Love & Other Carnivorous Plants Read online

  “Danny, it’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, with so much warmth and enthusiasm that I feel I have to compliment him.

  “Yeah, same. I… love your T-shirt?”

  He looks down at his chest: SUN’S OUT GUNS OUT is written in huge block letters.

  “I think it’s a tank top,” he says, and goddammit, he’s right. “This is my friend John,” he adds as another guy with a buzz cut walks up. He extends his hand and I think he’s going for the shake but no. He wants me to pound it.

  “I’m Danny.” As I knock my fist against his, he opens his hand and clamps it around mine, yelling, “Turkey!” Then he starts laughing. “Gotcha.”

  “Isn’t he hilarious?” Sara says, and the scary thing is I think she means it. “John, Danny and I met in kindergarten because we were the only two kids in the whole class who didn’t have siblings to bring to Bring Your Sibling to Class Day.”

  “We’ve been subbing for each other ever since.” Then I add, in a failed attempt to seem interesting, “We even made it official when we became blood buddies. Not with real blood ’cause that would make me vom, but with real red Kool-Aid, you know, the name-brand kind, not the grocery-store-knockoff kind.”

  “Actually we drank each other’s Kool-Aid, which makes us more vampires than sisters.” Sara puts her arm around me and I laugh too loudly, wishing I found it as easy to talk to people as to talk to inanimate objects.

  “Righteous,” John says, and his eyes linger on Liz’s ass.

  “And Danny’s super smart. Graduated first in our class and totally abandoned me when she got into Harvard off the waitlist last June.”

  “Oh, yeah?” John sounds captivated for the first time since the conversation started. “My sister went there, but she said it was boring.”

  “Huh.” I wish he could’ve picked anything else to suddenly get interested about.

  “I think she just hated not being the only valedictorian in the room anymore, ’cause I guess Harvard has a shit ton of valedictorians, which is a catch-22 or something because there should only be one.” He laughs a little. “She’s the smart one in the family.”

  “Oh, bummer. I love it,” I say, then to avoid setting Sara off I add quickly, “So should we take shots?”

  Rallying toward inebriation is a party trick that works every time.

  As the tequila goes down (salt first this round) I come to the groundbreaking conclusion that 80 percent of the student body is as sneaky and eager to lie about Harvard as I am. The two hypotheses for this entirely arbitrary statistic that I just made up are 1) valedictorians live such boring, calculated lives that petty lies are their only excitement or 2) up until college, valedictorians have this disease called Valedictorianism, which causes them to think that they are not valedictorian of their high school, but valedictorian of the whole world, which naturally makes them feel like a louse when they realize there’s hundreds just like them. To hide their disappointment, they have to lie to their friends and family about how small they feel because they are not the big cheese anymore, they are simply a cheese, albeit a fine one in a very overpriced shop.

  And right when I’m feeling like maybe I’ve found a thesis topic that will win the Nobel Prize and whoa am I ravenous—cheese would be delicious, if only I hadn’t made my thousandth vow to veganism this morning upon leaving treatment—I see her. My stomach does somersaults and I hope that I’m drunk and hallucinating but no. It’s absolutely her. She looks exactly like she did before, with her red hair wild down her back, but I guess most people don’t become unrecognizable from April to June. She’s standing by the punch, not looking bored exactly but not looking quite like she wants to be here either. When she looks at me I feel a lump in my throat the size of a lime. Since I can’t figure out how to disappear completely in a fraction of a second, I turn toward the house and consider making a run for it.

  “Oh, hey.” Sara nudges me. “My friend from yoga is here. How cute is her tutu? Danny, come meet her. I think you two would really get along.”

  Who in the hell makes friends at yoga? “Um, I was going to—” I rack my brain, but a lie hasn’t developed yet.

  “Well, whatever it is, can it wait a second? You’re going to love this girl. I want you to come to class with us next week.”

  So they’re an us? “But I told Liz I’d be her next beer pong partner,” I say, grateful that the lie factory has resumed its operations.

  “She’s not even close to being done yet. And you hate beer pong. Why are you being weird? Come meet my new friend.” Sara grabs my arm and pulls me over to Girl Red (who could also be nicknamed Code Red) while I try to keep all the contents of my stomach within my stomach. What are the chances of her being here, and why is the universe never Team Danny?

  “I’m so glad you could come, Bugg,” Sara says, and gives “Bugg” (I prefer Girl Red) a long hug.

  “Thanks for the invite.” She turns to look at me and I turn to stone, though unfortunately with my nervous system still intact. “Well, hey, you,” she says, and I try to respond but my mouth won’t cooperate.

  “Oh, do you two know each other?” Sara looks between the two of us.

  And here lies the problem with lying. Every so often the truth blows your cover.

  “No,” I say, but at the same time Bugg is saying, “Yes.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I mean yes,” I say, while Bugg is saying, “Well, not really.”

  Then I laugh nervously and try the only trick up my sleeve. “Should we take shots?”

  “You guys are being weird,” Sara says. “Am I missing something?”

  This time I keep my mouth shut.

  Bugg finally catches on and doesn’t spill the proverbial beans. “You just look so familiar.”

  “Ditto,” I say, looking at the pool where a multicolored beach ball is drifting slowly into the deep end.

  “Well, Danny, this is Bugg.” Sara puts an arm on each of our shoulders, locking us into an interaction. “Bugg likes yoga and plans on spending her summer at some poetry class thing. And Bugg, this is Danny. Danny likes school and plans on spending her summer doing… school-related things?”

  “Oh, this is Danny?” Bugg asks. My cheeks turn as red as one of the beach ball’s triangles.

  “I talk about you all the time,” Sara explains, but I’m feeling quite claustrophobic now in the shrinking space between the ground and the sky.

  “Good to meet you officially.” Bugg smirks, and for a few seconds I’m worried she’s changed her mind about the proverbial beans. Then she turns to Sara. “Do you still want some of the stuff?”

  Sara’s eyes light up and I try to figure out what “the stuff” could be. “Yes, hang on, I have cash for you.” She reaches into her shorts pocket, but Bugg stops her.

  “Maybe someplace a little less visible. It’s a covert, tiny business,” she adds to me, as if I know what they’re talking about.

  “Give us a sec, Danny.” Sara motions for Bugg to follow her, and they disappear behind the pool house. They’re gone for as long as it takes me to determine that Bugg was in treatment for some terrible drug addiction, which she’s now passing on to Sara in the guise of fun partying, and I’m enabling it all by not calling the cops. When they get back I give Sara the wide-eyed we’re-all-gonna-die look and she pats me on the shoulder.

  “Relax, Danny, it’s just weed. Totally legal.”

  1) Since when does Sara dabble in “just weed” and 2) just because weed is legal in this glorious Pilgrim State doesn’t mean you can buy it from whoever. Whomever? GOD, I HATE LIVING IN MY HEAD.

  “Either we’re too drunk or not drunk enough,” Sara says, cutting open a lime carelessly and drawing a little blood on her finger. “Ouch.” She looks down, then shrugs. “Screw it. Shots it is.”

  “Can’t. I’m DD.” Bugg jangles her keys while I piece together that DD = Designated Driver. “But you two go ahead.”

  As we’re about to tequila ourselves comfortable again, Liz ye
lls, “Sara, you and Ethan are up now. John and I just lost.”

  “Sorry, I gotta go,” Sara says. “Hang out for a second, okay? I’ll come find you after.”

  “Nooooo,” I want to shout, but instead I lick the salt on my hand and take the hit while praying a meteor strikes the earth and we all get wiped out in one fell swoop. I hate to sound apocalyptic, but I think it would be less painful than standing here like this.

  “So this is a fun party,” Bugg says after a few seconds of torturous silence. She sounds beyond bored.

  “Yeah.” I study the tiki torch behind her because I can’t really look at her. “But I’m agreeing more with the tone of your voice than what you actually said.” I feel her looking at me for way longer than is comfortable, and then she bursts out laughing.

  “Do you want to get out of here?”

  I look around to clarify that she’s talking to me. She is.

  “Um, with you?”

  “No, stupid, with them.” She jerks her finger toward the side of the pool house, where John is exploring Liz’s skirt with his gropey paws.

  I shudder. “Ew.”

  “Well, the offer stands.” She takes her keys out of her pocket and gives them another jingle.

  “But if you’re DD, doesn’t that mean you have other people to D?”

  “Nope. I’m the chauffeur and the passenger. Designated to myself and myself only.” She starts to walk up the lawn, which is wet with dew and maybe liquor. I try to do a quick pros and cons list, but the problem with being drunk is fuck it.

  “Wait. I can’t leave or Sara will kill me, but I need to make some food or I’m going to die a tequila death tomorrow.”

  Bugg turns around and the wind blows her hair into her face. “Well, does Sara have good snacks?” Her shadow is long and exaggerated on the lawn because of physics or whatever it is that distorts us. I step into her darkness and lead us toward the kitchen.

  “Sara’s cabinets,” I say, pausing for effect because I’m a stupid drunk, “put BJ’s, Sam’s Club, and Walmart all to shame.”

  In the kitchen I pull supplies out of the cabinet and Bugg gives me the third degree. “So what was that all about? Have you not told Sara about St. John’s? What’s the net worth of your secrets?” She’s not even whispering, which is totally disrespectful when I’m clearly trying to live my whole life in private.

  As punishment I ignore her questions and their judgy undertones. “I should be asking you the same. Isn’t it a little cliché for the girl who just got out of treatment to be selling weed to teenagers?” Her face doesn’t register my insult. “I shouldn’t be eating this, by the way. Do you know how many calories are in a single whiff of a single loaded nacho?” I hold the bag of Tostitos to my chest. “I can’t resist the scoopable kind, though. You gotta admire man’s ingenuity.”

  “Hmm, the calories in a single whiff?” Bugg sniffs the bag. “Maybe fifty-five? But if you picture yourself eating one, probably more like ninety-five.” I make a face and she throws one at me.

  It hits me in the chest and falls on the counter to crumble. “Ow.”

  “There’s no way that hurt and I can’t pretend for very much longer that we don’t know each other, so let’s shoot the elephant before it sucks all the oxygen out of this room.”

  Her hands are on her hips in an undeniable power stance, so I put my finger to my lips in an exaggerated plea for her to shut the hell up.

  “Oh, come on,” she says incredulously. “No one is around.”

  I go about suffocating the chips in beans, cheese, and other sorts of heaven—veganism will still be a worthy cause tomorrow—then put the nachos in the oven and set the timer. We stand facing each other in silence so thick it almost takes away my appetite (and virtually nothing takes away my appetite or I would pay anything on the black market for it).

  It’s a relief when she laughs. “Well, this is a little awkward, but I felt like we knew each other, even though I guess we don’t really. Maybe it was the nature of the place, or passing notes or something. Anyway, I’m sorry, it’s definitely so weird that I’m still here. Enjoy your nachos. It was good to see you again, Danny.” She turns to leave and I grab her tutu.

  “No,” I say quickly, surprising myself maybe as much as her. “Don’t go. It’s fine. Just strange to see you in the real world, I guess, or whatever this is.” I hear a splash outside and see Sara stripped down to her underwear, jumping in the pool after Ethan. I let go of the tulle and pull my smock down self-consciously.

  “When I saw you I felt like I had to say something, but as soon as Sara introduced us I knew you didn’t want to talk about it with her around.”

  “Honestly, I don’t want to talk about it, period.” I start washing the dishes in the sink so I’ll have something to clank around.

  “Well, I wanted you to know that you being there and having someone to share poems and shit with made it all bearable for me,” Bugg says. “After I left I was kicking myself for not introducing myself. Or saying bye.”

  I turn my face to look at her, and the water gets so hot it burns my hand. “Yeah, you disappeared.” I try not to sound wounded about it as I blow on my finger.

  “I should have said something. It’s one of those things where I wasn’t in there to make friends, even though we were sort of friends, you know? Friends who didn’t talk or know anything about each other but were in one place in the same way. It was kind of sweet,” she says, and the look on her face seals me off from the rest of the world entirely.

  “It was sweet,” I mumble.

  Then the timer goes off, startling me a little, and I put our culinary feat on the counter to cool. “It’s hard to know how to navigate anything there or after.”

  We look at each other silently and I try not to blush. Embody the cabinetry, embody the cabinetry, I chant.

  “So how much longer were you there after I left?” she asks, and I take it upon myself to look at her, you know, in an objective way. She’s chubby in all the good places—soft exactly where it counts.

  “Six weeks.” To keep myself from gaping at her, I proceed to stuff my face with nachos. They’re the best things I’ve eaten in sixty days. “I just got home this morning,” I say, but it comes out ji jug sgot grome gis smorning.

  “Easy there, champ. No one’s gonna take it away from you.” She removes a nacho from the bottom of the pile like we’re playing Jenga. “So I caught you at the beginning and you caught me at the end.”

  I swallow. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s so stupid, though. I gained three million pounds because of their goddamn meal plan and having to keep it all down.”

  She grins. “Yeah, I was totally estimating your weight to be around three million pounds.”

  “You have a keen eye.”

  “And you have cheese on your mouth.” Before I can die a quick death of embarrassment, she walks over to me and wipes my lip with her thumb, as if there’s no such thing as personal space or, I don’t know, diseases spread through skin-to-skin contact. “So that’s what you were in for? Bulimia?”

  I wipe my mouth where she wiped my mouth and lean against the stove for support. The skin on my face is starting to hurt, which is probably how an onion feels when it senses someone is trying to peel it.

  “Beep,” I say. “Beep… Beep… BEEP… BEEP.”

  Bugg starts laughing. “Oh my God, you are such a weirdo. What are you beeping about?”

  “The machine is threatening to combust.”

  “Such a weirdo, but fine. I’ll leave it alone. For now.” She helps herself to another nacho, and I look back into the yard.

  “I think we should go back out to the party and pretend this sort of thing is fun for us, like normal nineteen-year-olds.”

  “Ugh, you’re so young.” She sounds wistful, but I can tell she likes to say things like that.

  “I’m not so young.” I try to look her up and down casually, but I’m positive I’m terrible at it. “Why, how old are you?”

  “T
wenty-one.” The way she says it, it sounds like the epitome of youth, like the oasis at the end of a teenage desert where everything is yours to drink and nothing is a mirage—

  But then Sara bursts in soaking wet, disrupting my drunk interlude and igniting my nervous system again. “What’s going on in here?” She’s breathless, leaving a Sara-size puddle on the floor.

  “Nothing,” I say quickly. It’s too weird having them both in the same room. Like, no one would make Harry Potter enter the Hunger Games, not because he couldn’t do it, but because some worlds need to be kept separate.

  “Oh my God, nachos. I’m sooooo hungry. But I need a towel stat.” She runs to the closet for a pile of them. “I’m so glad you two are getting to know each other.”

  “We’re trying,” Bugg says, and I face-stuff more nachos. “I should go, though. I have one more thing to do tonight.”

  “Aw, okay. I’d give you a hug but I’m dripping wet. Danny, come back out with me. We’re about to play flip cup.” She wrings her hair out in the sink and then tries to pull me back out with her.

  “In a minute,” I say, and make like the nachos will be offended unless I finish them all.

  When she leaves, I walk Bugg to the door, not that she asked me to, but I guess because I want to. “To answer your question from a million seconds ago, no. I haven’t told Sara any of this and you’d get the acquaintance trophy of the year if you didn’t either.”

  Bugg adjusts her tutu and leans against the door. “Isn’t she your best friend, though? How could she not know you were at St. John’s?”

  I wince at the name. I think we should agree to call it You-Know-Where. “It’s complicated. I am going to tell her, just not yet.”

  Bugg looks like she wants to say something, but then she leans in and hugs me. It gets hard to breathe because she smells so good, like cinnamon and cigarettes, and I don’t even like cigarettes. Or cinnamon, for that matter. “But you should talk to her soon, Danny. The longer you wait, the more bad stuff builds up between the two of you. Secrets are nasty. If you don’t come clean, they fester and fuck up everything.”