Ripped
Page 12
In the end, Mackenna did leave. He left me behind.
I went back to being the goth people laughed at, except now I was not sad anymore. I was mad. I punched some of the girls, and my mother sent me to therapy and, later, to a private school, where I ended up meeting the two girls who’ve been my only friends.
Melanie and Brooke.
I never, ever mentioned his name to them.
I’d thought he’d saved me, but it turns out he’d only just started to ruin my life.
At seventeen, I had needed him.
At eighteen, I still missed him.
At nineteen, I still wanted him.
At twenty, I still thought about him.
But by the time I heard him sing about me on the radio, making light music from nights that had held me together when I’d felt lonely—that’s when I wished I’d never laid eyes on him.
♥ ♥ ♥
AT DAWN, I hear my mom moving around.
“Hey,” I say when I join her in the kitchen. She smiles and nudges a cup of coffee in my direction with the back of one finger. I shake my head. “Thanks.”
“You came in late last night,” she says.
“I was with Melanie.”
“Ahh, of course. That explains it all.”
I start buttering some toast for myself so I don’t have to look her in the eye when I lie. Otherwise, she’ll know in an instant. By profession, she’s naturally inclined to immediately detect liars. You have to be really good to fool her—which, I guess, I am. “Mother, I have a business opportunity, and I need to travel out of town for a while.”
“Travel?” she repeats.
She’s a lawyer. She’s used to asking a question and staring you down until you either whimper or cave. I stare back at her and don’t respond, forcing myself not to twitch under her stare.
“Travel implies flying, Pandora.”
The mere word makes my stomach spin as if someone is twirling it with a spoon. “I just flew with Melanie and did all right with the meds I took. By the time I woke up, we’d landed. I’ll take those and try to do some stretches by land,” I lie. I have no clue how the rock band works, or if they travel by land, air, or heck, even sea. Still, I open my hand and show her the pillbox I just retrieved, three pills resting inside.
She stares directly at me, ignoring the pills. “So what kind of opportunity is this?”
“It’s a good one—great one,” I amend as I frantically set my mind free to imagine a sufficient lie. “I sent in the proposal for several apartments—dark fabrics, you know. What I like. They’re for a big, um, family, and I was hired on the spot. They said nobody can do this but me—it has to be me. And I’ve been decorating long enough to know it’s the kind of opportunity I might never see again. Ever.”
“All right, so when are you home?”
“I think three weeks.”
“Very well.”
We continue our breakfast in silence. I try to exhale slowly so my breath doesn’t shake on its exit.
“PanPan!” A cannonball lands on my lap, and I laugh as all the warmth that is Magnolia envelops me.
“Hey, Magnificent!” I say, tweaking her nose. I call Magnolia anything with a Mag. She gets a toothy grin when I ask her what she’s up to.
“Nuttin’,” she says, pulling free and jamming a hand in the cereal box on the counter.
“Magazine, I’m going to be away for a bit, are you going to stay out of trouble?”
“Nope. Trouble’s my middle name.”
“We agreed it was mine.” I go to the cabinet and pull out a bowl and a spoon. “What’ll you do if you miss me?”
She blinks.
“You’ll make a list of the things you wanted to do with me when I was away and we’ll do them all when I get back,” I tell her.
She nods and carries her cereal to the table. I’m a big believer in lists. You write your wants down on paper, and it’s like putting them out there to the Universe: Bitch, you gotta make this happen for me. I got it from my mother, who’s married to her lists, and I think I will probably marry mine . . . when I finally get around to writing one.
“Okay, I will,” Magnolia says, starting to eat her cereal. I feel my phone buzz and notice Kyle’s car out in the street.
“Kyle’s here, I better go.” Putting away my phone, I squeeze Magnolia to me. When I stand, my mother nods. I grab my duffel bag, and for a moment, I’m uncertain whether to hug her or not. Since she stands there with her coffee in her hand and makes no move toward me, I nod back and leave. She’s just not very tactile, but neither am I. We’re more comfortable remaining in our little bubbles—little bubbles only Magnolia seems to penetrate. Well, Melanie sometimes gets into mine too.
I spot Kyle behind the wheel and slide into his nerdy automobile.
“What’s all this about?” he asks, confused by the duffel I toss into the backseat. “I’m driving you to some hotel parking lot? Did you become a cartel worker overnight?”
“I’m . . . uh, stage setting with Crack Bikini. So . . .”
“For real? You shitting me?”
He looks amazed, which only makes me want to groan.
He doesn’t know I know Mackenna. None of my friends know who “the asshole who made me hate men” was—their words, not mine. I only told Melanie last night because the bitch wanted to pass on the concert and stay home—to probably let her very healthy male bang her brains out—so I had to fess up to why it was so important that we go.
I went back to being the goth people laughed at, except now I was not sad anymore. I was mad. I punched some of the girls, and my mother sent me to therapy and, later, to a private school, where I ended up meeting the two girls who’ve been my only friends.
Melanie and Brooke.
I never, ever mentioned his name to them.
I’d thought he’d saved me, but it turns out he’d only just started to ruin my life.
At seventeen, I had needed him.
At eighteen, I still missed him.
At nineteen, I still wanted him.
At twenty, I still thought about him.
But by the time I heard him sing about me on the radio, making light music from nights that had held me together when I’d felt lonely—that’s when I wished I’d never laid eyes on him.
♥ ♥ ♥
AT DAWN, I hear my mom moving around.
“Hey,” I say when I join her in the kitchen. She smiles and nudges a cup of coffee in my direction with the back of one finger. I shake my head. “Thanks.”
“You came in late last night,” she says.
“I was with Melanie.”
“Ahh, of course. That explains it all.”
I start buttering some toast for myself so I don’t have to look her in the eye when I lie. Otherwise, she’ll know in an instant. By profession, she’s naturally inclined to immediately detect liars. You have to be really good to fool her—which, I guess, I am. “Mother, I have a business opportunity, and I need to travel out of town for a while.”
“Travel?” she repeats.
She’s a lawyer. She’s used to asking a question and staring you down until you either whimper or cave. I stare back at her and don’t respond, forcing myself not to twitch under her stare.
“Travel implies flying, Pandora.”
The mere word makes my stomach spin as if someone is twirling it with a spoon. “I just flew with Melanie and did all right with the meds I took. By the time I woke up, we’d landed. I’ll take those and try to do some stretches by land,” I lie. I have no clue how the rock band works, or if they travel by land, air, or heck, even sea. Still, I open my hand and show her the pillbox I just retrieved, three pills resting inside.
She stares directly at me, ignoring the pills. “So what kind of opportunity is this?”
“It’s a good one—great one,” I amend as I frantically set my mind free to imagine a sufficient lie. “I sent in the proposal for several apartments—dark fabrics, you know. What I like. They’re for a big, um, family, and I was hired on the spot. They said nobody can do this but me—it has to be me. And I’ve been decorating long enough to know it’s the kind of opportunity I might never see again. Ever.”
“All right, so when are you home?”
“I think three weeks.”
“Very well.”
We continue our breakfast in silence. I try to exhale slowly so my breath doesn’t shake on its exit.
“PanPan!” A cannonball lands on my lap, and I laugh as all the warmth that is Magnolia envelops me.
“Hey, Magnificent!” I say, tweaking her nose. I call Magnolia anything with a Mag. She gets a toothy grin when I ask her what she’s up to.
“Nuttin’,” she says, pulling free and jamming a hand in the cereal box on the counter.
“Magazine, I’m going to be away for a bit, are you going to stay out of trouble?”
“Nope. Trouble’s my middle name.”
“We agreed it was mine.” I go to the cabinet and pull out a bowl and a spoon. “What’ll you do if you miss me?”
She blinks.
“You’ll make a list of the things you wanted to do with me when I was away and we’ll do them all when I get back,” I tell her.
She nods and carries her cereal to the table. I’m a big believer in lists. You write your wants down on paper, and it’s like putting them out there to the Universe: Bitch, you gotta make this happen for me. I got it from my mother, who’s married to her lists, and I think I will probably marry mine . . . when I finally get around to writing one.
“Okay, I will,” Magnolia says, starting to eat her cereal. I feel my phone buzz and notice Kyle’s car out in the street.
“Kyle’s here, I better go.” Putting away my phone, I squeeze Magnolia to me. When I stand, my mother nods. I grab my duffel bag, and for a moment, I’m uncertain whether to hug her or not. Since she stands there with her coffee in her hand and makes no move toward me, I nod back and leave. She’s just not very tactile, but neither am I. We’re more comfortable remaining in our little bubbles—little bubbles only Magnolia seems to penetrate. Well, Melanie sometimes gets into mine too.
I spot Kyle behind the wheel and slide into his nerdy automobile.
“What’s all this about?” he asks, confused by the duffel I toss into the backseat. “I’m driving you to some hotel parking lot? Did you become a cartel worker overnight?”
“I’m . . . uh, stage setting with Crack Bikini. So . . .”
“For real? You shitting me?”
He looks amazed, which only makes me want to groan.
He doesn’t know I know Mackenna. None of my friends know who “the asshole who made me hate men” was—their words, not mine. I only told Melanie last night because the bitch wanted to pass on the concert and stay home—to probably let her very healthy male bang her brains out—so I had to fess up to why it was so important that we go.
