Perfect Fifths_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [61]
“Or a bad tattoo.”
“Vonnegut! Kurt Vonnegut!”
“Now you can move on with your life. Again.”
“Yes, I can. Okay. So what I don’t get is… you were under eighteen when you got in the most trouble, right? You were a minor. Aren’t those youthful indiscretions considered privileged information? How could the Addisons access any of those records?”
“They had ties to the Bush White House. My kindergarten report card was clearly a matter of national security.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Barely. That’s the irony of the situation; they couldn’t even get their hands on the worst of it. They couldn’t get police reports or rehab charts or any psychiatric evaluations from that time period. Just my Pineville High transcripts.”
“They probably bribed Brandi in the guidance department to get those. Do you remember Brandi?”
“I can’t say that I do. Which one was Brandi?”
“She looked like she was auditioning for the role of Nympho Hood Ornament in an eighties hair-band video.”
“Hmm … I saw so many counselors and therapists and psychiatrists between the ages of twelve and eighteen that they kind of blend together.”
“Brandi was the only one I was ever forced to talk to. I guess that’s why I remember her so vividly.”
“Why did you have to talk to her?”
“My tenth-grade chem teacher thought I was suicidal.”
“You were suicidal?”
“No. I just enjoyed writing suicidal lyrics on my book covers.”
“Who doesn’t at sixteen?”
“Exactly. But my suicidal song lyrics were misinterpreted by my chemistry teacher as a desperate cry for help. So I had to go down to guidance and talk to Brandi about my feelings.”
“Oh, man. Talking about feelings is the worst.”
“The worst. But it turned out not to be a complete waste of time.”
“How so?”
“Well… uh … Oh, never mind.”
“What? You can’t stop now. That’s not fair.”
“Do you remember bumping into me right outside her office?”
“Me? And you? Outside her office?”
“You don’t remember that?”
“I’m trying to remember, Jessica.”
“Oh, come on, Marcus. You remembered the titles of my editorials and our conversation in the Caddie. You remembered a story about Marin that you didn’t experience firsthand. You can’t remember this?”
“Honestly, Jessica, I can’t say that I do.”
[Cough. Sniffle.] “Oh, it’s no big deal.” [Sniffle.]
“I’m sorry, Jess—”
“Ha! Pay up, sucka!”
“Did you just trick me into apologizing?”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Here. Now you’re one up.”
“Thank you. And for the record, I probably wouldn’t remember seeing you outside her office, either. Only … well… that’s the first time I ever wrote about you in my journal.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“And what did you have to say about me?”
“Hmmmm … I think I said that crackheaded girls who didn’t know any better thought you were sexy. Then I went on for many, many paragraphs doth protesting too much about how I just didn’t understand your appeal.”
“Doth protesting too much. That’s classic. I do believe that sums up a lot.”
“About what?”
“About… oh, wait, hold that thought. My phone is vibrating again. It’s Natty again. Only this time he sent—Dude.”
“What?”
“He sent a picture. Do you want to see it?”
[Pause.]
“Those are two of the biggest, fakest, roundest tits I’ve ever seen. Where was this picture taken?”
“New Jersey Transit.”
“Oh, nice. And did you see the message? ‘Venn Diagram: Ho/Hot.’ And look, he included an adorable little emoticon rendering of big, fake, round tits just in case we didn’t get the joke. Such clever use of parentheses as a visual aid. No wonder he’s a Rhodes Scholar.”
“You won’t get another dollar out of me, Jessica. I’m not making any apologies for his behavior.”
“Well, you told me he was an immature dick. It turns out he’s sexist, too!”
“Sometimes, yes. He is. But that has nothing to do with this picture. He sent it because he’s looking out for me.”
“Because he knows how much you appreciate a ginormous silicone rack?”
“No. He’s trying to embarrass me by association. He sent that picture to protect me.”
“Protect you? From what?”
“Not what. Who.