Second Helpings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [74]
“How do you know? I could be there every day you’re not,” I replied. Linda, at my request, had provided me with his work schedule so I would know when it would be safe to visit.
“Because I know you’re not.”
He’d called my bluff. I’d only visited Gladdie once since Thanksgiving.
“Gladdie tells me,” he said. “She tells me lots of things.”
Before he could elaborate, Brandi held up this thing that looked like a sandwich Baggie.
“What is this?” she called out. No one answered, but that didn’t stop her. “Right! A bit of Reality! Reality female condom, that is!”
While Brandi sang the praises of alternative forms of contraception, I tried to imagine what Gladdie and Marcus talk about. Clearly, Marcus’s persuasive appeal spans the generations and Gladdie can’t stop herself from telling Marcus things the way that I can’t stop myself from telling Marcus things. Or used to, that is. Before I knew better. But Gladdie? She’s defenseless. I can only hope that Marcus doesn’t take the senile ramblings of a ninety-year-old stroke victim too seriously. And vice versa.
the fifteenth
To steal Hy’s gossipy thunder . . .
WHAT BUXOM CHEERLEADER’S AFFECTIONS HAVE TURNED AWAY FROM HER BALLER BOYFRIEND, AND TOWARD A RECENTLY REFORMED GUITAR GOD?
MANDA!!! And Marcus!!!
“Are you gonna drop me for that fucking Dreg?” yelled Scotty before Health and Human Sexuality.
“Scotty! Stop being such an alpha male! I will not tolerate this mental or physical abuse!”
“Are you?”
“Puh-leeze.”
“ARE YOU?” he said, grabbing her arm.
“Well, if I did drop you, it would be for someone with more feminine sensitivity!” Then she bit his hand until he let go, and ran to the classroom.
I guess listening to Brandi talk about fallopian tubes and foreskin for forty minutes made Scotty and Manda sufficiently hot and bothered for a reconciliation. As soon as class ended, they dry-humped and made up. They spent the rest of the day walking hand-in-bandaged-hand.
Still, I’m certainly not convinced that Manda is uninterested in Marcus. I couldn’t help but ask Marcus what he thought of the item.
“I didn’t get the e-mail,” Marcus said. “I guess I’m not part of the inner circle.”
“Um. What e-mail?” Len had overheard me.
Len hadn’t gotten Pinevile Low this time either, and it hadn’t even crossed my mind to tell him about it. I’m such a sucky girlfriend.
“Pinevile Low.”
“What did it say?”
“Well, among other things, that Manda wants Marcus.”
“Manda wants you?!”
Len’s voice crackled with fear. Of what? Manda ripping the band apart, just as things were getting good? Was Manda another Yoko?
Marcus shrugged.
“Why would she. Um. Want you?”
“It happens,” he replied lazily.
“But she hated you.”
“It happens,” he said again, only this time through a yawn.
Sure, it happens all the time, doesn’t it? Girls hate you, then want you. No big deal. Yawn. You’ve grown so weary of girls hating you, then wanting you, then maybe hating you again. You’re so tired of girls and their hating, wanting, hating that all you want to do is fall right into bed. And if Manda, or any one of the other girls who want you, just happen to be waiting, spread-eagled, under the sheets, well, it’s easier to fuck than it is to fight, right? Get her in and out of your bed. Yawn. To make room for the next girl who wants you.
Christ. This journal is dangerously close to becoming barbecue fuel.
Quick change of subject: I was kind of surprised that my hook-up with Len didn’t make it into the newsletter. But then I realized that the coupling of the Class Brainiacs isn’t exactly whoop-de-doo news.
Whoever is doing this knows a lot about technology. I know this because I asked my dad about it, since he’s about as wonky as they come. My curiosity was only half responsible for the attempt at communication. My mother had gotten on my case about us not talking, worried that this “silly cross-country thing” was going to cause “irreparable damage” to a “father/daughter relationship” that was already on “shaky