Trust(41)

“Hey,” said Hang. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“No. Nope.” I shook my head. “Unless, of course, you want to watch that Erika chick attempting to mount John next to his locker.”

“What?” Hang wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

“I know,” I said. “And while I realize the school’s sex education policy could be seen as inadequate, actual real-life demonstrations are not what I’m after.”

“Fair enough.”

“So I’m ditching school for the first time. It’s my next new experience, I just decided.” The smile I gave her was in all likelihood slightly unhinged. “Take notes for me, pretty please?”

She shook her head. “Screw that, I’m going with you. Let’s get out of here.”

First we stopped at Auburn Coffee Company, because caffeine. Next, decisions were made. An empty Friday night loomed ahead. This would not do.

I won’t lie: some fear and guilt lived inside of me over skipping school. But I valiantly ignored those trash-talking fools. So what if I got detention again or they told Mom? Actually, I’d prefer if Mom never found out; her stress levels over me were high enough. It was, however, one measly class in my entire school career as opposed to the end of the world.

“I was abducted by aliens,” said Hang, sitting cross-legged on her bed. The aforementioned plans included a sleepover at her place. Since her parents had a very well-stocked bar and they’d gone out for dinner with friends, we’d finished our coffees and started on some beer. “They stole me straight out of a school hallway. There was nothing I could do but allow them to carry out their sick and perverted tests on me.”

“God, you poor thing.” I sipped at my drink.

“Did I mention that all of the aliens looked like male models?”

“All those probes. You’re so brave.”

“I try.” She sniffed. “What about you? Why did you miss your last class?”

“Oh, I slipped and sprained my left breast,” I reported with a straight face. “Had to go home and rest it immediately.”

“Absolutely. That sounds excruciating.”

“Very.” I gave my boob a pat. “The doctor said I mightn’t be able to wear underwire for weeks. We’re talking possible sagging here. The pain is real.”

Hang cracked up. “These are problems us flat-chested girls will never have. You and your rack stay away from me. I’m sticking with my sports bras and comfort, thank you very much!”

Some reality television show played in silence on the small flat-screen hanging from her wall. Pictures she’d drawn or painted covered another wall, the subjects ranging from self-portraits to friends, houses on her street, and small everyday things from around the house.

“You really are crazy talented,” I said for not the first time.

“Shut up.”

“You are.”

“No.” She downed a mouthful of beer. “Dad is crazy talented. I’m average.”

I just shook my head.

“Me and my brother are lucky,” she said. “Between Mom being an accountant and Dad an art teacher, we’ve got both the left and the right side of the brain covered.”

“I’m not sure I’ve got any of the brain covered,” I joked. “Mom is smart. She had to drop out of college to have me, though. The sperm donor wanted nothing to do with us. His loss.”

“Bastard.”

I shrugged.

Sure, it sometimes stung, but that didn’t change the truth of it. I was loved. I would not allow the douche canoe who’d broken Mom’s heart and let us down so badly to mess with my head. No emotional reunion would be coming up, no understanding and ultimate forgiveness. For me, he didn’t exist. One parent who loves you can be more than enough. The end.

“So,” she said, lying on her side, holding the beer back up to her lips. “When do we start texting insults to John?”

“Um, never?”

Her mouth opened wide in surprise. “No, come on. He let that bitch touch him after she said all of that shit about you. Where is the loyalty?”

“I don’t own him. If he wants to have bad taste in women, that’s his problem.” It made me die a little on the inside, but no biggie.

“No way, you can’t let this go. Friendship! Comradery!”

Maybe I should have told her the tale of him coming to my rescue when my back tire had blown out. But even though I really liked Hang, trust still didn’t come easy. My privacy had been invaded enough in the last few weeks for me to now value it deeply.

She held out her hand, fingers beckoning. “Just give me your phone. I’ll send him one small, concise message, that’s all. Something along the lines of ‘I hope you had a nice day and that your penis falls off.’”

“No. We are not drunk-texting John.”

Two hours later . . .

“Is cock splash one word or two, do you think?” asked Hang, chewing on her bottom lip while she studied the screen of my cell.

“You’re calling him a cock splash?”

“Inventive, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” I stretched out on the bed at her side. The ceiling seemed to be doing some trippy spinning thing. “I wish I’d thought of that one.”