the massage chair, feet soaking in hot water, when Sydney strolls into the nail salon. Her dark hair is twisted in a messy bun, like she didn’t get a chance to brush it. Sunglasses cover her eyes and she carries a cup from The Nerd—The Northridge Diner—in her hand. She walks over to the wall and picks out a bottle of polish before climbing into the seat next to mine. It’s only then that she pushes the glasses up and I see her red, exhausted eyes.
“Wow, late night?” I ask.
She programs the massage controller and leans back into the padded seat. “Be glad you aren’t into the party scene, V.”
I take a moment to chew on my lip before asking, “Why?” I already know this is going to be a thinly-veiled humblebrag, but maybe there’s something there. Something that’s so dreadful that my night at home, all alone, will seem less pathetic and lame.
“Because it starts out fun,” she explains, eyes sliding closed, “like there’s a million opportunities, you know? Boys. Booze. A hot tub. It’s like anything can happen, yet every single time, nothing new happens.” She exhales dramatically. “Just the same old hook-ups. The same fights. The same crappy alcohol that leaves a pounding headache.”
Yep.
Just a humblebrag.
“I’m sorry?” I say, not really holding back my eye-roll. “I mean, you know what they say about repeating the same behavior over and over, and expecting a different outcome.”
She glares at my insensitivity and shuts her eyes as the chair begins kneading her back. I look down at my feet, the water in the tub swirling around. This is the closest I’ve ever been to a hot tub. I’ve never been to a party. Never been invited. There’s just this assumption that poor little Vandy Hall—Baby V—would never do something like that.
I lean back and let the massager pound into the tense muscles in my own back. I’m not even sure how the reputation of me being some virginal, angelic goody-goody even came from, but it follows me around like toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe. I mean, for the most part, I really am a good kid. I don’t seek out trouble like Emory. I don’t go out of my way to flaunt myself like Syd. I don’t steal like…other people. Truthfully, I’m a fan of the path of least resistance. That just so happens to mean not causing trouble.
But there’s no doubt that it’s all about the wreck. That’s when my status was elevated from ‘good girl’ to ‘tragic victim’. The only thing a group of school-kids loves to do more than rally behind a classmate after something terrible happens is to belittle them as subtly as possible. It didn’t help that Emory went into overdrive as the protective older brother. He’s gone way beyond the cliché. Even if a guy were interested in me—he wouldn’t be—or if my parents let me go on a date—they super wouldn’t—there’s no way my brother would allow it to happen. His best friends were on the highest rung of the social ladder. If they weren’t interested in me, no one was. And none of them would dare.
That’s where the Oxy made things a little easier. I know it’s wrong, and bad for me, and unhealthy, and is causing me more trouble now that I’d like to admit, but at least it’s mine. With the pills, I can create my own world—one that’s void of pain or sharp, harsh emotions. A world where I’m always okay and comfortable, and even if it can’t give me happiness or the thrill of late Friday nights and their regretful morning-afters, it can at least dull the deep, aching sense of disappointment.
It’s just really hard to care about being left out when you’re high as a kite.
That being said, a few invites, even if I said no to them, would have been nice. Especially from my best friend.
“Hey,” I say, tapping Syd on the arm. “Was Emory at that party last night?”
She cracks one eye. “No. Unfortunately. That would have made the night way more interesting.” Her mouth pulls into a loose pout. “Why?”
“I heard him and…uh, Reyn,” I look away, tripping over the shape of his name on my tongue, “getting home late last night. I was just wondering.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Who knows. They were probably at some football circle-jerk. Wanking off to their win.” Sydney makes a crude gesture with her fist, pumping it in her lap.