Ditched by Robin Mellom Read Free Book Online

wouldn’t be friends anymore. And there would be no going back. But I was ready. Hopefully he was too. And I knew the exact moment and place it would happen.
    Next to Dan’s pool, in the far corner, was a hot tub. It was surrounded by ferns and sweet-smel ing gardenias. It was lush. It was quiet—other than the sound of bubbling water, but water features are total y romantic. It was perfect. My plan was to take him out there to discuss something, maybe tel him a story about my childhood, like a good Christmas story because he always seemed to love those, then we’d stare at each other for an awkwardly long moment, but neither of us would look away, and then we’d step closer to each other, tilt our heads in opposite directions, and at precisely the right moment, our lips would touch, and whammo ! I’d have my answer.
    But, of course, that’s not what happened. I did manage to get out to that beautiful spot by the hot tub. And I stood next to the lush ferns and sweet-smel ing gardenias.
    And I got kissed.
    But it wasn’t by Ian.
    50

    3
    Corn Dog
    “WAIT. YOU KISSED another guy?!” Gilda is poking at the hot dogs as they rotate on a greasy conveyor belt.
    “Yes. No. Not intentional y.” I readjust myself on the stool. “It’s complicated.”
    Gilda closes the lid to the hot dog cooker, waits for the quiet click. “These things are.”
    Yeah, so it’s a comforting thing to say, but all I notice is the fact that she isn’t offering me a hot dog; not that I’d eat one, but still. They are glistening—even the corn dogs have a thick warm glow about them, and I’m still starving.
    The bel rings, and this lady wearing Bermuda shorts, a tank top, and a fanny pack attached tightly around her, 51

    wel . . . fanny, flies through the door. “Morning, Gilda. Need my Red Bul . And my patch.”
    “Sure thing, Donna.”
    Donna heads off to search the refrigerators for her jumbo sugar-free Red Bul while Gilda digs through boxes next to the counter for a patch. A nicotine patch.
    This feels like a routine these two have done many times before.
    I can’t help but stare at Donna. Her hair is transitioning to a light gray color, and it’s so short it’s spiky—almost dangerous looking, like a barbed-wire fence. She’s strong, not like manly strong, but like garden-landscaping-rototil ing strong. I say that because her nails are dirty, ful of dark soil, or maybe pudding? And her arms are thick and tan, like a corn dog. I’m just so hungry!
    Gilda starts ringing up Donna’s order, and that’s when Donna looks in my direction. She doesn’t blink, doesn’t pretend to be doing anything other than staring at me, and it’s making me uncomfortable. “What happened to you, dol ?” Her voice is strong and raspy.
    I try to straighten out my dress, as if that will help.
    “I . . . I . . .”
    “This poor girl got ditched. At prom,” Gilda explains.
    “Ditched? What kind of scumbag would do that to a sweet girl like you?” Donna peers over the counter to get a better look at me, and gives me the ful up-and-down once-over. “Do your shoes match your dress?” 52

    “Yes.” I fiddle with my hem. “Mom’s idea.”
    “Not a good one.”
    I look down, feeling the tears well up as I think about Mom and her eagerness to make me perfectly color coordinated—in every way. And how sick it makes me feel, given all the suffering I went through because of these stupid matching shoes. And now Donna, who I don’t even know, is making me nervous with her dangerously spiky hair and eagerness to remind me of my bad decisions. “I really don’t need to have the obvious pointed out right now,” I say, like I’m all confident or something. But I can’t even look her in the eyes.
    “Aw, doll, listen up.” She leans over the counter, folds her arms, and gets comfortable. “I got dumped once.
    Homecoming. Jessie Saxton took off in his van and left me stranded at the Ledbetter Community Center. I had to walk a mile to a Piggly