More Than Good Enough(35)

Somebody hugged me from behind. I wrestled myself free and there was Michelle, almost unrecognizable in a plaid dress and furry boots. I imagined her rolling logs or whatever lumberjacks were supposed to do.

“Hello Trenton,” she said. “Long time no talk.”

No talk? We’d never really talked at all.

My beer was tasting a little less odd, the more I drank. “Hmm,” I said, draining what was left of it.

Michelle clicked her tongue, like she always did in the middle of a conversation. Not that I’d call it a conversation. When she finally looked at me, she beamed another classic stare in my direction. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything. I just made unintelligible noises.”

“That’s pretty much what I thought. I was just talking to Alvaro,” she said, smiling up at him. “And we’re having a little debate. Here’s the question: If you could have a superpower, what would you pick?”

Question: Why did I ever go out with you?

“I’d pick invisibility,” I said, scooting around her.

“Hold on a second.” She grabbed my wrist. I couldn’t believe she was crossing that line. Actually, I could believe it. “You have to be nice.”

“I don’t have to be anything.”

Alvaro slid off the counter. “I’ve got a superpower. Can I show you?”

“Shut up, Alvaro. You’re confused.” Michelle laughed over the music. “Something’s wrong with you, like, mentally.”

He shoved an ice cube between his teeth. “Yeah? You didn’t say that last night.”

“That’s because you were dreaming.” Michelle pulled me toward the sliding glass door, uber-cool as always. The patio was empty except for a guy smoking weed at a table near the pool.

“You’re still here?” she said to the guy as we passed him. She settled into a wicker chair that reminded me of a throne, slung her bare legs over the arm, then motioned for me to do the same. The cushions were flecked with dog hair, which I ignored, although I was a little grossed out.

Michelle rolled her eyes at the weedhead. “I know you’re enjoying your little smokefest, but would you mind giving us some privacy?”

“Nah, I was about to snack it up with some fries.” The guy licked his palm. “Not just any fries. They’ve got sea salt. All natural. Just like my girlfriend.”

“God, you’re so ignorant.” Michelle turned to me. “That’s my little cousin Juan. He’s a pervert. Sorry, but it’s true.”

“Hell yes. I heard that,” Juan said.

“Wow. That’s funny. Can you hear this? How about you vamos? Now.”

Juan pushed himself away from the table but still didn’t leave.

“Must … fight … chair gravity.”

“Do I have to come over there and kick your ass?”

Juan almost tripped, he moved so fast. He was a lot younger than us. I didn’t notice that before.

Michelle scrounged inside her purse, took out a lighter and a pack of menthols. “You still don’t smoke, do you, Trenton?”

If she already knew, why ask?

Without thinking, I reached for a cigarette.

“Oh nice. A social smoker,” Michelle said, flicking her lighter. “Your kind gets no love from me. When it comes to bodily corruption, might as well go all the way.” She blew out smoke. “God, why are you not talking? I hope you’re not cutting me off. I mean, we can stay close, right?”

She waited for my answer.

This girl cheated on me. It’s totally possible that she cheated the whole time we were together. Now my friend is trying to hook up with her. And she wants to “stay close”? What’s that supposed to mean?

I pinched the cigarette between my fingers. Even pretending to smoke was too much effort.

Michelle shifted forward in her chair. “So tell me about your new girlfriend. Why isn’t she here? I’d really like to meet her.”

I slid my eyes to the pool, all lit up with electric stars scattered across the deep end. Alvaro’s parents were probably millionaires. The palm trees looped with tiny white lights, the carnivorous-looking orchids that dangled around the table … none of it seemed real.

“I’ve known Pippa forever,” I told her.

“That’s so cute. You guys went to school together?”

“We went to childhood together.”

“So you guys are like childhood sweethearts?”

Something changed in her tone, which had dropped a hundred degrees south of friendly. All jokes and smiles gone. I was stupid to think she actually wanted to be friends.

I started doodling on my sneaker, decorating the filthy heel with shooting stars. “Next-door neighbors,” I explained. That was the truth. Or it used to be.

“And you slept at each other’s houses and everything? That’s majorly adorable,” she said, touching my arm.

“Every Friday after school. Until her mom shut it down. She didn’t want me over anymore. We were ‘getting too big for slumber parties.’ That’s what she told my mom.”

I gawked at my jiggling sneaker, all the sloppy constellations that bled into the laces.

Michelle was obviously getting a thrill out of this information. “And then you guys stopped talking? That’s so wrong.”