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Rainie and Jackie, two of a kind.
Eighteen and loving it, we hit the club on Friday night. I’ve been eighteen for nearly a week, and this entire time I’ve felt a surging pleasure with Alex’s black eye. He doesn’t seem to notice how it makes me feel; nobody else does. They think he’d been in a bar fight, fighting a ‘pissed off Irishman.’ Our little Tiger came out on top, though. Poor Bethany freaked out, and when she saw him a second time haphazardly hastened to coddle him; she stumbled upon his back where, lo and behold, Alexander’s tattoo is.
Jet black and inked smooth across the top right of his back, Alex’s mother did not find the image to be enlightening. Rather, she screamed like she’d been attacked. I didn’t get a good look at Tiger’s tiger (ha) that night in the hotel, so during Bethany’s initial freak out Melanie and I got a good look. Surrounded by symbols in some language that Mel and I are far from understanding, Alex’s tiger has what, if I can take this stride of imagination, appears to be a lizard? No, a dragon… wrapped around it, but not threateningly. Overall, I’d say it’s a job well done and exponentially nicer than Alex’s unmentionable tattoo under his armpit that he got when he was fourteen; simple and straightforward, it reads ‘fuck you!’ in a crass, messy font that looks too much like Alex’s own handwriting.
We’re not sure if Bethany knows about that one yet, but it was definitely a lesson for Alex, who learned early on that bragging about his parents while under the influence is unwise.
That said, I’ll get back to clubbing because it doesn’t involve my shirtless neighbor.
Another party for our homosexual acquaintances, the lightshows and psychedelic pop blaring over the speakers has all the participants high off ecstasy reaching for the sky, grappling and staring at lights and lasers. Beside me, Jackie’s pretty high too; we typically stay away from pills that smile back at us, but tonight Jackie downed her dosage, coughed up the change and has been stammering around with a hippyish grace that is very unlike her normal swagger.
Lately Jackie’s heavy attitude makes me feel almost sick.
She’s so depressing!
And now, high as a freaking kite, Jackie’s acting like she’s just hit her heaven. That’s uncommon. When Jackie gets high, she gets flirty not… dreamy.
Before I can ponder her new personality, a photographer for the club makes his way over and, grinning, holds his camera up. No way – I wave him off crossly. Club promoters – and anyone with a brain – knows that Jackie and I don’t belong here. Some girls who, like us, hit clubs while in high schools just love being in photos. They can surreptitiously show their friends the pictures and reinforce how cultured and mature they are – they think they are.
People like me, my family, the D’Agostinos and even, in some strange way, Tyler’s drug addict girlfriend, don’t do things like that. When Jackie first found out that I had as many hookups that I do, she soon learned to not show off.
But showing off and my horrible digressive problem aside, Jackie’s strange behavior is really, really, really scaring me.
You’re nuts.
Do it or you suck ass
We can hang out afterwards
Please God, forgive me for all my sins but I’m not serious and you know this isn’t the kind of thing I usually do, I’m just trying to get by because if I don’t then you know how I get to feeling like crap!
BLAM!
“Uh – eh – uh – th-th-this is a holdup!”
The only person in here, a chubby man with a six-pack in his hands, falls to the ground and covers his head while the girl behind the counter jumps. Before I can stop myself, I point the gun at her and shout, “PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND GET AWAY FROM THE COUNTER!”
Somewhere between Heaven and Hell, there is a place set up for idiots like me.
“Anything you want!” she babbles, beginning to cry incessantly.
“I – uh – I – where’s the video camera?”
She points to the camera, nestled in a corner. I wave to it and wave my gun. I turn back to the girl, breathless after practically minimal physical activity.
“C-Call the police,” I stammer, “in one minute. And the news! It’ll happen again! Tell them that the Megacocks are out for blood! Everybody will need to know that!”
That said, I run to the door, wave goodbye and jam the gun into my pocket. Oh my God, I’m nuts. In about eight rehearsed seconds, I take off my brother’s parka and hang it over my arm, quickly jamming the hat, blonde wig and shades into the depths of it. Now looking more or less like my casual self, I walk away.
I did it!
Let’s chill.
and I dare you to fight off an addiction
but in a big way
be metaphorical for me
how do you always manage to make eleven o’clock news?
Snobbare six o’clock reservation seat 14 or 15 choose when you get there
Looking more like some vampire hunter in a black, buttoned up coat, tights and some of Melanie’s nicer black stilettos that are too small for her (tall girl – big feet). I sleeked my hair back into a bun and wore my shades, trying very much to look hard as nails and avoid any bearings of weakness; after my breakdown last week, I’m not eager to seem at all incapable.
Snobbare is a ‘parents’ restaurant, if I can put it simply. The presence of under-eighteens is minimal, if any, and silence here is practically law. Malcolm unthinkingly brought me for a romantic dinner and we were politely asked to leave because we were making out instead of eating our desert. I can probably admit, from firsthand experience, that Snobarre will guarantee you sex.
So, as planned, I take my seat at the empty booth (I choose fourteen) and, just for mystique’s purpose, keep the shades on.
I’m brought a champagne flute, but I only thank the waiter. I am not to be liquored up!
Before long, a young man, tall but more thin than anything, struts over and sits down at the seat behind me, number fifteen. So he wants to play this way, huh?
“McFondles?” he says in a low, professional voice.
“All-Nighter?”
Oh my god.
“I was sent by the real thing,” he says coolly. WHAT? “He wants our identities to remain hidden.”
“So was I,” I say stiffly. Maybe he’s lying, too! “She sent me to check you out, but it looks like I won’t be getting much, hmm?”
“No,” he says competently. “You won’t.”
“Well, then….” The drone is quiet, probably waiting for me to speak; he wants to know why I called him here. Connecting emotionally to one of Megacock’s minions doesn’t make any sense, though, so I have to phony my way out of this pickle. “My employer wanted me to specify her last dare,” I say carefully, pulling these words from deep within my ass. “She understood the fun of an open interpretation, but last time she left interpretation up to MC, he used a copout.”
“Mm-hmm….”
“McFondles would like to see MC take on his own strongest addiction in a way that will land him his own spot on television.”
The drone for Megacock shifts (discomfort?) before nodding.
Is that all?
I think so.
Our meeting is over.
Emotional connection my ass! This guy is playing with me, and if I remind myself that he is winning by a mile then I want to gag.
I sit in Jeffery’s empty room, doing my homework. I chose his room today because his window faces the street and I’m hoping Jackie will drop by; she left school early to see a psychiatrist (this wasn’t a class-wide announcement, obviously; she only told me) and said she’d ask her mom to drop her off afterwards. I hope she does.
Jackie needing a psychiatrist is strange, though. I hope I’m not the point of her discussions; the ‘friend’ who was raped and now plagues Jackie’s dreams like some nightmarish ghoul. God – don’t allow that.
The TV is on in my room, and because Melanie isn’t home now I have it turned up loudly so that I can hear any mention of Megacock’s tricks, should he pull it off today. Hopefully my long response to his last dare won’t have him make me wait just out of spite. I haven’t given my vendetta for revenge much thought because I’m sick of being sad and Alex hasn’t told me any new names. I’m not sure if he plans to deal with it on his own, or if he wants to drop it, too.
“Hey, sweet pea.”
I find my mom and Bethany lying in the back, next to the small lit fire pit that Dad installed when we were kids, quiet, probably meditating between their long talkative spiels. I sit down at the foot of my mother’s chaise and sigh, looking up at the night sky.
“Hi, Mom,” I mutter.
“Jacqueline coming over?”
“Not sure.” She was supposed to be here three hours ago. I’m not as insulted as I am hurt.
“Where’s Mel?”
“Out with Rudy.”
I lie down beside my mom and shut my eyes.
I’ve never felt this alone in my entire life.
“Gimme a kiss.”
Malcolm and I would sit together under the stars, too. His dad drove a pickup truck and would sometimes let Malcolm drive it. We’d chill in the back together at night because I wasn’t into his artsy little shows and he wasn’t into my friends. I’d kiss Malcolm and feel like the moon was about to slap me in the face for having the gall to be so happy.
Those nights I knew I’d be with him, I’d bake just to make him laugh and appreciate me even more; no other girlfriends were such fiends in the kitchen. I was his little chef; I even fed his friends.
There’s a breeze, so my mom pulls the fleece throw she’d been covering up with over my legs.
“Alright. That’s not even hard!”
Cold breezes remind me of a memory that I’ve had repressed since I was old enough to be embarrassed by my own behavior. My very first dare – I’d told Alex to eat a bug we found outside (turns out it was a leech – yuck!) and he, totally ignorant of proper sexual etiquette, asked if he could see me naked. I can’t say I knew much about proper behavior either – Mom and Dad always taught us that we are what we are, our bodies are totally natural and no matter how we look without clothes on we’re still all carbon-based units on a giant, liquid globe.
I stripped right there in Alex’s cold backyard. The way he looked at me – mingled curiosity and a ‘What’s-the-big-whoop’ish expression on his face – was completely and utterly scientific. At three years old, sexually, I was unimpressive, and unless someone found baby tits and silky skin attractive, then I was just a naked baby. Alex probably expected an explanation for his parents’ profession from someone other than themselves, and maybe thought that I would be his own personal investigation. I’m not sure. It’s not the source of our fighting – he’d been hitting me before that day, and has been hitting me since.
“You wanna kiss?”
My first tongue-kiss took place approximately thirteen years ago in an old neighbor’s garage. Her name was Kelsey and she’d been humping things since she was four, picking up cues from her mother’s favorite soap operas. Regardless of all parenting books saying that it’s completely normal, my memories of French-kissing Kelsey Oliver in her garage and humping her teddy bears whenever we turned the lights off for thirty seconds was anything but; I never told a soul, and prayed to God that she’s forgotten by now.
Alex had his Tiffany, and I had my Kelsey.
The thought that two kids raised in families so open to sex could be completely shaken by outside forces really scares me.
“… and it bothers me so much…”
Bethany is complaining about the tattoo now.
I think the main reason she’s so bothered by her son’s recent acquirement is because porn stars keep the moneymaker clean; her body is damageable goods. Maybe, deep down inside, she’s worried Alex won’t get work (which, to her, involves hardcore sex scenes). I guess Beth will need to remember that about two years ago her baby Tiger was perfectly capable of starting out on top and he chose to maintain a considerably lower profile.
Alexander is not interested in being a pornographic actor.
The D’Agostinos aren’t my only neighbors.
“Hey! Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!”
A few houses to the right live the Terres, and while the parents don’t really talk to us that much, the children are bad enough to make me feel like kicking a homeless person.
“Yo! Yo, R-Rainie!”
The boy’s name is Neil, and whenever he sees someone riding a bicycle or driving by he tries to race them on his skateboard. He always gets in the way and is a constant worry for me because crashing Alex’s bike isn’t really something I want to happen; he’ll murder me. When Alex used to drive his old car, Neil nearly wound up under the tires because of his idiotic behavior. The boy is about thirteen or turning that old this year.
“Check me out!” Neil says, sounding painfully bigheaded.
“Oh,” I say, anxiously swerving so I don’t hit him.
“I’m good, huh?”
“I guess….”
“Where’re you goin’, huh?”
“Post office.”
“That’s far!”
“I know.”
I wish Melanie was here; she’d distract him with her unnatural attractiveness so I could escape.
“Oh – oh – whoa, I’m good, huh? Yeah, huh?”
“Um… yep.”
“Aha, I know, right!? I’m good, I’m goo –!”
I snatch him back by the fabric of his t-shirt and throw him onto the sidewalk behind the second I see the car inches in front of us. Brace yourself, Rainie – being a martyr isn’t easy!
“EEK!”
Neil shrieks, clutching his skinned knee and staring while his neighbor rolls onto the hood of the old Toyota. Might I add, OUCH!
“Oooow!”
The driver hits the brakes instantly, making me roll onto the ground. My body feels heavy, like I can barely move. Am I paralyzed? Oh, God!
“God dammit!”
A morbidly obese man jumps from his car and slams the door. He marches over and, upon seeing me, barks furiously for the heavens. Is he angry?
“AAAAAAAAAH! AHH! AAAAH!”
Neil keeps screaming, so I shut my eyes and close my fists before forcing myself up. Oh; I can move. I open and close my hands while Neil yells and the fat man kicks his tires. I move my feet and knees, making sure everything is in functioning order. My body feels like I’ve just gotten one helluva beating, but other than the slight dizziness I have from having rolled onto the ground, I feel more or less… alright.
I was just hit by a car, and on the whole I feel fine.
I check myself to make sure I’m not bleeding.
Lord have mercy! I survived!
“ – so fucking bad, goddamn, and – aayeee!” The fat man jumps, clutching his heart nervously upon seeing my live body. “Are you alright?” he asks me breathlessly.
“Just about,” I mumble.
“No! No! I’m dreaming – don’t sue me!”
Rather than respond to this pleading, I hold my hand out. The man helps me to my feet and stares as I shakily get to my feet. Aside from the throbbing pain, I think I’m good. I think Alex has beaten me worse.
“Why’re you ridin’ your bike into the street, girl!?”
“I dunno!” I snap, snatching my arm away once I’m steady on my feet. “Why’re you hitting people with your car?”
“I’m not!”
“Oh, yeah?”
“No, I’m – urgh – listen up, chick,” the fat man reaches for my arm threateningly before pulling it back and thinking about what he’d been about to do. “It’s not a good idea for you to talk to me like that. I’m in a bad motherfuckin’ mood!”
“Oh shut the fuck up, I was just hit by a car!”
The fat man chews his bottom lip, furious, while I turn around promptly (ow, my arm, ow my entire side) and grab Neil’s fretful hand.
“Are you alright?” Neil asks, hoarse from his screaming.
“I’m fine!”
“B-B-But –”
“I’M FINE!”
Neil, clumsily dragging my bike and his skateboard, is dragged behind me while I limp back down the street. As we get nearer to his house I glance over my shoulder to see that the fat man has departed. I’m not sure which of us fled the scene, but it’s done and any court action is pretty much out of the question. When I reach Neil’s house his brother runs outside looking extremely excited.
“Neil, Neil, Neil!”
Damn, did he figure out what happened already?
“Yeah, yeah, yeah?” Neil asks.
“Someone shot Alex at the flicker store!”
“For real?!”
Flicker store?
