May Kill Me

Three

"What I'm saying is that you can't do that. You can't act all high and mighty: you're a conformist like the rest of us." Rory insisted, leaning away from James Ng, her bare shoulder grazed mine.

"No, I am not a conformist." James shook his head at her, hiccuping.

"You so are! You're doing what your dad wants you to just because you're afraid of being cut off. You are accusing me of the same things you are conforming to. That, my friend, is what I call hypocrisy."

James made some kind of guttural noise, placing his hand on her leg.

The action made me flinch.

Rory didn't seem to mind.

I was tuning in and out to what they were talking about, my eyes constantly scanning the crowd, the people passing by us.

There were no signs of Jonathan yet, and I felt like I couldn't fully relax unless I either saw him at the party or knew for 100% he wasn't coming.

Who I did spot were a few of Jonathan's friends, dotting the crowd here and there: Xana Charles-Wu laughing at something a boy I didn't know was saying, Adam Barton, holding a bottle of beer, Jeannine Monet dress moving amongst the crowd and looking like an open wound in her red maxi dress.

These were only some of the usual crowd, and they didn't even bother as much as glancing in my direction.

It was impossible to tell at this point whether I was excommunicated from the inner circle, or if they simply chose to act towards me the way they always did when Jonathan wasn't around — with complete and utter indifference.

In their minds, without Jonathan by my side, I was a nobody.

"Asshole!" Rory cried out next to me, shoving James away from her.

She didn't sound angry, not really.

They were flirting, I realized.

Even though they were allegedly broken up, they were flirting with one another.

"I'm going to get some water. Would you like anything?" I was desperate to get away from the two of them.

"I'm good." Rory shook her head at me, a dreamy smile plastered on her face.

I got up from the leather couch and navigated between my classmates toward the long dining table pushed against the wall.

"Having fun?" A female voice beside me nearly caused me to jump.

Chelsey Kelly had to practically yell into my ear to be heard over the music blasting from the speakers.

She was wearing a denim jumpsuit with her hair tied in a messy bun.

"Yeah, it's great." I offered Chelsey a polite smile.

Talking to her always felt like pulling teeth.

"Where's Jonathan? I haven't seen him anywhere."

"Um, I'm not sure," I replied, reaching for one of the bottled waters arranged on the table neatly.

So, I guess she either didn't know or was playing devil's advocate.

Chelsey and Jonathan used to date before he met me.

This was her house.

Well, it was her parents' cottage: large, modern, and expensive.

I've been here once before, to celebrate her birthday last year in the late summer.

Jonathan insisted on maintaining his friendship with Chelsey even though we were dating at the time. Oddly enough, I was never all that jealous of her even though, it seemed that she still had feelings for him.

It was in the way she would laugh loudly and sincerely at every joke he'd make, steal glances when he wasn't looking, and subtly brush her fingers against his arm as if by accident.

She wasn't very subtle about it, and I wasn't sure if she cared I noticed.

She could have him back now if she so desired.

"So is he going to come later? Or..."

I could tell Chelsey wasn't going to let this go. But why did she want to get the answer from me? She had his number, and could (and did) text him whenever she wanted to.

"Hey! Am I missing something interesting?" Miranda Zahari stepped next to Chelsey, plucking a single potato chip from the large plastic bowl on the table.

She smiled at me as she put the chip in her mouth.

If I disliked Chelsey, then Miranda I hated.

"I was just wondering where was Jonathan. It's not like him to miss a party."

I looked between the two of them, chewing on my cheek.

There was a time when I had to be nice to them, because of Jonathan. If I complained or told said something negative about either one, Jonathan would tell me I'm being difficult.

I hated when he said I was being difficult.

There was a time, last year when we were all out on the lake. Miranda was tanning next to me on the floating dock, essentially acting like I wasn't there.

When we all got together for dinner once the sun set, feeling adult and sophisticated with our sesame noodle salad and cucumber soup, Miranda asked me loud and clear if my mother did nails only or if she also offered wax services.

"It's always good to know someone, for discounts and such." She said with a smile, in front of everyone.

I was never ashamed of what my mom did for a living, but being surrounded by all these kinds whose parents were lawyers, stockbrokers, doctors, and whatever else they did the afford those nice big houses and multiple vacations, I felt inadequate, out of place.

Seeing the small smiles flash across Miranda and Chelsey's faces I knew that the point of the question was meant to humiliate me, and make me feel small and insignificant.

"You have his number, you should text him like you always do," I replied, turning away from the two of them.

Walking away from them I felt immense relief knowing I won't have to be nice or polite to them ever again for someone else's sake.

***

Rory was gone by the time I got back, no longer occupying the space on the couch next to James.

"Where's Rory?" I asked him.

"Said she needed to use the bathroom or something."

I didn't want to sit next to him so I told him that when she comes back tell her I'm on the porch outside.

James gave me a limp salute and went back to his phone.

I leaned against the wooden railing, uncapped the bottle, and inhaled the fresh late-night air.

That's when I saw it, the black Jeep Rubicon parked on top of the fallen fine needles and illuminated by the light emitting from the house.

My breath caught in my throat.

No matter what Rory said, I didn't want to stand my ground.

I had to get away from here, as soon as possible, before he spotted me.

Just as I turned away from the railing to make my way back into the house, I bumped into something.

Someone.

Someone in a black Hanes shirt, black jeans, and black slip-on Vans.

"Hi, O, I'm surprised to see you here." Jonathan looked down at me.