Hot Mess (17 page)

I laughed. Jayla would probably rather take her chances with a tropical disease than spend time amongst the mass transit masses.

“It was
not
easy. I had to play the ‘I’m poor’ card.” I cringed at the residual embarrassment of explaining my below-the-poverty-line budget to her. “And even then she almost burst into flames when these kids started break-dancing on the platform.”

“That’s classic!” Rachel howled. “God, I wish I’d seen it!”

“Yeah, well, maybe just that part. The Mount St. Clare explosion was ugly. Be glad you weren’t at Colin’s party.”

Suddenly her face lit up. “Omigod, woman. How come you’re not telling me about Colin? What happened with him?”

“I was a total awky-fest, no surprise.” I could see Rachel try to feign shock at this, but my best friend well knew the kind of blathering, stuttering mess I turned into at the first sign of boy interest. “But he was great about it. He just made it so easy. And we’re going out on a date on Tuesday.” I smiled like I’d actually accomplished something and not just let it happen to me.

“So Colin asked you out?” she said excitedly. “Like in person? Not over a computer? That. Is. In.
Sane
!” She enunciated every syllable and nodded for effect. “I didn’t know people actually did that. I mean, I’d heard of it, like on TV and stuff, but I thought it was like Pop Rocks and soda mixing in your stomach making you explode. Everyone talks about it, but, like, it just doesn’t really happen.”

“I know! Maybe it’s, like, a grown-up thing.” I said this based only on tonight’s experience and
Grey’s Anatomy
.

Rachel laughed. “Okay, you can’t call Colin a grown-up if you’re going to be making out with him.”

“Rachel! God!” I covered my eyes with embarrassment. I hadn’t even thought past the first kiss. Considering I could barely get a coherent sentence out when I was around him, the idea that I could actually seriously kiss him for longer than four seconds without exploding was pretty much out of the question.

“Hey, where did Jake go after Glitters McMeltdown detonated? Is he still here?” she asked, pointing to the size-twelve Converse in the middle of the floor.

“Jake? Yeah, he’s…” Where was he? Could he still be in Jayla’s room? “He’s in Jayla’s room or something. Anyway, tell me about your date!”

We both forgot Jacob at the mention of the word “date.” Apparently, this was lucky date number thirteen and she had met her Jewish Prince Charming.

“He was perfect, Em! A rising sophomore at NYU, business major. His father owns a candy distribution company. So, think of all the Nutrageouses we could score! Just think about that! Perf, perf, perfect,” she sighed, completely content.

“So, do you think you’re going to see him again?” I realized that I wasn’t just faking excited and secretly hoping that she’d spend the rest of the summer home and couch-bound with me. Who knew having a summer crush of my own would make me a better friend?

“Hello!” Rachel gave me the same incredulous look she did that time I came home from the mall carrying a pair of Keds, claiming that if Mischa Barton was wearing them, they were so the next big thing. “That’s the best part. He already reserved me for Friday night. He said, ‘I know that a girl like you has got to be booked early.’ Well, something like that, but it didn’t make me sound like a call girl. It was romantic.”

We both sighed again, in unison, blissed out over our boys. I hadn’t been this excited over a guy since…well, I couldn’t really remember, actually. Brian and I were so middling, never bad or great, just kind of in between and a little boring. Suddenly a wave of fatigue hit me, the mental and physical calamities of the day towing my exhausted mind under. It was barely after midnight but I decided to go to bed. It had been an exhausting week and an even more draining evening. I hoped that Jayla wasn’t planning on making breakdowns a weekly event. I didn’t have the energy.

Rachel scampered into her room to start on her Friday date outfit
already
, and I poked around the kitchen looking for a bedtime snack. With a high-protein treat in hand—peanut butter Oreos have protein, right?—I made my way toward my bedroom, stumbling over Jake’s Converse along the way. Where
was
he? I thought briefly about going to find him and see if he was all right with the Emo St. Clare, but he never seemed to mind being around her, so I continued to tuck myself into bed. Jayla was so messed up, she’d probably mistaken him for a pair of her shoes and shut him up in the closet. I started to giggle at the thought of my starfish cousin wedged among Jayla’s Marc Jacobs pumps, but fatigue took over and it was lights out.

The next morning, Rachel woke me up to give a mini fashion show of possible date outfits.

“Rachel,” I grumbled, pulling the covers over my head. “It’s ten a.m. almost a full week before your date. Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun here?”

“Emma, I’d expect you of all people to understand what a hot, rich Jewish man means to me. This is no laughing matter. I could be his Charlotte and he could be my Trey.”

“First of all, they got divorced because he couldn’t get it up.” I yawned, pushing my body pillow out of the way. “And secondly, they were Episcopalian.”

I pulled back my blanket, slipped into my flip-flops, and got out of bed. We shuffled into the kitchen to see what cereals were still fresh enough to pass for edible, just in time to see Jake tiptoe out of Jayla’s room.

“Oh my God!” Rachel exclaimed, almost falling over in her peep-toe pumps. “Am I hallucinating?” Rachel closed her eyes and felt around the kitchen like a blind girl. Funny, but totally didn’t make sense.

“You’re not, like, just now leaving?” I asked him. Maybe Jayla really had trapped him in the closet. “I mean, you didn’t spend the night with her or anything?” Ew! For some reason, images of R. Kelly flashed through my mind and my skin crawled. Something felt so not right here.

Jake just shrugged and smiled. Ew, ew, ew! It was supergross to picture Jake and his starfish face making out with anyone, let alone Jayla. One more time—
ew!
But like a blubbery workout scene in a reality weight-loss show, I couldn’t get enough.

“No way you’re getting away without spilling all of the details. We’re going to find out either from you or her, so you might as well tell,” I bullied, my revulsion being beat out by curiosity.

“There’s nothing to tell.” He raised his hands and shrugged, trying to look innocent. But I knew by his super-messed-up bed head and how he was being weirdly calm, that something was up. Status quo for this guy was what most would consider an awkward frenzy.

“So that’s how it’s going to be? We share like twenty-five percent of the same DNA, Jake. Does that mean nothing to you?” I stood with my hands on my hips, scowling at him from the kitchen.

“Really, there’s nothing to tell.”

I eyed him carefully as he pulled on his Chucks, examining his clothes for lipstick stains or signs that a post-meltdown socialite had tried to tear them off. I couldn’t detect any evidence of pawing or petting—dammit! Why hadn’t I paid more attention during that
CSI: Miami
marathon?

“Right, just your average cousin sleeping over in your impossibly hot roommate’s bed. Nothing to tell at all, I’m sure.” I tried to sound jokey indignant, but I was actually for-real indignant.
My
cousin,
my
roommate. Didn’t I deserve a little info?

“Exactly. Nothing to tell.” He smirked at us as he came into the kitchen, pinched a peach from our fruit bowl, and then headed to the front door for his exit.

“Jacob Lewis Freeman!” I growled, stomping my foot.

“No dice, Emma,” he said, pulling open our door and heading out. “And my middle name is Patrick, by the way.”

He waved goodbye and left, taking with him any chance of getting some good gossip until Jayla woke up. And it could be dinnertime before that happened.

I hated him for not spilling the details. Was he seriously related to me?

Rachel and I stared at each other, fists clenched in frustration, trying to figure out what the hell had happened between those two last night.

Maybe Jayla cried so much that her eyes almost swelled shut and somehow mistook Jake for Carter or something…but even without sight, Jayla would know the difference between Burberry and Old Navy.

Or maybe Jake had been so weirded out by Jayla’s mania that he actually killed her and then stayed up all night building a Jayla robot substitute.

Or Jayla let it slip that she thought my cousin looked like a starfish and he in turn called her a lobster and they had a giant crustacean battle until five a.m.

My mind was spinning, but thankfully, before anything major short-circuited, Jayla appeared in her doorway, a drowsy smile across her mascara-stained face.

“Good morning!” she cheeped with a coy grin. Even I knew coy when I saw it.

“Tell us everything! Immediately!” Rachel demanded.

“Oh, nothing happened,” she scoffed, and she brushed past us to the coffeemaker, smelling faintly of Jake’s Axe body spray. That stuff was douchiness in a bottle and this whole thing was totally suspicious. When had Jayla, Little Miss TMI, flipped into get-asked-but-still-don’t-tell gear?

“Lies!” Rachel squealed, and demanded more details, but Jayla was still aloof.

“Seriously, we just talked.” Jayla sounded matter-of-fact…until she sighed like a girl reading
Tiger Beat
at summer camp. “We talked all night. He was so sweet. He really listened to me and I listened to him. I don’t know, we just really clicked.”

Clicked? What in God’s name did those two have in common? They both lived in New York, check. They both seemed to be mammals (but only one of them looked like it), check. Beyond that, I had no idea what it was exactly that “clicked.”

“So, do you, like,
like
him or something?” I stammered. This was too weird. My nose-picking, headgeared cousin and Glitters St. Fabulous. Barf.

“No! I mean, I don’t think so.”

I could tell that Jayla was equally confused by the events of the previous night. But her philosophy on life was “If it feels good, do it,” and I had a feeling that things were not over between her and Jake.

Total barf.

Sixteen

M
onday passed uneventfully in the Colin department, meaning I didn’t see him, which was a blessing and a curse. I so wanted to see him. But if he just happened to wander around the corner during a Derek disaster moment, the bluff about me being a twenty-two-year-old junior marketing whatever would totally be called.

And thank God he didn’t see me that day. Derek must have been well rested over the weekend, because he was full throttle Monday morning.

He galloped his gut over to my cube first thing in the morning.
“So I took a big chance at the high school dance with a missy who was ready to play. It wasn’t me she was foolin’ ’cause she knew what was she was doin’ when she told me how to walk this way.”
And then he did the mime walk-down-the-stairs trick behind my cube wall as he shrieked out the chorus.

“Good one, Derek. You really look like you’re going downstairs.” I choked on my own bile saying that and trying to sound sincere.

“Learned that trick back in Nam!” He perched his face over my half-wall and stared around my cube for a while.

I had to be on film for some bizarre hidden camera show, I just had to be.

When I could still feel his lurking presence after a full minute had passed, I asked, “Yes, Derek? Did you want something?” while continuing to type a comment onto Rachel’s Facebook wall.

“No, just thought I’d hang out today and watch you work because I’m going to have to write an eval of this internship and I want to be sure I’m accurate.”

At that, I had to turn my head and actually look him in the eye to be sure he was serious. “So you’re going to Big Brother me all day?”

“Yeah, think of me as the big brother you never had!” And then he joke punched me on the arm, like what he probably thought an older brother did to a kid sister, but from a boss, it bordered on harassment. Plus, how could he not get the
1984
reference or at least think of the reality TV show? God, he was denser than a black hole. And how dorky was I that I just referenced the concentrated mass of a black hole in a diss?

Anyway, adding to the wretchedness that was the day’s hours in the office was my obsession over tomorrow’s date with Colin, which was now only thirty-five hours away. I couldn’t stop checking my cell for missed calls or texts whenever Derek wasn’t totally breathing down my neck. Colin had said Tuesday, right? As in, the day after Monday, which was today. Surely he wouldn’t wait to make plans till the day of our burger date. He was an adult and they made plans in advance, right? Or was I being crazy? Or maybe I should be the one to call him and set up the deets for tomorrow? I mean, he did ask me, so maybe it was my turn to reciprocate. I kept my cell propped open on my desk, positioned next to my monitor so I could look like I was working but still see any sign of life from Colin the second it came through.

In the middle of this tailspin of paranoia and angst, Derek rolled back up to my cube.

“Em-tastic, let me ask you a hypothetical question,” he said, and then looked down at a Scantron sheet of paper, which I’m assuming was the summer intern eval form. “Let’s just say I asked you to rate your meeting presence on a scale of one to five. Three being average, one being unacceptable, and five being superior. What would you give yourself? Again, this is not anything real, just ‘hypothetical.’” And when he said “hypothetical,” he used air quotes.

“You’ve never taken me to a meeting, so my meeting presence isn’t ‘hypothetical’”—finger quotes—“it’s nonexistent.”

Derek’s face lit up like I’d just explained where babies came from. “You’re right! I’ll call HR and see what bubble I should fill out for nonexistent.” And with that, he slithered back into his office and I went back to my mental state of pandemonium.

By lunchtime I was officially frantic over my empty inbox. So I called my boy expert.

“Jayla!” I hissed into the phone from inside the supply closet. “I need your help!” I bent to sit down on some reams of copy paper and knocked over two boxes of highlighters.

“Oh sure, I’m just getting a wax. So if I yelp suddenly, it’s not you. Go ahead.”

As I picked up the dozens of fluorescent markers that were rolling around the closet floor, I filled her in. “First of all, Derek is re-dic today. He’s pretty much shadowing me. I’m literally hiding in a supply closet to get away from him.” She laughed and I uncapped one of the fallen highlighters and started giving myself a hot-pink manicure. “But the real ish is that I haven’t heard from Colin yet about our D-A-T-E tomorrow and I am fuh-reaking. Do you think he somehow hacked into the company payroll and realized I’m only eighteen?” I asked, offering the only valid reason I could think of for his lack of communication.

“Are you high on Sharpies? You’re not getting paid, so you’re not on the payroll,” Jay said logically, trying to keep her voice steady as she was defuzzed. “Secondly, he’s at work. The stockbroker guys I see don’t even come up for air until happy hour, so he’s probably just busy.”

I sighed deeply and put down the highlighter. “Right, busy!” Why did I immediately jump on the first train to CrazyTown instead of thinking about something as rational as that? Hello, Emma, not everyone at this company is as bored as you are!

“You’re the best. Thanks, Jay.”

“No worries. Every girl’s the same way when it comes to predate stressing. Just distract yourself, buy stuff on eBay or something.”

As I pressed End Call I felt loads better. She was right. Colin was probably just swamped and I needed to focus on something else. But eBay? Well, even though we did just go over the fact that I was getting paid nada all summer, I really did need a new purse and I was in love with Jayla’s Kooba bag that I’d been borrowing. I wondered how much it cost. Maybe it was time to get one of my own.

I slipped out of the supply closet, bringing a box of paper clips to mask the fact that I was in there for a pseudo-therapy session. When I got back to my desk, Derek was mercifully nowhere in sight. I prayed that he was up in HR, turning in his evaluation so he could go back to ignoring me seven hours a day. I jiggered my mouse, the
Infinity on High
screen saver melting as my monitor came back to life. I quickly refreshed my Gmail and sighed as no new messages loaded. I logged onto eBay, ready to follow my life coach’s advice to shop till it didn’t hurt anymore. I searched for the Kooba bag and even a used one was four hundred dollars. Insane! I pictured my dad’s head popping off after getting that credit card bill and decided to stalk bands on Buzznet.com all day instead. Maybe I’d discover
the
new screamo band and go back to Bridgefield and say I’d seen them in some tiny New York club.

By 5:01 all I’d done was leave comments on all Kyle’s Facebook pics and check my phone a thousand times for texts. Sulky and anxious, I trudged to the subway.

Standing on the platform, I wished that I’d bought a
People
or something from the newspaper shack outside the office. The train was taking forever and I had nothing to do but read the ads for Lavalife online dating as I waited, which really only reminded me of my supposed real-life date the next day. I pulled my cell out to check if Colin had sent any word yet, but I had no service in the sweaty depths of the station. I slammed my useless Sanyo back into my bag, and something moving on the tracks in front of me caught my eye. I looked down and my stomach lurched up into my esophagus. There was a huge rat, and I really mean huge, like the size of a full-grown Olsen, staring back at me. Before I could even yelp, the rodent scampered away at the sound of the oncoming train.

My lips were still curled into a grossed-out sneer as I boarded the train.

“Smile, beautiful,” a creepy guy in worker overalls said, motioning to a seat next to him. I turned my sneer into a grimace, making a point not to smile at him.

Of course the only seat on the entire subway was next to Icky McCreeps, so I stood and held on to a pole, probably contracting every New Yorker’s summer cold and HPV strain. The doors connecting my subway car to the one in front opened and two middle schoolers—one tall and gangly, the other gangly and tall—walked through holding a Costco box of Peanut M&M’s.

“Ladies and gentleman,” the tall and gangly one started in a complete monotone, “my friend and I are here selling candy to help raise money for our basketball team.”

The gangly and tall one continued in his buddy’s same dead monotone, “So please, buy some candy for only one dollar. This will keep us out of two places: the poorhouse and your house.” The combination of the lifeless delivery and the fact that almost everyone in the car had on earphones led to a painful silence after the joke.

I took pity on the kids. “Hey, I’ll buy some candy,” I said, fishing through my purse for my wallet. The two boys hustled over and opened their box to display their candy-coated wares. I opened my wallet to find that I had not a single bill in the holder. I unzipped the change purse and dumped the coins into my palm.

Counting them out, I said, “Seventy, seventy-five, eighty. Oh wow. Sorry, it doesn’t look like I have a dollar. Would you take eighty cents for a pack? I’ll throw in this stamp.” I don’t know where the stamp had come from or why it was even in my wallet, but it had to be old. It was a thirty-nine-cent one.

The tall and gangly fellow broke his deadpan and yelled, “Shit, lady. This ain’t
Let’s Make a Deal
. It’s a fund-raiser.”

The whole packed car was now staring at the drama. Even those whose music was too loud to take notice of the boys initially could somehow hear and were fully paying attention.

“Yeah, keep your pennies and Monopoly money, bitch. We’ll find someone with real cash,” added the gangly and tall one as the duo turned to head into the next car.

I had to stay in the car, totally shocked and embarrassed, for two more stops before I finally stepped out into Union Square. I pushed my way through a mass of sweaty and irritable commuters to make it to the stairs. Crap, what was I doing in this overcrowded city? My job sucked big-time, I had less money than people who begged on the street, my BFF was always too boy crazy to hang, no real social life to speak of, no boyfriend to go back to, a summer crush who had dropped off the face of the planet. And then, as I ascended onto Fourteenth Street, rousing me from my quagmire of self-doubt, I felt it. My phone, vibrating as it found a signal to tell me I had a message. Quickly I pulled the phone from my purse and flipped it open and saw a text! From Colin!

On 4 2s day burgers? 7ish? What’s your addy, I’ll pick you up. No eat n run this time missy!

Swoon! Even his texts were sexy. I managed to wait until I got home, said quick hi’s to Rachel and Jayla, and locked myself in my room to respond. Holding off for ten minutes was grueling. I texted,
4sure, I’ll bring my eating A game 14th and Broadway SE corner.

Immediately after hitting Send, I pulled my journal out of my nightstand and flopped on my bed to document my completely unnecessary freak over Colin not messaging me earlier. I figured this entry would be something cute for us to laugh about when I read it to him on our honeymoon or something. Not even a first date and I was practically tasting the passed appetizers at our wedding? Apparently, Rachel wasn’t the only boy psycho in the apartment. I stopped myself from thinking of names for our grandkids by switching gears and scribbling down the entire Derek intern evaluation exchange from this morning. He was such an ass. Even though now I was normally fed up to the point of tears around him, I knew that this definitely would be something I’d laugh about later…and not imaginary-honeymoon-when-I’m-thirty later. I’d probably start thinking The Dorf’s dickness was funny in the middle of August when I stopped working for him.

I placed my journal back into the drawer and got ready for bed. Of course, I was so revved for the big date with the future Mr. Freeman that relaxing wasn’t easy. But finally I managed to fall asleep. And thank God, I wouldn’t want to have red-rimmed, puffy eyes for my big night.

I don’t know how I made it through work on Tuesday, but I did. The minutes inched by even more slowly than normal, which I didn’t think would be possible considering how painful a normal workday was for me.

As I was logging off my computer and readying to jet home to primp for the date, Derek waddled up.

“Oh, don’t leave yet. I need help putting a video onto my MySpace profile.”

I checked my watch: 4:57. Why now? I would have been happy—no, maybe even thrilled—to do this at any point during the eight previous hours when I was chained to my desk, bored out of my freaking mind. But now I needed to run home and prep for Colin. I had my shower, hair straightening, makeup, and outfit change planned out perfectly if I left the office at five. Any later and I’d have a wet head or only half a dress on.

“Um, Derek, can we do it tomorrow? I really need to go,” I begged.

“But Em, you’re going to love this video. I put eyes and a nose on my chin and covered my face and then had my wife film me upside down lip-synching to ‘You Can Call Me Al.’ It’s comedy genius, if I do say so myself.” He huffed on his fingernails and buffed them on his shirt. “And I need this on YouTube, too. I think this is going to be the biggest thing to hit the Internet since the Ooga-Chaga Baby!”