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She looks over everything in her piles of papers. It all looks foreign to her. Financial aid forms, scholarship applications, writing a request essay? Jeez. She needs to get moving on this.
She has no idea what she wants to do with her future.
But science, math . . . maybe research. Maybe dream research.
Or not.
She really wants to forget that part of her shitty, shitty life.
She calls Carrie. “What’re you doing?”
“Sitting home. Alone. You?”
“I’m wondering if there’s a party somewhere at one of your rich friends’ houses.”
Carrie is silent for a moment. “Why?” Her voice is suspicious.
“I don’t know,” Janie lies. “I’m bored. Can’t I get in with you? As your date or something?”
“Janie.”
“What.”
“You don’t want to go there.”
“What? I’m just bored. I’ve never been to one of those organized ‘Hill’ parties. You know, where the parents are gone and leave all the booze and shit for the kids to drink.”
Carrie is quiet again. “You’re looking for him, aren’t you. I’m coming over.” She hangs up.
Carrie arrives ten minutes later with her sleeping bag. “Can I stay over?” she asks sweetly. “We haven’t had a sleepover in forever.”
Janie looks at her skeptically. “What’s going on?” she says. “Just tell me.”
Carrie throws her stuff on the couch. “You got munchies? I haven’t eaten.” She sniffs the air and opens the oven. “Eww. Can’t we cook something real?”
“Fine,” sighs Janie. She rummages around in the kitchen. The refrigerator is surprisingly full today. “Fajitas okay?”
“Perfect,” says Carrie gleefully. She mixes two vodka tonics, adds a splash of orange juice, and hands one to Janie.
“Would you stop that, please?”
“Stop what?”
“That whole syrupy sweet-talk thing. It’s really grating on me.”
Carrie blinks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway, give me some friggin’ veggies to chop.”
They work up a meal, making guacamole from scratch and everything. Janie takes the TV dinner, wraps it in tinfoil, and puts it in the refrigerator. Her mother will probably eat it. Cold. For breakfast or something.
By the time the fajitas are ready, Janie is buzzing from her second drink and Carrie is doing shots from the bottle.
They move into the living room and flip on music videos.
“So, are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on, or not,” Janie says.
Carrie sighs and gives her a sorrowful look. “Oh, Janie. Are you still thumpin’ for Cabel or what?”
Janie takes a swallow of her drink, and lies. “I . . . I’m getting over him. I’m not speaking to him.”
“I saw him here, on your step this morning. Were you working?”
“Yeah. I guess he was here all day. Ma calls him ‘the hippie.’ ” She laughs.
Carrie takes another shot. “Whooo!” she says when it goes down. “Sheesh. Um . . . oh, yeah. Cabel. Well, he’s at Melinda’s tonight. With Shay,” she adds.
“Well, duh, he wouldn’t be with Melinda.”
Carrie gives her a curious look. “Why not Melinda?”
Janie’s feeling a bit reckless from the effects of the alcohol. “Carrie! Melinda’s a lesbian. Didn’t you know?”
“What?”
“She’s totally in love with you.”
“She is not.”
“Is.”
“How do you know?”
Janie hesitates.
She knows she shouldn’t say it.
But she does. “She dreams about you. I’ve seen her dreams.”
Carrie looks at her, confused.
Janie sits, stone-faced.
And then Carrie bursts out laughing. “Holy shit, Janes. You got your funny back.”
Janie echoes Carrie’s laugh. “Gotcha,” she says shakily.
Carrie takes a tentative bite of her fajita. “Hey, it’s good, kiddo.”
Janie rolls her eyes. Now Stu has Carrie calling her that. “Anyway,” prompts Janie.
“Hunh?”
“Cabel?”
“Ohhhh. Right. Well, since you dumped him, he’s been going whole hog on the rich girls. He’s got Shay wrapped around his little finger.”
“Even though he supposedly got busted at her party?”
Carrie giggles. “Who do you think he’s working with? Her father! They have a little ‘arrangement.’ Shay told me. How hilarious is that. Talk about a family business. And we’re not talking just pot.”
Janie shovels food in her mouth.
Carrie continues. “Shay told Melinda she slept with him.” She slaps her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God. I did not just say that.”
Janie is numb. And strangely begging for more. She wants to hate him. “Naw, it’s cool,” she says smoothly. “I’m so over that guy. He’s a big fake. Right?” She eggs Carrie on.
“He IS a big fake,” shrieks Carrie, nearly upsetting the vodka bottle. She fills Janie’s glass. “No wonder he has all those new clothes, and finally got a cell phone. Sheesh. He’s making some bucks. I think it’s crack. But that’s just a guess.”
Janie can’t believe it.
He said he doesn’t drink. Doesn’t do drugs.
She thought he couldn’t stand Shay Wilder.
What a liar.
“All the dealers lie, I suppose,” Janie says.
Carrie nods, overanimated by the liquor. “They are pretty smooth. I just couldn’t believe it when I found out what Cabel was doing. But I knew he was a pothead three years ago, back after he flunked into our grade. I guess it goes on from there.”
“Was he really a pothead then?”
“I bought from him,” Carrie whispers.
“You did?”
Carrie nods again. “A lot.”
Janie stand
s abruptly and takes the dishes to the sink. She begins washing them as the flurry of information sloshes around in her brain. He had sex with Shay? Janie’s whole body stings.
When Janie comes back to the living room, Carrie’s eyes are glazed. She stares at the TV.
Janie sits next to her. “So if Cabel is hot for Shay, why did he sit on my step all day, and why does he keep trying to talk to me?”
Carrie looks at Janie. “Maybe he doesn’t want to lose you as a future customer. Or a good lay. Face it, baby, you’re looking hot these days.”
Janie feels her stomach churning.
She excuses herself to the bathroom.
When she returns, Carrie’s lying on the couch, passed out.
Janie turns off the TV. She cleans up the mess and gets a drink of water.
October 23, 2005 1:34 a.m.
She leaves Carrie on the couch, sprints through the yards to hide in the stand of trees near Cabel’s house. There’s a light on inside, so she waits. After a while, a car pulls into his driveway. It sits there for five minutes, maybe more. Finally, Cabel gets out and goes inside. When she sees all the lights go out, she deposits herself in the bushes under his window, stepping carefully around the crunchy leaves that insist on falling constantly the past few days.
Luck is on her side when he cracks the window open an inch. She hears him now, and her heart breaks as he sighs and rustles around in the dark. She can hear his bed creak when he lies down, and she can hear him punch his pillow, getting settled for sleep.
She wonders what he wears to bed. She is more than tempted to look.
But she will wait.
She must wait.
She waits.
2:15 a.m.
He doesn’t snore.
3:04 a.m.
Janie, asleep in the bushes, is jolted awake. Painfully. Her body is paralyzed almost immediately, and she is sucked into his mind. Into his fears. His dream.
It lasts two hours.
The same scenes, on an endless loop.
The middle-aged man, spraying lighter fluid, and then flicking a cigarette at Cabel. The monster-man in the kitchen, flinging a knife-pointed chair, hitting the ceiling fan, decapitating the middle-aged man. And a new one. Shay, the rich girl cheerleader, in handcuffs, hooked to a bed. Smiling.
