seat of the car. It was my dad’s turn to drive, and so we traveled in his 1985 Cadillac. A real hooptie, with a trunk that looked like a semi had smacked into it.
“Today I don’t care what I look like.” I did care a little, though. My mom always said that if you feel ugly you should put on some makeup and fresh clothes, do your hair, and then you’d feel better about yourself. I don’t think anything could’ve helped the way I felt.
I avoided Christian and Hillman by steering clear of Jock Wall, but one person I couldn’t avoid, not that I wanted to, was Jesse Leary. He’d get to see the real me, and tough shit if he didn’t like it.
He chewed on a smelly, yucky piece of beef jerky when I sat down next to him. Why anyone would want to eat that crap was beyond me. Not only did it look like a cadaver finger left in the sun, it gave whoever ate it the most nasty breath on Earth.
“You’re not supposed to eat in class.” I tried holding my breath, and contemplated pulling my shirt up over my nose. He chuckled and wrapped the remaining jerky in a baggy and placed it in his jacket pocket.
“You’d be surprised what you can eat and drink in class.” He winked at me.
Mr. Stanley made the rounds with a stack of papers, each with a different assignment. I got shadowing, which was a soothing no-brainer.
“You look better today — more relaxed,” he said.
“Thanks, I think.”
“Gee, I think too! We have something in common.”
As I smoothed shadows and darkness into my paper, I recalled what Jesse said about eating and drinking in class. I hadn’t thought about bringing something to school, just in case I needed it. I could put booze in a water bottle, make it look like fruit punch, and nobody would know. Not a bad idea.
That night I made homemade spiked punch with a little Sunny D and pinot grigio. It looked like OJ in the drink box, but tasted like relief. After a few more taste tests, I packed a final bottle for school, and placed it at the back of the fridge. I couldn’t wait for morning.
The jungle juice wasn’t enough to get drunk off, but it did put me in a brighter mood at lunch. Everything looked better and I wasn’t so worried about seeing Christian… until I did. He walked up to the lunch table with Hillman, and I hunched down behind Jenna.
“What?” Jenna asked.
I pointed and her mouth scrunched into a crescent.
“Oh gees, just ignore him. If he even dares to come over here I’ll kick his ass.”
Nobody saw me, but I did see Christian sit next to one of the new cheerleaders — a blonde with giganta-tits and perma-giggle over anything Christian said. God, he looked good. His hair was longer, and he wore a red shirt that set-off his beautiful pale skin.
The blonde kept touching Christian’s arm, but when she put her hand against his cheek and looked into his eyes, I wished I had something more to drink. I would need to get a bigger juice box.
/////
I’d been working most Saturday mornings to complete the mural. I had no desire to spend any more time in the office of my ex-boyfriend’s dad, and I wanted it done. Something, however, kept me wishing that Dr. Rusch would ask how I was.
Bettina brought me a sugar-free snack one morning and watched me work. She was silent, which was unusual for such a chatty woman, until she asked about Christian.
“Aren’t you dating Dr. Rusch’s son?”
“I was .” This was the conversation I wanted to have with Dr. Rusch, not his office manager. I squeezed the hell out of my paintbrush to maintain composure. What I really wanted to do was throw paint at her.
“I don’t understand. You’re a perfectly nice girl, and he’s a really good-looking boy.” As if looks were all that mattered in a relationship.
“He got busy with school.” I prayed that the talk would end, but Bettina was not a quitter.
“That never stopped him in the past… with dating, I mean. Christian is good at prioritizing.” Her face went pale when she
“Today I don’t care what I look like.” I did care a little, though. My mom always said that if you feel ugly you should put on some makeup and fresh clothes, do your hair, and then you’d feel better about yourself. I don’t think anything could’ve helped the way I felt.
I avoided Christian and Hillman by steering clear of Jock Wall, but one person I couldn’t avoid, not that I wanted to, was Jesse Leary. He’d get to see the real me, and tough shit if he didn’t like it.
He chewed on a smelly, yucky piece of beef jerky when I sat down next to him. Why anyone would want to eat that crap was beyond me. Not only did it look like a cadaver finger left in the sun, it gave whoever ate it the most nasty breath on Earth.
“You’re not supposed to eat in class.” I tried holding my breath, and contemplated pulling my shirt up over my nose. He chuckled and wrapped the remaining jerky in a baggy and placed it in his jacket pocket.
“You’d be surprised what you can eat and drink in class.” He winked at me.
Mr. Stanley made the rounds with a stack of papers, each with a different assignment. I got shadowing, which was a soothing no-brainer.
“You look better today — more relaxed,” he said.
“Thanks, I think.”
“Gee, I think too! We have something in common.”
As I smoothed shadows and darkness into my paper, I recalled what Jesse said about eating and drinking in class. I hadn’t thought about bringing something to school, just in case I needed it. I could put booze in a water bottle, make it look like fruit punch, and nobody would know. Not a bad idea.
That night I made homemade spiked punch with a little Sunny D and pinot grigio. It looked like OJ in the drink box, but tasted like relief. After a few more taste tests, I packed a final bottle for school, and placed it at the back of the fridge. I couldn’t wait for morning.
The jungle juice wasn’t enough to get drunk off, but it did put me in a brighter mood at lunch. Everything looked better and I wasn’t so worried about seeing Christian… until I did. He walked up to the lunch table with Hillman, and I hunched down behind Jenna.
“What?” Jenna asked.
I pointed and her mouth scrunched into a crescent.
“Oh gees, just ignore him. If he even dares to come over here I’ll kick his ass.”
Nobody saw me, but I did see Christian sit next to one of the new cheerleaders — a blonde with giganta-tits and perma-giggle over anything Christian said. God, he looked good. His hair was longer, and he wore a red shirt that set-off his beautiful pale skin.
The blonde kept touching Christian’s arm, but when she put her hand against his cheek and looked into his eyes, I wished I had something more to drink. I would need to get a bigger juice box.
/////
I’d been working most Saturday mornings to complete the mural. I had no desire to spend any more time in the office of my ex-boyfriend’s dad, and I wanted it done. Something, however, kept me wishing that Dr. Rusch would ask how I was.
Bettina brought me a sugar-free snack one morning and watched me work. She was silent, which was unusual for such a chatty woman, until she asked about Christian.
“Aren’t you dating Dr. Rusch’s son?”
“I was .” This was the conversation I wanted to have with Dr. Rusch, not his office manager. I squeezed the hell out of my paintbrush to maintain composure. What I really wanted to do was throw paint at her.
“I don’t understand. You’re a perfectly nice girl, and he’s a really good-looking boy.” As if looks were all that mattered in a relationship.
“He got busy with school.” I prayed that the talk would end, but Bettina was not a quitter.
“That never stopped him in the past… with dating, I mean. Christian is good at prioritizing.” Her face went pale when she
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