Part 27 (1/2)

”Why?” she asks. ”You think he'd dump you if he heard you peeing?”

”Oh, G.o.d, no. You know I have a nervous bladder.”

Really, I usually can't use the bathroom, if there's anyone within hearing distance. Not unless there's a loud fan, or I have to turn the faucets on full blast. I know I'm not the only one. The weird ones are the people that leave the door partially open while they go. I wouldn't do that even with Heather, and we've seen each other naked.

”Yeah, and it's the size of a pea-ha ha,” she says, and turns her attention back to her phone. ”Hey, does my brother still text you?”

”Only once in a while,” I reply, trying to make my voice sound casual. ”Not as much as he used to.”

Huh. See if there's any more sticks of gum under my bed, 'kay? Over by you-other side.”

I hang myself over the edge of the bed, and check under the filmy white dust ruffle. Yuck. ”No gum that I can see. Lots of wrappers, though.”

”s.h.i.+t. Wanna run to the store with me?”

I pull myself back up, smoothing back my hair as I do. ”Uh, no. What's with all the gum-chewing and the mints, anyway? You haven't been drinking today.”

”Mm, no. I wasn't gonna tell you 'cause it's so gross.” Heather looks up with a grimace. ”Last night, Alanna C dared Funzi to kiss me. No big deal-it's just Funzi, right? I was gonna play along with it, I opened my mouth really big-and drunk a.s.s Funzi puked right in it.”

”Gross!” I shriek, covering my own mouth with my hands in sympathetic horror.

”Right?” Heather mumbles, snapping her gum. ”I can't get the taste out of my mouth. Wait, 'Fredo sent me a pic of it-wanna see?”

”Absolutely not.” I scramble off her bed. ”I have to go, I have to study for a test tomorrow. Call you later.”

Laughing, she springs up after me. ”No, wait, you need to see this! It's a great action shot!”

She chases me down the stairs, and I'm so intent on getting away that I almost collide with her mother coming out of the kitchen.

”Oh, h.e.l.lo, Juliet,” Mrs. Jones greets me, pulling back to avoid contact. ”I didn't know you were over. How are you?”

I can feel Heather right behind me, practically breathing down my neck. I smile up at her mother-way up, because Mrs. Jones is a tall woman. ”I'm great, thanks for asking. I was just leaving, actually. I have a test I need to study for.”

”Oh, well, maybe you can come back for dinner. We're having baked spaghetti, and I always make too much. Unless that doesn't sound good after what happened last night?”

My eyes widen in alarm. For a panic-filled second, I think, ”she knows!” But then Heather nudges me in the back, and I realize I'm her cover story for last night.

I know I told Heather that I wouldn't lie for her anymore, but I can't bring myself to rat her out to her mom right then and there. So I decide to compromise.

”Last night?” I repeat, letting my mouth hang open. Drool should come out, I look so clueless.

”The dinner party at Lianne's?” Heather says from behind me. ”That shrimp was bad-I was sick all night, remember? I couldn't even drive us home.”

”Ohh. Right,” I say blankly. ”That's why we stayed over at my...?”

”Lianne's,” she interrupts through gritted teeth.

”Right. Lianne's house.”

I grin hugely at Mrs. Jones, who tries to smile back. Her forehead is wrinkled and her eyes are troubled, like she's trying to work out a difficult math problem. She's in total denial. I think I'll have to actually spell it out for her one of these days.

”Bye, Jule,” Heather says loudly, pus.h.i.+ng me from behind. ”Study hard for your test. I really hope you don't fail miserably, and have to repeat a grade.”

I gasp inside my head. How dare she use my recurring nightmare against me! I turn to glare at her. ”Yeah, that'd be terrible. Almost as bad as someone puking in my mouth accidentally.”

Heather narrows her eyes at me, but her twitchy mouth is a telltale sign she's trying not to laugh. Mrs. Jones looks horrified.

”Well, try to come by if you can,” she says, starting up the steps. ”I really did make too much.”

”Oh, don't pressure her, Mom,” Heather calls up to her mother's retreating back. ”Juliet is too embarra.s.sed to say, but she had the shrimp, too, and she's still got the runs really bad!”

”Cla.s.sy, Jones. Real cla.s.sy,” I mutter, nearly apoplectic with embarra.s.sment. I want to go running out of there, but how bad would that look after what she just said?

My ex best friend snorts with laughter. ”Too much? That's what you get for-oh, hey, Rob. What's up?”

No, she's not kidding. Her older brother is standing there by the kitchen, and judging by the look on his face, he's been there long enough to hear about the bad shrimp epidemic. Oh, well. Maybe he'll stop asking me out now.

”I'm just gonna go,” I say, shaking my head.

Neither of the Jones siblings says a word as I let myself out. It's for the best.

I come home to find my mom sitting at the kitchen table, working on her laptop. We exchange mumbled greetings, and I stare daggers at her back until she turns around to look at me.

”Do you know what happened to my red vase?” she asks, squinting like she's having a hard time seeing me.

”Yeah, I accidentally b.u.mped into it last night.” My gaze is unwavering on her face. ”Sorry. I tried to get all the little pieces.”

Mom sighs and turns back to her computer. ”I wish you'd been more careful. Aunt Greta made that for me as a housewarming gift.”

I wait for more, but she's focused on the laptop again. ”Well, I'm really sorry,” I try again. ”So, did you have fun last night?”

She shrugs. ”It was just pot luck at Carrie's. We do it every week...you're usually over at your dad's.” Mom chuckles distantly. ”There's usually wine with the food, which is why a bunch of us stay the night. By the way, your artichoke bisque was a hit. Where did you get the recipe?”

She took my bisque? I check the refrigerator, and sure enough, the pot is gone. I'd made it mostly for her, but I was hoping to have some later. Not that it's a big deal, but...I'm really annoyed.

”I got it off the internet,” I tell her, nudging a hip against the fridge to make sure it's closed all the way. ”I was going to have the bisque for dinner tonight.”

”Mm-hm.”

Sometimes I feel like I'm slowly being erased from my mother's life. One day, she'll look right through me. She'll eat the food I've left for her, but she won't think about where it came from-or she'll notice someone's keyed her car, and wonder who did it.

Wasn't me. I take my keys out of my jeans pocket and head for the door.

Kidding. I trudge upstairs to take more aspirin, and possibly start my homework. It's not like I was going to tell her that I made the stupidest mistake of my life last night. So...whatever.

I hate that I'm crying right now. I hate that I'm acting like a brat to try to get my mother's attention. I hate that I crave it so much. What am I, seven?