“Total. Bitch,” Gretchen said. “Kisses. I gotta run!” And she hung up before I could throw an insult at her.
Gretchen Stevens was the only girl on the planet I allowed to call me a bitch. I knew other girls did, but she was the only one who had permission. She was the only one I loved for it. She was honest with me—brutally honest, especially when I messed up with Beth. She gave me hell over it, but she never rejected me. She remained a friend through all of it, even when I sank into a depression and started therapy sessions again. Gretchen likened the whole cheating incident to the Sex and the City episode where Carrie admits her affair with Big to Samantha. Carrie expected Samantha to judge her, but Samantha didn’t.
“So it’s like I’m Samantha,” Gretchen had said.
“Except that you have judged me,” I replied.
“Yeah, but that’s because what you did was totally shitty. I’m still gonna be your friend, though,” Gretchen said, and then hugged me until I stopped crying. “I’ll always be your friend, Brookey. We’re allowed one huge mess-up in our lives.”
“Just one?” I blubbered.
“Just one,” she said.
I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling thinking of Gretchen’s words. We’re allowed one huge mess-up. I wish I would have saved mine for later on in life. Eighteen felt like too young an age to already use it. I didn’t think it was fair, and then wondered why I kept blaming everyone and everything around me for my bad decisions.
I blamed Finn for the dissolution of my friendship as though I had no hand in it. Like he forced me to sneak around with him and have sex with him and find excuses to avoid hanging out with Beth so I could see him. I actually found myself blaming Beth at one point: if she weren’t so mopey all the time, I would have wanted to spend more time with her! I conveniently forgot about her confession to me as the reason for her deep depression. Sometimes I wondered at the size of my heart, if I even had one at all.
I blamed my mother for the fact that I didn’t own any closed-toe pumps and had to wear hers to Beth’s funeral. It wasn’t even important, but somehow I made it out to be a big deal. If I hadn’t been wearing those heels, I wouldn’t have almost fallen in the hallway at the church forcing me to grab Funeral Guy’s hand to keep from going down. I went so far as to convince myself that I wouldn’t have even run into him had I not been wearing those shoes. Yes, it was all my mother’s fault. She was the reason I flirted.
How could a genuinely intelligent girl be such a fucking idiot?
I felt so tired, but I was reluctant to fall asleep. I was afraid of dreaming about unpleasant things. I knew it was wrong, but I closed my eyes and conjured Funeral Guy’s face, imagining the things his blue irises said to me. I think you’re beautiful, they said. I think I love you. And I drifted into a self-absorbed slumber that eventually betrayed me, summoning ghosts from my past in favor of the boy with the translucent eyes.
“Why don’t you get that sexy little ass over here?” Finn said playfully. He reached out for my leg, but I was standing too far away.
“Your girlfriend will be here any minute,” I replied, giggling.
We decided to meet at Beth’s house and ride together to my All-Star cheerleading competition. Beth was running late, leaving Finn and me alone in her bedroom.
“I don’t care,” Finn said. He jumped up from the desk chair and grabbed me before I could escape to the other side of the room. He wrapped me up in his arms and planted a series of kisses on my neck.
“I care, Finn,” I said breathlessly, feeling my body surrender to his mouth.
“No you don’t,” he mumbled into my neck, walking me over to Beth’s bed. He sat down on the edge and pulled me onto his lap, hands resting on my bottom under my cheerleading skirt. “Now, I have a good idea about it, but I want you to tell me anyway,” he said. “Why are these little things called spankies?” He squeezed my bottom, and I squealed.
“They’re not called spankies anymore,” I corrected. “They’re called cheerleading briefs.”
Finn scrunched up his nose. “Gross. I like spankies much better.”
I chuckled and nuzzled my face into his neck.
“You never answered my question,” he teased. His forefinger traced the waistband of my spankies then dipped under the fabric. I squirmed.
“I don’t know,” I said, feeling my face flush.
“Well, I think I know,” Finn said softly. “Were you a good girl at school today?” he asked, his lips brushing my ear, hand patting my bottom.
“I’m always good,” I managed to get out. I felt myself already growing wet, and I didn’t have time to get all hot and bothered.
“That’s not what I heard,” Finn continued. He lifted me off his lap and laid me on the bed. I tried to get up, but he held me still, wiggling his eyebrows at me before rolling me over onto my stomach.