The Anatomical Shape of a Heart(42)

“You can keep your cheer away from Hunter,” Lala warned.

I truly did not know what to say to any of this.

The last of the three other girls at the party appeared from nowhere and plopped down in the middle of Sierra’s island of cushions. “I’m not finished, Nicole,” Sierra complained.

“Work around me. I’m too buzzed to stand.” Nicole threw her arms back and stretched like a cat, long auburn hair fanning around her head like a pinwheel. She had a natural, girl-next-door kind of vibe, and I would’ve pegged Nicole for one of Jack’s Zen friends, but he’d said she went to school with him. “Who are you guys talking about?”

Lala slurped her drink. “Sierra’s bragging about giving Jack a blow job in front of his new girlfriend.”

Wait—what? This was her idea of “cheer”? All my insides twisted into knots.

“Ugh, Sierra. Shut the hell up,” Nicole said, closing her eyes.

“I wasn’t bragging,” Sierra argued. “But while we’re on the subject, lemme just say, damn. That boy is packing, am I right?”

She was seriously saying this to me? “Um, we’re just friends,” I repeated.

“Really? I’m sorry. You mean, you guys haven’t—”

“Jesus, Sierra,” Nicole said. “No one wants to hear about your stupid erotic adventures with the entire population of San Francisco. Don’t listen to her—” Nicole looked up at me from the cushions, her face upside down. “What’s your name again?”

“Beatrix.”

“Don’t listen to her, Beatrix. Her grandmother was a Haight hippie, and she thinks this gives her some kind of free-love club card.”

“At least I’m not all hung up on sex,” Sierra argued. “We’re all just bodies. It’s not a big deal. And if you want my opinion, I think it’s weirder he’s going around telling everyone he’s tripping over someone he’s just friends with,” she said.

Um … what?

Nicole shooed her away. “Why don’t you go bounce on Andy and leave us the hell alone.”

“Whatever. This is why I don’t hang out with girls anymore. You’re all bitches.” Sierra threw down a cushion and stomped away.

Nicole groaned. “Oh my god, she drives me nuts.”

“Give her a break. She’s had a bad home life,” Lala said, gesturing with her cup. “Her mom kicked her out of the house for, like, three months. Can’t you see how screwed up she is? It’s sad.”

Nicole propped herself up on one elbow and watched Sierra merrily jumping on Andy’s back. “I’ll play a tiny violin for her as long as she keeps flashing her tits at every guy I’m interested in.”

“It takes two to tango,” Lala said before glancing at me. “Don’t worry about Sierra. Jack’s a good guy. He’s just a little screwed up, thanks to Jillian.”

My body tensed. Jillian must be the sister in Europe. Was digging up firsthand gossip from his friends any better than snooping around for secondhand info about Jack’s family online? I didn’t know, but I was too curious to let it pass, so I feigned innocence and said, “Who’s Jillian?”

Nicole and Lala glanced at each other. “Jillian is the Vincent family’s dirty little secret,” Lala said.

I didn’t have time to ask for clarification before Nicole elaborated.

“Wouldn’t we all be a little screwed up if we’d been through what he has? I sure as hell would. So, big deal, he’s never had a steady girlfriend.” She raised her chin at me. “I think you’re lucky, being his first. Just look at him. He’s gorgeous and funny, and he’s got that cool retro-rockabilly thing going on. And he’s just plain sweet.”

“And those eyes,” Lala said.

“So unfair,” Nicole agreed. “Who cares if he’s a man-whore. I mean was, not present tense. Sorry, Beatrix.”

Lala laughed. “He’s not a whore, Nicole. Where’d ya hear that?”

“Well, Sierra, for one.”

Lala shook her head. “Sierra never went all the way with him. That’s what I was saying about Jillian—she really screwed him up. Sierra said Andy told her Jack’s a—”

A what? A WHAT?

Part of me knew that listening to all this wasn’t as bad as reading gossip about Jack’s family online; it was way, way worse. So why wasn’t I getting up and walking away?

Lala’s ice sloshed against the rim of the plastic cup. Nicole sank lower into the cushions. I glanced up to see what they were staring at and spotted Jack at the edge of the fireplace nook. He’d heard. I could tell by the anguished look on his face. And at that moment, I wanted to die.

18

The girls scattered like dandelion seeds, disappearing into the crowd that was now gathering around Hunter, who had apparently lived up to his name and successfully hunted down ginger ale.

“They’re just drunk,” I assured Jack when everyone was out of earshot. I wanted to tell him that none of it mattered to me, all the things they were saying that I only half understood. I felt guilty for listening to all of it. Doubly guilty that he’d overhead—exactly how much, I didn’t know.

“Do you want to go home?” he asked in a low voice.