Ditched by Robin Mellom Read Free Book Online Page B

final y speak. “Isn’t it a good thing I didn’t kiss him?”
    “No, dol . It’s bad, real bad. You’l always wonder . . . was he or wasn’t he?”
    I know exactly what she is getting at. And she is absolutely right.
    I can’t believe I never got the chance to kiss you, Ian. Now that we’re non-friends. A non-couple. A non . . . everything.
    Donna folds her arms and lifts an eyebrow. “So why did Captain Scumbag ditch you?”
    That’s the zil ion dol ar question. I shake my head. “It’s one of those long, complicated stories.” My voice fades away.
    “I hear you.” Donna picks at the dirt under her fingernails.
    56

    “I have some long, complicated stories. But it’s not such a bad thing—it’s because of those stories that I can proudly say I am the cougar I am today. Look it up—cougar—in the wiki encyclopedia.”
    “Wikipedia,” I correct her.
    She nods. “You’ve seen me, then.”
    I turn to Gilda, looking for answers. She holds her hand up like she can take it from here.
    “Justina’s story isn’t al that complicated. Not yet,” Gilda explains. “Al we know so far is Ian tried cleaning yel ow curry off her dress and she thought it was adorable and she planned to kiss him at Dan’s pre-party. She got a kiss, except it sounds like it was from someone else.”
    “Oh, you gotta tel me this story.” Donna’s eyes sparkle.
    She approaches me and reaches out to touch my blue dress, but pul s back. “What are these stains? You an intern for Bill Clinton or something?”
    “What? No. NO!”
    I take a deep breath and settle onto my stool. Then I start to explain how the stains represent a tapestry of memories, and how they tel a story—
    “That’s al fine and good,” Donna interrupts. “But let’s get to Captain Scumbag. And more importantly, this other guy you kissed—scumbag number two.”
    I take a deep breath. “The kiss happened right after I got this.” I point to a long black stain, the shape of a thin, wimpy corn dog, just above my knee.
    57

    4
    Dipping Sauce
    (Soy, I Think)
    WE PULLED INTO Dan’s driveway, the diesel engine rumbling in Ian’s old Mercedes—a clunky, distinctive sound that always made me feel comfortable. Most of the students at Huntington High drive cars that cost as much as a two-bedroom condo, and even though Ian’s car is technically a Mercedes, the fact that the back window doesn’t roll up and the seats have no springs and it is completely lacking in glamour makes me feel at ease. That car is Ian.
    It was a long driveway—long enough to hold up to twelve cars, and we were lucky to snag the last spot. Dan lives in a neighborhood with sparkling sidewalks and manicured lawns—not a leaf out of place—and houses that have crisp 59

    American flags hanging all year round, not just on school holidays.
    I live in a smal cottage-type house with low ceilings and cracked countertops, over in the old part of town. When you drive down the streets around here, you’l be cruising in an immaculate suburban section, then sneeze and find yourself in a total y urban area. My house was zoned on the very edge of the Huntington High School district—I am one street away from being a Ledbetter girl.
    Ever since the night of Jimmy DeFranco’s party, I sometimes wished I were one.
    Beautiful people streamed by us as we sat in Ian’s car, not moving, waiting. For something. I wasn’t sure what. Ian leaned over in his seat and tied and re-tied his turquoise Converse high-tops. His fear of tripping extended beyond the track.
    “Double knot ’em, babe,” I said.
    “Babe?”
    I was shocked it had come out of my mouth, too. But there it was—out there. So I had to go with it. “Yeah, it’s a term of endearment.” I narrowed my eyes, trying to look sexy—a look I had practiced hundreds of times by studying tampon ads in Seventeen . The girl always looks unhappy, but her crampy face also looks like her sexy face . . . pouty lips, narrowed eyes. “I endear