“Oh no, hell no. I don’t do vomit.” Sean swerves over to the curb, slams the brakes and opens his door.
I jump out and help Sean usher Molly out of the car. “Just wait here,” I tell him. “I got this.” I guide Molly to the edge of someone’s lawn.
Molly groans. A waft of crisp green grass reaches my nose at the same moment she heaves a supersize vomity sludge onto the curb, the grass, and my purple Converse. I jump back and stop inhaling before I get a whiff of Homecoming Queen and Class Veep barf.
She gags, “I’m so sorry. Oh God, I’m being punished.”
I kneel down and flip my hair back, feeling more like I’m the one being punished. Molly’s hair is strewn about and stuck to the sides of her puke slobbery mouth. Using my own bare ungloved fingers, I peel the half-silky, half-slimy wet mattes of hair stuck to her cheeks. I reach for the black ponytail holder that’s usually on my wrist. Shit. I’d replaced it with my “lucky” rubber band.
“Hey Molly, do you have a hair tie?”
“You’re so—uuugghhhehh-buuuugh ughhh, BLECH. Ohhhh, God. Here, take this.” She slides a yellow-corded tie off her wrist. I wrap it twice around her sticky hair and it snaps. Figures. I take my Sean Mills rubber band off my wrist, sigh, and tie it into her hair.
In-between the next and last hurl of green slush, she tells me in a drippy slur, “You’re so pretty Bree, we should hang out more.”
Molly finishes her last heave, wipes the corners of her mouth—then a “fuck it” thought bubble pretty much appears over her head because she pulls her shirt up past her neck and does a full swipe of her face and chin. I try not to stare at the neon pink bra and her two perfect—nope, not perfect, boobs. Yay. One is totally bigger than the other. Cool girls. They’re just like us! Molly drops her shirt and hiccups. Well, it sounds like little hiccups but then I realize it’s the crescendo unto a full-on sob. Oh wow. Molly’s drunk crying about Todd. And how he’s her first love and they’re hiccup supposed to be, should be, sob planning Prom and college, and long-drawn-out wail getting engaged.
I should be the one crying here. So much for kissing Sean—or Sean kissing me. Molly’s cries vibrate her whole body and I wish she knew who she was really crying about. I doubt she’d even remember if I interjected in-between her sobs that the love of her life is not only dating Kallie, but also screwing Jane, the girl who’s supposed to be her best friend. Instead of saving Molly with a truth bomb, I throw in a few “Yeah, that’s toughs” and “Oh, you’ll be okays” while half carrying her back to the car.
TEN
Saturday morning. I wake up with a mental hangover. And Mom peeking her head through my creaky door.
“Get up. Let’s get brunch and do some shopping.”
“C’mon Mom.” I hug my knees under my blanket.
“We need some girl time,” she sings. I roll over and grab my phone. 11:09 a.m. Feels like 6:30.
“Sure. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be down.” I’m pretty sure that I haven’t gone shopping with Mom since … I’m not even sure. Maybe tenth grade.
As she closes the door, an ever so faint gust of Molly Chapman’s puke slivers past my nostrils.
What a shitty night. Instead of spending more time with Sean and maybe, just maybe, learning what his lips would feel like on mine, my lips got to feel what it would be like to get puked on. No, seriously. Molly puked in my face when she hugged me at the car door. So, as Sean walked Molly to her door, unlocking it for her and practically pushing her into her house, I realized—no, smelled—that no one was going to be hanging out with me anymore. The night was over. Aside from having to wipe my own face with my shirt, somehow my hair had sprayed puke in it, my shoes were inside a canvas grocery bag in the backseat, and my head kept reeling about the whole scene at the party and my next move.
As Sean got back into the car I said, “I guess my house should be your next stop—I’m a mess.”
“I figured, you gotta lay off the booze.”
“Yeah, I smell like beer and Hotshotz had a baby that was born in a sweat sock.”
We laughed a little and he even apologized for bringing me to the party as he opened my door to let me out of his car. This was the part where I would’ve been stressing about the kiss. Now I just wondered how bad he thought I reeked as I tried to get the hell out of his smell-line.
“Thanks for everything. The night wasn’t so bad, really,” I called over my shoulder, speed walking so he wouldn’t try to walk me to my door or anything.
In the shower, I realize my arm muscles are sore from lugging Molly around. As soon as I pop the cap from my shampoo bottle, I gag. The sweet apple scent is way too reminiscent of hurl. I end up grabbing an unscented bar of soap instead.
First thing I do after my shower is check my phone. No call or text from Sean, not that I care. I mean, he did say he’d call today but I hate the idea of waiting around for him, or any guy, to call.