“There be my bitches!” Maysie said, sitting down in one of the free chairs. She looked over at Gracie whose face was now burrowed in her arms. “What’s up with her?” she asked me.
“What do you think? Possible alcohol poisoning with a side of irresponsible choices,” I laughed. Maysie laughed too, though I could tell she was just as concerned as I was about Gracie. The time was quickly approaching when laughing about it wouldn’t be an option. Something more serious would have to be done.
Maysie and I ate in silence and I was pretty sure Gracie had fallen asleep. If she started snoring I was going to have to smack her. “Do you have to work tonight?” Maysie asked me as we finished up. She reached over and shook Gracie’s shoulder.
Our friend jolted awake, her eyes bleary. “Time to head to class, Gracie,” Maysie said kindly. Gracie wiped her mouth and rubbed her eyes.
“I’m gonna head home. I can’t do class right now. See you later,” she said, grabbing her purse and heading out to the quad.
“Something’s got to be done, Mays. I’m actually worried about her,” I said, following Maysie to dump our trash. Maysie nodded.
“Yeah, Vivian and I have been talking about this a lot actually. Vivian said she’s gonna call Gracie’s older sister about it,” she admitted. I was glad to hear that something was being done. But I was also self-aware enough to realize that news expunged my feelings of responsibility about the situation. And that was extremely selfish.
Outside, the October air was cool but the sun was shining brightly. Midterms were just around the corner. I figured I’d ace them like I always did. Because doing well in school was one thing I still had going for me.
“So anyway, you didn’t answer me. Are you working tonight?” Maysie asked, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.
“Uh yeah, I go in at five. I thought you quit,” I scolded, glaring at the offending object dangling between her fingers. Maysie rolled her eyes.
“You’re as bad as Jordan,” she grumped but dropped the cigarette on the ground and stomped it out.
“Just trying to do my part in reducing your risk for lung cancer. You’ll thank me when you don’t have to drag an oxygen tank around,” I said.
“Yeah, yeah. Me and my non-existent iron lung will be eternally in your debt,” she said with just a small bit of sarcasm.
“So why the interest in my work schedule?” I asked her, pulling out my phone to check the time. I had twenty minutes until senior symposium.
“Oh, because Generation Rejects are playing at Barton’s tonight. Just wondered if you’d be around for it,” she explained, her eyes saying more than her words. She was worried about my being in the same room as Garrett. Sheesh, when had my life become an episode of The Young and The Restless?
I was fully capable of being in the same room as the guy I almost had a romantic interlude with before being publically dissed. The same guy who had most likely seen the dimple in my butt cheek. What was troublesome about that?
“I’ll be there. At least I know it’ll be busy and I can make some decent tips. It’s been dead lately,” I said, avoiding the discussion I knew she wanted to have. Clearly our roundtable conversation about this very thing that morning hadn’t been enough for her. She needed to beat it like a dead horse.
“Oh, well that’s good,” she said and then surprisingly didn’t say anything else.
“Yeah, it is. Gotta go,” I said, making a hasty retreat. My afternoon was now planned out. First class then home to prepare for a night showing Mr. Thinks He’s Hot Shit On The Guitar that I really didn’t give a crap about him.
The problem was I was beginning to forget who I was supposed to be convincing. Him or myself.