STUPID ME, STUPID Brady, stupid beer.
I am so unbadass right now.
Just bad bad bad.
I am a bad person. How could I be such a wench to Jesse? And last night—ugh. Mel is the nicest little person and I go hurling myself at the guy she likes. What kind of a friend does that?
Thank God Marco pushed me away and jumped out of the pool, or I’d have a whole lot more to regret right now.
I am not drinking any more beer for at least two months. Beer is not my friend.
Beer made me not a friend to my friends.
Beer made me not my own friend.
I wonder if I’m still a little drunk. That would explain me, maybe. I know I should tell Jesse to turn around, to head back home to Niceville, since I don’t have a boyfriend anymore, but somehow I can’t bring myself to say it.
My phone vibrates, and adrenaline shoots through me. I’ve ignored two calls from Brady this morning already—because of course, now that we’re broken up, the guy remembers my number. Well, he doesn’t get to talk to me just ’cause he suddenly wants to.
I hesitate before opening the phone. I don’t want it to be Brady.
No, actually, I do. I do.
I don’t.
I do.
I check the name. Unknown number. Could be Brady calling from a hall phone, or a friend’s cell, couldn’t it? I answer. “Hello?”
“Vicks, it’s Dotty from the Waffle.”
“Hey, Dotty.” Why is she calling me? She never calls me. She must have got my number from the staff sheet. “What’s up?”
“That’s Dotty?” says Mel, turning around from the front seat. “Did Abe find a sub for me? Ask her if he found a sub.”
“Good grief, Mel,” Jesse says. “Didn’t you get someone to cover your shifts?”
“I left Abe a note that I wasn’t coming in,” Mel explains.
“Quiet, you guys!” I bark. “Sorry, Dotty, Mel wants to know if Abe found her a sub.”
“Pearl came in last minute so I don’t think she’s fired,” Dotty answers. “But Abe had a right old fit, I’ll tell you that.” Her voice changes. “Listen, Vicks, where are you?”
“I don’t know, on some road past Gainesville. Why?”
“You with Jesse?” she asks.
Jesse glances back at me. “What’s she asking?”
“Yeah,” I tell Dotty while motioning for Jesse to shut up.
“Jesse’s got her mama’s car,” Dotty says.
“Yeah, I know,” I say. “In fact I am enjoying the majesty of the Opel as we speak. Wasn’t Ms. Fix a sweetie to let us borrow it?”
The car jerks to the right and we fly over a pothole and bounce hard on the road.
“Jesus,” I exclaim. “Watch it, will you?”
When I get the phone back to my ear, Dotty’s saying, “…and Harriet is why I’m calling you. She is not and she did not and she’s worried as all get-out.”
“Huh?” I say.
“Twyla didn’t give Jesse the car. Jesse took it without asking.”
I don’t get it. “She what?”
Now Dotty’s voice goes sad. “Twyla came by the Waffle this morning, and she’s fit to be tied. Jesse didn’t even leave a note.”
I can’t believe it.
Saintly Jesse. She took this car and left town without telling her mother? And dragged me along with her?
“So you tell her to call her mama, ’kay?” Dotty says. “She’s out of her mind with worry.”
“Yeah, I’ll tell her,” I say, noticing how tense Jesse’s shoulders are as she drives us farther into nowhere.
I take the phone off my ear and snap it shut. Maybe I’m not the worst person in the car after all.
Liar.
Liar.
Fine, steal a car if you have to, if you’re mad at your mom, if you’re trying to knock yourself out of whatever slump you’ve been in that’s made you such a pain to be around. Not that it’s good to steal a car, but damn, Jesse’s been acting so holier-than-thou this whole trip, cranky about drinking, cranky about flirting, cranky about virginity. How can she act like that when she stole this stupid car and tortured her mom with worry and sadness? How can she give me all that attitude and dump the silent treatment on me and be such a martyr at that party when she stole the freaking car?
“Lookit,” Jesse says to Mel, pointing out the windshield. “A pelican—do you see?” Her words come out jittery and pitched all wrong, and I think, Yeah, you’re nervous, aren’t you?
As she should be. Liar. And anyway, it’s not a stupid pelican. It’s a darter. We had a Florida bird book when I was a kid and I used to look at all the pictures. “Not,” I say.
“Not what?”
“Not a pelican,” I tell her.
She swallows. “’Course it is.”
“No, it’s a darter. You’re not always right, you know. You’re not always little Miss Perfect.”
A shadow passes across Jesse’s face, and now she knows for sure what Dotty said to me. I can tell. Her breaths are shallow and she speaks only to Mel, saying, “It really is a pelican. See how long its wings are? And the pouched bill?”
“It’s not a pelican,” I snap. “And you’re driving too fast. And you have no idea where we are, do you? Or wait. Don’t bother answering, because why should we believe anything you say?”
We veer off the road, and I grab on to Mel’s seat as Jesse hits the brakes.
“Jesse?” Mel squeaks. We jolt to a stop.
“What the hell was that?” I shout.
Jesse gets out of the car, her face tight and scared. She flips her seat forward and takes a step back, like she’s making space for me to climb out. “You drive!” she says. “Since you think I’m doing such a crappy job!”
I climb out, stepping over empty coffee cups and the box of doughnuts. “Did you steal your mom’s car?” I demand when we are face to face.
Jesse stammers.
“Did you?” I persist.
“No,” Jesse says. “Heck no! What do you take me for?”
I just look at her.
“I borrowed it,” she continues. “The keys were right there on the counter!”
“‘Thou shalt not steal,’” I spit at her. “Isn’t that one of the ten commandments?”
“Why are you getting on me like this?” she says. “You’re the sinner. Not me!”
What? I knew she thought it sometimes, but I never figured she’d actually call me that to my face. “You don’t get to use that on me,” I tell her, narrowing my eyes. “I’m not the one stealing other people’s property and making them crazy with worry. All I did was sleep with my boyfriend. Consensual, protected sex. No harm done.”
“Yeah, but…but—”
“You are so full of crap. You make me sick.”
“I didn’t steal from you, so what’s the big deal?” Jesse asks. “You’re acting like it’s a personal betrayal!”
“Because it is,” I tell her. “People should be true. People should be who they say they are.”
A splat of rain hits the roof of the Opel. Then several in a series, plop plop plop.
I gesture to the backseat. “You want me to drive? Fine. Get in. I’ll drive.”
I am a little surprised when Jesse does what I tell her without saying a word. I push the front seat back into place and drop down into it.
“Pelican my ass,” I say, and slam the door.