talking. We said, isn’t Margo lookin’ good recently?”
Margo laughed, spurting beer out her mouth and nose, spilling some onto Tripp’s shirt. Was she drunk? I wondered. Why would Margo be laughing at a compliment? Perhaps she had a case of contagious laughter, a psychogenic illness I’d once read about. She kept laughing, clutching her sides and guffawing at his great joke. Then I saw that she was also crying, tears streaming, and her face was contorted in a way that looked like pain rather than amusement. Even though I hated her now, I felt a pang of worry.
Tripp looked at Margo, looked at the beer spattered on his pink shirt, looked back at her, and sneered. “Dumb slut.”
Coughing, Margo stopped laugh-crying and stared at him.
“Yeah, that’s funny. Keep laughing. You gonna have a little brown baby soon too? Just like your big sister?”
And that was when Margo punched him. It wasn’t exactly a good punch. Her arm was slow and uncoordinated, and her fist made only a dull, clumsy thump on contact, but the cartilage of his nose crunched slightly. And then there was blood.
“What?! Margo, what —?” I said. Margo was still crying. I’d never seen her like this before.
TR and Tabitha ran up beside us. “What happ — Tripp! There’s blood! Coming from your nose!” TR shrieked.
“Stupid bitch hit me. What’s wrong with you?” he hissed, pointing right at Margo.
TR jerked Margo over to the side, her eyes flashing. She spoke in a low, barely contained growl. “Seriously, Margo. We liked you.” She actually looked wounded.
Margo shook her head, doubling over. It looked like she might bear-hug TR or put her in a wrestler hold or —
Margo vomited onto TR’s shoes. It was red and chunky and fermented-smelling. It made a loud splatter.
TR stared at her feet, appalled. Her lips twitched but emitted no sound.
I stared too, horrified, at TR’s shoes for a moment before Margo sank to the ground. Sitting cross-legged, she held her head in her hands and began to sob and hiccup.
I stood before my supposed best friend, chewing my lip, the sour smell of wine vomit rising. Tripp and the others had scattered the moment Margo began to heave. Finally I guided the sobbing Margo back to the house through the basement door. We felt our way into the bathroom. I got a cup of water for Margo, who continued to whimper. Her face was runny with mascara and snot. She’d be lucky to get two cows for her
roora
now.
“You lied to me,” I said from my darkened corner.
“Not exactly. Well, sort of,” she whispered.
“How could you do that to me?” I asked, my voice breaking. “How could you choose TR over me? And what,” I said more quietly, “were you doing knocking on Jimmy’s door anyway? Jimmy — my crush, remember?”
Margo sighed. “Okay, first of all, Casey said he’d asked to talk to me. That’s all. It was nothing. And second — honestly, Janice? I was annoyed with you. I didn’t want to come with you to the party. You’ve gotten tough to be around. Your whole ‘anthropology’ thing … I’m sick of it. You’re so negative. So tough on other people — so tough on yourself.”
“Come on, Margo! Seriously? Anthropology is all I’ve got,” I said. “That’s not negativity. It’s truthfulness. Accuracy.”
“I’m not talking about anthropology. You’ve got to keep doing that. That’s your thing,” she said. “I’m talking about actually
trying
stuff sometimes. Not being all wry and detached. Not always commenting on people’s weird habits or stinky breath and then comparing them to some tribe you’ve read about somewhere. You know?”
“No,” I said, my voice rising. Margo’s words had cut me like jagged pieces of glass, and now I wanted to cut her back. “I
don’t
know. What I do know is that my observations of you are one hundred percent correct, Margo. You’re the girl EVERYONE whispers about. You keep secrets from your SUPPOSED best friend. You flirt with guys
Margo laughed, spurting beer out her mouth and nose, spilling some onto Tripp’s shirt. Was she drunk? I wondered. Why would Margo be laughing at a compliment? Perhaps she had a case of contagious laughter, a psychogenic illness I’d once read about. She kept laughing, clutching her sides and guffawing at his great joke. Then I saw that she was also crying, tears streaming, and her face was contorted in a way that looked like pain rather than amusement. Even though I hated her now, I felt a pang of worry.
Tripp looked at Margo, looked at the beer spattered on his pink shirt, looked back at her, and sneered. “Dumb slut.”
Coughing, Margo stopped laugh-crying and stared at him.
“Yeah, that’s funny. Keep laughing. You gonna have a little brown baby soon too? Just like your big sister?”
And that was when Margo punched him. It wasn’t exactly a good punch. Her arm was slow and uncoordinated, and her fist made only a dull, clumsy thump on contact, but the cartilage of his nose crunched slightly. And then there was blood.
“What?! Margo, what —?” I said. Margo was still crying. I’d never seen her like this before.
TR and Tabitha ran up beside us. “What happ — Tripp! There’s blood! Coming from your nose!” TR shrieked.
“Stupid bitch hit me. What’s wrong with you?” he hissed, pointing right at Margo.
TR jerked Margo over to the side, her eyes flashing. She spoke in a low, barely contained growl. “Seriously, Margo. We liked you.” She actually looked wounded.
Margo shook her head, doubling over. It looked like she might bear-hug TR or put her in a wrestler hold or —
Margo vomited onto TR’s shoes. It was red and chunky and fermented-smelling. It made a loud splatter.
TR stared at her feet, appalled. Her lips twitched but emitted no sound.
I stared too, horrified, at TR’s shoes for a moment before Margo sank to the ground. Sitting cross-legged, she held her head in her hands and began to sob and hiccup.
I stood before my supposed best friend, chewing my lip, the sour smell of wine vomit rising. Tripp and the others had scattered the moment Margo began to heave. Finally I guided the sobbing Margo back to the house through the basement door. We felt our way into the bathroom. I got a cup of water for Margo, who continued to whimper. Her face was runny with mascara and snot. She’d be lucky to get two cows for her
roora
now.
“You lied to me,” I said from my darkened corner.
“Not exactly. Well, sort of,” she whispered.
“How could you do that to me?” I asked, my voice breaking. “How could you choose TR over me? And what,” I said more quietly, “were you doing knocking on Jimmy’s door anyway? Jimmy — my crush, remember?”
Margo sighed. “Okay, first of all, Casey said he’d asked to talk to me. That’s all. It was nothing. And second — honestly, Janice? I was annoyed with you. I didn’t want to come with you to the party. You’ve gotten tough to be around. Your whole ‘anthropology’ thing … I’m sick of it. You’re so negative. So tough on other people — so tough on yourself.”
“Come on, Margo! Seriously? Anthropology is all I’ve got,” I said. “That’s not negativity. It’s truthfulness. Accuracy.”
“I’m not talking about anthropology. You’ve got to keep doing that. That’s your thing,” she said. “I’m talking about actually
trying
stuff sometimes. Not being all wry and detached. Not always commenting on people’s weird habits or stinky breath and then comparing them to some tribe you’ve read about somewhere. You know?”
“No,” I said, my voice rising. Margo’s words had cut me like jagged pieces of glass, and now I wanted to cut her back. “I
don’t
know. What I do know is that my observations of you are one hundred percent correct, Margo. You’re the girl EVERYONE whispers about. You keep secrets from your SUPPOSED best friend. You flirt with guys
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