Chapter #37Putting on the War Paint by: Seuzz   Whatever Chelsea said to Gary, it worked. He doesn't so much as look at you, and all of his attention is bent toward Yumi.
Somehow, being ignored is even worse than being flirted with.
* * * * *
"So, what have you girls got planned for tonight?" Marc asks as you're leaving school.
He's driving—Marc always drives; he treats his right to the wheel like it's a fucking law of nature or something—and the minivan is inching its way through the parking lot in bumper-to-bumper traffic. From behind his shades he watches the other drivers and the strolling crowds, occasionally flashing a peace sign, or an insolent middle finger, and grinning at his friends.
You're in the front passenger seat, and you glance back at Jessica, who has been absorbed in her iPhone since leaving her locker. "I dunno," you admit. "What are you doing?"
It's Friday, so naturally the popular Garner siblings must have plans. "Oh, something," Marc says. "Go get a bite with Hannah, hang out someplace, then go do something somewhere til, I dunno, three in the morning." His sunburned face shines pinkly with anticipation, and his eyebrows arch excitedly over the tops of his shades.
Translation: Pick up my slutty girlfriend and take her to Taco Bell, where we'll feed sloppy burritos to each other. Then we'll drive out to the river for a beer and a blow job, hang out with other guys and their girlfriends, bragging about what studs we all are. Back in the car for another blow job. Then out to the Warehouse to dance and make out and get shitfaced and fuck each other in the back of the car. Stagger home hours after curfew, trip and bumble up the stairs like a pachyderm, and pass out with jeans unzipped and hanging halfway off my ass while drooling into the pillow.
Like most Friday nights for Marc Garner.
"Jessica?" you call into the back. "Jessica?"
"Huh?" she says. "Oh, we're going out to Catherine's."
"Sexy-Butt Catherine's?" says Marc.
"Do you call her that in front of Hannah?"
Marc's grin almost splits his face. "Oh yeah!"
"God!"
"Is she having a party tonight?"
"Just the usual," Jessica says. "We'll hook up with someone there, then go someplace later."
Marc sobers up instantly. "Hook up with someone?" he asks.
"We'll find a crowd that's going someplace," Jessica explains, "and go with them wherever."
"Oh," he sighs with relief.
Jessica kicks the back of his seat. "You fucking brat! If me and Eva wanna go out and get laid, what fucking business is it of yours?"
"Hey! I'm just looking out for—"
"You're a fucking hypocrite, Marc, you and those man-whores you hang out with! How do you know me and Eva haven't sucked off all the wrestlers and half the football team by now? You've got them crawling all over the house all the time!"
Marc spins around on her. "Hey! Just so you know, if I ever catch you with one of those guys behind a locked door—"
"Hey, just so you know," Jessica retorts, "the only reason we haven't blown any of your dumbass friends is because they're almost as disgusting as you!"
Marc slams the car into "Park." "I'm warning you, Jessica," he says, and points a strong forefinger at her. "You and Eva both, you—"
Jessica grabs his hand, and they grunt and wrestle.
You settle back with a sigh behind folded arms, until the car ahead lurches forward. Then you interrupt the fight by leaning over to blast the car horn. Marc jerks free of Jessica and turns back to the wheel. All the way home, he and Jessica holler at each other about what guys get to do and what girls don't.
* * * * *
You expect Jessica to blow off some super-hot steam when you get back home, but she only laughs and tells you start getting showered and changed. Plans are afoot, you can tell. You dress out in a short skirt and a tight top and stockings while she bathes, but when she comes back in—beads of water glistening and steaming off her taut skin—tells you get changed into your old soccer uniform. You ask what the deal is.
"We want to look fresh and healthy and like we're totally not up to no good," she explains. "You dress like this"—she lifts up the hose you've discarded, and clucks over it—"then everything you say sounds like a come on. You dress in soccer shorts and a jersey, and you just sound like you're being honest."
So you pull on the crisply laundered gold-and-crimson jerseys that Eva and Jessica wore when they played on the Westside girls' soccer team before switching over to cheerleading. For bottoms, you wear tight black shorts and ankle socks and sneakers, to show off almost more leg than is decent. Jessica brushes your hair back into a loose, fluffy pony tail, and when you regard yourself—hands on hips—in the full-length mirror, you concede that Chelsea is right. You look like a couple of girls on your way to or from a cheerful, healthy workout, with nothing more sinister on your minds than the pleasures and benefits of good exercise.
Even the arms you wrap around each other's waists, to pull each other into a sidelong embrace, are wholesomely sisterly.
But there's nothing innocent about the plan that Chelsea outlined while you dressed.
* * * * *
Catherine Muskov is famous for her after-school parties. They're casual affairs—so casual that they hardly qualify as "parties." Rather, she and her family just open their doors to her friends, and the friends of her friends, and to anyone who happens to drift in with those friends. She doesn't provide any food or drink or music, so people have to provide and share their own. So when you walk into her house, you're met by nothing more exciting than a bunch of high school kids flopped onto the floor or sofas, snuggling up close or draped across each other, studying their phones or chilling to their music players.
But there's never less than a dozen kids at her place at a time.
You yourself have never been out to her place, and Eva and Jessica have only been out a couple of times. But no one looks surprised when you let yourselves in. You just get some friendly smiles and nods from the kids in the living room. "I'll make a circle, see who's here," Jessica murmurs in your ear. "You go find Cindy and Seth." She gently touches your shoulder before pushing off, and your skin prickles where her fingertips pressed you.
Cindy and Seth are in the kitchen, leaning against the cooking island with their arms loosely draped around each others' waists. They're talking with a Hispanic kid with a narrow face, impudent mouth, and sharp eyes, who (thanks to Eva's memories) you know is a member of the JV basketball squad. He openly looks you up and down, and his eyes are visibly watering when he meets your glance with a hard, lusty stare of his own. You slide past him to stand next to Cindy, you gives you a quick hug and smile in greeting.
Wow, this is nice, you think. Cindy wouldn't even look at me if I was me. But when she thinks I'm one of her girlfriends ...
"So how was practice this morning?" you ask after getting it settled that your hostess is upstairs somewhere. "How's Chelsea handling it?"
Cindy rolls her eyes. "Freaking out. Now she's only got seven people she can kick around."
"When's the tryouts?"
"Are you and Jessica thinking about trying out again?"
"No!"
"I bet Chelsea would let you back on."
"No she wouldn't. And we wouldn't rejoin anyway. It was mistake, us joining in the first place. It was Kelsey's idea, not ours."
"So are you going to try getting back on the soccer team?"
"What? No."
"Has Anita talked to you about it?"
"No." The very question startles you. "Has she said anything to you?"
"No, I just thought maybe—"
"Well, it wouldn't fit in our schedules anyway. I don't think it would." You look past Cindy at Seth, who is the person you are supposed to be targeting. "How are you doing, Seth?"
He shrugs. "Great, I guess."
"You don't have to deal with this kind of shit on the basketball team." You feel for the phone in your pocket.
"No, I guess not. Not really."
"Well, can you explain why not?" You glance at the screen of your phone, pretending to read a text there. "Jessica's looking for you," you tell Cindy. "She's upstairs."
"Well, I'm in here."
You turn back to Seth. "So how come you don't have all kinds of drama on your squad?"
"Oh, well." Seth shrugs again. "Gordon and Steve, they know how to keep things running smooth. Everyone respects them."
"And not everyone respects Chelsea," you dryly observe.
"I guess not," Seth says. He throws an anxious glance at his girlfriend, who pulls away and says, "I'll go see what Jessica wants." Seth gives her a wounded look as she walks away, like a cat with bristling fur.
"How are things on the JV squad?" you ask the Hispanic kid, who has been greedily eyeing you this whole time.
"Great," he says. "We're awesome."
But you're concentrating on the text you're sending Jessica, saying that Cindy is now looking for her upstairs. That done, you reach over to clasp Seth by his wrist. "Can I talk to you outside?" you ask. "Alone?"
Seth visibly starts, then nods. Squeezing his wrist, you tug him toward a pair of French doors that lead out onto a deck. There's a couple of band kids out there—their names escape you for the moment—so you draw Seth down into the yard and over to heavy-limbed tree, from which dangles a tire swing.
"I didn't want to say anything in front of Cindy," you tell him in a low voice. "But things on the squad are about to get really ugly, and you need to be ready for them." You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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