“Oh my God, what?” she said, rolling over onto her stomach and turning her face away from me. “He’s leaving in a week for college. We’re just friends.”
I remember the way she laughed. The way she said, “Oh my God, what?” She said it the same way Tommy Cray had said, “What do you think?” earlier at the pool.
Like I was slow.
I was 99 percent sure she was lying, and this made me madder than anything. Best friends aren’t supposed to lie to each other. Not about boys.
That next week I ran into Maggie Daniels—Elaine O’Dea’s second in command—in an aisle at Seller Brothers when I went to pick up some toilet paper and a couple of other things my mom had asked me to get. We were talking about how we didn’t want to start back at school and catching up on the all the gossip when Maggie said, “So what do you think about Mark Lopez and Alice?” she said.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Seriously? You don’t know? I thought you guys were best friends.”
“Well, yeah, we are, but I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, nervous about seeming totally out of it.
“Just ask her about Mark Lopez,” she said, “because he’s telling everyone.” She was laughing like she was in on a joke I wasn’t. Which I guess she was.
I marched home, clutching the groceries, my candy cane–striped flip-flops flip-flopping on the sidewalk the whole way. I’d barely put the groceries away in the cupboard before I was texting Alice.
ran into maggie. what happened with mark l.?
Not two seconds later:
it was stupid.
what?
u can’t tell anyone.
Just like always in Healy, everyone already knew, but I answered back:
u know i won’t tell.
i’ll be over in 2 sec.
“What?” I asked, yanking open the front door.
Alice’s eyes darted around behind me.
“I’m home by myself,” I said. “My dad’s at work and my mom and sister are at some church thing.”
Alice collapsed onto the family room couch and pulled her knees up to her chest.
“It was so dumb,” she said. “I don’t know why I did it.”
“What?” I said, totally annoyed and envious at the same time.
Her voice dropped down low to a whisper.
“I gave him a blow job,” she said.
“In the bathroom?” I said, whispering, too.
Alice nodded. I remember she tucked her hair behind her ears and gave me this look like she’d been caught cheating on a test she hadn’t studied for. Half apologetic and half irritated with herself.
“It was just dumb,” she said. “That’s why I didn’t tell you anything that night. It was just … it just happened. And we were drunk. I don’t know. I mean, he wasn’t my boyfriend or anything. And it’s just … not that I’m saying that it was totally wrong or whatever. It was just … stupid.”
“Didn’t you do that with Tucker?” I asked, thinking of Alice losing her virginity freshman year. Alice slowly shook her head no and she looked down for a minute, staring at her hands. I wasn’t sure how Alice felt, but there was a part of me that thought giving a blow job seemed like an even bigger deal than having sex. But if Alice felt that way, why did she give one to Mark when they weren’t even dating? I wanted to ask, but I got the feeling Alice didn’t want to keep talking about it.
“So, are you, like, hanging out with him now or something?” I said. I couldn’t believe how jealous I felt. I knew what Alice had done was stupid and sort of slutty even, but I was jealous she had a story to tell and, once again, I didn’t.
And I was mad. I was mad she had lied to me.
“He hasn’t called me or anything since that night,” Alice said, finally looking up. “And now he’s left for UT.”
That made me feel better. I know it sounds crappy to say, but it did.
“Well why’d you lie to me?” I asked.
Alice took a deep breath. She looked like she was picking out her words really carefully. She got the same look when she was trying to figure out a math problem. “Kelsie, it’s just … you know … you haven’t, like … been with anyone … in that way. And that’s … fine, okay? But … it’s just, like … once you’ve had sex … I mean…”
“You lied to me because I’m a virgin?” I said. I gave her an insulted look because, well, I was insulted. She was talking to me like I was retarded or deaf or both. I was so mad I looked away and focused on the wall behind us. My mom had hung up a framed yellow sign that read “This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it! Psalm 118, Verse 24.” I wanted to throw something at that yellow sign.
“It’s just … I mean…” Alice said.
“Forget it,” I said. “Forget it.”
I didn’t, though. Not really.
After that, I don’t think Alice ever hung out with Mark Lopez again, and I never really trusted Alice again. I mean, she was still my best friend, and we still spent most of tenth grade having sleepovers and staying up too late talking and texting people and blaming one another for our smelly farts and laughing so loud my dad would come down to the family room and start yelling at us to calm down and everything. And things were basically normal between us. The truth is, I still liked her.
But I can’t say I trusted her.
Not 100 percent anymore.
I just kept thinking of how stupid I’d felt that night in the bed with her, Alice’s room still stinking like Healy Pool North. How she’d turned her face away from me. How she’d laughed at my guess about Mark. How she’d told me I wouldn’t get it. And I guess I didn’t.
Not then anyway.
I guess that’s why when The Really Awful Stuff happened to me later, not long after Alice lied to me about Mark Lopez, I didn’t tell her about it. Even if she was my best friend.
I guess that’s why when all the rumors started about Alice this year it was so easy to let go of her. So easy to say goodbye. It was as easy as a buzzed, nighttime swim at Healy Pool North. As easy as remembering all the song lyrics in Grease 2. As easy as anything.
Kurt
I’ve been watching Alice, ever since that day I saw her sobbing on the bleachers outside of the school earlier this fall. I’ve wrestled with myself, attempting to find some way to speak with her. As I’ve mentioned, I don’t talk to girls much, or to anyone at school, really, and this state, while unusual to many, seems natural to me. I do make an exception for Mr. Becker, my Physics teacher. He is one of the few teachers at Healy High who seems more interested in the subject matter at hand than what was happening on the football field or at the pep rallies. I often wonder how someone like Mr. Becker ended up staying in Healy, not married, living in a garage apartment behind his sister’s house (even though I’m sure he could afford something nicer). He certainly is a good enough instructor to move on to a bigger city school somewhere. Earn more money. Teach more advanced students.