Page 9 of The Love of My Next Life
“Please, Len? It’s not like you have to worry about curfew with your dad gone, and my mom won’t be back until like four.” She folds her hands under her chin and bats her “blackest black” coated lashes. “Pleeeeeeease?”
I don’t even have to say anything. She knows the moment I cave, and she bounces up and down with a laugh.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Lenny C. You’re the absolute best bestie I have.”
I roll my eyes. “I better be your only bestie.”
“Okay, I’ll take you home to change and get ready, and will pick you up around ten. Good?”
I screw up my lips. “I needsixhoursto change?”
She turns her back to me and walks into her closet. “Maybe you can wear that denim skirt I got you for your birthday? And a black cami.”
That denim skirt is distressed to hell. Frayed at the hem and ripped under the back pocket. If I move a certain way, you can see my underwear. And my camisoles are meant to be worn under blouses. She knows this.
Before I can protest, she pops her head out of the closet with a pointed stare.
“You have no reason to say no, Len. Your dad isn’t here to care what you wear. You can dress like you’re actually a seventeen-year-old high school student instead of a twenty-eight-year-old businesswoman.”
Then she disappears back into her closet.
Ilikehow I dress. Sure, Dad approves, and I like that Dad approves, but I like my style. I like looking like a “twenty-eight-year-old businesswoman.” It gives me confidence, and it doesn’t hurt that I don’t bring attention to the parts of my body I’m insecure about, which is all of it. Modest businesswoman is my aesthetic, and I like it that way.
I don’t bother arguing, though. Claire is like a dog with a bone when she wants something, and tonight, she wants to dress me up like a seventeen-year-old Barbie doll.
“Fine,” I relent. “I’m gonna go.”
“Want me to drive you,” she calls from the closet, but makes no move to come out.
“No, it’s fine. It’s just two blocks.”
“Kay! See you at ten!”
I let myself out the front door and make my way to the sidewalk. I’m halfway home when a loud muffler and louder music come toward me. When I glance up, I recognize Sam’s red coupe. It passes me, heading toward the Davis’s house. I start to release a sigh of relief, but then the car pulls a U-turn and rolls up next to me. My relief was premature.
A quick glance to the side shows me that Macon is driving, Sam is hanging out the passenger window, and there are two other people in the back seat. Probably Macon’s other stoner friends, Julian Rogers and Chris Casper. I keep walking, but the car slows to a crawl to keep up with my pace.
“Hi, Leonard,” Sam calls, her voice sickeningly sweet and followed by a chorus of sniggers. “How was your first day?”
I force a tight smile.
“It was good, Sam,” I say, because the decorum that’s been drilled into me since birth demands that I respond politely. “How was yours?”
I glance back at the car briefly. Her grin is actually a sneer. A viper posing as a friend. She knows she’s not fooling me, so I don’t know why she gets such a kick out of the act. I flick my eyes past her toward Macon. His attention is on the road. His defined jaw is tight, but he’s relaxing back in the seat. One hand on the steering wheel and the other hanging out the window, completely carefree and uninterested in my exchange with his fuck buddy.
I stare a little harder. Narrow my eyes slightly. I will him to look at me, hoping maybe he’ll have some decency and drive away, but his head stays locked forward.
“My day was great,” Sam says, drawing my attention back to her. “The end of the day was even better.” She winks at me, and I realize she’s probably referring to the janitor’s closet. I don’t respond. “It’s hot out, Leonard. You want a ride? You gotta be gross and sweating.”
“No, thank you,” I say tightly. “I’m good.”
She leans forward and holds something out of the car door.
A styrofoam cup. A slushie from the gas station. Red, from the looks of it. My shoulders lock up, and I pick up my pace. Sam laughs.
“You want some of this to cool down? It’s real good.”
“No, thank you.”
