Those Girls (14 page)

A
lex’s grounding was lifted on Valentine’s Day, which, as it turned out, was a Friday. They decorated the cafeteria in red and pink with streamers, and all the girls were bustling around with carnations and little packets of those chalk-tasting candies that say weird stuff on them, like
Be Mine
, which always sounded a little too
I’m gonna lock you up in a basement
for my taste. The seniors ran an exchange where you could send a carnation with a note to Crawford and vice versa. They delivered them throughout the day. By lunch, none of us had gotten one yet.

“So, Lex,” I said. “How will we celebrate your return to the social world?”

“Isn’t it Valentine’s Day?” Mollie snapped. “Don’t you have something to do with your boyfriend?”

I gulped a little, because no, I didn’t have anything to do with my boyfriend. He hadn’t mentioned Valentine’s Day at all. In fact, he hadn’t mentioned much of anything at all lately. At first, I figured that it was the sex, and the fact that we weren’t having it. I assumed that was the distance between us, the thing that wasn’t connecting. The reason I didn’t feel like how
I always thought being in a couple would feel. We had that great night with his family, and I thought we were really on our way, but there was still this sense I always got around him that I wasn’t quite sure what he was thinking. I saw Mollie and Sam and other couples around school, and they just appeared in sync and like they were subconsciously connected or something. I’d been waiting to feel that with Drew, and I figured the sex would be the binding agent that we were missing. But not so. It didn’t change anything, except put another thing that we never talked about up in the air. We kept hanging out, and even kept having sex, like everything was normal and fine, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t. But he never said anything to make me think it was something specific (like an illicit act at an after-party on New Year’s), so I kept rolling with it, hoping it would iron itself out.

After New Year’s, he was
allegedly
very busy with the lit magazine and SAT stuff and had been
working on some new short stories
. But he was the romantic type, right? All writerly and thoughtful and sensitive, he read long books about epic love stories and cried when we watched
Legends of the Fall
. I hoped maybe he’d planned some big Valentine’s Day surprise, but I knew better than to expect anything. He was still a guy after all.

“The Runts are playing the Greencliff High dance tonight,” Alex said. “I figured neither of you would want to waste your Valentine’s Day with your boyfriend hanging out with a bunch of public school kids.”

“Shit,” Mollie said. “Sam and I would totally come see you,
but I think he made some fucking fancy reservation somewhere.” She chewed her thumbnail and stared into her empty yogurt container.

I really wanted to know what the fallout of New Year’s had been for them, if it had or hadn’t affected their relationship. Sam had texted me once since New Year’s. He’d said:
What are you doing right now?
I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to anymore, so I just didn’t. I erased it and pretended everything was normal. Pretended Drew was my boyfriend, Mollie was my friend, and Sam was her boyfriend. That was how it was after all. I needed to just live in the simplicity of that. Whatever allure hooking up with Sam had for me was squashed that night. The good way in which Sam and me hooking up had felt like a screw-you to Mollie didn’t feel good that night. It just felt evil. Hooking up with Sam, in front of her, knowing that it wasn’t the first time, knowing where to touch him and pull him, and her not knowing that I knew. It felt mean, and not in a satisfying way, but in an
I’m a bad person
way.

Why did I do it, then? I guess I thought it would be more suspect and out of character for me to say no than it would be for me to go along with it. I guess I somehow thought that maybe the threesome would bring Mollie and me closer together again. Give us, like, an inside joke and something to bond about, or something. I guess that was stupid. I guess there was no way that a threesome with me and Sam would somehow unite us against Sam, even though at the time, in my head, that’s what I saw happening.

“I figured,” Alex said, ripping her napkin into long shreds. “V, I assume you and Drew are doing something, too.”

If Drew was planning a surprise, Alex would probably know about it, right? I took the fact that she was asking what we were doing to mean that we weren’t doing anything. Or maybe she did, and she was playing along.

“Actually, we’re not,” I said. “He hasn’t mentioned a thing. I don’t even think he remembers that it’s Valentine’s Day.”

“He’s been really obsessed with his writing lately,” she said.

I hated it when she did that, told me stuff about Drew that she assumed that she knew and I didn’t. Like she secretly competed with me over who knew him better. She had, like, ten years on me, I get it, but at the end of the night, he was still going home with me and not her, so I wished she’d just let it go sometimes.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll want to come support you, so we’ll totally go,” I said. “It’ll be fun. A public school Valentine’s Day safari adventure!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gabby Sherman waddling up to our table with an armful of carnations, flushed and panicked, like she always was. I thought about the time that she farted during the Thanksgiving assembly, and giggled to myself.

“Carnations for you guys!” she said.

She handed one to me and one to Alex. Then another one to Alex.

Mollie just sat there, staring her down, ready to accuse her of some great crime.

We thanked her. She said no problem and that
this wasn’t all of them
. That there was
another batch coming later
, and then she scurried off.

My note said:
Happy Valentine’s Day, beautiful. xoxo, Drew

Alex scooted her chair back and giggled away to herself.

Mollie peered at her. “Who sent you two, Miss Popular?” she asked.

“One’s from Marc Seidman,” she said through chuckles.

“What’s funny?” I asked.

“Marc Seidman. He wrote, ‘Roses are red, violets are blue, I’m sorry you got grounded and for being an asshole to you and Drew.’ ”

“Is the other one from Drew?” Mollie asked, still with the squinty eyes and bitch face.

Alex looked at me, then back down at the card. She said, “Yeah, just congratulating me on my freedom. Happy Valentine’s Day… yada yada.” Then she said, “Nothing from Sam? What a bastard.”

Mollie looked into the empty yogurt container and crossed her legs. “Please. Sam is hardly the cheesy carnation type.”

“I thought you guys had big fancy plans tonight?” Alex asked.

“We do. Hence why he doesn’t need to spend more money to send me a cheap stupid flower.” She grabbed her bag and the yogurt and stood up. “Lex, save me a seat in English?”

Alex nodded, and Mollie stomped off.

It was just a stupid flower sale. She’d be fine. And not mad at me, because he didn’t send her one. At least he didn’t send me one. Or both of us. Better none of us than both of us…

“So, I’m serious,” I said, rerouting my train of thought. “Drew and I will definitely come see you guys at the dance tonight.”

“Super,” she said.

We took our carnations and headed to class.

When I told Drew about seeing Alex’s band at the Greencliff dance, he said he was psyched that I was down to go. He was afraid that I’d want to do something dumb and romantic for Valentine’s Day, which was a stupid holiday created by Hallmark to extort money from bored, fat, consumption-obsessed Americans. I told him that it would be fun to be somewhere where no one knew us. But that maybe I’d cook him a fancy meal afterward. He said maybe, that he’d been on a roll with his writing and was anxious to get home and work. Because right, going home and banging away on a dusty laptop definitely sounds better than getting fed and laid by your super-hot girlfriend.…

IF CRAWFORD AND HARWIN
were different countries, Greencliff High was a different freakin’ planet. Everything was oversize and cold and made out of linoleum and tile and aluminum—no mahogany, stone, or carpet. The kids looked pretty much the same, just a little rougher around the edges and slightly more racially ambiguous. And the guys looked older than the Crawford boys for some reason. There were a lot of cute ones actually, and I wondered why we hadn’t tapped this public school resource sooner. Seemed to be heavy on the guy to girl ratio, too.

The dance was in their gym, which was dirty and smelly and neither woody and quaint like Harwin’s nor massive and opulent like Crawford’s.

The band was already setting up when we got there, looking all professional, tuning their instruments and whispering official, informed-looking things to one another. Alex looked cute in her little skirt and funky tights, very rock and roll. I found this whole thing to be so funny, that there was, like, this whole side of her, this whole thing that she did and liked and was good at that she never talked about or shared with us, the people who were supposed to be her best friends. In all the years I was friends with Alex, I’d never once heard her play or even talk about the piano. I knew she took lessons, but I always figured it was something her mom made her do, like how Mollie took tennis lessons and I used to take ballet and horseback riding and ice skating. I knew she was into music, like finding songs and bands and stuff that weren’t on the radio, but that wasn’t the same as having, like, an actual drive to play with strangers, like, in front of strangers.

They started playing, and everyone cheered. People in the crowd screamed for Ned and Pete and Fernando, so Drew and I wailed and whistled for Alex as loud as we could. They sounded so much better than they had at Halloween. Totally different, too, more funky and soulful, more Alexy honestly, like it was really her band now, as opposed to her just playing in the boys’ band. Everyone in the crowd stood and listened, and then when the beat picked up danced. Everyone around us (not knowing that we were her friends) was buzzing about the
Cunning Runts, and her voice, and how hot she was, and how much better they were now than they used to be when some other guy was their singer.

Drew gazed at her up there, mesmerized, a smile plastered across his face. He had his arm around me, but he stared at her, and not in the way that guys stare at me. We swayed and bopped back and forth to the music, and I put my head on his shoulder. He kissed my hair and squeezed my ass. I wasn’t sure in that scenario who the lucky one really was. I knew that I had what I wanted, maybe even what Alex wanted—him, a boyfriend, in body. I knew that he was my boyfriend, that he was down here with me, physically holding me, but he was completely entranced by her.

When their set was over, a DJ went on and they joined us in the crowd.

“Congratulations!” I said, and hugged them all. They were all kinda moist and sweaty; it was kinda gross.

“Thanks for coming,” Fernando said.

Alex grinned from ear to ear, clearly pleased with her performance. I told her I couldn’t believe how good she’d gotten, how everyone in the crowd was talking about how hot she was. She just laughed and asked if I liked the new songs. I was embarrassed to tell her that I didn’t know which ones were new and which were old, so I just said that I did.

Drew couldn’t stop hugging her and punching her in the arm and telling her how
fucking awesome
she did, that he wanted her to record her songs so that he could listen to her in the car.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” the DJ said into a microphone. “This one’s for the lovers.”

A slow song came on, and, in unison, all the public school kids sucked themselves onto one another and started making out. Before I could say anything, Drew said, “Oh my god, Alex, it’s the song! We have to dance to this song.”

I didn’t recognize the song.

She said, “Ew, I’m all sweaty, you don’t want to dance with me.”

And he said, “Shut up, I don’t care,” and held out his arm.

“Do you mind?” he asked me.

I shook my head and smiled and watched the two of them go off and hug and sway.

So, I was left standing there in the dusty gym in the midst of all these strangers, couples, on Valentine’s Day, while my boyfriend went off to dance with his (my) best friend. Perfect.

Fernando tapped my shoulder. “Well,” he said, “would you like to dance?”

A wave of relief. I told him I would, more than anything, and thanked him for saving me.

“No problem,” he said. “You don’t know anyone here. It’s really cool that you guys came to support us.”

It’s always weird being alone with your friend’s boyfriend. I never really know the rules here. Well, I mean, other than the
don’t have sex with him
rule that I had already broken. But in an attempt to do it the right way, what can you say and not say? Where is it okay to touch and not touch? He seemed nervous, but damn, he was cute. I never really had a chance to look
at him up close before, or maybe I just never really bothered. Dark hair, dark skin, bright brown puppy-dog eyes. He looked cute in his little vest, clearly he’d tried to look nice. How could Alex not be falling all over him?

“So they’re pretty close, yeah?” he asked, gesturing to Drew and Alex.

“They’re
best friends
.” I looked over at the two of them talking up a storm, laughing away about god only knows what.

“It’s annoying, right?”

I laughed. “Extremely!” But I looked at pretty Fernando, and he wasn’t laughing. “I wouldn’t worry, though,” I said. “They’ve been tight for years. If they were going to hook up, they’d have hooked up by now.”

“I guess so,” he said, eyes still fixed on the gruesome twosome. “I just wish I knew where I stood with her.”

I shrugged, realizing the strangeness in the fact that Fernando and I had the same problem.

A
fter the dance, Fernando asked me if I wanted to
grab some pizza
. I’d seen him at practice, but we hadn’t really
talked
since New Year’s, seeing as how part of the stipulation of my grounding (which included seizure of my phone and computer) was that I had to come right home after band practice (after negotiating even being able to
attend
practice). Part of me hoped I’d drunk-hallucinated the whole ordeal. I wondered if there was a statute of limitations on “we should probably talk about this” and if it was past the point already. For all I knew, Fernando had a new girlfriend. For all I knew, I was never his girlfriend in the first place.

He opened the door for me when I got into his car. I smiled. He got in on his side and smiled back. Was I supposed to say something? Apologize? Was he? What was this? Was he taking me out on a Valentine’s Day date, or were we bandmates
grabbing pizza
after a gig?

“I think we’re really coming together,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said, assuming he was talking about the band.

He looked over at me and smiled yet again, and put his hand on my leg. I smiled, again, wondering when either one of
us was actually going to say anything—if either one of us had ever actually said anything during the entire duration of our relationship or if it had really just been a series of smiles, and in my naïveté, I assumed that was all relationships really entailed.

We walked into the pizza place, which was almost empty. Blasts of spicy meat and bubbling cheese wafted around us like hot thunderclouds. I immediately started to salivate. Apparently, ten o’clock pizza isn’t a popular Valentine’s Day activity for young lovers, but it seemed as romantic as anything to me. I was self-conscious about my frizzy hair and shiny skin under the bright fluorescent lights. I fussed with my skirt and twirled my split ends.

“Two slices of plain,” he said to the guy behind the counter, handing him a ten-dollar bill. So he was paying. And he ordered for me. Maybe this was a date.

We sat down. He cracked his knuckles, looked at me, and said, “I want to apologize for New Year’s.”

Massive. Overwhelming. Bowel-cleansing relief.

“No, I want to apologize!” I said.

“It’s been frustrating not being able to talk to you.”

“Trust me, it’s been frustrating not being able to talk to anyone.”

He folded his pizza in half and held the bread on both sides like a sandwich. “We don’t need to make a big deal about it,” he said, chomping away. “But sex isn’t nothing to me.”

Oh god, he’d said the word. I was going to have to look him in the eye and talk about sex. Not just
sex
in the abstract, but actual physical penetration between him and me. Gross.
My actual vagina may as well have been sitting on the Formica table between our pieces of pizza.

“Me neither,” I said. I wanted to make eye contact to show him that I could, that I was cool. I was a sexy, mature woman who could talk about this stuff, but I couldn’t, I wasn’t. So I didn’t.

“Okay, good,” he said. And he reached his hand across the table, presumably to take mine. I smiled again and put my hand in his. My other hand sat awkwardly in my lap, as I eyed my pizza, wishing I could pick it up and take another bite.

“We don’t have to talk about this,” I said. “It’s cool. I was so drunk.”

“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to make sure you knew that I still think you’re cool, and I still want us to hang out and stuff.”

My hand was still in his, and I didn’t know how long I was supposed to leave it there. It was starting to sweat and it was greasy from the pizza.
Hang out and stuff.
What the fuck did that mean? Part of me wanted to ask what the fuck that meant, but most of me didn’t want to have the
am I your girlfriend?
conversation, because I knew I would be uncomfortable with either answer. My dried sweat was starting to itch under the fluorescent lights. I wanted to wash my face.

“Good,” I said, taking my hand from his and wiping it on my skirt. “Let’s just pretend that night never happened, okay?”

“Well, I don’t want to pretend it
never
happened,” he said, winking at me. “I like that it happened.”

He had finished eating; the crust of his pizza sat discarded on his plate. My favorite part. I was still hungry. I wanted to eat it.

He looked at his watch. “We should probably get you home soon,” he said. “Can’t have you getting grounded again.”

I nodded and eyed the pizza crust, debating if I should just ask for it. A big, thick piece that still had some sauce on it. He rolled up the plate and threw it in the trash.

DREW CALLED AT ABOUT
midnight, asking if I was awake. I told him I was. He asked if I was down for a sesh. I told him I was.

He pulled into my driveway and around to the side of the house by the garage. There were no windows there, so my mom couldn’t see what we were doing, even though she probably knew. I told her that I’d be right back—that Drew was just dropping something off. She asked where he’d been, why she hadn’t seen him around lately, asked me to tell him that she missed him and to invite him over for dinner. Like it was completely impossible that there was an actual complicated reason that Drew hadn’t been around; like it was my fault he hadn’t been around, like I had been too busy for my old friend Drew. Like I was the selfish one.

It was unseasonably warm for February in Philadelphia. A cool dampness sat in the air instead of the frigid bite that had loomed for the past few months. The snow was starting to melt and trickle down the sides of the streets. We sat for a while, with the windows down, letting the wet air in, while he rolled a joint.

“No Veronica sleepover tonight?” I asked.

“I have SAT tutoring in the morning,” he mumbled mid-lick.

I kept my eyes straight. Tried not to catch myself staring into the soft nape of his neck again. I watched the dark street sit there purring in the wet moonlight. Every few minutes a car would shush by, and I’d get nervous, like we were about to get in trouble, even though I knew we weren’t. My mom was inside and couldn’t see us, and my neighbors couldn’t possibly care what we were doing. How were we affecting them? We’re just kids being kids after all.

“Do you and Veronica ever smoke together?” I asked.

“Not really.” He leaned back in the seat, shook the joint between his thumb and forefinger, and twisted the top. “She says she doesn’t really like it, and honestly, I don’t really like it when she smokes. She gets really stupid. Says shit that makes no sense, eats a lot, then falls asleep.”

I laughed as, having smoked with Veronica, I knew this to be true. We always had fun when we got high, but Drew never really saw that silly girl part of me, the part that was friends with Veronica for a reason.

He lit the joint, took a long inhale, and passed it to me. I did the same and exhaled out the window.

“It’s good to have you back, Holbrook.” He reached over, placed his hand over my shoulder, and gave my neck a little squeeze. “I missed you.”

I turned to him and smiled. “I missed you, too.” I looked back out the window. “I missed everything! I missed daylight. I missed the moon.”

“Bet you missed Fernando.”

The weed started to kick in. The streetlights glowed brighter, lining the trees and houses in an iridescent haze.

“Not as much as I missed you!” I said, and pinched his cheek. “Why aren’t we listening to music?”

“Good god, I don’t know! What do you want?”

“Something chill.”

“Perfect,” he said, and lit the joint again. “So Fernando’s a good guy,” he said as he inhaled, and the beat filled the car.

“Yeah, I know.…” I trailed off. I wondered if every time we hung out now, we’d have to talk about Veronica and Fernando. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d talked about anything else.

“So are you gonna make me ask?”

“Make you ask what?”

“If you guys have
done it
yet.”

The weed, my head, the lights and music. All of a sudden, it all became too much.

“I’ve been grounded for a month!”

“So you haven’t?”

I don’t know why, but I said, “I didn’t say that.”

“You little minx! And you thought you could get away with not telling me.…”

“You didn’t tell me the second you slept with Veronica.”

“Yes, I did!”

“I just haven’t felt like talking about it.”

What was I going to tell him, the truth? That I tried, but Fernando didn’t want me? That I was totally unsexual, undesirable,
and that, just like him, Fernando thought I was fun to hang out with and great to talk to about music, but didn’t want me.

“So that’s it,” he said, inhaling again. “You’re done.”

“What does that mean?” The lights pulsated, and the bass on the car shook my seat.

“You gave it up. You gave it to Fernando. You’ve gone to the other side.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. It’s just sex. You had it with Veronica.”

“Yes. Yes, I did.” He looked at the glowing green numbers on the stereo.