One Small Thing(34)

*

I wake up at 8:00 a.m. in an unfamiliar bed. It takes several seconds and a lot of blinking to remember where I am—Jeff’s sister’s room. He dragged me up here last night when we got to his house. And I think he mentioned his parents were out of town, which is a huge relief. How awkward would it have been making small talk with my dead sister’s boyfriend’s parents over breakfast?

But there’s no breakfast in the cards. I’ve just finished washing up in the private bath when Jeff knocks on the door, announcing it’s time to leave.

I stare down at my wrinkled, day-old clothes. “But I’m wearing the same clothes I had on yesterday,” I tell the closed door.

“Raid my sister’s closet” is his response. “There should be something that fits you.”

In the walk-in closet, I rifle through a couple skirts and several tops in varying shades of floral and pastels. Jeff’s sister must’ve really loved pink in her high school days.

Five minutes later, I’m dressed in a pink skirt, a white polo and a deep pink, sleeveless V-neck sweater vest. I tie my hair in a ponytail as I duck out of the bedroom. Jeff’s waiting in the hallway, and he appraises my outfit with a grin.

“No offense to your sister, but I look like a golf course model,” I grumble.

He furrows his brow. “You look pretty. I like that look better than what you usually wear.”

“What I usually wear is T-shirts and jeans.”

“Exactly. You’ve got a nice body, Beth. You shouldn’t be afraid to dress it nicely. Not that I think you should dress like a slut like Macy does, but it’d be nice for you to wear something more girlie.”

His criticism is irritating, but he did cover for me with my parents last night, so I try to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “Girlie isn’t my style and Macy doesn’t dress like a slut.”

“I can see her bra every day,” Jeff retorts.

“So what? If you don’t like her bra, don’t look at it.” Fuck, Jeff is annoying. Was he like this with Rachel?

“Fine, but she is a slut. Everyone knows Macy will have sex with anyone who shows the least bit of interest. Calling Macy easy is an insult to easy girls everywhere.”

I tighten my jaw. “That’s rude, Jeff. And not even true. Not to mention it’s a complete bullshit double standard. I don’t hear you trashing Troy, and everyone talks about how he tries to bag a cheerleader from every school Darling plays against. Macy’s sex life is none of your business.” Why is he even harping on Macy?

“I don’t like that you hang out with her. She’s a bad influence.” Jeff keeps talking as if I don’t exist.

“I’m done talking about Macy.” And her nonslutty ways. I don’t care that she’s slept with a lot of guys. I wish I had her confidence. She’s completely unbothered by her sexual activity. Maybe what I need to do is sleep with more guys. Like, maybe the reason I’m obsessing over Chase is because he’s the only one I’ve been with.

“Just saying.”

I refuse to speak to him for the rest of the car ride. After he parks in the school lot, I hop out of his Audi as fast as I can. “Thanks for the ride,” I mutter and then dart toward the entrance.

He catches me before I get more than a car length away.

“I know you’re not like Macy, Beth. From what I hear, you haven’t dated at all.” He pulls me toward him. His face is uncomfortably close to mine. “I like that,” he says seriously. “I like that a lot.”

I don’t know exactly what he means by that, but it makes me super uncomfortable. Like when Gary Keller’s dad chaperoned our eighth grade dance and went around telling girls that their dresses were too sexy. He was leering and judging us at the same time.

“I have to get to class,” I say, prying his hand off my wrist. I rub it and wonder if I’m going to have a bruise from all the grabbing he’s done there.

“We’re cool about what happened last night, yeah?”

I’m still pissed off that he deserted me, but I’m not in the mood to fight, so I say, “Yeah.”

“Okay, good. I’ll see you at lunch, then.”

“Sure.” But as I run into school, I start planning different lunch options.

At AP Calc, I hurry to my desk.

“What on earth are you wearing?” Scarlett demands as I take the seat next to her.

“Don’t ask,” I mumble.

“How was the party?” Her voice is tight. I’m sure her expression is, too, but I don’t have the energy to look over at her.

“Don’t ask about that, either,” I say, and then I slump in my chair, duck my head and shut out the world.

It’s too humiliating to look at Chase today. I need to take a page out of his coping book and pretend no one else exists. And for the next fifty minutes, I’m able to do that. I take copious notes. I keep my eyes pinned to the whiteboard when Mrs. Russell is talking. Otherwise, I’m staring at my notebook, applying myself to all the equations. I even do the extra-credit ones at the back because I finish early.

When the bell rings, I run out of class and to my next one. I repeat this all morning, ignoring everyone around me. A few times Scarlett, Yvonne or Macy try to engage me in conversation, but I mumble something about being sick and they eventually leave me alone.