Tricks (17 page)

I heard you two broke up is all.

If I made a mistake, I'm sorry.

*

Off she goes, clearly knowing

something I don't. But what?

And how does she know it? Looks like I'm going to a party tonight.

284

I Talk Paige

Into driving me. Mom's not home

when she picks me up, so I leave a note:
Gone to a movie with Paige.

More like a soap opera, probably.

*

I have no real idea what's going to happen, but I've got a feeling it may not be pretty. I've been over and over Skylar's remarks,

*

and I can only conclude that Lucas

said something to somebody that

somehow got back around to Skylar.

Well, fine. If he's having a party,

*

makes sense he'll be there. And if

he's there, he won't be able to ignore me. I'll see to that, though

I will try playing "nice" first.

*

I don't feel nice right now. I feel

angry. Ignored. About the same

way I feel around Mom and Kyra.

Suffering from "Nothing Syndrome."

285

Lucas Was Supposed to Be

The antidote to that illness.

Instead he has become another

symptom. What is wrong with me? Why aren't I worth loving?

*

I say none of this to Paige, of course.

She's thrilled to be going to a party with real, live guys and probable

substance abuse. Why spoil her fairy tale?

*

"Hang a left." We turn into Lucas's

neighborhood. Holy crud. This isn't a party. This is a major sometime-

tonight-a-neighbor-will-call-the-cops

*

freaking bash. And he didn't

invite me? My earlier irritation

blossoms into full-bodied anger.

"Hurry up, would you?"

*

Where am I going to park?
whines

Paige, cruising slowly past a mega-line of cars.
Looks like the whole

darn town is here!
She turns

286

the corner and finally spies an empty

slot next to the curb.
Always good to get a little exercise before getting

buzzed, right?
She giggles.

*

Usually I can handle Paige's goofball

laugh. But not tonight. Not right now.

Still, I'm not going to snap. I'll save that for Lucas. Because suddenly,

*

without a doubt, I know I've been dumped. But why? Why? A wave of tears swells, hot and salty.

"Come on. I think I need a drink."

287

There's Plenty to Drink

People leak out of Lucas's house, onto the porch and lawn. Some

I recognize. Others I don't, but they all pretty much have one

*

thing in common--sixteen-ounce

red plastic party cups. "Let's go

find the alcohol." I don't wait for Paige's response, just push

*

through the crowd, into the house.

I've only been here twice before, and both times it was a lot emptier.

The alcohol seems to be in the kitchen,

*

at least that's where most of the noise

is. I work my way through the human

knot, stopping twice to take a hit off lit blunts. By the time I reach

*

the kitchen, I've got a nice little

pot buzz going on, something to mellow the fog of anger. At least until I walk through the door.

*

to find Lucas, zipper to zipper with Skylar. No. How can that

be? Oh! My! God! That whore was effing taunting me!

288

Not Only That

But she wanted me to come tonight, wanted me to see them together.

I played right into it too. Well, if she wants me in her face,

*

I'm all the way there. I stomp right up to them, push between them.

"Excuse the hell out of me!"

Directed at Lucas, who is totally

*

blown away by my being here, and not just at the party, but right

here, pressed up against him.

"Thanks for the heads-up."

*

Directed over my shoulder at

Skylar, who backs out of my way, grinning like Hannibal Lecter in
Silence of the Lambs.

*

Lucas gives me the stupidest

huh?
look ever. "What?" I spit.

"Didn't expect me? Well, FYI, your--

your--friend, there, invited me."

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Now he looks confused.
Friend--

who--what--what do you want,

Whitney? He
glances back and forth between Skylar and me, unsure

*

of what I'll do next. I'll make it easy, not that he deserves it. "All I want is to talk to you. I think you owe

me at least that much, don't you?"

*

Uh, yeah... sure...
He dares turn toward Skylar, as if asking for her permission. He never treated me with such respect. Tears threaten.

*

No. Won't cry. I make my voice

hard. "I'm sure she doesn't mind, do you, Skylar?" She shakes her head, and I dismiss her. "Good. Lucas,

*

I'll meet you in your bedroom, okay?" He exits the kitchen without looking at either of us. I start to follow, change my mind.

290

First I Pour

A hefty shot (okay, more like four) of Cuervo Gold. No need to bother with salt or limes, no worries about tequila burn going down.

*

It feels good. Great. May make me sick

tomorrow, but it's stoking the courage

I'm in desperate need of. Another stiff

pour and I head for Lucas's bedroom,

*

feeling tequila heat creep back up from my belly, all the way to my face.

My ears are ringing too. Hope I can

remember the way to his bedroom.

*

Both times I was here before, that's

exactly where we ended up. Nothing

major happened then, but now I wish it would have. At least if it's over

*

between us, and it's def looking that

way. But why? I still don't get what

happened. All I did was finally say

okay. All I did was say, "I love you."

291

Lucas Is Sitting on the Bed

Wearing a completely unexpected

expression--pity. Can that be right?

What the hell? A deep swallow of Cuervo sandpapers my throat.

*

I go over to Lucas, drop down on my knees, rest my hands on his legs, look up into his eyes, "Lucas, will

you please tell me what's going on?"

*

He doesn't answer right away, and for some stupid reason, that makes

me think there's hope for us. But

when he finally speaks, his voice

*

is ice.
When you first told me you were a virgin, I didn't believe you.

Not a lot of those around, you know?

But when I figured out you were telling

*

the truth, I totally wanted to pop your

cherry. You were my first virgin, and you'll probably be my last. Because...

sorry, but virgin sex really isn't very good.

*

I jerk my hands off his legs, wobble to my feet. "F-fuck you! I c-c-can't

believe tha'sh all I meant to you." One

more gulp and I repeat, "Fuck you!"

292

I Stumble Out the Door

Go in search of Paige. I have to get the hell out of here! My heart

knocks in my chest. My face is on fire--with booze and embarrassment.

*

How could I have believed he loved

me? How could I have given my love to such an asshole? "Paige?" Did I just

yell that? Everyone is staring. Maybe

*

that's because tears cascade down my

face, which is probably streaked black with mascara. Has anyone seen Paige?"

Someone points toward the living room,

*

where my dear friend Paige has hooked up with some guy I sort of recognize from school. They're making out like... like they're really into each other.

*

She looks at me, clearly torn between wanting to help me and preferring to stay

right where she is. "Never mind," I say.

"I'll find another ride home." On my

*

way to the front door, I pass Skylar, staring at me with--fuck that!--pity.

"Hope you're not a virgin. Oh, wait.

Forgot who I'm talking to."

293

Now What?

I go outside, sit on the sidewalk, will

myself not to get sick. Can't call Mom to pick me up, not here. Don't know if

I've got enough cash for a taxi home.

*

I reach into my purse, find my wallet.

When I open it, a business card falls

out.
Perfect Poses Photography.

Wha...? At the bottom is a name.

*

Bryn Dawson, Bryn? Oh yeah, hot monkey, the guy from the mall.

I remember his face, the way his eyes

looked at me. Don't suppose he...

*

Nah, Friday night, he's out somewhere, with some hot female orangutan.

So why does my hand reach for my cell phone, and why do my

*

fingers dial his number? One ring...

This is stupid. And now he'll have my

number. Two rings... Hang up, stupid.

I can just imagine Paige, asking me

*

what the hey I'm thinking. Three rings...

See? He's so out with someone else.

And why would you think, even if he wasn't, that he'd even remember you?

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Must Be Fate

Because someone, I'm assuming him, answers on the fourth ring. "Bryn?

This is Whitney. You probably don't

remember me, but we met at the mall

*

and you gave me your card...."

Definitely must be fate, because he does remember me. I break down into an inebriated crying binge.

*

He'll hang up now for sure. But

when I tell him, "Sh-shorry to bug

you, but something bad just happened and I really need a ride...."

*

He barely hesitates before he answers,

No problem, Whitney. Always happy to help a damsel in distress. Give me

twenty minutes. And directions.

295

A Poem by Ginger Cordell
Directions

Why doesn't life come with them? "Go straight until you hit sixteen, take a right, then proceed slowly until you're positive

it's okay to hang a left toward where you belong."

I guess in someone else's world, parents are road maps, who tell you

which way is the correct direction to travel. But without a map, how

do I

know the best route?

Without guidance, how do I know

which way to go?

296

Ginger School Totally Blew Today

First I got back my history final, with a big, fat D on top, despite all the studying I did. I completely

*

effed up in that class, and to cop the credit, which is a requirement for graduation, I'll have to do

*

summer school. Then our Nazi

PE teacher started yelling at the back of the pack running laps

*

to
Move your lazy buns.
Damn, it's like over ninety out there in the sun. Still, I probably shouldn't

*

have yelled back, "Why don't you

get
your
fat ass out here and run with us? See how fast
you
can go."

*

The bitch wrote me up. Detention at least. Maybe suspension. To

top it all off, this guy I thought

*

I kind of liked called me an
emo

freak
because I put blue streaks in my hair. Yep. School definitely blew.

297

I Take My Time

Walking home, puffing on a bummed Kool. Don't

care much for menthols, but

*

I need nicotine to calm my

nerves. Iris won't really

care if I get suspended. But

*

Gram will be
so disappointed
in me. She'll be spending a lot more time at home once

*

they finally release Sandy, today or tomorrow. Guess

they have to do a couple more

*

tests to find out just how bad his brain damage is. Right now, he's learning to talk all over again.

*

The house is quiet when I open the door, quiet except for the TV.

Where are the kids? Something's off.

*

I can feel it in my bones. "Iris?"

No answer. But something--

someone?--moves, and suddenly

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the TV goes silent. The hair on the back of my neck rises.

Little waves of panic churn in

*

my gut. Ridiculous, right? No

murderer would be sitting

there watching TV. "Harry?"

*

But the face that appears in the doorway doesn't belong to Harry.
You must be Ginger.

*

Iris has told me so much about
you. Hey, I like your hair. Rad.

The last word sounds weird,

*

spoken by the guy, who is maybe

forty-five and built like a bull.

Did Iris dump Harry for this guy?

*

Not like it would be anything

new. "Uh, right. Where is Iris, anyway?" I need another cigarette.

*

She and Harry took the kids
for ice cream. Say, would

you mind getting me a beer?

299

Déjà vu Strikes