Leftovers Page 12

  “Nice job.” You cock your head and your hair drifts across the side of your face. Your black bra shows through your sheer T-shirt. You scratch a lazy finger along your collarbone, just in case they haven’t noticed yet, and the game stops as the six of them follow the languid movement. They’re all so young. Were they, before Christmas? Were you? “You’ve got good hands. Want to teach me how to hold a ball?”

  Two of the guys snicker and wipe their forearms across their sweaty faces.

  The guy next to Jeremy elbows his ribs.

  “Get offa me, butthead,” Jeremy says, shoving him but still looking at you. His gaze is alive and curious. He’s intrigued but not bedazzled.

  You need more. You need to sweep him up in the all-consuming rush of the challenge. To make him an offer he can’t refuse.

  And it needs to happen fast.

  “You want to know how to hold the ball,” he says, slowly bouncing it.

  “And maybe shoot a basket,” you say, easing off the wall and ambling forward, closing the gap between you. “Score a few points. You know, just play the game.” The clock is ticking. Nola will notice you any moment and yell to Jeremy, reminding him of his attachment to Kimmer. “You up to it?”

  “Shit, man, he’s up to it,” the elbower exclaims as Jeremy stops bouncing the ball and watches you advance. “Basketball ain’t nothing. He climbs friggin’ mountains.”

  “Oh yeah?” you say, holding Jeremy’s gaze. There is only the two of you. Sweat beads his forehead. You reach out and wrap your hands around the ball, mildly amazed that you’ve gotten this far without losing him. You tug at the ball and he offers little resistance. You slide it loose and cradle it behind your back. “Must be the challenge, huh?”

  He glances down and through your black mesh T-shirt. Settles on the valley in between your breasts.

  You keep him with a deep breath. Your heart is pounding. Hurry. Hurry.

  His Adam’s apple bobs.

  Yes. He’s going to go for it. With witnesses. Anticipation ignites, sending waves of heat through your body. “I always win at keep away,” you say and flash the ball out from behind your butt. “So come and get it, if you think you can.”

  He reaches around one side of you and you turn so that he misses. He tries again, and again you avoid losing the ball.

  “Is that the best you can do?” Your teasing murmur is a siren’s song, luring him onto the jagged rocks below the surface. You want this. You need this. You will have this.

  “Get her, dude,” the elbower says, voice cracking. “Get her.”

  “Get me,” you urge.

  His sneakers squeak and suddenly you’re sandwiched between the wall and his hot, wiry body. His arms snake around behind you and his fingers tangle with yours, coaxing the basketball up until it wedges firmly into the tight space between the small of your back and the wall. He smells salty, like blood tastes.

  “You can do better than that,” you croon, pressing your lips to his ear. “Remember, you climb friggin’ mountains.”

  He locks onto your mouth. His teeth scrape yours.

  Fuck you, you think deliriously, kissing him back. You widen your stance, arching into him and then receding, pulling him with you like an outgoing wave. Fuck you all.

  “Hey!”

  Nola has finally noticed you.

  You curve and he instinctively follows, hip to hip, soft to hard, and you marvel at how easy it is to separate your mind from your body. Someday, when you run into Ardith’s brother again, you’re going to kick him in the balls and while he’s writhing on the ground clutching his precious package, you’re going to thank him for making your first time so bad that everyone after him can only be better.

  Jeremy groans low in his throat.

  “Mmm,” you murmur in return, wondering how he cannot hear Nola clattering down the bleachers and across the gym toward you.

  “Uh-oh,” the elbower mutters. “Hey Jeremy, man, you’re busted.”

  “Jeremy!” Nola yells. “JEREMY!”

  Jeremy jerks loose, panting.

  You straighten, letting the ball wedged behind you fall and roll off, and blot your damp chin with the back of your hand.

  He blinks the glaze from his eyes, realizes, and backs away. Glances at the elbower, who gives him a silent, urgent eyeball message.

  The front of his pants is tented.

  The shirts and skins turn away, searching the glossy floor for their lost bravado.

  “Two points,” you say, smoothing your T-shirt. You glance at the sputtering Nola and want so bad to laugh.

  “Oh my God,” she says, gaping at him. Her hands flutter and grope for purchase. “I mean, Jeremy…oh my God, you are in so much trouble!” She wheels and races out.

  “Thanks for the free shot,” you say, and leave them all standing there. You put your sweater back on while you’re jogging through the hall and trap your wild hair in your elastic band. You hum as you prance past the Guidance office window and when you catch Ardith’s attention, you jerk your fist upright in triumph.

  Her eyes widen.

  You laugh, wave, and head for class.

  The teacher is pissed.

  You take him aside and, wearing your best repentant face, murmur that you had a problem in the bathroom and had to go to the nurse for um…stuff. You peek up at him from beneath your lashes, still shivering with the glory of the win, which he apparently takes for misery because he stops lecturing and tells you to sit down and try to catch up with the class.

  You unleash your hair and bend low over your open book, shielded behind your curtain, and release a grin so wide it hurts your face.

  You’ve done it. You’ve harnessed the nature of the beast. Jeremy’s cheating will sweep the halls in record time and this scandal will overshadow the other one because although the gay thing was intriguing, it was still about you and Ardith and you’re not popular, which lessens the value of the gossip. Kimmer is popular, which automatically ups the ante. Her humiliation is priceless to everyone who’s ever been ignored, dismissed, or razed by that crystal blue gaze.

  What took you down has been used to raise you right back up again and you can’t get in trouble for it. No one can tell on you, because making out with somebody else’s boyfriend isn’t against any school rule.

  There’s one more pound of flesh to exact, and although you’ll go ahead and lay the groundwork, this one is ultimately up to Ardith. She’s not going to like it, but she has to do it if she wants the gay rumor to die.

  When the bell rings, you stream through the hallways, kicking up whirlwinds of whispers, delighting at the wide-eyed stares and the way the crowd parts to let you pass.

  Gary’s at his locker.

  “Hey Gar,” you say, stopping close to him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  He draws back in surprise, then his eyes narrow. “Why?”

  You give him a speaking look.

  “I guess,” he says, shifting uncomfortably and studying the contents of his locker. “So what is it?”

  You pick your next words with care, relying on your fledgling ability to predict behavior and use it to your advantage. “I just wanted to tell you that Ardith is really hurt by this stupid rumor. She was always on your side whenever we heard bad stuff about you and she never believed it or passed it on. She even stuck up for you back when Kimmer told everyone in the girls’ locker room that you and Marvin must be butt buddies because neither one of you ever goes out with anyone. Girls, I mean.”

  “Get the hell out of here,” Gary says, scowling. “I never heard anything about that.”

  “No kidding, because Ardith made Kimmer drop it,” you say, and the sincerity in your voice almost has you believing the tale, too. “She said there was no way you were gay, and she said she knew it for sure. You know, the whole Burger King thing?”

  “Yeah,” he says, exhaling and running a hand through his stubbly brown hair. “I kind of figured she hated me after that.”

  You shake you
r head. “She defended you and that pissed Kimmer off, because you know nobody dares go against her. Now Kimmer’s telling everybody Ardith’s gay, which is like the dumbest thing ever, but it’s really hurting her, Gary. You know why?”

  “Why?” he says.

  It’s time. Guilt oozes from his pores.

  “Because she’s afraid you’ll believe it, and then you’ll never ask her out,” you say, stifling a surge of triumph as his head snaps up.

  “What? Bullshit,” he says. “No way. Ardith hates my guts.” But it’s not so much a flat statement as it is a statement it sounds like he’s hoping you’ll deny.

  “You see her with anybody else?” you say curtly.

  “You,” he says, and reddens. “Sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know,” you say, shrugging. “Look, you should just talk to her. Maybe something good will come out of it.” You amble back a step. “Okay?”

  “I guess.” Preoccupied, he glances at the book he’s holding, frowns, and chucks it into the locker.

  “Well, I just wanted you to know what was up.” You leave and can barely keep from jumping up and batting at the exit sign posted at the end of the hallway.

  You breeze into Guidance, brandish your notebook, and call, “Homework assignment” to the guard-dog secretary in the main office, then head straight in to Ardith.

  She’s eating lunch alone in Mr. Everett’s office.

  You hunker down near her chair and share her food as you describe what’s happened so far and what still needs to be done.

  “No way,” she says when you get to the Gary part. “I hate him.”

  “Well, he doesn’t hate you, that’s for sure,” you say, studying a french fry. “Especially after I told him that you liked him.”

  “You what?” Her voice rises. “Blair—”

  “Shhh!” You glance over your shoulder. “Come on, Ardith, it’s the only way to end this. Get Gary on our side and he won’t go blabbing anymore. Think about it.”

  “Oh God,” she says, thunking her head down into her hands. “I don’t want to go out with Gary. How come you get Jeremy, and I get him?”

  “You could have had Jeremy, but you didn’t want him,” you say, miffed because she’s missing the unparalleled beauty of your plan.

  “I can’t do it all myself, Ardith. I’ll look like some kind of nympho.” You rein in your impatience. “Look, all you have to do is spend, like, a week dealing with Gary—”

  “A week?” Ardith says, groaning.

  “So you hold his hand in school for five lousy days and make him feel like king of the world before you dump him, so what?” you snap, leaving her the last fry on the plate. Jesus Christ, this is kid stuff. Why is she making such a big deal about it? “He went out of his way to ruin your reputation, remember?”

  “I know,” she says.

  “So?” you say, watching her. “Come on, Ardith. I did the dirty work; all you have to do is sweep up. Do you want this rumor dead or what?”

  “What about you?” She picks up the fry, examines, and eats it.

  “Kimmer’s going to blame the whole Jeremy thing on you, you know.”

  “No kidding,” you say, shifting and brushing a hand along the back of your pants, making sure your sweater is in place and you’re flashing no crack. “Because if she blames him, then she’ll have to admit that he’s the one who betrayed her, not me. He’s her boyfriend. He’s the one who’s supposed to be loyal. I have no allegiance to her life.”

  “I know,” Ardith says, forking up a piece of her coconut custard pie and offering it to you. “But no matter what happens, they always blame the girl.”

  You open your mouth and the plastic tines slide across your pursed lips. “That pisses me off,” you say, frowning and chewing. The custard is artificially sweet and the coconut ragged against your tongue. “I mean, he had as much free will as I did. He could’ve just walked away, but he chose not to. Why is that my fault?”

  “Well, that’s an easy one,” Ardith says, lips twitching. “Because you’re the friggin’ mountain, remember?” she says, and then you’re giggling, burrowing into her shoulder, and she’s snorting laughter into your hair and when the secretary appears in the doorway, you wipe your teary eyes and leave without an argument because you’ve won this one and there’s no taking that away from you.

  You cruise into the girls’ room.

  Kimmer is there, red-eyed and huddled with Nola.

  You smile. You can’t help it. Lean into the mirror and brush your hair.

  “Slut,” Kimmer says.

  You laugh because she’s so predictable. You know you should ignore her but you’re not willing to leave the spotlight just yet. “Tell it to your dog boyfriend. He was all over me, you know. She saw it. She knows. Hell, everybody knows.” The fullness is back and the room is too small to hold you. “Sucks, huh?” You wedge your brush into your pocket. Your smile is dead. “So don’t fuck with us again.”

  You walk out and pause in the hallway, adrenaline tremors rippling through your skin and out your fingertips. You can’t remember when you’ve deliberately dashed so close to the edge and shouted a dare down into the void.

  You touch the silver locket, nestled warm and safe beneath your sweater.

  And smile.

  Payback is fun.

  Chapter 14

  Ardith

  So Blair pretty much squashed the gay rumor, but Kimmer didn’t go down without a fight. She forgave Jeremy, of course, and leveled all her venom at Blair, guaranteeing her a front row-center seat in the Harlot Hall of Fame.

  But Blair’s new “slut” label came back to bite Kimmer in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

  You see, instead of humiliating Blair and sending her into the depths of loser anonymity, the spicy tag brought her notoriety and attention—lots of attention—from guys who apparently translated it differently than girls did.

  I mean to girls, being called a slut is, what? The death of your credibility.

  To guys, it’s a major opportunity. A dream come true.

  Especially to ninth grade boys, most of whom would sell their souls for a ten-second hand job. Let’s face it: If you’re an eighty-pound sapling with a squeaky voice, peach fuzz, terminal sweats, and sticky sheets and somebody drops a real-live slut into the mix, well, then hey, life is looking up and there’s hope for you yet.

  Watching them dog her bugged me, and knowing what they thought of her pissed me off, too. They didn’t even know her as a person and yet they were so willing to believe the worst just because they hoped it would serve them.

  And you know what else bugged me? How easily Jeremy betrayed Kimmer. I mean, I’d really thought he was different from the other guys. I thought he was decent, but then he went and got stupid, just like all the rest.

  Blair said it was because she’d “harnessed the nature of the beast.” I think it’s even more basic than that.

  Got breasts? Got power.

  Think about it. No matter how guys bitch and moan about being used by girls or about girls who tease but won’t put out, they’re still the ones guilty of creating the power play. They enslave themselves with their own horniness and then, instead of keeping their vulnerability quiet so no one can capitalize on it, they advertise it! They up their own ante by wanting so much, and then price themselves right out of the market, because if they’re telling us breasts are the gold at the end of the rainbow, then why should we just give them away for free?

  I mean, where is it written that every guy who wants, gets? Come on. We’re raised on Cinderella and they’re raised on Penthouse Forum?

  Talk about conflicting fairy tales.

  Sorry. I didn’t mean to go off on you like that. It’s not your fault that Jeremy disappointed me, or that if you lumped all the guys I know together, they still wouldn’t make up one whole, decent, trustworthy man.

  Well, except for you.

  You’re welcome.

  Yeah, I know there are a lot of differ
ent types out there. That’s another reason I wanted to stay clean; so that when I finally met one of the good ones, I wouldn’t have anything ugly in my past to be embarrassed about. Well, except for my family, but I figured I could always move away like my sister did and just pretend they didn’t exist.

  Now I can’t even do that.

  For a lot of reasons, but also because Blair’s new slut label was rubbing off on me, too. In one morning I went from being a very private nobody, to gay, to a slut’s best friend. And if I hadn’t agreed to go out with Gary, I still would have been called a lezzie ho.

  I hated it. All of it. The labeling, the attention, the games.

  Blair laughed at me and reveled in her new notoriety.

  “They’re only sucking up to see what they can get off you,” I told her during lunch, after Gary had gotten back in line to get me another order of fries and Blair’s all-male fan club had momentarily abandoned her for their skateboards.

  “I know, but so what?” she said, arching an amused eyebrow. “It doesn’t mean they’re going to get anything. It’s not my fault they’re determined to believe Kimmer’s lies.” She leaned back in her seat and stretched. “As far as I’m concerned we’re all just buds, and sooner or later, when nothing happens, I figure they’ll realize what she said isn’t true.”

  “Then they’ll dump you,” I said, wondering when she’d gotten so much older than me.

  She shrugged. “No great loss. They’re only practice till we get to high school, anyway. I want to be ready for the real guys.” She picked up her apple and sank her thumbnail into it, carving out the bruised spot and dropping it on our tray. “I don’t really care who dumps me, as long as it isn’t you.” She examined the glossy skin, found it satisfactory, and bit off a chunk. Chewing, she said, “So your week with Gary’s almost up. You ready to ditch him, or what?”

  I met her probing gaze and looked away. “I don’t know yet.”

  Gary returned and sat next to me. His sweatshirt smelled like wood smoke from his fireplace. He handed over my fries and two packets of ketchup. Bumped his knee against mine and, smiling, refused my money.

  I caught our reflection in Blair’s eyes.