Back in the Saddle (Jessica Brodie Diaries #1)(4)

I clutched at a change of subject. “So you were out with Randolph? How did that go?”

I took a step toward the bathroom, conjuring up a face that could only be described as Nice, as if to say, “Look, I’m friendly, I’m interested, and I would rather talk about you than my intensely soul-crushing, sexual proclivities."

“Oh Randolph, he is so funny.” She got a faraway look in her eyes. “He took me to the cutest little bistro, I swear. He really has great taste in restaurants. And he’s sooo romantic!”

I threw a friendly grin at her and took another subtle step away. When she refocused on me, I amped up the fake enthusiasm. “Oh great! Is he your boyfriend yet?” I attempted an eye twinkle.

I could only muster a slightly neurotic, glazed hang-over eye. Damn.

Her brow furrowed slightly, her eyes analyzing my face.

"I think we are close," she said with a noticeable hitch in her words. She was two seconds away from asking if I was all right. I hated that question, because I never was, but didn't want to admit it to Miss Perfect.

"I really do." she went on. "And my mother approves of him wholly, which is a good sign. He is from good stock, my mom says.”

“Oh, well, that is good! Ha ha, yeah. Good stock. Excellent.” My face was starting to crack under the strain of Nice. I was close the bathroom now. I already knew I would be slamming the door in her face. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“So, how long have you known this friend of yours? The one you stayed with last night? Any potential?” She stepped after me, smiling all the way. Her mental pen was getting all the details, including my escape attempt.

“No. No way. Nah-uh, no. No. I’ve known him a while, but just a friend he’ll stay I think. He isn’t really my type. Too nice...I mean--” Shit. “You know, girly nice. Too...you know...”

Her eyebrows rose mid-smile, waiting for me to finish. This Nice thing was ridiculous. It just wasn’t in me.

With one last effort, I attempted the resurgence of my Nice smile. Result: a fracture in my face that looked like a grimace.

“So, I better head off to the shower. Great talking to you. Really." I slipped away to bubbly nods and requests to join her after for some coffee.

Later that night I met up with the girls for our weekly dinner. The idea was to meet at a new hotspot in L.A. every week, drink fancy drinks, dress in designer clothes and feel fabulous. Being that we were in college, poor and had few material things with a name anyone knew, we didn’t live up to that aspiration often. But in our heads we did, and that was truly all that mattered. At least to us.

After I entered the dimly lit, slightly dingy restaurant, I heard a perfectly tuned chorus of cackles. It looked like the girls were here. Sure enough, in the back, sitting around a big table, were the dearest four girlfriends a gal could have. All different, all extraordinary, they were my chosen family. Nothing happened that I didn’t share with them, and visa versa.

That’s why this dinner was about to truly suck. I would be breaking the news of my eventual departure of this city and my lifetime home. School would be ending soon, and my life needed a severe change of direction. I couldn’t keep going like I was. It was dangerous, not to mention disgusting. I had to grow up, and I had to do it soon.

“Hey, girl!” Flem shouted, waving her hand. Her real name was Clementine, and most often went by the nickname Clem. Which we then, in a moment of hilariousness that no one outside of our group shared, or even understood, changed it to Flem.

I ignored the outstretched menu of the server slash host and zig-zagged through the mostly empty tables.

“Hey, Jess,” Jane said, looking up.

“Jane, is that a text book in your bag?” I asked with a pronounced eye roll.

“I have a test in a few weeks. I keep going over some of the things I need to remember, then realize it isn’t in my head where it should be.”

“So you brought your entire text book? Isn’t that what your smart phone is good for?”

“I want to make sure I have exactly what will be tested.”

“Dumbest smart person I know," I droned as I sat down. And it was true. Jane the brain: Quiet, reserved, and sometimes naïve—at least for our group—she could write an essay without her morning coffee and still get an A. Point her to the classroom and she smiled, right along with her teachers. But ask her where she parked her car, or how to get from point A to B on the bus, and you got a blank look. School smarts.

On the opposite side of the table sat Lump, who would probably punch you in the head if you called her by her real name, Betsy. Street smarts. The two ladies were proof the two existed. Drop Lump in the middle of a citywide riot, and she’d get the whole group home safe without raising her blood pressure. Give her homework, and she’d probably not bother to turn up to school the next day. Our own little science experiment, the two girls.

I sat down to a menu that was half Chinese and half Japanese. A joint venture, huh? Yikes.

Flem greeted me with, “What’s up, girrrrl?”

“Hello ladies. How’s life?” I answered to the group.

I was met with smirks. Oh joy. Judging by the anticipation on everyone’s faces, I could tell I only remembered half of last night’s excursion.

“Where’s Claire?” I asked the table.