nachos.’” Guilt needles the back of my neck. I can’t believe he’s so sweet. I probably ruined his official prom experience, and now I’m screwing up his official nacho experience, and he’s still helping me drag my drunk cowgirl sister to the car without complaint.
“You smell really really good,” Jayla says, leaning into Marceau’s neck. “My sister should totally hook up with you.” 117
“Aren’t you a funny little lamb,” I say. “Now be quiet, okay?” I turn back to Marceau. “I know this is . . . crazy.
But do you think you could, like, not say anything about this at school? My sister’s kind of—”
“I’m famous!” she slurs. “Bulls bow to me !” Marceau’s still smiling. “I can understand why.” I fumble for an explanation, but I’m pretty sure Jayla just passed out, and Marceau doesn’t press. It’s likely that he doesn’t recognize her—unless his host mom’s a fan, he’s probably never seen Danger’s Little Darling .
“So, our secret?” I ask.
He nods once. “My older brother, he is like this one.
Party all the time.”
We’re at the car now, Jayla draped around Marceau like a scarf, me digging through her purse for the keys. Once I’ve situated the packages in the trunk and myself in the driver’s seat, he gently lowers Jayla to the passenger seat, tossing the stolen cowgirl hat into the back. He leans across her to buckle the seat belt just as I move to do the same. Our cheeks brush, his long hair silky against my jaw. Our eyes lock.
Damn. He does smell really really good.
Why can’t I just like a boy who’s not connected to my best friend?
With a sigh, I thank him and start the car, and Marceau tucks Jayla’s floppy arms against her body and shuts the door. He watches as I reverse out of the spot, the slump 118
of his shoulders the only trace of regret at what just can’t happen between us.
Or maybe he’s really missing on those nachos.
Dear Suckers: To my Lavender Oaks classmates: Even though it totally wasn’t my fault, I’m hell a very deeply sorry about the photographs that appeared through no fault of my own on Facebook over the weekend after some jackoff stole my phone and hacked into my account.
I understand that the photographs are inappropriate for posting publicly because unlike aforementioned jackoff, I’m not a perv, and I sincerely regret any embarrassment, pain, or trouble they may have caused especially the ones that are ruining my own life at this very moment.
I assure you that the original photos have been deleted from my profile. I’ve also deactivated and replaced my old phone, on which the photos were taken. The replacement phone contains neither compromising photographs nor stored social network passwords. So don’t even think about it, ass-vampires.
I’d like to encourage other students to follow my example 119
in flipping you all the double-Fs deleting any remaining shared or tagged photos from your profiles. Especially you, Miss Demeanor, you gossipmongering nitwit. It’s kind of your fault this whole thing got started. Scandal of the Month? Who does that?
Social networking can be a fun and valuable communication tool, especially for those who don’t know how to have actual, real-life communications, but only if we all decide agree commit to treating one another with respect and dignity, online and offline.
Sincerely,
Lucy Vacarro
P.S. Zeff is making me write this.
P.P.S. My sister says SUCK IT.
With Jayla conked out in my bed, I revise the fake apology a dozen times. When I finally post it on Facebook, I tag a bunch of people who were tagged in the original photos, bases covered.
I’m such a spineless jellyfish that I can’t believe my jellyfish tentacles have the strength to type, but Zeff’s right—this needs to go away.
120
Mission accomplished, I change into Cole’s bear shirt and do a breath check on Jayla. She’s alive, out cold, definitely not moving tonight. I shimmy off her jeans
“You smell really really good,” Jayla says, leaning into Marceau’s neck. “My sister should totally hook up with you.” 117
“Aren’t you a funny little lamb,” I say. “Now be quiet, okay?” I turn back to Marceau. “I know this is . . . crazy.
But do you think you could, like, not say anything about this at school? My sister’s kind of—”
“I’m famous!” she slurs. “Bulls bow to me !” Marceau’s still smiling. “I can understand why.” I fumble for an explanation, but I’m pretty sure Jayla just passed out, and Marceau doesn’t press. It’s likely that he doesn’t recognize her—unless his host mom’s a fan, he’s probably never seen Danger’s Little Darling .
“So, our secret?” I ask.
He nods once. “My older brother, he is like this one.
Party all the time.”
We’re at the car now, Jayla draped around Marceau like a scarf, me digging through her purse for the keys. Once I’ve situated the packages in the trunk and myself in the driver’s seat, he gently lowers Jayla to the passenger seat, tossing the stolen cowgirl hat into the back. He leans across her to buckle the seat belt just as I move to do the same. Our cheeks brush, his long hair silky against my jaw. Our eyes lock.
Damn. He does smell really really good.
Why can’t I just like a boy who’s not connected to my best friend?
With a sigh, I thank him and start the car, and Marceau tucks Jayla’s floppy arms against her body and shuts the door. He watches as I reverse out of the spot, the slump 118
of his shoulders the only trace of regret at what just can’t happen between us.
Or maybe he’s really missing on those nachos.
Dear Suckers: To my Lavender Oaks classmates: Even though it totally wasn’t my fault, I’m hell a very deeply sorry about the photographs that appeared through no fault of my own on Facebook over the weekend after some jackoff stole my phone and hacked into my account.
I understand that the photographs are inappropriate for posting publicly because unlike aforementioned jackoff, I’m not a perv, and I sincerely regret any embarrassment, pain, or trouble they may have caused especially the ones that are ruining my own life at this very moment.
I assure you that the original photos have been deleted from my profile. I’ve also deactivated and replaced my old phone, on which the photos were taken. The replacement phone contains neither compromising photographs nor stored social network passwords. So don’t even think about it, ass-vampires.
I’d like to encourage other students to follow my example 119
in flipping you all the double-Fs deleting any remaining shared or tagged photos from your profiles. Especially you, Miss Demeanor, you gossipmongering nitwit. It’s kind of your fault this whole thing got started. Scandal of the Month? Who does that?
Social networking can be a fun and valuable communication tool, especially for those who don’t know how to have actual, real-life communications, but only if we all decide agree commit to treating one another with respect and dignity, online and offline.
Sincerely,
Lucy Vacarro
P.S. Zeff is making me write this.
P.P.S. My sister says SUCK IT.
With Jayla conked out in my bed, I revise the fake apology a dozen times. When I finally post it on Facebook, I tag a bunch of people who were tagged in the original photos, bases covered.
I’m such a spineless jellyfish that I can’t believe my jellyfish tentacles have the strength to type, but Zeff’s right—this needs to go away.
120
Mission accomplished, I change into Cole’s bear shirt and do a breath check on Jayla. She’s alive, out cold, definitely not moving tonight. I shimmy off her jeans
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