Slow Burn Part 12

"Believe me, I'm trying." I roll my eyes.

"Whatever. I wish I had your problems. Are you going to the dance tonight?"

"No, I work." I start to head toward the doors.

Tanya trails after me. "So, about my friend, Bobo..."

Chapter 11.

I should creep right back out the front door when I hear Mich.e.l.le and Derek fighting, but I've never heard them like this before. I've never heard Uncle Derek sound this mad, and Mich.e.l.le is crying.

It's that last thing that has me bursting into the living room, unannounced.

"I did it!" I say before taking in the scene. "I sent it to her."

Mich.e.l.le and Derek are standing in front of their brown suede couch, both rigid with tension. Derek is holding a white box in one hand, and Mich.e.l.le is standing in front of him, tears streaming down her face. They both turn to stare at me.

"Juliet...what are you doing here?" Derek shakes his head, both confused and frustrated.

"I, uh, knocked. I couldn't help but overhear." I clear my throat nervously. "Um, Uncle Derek? I sent Mich.e.l.le a gift as a thank you for helping me with...some stuff I was going through. Break up stuff, you know?"

Derek arches a blonde eyebrow at me. "You sent your aunt lingerie as a thank you gift?"

He pulls something red, lacy, and silky from the box, dangling it in the air for emphasis.

My eyes grow huge and my mouth drops open. I don't dare look at Mich.e.l.le, who has grown deathly silent.

Quickly recovering, I replace my shocked look with a bland one. "Oh, yeah. It's a girl thing, you know? She had mentioned she wanted to spice things up in the bedroom..." I trail off with an uncomfortable chuckle. Mich.e.l.le whimpers very quietly, letting me know I've just digging a deeper hole for the both of us.

"I suppose you sent her this note, too?"

Note? Oh, s.h.i.t.

Derek is holding a square piece of paper in his meaty hand. "'I can't wait to see this on you,'" he reads from it.

I can't even look at them. I run my fingers along the seam of the couch, speaking in a tiny voice. "Is that not appropriate?"

There is a brutal silence, then an explosive exhalation.

"I'm outta here," Uncle Derek mutters. He storms away.

Only when I hear the front door slam do I dare look at my aunt. She's frozen to the spot, staring at me in disbelief.

"I'm sorry!" I blurt out. "I was only trying to help!"

Mich.e.l.le closes her eyes, shoulders slumping. "I just about had him convinced it was from Yanni."

"Oh." I bite my lip. "Yeah, that would have made more sense. Sorry."

Mich.e.l.le opens her eyes again. "Not your fault," she says wearily, dropping onto the couch.

Tentatively, I come around and sit next to her. "So, who's it really from?"

She doesn't say anything for a minute, and just when I think she's not going to answer me, she starts talking.

"There's this new guy at work. He's really cute, and funny-and he's been flirting with me a lot. At first, I just joked around with him-you know, teased him back...silly harmless stuff. Then we got to talking, and he's-he's really great. We seem to have a lot in common, and he really listens to me, you know? Things just got out of hand."

I stare at her, dread filling my stomach. "You didn't...?"

"Oh-no! I swear to G.o.d, I didn't let it get that far. s.h.i.t." She plants her face in her hands. "I didn't even know he had my address!"

"Well, what was he thinking, sending it here?"

Mich.e.l.le's reply is m.u.f.fled and incomprehensible.

"What?" I say.

She briefly lifts her head up. "He doesn't know I'm married," she confesses, before dropping her face back into her hands.

"Oh, Mich.e.l.le," I groan. She is so pathetic that I try to rub her back comfortingly. "At least you haven't done anything yet. Right?"

"I'm not talking about this with my niece," she mumbles.

"Why not? I'm old enough to know that these things happen, and I know the difference between right and wrong. Just talk to Uncle Derek, tell him the truth. It will all work out."

Mich.e.l.le drops her hands from her face. Her expression is bleak. "It's not that simple," she says quietly.

"It could be," I say stubbornly.

She offers me a small smile, reaching over to squeeze my hand. "Honey, I'm sorry. I'm not feeling up to hanging out today. Why don't you head back to your dad's, and I'll give you a call later tonight. Okay?"

"Yeah, of course."

We hug, hard and fast, then I reluctantly leave Mich.e.l.le to her tears. I drive back to my dad's apartment, worry making my stomach churn.

I know it isn't my place, but I can't help but feel disappointed in Mich.e.l.le. She's always been there for me with great advice, or a shoulder to cry on, and I-it's a strange feeling to realize someone you look up to isn't perfect, and has weaknesses of her own. Difficulties in her own life that she might not be able to get through.

It's just depressing. I hate to see them fighting, especially over something like this. While Mich.e.l.le claimed to have not cheated on her husband, it certainly seems to be heading that way. What the h.e.l.l's with all the cheating? Is it for the drama? Why do we love the drama so much?

I can't think clearly about Mich.e.l.le's situation, not without unfairly judging her due to my own cheating experience. It's none of my business, anyway. Sucks, though.

I don't feel like staying here. I go back to Dad's and fake a headache, asking if it's okay if I go back early. The look of relief on his face kinda hurts. I wish I had a whipped cream pie so I could throw it at him.

Screw this. I need Heather, and I need ice cream.

"Jule!" Heather clutches my arm in a near panic. "Pretend that we're together, okay?"

We're standing in line at Boppy's, waiting for our turn to order delicious ice cream. It hasn't moved since that skinny guy with the pink shirt got to the counter.

"We are together," I say to my suddenly nervous friend.

"No, I mean like together," she emphasizes, anxiously looking at something over my shoulder. The she starts rapid-fire whispering at me. "Don't look right now, but there's a tall girl with braids coming our way. I hooked up with her at the college party I went to with Ethan last week, and she's been calling and texting me non-stop since. Which would be fine, because-no, don't turn around! She's hot and really fun to be with-but she has a boyfriend, and she keeps pushing for a threesome."

I frown at her. "You never told me you hooked up with anyone at that party."

Heather smiles sheepishly, tossing back her long hair. "I was drunk. I didn't want you kicking my a.s.s about it. But, please, just pretend that you're my girlfriend, okay? I don't want this to get awkward."

"Already there," I mutter as a very tall dark-haired girl approaches us.

Heather quickly puts an arm around my waist, and gives the girl a big cheesy grin. "Hey, Dawn! How's it going?"

"Hey, Heather." The girl-Dawn-smiles, but there's a question in her eyes. "It's funny that I should run into you. I've been trying to get a hold of you for a while."

"Yeah, sorry. I've been really busy with my girl, here." Heather giggles and gives me a quick painful squeeze. "Oh, Dawn, this is my girlfriend, Juliet. Juliet, I met Dawn at a party I went to just before I met you."

I clear my throat, and nod at the other girl. "'Sup?"

"Hi." Dawn looks at me curiously. "I didn't know you had a girlfriend, Heather."

"Oh, well, it's a very recent thing. True love at first sight." She presses her cheek against mine.

"Yup." I try to look super-possessive and tough. "We can't keep our hands off each other."

The guys standing in front of us immediately turn around, eyes wide and smiles perverted. I want to kick them. Isn't that what an angry lesbian would do?

Dawn looks confused, and a little put out, but she speaks graciously. "That's great. Good luck to you both. Uh, it was nice seeing you again, Heather."

Heather waits until she's out of sight to whirl on me. "What the h.e.l.l was that?" she hisses.

"What was what? Is this line ever going to move?" I mumble distractedly.

"That! That six-pack-a-day-gangster-lesbian voice?" She points at me accusingly.

"Oh," I say gruffly. Then in a normal tone of voice: "Sorry. I didn't know if I should be the butch or the b.i.t.c.h, so I went with what sounded more fun. You know, we've been standing here for fifteen minutes, and this line hasn't moved an inch. Let's just go to the one on Turner."

"Fine, but only if you promise not to yell at me about Dawn. Let's go, stud."

I stifle a sigh as I follow her out of the food court. I would like to scold her for her careless behavior, but Heather tends to shut down whenever I bring up her drinking and casual hookups. I used to resort to leaving pamphlets in her purse, and whispering things like "gonorrhea" and "crabs" in her ear when she'd start to flirt with some random girl. The result was that she left me at home, and didn't tell me about any parties she went to.

I don't know what to do about her. I've already started refusing to be her cover, and I'm seriously considering ratting her out to her parents. Yeah, she'd never talk to me again, but at least she'd be safe.

"Oh, my G.o.d," Heather says under her breath, bringing me out of my dark musings.

"What? Is she back?" I murmur, ready to put my arm around her shoulders.

She shakes me off, talking out of the corner of her mouth. "Don't look, but that girl heading toward us-she's absolutely beautiful!"

There is actual awe in her voice. I don't know why she tells me not to look since I always do. I stare right at the girl ahead of us. She's standing outside of Gadgets, a kitchen appliance store, and looking down at the phone in her hand.

She is beautiful, with her glossy black hair and exquisite features. "That's Sloane Suzuki," I whisper to Heather.

Her brow furrows. "Who? Oh-one of the sea harpies?"

"Yeah. The not-so-b.i.t.c.hy one. Sloane!" I shout before Heather can stop me.

Sloane glances up, not looking very pleased to see me walking toward her. Hi," she says briefly, then goes back to staring her phone. Heather continues to gape at her.

"This is my friend, Heather," I say, yanking on her arm and pulling her right in front of Sloane.

"Hi-lo!" Heather says goofily, and snorts a laugh. She looks at me, horrified, and claps a hand over her mouth.

I focus on the other girl, refusing to let my lips so much as twitch. "So, Sloane. Did you go to the dance last night?" I ask, just to make conversation so I don't burst out laughing.

"I don't really do school dances," she replies vaguely.

"Oh. Well, we were just going to get ice cream-do you want to join us?" I get right to it, ignoring Heather's quick intake of breath.

Sloane forces a polite smile to her face. "No, thanks, I'm meeting someone in a few minutes. Some other time, maybe."

"Sure. See you in school Monday."

Heather grabs my arm, and starts dragging me out the exit "Oh, s.h.i.t." She gasps weakly when we're in the parking lot. She drags her feet dramatically. "That was epic."

"Hi-lo?" I laugh. "Really? What are you, a Muppet? Hi-lo, everybody, I'm Heather the Frog."

She buries her face in her hands, giggling. "I was fl.u.s.tered!" she says, her voice m.u.f.fled. She drops her hands, and steps up to me. "Juliet, you have to tell me every single thing you know about her."

I could have sworn I parked down this row, but I don't see my dark blue car anywhere. "I don't know that much," I answer Heather, leading her down another row. "I have her in my AP Lit cla.s.s. She doesn't talk a whole lot-not to me, at least. I don't know if she's ever dating anyone. Um...she hangs out with Dean sometimes, but they're not together. I can ask around for you-and don't worry, I'll be subtle about it."

"I don't care if you are." Heather shrugs matter-of-factly. Then her face turns thoughtful as she looks off into the distance. "How do you spell her last name? I want to look up her on online."

I give her my best guess as we wander around, looking for my lost car. Did it get stolen? My phone beeps with an incoming text message, and I glare at it.

Heather laughs at me. "Is that Johnny again, and his one hundred and fifty-seven reasons why you guys should get back together?"

I frown down at the phone in my hand. "No, he's been really quiet since the whole serenading mess."

"Oh, my G.o.d, the look on your face! I'm so glad someone posted it on their profile."

"d.a.m.n it," I huff in exasperation. "It's hard enough seeing him almost every day. Sometimes, when we're just talking to each other like before, I forget, and I want to...I don't know. But then I see her-or I replay what happened in my head-and I get so p.i.s.sed off. Oh! There's the car!"