Sloppy Firsts_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [61]
And that was it.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the static was fake and she was just making phlegm-hocking noises in the phone just to stop talking to me. I mean, I know she’s got eleven years on me, but she’s that immature.
When I told my mother the news, she tried to shrug it off—My daughter, the jet-setter—but I could tell that she was upset by the way she was violently chopping vegetables for dinner.
"It’s okay to get mad," I said.
"Who me, mad?" she said, beheading lettuce. WHACK!
"You seem to have no problem getting mad at me," I said.
"That’s because you provoke me on purpose," she said, tearing its leaves, limb by limb.
"I don’t provoke you!" I retaliated. "How do I provoke you?" If anything it was the other way around.
"You provoke me by asking questions like, ’How do I provoke you?’," she said. "Now please stop provoking me and give me some peace and quiet."
As you wish, oh blond one.
By the way, when Hope did call, she said she loves her CD. This does wonders for my psyche. But living in this house, sometimes Hope’s phone calls aren’t enough to distract me from my self-inflicted misery.
the twenty-ninth
The date of Bridget’s return came and went and I didn’t hear from her.
Or the next day.
Or the day after that.
Today, Bridget finally called. By then I had already heard via Sara about how her appearance was considered "too apple-pie Americana" and "not edgy enough" by every talent scout in Hollywood, and how her agent wanted her to drop Bridget Milhokovich for a more attention-grabbing stage name like "Bridge Milhouse," "Gette Miller," or "Bebe" (no last name, just Bebe). But I was too pissed off to enjoy a good laugh over any of that. Obviously, confirming Burke’s fidelity wasn’t as big a priority as I thought it was. All my anxiety was for nothing.
"Hey! I’m back!"
"So I hear."
"Sorry that I haven’t called you or anything, but I’ve been like, way busy, you know unpacking and stuff," she said.
"Uh-huh."
"And I had to like, readjust to East-Coast time."
"Uh-huh."
I was waiting for her to finish making excuses and get down to the real issue at hand: Did Burke bang anyone this summer?
"And you know, Burke and I have been busy," she said. "Like, reuniting."
Here it comes, I thought. I got ready to tell her the truth: The only girls Burke hung out with all summer were Manda, Sara, and me. Okay. So it wasn’t the whole truth. When Bridget blew me off, she blew her shot at being set 100 percent straight. Let her find out the ugly truth by herself. Leave me out of it.
Looks like the fine line between lie and not telling the truth turned out to be irrelevant. Bridget wasn’t interested in the truth at all: she never asked for it. Why should she when the fictionalized Burke offers her everything she ever wanted in her relationship and more?
Burke has been so sweet to me! Like, I can tell he really missed me all summer! I think he was worried I was going to run off with like, Brad Pitt or something! He was waiting at the airport with a dozen roses and a big box of Jujyfruits, my favorite! We would’ve totally started going at it like, right on the floor of the airport if my parents hadn’t been there! This summer was tough, but soooooo good for us! It made us appreciate each other more than ever. Moremushygushymushygushymushygushgarbage!
I can’t believe I was actually feeling bad about the idea of B. and B. breaking up.
They deserve each other. And as much as I am amused by the concept of watching the Clueless Crew lie to each other all year, the reality of all the bitchy backstabbing that is bound to occur makes me less excited about being a junior than ever.
September 1st
Hope,
Matthew Michael Darling died twenty years ago today. Although our situations are very different, I know you can relate.
I’m mourning him in a weird way: by trying on my back-to-school clothes.
I tried them on in my bedroom to see if I still looked like me when I wore them outside the dressing room. I tucked the tags up in the sleeve. Cutting them off meant commitment. And I was uncomfortable