Slow Burn Part 27

"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, pushing 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?

When am I going to grow up and get over myself?

Chapter 26.

It's Monday morning, and Ben and I are hanging out on the steps of McLaren Hall. He's smoking a cigarette, and writing something on the inside of his wrist-which I'm not going to ask him about.

I'm huddled one step below him, my shoulders hunched miserably, chin resting on my knees. I feel both depressed and nervous. I don't want to run into Nick, and I definitely don't want to see Johnny. I wish I had just stayed home. The second I arrived on campus, people started asking me about the smoke bomb incident. Everyone's heard a different version. I like the one where I died.

"I still think it was Kara," I say stubbornly, lifting my head to look at Ben.

He just shakes his head. "Nah, I don't think so. She's malicious enough, but smoke bombs ain't her style. She'd more likely poison you." He looks matter-of-fact as he exhales a cloud of smoke. "Have Mack take a bite out of your lunch before you eat it from now on. Dude has a cast iron stomach."

Um, I don't get the feeling that he's joking, and that has me a lil' concerned. "Great," I sigh. "So, there's probably another person out there who wants to kill me."

Ben leans forward to pat me on the head. "Don't worry, kid. We'll find him-or her. h.e.l.l, Johnny spent all of homecoming interrogating-oh, everyone. Liddell was p.i.s.sed. She's trying to pa.s.s the whole thing off as a harmless prank gone bad. Our parents will get letters in the mail with the standard official bulls.h.i.t...'There's no cause for panic, your little angels are safe with us. Don't mind the crazy a.s.shole starting fires everywhere and blowing s.h.i.t up.' Blah, blah, blah."

"You think the arsonist is the one who set the smoke bombs?" I shiver in my blazer. "But why target me? The fires started happening before I even came to Leclare."

"I actually don't think it's the same person. The fires are small time s.h.i.t-cries for attention, you know? It could be any of us trust fund a.s.sholes with abandonment issues." He flicks his cigarette into the bushes, then thoughtfully runs a hand through his short blonde hair. "Whoever did the bombs has something against you. Or Johnny."

I gasp, sitting up straighter. "I never even thought of it like that. I was so focused on the idea that someone wanted to hurt me that I didn't consider-who would know the combination to Johnny's locker? Kara, I bet."

Ben just grins. "You know Johnny keeps it unlatched, right? 'Cause who would be crazy enough to mess with his s.h.i.t. Anyone could've s.n.a.t.c.hed his phone, then sneaked it back."

My shoulders slump again. "And no one would have noticed because of the pep rally, and the confusion after."

"Hey, don't worry. We've got our list of suspects."

"Really?" I arch my eyebrows in surprise. "Who's on it?"

"Some of Leclare's notorious delinquents, a couple of guys with a grudge against Johnny. Do you know a Bobo Frederico? He's on the top of the list."

"I know Bobo! Why is he on the list?"

"The dude's weird. He's got future terrorist written all over him." Ben shrugs, reaching behind his neck to tug on the collar of his shirt. He's in some s.h.i.t band, and some of the lyrics are gruesome-there's this one song where he talks about blowing up G.o.d. And," he adds, pointing an unlit cigarette at me, "he's got a giant hate-on for Johnny."

"Why?"

"Johnny hooked up with Frederico's cousin, or sister-and broke her heart. This was before you, of course."

"Of course." I frown, considering. "He asked me out," I confess.

Ben's gaze suddenly sharpens. "What? When?"

I tell him about Sat.u.r.day night, shamefacedly explaining why Bobo now has my number, and my agreement to go on a date with him. I should have left some parts out for dignity's sake. I don't know why I feel I can tell Ben anything-especially after he starts laughing at me.

He sprawls back on the steps, chuckling. "Juliet, Parker's b.a.l.l.s-up obsessed with you-seriously, how can you not know that by now? That s.h.i.t with Dani was just self-sabotage, 'cause the dumba.s.s doesn't think he deserves to be happy."

I'm hit with a ma.s.sive wave of guilt. Looking down, I mutter, "Wow, Ben, did you get that psychology degree online, or did it come in a box of cereal?"

"You're cute. Actually, my therapist told me that."

That brings my head up. "You told your therapist about us?!"

Ben just gives a little shrug, like it's no big deal. He pops the cigarette in his mouth, and mumbles around it. "It tell Ajit what I have for breakfast every morning. When I go to Yale, I'm buying him a condo so he can visit me every weekend. You think I'm kidding."

Sadly, no. I'm curious, despite myself. "So...what did he have to say? About me and Johnny?"

"Uhhh. I believe the term 'future murder/suicide' was used. d.a.m.n, where'd I put my lighter?"

I deflate. "Oh...okay, then."

Ben triumphantly brandishes a silver Zippo that looks suspiciously like Dean's. "Speaking of shrinks-I hear you have a date with Rigby sometime soon. You're gonna love him-tell you why after you meet him."

"I'm not going," I scoff. "Aunt J-Liddell. Princ.i.p.al Liddell-she can't make me. It's not like I'm traumatized, or anything."

"Hey, I know you're a tough chick. But I think you should go. You might find the experience...illuminating."

"Hm, intriguingly cryptic-but I'll pa.s.s." I climb to my feet after checking the time on my phone. "Bell's about to ring. You going in?"

He leans back on his elbows, unconcerned. "I'm meeting Arianna in a few minutes. She's gonna help me formulate an equation to demonstrate the autonomous convergence theorem."

I just stare at him, unblinking.

"I'm gonna try to convince her to squeeze in a quickie before cla.s.s."

"Oh, well, good luck." I pick my bag from the step. "See you in Lit."

Ben lifts his hand in a lazy wave. "I'll be there, hopefully with a smile on my face."

Ew, just got a mental image.

And my day goes downhill from there. For some strange reason, Britney, the mayor's daughter, appoints herself my PR rep. she glues herself to my side all morning, and answers any questions thrown my way. After she gives me a gift box full of Sephora's fall lip gloss colors, I stop protesting. h.e.l.l, yes, I can be bought.

Besides, I'm putting all my energy into dodging Johnny. By the third time I blow him off, he knows something's up. I can tell by the dark intense look on his face as he watches me pretend to be in deep conversation with Aunt Jo when I see him coming. So, not only do I not fool him, I think I just agreed to head a safety committee for Leclare.

Government with Nick is horrible. We can't even look at each other. Worse, Sara and I pair up for an a.s.signment on which amendments we feel are the most important to us. It's then that she chooses to finally confess her secret crush on Nick. She begs me to hook them up-and what can I say except, "d.a.m.n, your timing sucks!"

I don't really say that, but come on! And what if they do get together, and end up boyfriend and girlfriend? Sara and I could never hang out-I would feel too guilty. I'm seriously p.i.s.sed at myself. If these were medieval times, I'd place myself in the stocks, and shamefully accept being pelted with rotten fruit.

I'm hovering just outside the cafeteria doors, debating whether I should go in or not, when Johnny catches me.

"Teeny, we need to talk," he says grimly, holding an arm out to bar my entrance. Maybe it's a trick of light, but his eyes seem to have darkened to a stormy gray, instead of their usual pure blue.