The Way I Used to Be (22 page)

“Okay, okay. Just tell me it's not going to be a tattoo.”

She smiles. “Nose ring.”

I smile back. “Fine. Let's go in.” I even hold the door for Mara, just to show her how cool I am with this.

“Hey, you!” Cameron calls out from the back of the room, walking toward us with a smile. Toward Mara with a smile, anyway.

“I told you. As soon as I turned sixteen. I'm here.”

“Wait, don't you actually have to be eighteen?” I ask.

“Sixteen with parent's consent,” Cameron corrects.

“But you don't have parent's consent,” I say to Mara.

Cameron rolls his eyes and looks at Mara like I must be the most tedious square on the planet.

“Well, we didn't have parent's consent last night, either,” Mara says, laughing.

Cameron grins at her. “Do I even want to know?”

“You would definitely not approve, Cam,” Mara tells him. “We were bad girls.”

“Then don't tell me,” he says, pretending to cover his ears. “I don't believe you could do anything bad.” He looks at Mara so sweetly, like maybe he really is into her, finally. Then he looks to me: “Edy, on the other hand . . .”

I roll my eyes at him.

“Kidding, Edy.” But I know he's not. “Okay, come on back,” he says, leading the way down a hall to a little room. “Have a seat.” He gestures to what looks like a dentist's chair. It's all very clinical and sterile. Smells like rubbing alcohol or iodine, or something. It leaves a bitter, chemical taste in my mouth.

“You're sure you want to do this, right?” I ask her as she climbs into the chair. “It is your face, you know?”

“Is it gonna hurt? Tell me the truth?” she asks Cameron, instead of answering me.

He dabs at her left nostril with a cotton swab and smiles as he looks down into her face. “I'm not gonna lie. It really will hurt. But only for, like, two seconds, and then it's over, I promise.”

“Okay,” she whispers. Then she looks to me, taking my hand.

“Cameron, do you really, really know what you're doing? Not being rude, I promise. Just—you can really do this, right?” I ask him.

“Yes, Edy. I do this every day. Really. It's okay.”

“Cameron's going to be a tattoo artist,” Mara says.

Yeah, sure he is
, I want to say. “Fine, just be careful.”

“I will,” he says softly, gripping on to her nostril with this creepy-looking pair of silver tongs. “Your eyes are going to water, but it's okay. That's totally normal,” he tells her, placing a tissue in her hand. “Okay, Mara, turn your head toward me and close your eyes.”

I watch him bring the biggest needle I've ever seen in my entire life up to her tiny little nostril. I squeeze her hand harder than she squeezes mine.

“Okay, take a deep breath,” Cameron says. I do. “And exhale.” I close my eyes, and feel Mara's whole body go tense. But she doesn't make a sound. “That was it, now I'm just putting the ring in. Take another breath. Okay. And exhale. That's it! That's it, you did it!” He laughs.

I open my eyes. Mara has a little sparkly stud in her nose. Tears are streaming from her eyes, but she has the biggest smile on her face as she looks up at Cameron.

“That was it?” she asks him.

“Yeah, look. Here,” he says, handing her a mirror.

“Oh my God!” she shouts, sitting up straight.

Then she looks to me, then back to the mirror, then back to me. “Do you like it?”

“I love it!” I tell her, and I mean it.

“This is the best day of my life!” she says, throwing her arms around Cameron's neck. He smiles as he leans in and hugs her back. Then she lets go and hugs me, too. Cameron and I smile at each other, truthfully, for the first time ever.

THE NEXT WEEK AT
school we walk down the hall, Mara alongside me with her nose ring and freshly dyed cranberry hair. It seems like she's grown ten inches taller. Something radiates from inside of her. I don't know what, or how. But I wish some of whatever she's got would rub off on me.

After school on Thursday I wait for Mara at her locker so we can ride home together. But she's late. I pace up and down the hall, checking my phone. I'm not paying attention when suddenly I feel someone ram into my shoulder like a linebacker, spinning me around. I look up quickly. My mouth opens to apologize, but I stop short. Because it's Amanda glaring back at me.

“Watch it,” she snarls, her eyes cutting through me.

I open my mouth again, searching for the words to put her in her place, but she's gone before I can think of anything. “Fuck you,” I mouth at her back.

I go sit down on the floor by Mara's locker and watch as everyone filters out. Watch as the guys—jocks and geeks alike—watch me, wondering what the truth is, if I really am all the things they've heard. And the girls, they watch me too, like I'm contagious, not really caring about the truth.

I text Mara:
where r u?

She writes back right away:
on my way . . . 5 mins.

But just as I'm about to text her back I get another text. It's from a number I don't recognize:
Eden, still wanna party tomorrow?

Who is this?

Really???

I stand up and pace the hall, looking into the classrooms, making sure no one's lurking around watching me, fucking with me.

Yes, really. Who is this?

Troy

How did you get my number?

You gave it to me! LOL

???

You told me to let you know about the party at my house tomorrow night. You don't remember??

I don't remember giving that guy my number. I don't remember anything about a party. I barely even remember that guy.

“Edy, sorry!” Mara calls from down the hall. “I was talking to Cameron after class.”

“That's okay, come here. Look at this,” I tell her, holding my phone out. “It's that guy, Troy, from the playground. Apparently I gave him my number. And apparently there's some kind of party tomorrow. I don't know, I don't remember any of this. Ringing any bells?”

Mara takes the phone from me and writes:
Hmmm . . . don't remember, LOL. But tell me about this party . . . ?

Cool. I'll text you the address. Make sure you bring your friend :)

OK

“There,” she says, handing me my phone back with a grin. “I kissed that guy, Alex, you know.”

“You tramp!” I gasp. “I have no idea what I did with the other one, I guess.”

“You didn't do anything,” she says with a laugh, smacking me in the arm. “I honestly think you two just passed out on each other,” she says quietly, even though there's no one else in the hall. She would never say it, but I know it still weirds her out that I've had sex. Or maybe it's just knowing that people think I'm a total slut, that people talk about me like I'm a total slut. Especially when she's standing there next to me, not one.

“So, what's the deal with Cameron, exactly?” I ask her as we walk out to her car.

She throws her arms up in the air. “No fucking idea, Edy. I swear to God! He's driving me crazy. Sometimes I think he likes me just as a friend. Other times I feel like he's about to kiss me! I don't know, I don't know, I just don't know!” she yells.

“Yeah, it kind of seemed like he liked you—the way he was talking to you and looking at you at the piercing place. And how he's had to come and find you every single day just to ask how your nose is doing. But then he doesn't ask you out or anything?”

“Exactly!” she shouts, swinging her car door open. “Well, I'm done waiting for him. He's had almost two years to figure it out—two years!” she tells me, looking across the hood of the car at me, this fire in her eyes.

“Okay,” I tell her carefully. “That's good, Mara. You don't have to wait for anyone.”

“Exactly!” she says again, except this time with conviction as she slams her door shut.

“Are you okay to be driving?” I ask her, confused by this sudden anger.

“Oh, I'm more than okay—I'm great!” She laughs, shifting the car into drive.

I'm not sure if I should be laughing or concerned, so I just quietly say, “Okay.”

“Maybe I want to go out with this Alex person. See what he thinks of that!” She looks at me when I don't respond. “Right?”

“Right. I guess. But—” I begin.

“But what?” she interrupts.

“But it just seems like those guys are, I don't know, probably fun to hang out with or whatever, but I mean, they're big-time stoners. Obviously not boyfriend material. For you.” She looks at me like I'm crushing all her dreams. “Probably. I mean, I don't know them. Maybe not.”

“But we'll go to the party, right?”

“Sure.”

“Good.”

She smiles and turns on the radio.

WE MAKE FIFTY WRONG
turns getting to this house in the middle of nowhere. As we walk up the driveway the noise spills out. It's a huge house—at least three stories—with light shining from every window.

“So this is a real party, huh?” Mara asks, holding on to my arm as we walk up the front steps in our skirts and skimpy shirts.

“We'll find out.”

We push through the open door and the smell of alcohol envelops us. We stand in what was formerly a living room but now looks to be a foundation for a landfill. The wood floors are covered in litter—potato chips, popcorn, pizza, glass bottles, plastic cups. Music, bodies, yelling, pushing. It's like the animals escaped from the zoo.

Mara and I look at each other, neither of us really knowing what we're supposed to do next. We had only been to the kind of parties at skating rinks and Chuck E. Cheese's.

“Text Troy, Edy. Let them know we're here,” Mara tells me.

I take my phone out, but some guy shoves another guy into me, nearly knocking me over, and I drop my phone. “Watch it!” Mara yells after the guy, but I can barely even hear her over the blaring music.

“You all right?” Someone shouts from behind me, putting his hands on my shoulders. I turn around quickly, and this guy grabs each of my hands, holds my arms out to my sides, and looks me over. “You look good to me,” this guy with a smooth voice and a dangerous smile says as he picks my phone up off the floor and hands it to me.

I turn to Mara, who's ogling this mystery guy. Obviously attractive, obviously older than us. He smiles as I turn back to him. A smile that seems to mean a lot. Mara comes closer and yells, “We're looking for Alex and Troy?”

This guy looks back and forth between Mara and me, confused. “Why would you be looking for them?” he says with a laugh, steering us farther into the house with one hand on my back and the other on Mara's shoulder.

“They invited us,” Mara explains as we're herded through the living room and into a kitchen that's been turned into one huge bar, with a keg and an endless supply of bottled beer.

“They invited you?” he asks, coming to a halt, looking at us alternately, repeating himself with exactly the same intonation as the first time. “Wait. They invited you?”

“Yes,” Mara tells him innocently. And he just starts laughing.

“All right,” he says, shaking his head. “Gotta give 'em props for that!”

“Hey,” he calls to another guy standing in the kitchen filling a plastic cup from the keg. “Hey, man, why don't you get some drinks for these two lovely ladies—friends of Troy and his tool bag, Alex!” And they both start laughing.

Mara looks at me like she doesn't get it. Clearly our Alex and Troy are not of the top tier here. Keg Guy hands both Mara and me a plastic cup full of beer, still laughing.

“They're not our friends,” I correct, setting my cup down on the counter. “We don't even know them,” I protest, but they're not listening.

I look at Keg Guy—he's older too. I look all around us. Everyone's older. This is not a high school party. Clearly, this is a college party.

“The only reason they're even here is because Troy's my little twerp brother. You'll find them out by the pool—they'll be the heads attached to the bong,” he says with a laugh, pointing in the direction of the back door, dismissing us like we're just these silly little girls. “Go on, go get baked so you have something to talk about in home ec on Monday!”

Mara starts walking away, unfazed. I follow her through the sliding screen door, and sure enough, there they are in a cloud of smoke with a small crowd encircling them. Everyone laughing and talking slowly. They look up and Alex yells, “Hey, you made it! Awesome. Come join us.” He slides over on the bench they're sitting on, making room for us. Now they suddenly don't seem so cool. I want to just turn around and leave.

“I forgot my drink,” I tell Mara, but she's already left my side to go sit down with them, smiling and girly, already over our humiliation in the kitchen. I turn back to get my beer, the only thing that's going to make this bearable. That guy's still leaning against the counter next to his friend, his eyes following my every move as I walk back into the room. “Excuse me,” I say, sharply. “My drink. You're standing in front of it.” I have to step in close, reaching around him. But he snatches the cup and holds it up high over my head.

“First, tell me which one you're for? I gotta know,” he says, waving the cup in the air.

I look up at the smirk on his face. The way he looks at me like I'm some kid he can tease. Which is the total opposite of the way he was looking at me in the doorway five minutes earlier, like he liked what he saw, before he knew I was connected to Troy. I cross my arms. “I'm not
for
anyone. And I'm not jumping for that, so you can just stop embarrassing yourself,” I tell him, looking around like I'm embarrassed for him. I sound tougher than I've ever sounded in my life. In fact, I feel tougher than I've ever felt in my life—invincible.