Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

“Come on, kid. You know I’m just teasing you.” Nardo paused, probably expecting Emily to say it was okay.

Emily did not.

It wasn’t okay.

He said, “I guess you’re going to get really fat and disgusting now. Dean says that’s going to be the worst part. You’ll blow up like a balloon.”

Emily hadn’t let herself think past a few hours at a time. She put her hand to her stomach. She had never been beautiful, but she had always passed for okay-looking. What would men think when they saw her eight months from now? Or a year from now when she had a screaming baby on her hip?

“You’d better plan on starving yourself the second you squeeze that thing out,” Nardo advised. “You’re lucky you’ve started out with a good figure. Look at Ricky. If she ever gets pregnant, she’ll turn into a blimp and that will be that for the rest of her life. The same thing happened to my aunt Pauline. She’s disgusting to look at.”

Emily didn’t think Nardo had any room to talk. He had always been plump, but boys could get away with that. “What do you want, Nardo?”

“Just making conversation.” Nardo knocked another book onto the floor. “Ricky will come around, you know. She’s got that weird sniveling rivalry with Blake, but she’ll miss you eventually. She’s not like you. She doesn’t have any other friends.”

Emily had never heard it put so succinctly, but of course he was right. The question was—did Emily want Ricky back? How could Emily ever forget all of the awful things that Ricky had said? She would never be able to trust her again.

“Unfortunately, Mummy and Daddy have made it clear that I can’t do the gallant thing and fall on my sword for you.” Nardo chuckled to himself. “Can you imagine us getting married? Ricky would slit both of our throats before we made it to the honeymoon.”

Emily was so tired of useless boys talking uselessly about marriage.

“I can’t say I haven’t thought about it, though.” Nardo knocked over another book. “You and me. There are worse things. Though of course that’s not an option now. Spoiled goods and all that.”

Another book hit the floor. He was trying to act casual, but Nardo always had an agenda.

He asked, “You’re sure it was the night of The Party?”

Emily felt her body tense. “Yes.”

“And you don’t remember how it happened? Or who it happened with?”

Emily’s throat strained as she tried to swallow. Ricky had really told him everything. “No, I can’t remember.”

“Jesus,” Nardo said. “Well, I don’t recall much from that night myself, so I suppose I should cut you some slack.”

Emily looked at him for the first time since he’d shown up. The usual snide curl to his lips was gone. He seldom let his asshole persona slip away. This was the guy Ricky saw when she thought about how much she loved him. And in truth, it was the same guy Emily saw when she thought about Nardo Fontaine as one of her closest friends.

She asked, “It’s all a blank?”

“Most of it. But Blake was absolutely out of his mind. I know that much.” Nardo scooped up one of the books he’d let fall to the floor. He picked at the edge with his thumbnail. “I was face down on the couch watching two dustbunnies dance the opening scene from the Nutcracker, and then I heard this bleating upstairs. Like a sheep. It was Blake, if you can believe it.”

Emily shook her head. She wasn’t sure what she believed anymore.

“I go upstairs, and he’s locked himself in my parents’ bathroom, of all places. I had to break the lock to help the old boy.” Nardo turned over the book and examined the spine. “He was on his knees, hands out like he was holding his pecker, but his pants were still zipped. And he was about three feet from the toilet. I have no idea what he was thinking, but for godsakes, what an idiot. His first acid trip is thinking he’s taking a piss? The entire front of his jeans was soaked in it. And don’t ask me about the bleating. What a loon.”

Emily watched Nardo’s toothy grin come out.

“At least I saw an actual unicorn,” Nardo said. “What about you?”

Emily tried to swallow again. “I really don’t remember.”

“Anything?” Nardo asked the question for a second time. “Like, not even getting there?”

“Yes,” Emily admitted. “I remember walking to your front door. Taking the tab of acid from Clay. And then the next thing I know, Mr. Wexler is driving me home.”

“Yeah, well,” Nardo rolled his eyes. “That part I remember. You were hysterical over something. I couldn’t drive you home. I could barely see my hand in front of me. Blake was covered in piss. I had to bribe the old fuck with the rest of our acid just to get him to come get you.”

Emily listened to the cadence of his voice. There was a practiced tone to it, all of his usual vitriol stripped away. “What about Clay?”