Lessons from a Dead Girl(27)

But then there’s a moan from the floor.

“Ick!” It’s Jess. “The fairies have been making sweaters on my teeth.”

My heart sinks.

“How’d you get down there?” he asks.

He moves closer to me and kisses the back of my head before pulling his hand away.

Quick! Roll over and kiss him back! I scream at myself. But I can’t. Not with Jess here.

When she moves in next to us, I realize Web was just making room for her when he got closer to me. He rolls over and I hear him kiss her, too.

These were “just friends” kisses. “Just friends” back rubs. Just friends. Just nothing.

Thank God I didn’t try to kiss him and make a total fool out of myself.

If he really liked you …

Web stands up and stretches. “Breakfast or dinner?” he asks.

Jess and I get up slowly, groaning and pretending our heads hurt even more than they do. In the kitchen, the three of us sit at the table, drinking coffee and eating Pop-Tarts. Jess gives me a long list of excuses I can tell my parents for not calling and telling them I would be late. Web chooses which ones he thinks have the best chance of working. We talk as if we’ve always been friends. At first I hope Web will give me a special look that says maybe we could be more than friends, but I don’t get one. After a while, I forget to watch for it. I just feel happy that somehow I made it to this place, this table, with these people.

As they talk and laugh with me, I watch them as if they are strangers and my only friends in the world all at the same time.





The Saturday before school starts, Web calls me.

“We have a date tonight,” he says.

My heart flutters. All week I’ve been reliving that moment on his bed, his body spooning mine, even if it was a “just friends” spoon.

“What about Jess?” I ask.

“She’s at her grandparents’, remember? We don’t have to do everything together, do we?”

“Well, no, but I thought —”

“I’ll pick you up at around eight, and we’ll have some fun before we go in.”

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“It’s a surprise. But bring your dancing shoes.”

“But — I don’t do the dance thing.”

“You do now.”

My stomach is a mess the whole day. Fun before we go in. Dancing. Oh, God. I play a few CDs and practice in front of the mirror, but I look like a total dork. It’s hopeless. Maybe I can pretend I don’t feel well when we get there so I can just sit and watch him.

Web picks me up in the Mini his parents gave him for his sixteenth birthday. It smells like him. We drive forty-five minutes to a club near Web’s new school.

We park in a dark corner of the parking lot. Web cuts the motor, then reaches for a paper bag in the backseat.

“Every time a car pulls in, we have to drink,” he says, slipping a new bottle of Kahlúa out of the bag. “SUVs are two drinks.”

Each time we pass the bottle, our fingers touch and a spark shivers through me. I hope he feels the same thing. But if he does, he doesn’t show it.

We keep drinking. It gets harder and harder to force it down. Finally, Web hands me a piece of spearmint gum.

“Begin now,” he says. He watches the clock on his cell phone and makes us chew for exactly seven minutes.

“OK, we’re good to go,” he says when our time is up.

“Why seven minutes?”

“Lucky number. That’s how long it takes to get rid of alcohol breath.”

“Really?”

“Trust me.”

He winks and I melt.

Despite Web’s theory, I try not to breathe when we sway/walk to the door. It’s a good thing it’s dark.

Web pays the bouncer for both of us as if this is a real date.

Inside, the place is packed. It smells like Gap cologne, sweat, and hair spray. I recognize a few people from school, but most of them I don’t know. Web nods to a group of guys I’ve never seen. They’re probably from his new school.

The music is blasting. I’m so buzzed, I barely feel my feet touch the floor as we make our way to the bar. There’s a huge line for drinks, which is dumb since all they serve is Coke and fake mixed drinks. As we stand there, it seems like the wall behind the bartender is moving.

Web says he’s going to run to the bathroom. He hands me a ten and says to stay in line. I wait for a few minutes before I realize I have to go, too. Like, right now.

When I step out of the stall, I find a free sink and splash my face with cold water. Please don’t let me get sick. Not here.

When I check myself in the mirror, I cringe. I look like hell. My cheeks are blotchy, and there’s a brown Kahlúa stain on the front of my shirt. Very attractive. I’m surprised the bouncer even let us in, it’s so obvious I’m drunk.

I splash more cold water on my face, then look up in the mirror again.

“Hi, Lainey.”

My heart drops to my stomach.

She’s standing right behind me.

“Leah. Hi!” I try to sound friendly, but I think I sound more terrified. I don’t know if I’m supposed to turn around and hug her, like normal long-lost friends would. But even if I wanted to, she’s up so close behind me I can’t really move. My hands are trembling.