She Drives Me Crazy(40)

And I realize, with a tightness in my chest, that she has.

“You snored like a monster last night,” I sputter. “Like a dragon. Or a T. rex. Or maybe a mastodon.”

She shrugs. “I was tired.”

“Yeah, well … it was annoying.”

“Sorry,” she says like she couldn’t care less.

“And you kept stealing the covers. Like, every half an hour. I even shoved you at one point, but you were oblivious.”

Irene side-eyes me. “Okay, are you done now?”

There’s no venom in her tone; she merely sounds tired. The way I only let myself get with my sisters or Danielle. The way I never let myself get with Tally.

“Well, it’s … it was annoying,” I repeat feebly.

Irene draws a deep breath. “Can we press pause on the I-hate-your-guts game? The banter is juicy and all, but it’d be nice to let my guard down. Especially after last night.”

My chest constricts again. “Fine.”

“So what else did you and Honey-Belle talk about? Did she show you her vintage Furby collection?”

I hate the way we’re talking like casual friends. I hate knowing what she looks like when she first wakes up. I hate that she’s still wearing her glasses in front of me.

I want to tell her that Honey-Belle said she talks about me all the time. I want to ask her what it means. What any of this means.

But I can’t go there. I can’t. Tally made out with another girl in front of me last night, and then Irene and I shared a bed, and I don’t know how to process any of it.

“We made plans for the double date,” I say with a shrug. “It sounds ridiculous, but whatever.”

“It won’t be that bad. Hopefully we’ll get a good movie out of it.” She drops her head back and watches the scenery fly by like she doesn’t have a care in the world. “But you’re driving.”



* * *



I’d thought Irene’s reputation might take a hit after Charlotte’s antics, but if anything, people at school seem even more obsessed with her. Some of them—mostly the cheerleaders and their followers—insist that Irene is a victim in this situation. “It’s nobody’s truth but her own!” I hear one girl ranting to her friend. “How dare anyone judge her journey?!” Other people, led by the soccer girls, are convinced that Irene is manipulating the whole school for the purpose of securing a SAOY nomination. “Like, does she think we’re some kind of convenient identity she can just shrug on and off again?” the queer soccer goalie says to anyone who will listen. “There’s no way in hell people will buy into this bullshit.”

The only people who know the truth—which is somewhere in the middle of these opposing sides—are Irene, Danielle, and myself. Irene doesn’t seem particularly bothered by the constant gossip, and Danielle is too antsy about the upcoming Christmas Classic to pay any attention. As for me, I’m preoccupied with checking my phone every other second. I’d thought Tally might text me after the party, but she’s been silent.

On the first weekend of December, Irene and I go forward with our double date with Gunther and Honey-Belle. It doesn’t seem like a bad idea now that we need to cement ourselves as a “real” couple, especially because I know Honey-Belle will talk about it at school the following week. That should get the haters off our backs.

So that’s how I find myself swinging into Irene’s driveway on a Friday night, dressed in my best date clothes with my hair straightened to perfection. I’m right on time to pick her up. By which I mean, I’m only four minutes late. She doesn’t even bother complaining about it.

We drive to the Chuck Munny in near silence until Irene takes the liberty of plugging her own phone into the aux cable.

“Um?” I say.

“Um?” she mocks, batting her eyelashes.

“Play something good, at least.”

“Sorry, but I don’t have your eighties-dad playlist on Spotify.”

“Oh, aren’t you just hilarious.”

When we get to the theater, Honey-Belle and Gunther are already there, chatting inside the concessions area. Irene takes my arm as we swoop up to them.

“Such a great night for a date, right?” she says. “I had to force Scottie off the couch. She was enjoying our snuggling a little too much.” She pinches my cheek and I try not to swat her off. “You know how she is. Such a cornball.”

Gunther smiles uncertainly. “Yeah, I guess.” He puts an arm on the small of Honey-Belle’s back. “Can I treat you to an Icee?”

After they turn around, Irene drops my arm like a heavy weight.

“That hurt,” I whisper, rubbing my cheek.

“Bitch-baby,” she mumbles, scanning the menu board. “Are we getting anything? I could go for a soda.”

“We can split one,” I say without thinking.

There’s a twinkle in her eyes. “Fine,” she says, shoving me along. “But two straws, horndog. I don’t want your germs.”

Once the four of us have our snacks, we make our way to the only theater in the building. Tonight they’re showing Say Anything…, the eighties classic with John Cusack and Ione Skye. It’s my absolute favorite, but I don’t dare tell any of them that.