9 Julia
Julia
Bridgeport, Connecticut
He’s driving a different car today. I love that this one is a convertible.
It shouldn’t be this hot in early May. But I like it. The sweltering heat just makes the moment all the better. I stare at his profile and want nothing more than to put my head in his lap and make him as happy as I am. But that would be dangerous while flying down the street.
He’s taking me to eat, then we’re going back to his place.
I’m staying the whole night. As long as I’m back in Westport for school tomorrow, my parents will never know.
They think I’m spending the night at a friend’s.
If they only knew. I have just one real friend.
I finger the gold chain with its little gold heart.
I don’t care that it’s fake gold, junk jewelry.
It was the one possession that Wendy cherished, and she wanted me to have it.
That’s what friends do. She placed it around my neck and said, “Friends forever.”
I laughed and teased, “Until death do us part.”
Wendy isn’t like all those other bitches at school.
I don’t fit in with those girls the way I once did.
They are far too immature, too self-centered.
Wendy isn’t a friend my parents would ever approve of.
Then again, even I’m not entirely sure she’s trustworthy, but neither am I.
What matters is that we’re alike in so many ways.
We connect. It’s like gravity, and it pulls us together, bonds us more completely than any other friend I’ve had.
I glance at Casey. What Wendy and I share is nothing like what he and I have, of course.
Wendy is my best friend. The relationship isn’t sexual.
I mean it’s sexy as hell but not sexual.
Definitely different from any connection I’ve ever had.
Wendy and I have each other’s backs . . .
like, without saying a word. It just is.
Maybe the way twin sisters are supposed to be.
We need each other. We protect each other.
We would die, I think, without each other.
She would laugh if she heard me say such things.
She actually thinks I’m a bougie Goody Two-shoes who just pretends to be bad.
My single goal before senior year ends is to show her how wrong she is.
Wendy isn’t the only one who can be bad.
She just doesn’t know that part of me. I can be a bitch—vindictive and dangerous.
At least that’s what the last girl who crossed me said.
I smile as I toss my sunglasses onto the dash and shift in the seat so I’m facing Casey. Oh, yes, I can be wicked. Just watch this.
I lean into him, and when I reach for his fly, he glances at me with a salacious grin.
Once the fly is lowered and I’ve pulled him free, my heart starts to pound.
He is so ready. The tingle starts at my toes as I pull my long auburn hair back and lean over.
The moment my lips surround him, he makes a sound that has me on the verge of climaxing myself.
By the time I’ve finished, we’ve hit the city limits. I settle back into my seat and watch as he guides the car into a parking space in front of a liquor store. He parks and rights himself, zips his fly.
“You play dirty, little girl,” he accuses.
This makes me frown. “I thought I’d already proven that I am no little girl.”
He winks and climbs out of the racy vintage sports car. I wait until he opens my door to get out. However obsessed I am with him, I still make him show his respect for me. It’s the one thing my mother has preached that I actually heard. If a man doesn’t respect you, he’ll never be good to you.
“What’re we doing here?” I ask as we walk hand in hand to the liquor store.
“Something to celebrate our first sleepover.” He squeezes my hand. “I have plans for you, little girl.”
His words send my heart racing and my mind whirling. I don’t even mind that he called me little girl again.
The liquor store is lined with metal shelves that are loaded with all sorts of whiskeys and liquors. The only item I recognize is the Grey Goose vodka. One of my former friends sneaked a bottle from her father’s stash during a birthday sleepover last year. The five of us got drunk off our asses.
Casey snags a bottle of bourbon and a smaller one of a vodka brand I’ve never heard of.
No surprise. My parents are weird about alcohol.
They don’t drink. Not even wine with dinner or casual cocktails or beer at barbecues.
Uptight as shit. Strict is my mother’s middle name.
If she only knew how wild some of the girls at my private school are, she would never allow me to go to their homes.
But there is a secrecy among most wealthy parents.
No one ever wants anyone else to know their problems. Everyone and everything is always perfect—especially their offspring.
Nothing less than perfection is talked about. Ever.
I roll my eyes at the thought of all the picture-perfect cookouts and holiday parties.
Impeccable homes, flawless-appearing people.
My bestie is nothing like them. Wendy is a scholarship student.
The others treat her like she’s scum, and maybe that’s another reason I like her so much.
My fingers trace the shape of the little gold heart on the chain I wear.
Wendy is like me. We cannot wait to escape.
Graduation is almost here, and then I’m off to Boston University. Mother is gravely disappointed that I’m not going to NYU. But I need distance. Boston was the best I could do. For sure, 162 miles between us is far better than only 50.
I don’t want to think about leaving. Not tonight. Tonight is about Casey. I have no idea how I will ever leave him. I can’t bear the thought.
I’m thinking of taking Wendy with me when I leave for college. A waitressing job would work for her share of our expenses. She would get huge tips, for sure. It would be so damn cool. As long as we’re still friends, anyway. Who knows? Nothing lasts forever.
Casey pays the clerk. Instead of poking a receipt into the bag, the man hands Casey a folded piece of paper. A note, I think. The clerk glances at me, and I look away, then follow Casey back to the car.
“Did that guy just give you a note?” I fasten my seat belt.
Casey does the same but stares at me as he does. “He’s a friend of mine. He has a job he needs me to do.”
Not sketchy at all. “Oh.” What else is there to say. I am not going to ruin this night asking stupid questions.
Neither of us speaks again until he parks at our next stop. I stare at the McDonald’s sign. Really? Then I survey the parking lot of the low-end shopping center. Definitely a part of this town I have not seen. I make a face.
“Seriously?” I sit up straight and give him a look that shouts just how disappointed I am. “This is where we’re having dinner?”
“You don’t like McDonald’s?”
I’m confused as to how to answer that question. Sure, I like McDonald’s, but he’s twenty-five. I didn’t expect him to like it, and I don’t want to sound like a kid.
So I shrug. “If that’s the best you can do.”
I pat myself on the back for tossing out exactly the right comeback.
He crooks his finger for me to come closer. Naturally, I do. I lean in all the way so that our faces are nearly touching. “What?” I demand as if being this close isn’t making me crazy with need.
“We can do anything, go anywhere you want. But I thought we’d make this quick and get back to my place.”
I decide not to mention that there are fast-food places in Norwalk not so far from his house. I just want to eat and get back there. In fact, I could forgo eating entirely.
“This works.” I smile really wide. “I can’t think of a single place anywhere that serves what I want right now.”
This makes him happy, I can tell.
“Good.”
This time I don’t wait for him to come around and open my door. I hop out and rush to meet him. The kiss he gives me is worth far more than a display of mere social etiquette.
Inside, we order our food and find an empty table. It isn’t easy. The place is full of kids and almost no parents. But most of the kids are teenagers, so no surprise. This isn’t exactly an exclusive neighborhood.
We eat and watch the crowd. The younger set is busy throwing fries at each other and horsing around.
The older ones, the teens, are watching each other and probably hoping for a hookup of some sort.
I can’t help but notice how Casey watches the older girls.
One goes for a refill of her drink. Another for ketchup.
Then someone needs more napkins. I realize then that these girls are putting on little catwalk-like performances for the boys at the other table.
I almost groan at the memory of following a similarly ridiculous ritual.
The dumb things girls will do to get noticed. I think this knowing that I just gave my boyfriend a blow job while he was driving. Maybe that need transcends age and privilege. Whatever.
I look at Casey, thankful I don’t have to worry about being noticed anymore, but he’s totally focused on one of the girls who is slaying those moves like she’s trying out for America’s Next Top Model.
“Should I be jealous?” My eyebrows rear up my forehead. I am jealous. I won’t deny it.
But the smile that stretches across his lips melts my flash of anger. “Go talk to her. Tell her we think she’s hot. See if she wants to join us.”
What I feel now is fear, betrayal. “Are you serious?” We did this once before—the evening after we had sex the first time. I didn’t like it then, and I don’t like it now. “Do it yourself if you want to fuck her.”
He makes a face. “It’s only a game, little girl. Not an invitation to a ménage à trois.”
“Maybe I should invite one of those cute guys too.” I stand, that anger shooting through me again. “And I am not a little girl.”
“Whatever makes you happy,” he says with a wink that only pisses me off more.
Lips tight, chest full of fury, I stalk over to the girl in question.
She’s at the drink machine refilling. She’s every bit as tall as me but thinner.
Not as old. Maybe fifteen or sixteen. She turns to look at me, and there is no arguing about how hot she is.
Sleek, smooth dark skin. Her complexion is flawless—the kind of perfection we all want.
Her eyes are so dark, they appear bottomless.
Like you could drown in them. She’s crazy beautiful, and suddenly I’m scared again.
My red hair, blue eyes and fair skin abruptly feel utterly basic.
“Hi.” I smile despite the emotions running wild inside me. I don’t even know what I’m doing. I only know that I can never say no to him. “I came over to tell you my boyfriend”—I hitch my head in Casey’s direction—“thinks you’re superhot. Would you like to join us for a little while?”
She stares at Casey a moment, then shrugs. “Why not?”
The idea that she follows me back to our table shocks me. Didn’t anyone ever teach her not to talk to strangers, much less accept any sort of invitation?
Your mother told you, and did you listen?
I shake off the memory of climbing into Casey’s car the first night I laid eyes on him.
We didn’t go anywhere, just sat in the parking lot of the theater where I had been watching a play with my former friends.
Sneaking out was the best part of the night.
Besides meeting Casey. He kissed me that night.
Just a soft, undemanding one. But I could think of nothing else after that.
Casey and I sit together for a little while with our new friend opposite us. Her name is Dream, and she’s fifteen. She lives in the neighborhood, has two brothers, and she hates school. Her plan is to run away to Los Angeles and become an actress.
We only stay a few minutes more. Just long enough for Casey to assure the girl that he has contacts in Los Angeles. He gives her his number and says she should call him.
As we leave I wonder what else I don’t know about him. He puts his arm around me as we fly down the road in that convertible, and then I don’t care what I don’t know about him. I just want him.