Chapter 28 #3
He introduces me to Matty and his wife, a woman I vaguely remember being horrible to me in geography class.
“This is my girlfriend, Ada Renaldo,” Jake says proudly. “She used to play with the London Symphony Orchestra. Isn’t that incredible?”
Geography Woman does not seem to think that is incredible. She seems to want to piss in my sparkling wine. But Jake either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because he turns to Matty and adds:
“Ada co-wrote a song with Ben Folds. ‘Tears in Hope.’ Ever heard it?”
Part of me wants to die on the spot, but Jake’s so buoyant, so breezy and confident, I manage to keep my cool.
And my eye contact as Matty asks me about Ben Folds.
Then his wife asks what it was like living in London, and suddenly I’m talking to people who once treated me like pond slime, like it’s no big deal.
And Jake’s just getting warmed up. For the next hour, he marches us around the ballroom, acting like I’m some visiting dignitary.
People come up to him wanting to talk about the All Blacks, and somehow end up talking about my Christmas song, the magazines I’ve been in, the fact I play an instrument most associate with masturbation…
And I’m acting normal. Cracking jokes and as close to comfortable as I ever could be at an event like this.
It’s Jake’s fault. He makes me feel like I’m someone worth bragging about.
I don’t know if that makes me want to strangle him or climb on him.
Both, probably. Because the same guy making me feel socially competent at this reunion is the one who tied my hands behind my back last night, sat me on his cock and said, ‘C’mon, slut, work for it. ’
Except I can believe that, because the second we have a moment alone, Jake presses his mouth to my ear and mutters filth at me.
“Fuck me, I love edging your sweet little cunt,” he whispers when his mate Tui wanders away for another beer. “You look so cute when you’re trying not to come.”
“Dude, we’re in public,” I hiss.
“For now.” His teeth catch my earlobe. “I’m gonna keep you on hold for hours, Renaldo. Fuck you slow. Pull out whenever you get close. Make you wait your turn like a good girl.”
“Oh my God…”
“Yeah, you’ll be saying that a lot. Fact, I think you’ll be crying by the time I let you finish.”
I try to poke him in the ribs, but he’s too fast for me.
He takes my hand and leads me from group to group, talking a mile a minute.
As Jake and I work the room, I keep an eye on the Thompson Farm crew.
They’re still all here, clustered in their own corner.
They’re drinking hard and heading to the bathrooms with the frequency of people carrying more than too much beer-piss.
Maybe it’s my imagination, but they seem nervous.
Although that could be the coke... Either way, I’ll take jitters over open hostility, but neither is particularly comforting.
Jake’s gaze flicks toward them as often as mine does, but he seems to get more relaxed as they get more skittish. I understand his ‘shock and awe’ tactic now. It’s a power move to be so unintimidated by Thrasher that we’re having fun right in his face.
Betty and Gavin are chatting with her friends, the piercings and tattoos marking them as obvious ex-scene kids.
Cece and Davis are still dancing. Their hotness and increasingly suggestive moves are drawing a lot of eyes, but Will Sharpe’s missing.
Hopefully, he’s off puking behind the sports sheds with Cece’s brother, who’s also mercifully MIA.
Colin and his wife, Bec, come by for a chat.
Colin’s so shy it’s endearing, and his wife, dark-haired and fiery-eyed, does kind of remind me of me.
“Cece’s boyfriend’s so cute,” Bec says, taking my arm. “Do you know him?”
“I was about to ask that,” says a voice from behind me.
I turn and see Rachel and Lydia, two of Cece’s old netball mates. They were never actively mean to me, but we didn’t talk. I study their faces, and their smiles seem to be genuine.
“Yeah, I know Davis,” I say. “He’s a finance bro, but he moonlights as a bouncer at Cece’s bar.”
“Shit,” Lydia says, gaping at Davis. “That’s a hectic job combo.”
“True, but Davis only works there because he’s been into Cece forever.”
“That’s adorable!” Rachel says. “The feeling’s mutual, by the looks of things?”
“They took their sweet fucking time realising it, but yes.”
“Thank God,” Lydia says with an exaggerated exhale. “Last time we talked, Cece was going on about Will Sharpe.”
“I think you mean, ‘Mr. Divorce,’” Rachel says.
I choke on the last of my horrible wine, and Bec pats me on the back.
“Sorry,” Rachel says with a grin.
“Don’t be,” I gasp. “Fuck that’s funny. He is the poster child for divorce.”
“And getting your tubes tied,” Rachel smirks. “He dated my sister after he and Jenny split. She abandoned him in a hot spring in Queenstown.”
I gape at her. “Jesus. I need to hear that story.”
“And I need to tell you.” Rachel tips her head at the bar. “Wanna get more drinks, everyone?”
I glance at Jake. He’s standing with a gang of guys, his hands braced around an invisible club, which means he’s in the middle of golf chat. The most evil of chat.
“Hell yeah,” I tell Rachel. “Let’s go.”
The four of us get a fresh round of fake champagne and start swapping the worst dating stories we have on record. By the time Rachel’s partner Morgan joins us, we’re all laughing hysterically.
I’m not pretending to have fun, but a part of me is standing off to one side, quietly processing that if I’d been nicer at school, ignored the insults and made more of an effort, I might have been folded into Cece’s netball gang.
But that’s life, I think as I sip my bad wine. You don’t know until you know.
It’s a relief to learn that neither Bec, Rachel, Morgan, nor Lydia works for Thompson Farms. Bec’s a teacher, Rachel’s a PT, Morgan does accounts, and Lydia is one of those people who hold ‘Slow’ signs at road work sites.
“It’s the most boring shit in the world, but it pays a bomb.” Lydia’s face lights up. “Holy fuck, did you see that all-beige photoshoot Hayley Dean did with her kids?”
“No!” Bec and I gasp.
“She just posted it.” Lydia giggles. “How she got her husband into a beige turtleneck is beyond me. She must be able to suck a golf ball throu—”
The music cuts out, and we stop snickering and look around. The stage where the DJ has been playing the hits of the 2010s is now lit up like Broadway, and a middle-aged woman is standing in the middle, holding a microphone. Her smile and grey power suit both scream ‘upper management.’
“That’s the new principal,” Lydia whispers to me. “Frances Aster. Presentations must be starting.”
My nerves snap like an elastic band, and I glance at Jake, who’s looking right back at me. His wink does nothing to calm me.
Maybe he won’t do it. Maybe he’ll just say his rugby thing and leave me out of it…
“Good evening, Pukekohe students past and present,” Principal Aster says with forced cheer. “I trust you’re all enjoying yourselves?”
Everyone claps politely.
“I feel like I’m back at school,” I whisper to Lydia.
“Right?” She gestures at her tits. “I want to put a coat on before I get a written warning.”
Principal Aster clears her throat. “This is a time for fun, so I’ll be brief—”
There’s a much louder round of applause, and I feel slightly bad.
Not bad enough to pay attention, though.
As Principal Aster drones about the school’s ‘proud history,’ I do what I always did at assemblies and think over a song I’ve had humming in my head lately, my fingers ghosting over notes only I can hear.
The speech ends, and I smile as I clap because it’s nice to know some things don’t change.
“Baby?” Jake’s warm hand finds the small of my back. “You good?”
“Yup,” I lie. “Are you about to go up to do the rugby thing?”
“Soon. After they do the academic scholarship stuff.”
“Nice of them to at least pretend they care about learning more than rugby,” I croak. “You remember Lydia and Rachel? This is Rachel’s partner, Morgan.”
“I do,” Jake says, smiling at them. “Nice to meet you, Morgan. Sorry, I can’t stay and chat, ladies. I’ve gotta go do an award thing to do.”
“No problem,” Rachel breathes, both she and Lydia beaming like he’s the dude who invented vibrators. They round on me as Jake leaves, and I raise my palms like one of Lydia’s ‘Stop’ Signs. “Don’t blame me. I didn’t wanna date a rugby guy. He’s the one who was gagging for it.”
They laugh, and I want to join them, but the thought of Jake’s presentation has turned my bladder to mush.
“I’m gonna pee,” I tell them. “Back soon?”
“Cool,” Lydia says, her eyes gleaming. “But I gotta know now. JGH, mad in bed?”
“Crackers,” I assure her, and her cackle follows me as I make a beeline for the bathroom.
I sit in the stall long after I’m done peeing, vaping as muffled applause leaks through the walls.
Angelica Joyce accepts her award for academic excellence, then another presenter congratulates Ethan Frank for science stuff.
I know I have to make a move before Jake takes the stage and I force myself to my feet.
As I exit the stall, I slam straight into Jenny Wallis.
“Sorry,” I say automatically, every node in my head screeching.
“Adalasia,” she trills. “You decided to show your face, after all?”
Numbness coats my brain like Vaseline. I expected to run into Jenny at some point, but I’d prayed it wouldn’t be alone. “Apparently.”
“You shouldn’t have,” she says. “From what I hear, you’re in quite a bit of trouble.”
“Okay…”
“I mean it.” Her fake-smile fades. “Did you come here wanting trouble?”