Amy Ross - Jek/Hyde

Camila lifts her chin in my direction, as if daring me to make a comment about her shamelessness, but I just shrug. She’s picked up this kind of talk from the rich kids who throw these keggers—they think it makes them sound sophisticated—but she’ll have to try harder if she wants to shock me. I may spend more time at home with my books than hooking up with boys, but that doesn’t mean I’m a prude.

“Sounds promising,” I tell her instead.

“I thought so, but he wouldn’t take off the mask and I got weirded out. What if he’s ugly?”

“He’s wearing a horse mask,” I say, glancing back down at my phone. “Got to be hiding something.”

Camila snaps the phone out of my hand.

“You’re at a kegger with the entire junior and senior classes,” she says over my objection. “Not to mention your favorite cousin. Who could you possibly be texting?” She scrolls through my messages. “I knew it.” She holds up the phone triumphantly. “Can’t take even one night off from the boyfriend.”

“Jek’s not my boyfriend,” I mumble as she hands me the phone back. “He said he might come tonight. No way I’d find him in this mob scene, so I was just—”

“Jek, at a costume party?” Camila giggles. “Now that’d be something. What would he dress up as? A chemical equation?”

I decide not to mention that Jek went as a water molecule to his eighth birthday party.

“I told him he didn’t have to wear a costume.”

Camila swats me lightly with her crop. “Of course you did, spoilsport. All you cared about was him seeing you in yours.” She eyes the plunging neckline of my lab coat meaningfully.

My phone buzzes.

Camila raises her eyebrows. “Well? Is he here?”

I check the message.

“No need to answer,” she says. “The disappointment is written all over your face.”

“He’s watching a movie.” I slide my phone into my pocket. “Might stop by later.”

“That translates to ripping bong-loads, right? Something tells me he won’t be peeling himself off his couch anytime soon. Remind me, why are you so into this loser?”

“Stop it. You could not be more wrong about him.”

“Oh, I see,” she says sarcastically. “So he’s not a huge pothead?”

The truth is, Jek has all but given up weed. But since he’s mostly replaced it with even stronger substances, I’m not eager to argue the point.

“He’s not just a pothead, all right? He’s also a genius. I’ve seen both of you high, and I only remember one of you poring over an advanced neurochemistry text.”

“Fine, fine. I get it. But you’ve been hung up on Jek ever since you were kids, and he still looks at you like you’re his sister. I think it’s time.”

“Time for what?”

“Time to make a move, Lulu. Make a move or move on.”

“What do you think I was doing, inviting him here tonight?”

Camila snorts. “He may be a genius, but he needs some things spelled out a little more clearly. Why are you wasting time at this party when you could be over at his house, stripping off that lab coat and unzipping his pants? Even Jek couldn’t miss that signal. Probably.”

“Camila! Geez.” I wrap my lab coat more tightly around me. “It’s not like that, okay? We’re best friends, we always have been, and...and if that’s all he wants, that’s fine. I’m not going to force myself on him.”

“You wouldn’t be forcing him. There isn’t a boy in the world who would turn down that offer. Unless...”

“What?”

“I don’t know...maybe he’s gay.”

“He’s not gay,” I say, maybe a little too sharply. Camila gives me a look and I let out a sigh. “Or, I don’t know. I guess he could be.”

“You of all people should know. Doesn’t he tell you everything?”

I shake my head. “We don’t talk about stuff like that.”

“So that’s it, then,” she muses, leaning back against the railing. “That explains a lot, really. But in that case, Lulu, you should really give it up and focus on the fine-looking boys in front of you.” She gestures at the throng inside the party.

“But how can you be so sure? He’s never shown any interest in me, but he’s never shown interest in anyone else, either. Of any gender. I think his brain just doesn’t work like that.”

Camila gives me a sidelong glance. “It’s not the brain I’m talking about.”

“Shut up. What I mean is, yeah, I’ve known him for ages and yeah I kind of like him, but all he cares about is science.”

“Science and getting high.”

I ignore her. “He’s not like the other boys in this town. Doesn’t have his mind in the gutter all the time. He’s got other interests.” Camila wraps her arms around herself, looking dubious, but I don’t let that stop me. “Chemistry is his one true love,” I explain, “and nothing else will ever compare for him. You want to know why I’m interested in him, well...that’s why. I love his passion.”

“Lulu, honey,” says Camila with something like pity. “Wouldn’t you rather have a boy who’s passionate about you?”

I shrug and she shakes her head.

“You’re hopeless, you know that?” She hoists herself up on the porch rail.

I don’t give her an answer, but the fact is, I do know it. My feelings for Jek are just as hopeless as Camila says. I’ve done everything I can think of to get him to notice me, and Jek’s not an idiot. He’s got to know how I feel, and if he hasn’t shown any interest yet, he isn’t going to. The only rational response is to move on.

But I’m not quite ready to be rational yet. Maybe he needs a little more time. Maybe he just needs some encouragement. Maybe if I’m patient, he’ll wake up one day and realize I’m the one he’s wanted all along.

I squeeze my eyes shut, disgusted with my own thoughts. If I said any of that out loud, Camila would be the first to tell me how I’ve had my mind addled by too many rom-coms and fairy tales. I don’t need the lecture, so I keep my thoughts to myself.

Lucky for me, Camila has stopped watching my face and moved on to more exciting spectator activities, like narrating all the town gossip while a dozen little soap operas play out through the window, as if it’s our own personal flat-screen TV.

“Hmm, looks like Val and Erik are still together. Guess she never told him what she did to his car. And Brandon is way too drunk again. Third time this week, from what I heard.”

“Quit it, Camila,” I grumble.

“Come on... Don’t you want to know what’s going on in this sad little town?”

“I don’t like gossip. People are entitled to their secrets.”

“Oooh,” she says, ignoring me. “Natalie Martinez, returning to the scene of the crime.”

“Camila, I said—”

“Shh, I know, but this is different. It’s not about what she did, it’s what got done to her. If some sleazebag attacked her, don’t you think it’s my duty to let everyone know? For the safety of future potential victims, I mean.”

I cast her a doubtful look. Camila’s been known to exaggerate. “Did some sleazebag attack her?”

She shrugs. “Hard to say, really. It was last Saturday night, at Matt Klein’s kegger. I got there late because I was...” She trails off. “Well, never mind what I was doing. The point is, when I got there, she was slipping into one of the bedrooms with this half-Asian guy. Floyd or something. Lloyd? Hyde. I’d never seen him before.”

“That’s your story? People do that all the time, Camila. You do that all the time.”

“I’m not judging, and I’m not done! As far as anyone can tell, she went in perfectly happy and willing, but she came out twenty minutes later looking like she’d seen the devil himself. She started yelling at this guy in front of everyone, calling him a freak, saying she’d never agreed to that.”