Ditched (8 page)

That’s what best friends are for. Finding what sparkles when you’re in the middle of a disaster.

I suddenly wished I had taken her up on her offer for us to get ready together. Maybe she would’ve given me a heads-up about choice in shoes and maybe she would’ve convinced me 71

to wear al black. I could’ve looked gorgeous tonight—not like a piece of tough-skinned fruit. I suddenly wanted to turn around and go join Mrs. Dunbar on the couch. I wanted to be
uninvolved
.

I looked Hailey over, trying not to reveal my I-wish-I-wasn’t-this-jealous face. “You look . . . amazing.” I wasn’t exaggerating at all. Her dress was exactly what I would’ve chosen . . . a straight black strapless full-length gown. Gorgeous. And of course she was wearing silver heels. When I took a closer look at her, she looked twenty-five, like everyone else. “Wait. Are you wearing falsies?” Hailey batted her lashes. “Glam, aren’t they?” She did look glam. I was surprised she’d done something so drastic without warning me first. But then again, this was Hailey—the girl who did what she wanted, and when she got caught, talked her way out of it. Like when she kissed two guys (maybe three?) at Jimmy DeFranco’s pool party—yes, the Epic Night of Disastrous Consequences (only I’m sure Hailey’s kissing was not an accident)—and a couple of girls started harassing her about it, so she said,

“I’m not a cold fish. I’m warm-blooded—it’s in my nature.

Unlike you two. When was the last time you got any?” Hailey knew exactly how to turn the tables.
Rol and deflect.

That was her motto. She was an emotional escape artist.

Which she’d learned from her dad—he had a black belt in jujitsu and always used martial arts techniques as metaphors for life. For Hailey, it worked. Sometimes I wished I just 72

knew how to kick someone in the shins.

Al my dad had ever taught me was No Means
No
. But it doesn’t work on dogs (or humans) without the assertive part.

Hailey had assertive juice coursing through her veins.

“What’s with al the skin tonight?” Hailey eyed some girls near us. “And what’s up with the slit in Brianna’s dress?

It goes al the way up to her hoo-hoo.” I laughed. “I heard she has a ventilation deficit.”

“Yeah, wel a slit like that isn’t doing much for that stel ar reputation of hers.”

I turned to her. “Not that ours are much better.”

“We’re the good girls,” she said as she looped her arm in mine. “We just like to have fun.”

That’s my Hailey. She has a reputation for being a wild one, but she knows how to spin it. . . .
I’m the fun one!
This helped her popularity, luckily, because everyone seemed to respect her kick-ass, upbeat, I-don’t-give-a-shit-what-you-think attitude. Or maybe they were scared of her?

Either way, being best friends with her made me quietly popular. Except my bad-girl reputation didn’t earn me tons of respect—it earned me silent glares. Fortunately, it didn’t result in al -out nastiness. Not often.

That’s because Hailey’s friendship provided me with a sort of invisible social protection—you mess with me, you get her.

The entity that was known as Hailey & Justina (inseparable, unstoppable) had started in ninth grade. Neither of 73

us had been looking for a boyfriend, of course, because we were too swept up in the massive selection of high school guys. Middle school had been like shopping for dinner at a gas station—not much selection. High school was like the smorgasbord at the Hometown Buffet. So we’d hit every party we could, which hadn’t been hard since Hailey had the confidence of a party ninja. She just walked in as if parties were her invention, and I fol owed.

We’d pick out guys who looked kissable and make it a sporting event—cal ing them like a game of pool: eight bal , corner pocket. Except it was, “Sandy blond, next to the keg.” We were highly successful . . . mostly due to Hailey’s revisions of my al -black-everything look. I stil wore al black, but she’d taught me to buy formfitting sweaters, not button-down shirts, and to use a pop of color, but only on the lips.

It draws their eyes in, and lips are the only part of your body you want guys to focus on, she’d say. That and boobs, which Hailey had also revised for me after a quick visit to Victoria’s Secret. I wasn’t sure I even needed a bra due to my less-than-impressive size. But her philosophy was that al girls could have cleavage thanks to the invention of the Miracle Bra. No excuses for not having lady lumps, she’d say.

After the introduction of the Miracle Bra to my wardrobe, my kissing stats increased threefold.

Al through tenth grade we were stil in the game. Only, by the end of the year, I was getting tired of referring to guys by hair color and room position and not by their actual 74

names, and I was looking for the real thing. Except after the events at Jimmy DeFranco’s party that summer, we were no longer being referred to as The Girls At That Party. We were sluts.

Which had never been my intention—it had started out as a hobby, really. Oh god, that sounds gross, but kissing boys was simply a highly enjoyable activity. I’d never thought about the consequences . . . hal way glares from girls, hal way winks from guys, and oh-so-rude remarks from Brianna Portman, which were never limited to just the hallways. I wish she’d just stuck with glares, like the rest of them.

So now I couldn’t even make a move without weighing the consequences of each step.

But it seemed to me that eight months and twelve days without kissing a single boy had been long enough to erase the damage.

But I wasn’t so sure.

Ian squeezed my elbow. “Gonna go talk to Dan.” I nodded. From behind, Ian looked like a grown man.

Except his hair had flopped over to the wrong side but in one of those cute ways, which made him one hot burrito.

“Wow. Stare much?” Hailey was sucking on green Jell-O.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you two have moved past the friendship phase.”

My face flushed. I bit my lip.

Her eyes grew big. “No. Way.”

“We haven’t done anything about it. But we are tonight.” 75

I couldn’t believe the words came out. I shut my eyes tight and braced for impact.

“This is
so
like you to not tel me. I can’t believe this.

I’m so mad!” Hailey wrapped her arms around me and bear hugged me. “And so happy!”

My body relaxed in her arms. She was happy. Whew. For some reason I felt like something official had just happened.

Like we’d passed through an invisible barrier. Because, when it came to Hailey, I had this problem with assuming nothing would ever change. And if it did, it would hurt. But at this moment it wasn’t hurting at al .

We unwrapped our arms, and I noticed her eyes were wet. Her falsies were glistening.

“He doesn’t know yet,” I said.

“What?”

“I haven’t exactly told him. See, he wore this green shirt to my house a few weeks ago and—”

Hailey put her hand up. “Sweetheart, have you gone crazy crackers? Aren’t you worried this wil mess up your friendship?” She wasn’t one to get tied up with shirt color details.

And crazy crackers was what she always cal ed me when I waded a little too far into the deep end.

“Ruining our friendship is
al
I worry about. Believe me.” She put her hands on my shoulders. “It’s okay. He’s gonna fal for you. I don’t know when, but it’l happen for you guys.” I crinkled my nose. “Actual y, we’re going to kiss.” I 76

leaned in and lowered my voice. “I mean, I hope we are. In just a few minutes.”

“You know
when
?”

I nod. “And where.”

“Why is this not surprising?” She dabbed at her eyes with her knuckles: then, when she was sure of dryness, she raised an eyebrow. “Al right . . . where?”

“Out back. By the hot tub.”

“By the ferns and the gardenias. Oh, total y.” She reached into her purse, which was silver and beaded. So glam. “Altoid.

Very strong. Here.”

I popped the mint in my mouth. My eyes watered a little.

“What about you and Dan? Any love connection there?”

“We’ve talked about it. But we’re just staying friends.” She seemed a little disappointed.

“Is that . . . okay?” I asked, trying to hold back my tears, but these were caused by the curiously strong mint.

“It was my decision. I think he’d definitely give it a whirl if I let him. But I told him it wasn’t going to happen. Probably hurt the guy’s feelings.” She looked across the room at Dan.

“Except now I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

“If it’s this vodka-infused green Jel -O or the fluorescent kitchen lighting, but . . . I think I’m attracted to him.” I squealed. “That’s great!” I was so happy to hear that.

It made me feel relieved to think of Hailey finding someone who was boyfriend material, too. She and Dan are ideal 77

for each other. Dan is the star left wing on his soccer team.

Hailey is right wing. Having opposite strong sides would make a perfect balance.

Plus, Dan was the one who had taught Hailey how to drive. Her mom had overused the phrase “next week, I promise,” so Dan took her to the Target parking lot in his dad’s Jag and showed her al she needed to know. Which meant he was patient and reliable. Not to mention he had access to a bitchin’ car.

“Ladies!” Dan and Ian had made their way back over to us. “We’re doing dessert first tonight.” Dan presented us with a couple of Jel -O shots.

Hailey waved him off. “No more for me. One was enough.”

“I’ve already had five, but that’s your cal , Miss Hailey.” Dan winked at her.

She smiled and said, “Maybe Justina wants one.” Dan handed me a small plate with a cube of cherry Jell-O. “Don’t have any blueberry. Sorry, Justina.” I smirked and looked over at Ian.

He nodded at me. “Of course I made him say it.” I took the Jel -O and held it up. “Cheers! Here’s to Dan and Ian. The two most respectable guys we know!”

“No, tonight I’m Dan-o the Man-o!” He gave a wicked laugh.

Oh lord, this was going to be an interesting night.

The guys slurped theirs down, but I held on to mine.

78

Hailey was right about making sure I was ready for that kiss.

The Altoid had left a fresh taste I didn’t want to ruin.

“Let’s walk around.” Ian dropped his plate in the sink and led us al out of the kitchen.

Just as we got to the door, I realized I was stil holding mine so I quickly went back to get rid of it. And that’s when I heard it.

“Nice shoes.”

I turned around. My vision fil ed with perky tennis bal s.

Al yson Moore. She looked like a Grecian goddess in a stark white dress with a tight halter top and a skirt dripping with layers of chiffon. Her caramel-colored hair extensions were pul ed back in a severe ponytail, which made her head look like a perfectly polished stone.

I couldn’t bare to let my eyes drift down to her shoes. I knew they’d be gorgeous. But I couldn’t help myself. I looked.

Peeking out from the edge of her gown was a pair of strappy, silver shoes. They were heavenly—princess-grade.

Al yson Moore was sleek, smooth, and regal—like a Great Dane.

Brianna pranced up, joining Al yson, her slit shifting and almost revealing her hoo-hoo. I couldn’t help but quickly notice her shoes, too. Dainty, silver, strappy, and beautiful.

And exactly the same as Al yson’s. Their heels clicked and tapped lightly on the tile floor, sounding like percussion instruments.

My shoes were cinder blocks.
Thunk, thunk.

79

I looked back up at them, unable to respond. What was I supposed to say? Thanks? Because clearly Al yson was being sarcastic since my shoes looked like navy vessels compared to theirs. I couldn’t even understand why they were talking to me.

Brianna was pissy and stupid—like a shorthaired German Boxer. The only language she could speak was sarcasm. In fact, she was fluent. And she was teaching Al yson wel .

Al yson knew me because I was Ian’s best friend, so she would wave at me ever so slightly when she was practicing on the field and I was running on the track. I don’t think she even remembered we’d been friends back in fourth grade and she’d invited me to her birthday party. But that was back when friendships had been determined pretty much by seating arrangement.

Now that we were in high school, our paths rarely crossed because I was always running and she was captain of the Huntington High School flag corps. Flag
twirlers
, as everyone liked to cal them.

But twirling was not considered cool until Al yson Moore joined the team. They were just members of the marching band. But when she came along, she’d changed the uniforms to low-rise hot pants and tight-fitting tank tops. Suddenly the whole school wanted to go to the games to see them twirl. She was real y dedicated to tightness-of-shirt detail.

“Wait, did you get those
dyed
?” Brianna said as she looped her arm through Al yson’s. Then she wrinkled her 80

nose like she’d just sniffed a jar of rubber cement.

Unfortunately, the tone of her voice went up so high when she asked the question that it summoned al the other girls in the room to turn around and look at me. Some of them I knew. Katie from pre-calculus. April from history.

Rose from drama. Suzette from detention (which I only got once because of excessive tardies—Ian and I sometimes listened to music in the parking lot a little
too
long). They all stared, waiting to find out my answer to Brianna’s question.

These were not supportive stares.

And this was beginning to feel familiar.

But none of these girls at this party knew the truth of what had happened at Jimmy DeFranco’s party. Only what was dished out over lunch when school started.

They glared at me as I pressed myself against Dan’s sink, just like they’d been glaring at me since Hailey and I’d started our kissing game. But as I looked around, a few of their looks weren’t the unsupportive kind—they were the feeling-sorry-for-me kind. Which thankful y made me feel like a human—not merely a lunchtime topic.