The Boyfriend List

tonight,” I said. “Thanks a lot.”

“No problem,” he said, and then he bent down and kissed my cheek, only a little closer to the mouth than a normal cheek kiss. A jolt went down my spine.

“Roo, what the hell?”

I turned, and there was Jackson, striding down the length of the dock with his tie loosened. The smashed carnations. The kiss. He had seen it all.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, stepping back from Angelo.

“Who’s this guy?”

“We weren’t—”

“I can’t believe you!”

“Me?”

“I was coming back to talk,” Jackson said under his breath, his lips close to my ear. “I’ve been driving all over, thinking about things. I came back, because I felt bad about what happened on the boat.” He was sweating. I had no idea what to say. “I thought you cared about me,” Jackson went on. “But obviously none of it ever meant anything.”

“What?”

“I can’t believe you’re here, making out with some guy.”

“Jackson!”

He turned around and stomped back to his car.

When I turned around, Angelo was gone too.

Four: My mom found a beer can. “Roo, how did this get here? I’m so disappointed in you; don’t you know some of your friends are driving? blah blah blah.” Not even important in the grand scheme of things, except that I had to listen to an endless lecture when I was frankly in no condition to deal.

So there I was, my mom yelling at me, Heidi talking crap about me, weirded out by the Noel dynamic, Angelo probably mad at me, Jackson thinking I was cheating on him/getting over him too quickly/generally skanky—and you’d think things couldn’t get worse, but ha! It’s my life. Things can always get worse.

Five: I was standing in front of our house getting lectured by Elaine Oliver, who gives loud and obnoxious monologues for a living and was therefore on a tremendous and highly dramatic rant, when Meghan came walking down the dock. The other kids were still partying like thirty yards away, down where the boats were. I had seen Meghan briefly at the dance, and she looked stunning in a black strapless dress and a string of pearls around her neck. Very different from her usual scruffy prepster look. “Hi, Mrs. Oliver,” she said, polite as can be.

“Meghan, how nice to see you!” My mom suddenly turned on the charm. “Did you have fun at the Spring Fling?”

“Yes,” she said. “I dropped Bick off and I’m just getting back. I saw the candles. Roo, are you having a party?”

“Sure,” said my mother, all hostessy. You would never believe this was the same woman who only seconds before was screaming that I was an “inconsiderate recklessly endangering illegal party monster” about beer that I didn’t even buy. “Would you like a pop?” Mom said to Meghan. “Your dress is beautiful, sweetie.”

“Thanks.”

My mom walked over to one of the coolers to get a drink.

“Roo, how come you didn’t invite me?” Meghan asked, as soon as my mother was out of earshot.

“What?”

“To your party.” Her voice was hurt. “Did you think I wouldn’t know about it? I live practically next door.”

To tell the truth, I simply hadn’t thought of it. Sure, Meghan drove me to school every day. Sure, we’d talk about stuff and get drive-thru Starbucks, and borrow money off each other, and sing along to the radio—but I never thought of her as my friend. I guess I figured she’d be off at some party with Bick and the Whipper and a bunch of seniors, and she wouldn’t care what my crew of sophomores and juniors were up to.

“I—I meant to,” I stammered. “It was an accident. Jackson did everything. I didn’t have much to do with it.”

“Are you mad at me about something?” Meghan asked. “I thought we were friends.”

“I forgot to invite Noel, too,” I said. “He wasn’t mad. He just came along. Please don’t take it personally.”

“I’d never have a party and not invite you,” Meghan said. “We go to school together every single day. We’re neighbors.” She was shivering, her skinny arms looking cold and raw against her black silk dress.

“Here’s your pop, Meghan,” my mother said, coming back with an icy can. “I hope ginger ale is okay; it’s all we had left. I looked for a Coke, but I couldn’t find one, so you’re stuck with the unpopular drink.”

“Perfect,” said Meghan, smiling sweetly at my mom. “I’m an unpopular girl. Do you mind if I take it with me? I’m completely tired. I should be getting home.”

I went inside to the bathroom and had another panic attack.

Monday after the dance, no one would talk to me. Meghan didn’t show up to drive me to school, so my mom eventually took me. Kim was back from her family’s weekend trip, and I could feel her and Jackson ignoring me from miles away.