The Boy Who Lives In My Garage > jariana (COMPLETED)

eleven

We're walking from English to fourth-hour world history, and I can't figure out why Rosalinda feels so much less like death than I do. It's like my feet are stuck in blocks of concrete, and she's bouncing like a damn fairy. I'm avoiding loud noises and bright lights. She's talking a mile a minute like the sound of her voice isn't the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. If I didn't have a vague memory of Rosalinda with a beer bong in the middle of the field, backlit by bonfire flames, I'd think she hadn't been drinking at all.

"Hello? Earth to Ariana. Does that sound good?"

"Does what sound good?" I ask softly, hoping she'll get the hint and lower her volume a notch or two.

"A movie tonight."

The thought of doing anything other than sleep is repulsive, so I wrinkle my nose as we make our usual bathroom stop to check makeup. "Can't. I'm grounded."

"Sneak out. We can go to the midnight show."

"Can't Misty go with you?" My reflection in the mirror accurately reflects how terrible I feel. My hangover isn't getting worse, but it isn't getting better, either. Plus, I'm still shaken from the conversation with Alyssa. From hearing Kayla's name. I look away from the mirror so I don't try to picture what my life would be like if she was still standing next to me.

"Her family is out of town this weekend," Rosalinda says as she applies fresh lip gloss. "And Clinton's busy, so he can't take me."

"Clinton. What's up with you and him, anyway?"

"Nothing."

"Doesn't seem like nothing," I mumble, spinning the ring on my thumb. Kayla always wore it on the ring finger of her right hand, but it doesn't fit on mine. I wish it didn't have to fit me at all.

"Why are you so bitchy today?" She tosses the lip gloss back into her bag. But it must have been a rhetorical question because she walks out of the bathroom without waiting for an answer. I push off the sink and follow her out the door. "What are you going to do instead of a movie? Sleep? Be lame?"

We stop outside my fourth-hour classroom, and I lean against a locker. "Doesn't sound like the worst plan in the world."

She rolls her eyes. "Fine. See you at lunch. Be in a better mood, okay?"

"No promises," I call as she walks away.

That girl is exhausting.

...

The only good thing about world history is that Mr. Brooks has a vast collection of movies, shows he's recorded from the History Channel, and even a few ancient filmstrips. Today is a movie day, so I doze through the class and wake up feeling slightly better than I did before. Enough that I reconsider the movie tonight. I'll have to wait until after a bed check, but a movie might take my mind off Kayla and Justin and family drama.

Halfway to the cafeteria, someone calls my name. I glance over my shoulder, trip, and almost fall flat on my face, because it's Justin. Standing a few feet behind me, backpack on his shoulders, looking like this is exactly where he belongs. Only he doesn't belong. The last person who was on our campus without permission was taken away in a cop car. I don't imagine Justin has signed in with the office if he's too afraid to show his ID to a homeless shelter.

When he catches up to me, I hiss, "What are you doing here?"

He shrugs. "I had a little free time. Thought I'd stop by."

I grab his hand and lead him to a less crowded hallway away from the cafeteria. "You need to leave. Now."

He quirks one eyebrow. "I thought we were past that whole 'you trying to get rid of me' thing."