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“Oh, I’m fine,” he said. “I woke up late this morning, so I just called work and told them I was sick. I haven’t taken any of my vacation days, so it’s not a big deal.”
I glanced into the kitchen. The manila envelope still sat on the kitchen table. Untouched.
He must have followed my gaze, or guessed, because he said with a shrug, “Oh, those stupid papers! You know, they had me in such a fit. I finally thought about it and realized that they’re just a mistake. Your mom’s lawyer heard she’d been gone a little longer than usual this time and jumped the gun.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“No,” Dad admitted. “But I’m sure that’s the problem. It must be. Nothing to worry about, Bumblebee. How was your day?”
“It was good.”
We were both lying, but I knew that my words weren’t true. He, on the other hand, seemed genuinely convinced. How could I remind him that Mom’s signature was on the papers? How could I bring him back to reality? That would only drive him into his bedroom again—or send him in search of a bottle—and ruin this moment of manufactured peace.
And I didn’t want to be the one to fuck up my dad’s sobriety.
Shock, I decided as I walked up the stairs to my bedroom. He was simply in shock. But the denial wouldn’t last long. Eventually he’d wake up. I just hoped he’d do it with grace.
I stretched out on my bed with my calculus book in front of me, trying to do homework I really didn’t understand. My eyes kept jumping to the alarm clock on my nightstand. 3:28… 3:31… 3:37… Minutes ticked by, and math problems blurred into patterns of unidentifiable symbols, like ancient runes. Finally I slammed the book shut and conceded defeat.
This was sick. I should not have been thinking of Wesley. I shouldn’t have been kissing Wesley. I shouldn’t have been sleeping with Wesley. Hell, barely a week earlier I would have thought speaking to him was horrific. But the more my world spun, the more appealing he became. Don’t get me wrong, I still hated him with a passion. His arrogance made me want to scream, but his ability to free me—if only temporarily—from my problems left me high. He was my drug. Seriously sick.
Even more sick was the way I lied to Casey about it when she called at five-thirty.
“Hey, are you okay? Oh my God, I can’t believe Jake’s back. Are you, like, flipping out? Do you need me to come over?”
“No.” I was feeling jumpy, still glancing at the clock every few minutes. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t bottle it up, B,” she urged.
“I’m not. I’m fine.”
“I’m coming over,” she said.
“No,” I said quickly. “Don’t. There’s no reason to.”
There was silence for a second, and when Casey spoke again, she sounded kind of hurt. “Okay… but, I mean, even if we didn’t talk about Jake, we could just hang out or whatever.”
“I can’t,” I said. “I, um…” It was five-thirty-three. Still an hour before I could leave for Wesley’s. But I couldn’t tell Casey that. Never. “I’m thinking I might go to bed early tonight.”
“What?”
“I stayed up way too late last night watching, um… a movie. I’m exhausted.”
She knew I was lying. It was pretty obvious. But she didn’t question me. Instead, she just said, “Well… fine, I guess. But maybe tomorrow? Or this weekend? You really do need to talk about it, B. Even if you don’t think you need to. Just because he’s Jessica’s brother…”
At least she thought I was lying to cover up my issues with Jake. I’d rather she think that than know the truth.
God, I was such a shitty friend. But Wesley was just something I had to lie about. To everyone.
When six-forty-five finally rolled around, I grabbed my coat and raced downstairs, already pulling my car keys out of my pocket. I found Dad in the kitchen, microwaving some Pizza Rolls. He smiled at me as I put on my gloves. “Hey, Dad,” I said. “I’ll be back later.”
“Where are you going, Bumblebee?”
Oh, uh, good question. This was a problem I hadn’t anticipated, but when all else fails, tell the truth… or part of it at least.
“I’m going to Wesley Rush’s house. We’re working on a paper for English class. I won’t be home late or anything.” Oh, please, I thought. Please don’t let my cheeks turn red.
“Okay,” Dad said. “Have fun with Wesley.”
I ran out of the kitchen before my face could burst into flames.
“Bye, Dad!”
I practically sprinted out to my car, and I tried very, very hard not to speed when I pulled onto the highway. I was not getting my first ticket because of Wesley Rush. The line had to be drawn somewhere.
Then again, I’d crossed several lines already.
But what exactly was I doing? I’d always mocked girls who screwed Wesley, and yet, here I was, becoming one of them. I told myself there was a difference. Those girls thought they had a shot with Wesley; they found him sexy and appealing—which, in a twisted way, I guess he was. They believed he was a good guy they could tame, but I knew he was a jackass. I only wanted his body. No strings. No feelings. I only wanted the high.
Did that make me a junkie and a slut?
My car came to a stop in front of the gigantic house, and I decided that my actions were excusable. People with cancer smoke pot for medicinal purposes; my situation was very similar. If I didn’t use Wesley to distract me, I would go crazy, so I was really saving myself from self-destruction and a load of therapy bills.
I walked up the sidewalk and rang the doorbell. A second later, the lock clicked and the knob turned. The instant Wesley’s gri
And completely exhilarating.
11
I had major sex hair. I stared into the big mirror and tried to flatten the mess of auburn waves while Wesley put his clothes on behind me. Definitely not a situation I’d ever imagined myself in.
“I’m perfectly fine with being used,” he said as he pulled on the tight black T-shirt. His hair was pretty incriminating, too. “But I would like to know for what I’m being used.”
“Distraction.”
“That much I gathered.” The mattress creaked when he flopped down onto his back and tucked his arms behind his head. “What am I supposed to be distracting you from? There’s a chance that, if I know, I could do my job more efficiently.”
“You’re doing just fine already.” I scraped my fingernails through my hair, but it was as good as it would get. Sighing, I turned away from the mirror and faced Wesley. To my surprise, he was watching me with actual interest. “Do you really care?”
“Sure.” He sat up and patted a spot beside him. “There’s more to this amazing body than awe-inspiring abs. I have a pair of ears, too, and they happen to work superbly.”
I rolled my eyes and sat next to him, pulling my feet up onto the bed. “Okay,” I said, wrapping my arms around my knees. “Not that it matters, but I found out that my ex-boyfriend is coming back to town for a week this morning. It’s so stupid, but I panicked. I mean, the last time we saw each other… it didn’t go very well. That’s why I dragged you into the closet at school.”
“What happened?”
“You were there. Don’t make me relive it.”
“I meant with your ex-boyfriend,” Wesley said. “I’m curious. What kind of misery could cause a hateful person like you to run into my muscular arms? Or is he the one who put that layer of ice around your heart?” His words sounded facetious, but his smile seemed sincere, not the lopsided one he wore when he thought he was being clever.
“We started dating during my freshman year,” I began reluctantly. “He was a senior, and I knew that my parents would never let me see him if they knew how old he was. So we kept the whole thing a secret from everyone. He never introduced me to his friends or took me places or talked to me at school, and I just assumed it was to protect us. Well, of course, I was totally wrong.”