“Like, fer sure,” Tess scoffs, opening my closet. “I hacked up all of my mother’s shit—you’d think she’d be thankful.”
The two of them cackle it out.
Rachel touches her fingers to her lips. “For a second there, I thought you were serious. Like who the hell knifes their wardrobe? You should bag your face if you’re walking around in homemades.” They continue their cackle-fest as if I wasn’t even in the room, but for some reason, I let it roll right off my shoulders. I can’t even get angry with them anymore. Tess and Rachel don’t seem like real people. They’re like cartoon outlines of people. I’ve seen more depth of character in Smurfette.
They start plowing through my closet, uninvited and bagging on my “bargain bin specials.”
“Okay, whatever. You guys go ahead and explore. I’ll go see how Jilly’s doing.”
I head back downstairs, sullen and sick that I’ve let them into my home, let alone my psyche. The thought of handing one of them to Jessie on a silver platter feels cruel and wrong. I think I’d better have a long talk with him regarding what he’s looking for in a girl. He seems genuinely nice, cool, and levelheaded. I can’t imagine he’s really torn up over which airhead to make his one and only.
“And then, we usually go to Big Bear Lake for a week.” Mom looks up from her vacation confession.
“What’s this?” I hop onto a barstool next to Jilly who looks as if she’s slowing down with the food-fest.
“Oh”—Mom waves me off—“Jilly was just asking about the things we do as a family. You know, seasonal things, how we celebrate the holidays, what we do in the summer.”
“You’re the perfect family,” Jilly snips as if it were the worst news ever.
“No, we’re not. You haven’t met my brother, Mark.” I wrinkle my nose at Mom because I’m only partially kidding. Half of the time he’s in his room getting high. My biggest fear in life has become not being able to get the smell of weed out of my hair.
“Mark is fine.” Mom averts her eyes. “Nobody’s perfect. Mark just had to learn a lesson the hard way.” Her lips purse at Jilly as if weighing whether or not to proceed with all of Mark’s “fine” foibles. “Mark was caught doing some bad things, and he was expelled from school.”
Jilly gasps. “Like ohmigod. No way! You guys are totally like Knots Landing!”
“And you’re like Dynasty,” I say it breathy while shaking my chest.
Jilly smirks. “More like One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”
Mom shoots me a look that says should I go there, and I give a subtle shake of the head.
“My dad is a twerp,” Jilly offers. “He’s like some really important person in the music industry, and he has like a thousand girlfriends. They’re all rejects, by the way. My brother thinks he’s tough because he acts just like our dad.”
So that’s where Jessie gets it. He’s literally buying into that stuff his mom said about him.
“But your brother’s changing.” My gut wrenches because I wish he were changing in my direction. “He’s ready to turn from his playboy ways and narrow it down to just one girl.”
“Bleh.” Jilly sticks her finger down her throat. “If it’s between those two, I say bring on the bimbos by the truckloads. It’s not like he’s doing himself a favor. Besides, my dad says monogamy is for wimps.”
Crap. A part of me wants to be angry with her father, and another part of me really feels sorry for him because obviously he lost his mind once Jessie and Jilly’s mother passed away.
“You know like, he doesn’t mean it, right?” I reach over and take up Jilly’s hand. Someone, for God’s sake, needs to fill her in on the real reason he’s acting out this way. It’s bad enough he’s led Jessie astray and turned him into a carbon copy of his STD-infested ways. I’m not going to stand by and let it happen to Jilly. “The reason he’s dating women willy-nilly is because he’s had his heart broken.” I press my lips tight. A part of me doesn’t really want to say what’s coming next. “It’s because he misses your mom.”
“My mom?” Her upper lip twitches toward her cheek as if disgusted that I even broached the topic. “Oh, my mom. Yeah, you’re totally right. My mother was the great love of my father’s life.” She gives a satisfied grin over to my own mother. I’m glad Jilly has a sense of pride when it comes to her mom. She should. “Jenny here has me penning letters on a regular basis to my dead mom.” She nods over to my mother, and I cringe when she says it. And regular basis? God, she’s going to need therapy for years just to get over the damage I’ve inflicted upon her.
Mom’s eyes widen white as hardboiled eggs.
“A letter a day keeps the grief away,” Jilly continues just as Tess and Rachel saunter back into the room. “But I can’t figure out what to do with them.”
“Oh, you should mail them.” Mom nods into her insanity, and I gag just trying to figure out how to backtrack out of this macabre nightmare.
“Like mail what?” Tess asks out of sheer boredom.
“Letters to her dead mother,” Mom says it so sweetly it almost sounds sane.
“Really?” Jilly is just as curious as I am at how something so paranormal in nature might work.
“Oh, yes.” Mom flicks her wrist, and suddenly, I have the urge to break it. This is freaking serious! Dead mothers are involved! You do not flick a wrist, people! And, for God’s sake, you do not suggest the postal service as a recommendation to alleviate this child’s obvious pain. Gah! “The postal service will gladly take them from you. I read about it in an article on grief when my father passed away. It’s the symbolic act of letting go—of getting all your feelings out on paper and handing them over that really helps you feel like you’ve worked your way through it. It’s cathartic in a sense.”
“And this has been interesting in a sense.” I shoot daggers at my mother while leading Jilly, Tess, and Rachel in through the living room and out the door. Jilly shouts a cheery goodbye to my newly certifiable mother while I try to herd Tess and Rachel into my car, but they keep craning their necks to my brother’s window just hoping for a glimpse.
“Oh, let me.” Jilly gets that wicked gleam in her. “Atten-hut!” Her voice rattles the windows of this tiny abode, and in two seconds flat, both Rachel and Tess are at military attention next to my Suzuki.
You have to love Jilly.
* * *
I drop the three of them off at Jessie’s house. Both Tess and Rachel insisted that Jessie would give them a ride. I’m sure. I know what kind of a ride they’d like Jessie to give them. Instead of heading home, I drive over to Park Plaza. I’m feeling pretty down, and I know for a fact only a quick trip through Warehouse Records and a much slower jaunt through Crown Books can fix it.
The Warehouse is a huge boxy building with heavy tinted windows that smells of melting vinyl as soon as you get inside. I love this mechanical smell almost as much as the bookstore—almost. Tommy Tutone’s “867-5309/Jenny” vibrates over the speakers, and I huff a dry laugh. If I had a dime for every time someone sang this song to me. I get it—there’s a catchy rhythm, and everyone knows all the words, but still, the next time a boy says ‘Jenny, I’ve got your number,’ and starts in on my faux seven digits, I might just be moved to smack him.
It’s a little colder than I would like it inside, and now, I’m wishing I brought a jacket. At a quick glance, I spot Fatima and Trina, the cheer captains from Glen, over by the cassettes, and a few of the heavy metalers from Glen are hanging out in the hard rock section. A Goth guy with a Mohawk sits behind the counter, eating Ramen noodles out of a Styrofoam carton, and the smell is making me hungry more than it is grossing me out.
I head over to the new wave section to peruse the selections. The Bangles’ new album, Different Light, is out.
“Yes!” I whisper to myself, unable to curb my enthusiasm as I snap one up for myself. I head over and snatch up the cassette version for Melissa, and while I’m there, I spot Nina Hagen’s Ekstasy, so I pick up a cassette for Heather, t
oo.
Each Friday, Jessie’s housekeeper, Ramona, has been faithfully giving me cash. It’s way more than I charge, and I tried to explain that to her, but she said I should have a little extra since I was taking Jilly out. She called it “pizza money.” I don’t mind spending money on Jilly when we go out. I like Jilly. In a strange way, she does feel like she’s my sister.
“Boo,” a warm voice hums into my ear—deep, definitely male. I recognize that sexy rasp, that expensive woodsy cologne enveloping me like a cloud.
I turn my head just slightly to find Jessie Fox’s giant grin in the corner of my eye. My stomach squeezes tight, and my body slaps with heat all at once. I’d like to think Tess and Rachel feel so strongly—Jessie would deserve it if they did—but judging by the way they were pawing all over my brother, I seriously doubt it.
“Boo?” I smirk back down at the haul in my hands. “Too cliché. Try harder.”
“Cliché?” He swoops in front of me, and that dazzling smile, those shining happy-to-see-me eyes pour their warmth all over me. “Okay, there’s some frozen yogurt with our names on it at Penguin’s. You want to head over and pick ’em up?”
“Much better.” I relax into a laugh. Jessie steps in, and I can feel the warmth from his broad chest emanating over in waves. “What are you doing here?” I give a wry smile. I can’t help but grin like an idiot around Jessie. There’s something sweet, yet mischievous hidden in those eyes.
He holds up a bag large enough to fit a record in.
“Doing a little shopping for Valentine’s?” I tease. I’m usually the biggest fan of that heart-shaped day, but this year it’s going to split mine right down the middle. A part of me refuses to believe I’ll be handing Jessie Fox over to one of his harem hussies on a day devoted to love and affection.
Those divots in his cheeks dip in, and I struggle not to touch my finger to them.
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
My mouth falls open. “There’s no way what’s in that bag is for me. You’re like such a tease.” I start toward the cashier, and he follows dutifully along. “I dropped Jilly off at the house. If like I knew you weren’t there, I would have stayed. But Tess and Rachel are hanging out with her.” Not that it’s any consolation to poor Jilly.
His brows furrow. “Makes me want to stay out even later. You mind if I cash in that movie ticket you owe me?” That magnificent grin of his widens as a laugh gets caught in my throat.
I pay for my purchases and drag him next door to Crown Books for a quick run-through. They’re having a blowout sale on The Book of Love: Poems and Famous Quotes in honor of this upcoming Valentine’s Day, so of course, I snatch up a copy, and Jessie does the same.
“You don’t have to get it,” I say. “I promise I’ll let you borrow mine.”
He tilts into me, and that calm, swoon-worthy glimmer in his eyes makes me melt right on the spot.
“I like to read. Besides, this way we can read it at the same time.”
“Our own private read-along, huh?” My tongue touches my upper lip for a brief second as if I were flirting, and my cheeks heat at the idea.
“Let me buy it.” A sad smile comes and goes on his face. “You can even borrow it first.”
“No way. I’m not some literary charity case. We’ll each get our own copies.” I hoist the chubby little book up as if I were toasting him with it. “To love.”
“To love.” He knocks his book to mine, but his eyes never stray from my gaze.
Normally, I would have jumped at the chance to share a paperback with Jessie, but I have a feeling that once he zeros in on which girl he wants to get serious with, I won’t want to spend any more time around him than I need to.
We hit Penguin’s and Taco Bell, and he follows me home to drop off my car before we head up to the Glen Heights Galleria.
“I don’t ever remember seeing a movie on a school night in my life,” I say as we park and head up toward the cinema.
“Welcome to the wild side.” He gives that cocky grin, and my panties melt right off my body. “You’ve arrived.” His smile dissipates as if he’s just come to a conclusion he’s not too thrilled about. Secretly, I hope it has to do with me, but with my luck, it has to do with the fact he’ll find Tess or Rachel waiting for him in bed when he gets home, and he’s disgruntled because he’ll be up all night. But most likely he’s regretting this movie, and we haven’t even decided which one we’re going to see.
“Are you ready for Friday?” I go to tap him on the hand as we get onto the escalator, and he takes up my hand and interlaces our fingers. My stomach detonates in a blast of fiery glory. Jessie Fox is holding my hand—most likely it was just a reflex, but, still, this limb is attached to me!
“I’m ready. You know who you’re going to pick?” He tips his head back, and his lids hood over, low and sexy.
“Yeah, I think I have a pretty good idea, but I have to confer with Jilly.”
“That’s right. Jilly.” His brows hike an inch, and his thumb massages a tiny circle into my palm.
Holy shit!
“How about you?” We get off the escalator, and our hands detach naturally. Crap. He probably thought he was protecting me from a fall. Jessie Fox probably holds any and every woman’s hand on the escalator because he’s just that big of a gentleman. “So, what’s going to happen between you and Danny?” His Adam’s apple spikes up and down as we get in line at the ticket counter.
“I don’t know. I’ll probably start making out with him right after the dance, and we’ll progressively get more physical until I finally gift him my virginity for prom. It’s official. My entire life is a cliché.”
“Your life is a cliché?” He inches back, that greedy smile of his tugging at his lips. Those lips. I’m mesmerized. “Try harder.”
A laugh bubbles from me as my own words from the record store come back to haunt me.
“I am trying harder. Thus, Danny Potter gets to pop my cherry come June. Or, heck, I’ll just let him take it whenever he wants. The sooner, the better. That way I can squeeze in a few other guys before graduation,” I tease as we step up to purchase our tickets, but he’s not laughing.
His eyes rake up and down my features in a sad, slow drag. “What movie would you like to see?”
“I’m buying, so you decide.”
“I’ve never had a girl let me decide.” His cheek rises on the left. “I don’t like it.”
It takes a full five minutes of back and forth before we diplomatically settle on Down and Out in Beverly Hills.
“You know what else I don’t like?” Jessie asks while navigating us toward the concession stand. “That I actually let you pay for my ticket. I think my balls just inverted. You know what that means, right?”
“That you’re a sexist who can’t handle a woman having equal rights and liberties when it comes to going Dutch with a friend?”
“No.” His brows twist, and that tender spot at the base of my body quivers. “It means I get a do-over. Next time, I’m buying the tickets.”
I belt out a laugh, then stop abruptly. Unless we hit the theater again in two days, I won’t be going to the movies with Jessie again anytime soon.
We load up on popcorn, Jujubes, and two extra large Diet Cokes, all of which he insists on pitching in for. No complaints here. I happen to be running low on cash after my Warehouse haul and bookstore find.
We head into the theater, still too early for previews, and take a seat square in the middle—it’s so not a couple’s location, thus further cementing our friendship status. I glance around and spot a few other kids that might go to Glen. Otherwise, it’s the mom and pop sect, a few gray heads peppered in between.
A pop quiz rotates on the screen, but we ignore it for the most part.
“So, you’re really into Potter, huh?”
“Yup.” The lie comes out so seamlessly I don’t even know who I am anymore. “I’m really looking forward to the dance. Once Jilly and I give you our decisio
n, I’ll finally be able to devote all my free time to getting wet and wild with Danny.” A roll of nausea cycles through me. Wet and wild? Why does it sound as if drowning is suddenly on the agenda? With my luck, it will be.
“So, what happens to us after Friday?” He stares out at the screen with his jaw set, his hand dipping into the popcorn.
“Us?” I jump a little when I say it. He glances over, his hazel eyes locking onto mine, and my skin erupts in flames. Jessie doesn’t seem to realize that us is one of those terms that means totally different things to boys than it does to girls. To the males of this world, it’s a benign term that most likely has platonic implications, but to us females, it can hold the weight of the universe in those two tiny, seemingly innocent letters.
“Yeah, you know, hanging out,” he continues. “You telling me how to dance—making me stay up late on a school night.”
A sharp laugh evicts from me, and half of the people in front of us spin around in annoyance. It’s true. The movie doesn’t get out until eleven.
I lean in, and he does the same until his nose is inches from mine.
“I think, after Friday, we’ll both have someone else to dance with—to keep us up late on school nights.”
The lights dim, and the previews start, loud and strobing, like a panic attack.
Jessie touches his knee to mine, and I do the same.
His hand brushes over mine before he interlaces our fingers once again.
It’s almost impossible to concentrate on the movie, on the Jujubes spilling out onto my lap. All I can think about is how strong his fingers are, how safe I feel with him holding my hand, with him by my side.
I wish Friday never had to come.
It’s already the worst Valentine’s Day ever.
Jessie
On Thursday night, I keep Jennifer here later than usual, asking her to help alphabetize my record collection, my cassettes—heck, I even asked her to bake a batch of cookies for Jilly, all of which we did together. I just wanted her close—wanted her next to me. The last thing I wanted was for her to leave. Tomorrow night is the dance, the night we each seal our fate. It’s fucked up, and I don’t know what to do about it, so I call Russell over, and we shoot hoops for about a half hour before I have the guts to say a word.