Deadgirl

“Oh. Right,” she said. Even through the phone, her voice sounded clipped. Harsh. Uh-oh.

She tried again.

“How is it?”

I shrugged to no one. “It’s okay. Wanda seems to be in the lead for most-improved. I didn’t know that girl could schmooze.”

“She is on ASB,” Morgan said. Robotic.

“I guess,” I said. “Sorry you can’t-”

“Me too,” she spat, and I frowned. What the hell?

“Morgan what—?”

“Forget it, Lucy. Say hey to Benny for me, okay?”

Benny?

“Morgan, what’s up?”

“You don’t know?”

I thought my question had made that obvious. I took a deep breath.

“Know what, hon?”

“Just forget it. Have a great party.”

Cell phones don’t click, and thus, don’t dramatically hang-up very well. I took the long ache of profound silence as her disconnecting. I stared at my phone like the traitor it was and exiled it to the bottom of my purse.

Benny? I didn’t expect Morgan to be happy about being so thoroughly and inescapably grounded, but why had she bitten my head off? I looked around, anxious to spread my annoyance to someone else, but none of my friends were in sight. None except Zack, laughing with a trio of junior girls.

I turned toward the kitchen at speeds blurrable. I blasted through the swinging double-hinged door and went for the counter with my still-outstretched hand. My fingers clenched around glass, and I spun it in my fingers. Jack. Okay. In the cup.

I closed my eyes and grabbed again. Smirnoff? In the cup.

Grab. Margarita mix? In the cup.

Grab. Fumble. Break. Cringe.

Shrug. Grab. Orange Juice, Triple Sec, Grenadine. Cup-Cup-Cup.

Tequila. Bleh. Double-cup.

I swished the devil’s brew I’d concocted and stared down the business end of the red plastic cup. It looked…orange. It wasn’t brown or gray or green—none of the real evil colors. Okay. I plopped a handful of ice in and swished again. It didn’t seem to help the smell—a one-two combo of kerosene and Otter Pops.

“You’re not drinking that,” a voice said, stiffening my muscles in unnecessary alarm.

I didn’t turn once I’d recognized the voice. I wrapped both hands around the cup and touched the rim to my chin. I tried to hone in on the particular Otter Pop—it was a toss-up between Sir Isaac Lime and Little Orphan Orange. And kerosene.

“Daph, shush,” I said.

“What’s up?”

Her words were slurred, but genuine. I sighed and turned around. She was leaning in the door frame of the kitchen, the swinging door hanging behind her, held open only by her butt.

“Nothing, Daph,” I said. “Come drink with me.”

Daphne fluttered over, managing to control her gait with a determined nose-crinkle. I wasn’t positive, but I got the feeling she was overplaying her inebriation. Daphne and melodrama go hand-in-hand. Maybe mouth-and- mouth. Tongue-in-mouth.

I missed Zack.

Ugh.

I tipped the cup back and took a huge swig of the foul drink. I gagged and clapped a hand over my mouth, but somehow managed to keep it down. I petted my stomach, trying to reassure it about the poison rocketing its way. By its violent thrashing, I don’t think I fooled it.

Daphne made the gimme gesture, and when I handed her the cup, she took a swig herself. She made a wine-tasting face, swished it around, and swallowed. She handed the cup back to me and shrugged.

“Little Orphan Orange,” Daphne concluded.

“That’s what I thought.”

She didn’t miss a beat. Her bad news dovetailed nicely with the direction of my night. “Tyler is here. Just got here, actually.”

Tyler. Wanda’s obsession and her kryptonite. She wasn’t strong enough to tell that user to go away, and he wasn’t cool enough to move on from someone as confused and easily-taken-advantage-of as Wanda. She was a pathetic jerk’s dream—scared, submissive, and lonely. I loved Wanda to death, but she had a target painted on her back.

If Morgan was here, she would have risen up like a mama-bear and would be thrashing the guy’s skin off his bones already. Morgan. I thought of the weird phone call and rubbed my cheek.

“What do we do?” Daphne asked.

“Do?”

“About Tyler?”

“We ride,” I said, and pounded toward the living room.

“Oh shit,” Daphne said. She leaped off her counter stool and bolted after me.

I came through the door with my face put together—calm even. My scan for Tyler didn’t take long—I just had to look for Wanda.

She was leaning against a bookshelf next to the door, one of her hands gripping a shelf at shoulder level with the white-knuckled intensity that only the very angry or the very balance-challenged possess.

“How drunk is she?” I asked.

Daphne made a face I didn’t want to interpret.

“How?”

“Sorry,” she said.

“Daph!”

Daphne scoffed and said, “What? She needs to relax.”

“You’re really going to try to defend what you did, aren’t you?”

“I was but I wish I hadn’t.”

Should I even be surprised that Daphne mickied Wanda? I sighed and rubbed my forehead.

Tyler, wearing what looked like a basketball jersey—seriously?—stood in front of her, his right palm touching the book shelf behind her. Closing her in, blocking her. It looked like the only one who wasn’t thinking Wanda would try to make a break for it and run away from him was Wanda herself. She looked ecstatic—grateful. My stomach turned, and it wasn’t the booze.

“Double team?” Daphne asked from behind me, her voice electric with excitement.

I pushed through a small cluster of boys talking about girls and tapped Tyler lightly on the shoulder.

He turned. Not much taller than me—average-to-above-average guy height—but he looked down a crooked nose at me. It looked like it had been broken many times or just one really good time, and helped with the thuggish exterior he was projecting. Prominent brow, gaping mouth. The only thing that didn’t scream Neanderthal was his eyes. Sharp, alive, and aware. Smart eyes.

I reconsidered, but only for a second.

“Yes?”

“Hey, Luce, how’s it going…?” Wanda whispered, but no one reacted.

I crossed my arms over my chest.

“I don’t think you should be here,” I said, and I hated that my voice trembled. I suddenly had, at least a little, understanding for Wanda. Tyler scared me, too. He knew exactly why I was talking to him. His eyes were confrontational and smug. He wore a sneer to match.

“Oh?” he said, and turned back to Wanda.