He gives her a high-five. Then she stands up in the middle of my bed and starts jumping up and down.
I grab her by the waist and sit her down on the bed. “Gracelyn, you know you’re not supposed to jump on beds. You can fall and get hurt.”
“Merde,” she mutters under her breath.
“What did you say?”
She smiles at me, starts jumping on the bed again, and screams, “Merde! Merde! Merrrrdaayyyy!!”
“Gracie, do not say that! That’s a naughty word.”
She stops jumping and looks at me, trying to gauge how serious I am. She grins at me, knows I’m probably not a threat, jumps again, and sings, “Va-gina. Va-gina. Gweysie has a va-gina.”
Cush gives me a glance, stifles a laugh, and starts coughing.
“Kiki have a ’gina too. Do you?” she says to Cush.
Cush smiles with his lips shut. He’s trying really hard not to laugh. “No, um, only girls do.”
Gracie’s eyes get big, and she looks Cush up and down.
I know she’s about to start screaming the word penis. The girl has way too big a vocabulary for a two-and-a-half year old.
“You better go check on Mommy and Daddy, Gracie. They might be scared of the thunder.”
“Gweysie no like funder,” she says. She throws her blankie around her neck like a super hero cape then tears out of the room.
I shut and lock my door behind her. “Sorry. That was awkward.”
He pulls me on the bed with him. “So I hear you have a ’gina. Does it want to come play with me?”
I swat his shoulder. “You’re naughty.”
My phone buzzes on my nightstand. “I suppose we should look at Vanessa’s texts, huh? See what the damage is?” I say.
“I suppose,” he says, like he really doesn’t want to, but then he swipes my phone. “How ‘bout I read them. Okay, first one is from B. Who’s that?”
My heart literally stops beating.
“Uh,” I stutter. My throat feels constricted, like an invisible hand is choking me. I rip the phone away from Cush with quite a bit of force, but I try to act nonchalant when I say, “Oh, it’s just Brooklyn. You know, the surfer.”
I quickly read the message to myself before I read it to Cush.
B: Pouring here. Don’t come. Partied with some chill people last night, and gonna go at it again tonight. Hang Sunday?
I try to pretend like it’s no big deal, but his text totally pisses me off, because I know what it means when the guys say they met some chill people. It’s code for girls who like to party and hookup.
I need to thank Vincent again. He was so right about Brooklyn not caring about me.
“Are you going to hang out with him Sunday?” Cush asks.
One look at his cute face tells me that he doesn’t want me anywhere near Brooklyn, and I decide that I don’t want me to be anywhere near him either. The jerk.
I type a snarky reply then hold it up for Cush to see.
Me: Can’t. Have a date with my boyfriend.
B: You get back with the asshole?
Me: New guy. I’m very lucky.
B: He popular too?
Me: Have fun with your “chill” people. I’ve been around your friends long enough to know exactly what that means.
B: You don’t know anything. You seriously need to grow up.
Me: Oh, I am. Speaking of that, tell Mark I might take him up on his offer soon.
B: Tell him yourself.
“What’s that all about?”
“Nothing. He’s a dick.”
Cush squints his eyes, not quite believing me. “What was Mark’s offer?”
“It’s nothing. What’s Vanessa have to say?” I grab his phone. “Maybe we should start with your phone. Did anyone say anything about the party?” I ask, while I pull up his texts. “Wow.”
“I’m sorry. I know there are lots of texts from girls, but I didn’t respond to any of them. I don’t care.”
“Oh, yeah, I saw all of those.” I smile at him and squeeze his hand. “There’s one from RiAnne.”
“She never texts me; what’s it say?”
“It says, Do you see the virgin as a challenge, or do you not know she never hooked up with Sander? Wow. I always thought she was more on my side.”
“You dissed her party. What’d you expect?”
“Yeah, I know. There’s also one from Vanessa. It says, You and your friend are going down. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. And don’t even think about sitting at my table on Monday.” I look at him. “What are we going to do? Sitting where we want is one thing, being banished is another.”
“I thought we decided we don’t care.”
“I was talking about next year. Not right now. I’m not prepared for this. Shit! What have I gotten myself into? Why did I think I could do this?”
“What do you want to do?”
I’ve seen Mom and Tommy do it several times over the years. I know how to play the PR game. “Damage control,” I say.
I get on his Facebook and change his status to In a relationship. Then I grab my phone and accept it. “Now I’m gonna comment on it.”
“What are you gonna say?”