Page 72 of You're so Bad

Bianca has Josie’s crystal ball, and it looks like she’s about to hurl it against the wall.

“You think a broken mirror causes bad luck? Just wait!” Josie shouts. “Just wait and see what happens if you break my precious.”

Dammit, I have to do something about this, don’t I?

I might not care if Bianca makes a fool of herself in front of everyone, but I’m the one who brought Josie here. It’s on me to make sure she’s safe.

“Let’s get her out of here,” I say.

So we do. Champ gets the crystal ball from Bianca after whispering in her ear, probably reminding her that their dearest friends are all watching, and then we escort Josie to her car with her things while the party resets for a third time.

Apparently, they’re going to play charades, so I’m sorry to miss that, obviously. Champ also poured everyone a round of “emergency whiskey” that he had the foresight to bring, so I guess he’s not all the way stupid.

All three of us are silent as we make the trip to Josie’s car—I’m thinking about Shauna, and I’m guessing Champ is plotting an exit plan so he doesn’t have to marry that shrew.

At least that’s what I’d be doing.

Who knows what Josie’s thinking, but she’s cradling her crystal ball like it’s a baby. I’m hauling the table for her.

When we get to the car, a VW Beetle so old it looks like it’s held together with masking tape and a hallelujah, we help her stow her things.

Before she gets in, Champ toes the ground and says, “Sorry again about the…” He obviously doesn’t know how to finish that remark, because he turns tome.

“I guess that must happen to you a lot,” I finish. “If you tell people things they don’t want to hear.”

“Yeah,” Champ says, feeling bolder. “Why didn’t you make up, you know, happy shit? The kind of things women want to know about their wedding day.”

She gives a long-suffering sigh and flips the veil over. She’s younger than I thought—maybe late twenties—but she looks tired. I feel that down to my bones. Sometimes I wonder if I was born tired, or if it’s the dreams that have made me this way—like I’m never more than half awake unless I stick my finger in a socket.

“If you wanted someone to tell you what you want to hear instead of what’s true, you shouldn’t have hired a psychic. You could have just looked at yourself in the mirror and said those things. It would have been cheaper and more convenient for both of us.”

Then she jolts slightly, as if a bug bit her in the ass, and turns to me. “You’re going to jail.”

Now I’m the one flinching like a bug bit my ass. I guess she doesn’t appreciate that I brought her here to put up with Bianca’s bullshit, but she couldn’t have said anything more certain to wig me out. It’s been my fear my whole life, that I’ll end up where the old man is. That the last of my shitty luck will finally run out.

“Thank you,” I say. “I hope you have a glorious evening too.”

She shrugs. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Then she gets in and drives away, leaving Champ and me standing together in the dark, warm September night, stars shining above us.

It would be the perfect evening for a porch sit with a beer, but I sure as shit won’t be doing it with him. I need to find Shauna.

Except it hits me that this is my chance to get the goods from him—if there are any goods to be gotten.

“Sorry, man,” I say, rubbing my jaw, putting on my bestaw shuckslook. “I had no idea it would go down like that. My friend told me she was the best, and I figured…hell, I thought she’d bring some tarot cards, show people a good time.”

“It’s not your fault,” he says with a thump to my back. The car has already disappeared into the night, but he’s still watching the road out of Camp Smileshine as if he’d like to run away.

“But it’s not a big deal,” I add. “Maybe she just woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. I mean, everything she said was bullshit, right? I know she was wrong about the whole twelve months thing.”

He scrubs a hand over his face, looking as miserable as a Ken doll someone melted in a campfire.

“That’s the thing,” he says. “It wasn’t bullshit.”

I can’t believe he’d be stupid enough to confessto methat he cheated on Shauna, but I’ve learned there’s no limit on stupid, so I lean in and say, “You need to get something off your chest, man? You want to take a walk, maybe?”

I don’t think he’ll go for it, but maybe he’s had more Bud Lights than I thought, because he agrees. “Yeah, that’d be good.” He nods toward a small, pebbled path leading through the trees in the other direction. We walk a ways in silence, and then we reach a big pond. There’s a wooden bench facing the water.

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