the ground and finally gave in to my ugliest sobs.
8
OVER AND UNDER
I didn’t know how much time had elapsed when the door opened.
“Cassie!”
I was eye level with a pair of shiny black heels.
“Get up off the gawddamn floor!”
A stiletto stomped the cement. I still didn’t move.
“Look! I got a present for you!”
An Electronics Universe bag landed on my head.
“It’s that memory expansion thingie for the computer you asked about.”
Had Drea flirted with Mr. Mustache just to get this for me? On any other day, I would’ve expressed gratitude for the gift. But full deletion of my heart’s hard drive was what I really needed, and I doubted Electronics Universe sold any products for that purpose.
“What happened to you?” Drea asked.
What happened to me?
What happened to me?
I’d lost everything I’d worked toward my whole life.
“You never used to cry,” said Drea. “And now you’re boo-hooing all over the place.”
I’d always been so proud of my stoicism. Like, when our team lost our case in the first round of Mock Trial, I was the one who consoled a tearful Troy. Had mono weakened my physical and emotional immunity?
“Don’t tell me all this drama is about your ex and his new girl.”
I sat up.
“You know?” I sniffled. “About Troy and Helen?”
“Well, yeah,” she said. “Anyone with eyes knows because they’re grinding all over each other out there.”
I moaned.
“It’s gross.”
I moaned even louder.
“Oh, stop it,” Drea snapped. “Troy is not worth it.”
“We went out for two years!”
“So?”
“How would you know if he’s worth it? You’ve never dated anyone for more than two months!”
Drea’s eyes turned to slits.
I almost felt bad about saying it. I mean, I wasn’t coming straight out and calling her slutty, but that was the implication. If she smacked me in the back of the head, I couldn’t say I hadn’t sort of deserved it.
But Drea took the high, nonviolent road.
“You’re right. I’ve never dated anyone for more than a month or two.” She cocked her hip defiantly. “But I’ve never sobbed on a filthy floor over anyone either.”
“And neither have I,” I replied. “Until now.”
Drea opened her purse and removed a pack of Wrigley’s spearmint gum.
“Want a piece?”
It wasn’t sugar-free. To my parents, she might as well have offered me drugs, but I accepted anyway.
“The way I see it”—she folded the stick of gum into an accordion and popped it into her mouth—“the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”
Of course Drea saw it that way. What her relationships lacked in longevity, they more than made up for in variety. But I was the one on the floor, not her. Who was I to say her choices were worse than mine?
“The thing is.” I sniffled. “Um. This is so embarrassing. But…”
“But what?” Drea pressed. “What could possibly be more embarrassing than wearing an American flag abomination of a uniform?”
I laughed. The ABC apron was almost impossibly unflattering.
“I’ve never been. Um. Under anyone,” I admitted. “Not even Troy.”
Troy and I had decided to hold off on sex until I could get a prescription for cheap birth control through the university health care center without parental knowledge or permission. The Pill was part of the plan.
I braced myself for another one of Drea’s honking fits of hilarity. For someone as experienced as everyone knew Drea was, I assumed she’d mock my babyishness just like when we used to be friends.
But she did the opposite.
“Virginity is nothing to be embarrassed about,” she said. “Especially when your top prospect was someone who’d need a compass to navigate your nethers. Know what I mean?”
I knew exactly what she meant. Troy actually consulted his older brother’s Human Anatomy textbook for pointers.
“If you want to forget that loser, I can help you with that,” she said. “Just like you can help me with the treasure.”
“The treasure?” What was Drea even talking about?
“There’s a fortune hidden somewhere in the mall,” Drea said, “and I’m determined to find it.”
“Excuse me, but I’m totally confused.”
Drea brushed dust off a cardboard shipping carton and sat.
“Tommy and Vince D’Abruzzi were cousins,” Drea began. “Tommy was assistant manager at Kay-Bee Toys. Vince worked the night shift at the Coleco factory…”
“This sounds like a Bon Jovi song,” I quipped.
Drea sighed.
“Keep your comments to yourself until I’m done.”
Rightfully reprimanded, I shut up for the rest of the story. It went something like this:
In late summer of 1983, Vince canceled a fishing trip with Tommy because he had to work overtime on the production line at the factory. He told his