Swell (17 page)

Christian looked like he had. I couldn’t get him to do more than grunt and groan when I patted his face. My phone said it was past midnight, and that I’d received 10 calls from my parents. I didn’t want to hear their voicemails, because it would make being drunk and stupid more real for me.

At the same time, I knew they were terrified that I was being held captive somewhere. With that, I dialed home.

“Do you know how worried we are? You’re out in the middle of the night! God knows where. Don’t you even remember what happened a few weeks ago? Wasn’t that enough?”

I tried to answer my dad but slurred my speech, so I kept quiet. He already knew the state I was in.

“Is Christian there with you?”

“Yes.”

“Drunk?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where are you so I can come get you?”

I told him and hung up. Then my phone disappeared from my hand. I panicked and started digging through the sand, but it was gone.

“Christian, wake up!” I said, smacking his face. He moaned and opened his eyes.

“My dad is coming to get us,” I said.

He shot up like a bullet. “What the fuck? You called him?”

“How else would we get home? You’re drunk. I’m drunk and I don’t drive—“

“That’s stupid. How could you call your dad?” He got up and paced the beach before he whipped it out and peed on the sand.

“It’s stupid to drive when you’re drunk!”

“Oh, fuck it, Beck.” He walked away from me toward the car. I ran up and pulled him back onto the sand.

“You can’t drive, Christian. Just let my dad take you home.”

“I can drive, and I think you’re a dumbshit! Go to your dad. Go away,” he yelled, stomping to his car. Without putting his headlights on, he zoomed away and almost took out a trashcan.

It was dark, and I could hear the waves crashing on the beach and bugs chirping in the bushes. With no phone, no light, and no company to keep me feeling safe, I sat with my arms around my knees and waited for my dad.

The Cadillac’s headlights glared into my eyes, and I was blinded for a moment as I tried to make sure I had my purse with me before trudging forward. My dad didn’t get out of the car, and he was smoking. This was something he did behind my mom’s back, and only when he was pissed off. It looked like I’d helped him get there.

“I’m disappointed in you, Rebecca.”

I said nothing, and hung my head low to my chest.

“You have a black heart! To do this to us and to yourself. I don’t understand. You must want to go to hell.” He was going all preacher on me, and I kept my mouth shut because I had nothing good to reply with. It was better to take it like a man, go to bed, and get up the next day to deal with it.

/////

I shared my night of drinking story with David, who sat frozen except for his pad of paper and flying pen. It was like speaking to a tape recorder.

“Rebecca, you need to realize something,” said David, taking a swig off his water bottle.

“Yeah? What?” I mirrored his drinking and managed to splash some water on my shirt.

“You have a problem with drinking.”

“You’re joking!” I put my water bottle on the table and pushed it close to the burning candle. Maybe it would catch fire and the session would have to end early.

David gave me a story about his own alcoholism, how he almost died from alcohol poisoning, and went through six treatment programs before he found Alcoholics Anonymous.

“I’ve been sober for 10 years and I still go to meetings. It’s helped me, and I think it can help you. Here’s their card.” He leaned over and handed me the same white card with green letters that my last pimp gave me.

“Thanks. I’ll think about it,” I lied, tossing the card into my purse so it could mingle with the other one. I might as well start an Alcoholics Anonymous card collection. If they ever ran out, I’d have plenty to give back.

I prayed that the digital timer would ring so I could go and get buzzed with Christian. He’d called me the next day and couldn’t remember telling me off or driving home drunk. Unfortunately, my parents knew what had happened and he was now one of the forbidden people. This made seeing him all the more difficult, and tempting.

I planned to go home, have dinner, and pretend to go to bed. Later, after everyone went to sleep, I’d
hop out the window and meet Christian around the corner. Even after our heated moment on the beach, and the unkind words he said, I knew he could give me what I wanted.

Of all nights for my parents to stay up, this was the one. I could hear the television going until past 10 o’clock. By then, my bedroom light was out and I paced the floor at a steady speed. I decided to bust out anyway, sprint down the street, and meet Christian.

The Partymobile sat under a street light, the shadowy figure in the driver’s side not moving until he saw me arrive. Christian reached over and opened the passenger door.

“I didn’t think you were coming.” He drew me close and kissed me hard.

“They stayed up late! They never do that!” His hand was on my thigh again.

“Ready?” He shot me a beautiful grin that had good time written all over it.

I gave him back the same smile. “Hell ya.”

/////

Jesse
didn’t look at me when I sat down at our desk. His lips were pursed, his eyes narrowed, and his jaw tight.

“What?” I wasn’t in the mood for guessing games.

“I didn’t hear from you.”

“I got busy. It happens.”

“I was worried,” he said, twiddling his pencil between his fingers. What was he, my third parent?

“Jesse, I was busy. Seriously. Look, I didn’t feel like talking, okay?”

Besides, I was tired from the night before. Christian and I had stayed out until 2 a.m., drinking the rest of the beer in his trunk by the city water tower. We’d hopped the fence and watched the city lights grow fuzzier with each sip, paying no attention to the time.

“Okay. I understand, I guess.” He went back to drawing. Every few minutes, though, he would look at me without moving his head.

“You’re gonna need to see a chiropractor if you keep doing that to your neck,” I chided. This prompted Jesse to fully rotate his head toward me.

“I can’t stay mad at you,” he confessed.

“And I can’t get mad at you,” I shot back, giving him a little smile.

“Good.
Then call me tonight
.”

I rolled my eyes. “I will.”

I meant it this time.

Chapter 19

I massaged the buttons on my phone, wondering when to call Jesse. I didn’t know what time he ate dinner, did his homework, or went to bed. Sooner or later, I’d just have to dial.

The motivation for calling this scruffy-jacketed boy went against everything I presently wanted. He was the opposite of Christian in every way. Where Christian’s middle name should have been
brood
, Jesse’s was
it’s all good
. He was shorter than Christian and had a more milk and cookies look. But Jesse was anything but innocent and ignorant, and I sensed he’d been places.

“Hellooo?” He answered on the first ring, as if he was waiting with phone in hand.

“Hi Jesse. It’s Beck.”

“No, really? I thought it was my dead mother,” he laughed. Was he kidding?

“The dead don’t make phone calls.”

“Well, my mom does and she’s been dead for three years.”

I wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

“Gotcha! You’re gullible, Rebecca,” he said.

My cheeks flashed hot and I knew I’d been bested. What a good liar he was.

“Please tell me your mom is alive.”

“Alive and in the kitchen. She’s making herself an ice cream cone, in fact. What’s your mom doing?”

“Probably having ice cream, too, but not in a cone.”

“So she’s cone-free?”

I couldn’t believe we were having this crazy conversation, but went with it. It was, after all, easier than talking about my drinking habits.

“My dad is, too. What do you think of that?”

“To each his own cone, I always say.”

Our chat went on like this for an hour. I began to wonder if there was an actual purpose for the call. Just as I thought we were about done laughing, Jesse threw me a curveball.

His voice deepened. “Remember vanilla?”

“How could I forget? What about it?”

“Have you had anything else to drink since then?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just curious, cause someone’s gotta be pretty desperate to drink vanilla. I’m surprised you didn’t give Nyquil a try.”

Little did he know I already had. His comment reminded me of the bottle, tucked safely in the closet, waiting for me to savor its nasty flavor.

“Desperate! You think I’m desperate?”

“Well, for a drink, yes.”

“If you’re gonna tell me I have a drinking problem, we’re done with this call.” My cheeks were really hot now as I paced the floor with my hand over my mouth, wondering if I should just hang up.

He was headed somewhere and I dreaded the destination. “Look, Rebecca, I’m a watcher. And from what I’ve seen, you like to drink a little too much.”

“I already told you I like to drink. It doesn’t affect my schoolwork or life.”

“That explains the dark circles under your eyes. Oh, and let’s not forget the time you started dancing to your iPod in class and sat in Mr. Stanley’s lap.”

I had done no such thing, and didn’t think it was funny that Jesse was making it up.

“I. Did not do. That.”

Jesse laughed. “So, you don’t remember that?”

“No, because I
didn’t do that
.”

“Hmm. Well, if you don’t remember, and you don’t believe me, just ask Mr. Stanley.”

The nerve of Jesse to literally tell me that I threw myself at Mr. Stanley sent me over the edge. I’d had enough.

“I thought you were a nice person, Jesse. But you’re just messing with me for some sick reason. I need to go now.”

Jesse said one more thing before I hung up. “Yeah, I’m sick. But I’m doing something about it, just like you should.”

The phone case fell off when the cell hit the wall. I thought we were having a fun talk, and it turned into embarrassment. I felt like Jesse was another person looking for a mind-fuck, a’la Hillman. He wanted to draw me in and unravel what little confidence I had.

I decided to switch art buddies the next day.

/////

Before I even sat down at my desk, I approached Mr. Stanley. I’d stewed about Jesse’s remarks all night and slept only a handful of hours.

“Rebecca. Are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine with almost everything.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I need to switch art buddies.” I rolled my eyes and gave him a good frown. Mr. Stanley looked past me toward my desk. Jesse was eating something other than jerky. It looked like a fruit roll.

“I thought you and Mr. Leary got along well.”

“He’s not as nice as you’d think.”

“Really?” I kept my arms crossed tight across my chest. What if I had sat in this man’s lap? A tense surge of adrenaline pulsed through my tight muscles as I exposed my conversation with Jesse.

“Yes. For example, he said that I was dancing around the classroom and then sat in your lap! Between you and me, I think he’s not all there.” But it was Mr. Stanley who looked that way. His eyes grew wide and stared right through me.

“Rebecca, let’s go outside to talk.”

We went out by the slimy wall.  “What’s going on? Can I switch?”

“Rebecca, please listen to me and don’t take this wrong. Mr. Leary — er, Jesse — wasn’t telling a story about your dancing in class. Or the other thing,” he said, his cheeks turning red.

I stepped back and brought my hand to my mouth.

“I’m sorry, Rebecca. I didn’t say anything because I thought you knew.”

I shook my head and leaned into the retaining wall. The sun was scorching my dark hair, but it was nowhere near as hot as the inside of my mind as it failed to recall the facts.

“Are you okay?”

I couldn’t speak, and my hand was still over my mouth.

“I’m going to send you home.”

“No,” I finally said. “I can stay. I just can’t believe. I forgot something like that. Or that I did that at all.”

“If you need help, Rebecca, please let me know. The school has some good resources for counseling.”

He thought I was nuts! I already had David, and that wasn’t doing a hell of a lot for me. A school counselor would be just as ineffective, as if I had a problem to begin with.

“Thanks.” I left it at that and walked like a zombie back into the room. Everyone looked at me, and I felt they could see all the flaws and telltale signs I didn’t see in myself.