Driving With the Top Down (22 page)

And now she was a jailbird.

At least she didn’t have crazy piercings or wild hair. Wild, stupid, red hair. She did have the two tattoos, though. One was her favorite quote,
YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE, BUT IF YOU DO IT RIGHT, ONCE IS ENOUGH
. From Mae West. Supposedly. She had gotten it because it seemed to support and justify her desires to party and not give a damn about anything or anyone. But it was still true. Perhaps maybe her definition of “doing it right” was the part of herself she wanted to change.

Or the part of herself that she was desperately begging someone to help her change. Whatever.

And now, her crappy, unloving boyfriend—that, let’s be honest, she didn’t even
like
—had cheated on her. She knew it. Even if he hadn’t hooked up with Lauren Fellows, which she just knew he had, he did lie to her. And he had ignored her. And that was cheating enough.

So if she was expecting some Romeo to come along, did she really expect him to act like that? She couldn’t even hang on to
Vince
.

And the part that killed her the most—the part that had flown to her mind like a bullet to the head—was the fact that he had that video. He had that fucking video of her demonstrating her blow job technique and her stupidity all in one fell swoop.

She let her head fall into her crossed elbows, and gritted her teeth hard as the tears started to come. With Tamara’s fury always came tears. An exasperating trait she wished she could be rid of. The number of times her dad had screamed at her or been harsh, and she had burst into weak tears was too many to count. And if you want to argue with a level head, gasping for breath in between sobs was not the way.

“Tamara? Tamara…” Colleen had rounded the corner and was walking quickly and officially toward her.

Tamara took a deep breath and tried to wipe away the tears with her shoulders as if it weren’t obvious from her crouched position what was going on.

“It’s nothing, not a big deal, I’m sorry—”

“Why are you saying sorry? And I’m sorry, but I’m calling b.s. on the fact that nothing is wrong. Tell me.” She crouched down in front of her.

“No, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You can tell me anything that’s going on.”

“I don’t want to! Okay? Jesus Christ.” Tamara stood, getting a surge in her chest at spending some of the anger that was building in her.

“Hey!” Colleen said, standing too.

“Just stop! I don’t want to talk about it, and it doesn’t have anything to do with you, so can we just fucking drop it and go?”

“Watch your language, Tamara.”

Tamara laughed. “Right. Yeah, no, I’m gonna go ahead and say fuck that. Don’t tell me what to do. You’re not my mom, and you don’t know what’s going on, so just— Ugh!”

She stomped off toward the car. She knew she shouldn’t be yelling and acting like this. But it was all she knew how to do. Close into herself and keep a repellent force field around that blasted people back when they tried to edge in.

They rode in silence for the most part. Bitty and Colleen tossed a few words back and forth, but Bitty seemed to have as much on her mind as Tamara did, and Colleen just seemed kind of over it all.

Whatever. Tamara didn’t really blame her for that. She also didn’t have it in her to do anything about it.

She couldn’t decide what to do. Text Vince, ripping him a new one; write to redhead and rip
her
a new one; or—she was still kind of considering it—throw the phone out the window. Instead, she was finding that she was just sitting angrily in the backseat, torn between crying and screaming.

The worst part was that she couldn’t freak out. If she made him mad, he might do something with that video.

Her phone buzzed. Her heart leapt, and she wasn’t sure why. What exactly was she hoping to hear, and from who?

CONOR, TEXT MESSAGE
(1)

She took a deep breath before opening it. Finally, something. Something to take her mind off Vince and all the humiliation.

Hey … sorry I haven’t answered your picture. It was pretty funny, ha. But I just didn’t really know what to say.

Oh. Well I mean I only sent it cuz you told me to take a picture of five different cool things, so … idk that’s what I was doing I guess.

She watched him type via the little ellipsis that showed up during messaging. Then he stopped typing, and her heart sank, before he started up again. Then finally the text appeared.

It’s just, I don’t know, I saw this thing … you did? And I’m not sure if like you know about it or what, so I haven’t known what to say, and it’s not like I know you like that.

Her stomach fell with a gush into her shoes.

What are you talking about …

Her fingers were trembling. Her eyes were blurring. Her heart was pounding. No. No no no no …

Then he sent a link. There was no telling what the link was from the jumble of letters he sent. No real words, just a shortened URL.

She glanced up at the front, and then plugged her headphones into her phone before clicking the link.

With a shudder, a video popped up. With a little tag that read
MY DIRTY XGF
on the bottom right, her video started to play.

Her eyelashes, slightly furrowing brow, the freckle on her right cheekbone, and her … doing what she did to Vince. Doing what she already couldn’t have imagined doing again. It played in front of her eyes like a slow-moving car crash.

The view of the top of her head, then some of her face, then her realizing the video was on. Her weak, “Hey—?” as her eyes widened with fear and her lashes sank with sadness and embarrassment as he said, “Babe. It’s okay. It’s just for me. I’m not going to show anyone. Now, finish.”

And the look in her eyes as her gaze dropped from the camera and Vince’s face down to nothing, and then as they shut and she did as she was told.

She watched the video, feeling sick, from start to end.

When it finally stopped, she saw 71
COMMENTS.
…

That would be too much. She closed the window and looked through tears at the text from Conor.

She started to say a million things, but then gave up and shut the phone off. She covered her eyes and cried, making 100 percent sure that no one would hear her.

*   *   *

THEY GOT INTO
their hotel room, got settled, and then Colleen suggested they all go to dinner.

“There’s this Cajun-sounding place called Harry’s downstairs and around the corner—it looks good.”

“I’m actually not all that hungry,” said Tamara.

“You aren’t skipping another meal.”

“No, just … Do you think you could bring me back something? I’ll be hungry later, and I kind of want to be alone.”

It was like feeling sick and knowing you had to wait to throw up until you got to the bathroom. She was filled with unspent tears and probably a good scream, but she had to wait to be alone to spend it all.

And, to be honest, puking was not completely out of the question.

Colleen made a face. “I don’t know—”

“Look, no offense, but I could do with being alone for a little bit. It’s been pretty close quarters.”

Tam knew Colleen couldn’t argue that. She seemed to be torn before finally saying, “All right, but don’t go anywhere, please. And keep your phone charged and on you.”

Tamara raised her eyebrows in agreement. She was suddenly melancholy for the carefree moments with Colleen, where she wasn’t being a snotty teenager. Or, whatever, carefree moments in general. Any moment before she had porn on the Internet that even people like Conor had seen. If it had been sent to him, that meant everyone had seen it. It’s not even like she had friends, really, but anyone who knew her had seen her at her most vulnerable.

The door shut, leaving Tamara alone with her everything. She didn’t even get a breath in before her chest started to convulse with sobs. She cried her heart out for a good minute, and then the tears started to subside. She was almost disappointed. She felt like there was more in her that she wanted to get out but she couldn’t.

She sniffed and walked over to the mirror to right herself. God, she looked ill. Better, honestly, than when she had left. But she had once been quite pretty. Now her skin was verging on yellow without a hint of pink in her cheeks, and the bags under her eyes were gray and blue and sunken. She was probably looking at herself in extremes and seeing things worse than they were—but maybe not. Maybe she was just seeing herself accurately. Complete with damaged, overprocessed hair, it was safe to say she was the worst physical version of herself that she had ever been. She was an “after” picture in a “What Drugs and Drinking Could Do to You!” article.

The silence in the room was suddenly too much. She turned away from her reflection, yanked open the door, and left.

She pounded down the cement steps of the motel—it was nicer than it had sounded, but still had that wraparound porch-type look—and walked out into the streets of whatever downtown she was in.

She kind of liked not knowing. That way she didn’t have to say,
I remember that time in _______ when I was the saddest I ever was.
At least this way she could say,
I don’t know where I was, but I know I hated myself.

Tam be easy

Tam sucks dick

Tam gets filmed

Now just click

God, she was melodramatic.

She walked around for twenty minutes before realizing she had forgotten her cigarettes. She stopped at the next group of approachable-looking people who were smoking. Luckily, since it was a nice warm night and it seemed like a pretty walkable southern downtown, there were a lot of people doing that.

She had another crazy imaginary flash in her mind. Of being in a place like this with friends. Just, like, two girls or something, sitting outside of … say, that burger place over there. Drinking sodas and chatting. Maybe a couple of shopping bags at their flip-flopped feet. Maybe going to a movie later on. Or maybe having a sleepover. Something. Not aimless basement-sitting.

She fluffed her hair a little and walked up to a relatively cute dark-haired guy. He was leaning over, his elbows on his knees, laughing at something another guy said.

“Um, excuse me … could I bum a jack?”

The guy looked up, and then sat up. “I didn’t hear the magic word.” He cupped his ear at her, smiling. He was teasing her.

She smiled back. “Please? …”

“That’s better.” He rested his cigarette between his lips and pulled out a cigarette from his pack. They were Camels. She never smoked those.

She held out her hand. “Thanks.”

“Now, hold on, Grabby,” he said, the cigarette still in his mouth. “Now, I’m thinking for this, I deserve to know your name, and for you to have a seat with my friends and me here. Jake, move.”

Jake—one of the friends who had been watching the exchange with amusement—scooted his chair over. The main guy, who had called Tam “Grabby” reached behind him for a green plastic chair and set it next to him. He patted the seat.

Tamara looked up. It seemed to be a bar. This was confirmed when she saw everyone was drinking. Of course.

She took the seat, and then the cigarette.

“I’m Rich.”

“Well, then, I’m interested.” She immediately regretted the joke. It was probably over his head, and now he thought she meant something she didn’t mean.

He raised his eyebrows and inhaled. He leaned back and surveyed her with a seemingly expanding opinion on her. “Funny girl, huh?”

Rich smiled at her, and it was such a boyish and endearing smile that she grinned back. He lit her cigarette and looked back to the other guys. They had all started talking to each other again. Clearly, if the girl was to be claimed, she already had been.

“So, your name is—?”

“Tamara. Tam.”

“Which one?”

“Tam…”

“All right—cool, Tam. You visiting or do you live around here?”

“Just passing through.”

“Where’re you going?”

“Florida somewhere. I don’t even really know. I’m with my aunt and her friend.”

“Aunt and her ‘friend’ or, like, aunt and her friend?”

“What—? Oh God no, they’re not, like, undercover lesbians.” The very thought made her laugh again. “No, just her actual, like …
friend
friend. My aunt refinishes furniture and is going to farm auctions and stuff.”

“Cool cool. And you got dragged along.”

“Yep…”

“So, then, uh … you’re probably pretty bored, huh?”

“Yeah. Had a kinda shitty night. Whatever.”

“I can tell. You already burned through that cigarette.”

She looked down. It was almost to the filter. “Oh … yeah. I guess it kinda shows, huh?”

He lit up another one and handed it to her. “Do you like to party?”

“Um … yeah, sure.” Was she agreeing to go somewhere with these guys?

“Well, if you wanna tag along on something actually
fun,
we are going to a house party, like, right around the corner from here.”

She knew she looked nervous and hesitant. “Um…”

“It’s walking distance. You don’t have to get in our big white van, little girl.”

That boyish smile again. It made her trust him.

“Okay, sure, I guess … I guess why not, then?”

She knew why not: Because she didn’t know these guys. Because her phone had, like, only 25 percent left of its battery, and because she had said she’d stay in the room.

“First, let’s do a couple shots. Hey, Tom.” He got the attention of a waiter in jeans and a T-shirt bearing the bar’s name.

“What do y’all need?”

“Lemme get four shots of Fireball.”

She counted. There were five of them, including his friends and her. Oh, she thought, maybe he wasn’t including her. She felt suddenly embarrassed for temporarily thinking he would. Also, she supposed that meant that he
was
twenty-one. And maybe he knew she wasn’t.

But when the shots came, he took all four in his hands and handed her two.

“Two?”

“Yeah, boo, you gotta catch up.”