“I’m really sorry about that,” I say.
“Not your fault. I have no idea where you picked up that black bitch, but let me tell you, she is not your friend. At all.”
“I know. It was stupid of me to invite you along. I should’ve just dealt with her.”
“She was out of control. Completely out of control.”
“I guess looking like that can do that to you.”
“It’s no excuse. Seriously. What a bitch.”
It wasn’t really her, I want to say. You didn’t meet her at all.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Justin says. This is his way of saying we’re not going to talk about this anymore.
“See you in the morning,” I tell him. “And sorry again.”
“Stop. It’s fine.”
No, it isn’t.
—
I wonder if maybe it isn’t only Ashley’s life that has been hijacked. Maybe mine has been hijacked, too. Maybe I need to focus on the real things, not the fantasy things. Even if A is real, A will never be constant. Justin is my constant.
I’m worried that Justin will be pissed at me for what happened, but mostly he’s pissed at Ashley. When we bump into our friends in the hall before homeroom, he can’t wait to tell everyone what happened.
“Rhiannon has this total slut friend from California who totally made the moves on me last night—with Rhiannon right there! It was wild. She was totally hot, and she could not keep her hands off me. Finally I was like, ‘Hey, what do you think you’re doing?’ And Rhiannon came right in and told her to get the hell off. I swear to you, it was out of control.”
“Dude!” Steve says.
“Yeah. That’s what I’m saying.”
I know this is how guys talk. I know that the point of the story is that he chose me. But it still feels like he’s bragging. It still feels like the point was that this hot, slutty girl wanted to sleep with him.
I’m not going to say anything—I’m just going to let the story be over. But Rebecca picks it up and won’t let it go.
“What exactly is it that makes her a slut?” she asks. “What if she was just flirty?”
“Oh, give it a rest, Rebecca,” Justin spits out. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see this black bitch in action—it was priceless.”
“Now she’s a ‘black bitch’? Really, Justin?” Even though I don’t want her to look at me at all, she turns my way. “Can you tell the rest of us what really happened?”
“He’s right,” I say. “She was out of control.”
Now Rebecca’s not just angry at Justin; she’s disappointed in me.
“Cute, Rhiannon. Real cute.”
Justin tries to level her with a look. “Rebecca, you weren’t there. And I can call someone a black bitch if she was black and acted like a bitch. That’s just a fact.”
“Bullshit! Her being black has nothing to do with your story, you asshole. And I’ll bet if she were telling her side of the story, she wouldn’t be a bitch, either.”
“So it’s okay all of a sudden to call me an asshole?”
“One, I’ve been calling you an asshole for years. And two, please note that I’m not calling you a white asshole—because even though I’m sure your whiteness adds to your sense of entitlement, I’m willing to let it slide so we can focus on the fact that you’re a universal asshole right now.”
“Okay,” I interrupt. “You’ve made your point. Enough.”