Secondary Characters (Novella) - By Rachel Schieffelbein Page 0,27

claims they kissed once, back in middle school. But I can’t picture them in a dark closet together. Doesn’t compute.

“Me, of course.” She answers too seriously. “This summer, I’m going to show Justin just how much he’s missing. Come August, he’s mine.”

I cringe. Marissa always gets what she wants.

Justin wraps his arms around Jennifer in a bear hug.

My heart twists. Whatever plan Marissa has concocted is sure to ruin them. But really, should I care?

I plaster a smile on my face. “You two would be great together.” Exactly what she wants to hear. I owe her at least that much.

Marissa pulled me out of the janitor’s closet last year. It was cleaner to eat lunch there than have food thrown at me in the lunch room. And safer. The seniors never found me there. But Marissa did. She turned my life around. I trusted her. I still do. With Marissa, people actually talk to me. They have no idea I was that freshman girl the seniors hated. I could breathe again.

“Lucy, Lucy!” Marissa pulls the magazine out from under my nose. “I’m gonna wear my new capris with that cute canary tunic. You wear that green sundress I picked out for you. That way we can coordinate in all the photos.” She opens her hobo bag and pulls out her Nikon, taking a quick shot of me before I can protest. Then she hands the camera over. I click away as she pushes out her lips for the shot. “You know that green dress will drive Zach totally wild.”

My stomach flutters and my lips curl into my goofy grin.

Zach. My new boyfriend. He's an outgoing, uncomplicated jock who’s an amazing kisser. My stomach’s still doing flips after my first kiss and however many more we fit in during the last forty-three minutes of the new Scarn movie. The smell of his cologne clings to my shirt at home. I can’t bring myself to wash it.

Marissa pokes me, “Oh, sweet. His name makes you blush.”

A super girly giggle escapes my lips. “Did I tell you we’re going to dinner before the party?” I try to sound mature as I check my phone. Almost time to get ready.

Marissa squeals. “No! Oh my god. How can you keep this from me? Where are you going? What will you talk about?”

“Romano’s.” Zach loves Italian.

“Oh, perfect. Sit in the back corner. That’s where the most romantic lighting is.”

I nod, imagining Zach and me in the Lady and the Tramp spaghetti scene as I grab my bag from under my lounger.

“Where’re ya going?” she asks, rechecking the time on her phone.

“He’s picking me up here. I’m getting ready in the locker room.”

Marissa nods, picking up on my subtext. “Good plan. Avoid your Mom. God that must be so tough … ”

I bite the inside of my cheek. The day Mom met Zach she took him on a tour of her therapy garden where she educated him in the art of compost. She actually put garbage and worms in his hands. When we left, he didn’t waste any time saying “Your mom’s a freak.” I can’t argue with that.

Marissa steps out in front of me. She isn’t one to sunbathe alone. “This is actually great. Now I have time to set my hair in curlers before the party. Tonight’s going to be amazing.” She glances at Justin, lifting her eyebrows mischievously. “Watch out, Justin Marshall. Here I come.”

I say nothing. She waves her hands while pushing me forward. “Get moving, woman. We’ve got men to impress. See you tonight.” She says in a cute voice that carries well over water. She walks with a precise sway, a light bounce which sets every part of her bikini into hypnotic motion. Guys’ heads follow her the entire way.

Marissa, a master in the art of attraction.

***

The country club’s locker room makes me nervous. I shimmy off the wet suit bottoms over my hips. My hand automatically avoids the dark purple scar that rests below. The locker handles mock me. It’s like they share secrets with the ones back at school.

I slip on some blue lace underwear and take my time getting ready, avoiding the locker handles with each move. I focus on adhering to Marissa’s sparkle makeup guidelines as I think about Zach’s biceps and his laugh. My tummy flips and I feel queasy, but I’ve heard that’s normal for a first, fancy dinner date. Right? Right.

I fight to get into my skin-tight dark jeans, which I pair with a