Rhymes with Witches - Myracle Lauren - Страница 14

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“Want what?” I said.

“Do you?” Keisha asked. “Even after Kyle’s party?”

“What, to be a Bitch?” I tried to play it cool, but my words tumbled over themselves. “Yes. God, yes!”

“Enough to do whatever it takes?” Keisha pressed.

“Well, sure,” I said. They offered a sacrifice, and the sacrifice was accepted, came a voice in my head. I faltered. “I mean, I think so … but what do you mean?”

Mary Bryan got up from her sofa and moved to sit by me. “Don’t worry, Jane. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Anyway, we’re not talking, like, bank robberies or kidnapping innocent children.”

“But we’re not talking a new hairstyle or a cute new pair of boots, either,” Keisha said. “Jane’s entire life would change. She needs to know that.”

Mary Bryan made a face, like Don’t mind her, she’s being such a grown-up.

Bitsy put down her Diet Coke. “I think you’re both forgetting the point of being a Bitch, which is to dump your grotty old life and start over again. So of course Jane’s life would change. That’s what it’s all about.” She stood and walked to the entertainment center, where she opened a wooden door to reveal a large-screen TV. She pivoted to face us. “Get comfy, dearies. I think it’s time for our video presentation.”

The video was of Mary Bryan, only I don’t think Mary Bryan knew it was coming, because she turned pale when the images flickered onto the screen. “Oh my god,” she kept saying. “Oh my god.”

It was pretty creepy. Someone (Stuart Hill?) had videoed a rafting party that I guess happened last fall, because the Bitsy in the tape had a short, flippy haircut that now had grown out. She was there along with Keisha and a bunch of other kids, all piled onto big rubber rafts stocked with coolers. One of the rafts had a keg floating along behind it, tied to the raft so it would stay cool in the river.

Bitsy was wearing a turquoise bikini, and she looked fantastic. Keisha was wearing a black one-piece, and she looked fantastic. They both laughed and sipped their drinks while the other kids drooled all over them. Just like at Kyle’s party. A third fantastic-looking girl was there, too, and after a moment of confusion I deduced that she was last year’s senior Bitch, now graduated and out in the real world. She was stretched out on the rim of the main raft, wearing cut-offs and a red halter. While I watched, a guy dipped his fingers into his cup and sprinkled beer on her tummy. She shrieked and swatted him, and the guy turned about a hundred shades of happy.

The camera jerked around a lot, so it was hard to see everything. Mainly Stuart stayed focused on Keisha, Bitsy, and the red halter girl, but occasionally he’d pan in on a guy belting out a burp or drumming his chest like Tarzan.

And every so often there’d be a glimpse of Mary Bryan.

It made my heart hurt to see her. She had on a hot pink one-piece made to look like leather, and it was cut too high on the legs and too low in front. Physically I guess she looked pretty much the same as she does now, only it didn’t seem that way at all. Part of it was how she held herself, with her stomach held in super tight and her chest sticking out. And part of it was the way she clutched her Styrofoam cup and ripped off the top in little bits. But mostly it was her expression: bright, bright smile even though no one was talking to her. Desperate, shiny eyes.

My thighs felt heavy. Was that how I came across at Kyle’s party?

On the tape, Mary Bryan adjusted her bathing suit. She stood in the raft and wobbled toward a junior named Chase Mattingly, then dropped down beside him. Her drink sloshed onto his leg. He glanced at her, annoyed, but kept talking to his buddy Steve. Several times Mary Bryan opened her mouth to speak, but each time she chickened out. Finally she leaned forward so that her breasts practically fell out of her suit.

“Um, you’re on the soccer team, right?” she asked.

Chase broke off in the middle of his sentence. “Yeah. Why?”

“Just … you’re really good,” Mary Bryan said. “That was terrific how you scored all those goals last weekend.”

“Thanks,” he said. He noticed her cleavage—it was pretty impossible not to—and with some sort of guy code, he got Steve to notice, too. “What’s your name again?”

“Mary Bryan,” she said.

Chase draped his arm around her shoulders. Stuart, who was getting it on film, zoomed in close. To someone else he said, “Hey, bro, check out the titties!” The Mary Bryan on the raft couldn’t hear, but the four of us at Bitsy’s could.

“Tell you what,” Chase said, all pals-y and smooth. “Find me at the picnic area, after we get off the river, and I’ll go over the highlights with you. Sound good?”

Mary Bryan’s face lit up, and for a second, she looked like the Mary Bryan I knew now. “Okay. Sure!”

The camera jiggled and panned back to the other raft. Keisha and Bitsy were squealing and drawing up their legs while two guys wrestled each other for the tap of the keg. Drops of beer landed on the camera lens.

“Geronimo!” one of the two yelled as he pushed the other overboard.

“Hold on, Mike,” Stuart called. “The Stu-Man is on the way!”

The image shook, followed by a blip of static. The screen went blank.

“That was my tryout,” Mary Bryan said after what seemed like hours. She didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “I didn’t … I had no idea …”

Keisha studied the sofa cushion. Bitsy gazed at Mary Bryan. Her expression was unreadable.

Mary Bryan laughed shakily. “Can we burn it, please?”

Bitsy strolled behind her and stroked her hair. “Don’t be a ninny. How else would we prove how far you’ve come?”

“Why would we need to?” Mary Bryan said. “I’m serious. Can we please burn it?”

“We should certainly burn that bathing suit,” Bitsy said. “Wretched.”

Keisha stayed serious. “Tell Jane the rest.”

Mary Bryan’s cheeks went from red to redder. “Oh, let’s not. I mean, god. She probably already hates me.” She turned to me. “You do, don’t you?”

“No,” I said. “Of course not!” I wanted to hug her. I wanted to go back in time and make the rafting trip go away.

“If you don’t, I will,” Bitsy said.

Mary Bryan looked like she might cry.

“Actually, it’s okay,” I offered. “Whatever it is, you don’t—”

“Just get it over with,” Keisha said.

Mary Bryan looped a strand of hair around her finger. “It was an accident. I’d had too much to drink.” She drew her knees to her chest. “I’d really rather not …”

“She and Chase had sex on top of a picnic table,” Bitsy said. “Lovely, yes?”

I saw it in my mind—Mary Bryan, Chase, the picnic table—and I wished I hadn’t.

“We weren’t, like, right out in the middle of everyone,” Mary Bryan said. “It wasn’t like everyone could see.”

I nodded. I gave her my best imitation of a smile.

“I’d had too much to drink, that’s all. And it was dark. And honestly, I didn’t even …”

“We all make mistakes,” Keisha said.

“That’s right,” Mary Bryan said.

“And we learn from those mistakes and become better people,” Bitsy said in a singsong voice. She snorted. “Either that or we get fixed, which is infinitely more effective.”

“Huh?” I said.

“Nothing,” Keisha said. She shot Bitsy a look.

“We are going to tell her, aren’t we?” Bitsy asked. “She’s this year’s lucky winner, after all.”

I knew something was going on between them. It’s not as if my brain passed over it. And it’s not as if I passed over the whole Mary Bryan thing, either. But I latched onto the phrase “this year’s lucky winner,” and my blood pulsed faster. I had the brief thought of asking about Sandy—Had they heard of her? What did they know?—but I knew I wouldn’t. It would complicate things unnecessarily.

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