Bad Habits

IX: "YOU MIGHT JUST HAPPEN TO ACCIDENTALLY GRIND AGAINST THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE"

The six o'clock news was the tipping point.

Honestly - up until that moment, when possibly the whitest panel of newsreaders Jada had ever seen ("we have a Chinese cameraman, we're very 21st century!) announced Aspen's current whereabouts, Jada had been 110%, dead set against going anywhere near the town's gay club. Even if it did, according to Amara, 'offer the country's best selection of cocktails, women and obnoxiously gay DJs,' and was, according to Natalie, 'the place to go to get laid and pissed out of your mind.'

She'd warded off accusations of being a prude (which she was beginning to realise was synonymous with nun) with the fact that Gaylordz just wasn't her sort of place. Nowhere that replaced 's's with 'z's was her sort of place - partly because it implied a shit-ton of ecstasy had been involved merely in the naming of the building, never mind in the things that actually occurred there. No, that's right, it's just not my sort of place, she thought, thankful now for Lilly - who had come storming into their campervan about half an hour after the others, screamed a barrage of insults at Michael, and then introduced herself to Jada for the sole purpose of asking to share her Doritos, but was also apparently the only one who objected to taking an ex-nun to a gay club to get her absolutely bladdered.

So really - really - Jada had stuck to her morals right up until five past six, at which point the grainy TV screen in the lobby of the entertainment centre flashed up an image of Aspen. Specifically, an image of Aspen lip-locked with a boy. Or man. However old he was, he was, at least in Jada's (biased) opinion, downright repulsive. This was an opinion that Natalie and Amara seemed to share, because they both made simultaneous gagging noises as soon as a shaky clip of Aspen pressing herself against said man-child started to play.

Perhaps it was a gay thing, being disgusted by dreadlocked, dirty-faced hippies. Or, more likely: perhaps it was Aspen thing, being attracted to them.

Jada knew from experience that Aspen could be attracted - or do a damn good impression of pretending to be - to just about anyone she thought might be of some use to her. And for a while, maybe days, maybe weeks, maybe even months, depending on what she wanted them for, it would be good. Great, even - the target could bask in Aspen's glow, soak up her adoration and feel like the luckiest person in the whole wide world, because 'see this, Mum? This girl loves me. She's fucking amazing, and she's beautiful, and sure, maybe she's a little flighty but she really loves me.'

If Jada could give any advice to this guy, right now, it'd be to listen to his Mum when she tells him that Aspen Willinger is going to break his heart. Mums know stuff, like that. They can somehow sense from the first glance at Aspen's wide-mouthed grin that this girl is not one to stick around.

They would be right.

Because soon, Jada predicted, it would not be this good. Soon, Aspen was going to ditch this guy in the middle of the night, or even the middle of the day, if she was feeling particularly keen on playing the heartbreaker, this month, and he would never see her again. Sure, he'd try - they all did: phone calls and messages and sometimes even letters, as though they'd convinced themselves that Aspen's other flavour of the month was living without technology.

She never answered a single one.

Jada always felt lucky, that she wasn't just one of Aspen's throwaway toys. She was the real deal: the Victorian dollhouse passed down generations, the one you keep even though it's been gathering dust in the corner for the past three years, even though it's essentially useless to you. You keep it, because you love it.

She checked her phone. Still, nothing.

"Do you know what?" she said, gritting her teeth and pocketing her phone. "I do want to go to that club, after all."