that grade was to me.

“Dimples, I’m really sorry,” he almost-whispers. I had forgotten all about the nickname that Jack gave me when we were partners. Hearing him whisper that is like my Kryptonite, but I can’t let him see that.

“We’ll probably never see each other again after today, so it doesn’t really matter,” I say, defeated. Today has been an emotional day and this confrontation is the last thing I expected.

Jack’s annoyingly perfect shade of chlorophyll eyes take on a pained expression. Before he can respond, Leo Doolin saunters up almost directly behind him, all six foot, three inches of him. My heart rate picks up considerably.

Leo unzips and steps out of his graduation gown revealing a powder blue dress shirt and neatly-pressed black slacks. I physically cannot look away.

“Are you seriously still hot for that douche?” Jack asks, exasperated. For a second, I forgot he was even standing here. I fan myself with my diploma, my eyes still following Leo.

“He helped me out of a tight spot once,” I remind Jack. “Remember?”

Sophomore year, Jack and I were assigned as lab partners. We worked well together and Jack even made it fun. So without hesitation, I allowed him to keep our project in his locker for safe keeping. The morning of the presentation, he was MIA.

As I stood in front of the class trying to remember our presentation from memory, Leo volunteered to help me. He couldn’t really do much since he hadn’t participated in our research, but I was grateful that he was willing to stand up with me.

Before that day, I just thought that Leo was an obnoxious jock who somehow lucked out and got good grades. That terrible day showed me that Leo has more character than Jack ever will.

“Don’t get mixed up with him,” Jack demands. He follows up this order with the most serious look I have ever seen on his normally-goofy face.

“Like Leo Doolin would ever want to get mixed up with me,” I reply, laughing at the thought.

Leo picks that exact moment to move over and congratulate me on beating him out for valedictorian. “Bested by a chick,” he teases me.

“You were my stiffest competition,” I say, hoping I don’t come off as conceited and scare him away.

“You said, ‘stiffest’,” Jack howls, showing his maturity level.

“Are you going to Josie’s party later?” Leo asks, setting his intense blue eyes on my boring brown ones while completely ignoring Jack.

“I am,” Jack pipes up. “Save me a dance, Leo.”

“Funny one, McAllister. That humor should serve you well at community college,” Leo says.

I know I should be happy that Leo just burnt Jack, but I can almost smell the sting of Leo’s words coming off Jack. It’s a well-known fact at Higginsville High that Jack’s father somehow ran his business into the ground and their family was forced to sell their McMansion and move into a condo. As aggravated as I still am with Jack for letting me down, I know how hard it is to be the talk of the halls. Even though I’m not popular, I could tell that people knew about my parent’s divorce, and Dad’s subsequent move, because of the pity looks I got a few years ago. I’m sure Jack has dodged his fair share of those, too.

“Which college was it your father paid your way in?” Jack responds, his body stiffening.

“
I’m
the smartest person in this school,” Leo says, gritting his blindingly-white teeth. “My dad didn’t need to
buy
anything for me. But at least he could afford it if I needed him to.”

“Guys, please,” I interject, not liking where this is headed. It would be flattering to think that they’re fighting over me, but I know this isn’t the case. These two have been taking verbal jabs at each other for years. I guess it’s a guy thing.

“As I was saying, Laney,” Leo says, composing himself, and refocusing his intense icy blue stare at me, “I would love to see you tonight.”

My heart flutters in my chest. I have waited two years for Leo to talk to me about something besides the grading curve, and now, on the last time we will ever be together in this school, he finally decides to make his move. I feel like I’m going to pass out and my brain can’t seem to form a cohesive response.

“She’ll be there,” Mom answers for me, sneaking up behind Leo’s imposing build. Jack exhales loudly and stomps off.

I just stand there nodding like a bobble head.

*****

Much to Grandpa’s dismay, we skipped the buffet. Mom is acting a bit insane and rushed us home to start primping me. She has been trying to push her designer clothes and shoes at me with the intensity of a drug dealer trying to get me hooked on crack.

“I’ll look like a Vegas showgirl,” I say, eyeing the red, strapless gown she picked out for me. To my ultimate horror, I have just found out that we are exactly the same clothes and shoe size. It’s not that Mom doesn’t dress nice, actually, quite the opposite, but I’m more of a khakis and T-shirt kind of gal.

“What about this one?” She asks excitedly, tossing the red dress on my bed and holding up an emerald green halter style dress that I don’t immediately hate. If I wore a jacket over it I would almost be fully clothed, unlike most of the other options she has presented me.

“I don’t hate it,” I answer unenthusiastically. Mom’s face lights up like a Christmas tree as she delicately hangs the dress in my closet.

“I have the perfect shoes to go with it,” she says, scurrying off to get them.

I’m trying to remember how happy it is making Mom helping me get ready for tonight but her obsession with clothes and shoes has always been a sore spot for me. I know as Karen Mathers, real estate agent, she has to dress a certain way to impress her clients, but I’ve always assumed that Dad is the one footing all of the bills. Every time I see her drag home a new pair of shoes, I can’t help but think of Dad working more to pay for them.

He is already a workaholic, but it still makes me feel bad for him. I’ve only seen him twice since he moved from Missouri to Tennessee. We text daily, but his job keeps him flying all over the world at a moment’s notice so it’s hard to coordinate actual visits. I keep trying to convince him to Skype so I can actually see him, but for some reason, he is totally against it. Having a technology based relationship is getting harder and harder, I’m starting to forget things about him.

“Check these out,” Mom says, flashing a pair of black leather heels at me.

“I’ll break my neck,” I say. Besides, I see the red soles on the bottom of the heels and realize how expensive they are. I may not subscribe to
Vogue
but I do know a few things about fashion. I don’t want my clumsy butt ruining an expensive pair of shoes that Dad paid for.

“No, you won’t,” Mom assures me, and I don’t have it in me to put up a fight.

“I’m going to do your hair and makeup, too,” she says excitedly, pulling on the ponytail I had my blah brown hair pulled back in for graduation.

“Please don’t make me look like a freak,” I beg.

“When I get done with you, Jack is going to be following you around like a love sick puppy all night,” she promises.

“Leo is going to be following me around like a love sick puppy all night,” I correct her.

“I like Jack better,” she states, while curling fat sections of my hair.

I’m reminded of our not-so-distant battle of the wills over my choice in colleges and I decide it isn’t worth it to try and change her mind. She just doesn’t understand that I have to go to college in Tennessee. I’ve been with her for three years and now its Dad’s turn. Even Dad battled with me, insisting he wouldn’t be around much, but I’ll take whatever I can get. Besides, I’m going to be super busy myself, so it isn’t like I’ll be waiting around to see him.

Mom hums contentedly while she rolls up the remaining sections of my hair. It’s been a long time since we’ve done anything like this together. I try not to let the memory of the last time creep into my mind, but it does anyway. It was right after the divorce was final and Mom whisked me away to a day spa for a treat, only to suggest halfway through our hers-and-hers body wraps that she wanted me to legally change my last name to her maiden name. The woman purposefully bought me a body wrap so I couldn’t storm away. Needless to say, I refused.

We fought so hard about the name change. I had already given up my father, I wasn’t about to give up the one thing of his that I had left.

“You have the most beautiful eyes,” Mom says, sweeping shadow on my lids. I just smile and fight back the urge to tell her that they match Dad’s.

It’s not that I won’t miss her because I will. Sometimes I still feel like a little kid because I just want my parents to get back together. I don’t even know what happened. There were no shouting matches, or tawdry affairs. One day they were in love, and the next day they weren’t. At least that’s how it seemed to me. Maybe they had years to come to terms that it was over between them, but it was news to me, and I’m still mourning.

“Okay, look up,” she says, carefully brushing mascara onto my virgin lashes. I have no doubt that I will wipe half this crap off my face as soon as I walk out the door, but I’m going to let her have her fun.

“I want you to come see me in Tennessee as much as you can,” I say, needing to clear the air about my choice of colleges. Mom’s hold on the blush brush she just picked up tenses.

“I know you want to be close to your father, but it isn’t too late to go somewhere around here,” Mom stresses, tears welling up in her eyes.

“We’ve talked about this. It’s what I want.” She just doesn’t get it. Her parents live with us, she gets to see them every day of the week.

“Of course I’ll come see you,” she perks up, surprising me. “But is it okay if we don’t spend every day of the next two months talking about you leaving?”

“Deal,” I agree. Wow, it feels like maybe she is finally starting to accept my decision. Instead of relief, I almost feel trepidation. I push it down, reminding myself that I’ve made the right decision.

Mom brushes my newly curly hair out and it cascades down my shoulders. I’m not much of a girly girl but I do hope that all of Mom’s work gets Leo’s attention tonight.

“Erika told me there’s an entire weekend of graduation parties. I want you to spend the weekend with her,” Mom springs on me, and then blasts an aerosol cloud of hairspray around my head so I’m forced to keep my mouth shut.

“I already packed a bag of cute outfits and everything you’ll need. I want you to take this one weekend and really live like an eighteen-year-old.”

I wait for the hairspray cloud to dissipate to respond. “You are so weird. You want me to spend all weekend partying with people I’ll probably never see again?” I ask, amazed, but also a little freaked out. The idea of one party was bad enough, but an entire weekend of parties? I’m not sure my social skills are up to this challenge.