Page 8 of Dirty Chorus

“She sure does know how to act like trailer trash! We both know she’s only hanging around you because she wants to sit on your brother’s dick. You said it yourself, and then she dumped beer all over me one night. Remember that?”

I glance back outside, watching Payton and Ryder wrestle in the water. My brother’s face lights up like he’s in heaven when she’s around. She’s all over him, regardless of him having a girlfriend. Ever since he gave her a damn football jersey in eighth grade, she’s been hooked. I’ve been convinced she masturbates with that jersey on. It bothers me, and Brody is the only one who knows it, but I can’t respond to his remark. I just spit out, “Why are you hanging out with bitches at a party?”

“They’re my fans. So what?”

“Did you finally get tired of waiting on me and sleep with them?”

The silence and static on the other end are haunting. “I’m not having this conversation with you. You’re always nagging me about something. Let me see your phone, stop drinking, who is messaging you?” He mimics my tone of voice.

“So you won’t give me an answer?” I ask.

“I don’t need to give you one.”

“I’ll take it you had your way with them. You were so pushy the other night, and you got drunk again. You know I hate it when you get like that. Let’s not get started on the fact you can’t even acknowledge me as your girlfriend online. Should we start circling back around?”

“Shut the fuck up! What are you gonna do, cry and whine, telling me you’re gonna kill yourself again because you can’t get a grip of your damn emotions?” he asks.

My lips tremble, and I suck in the brittle words of my embarrassing past mistakes. Everyone has a weak moment, and I hate being reminded of mine as he constantly uses it against me. “No!”

“Nothing happened! I’m sorry I want to sleep with my girlfriend. What’s so wrong with being attracted to you? You always have some sort of smart-ass remark to make me feel like shit for wanting you. You should be happy I want you, but you’ve got this stupid-ass rule about waiting a damn year for a guy.”

Happy? I don’t feel happy. Not one bit.

“Why can’t you just respect that I'm not ready to lose my virginity? I ain’t gonna lose it while you’re shitfaced, and when you can’t show the world I’m your girlfriend.”

“We’ve been together for six months. We do shit all the time. People know we are together. I don’t need to post it online to reassure you of anything.”

“Why can’t you just listen to what I'm saying! You're making me go crazy right now. You don’t even understand.”

“I’m tired of waiting. You either want me or you don’t. Make a choice, otherwise I’m out,” Brody threatens.

“Then I'm not good enough for you, and we should just end things. You always do this to me. You make me feel bad for wanting to wait, and then tell me you can’t do it anymore. I’m fucking done. Have fun dumping the next girl you’re pissed off at on the side of the road.” I hang up the phone, trembling as the screen blurs. I block his number, and find him on Instagram and block him there, too. I slam it on the counter, sucking in the emotion about to regurgitate. I take a deep breath, trying to fill my lungs with air, but nothing is getting inside.

I stand in a puddle of pool water dripping from my hair and swimsuit. The screen door opens, and Ryder pushes his wet hair back with a towel around his shoulder. Payton scurries across the kitchen, clutching onto her own towel.

“We are going to watch a movie. Wanna join?” Payton asks.

“Yeah, I’ll make some popcorn.” I grin to mask the conversation that just stole the oxygen from my lungs. While they both laugh down the hallway, chatting up a storm about different movies, I scrounge around the pantry and find the popcorn box hiding behind a bunch of canned food. When I head into Ryder’s room, the movie has barely started, and they're both propped up on his bed. His curtains are drawn closed. His football posters and awards are shadows on display up on the shelves, and his floor is collecting a wonderful pile of dirty clothes.

I place the popcorn between them in hopes it will keep them separated a few inches. But they leave no room for me on the bed. I end up sitting on the floor with my arms folded around my legs.

I don’t even know what’s happening in the movie. My thoughts spin around Brody and play on repeat. I did everything to impress him. I made sure I was the prettiest cheerleader on our team. I’m graduating high school within days and for the longest time I wanted nothing more than to be the cute freshman coming into college that makes everyone jealous because I have the star quarterback. But now I don’t even know if I want that anymore.

Maybe I'm just in love with the idea of him actually ever loving me the way I want him to. I stare at my phone with the parasite eating away at me for blocking him. I guess I’m used to doing this to him.

I turn to glance at both Ryder and Payton on the bed. The popcorn is devoured until only kernels remain in the bowl. She has a leg perched around his thigh, her head buried in his chest, sound asleep, and he’s dozing off too.

His arm is wrapped around her, brushing her shoulder with a thumb. He’s dating Brittni, this stupid, annoying blonde chick, but his gaze at Payton screams that he’s fucked up over her too. Brody’s words cling to me like a bad nightmare. The fear is stirring up in my stomach that Payton just hangs around me to be with Ryder, and it’s making me sick. If shit happens between them and it goes south, I’ll lose her too. Just like I’ve lost everyone else.

I uncross my legs and get off the floor, heading to the bathroom. My damp swimsuit sticks to my butt like glue. The chlorine makes my skin itch, and I’m dying to shower, to clean the ick out of my hair. I stare at the moldy bathtub for several long seconds, debating it, and when I reach for the nozzle I hear the faint sound of the front door opening. Heels click down the hallway.

“Ryder, baby!” My eyes widened at the sound of Brittni’s voice echoing down the hallway. I mouth a curse. Payton and Ryder practically look like they just had sex. “What the fuck!” She screams, kicks in the bedroom door, and slams it closed. “Get the fuck off him, you bitch!”

I did it. I walked across the stage to receive my high school diploma and took a million pictures. After being in this gown for hours, I never felt better than I did ripping it off and chucking it onto my bed. I’m still itchy as hell, and scratching spots on my arms that still prickle from the fabric. When kicking off my heels, there are outlines of dirt on them and dirt caked on my feet from walking on the field.

Payton slips through the bedroom door, unzipping her gown.

“You seem so glum tonight,” Payton says.