Page 10 of Hot Mess Express
“Whose prick?”
“He fuckin’ dowsed me in gasoline.”
“Like, on purpose?”
“Probably. Are you gonna get my back or not?”
“This soap has your pubes on it.”
“And now Mr. Duncan probably won’t ask me back. And I need all the jobs I can get.”
“I can pay your rent, y’know. It’s no biggie. I got the money.”
I grab a bottle, squirt shampoo onto my palm, then squish it into my hair. “Nah, I’m not moochin’ off of you like that.”
“You can mooch all you want.”
“Did I just put your weird-ass moisturizer shit in my hair?”
“Smells like candy.”
“Feels like tar.”
“I still think there’s something wrong with me.”
I turn. She’s still inspecting the bar of soap, lip wrinkled up. It always surprises me, how nothing seems to faze her, nothing at all disgusts her, like her whole life is this cartoon she’s just stumbling through in her high heels, hot pink lipstick, and wet-dream model looks. I haven’t known her long and it feels like we’ve been friends for years already. I know she’d ditch this apartment and follow me anywhere if she felt like it. Even getting a place here in Spruce was a spur of the moment thing. Every second of her life is a surprise.
I guess mine is, too. “Hey, Juni, listen, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re fine just like you are. Life has no rulebook.”
“I can see your penis.”
“We do whatever we want. Be whatever we want.”
“You’re always so nice to me.”
“So who cares what others think?”
“Should we go out tonight?” she asks. I don’t know if anything I said got through to her, but when I give awhy-the-hell-notshrug, she says, “I’ll grab my pumps. You need another Band-Aid,” then saunters off. I touch my nose, reminded that it’s still there, and peel it off, flinging it out of the shower toward the trash can. Yes, it misses. As I rinse the mystery goop out of my hair, I realize she walked off with the soap. “Juni!” I call out. No answer. I hiss when goop gets in my eye. “Lick a dick,” I growl to myself as I rinse my face off in the stream while my eye stings something awful.
Thirty minutes later, Juni and I burst through the doors of the crowded Tumbleweeds. With one glance at us, the bartender rolls his eyes. As usual, Juni and I don’t care. Another ten minutes, we’re at the bar four drinks in, and I’m laughing my ass off at Juni, who keeps elaborating on how she wants to climb on top of the bartender’s face and how his mustache would tickle. I don’t know when it happens, but suddenly we’re at the jukebox dancing toLike A Virgin, and I don’t care who’s watching or rolling their eyes.
Besides, the place is plenty loud enough to drown us out. Must be no less than forty others in here, some chowing down on food at the tables by the front, others dancing like we are, the bar filled from one end to the other. It’s Saturday night, and in a small town like Spruce, you’ve only got so many options for entertainment before you’re banging your head against a horse’s ass in boredom.
When Juni and I have a night out, nothing can pull us down.
Not even—“Who in Hot Hell is that?” asks Juni.
Still dancing, I turn, following her line of sight. Four guys just walked in. Two of them I know. One of them I don’t.
As for the fourth … “You’re fuckin’ kidding me.”
Juni’s still watching them. Her dancing has become distracted. She has the attention span of a ferret. “Do you knowthem?”
I scowl, then turn away. “Forget ‘em, they’re nobody.”
“They’re too hot to be nobody.”
“Just forget ‘em.”
