Friday Night Alibi, Page 3

  “You can come, too if you want.” He winks.

  Barf.

  “No thanks.” I give a fake smile. “I need to practice.”

  His eyes go over my outfit, from the pink polo down to my skirt, then to my legs and they stop there. He’s still looking at them. Oh he’s real sweet, Sades.

  I cross my arms and shoot off, “Really? You’re checking me out right in front of your date?” I wave to Sadie and try to cover my gag reflex. If she’s really into this guy, she better get out her jerk detector.

  “Whoa, Kel, this isn’t a date,” Sadie says real quick, taking a step away from Chase. “I just want to learn some things about water polo.”

  “Pfft.”

  Sades is a brighter red than I’ve ever seen as she tugs me to the bleachers, giving Chase the “one minute” finger.

  “What is wrong with you?” I say, whipping my arm out of her grasp.

  “Me? What’s wrong with you? Why are you being so mean?”

  She has to be joking. I grab her shoulders and look her dead in the eyes. “Listen, this guy is total bad news. He’s been nonstop hitting on me since that disaster last night.” Dropping my hold on her, I give her my best you-know-I’m-right look.

  “It’s. Not. A. Date.”

  A big puff of air goes out my nostrils. “What suit are you wearing?”

  “What?”

  “Is it the bikini, or your one piece?”

  Her eyes toss up to the sky and she lifts her shirt. Stomach totally covered by the Christian Country Club red.

  Dang. There goes my argument.

  “Satisfied?” She pulls her shirt back down.

  I stick my tongue out.

  “Listen, Kelli . . .” She’s using “Kelli,” which means I have to take her seriously no matter how much I want to spout out sarcasm. “Don’t we learn in church to treat everyone with kindness?”

  Low blow. First, no nickname, and now the religion slap. My head hurts from trying not to roll my eyes.

  “Fine.”

  Her big smile goes up to her baby doll eyes as she pulls her hair back into a ponytail. “Don’t worry about me, ’kay? Honestly, I think you should give him a chance. He seems like your type.”

  “You’ve gone insane then.”

  “I just know about these things.”

  I’m surprised her pants haven’t drawn the attention of every fire department within a twenty-five-mile radius with all the phooey she’s feeding me.

  We walk back over, a fake smile plastered across my face. My cheek muscles are getting their workout. Chase wraps his towel around his neck and cocks his eyebrow at my very obnoxious looking expression.

  I take a deep breath and jab my hand out. “Welcome to Sundale’s Country Club.”

  His lips purse together, holding back his laughter, I’m sure, and he clasps my hand. I give him one hard shake and drop the hold, trying not to notice how big and manly his hands are. “Have fun. The pool is pretty sweet.”

  There. I’ve met my nice quota.

  I turn around but he catches my arm again. If he keeps touching me I’m going cut off his fingers.

  “I didn’t catch your full name.” His weird eyes twinkle. I know that’s a total froufrou thing to say, but how else do I describe the blue in them suddenly turning bright white for a second, then flashing to green? Maybe he’s possessed.

  “It’s right there.” I point to the front pocket of my club polo shirt, kelli pinkins stitched across in bright pink.

  Before his eyes can linger too long on my boobs, I whip around again, crouch down to get my racket and figure that’s it for conversation.

  “Did that say Kelli Stinkins?”

  Okay, Sades asked me to be nice, and I’m a good best friend, but hello! She’s not even correcting him. I turn around and give him a smirk.

  “Apparently you can’t read.” I get so close to him, my boobs are practically up his nose. Maybe that will satisfy his libido. “That’s a ‘P.’ Go back to school and learn the alphabet.” Leaning back and ignoring the look Sadie is giving me, I plaster on that fake smile again. “And you’re Chase Moron, right?”

  He grins. “Now who needs to learn the alphabet?”

  “Sorry, I can’t read illegible handwriting. I had to take a stab at it.”

  “Ah, so you wanted to know my name bad enough to decipher what I scribbled on your arm, huh?”

  I open my mouth, but Sades finally decides to step in, pulling Chase by the elbow and tugging him toward the pool. “Hey, let’s go before all the hoops are taken.”

  They cross the tennis court and I take my position at the service line, racket and ball in hand. Stupid college boy messing up my concentration. This practice will suck now that I’m all tense and crap.

  He turns and waves at me, shouting across the court loud enough for all the people in the stands—all four of them—to hear, “Have a good practice, Stinky!”

  Sadie pulls him forward again and I lose it. I mean, the opportunity is right there. I’ve got this ball in my hand and a wicked aim.

  Tossing the ball in the air, I whack it as hard as I can across the net. It hits his right butt cheek so hard, the smack! echoes through the court.

  I shouldn’t laugh. I should play it cool and do the “whoops!” shrug and apologetic wave. But when he clasps his rear and collapses to the ground, I fold in half, clutching my stomach to keep from peeing myself.

  That. Was. Awesome! Score a million points for “Stinky.” Zero points for “Moron.”

  Sadie helps him up, and I’m proud to see a smile on her face. He rubs his cheek, whispers something to her and she skips off to the pool. He picks up the tennis ball and walks over to me, irritating smirk and all.

  He is an idiot. That was clearly a don’t-mess-with-me butt shot.

  I grab my water bottle and take a swig just as he gets close enough to toss the ball. I catch it, trying to keep my face calm and cool. Not sure how it works since the image of that awesome serve keeps replaying in my head.

  “You know,” he says, taking another step toward me, “if you wanted to check out my butt, all you had to do was ask.”

  Without missing a beat, he turns around and yanks down his swim trunks. Blue moon staring right in my face! I can’t even appreciate the big tennis ball shaped welt on his cheek. I’m trying to find air to breathe. He’s mooning me in a freaking Christian Country Club! This guy I just met is bent over in all his naked glory and I have no idea how the heck to respond, so I do the only thing that comes to mind. I squirt my water all over his red and blue backside, and shut my eyes as tight as they’ll go.

  Gross . . . nasty . . . can’t even . . . YAK!

  He chuckles and I pop open an eye to make sure those black shorts are back where they’re supposed to be.

  “Good thing I’m headed to the pool.” He winks and wiggles his hips as water splashes by his feet. “I’ll catch you later, Stinky.”

  I blink a few times, still trying to figure out what just happened, and spit through my teeth. “Moron.”

  He laughs and jogs across the court. He’s running kind of funny, probably because of that huge bruise I just gave him, but it will in no way burn that nasty image of the full moon out of my head.

  So much for practice. I stalk off to the locker room, choking back my breakfast that wants to make a reappearance.

  “All right,” I say under my breath, “you’ve started a dangerous game, and you’re about to lose.”

  Chapter 4

  “What is this I hear about a boy showing you his backside?”

  Of course Mom picks the dinner table to have this conversation. Her long blond hair is pinned back with one of her many diamond clips, and her sparkling white pant suit is a safe distance away from her food.

  Dad’s fork hits his plate with a cling! and his face turns the color of the burgundy wall behind him.

  “W-what was that?” he manages to say through a mouthful of steamed broccoli. He must be stunned because no way would m
y perfect six-foot-three, not a gray hair on his head, father talk with his mouth full.

  I don’t answer because I don’t have to. I may as well not even be here for this conversation that’s about to take place.

  Okay . . . pause for just a second while I explain these beings people call my parents. Mom is a total prude when it comes to talking about anything that has to do with “special areas,” but doesn’t hesitate to tell me every two seconds that sex is a beautiful and wonderful experience . . . for married people. Before you’re married, it’s an awkward, nasty, dirty thing that won’t be discussed unless we’re talking smack on other people in Sundale.

  “Oh, sweetie. Did you hear about that Lindsay Hannigan? Poor thing got the crabs. And she’s your age. Do you see? This is what happens when you explore your underparts too early. You get bugs. Do you want bugs, dear?”

  “No, Mom.”

  “That’s right, honey. Bugs don’t happen to those who wait.” (Smile, pat on the head, and then phone call to Mrs. Hannigan to tell her what she should have done to prevent this and how her daughter . . . me . . . would never end up with crabs.)

  As for Daddy, he was a stay-at-home dad till I was about seven, when Mr. Frooman called him “the nanny.” It’s bad when a guy with that last name makes you feel like less of a man. The day Dad decided to buy The Wine Cooler, the used-to-be bar, now very high-end restaurant, was the saddest day of my life. My daddy who did everything with me, now does everything at the restaurant. And when he’s not doing that, he’s taking Mom on elaborate vacations almost every weekend. Some sort of way to reclaim his manhood. Yeah . . . I’d rather not think about that.

  So, these two can carry this whole conversation by themselves because I’m really just a footnote in their lives. As long as I don’t get pregnant or ask Daddy to make me any meals, I can get away with whatever I want, since they don’t pay attention.

  Not that I’m some sort of rebel, but whatever.

  “That’s what I heard from Mrs. Tybeski. Maya was watching Kelli practice yesterday morning at the club when some young man pulled off his swim trunks.”

  Wow, the truth survived the gossip train. I was expecting some contorted story about how I yanked Chase’s shorts down and shoved a tennis ball up his butt.

  “This was at the club?” Dad asks, fork still hanging off the edge of the table where he dropped it.

  Mom nods, taking a dainty bite of her vegetables. “Just when you think you’ve entered into a community that’s safe for your children, your innocent daughter gets her eyes . . . ” She drops her voice to a whisper, “ . . . de-virginized.”

  My water almost comes out my nose as I snort into my glass. Hate to break it to her, but I’ve seen a lot worse than Moron’s naked “backside.” Images of the locker room accident a year ago invade my brain, and instead of seeing the broccoli and steak in front of me, I see wiggling boy parts, all running frantically behind towels and locker doors to hide themselves. A shiver goes up my spine and I try to get my mind back in the convo.

  “Did you call the staff? There must be some sort of security surveillance system they can put up to prevent this from happening.”

  Mom nods again. “They don’t know who the boy is. They want Kelli to identify him.”

  Now my fork smacks the table.

  “Excuse me?”

  My parents look at me like I appeared out of thin air. Yeah, guys. I’ve been here the whole time.

  “Um, yes, sweetie. Do you know this boy?”

  Huh, that’s a good question. I know him as the total perv college boy who was responsible for my beautiful locks turning into a Tinker Bell impression. I know him as the walking ego who yanked his swim trunks down after I smacked his butt with a tennis ball. But do I know him? Not really.

  “I know his name.”

  Daddy raises his eyebrow, finally picking up his fork. “Well, tomorrow evening we’ll go to the club and report him.” He throws me a half-hearted smile. “The club takes sexual harassment very seriously.”

  Sexual what?!

  “Mom, Dad, I wasn’t harassed. It was just some immature jerk who thought he was being funny.”

  “We don’t make excuses for these types of people, darling,” Mom squeezes through her lips. “We can offer guidance, but no one treats you like that without facing the consequences.”

  I better keep the whole Alex seeing me in the shower to myself, then.

  Giving my parents both a long glance, I let out a sigh. The convo is over, and just as I thought, I may as well have been on mute. My gaze goes to my plate, but I’ve lost my appetite. They don’t get it. I can handle Chase on my own. I’m an adult now anyway, and it’s not like I don’t take care of myself practically every day. I don’t want it to look like I went running to Mommy and Daddy to save me from the mooning pervert.

  “May I be excused?”

  “What about dessert?” Mom takes a sip from her glass. “Carrie made chocolate mousse.”

  “No thanks.”

  She nods and I politely as possible place my napkin on top of my plate and go up to my room. I pass Carrie, our nanny slash maid or whatever, who gives me a half smile and rubs my shoulder. Yes, she knows I’m not invisible. Too bad she’s only here for meal times and here and there throughout the day. Good thing about cleaning a house no one is ever in—other than me—you don’t have to do it more than like, twice a week.

  I cross my room, closing the door behind me, and go out on my balcony. It’s a little hot outside. Stuffy and no wind whatsoever, which is okay since a slight breeze may make my putty-riddled hair into one giant ’fro.

  Who am I kidding? It’s not like I ever go anywhere anyway. Club, bookstore, home. ’Tis the life of boring Kelli Stinkins.

  Holy crap! I mean, Pinkins! Oy, even that idiot is spoiling my brain.

  I flip my iPhone out and dial Sades, ready to put into action my own act of revenge. Sort of. Actually, I just don’t want Moron to think I’m a major tattletale.

  Wait, why do I care what he thinks? He’s a jackhole. My finger slides to the end button just as Sades says, “Yo!”

  “Uh, hey. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Just finished family fun night.”

  She’s totally rolling her eyes. I can tell by the high-pitched sarcasm.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “So, what’s up? You want to sneak out again? Wink wink.”

  “Heck no.” I let out a laugh. “I was actually . . . I wondered if you had that guy’s number.”

  Yes, I know his name, and I’m being dumb on purpose.

  “You mean Chase? The mooner?” She busts out and I shake my phone as if it’ll stop her from making fun.

  “That is so your fault, you know.” I lean against the railing, trying to keep my voice down. “I can’t believe you thought it’d be a good idea to bring him to the club.”

  “We actually had a pretty good time. He’s freaking amazing in the water!”

  Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Let me guess, he has a body to die for! Six pack abs and dancing pecs.”

  “Ha ha. That’s not what I was talking about.” She blows a raspberry at me. “Besides, he kept his shirt on.”

  “While swimming?”

  “Yeah.”

  Huh. Didn’t peg the walking ego as a cover-it-up type of guy. Maybe his pasty skin doesn’t do well in the sun. “Well, do you have his number?”

  “I thought you had it.”

  “Yeah, I scrubbed that thing off the second I could.” Rubbed my arm raw because he used a Sharpie. Who carries a Sharpie in their pocket anyway?

  “Oooookay, then why do you want it?”

  Grrr . . . why the fifth degree? Seriously, she’s making me think too much.

  “I want to apologize for hitting him with the tennis ball,” I lie.

  “You’re full of it.” Ah, best friend censor must’ve gotten new batteries. “Tell me the real reason before I text his number to you.”

  I let out a huge gu
st of air from my nostrils. “Fine. My parents want to report him, and I don’t want it to look like I went and cried to them about the whole butt in the air thing. So I’m calling him to warn him about it.”

  Wow, even I’m surprised by the truth. But yeah, that’s why I want to talk to him.

  She laughs for a few seconds before finally saying, “Okay. But you have to let me know how this convo goes.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Thanks.”

  “No prob.”

  We hang up and not three seconds later my phone vibrates with the text from Sades. She even added little hearts next to the number since she thinks she’s so funny.

  Before I can overthink it, I hit dial and wait.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Moron.”

  Silence. Whoa, maybe he doesn’t remember me. Maybe I’m just on the list of all the other girls he’s met this week.

  “Hang on.” There’s some shuffling and I can hear the guy yelling, “Hey! Anyone seen Chase? Some girl is on his phone.”

  Yikes! Well, embarrassing phone moment number one goes to me.

  “Yeah, he’s outside with Traci.”

  Figures he’s with a girl. I wish this guy would come back on the phone so I can tell him never mind. I was temporarily possessed by someone who wants to talk to a moron.

  There’s more shuffling and a door swinging open. No wind wherever he’s at either.

  “Yo, your sister or someone is on the phone.”

  “Sister? Don’t have one.”

  Something about his voice makes my stomach churn. And I want to talk to him? Protect him? Gah . . . what am I thinking?

  “She called you Moron. I assumed—”

  Chase laughs and it gets louder before he says, “Hey, Stinky. Looks like you couldn’t resist.”

  “You know, it’s rude to talk on the phone when you’re with someone else.” Oh geez. I may as well throw up a flag that says, “I’m jealous!” Embarrassing phone moment number two: me again.

  “Hold on, then.”

  Muffled voices, and nothing else. Not like I want to know what’s going on with what’s-her-face. ’Cause I don’t care. I don’t!