Going Too Far(47)
Author: Jennifer Echols

"No," she said slowly. "Not now that you’ve explained it. I think it will look like you’ve finally decided you’re not dying of leukemia."

Oh.

My parents would be happy about that.

As they were driving away to Graceland, I had asked my dad to bring me back a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich. He told me they weren’t bringing me shit. My mom would probably try to sneak me a teddy bear wearing an Elvis T-shirt or something equally cutesy anyway. But when they got back tomorrow night and saw my brown hair, yeah. They would wish they’d bought me that blue jean jacket with the Graceland mansion Bedazzled on the back, I just knew it. And then I would sit them down and have a heart-to-heart with them, and I would apologize. For everything.

Tiffany pushed her coffee away. "When do you think you’ll see John again? Are you planning to rob a bank?"

"Ha. He may be at a college party in Birmingham tonight. That was the other reason I called you. I need you to go with me."

"No way," she said. "I don’t want to drink."

"Believe me, I don’t want you to drink. Ever. Again. You don’t have to drink. A college party isn’t that big a deal. It’s a lot like a high school party. The boys are still stupid. They’re just taller and hold their liquor better."

"Why do I have to go with you?" she whined.

"I’m not positive John will be there. He might stay away to avoid seeing me. And Eric might be there. You know how drunk he’ll be. It would help if I went with someone to run interference for me."

"Meg, if you think John won’t be there and Eric will, robbing a bank sounds like a better idea to get John’s attention."

I shook my head. Blue strands fell into my eyes. I pushed them out of my face in annoyance. "Will Billingsley will be there. I need to talk to him. We’ve had a few chats about John and the bridge, and he never warned me about John’s brother."

"Will Billingsley?" She perked up and leaned forward. "I used to have a little crush on Will Billingsley. We were on the debate team together."

I rolled my eyes. "I swear, Tiff, if my ass made good grades, you’d want to date my ass."

"Hey!" She slapped her hand on the counter. "You have a thing for jail. You date boys in it, and you date boys who put other boys in it. I have a thing for good grades. Which is more healthy?"

"That settles it," I said. "Tonight we’ll go on a boy-hunt together. Maybe this outing will turn out better than our last outing."

"My first college party." She put her chin in her hand and studied me. "Are you getting an apartment near the university in the summer? Do you have a roommate yet? I don’t have a roommate."

I rubbed at a knot of tension in the back of my neck. "You mean, we would sign a lease together?"

"Think of all the fun we’ll have!" Tiffany gushed. "We’ll shop. Weil go dancing. Weil giggle about our strange taste in boys. You’ll get me in trouble. I’ll keep you out of trouble. It will be perfect!"

"I’m not good at plans," I said. "I gave it a shot this morning. I made a plan to cure John of the bridge, and you see how that worked out."

"But it was your first time. The first time isn’t so good."

I snorted. "A day of firsts for you. You just made your first sex joke. Congratulations." I held out my hand.

She shook my hand across the counter. "Roomie."

Part of me wanted to jerk my hand away in revulsion, but this was not polite. And more of me looked forward to having a…friend. "Roomie, maybe. Yes, okay, roomie."

"Hooray!" She let go of my hand and put both her arms up to signal a touchdown. "Now if you and John could make up at the party tonight, it wouldn’t be such a bad spring break after all."

"I doubt he’ll be there," I admitted. "But just in case he is, I don’t want to stand him up."

Chapter 19

To get a space, Tiffany had to park all the way down at the Devil fountain at Five Points. She and I hiked past the ornate 1920s facades in our grown-up heels and clubbing dresses. The trees along the sidewalk budded spring flowers in the cool night.

With every step, I felt another tingle of anticipation. I hoped John would be at the party. I hoped against hope he would like my new look. And then, when we turned the corner and I saw his truck—well, you would have thought I was horny for Fords. I wanted to run up the steps and into Rashad’s apartment. Which would have been decidedly uncool. Buzz-kill of the evening: just up the hill from John’s truck was Eric’s Beamer.

Rashad greeted us at the door and welcomed us into his home. He met Tiffany cordially. He raised his eyebrows at my hair and told me he’d always had a soft spot for brunettes. But behind him, the party degenerated into college. Life-size posters of Jimi Hendrix covered the walls. Beaded curtains hung in the doorways. Christmas lights outlined the windows. The stereo blasted Kanye West. Couples made out in the corners, and knots of people laughed together and sipped beer.

As I wove through the crowd, leading Tiffany, searching for John, I recognized a few people who used to go to my high school. If they’d worn their jeans too short before, they’d figured out the proper length when they came to college. If they’d teased their hair up to Jesus before, city living had taught them about straightening serum. At a party back in our town, they would have talked about deer hunting, or the half-price sale on eyeliner at Target. Now, between beats of the music, I caught snippets of conversation about Harper Lee, and Condoleezza Rice, who had grown up in Birmingham, and Alabama’s ex-governor who was in and out of jail (it happened to the best of us). Philosophical college conversation.

It was so cool!

I hoped John didn’t miss it.

Tiffany and I emerged into the kitchen. I braced myself for John to appear when the refrigerator door closed. But it was only Will, holding a pitcher.

"Tiffany Hart!" he hollered. ™ "Will Billingsley!" She tilted her head in that way I’d found so annoying when she did it to John. Now it was cute.

Will gestured with the pitcher. "I was pouring myself some iced tea. Would you like some tea?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Is there booze in it?"

He looked into the pitcher. "Just tea. No imbibing for me tonight. I have two papers due Monday. Homework over spring break. Can you believe that?"

"No!" she exclaimed, stepping closer to him. I do my homework clearly was the mating call for their species. "Yes, I would love some tea."

He turned to me. "And—I’m sorry—how about your frien—" As our eyes met, he started back. "Meg! I didn’t recognize you." He frowned and held the pitcher away from me. "No tea for you. How could you do that to John? I got home from the beach at four this morning, and he shows up at my apartment at eight, distraught, fully armed, waving his nightstick!"