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“I still can’t believe she got with her stepbrother.”
“Shauna, for the last fucking time, he was her ex-stepbrother.”
“So?”
“So, they weren’t related by blood or by marriage anymore! It’s totally not that gross.”
Shauna pulls a face and Jackie shoves her, stifling a laugh.
If someone were to ask Shauna where in her life she felt the most at ease, it would be here: a late-night trip to the liquor store with Jackie, on the way home from the movie theater. They’d probably laugh. Nothing about the girls’ unspoken Saturday ritual seems particularly special at first glance. But to Shauna, it’s what the tick-tock-tick in her brain counts down to each week. Making our own excitement out of the mundane, Jackie had mockingly called it the first time. They’d gone to see Pulp Fiction and split the remains of a bottle of shitty vodka that was hidden in the back of the Taylors’ cupboard afterwards.
This time it had been Clueless, and Jackie is currently scanning a dusty shelf of wine coolers with the concentration of a predator sniffing out its prey. Realistically, Shauna thinks, she's just looking for the flavor that'll be the least likely to make them puke.
Her eyes flit over to the checkout counter, where a boy six or seven years their senior stands behind the register. He’s new, but that doesn’t surprise her; the store has always been a revolving door of college kids looking to pick up some shifts. A peeling laminated name tag shoddily pinned to his t-shirt says “Jake.” Shauna squints. Maybe it’s actually “John.” Either way, Jake or John or whoever he is can’t stop looking at them, and it makes her nervous. She worries her lip, wondering if he knows they’re underage. Fuck. What if he calls the cops?
Jackie snaps her fingers in front of Shauna’s face. “Hey, space cadet, over here. Coconut or grapefruit?” She picks up two equally disgusting-looking boxes.
“Coconut.”
“Okay, grapefruit it is.”
It's the one thing that annoys Shauna, the little ways in which Jackie takes control like that. She knows it isn’t malicious. Jackie’s just a perfectionist: things need to go exactly according to her plan. But that doesn’t make it suck any less, though Shauna never has the heart to disagree with her, anyway.
Jackie shoves the coconut wine coolers back amongst the other cheap drinks and hauls the remaining box over to the counter. Shauna follows, watching as Jake or John or whoever’s eyes stay trained on Jackie. His gaze falls briefly to meet her lips before jerking back up.
Right, Shauna reminds herself, that’s why he’s been looking. As if this isn’t how we’ve been doing this for the past year.
It’s always the same thing. Whatever pea-brained frat boy is working that Saturday gets the full flirt treatment from Jackie, and the girls get their booze without being carded. It often crosses Shauna’s mind what Jeff might think about it. It also crosses her mind that she doesn’t particularly care.
In the midst of Jackie batting her eyelashes and chatting up this week’s victim, the store’s radio crackles with the opening notes of “Shoop.” Shauna groans; Jackie squeals.
"I love this song!"
Before anyone can ask her where the hell she’s going, Jackie’s dancing up and down the cramped aisles. Shauna’s irritation at being left alone with counter boy (Jonah, she had finally seen on his name tag) dissipates into fondness, and maybe something else deep down, as she watches Jackie unabashedly roll her hips to the music. She spots Jonah watching just as intently, a dopey smile plastered on his face while he rings out their purchase. It’s not like she can blame him. There’s just something magnetic about Jackie Taylor and the way she can effortlessly transform a room by being her dumb, hot, awesome self.
Jackie eventually tires herself out and returns to the counter, giggling, leaning forward on her elbows and sliding Jonah some cash.
“Are you ladies busy at all later?” he asks her, looking at Jackie’s lips once more as he drops the change into her open palm. They always ask. Shauna fights a familiar frustration that keeps worming its way into her gut.
“Sorry, Jonah,” Jackie says sweetly, shoving the money into the pocket of her shorts with one hand and grabbing their box of wine coolers with the other, “but I already have a date for the night.” She winks at Shauna and blows her a kiss.
Ignoring the sudden pounding in her chest (why, WHY does this keep happening, though she’s always known the answer), Shauna throws an arm around Jackie in response and gives Jonah a thumbs up. They’re scurrying out of the store before he can say another word, dissolving into laughter as soon as they’re shut into Mr. Shipman’s borrowed car.
-
“Come on, shouldn’t he still feel like a brother to her? Her dad still treats him like his son!”
“Jesus Christ, let it go!”
An hour and almost three drinks later, Shauna’s still trying to figure out why the end of that movie was supposed to be so charming. Jackie’s just about had it. She shoots Shauna a withering glare from the other side of the bed, but can’t keep up the act. Her face crumples into drunken snorts that spread to the other girl as well.
“Fuck, we have to be quieter,” Jackie wheezes. “We’ll wake my parents up.”
Shauna groans at the mention of Jackie’s parents. “As if I need another reason for your mom to hate me.”
“Okay, she definitely doesn’t hate you. That’s insane! You’re practically her second daughter.”
Jackie shifts her body and reclines against Shauna, her head resting on her stomach. Instinctively, Shauna starts running her fingers through Jackie’s hair.
“She acts so hostile whenever I’m around now. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed that.”
Shauna expects denial, or reassurance, and is surprised that she only receives silence in response. Not knowing what else to do, she just keeps absentmindedly detangling Jackie’s amber curls.
It had started out as little things: a dirty look here, a snide comment on her wardrobe there. Shauna couldn’t pinpoint exactly when she’d fallen out of Mrs. Taylor’s favor, but when the woman started encouraging Jackie to have Mari over for sleepovers instead, she knew she was no longer the family favorite.
“She told me that she thinks you’re gonna get between Jeff and I,” Jackie finally says. “But I told her that’s stupid. You wouldn’t try to take Jeff. You don’t even like Jeff.” A pause. “You don’t like Jeff, right?”
In a matter of seconds Shauna feels shockingly sober. Her fingers freeze at Jackie’s neck, and her voice seems to catch in her throat. Jackie tilts her head back and furrows her brow.
“I—I definitely don’t like Jeff.” Shauna doesn’t have any doubt about that, and she has a sneaking suspicion that Mrs. Taylor doesn’t, either.
Fine, sure, maybe she’s been a little less adept at hiding her jealousy than she thought. Maybe she tries to glower at the back of Jeff’s head hard enough to burn holes in it. Maybe her eyes always linger just a little bit too long when Jackie’s wearing a miniskirt and kissing Jeff and his hands are floating up her perfectly toned thighs and Shauna just wants to move them away and—
Yeah. Mrs. Taylor definitely knows. Yet somehow, Jackie’s still completely oblivious.
She’s almost convinced it’s willful at this point. Jackie has to have seen the way Shauna looks at her. She’s been in love with her best friend for as long as she can remember (she winces as the words roll through her brain), and Jackie’s too busy being caught up in Jeff to notice.
“Hey, can I ask you something?”
Jackie just smiles and hums. Shauna probably shouldn’t. But, liquid courage and all.
“Why do you always spend Saturday night with me? Wouldn’t you rather be with him?”
It’s a fair enough question, Shauna thinks. Most girls their age with boyfriends use their precious Saturdays for date nights. God knows Jackie’s obsessed with hers, so shouldn’t he be the one she’s with at the movies? Instead, without fail, she spends it every week with Shauna; she’s never bailed even once. Sometimes it seems like the only consistent thing in either of their lives.
The incredulous look Jackie gives her is laughably exaggerated in its offense.
“Would you prefer I hung out with Jeff?” There’s hurt in her tone, and Shauna’s insides turn with guilt.
“No! I just…was wondering, that’s all.”
“You’re my best friend, and this is our time together. I can’t imagine spending it with anyone else. Besides,” Jackie borderline slurs, “I don’t know how interested he’d be even if I asked. Lately it feels like he doesn’t even like me.”
“Is he acting weird?”
“He just seems so out of it. Epecially when we get even a little bit physical. Who knows, maybe I’m just a bad kisser!” Jackie’s voice is joking, but it’s tinged with a rare hint of insecurity.
“That’s not true," Shauna rushes to reassure her.
“How would you know, Shipman? Last time I checked you’ve never macked on me."
Shauna’s breath hitches at the thought. She prays to whatever god Laura Lee is always talking to that it wasn’t noticeable. “You already know, but I’ve never kissed anyone, so you’re probably better than me by default.”
Jackie’s sitting up to look at her now, and she’s painted with the trademark Jackie expression that only means trouble.
“So, you’ve never kissed anyone. And I might be a bad kisser.”
“Yeah, Jackie, I think we’ve established that,” Shauna mumbles. She’s uncomfortable; all she wants is for them to move on and stop talking about this before she lets slip something she regrets.
“Then maybe we should practice.”
No way did Shauna hear that right. Brown eyes widen and her mouth goes so dry, it’s painful. She takes a large gulp of her drink before attempting to speak. “Practice kissing? Like, on each other?”
“Don’t act so scandalized, Shauna, people do it all the time. Or am I just so hideous that you can’t imagine wanting to kiss me?” Jackie says. A pout sits on her pretty little face and a laugh bobs in her throat. Something about this is fun to her.
Shauna’s imagined it. She’s imagined kissing Jackie in every setting, in every position, in every way possible. Her brain tries to form a response that isn’t ridiculously out of line, to tell Jackie she’s an even bigger idiot than previously thought if she believes she’s hideous, but she finds herself cut off by a hand trailing up her arm.
“Come on,” Jackie teases, “I triple dog dare you.”
In a rare turn of events, the decision is Shauna’s. Something in her knows Jackie isn’t going to take control this time. She could say that this is all ridiculous, brush Jackie off with an eyeroll, go back to talking about boys and soccer and meaningless garbage, protect the feelings she tries to keep buried in the pit of her stomach. Or she could seize an opportunity that she might never get again.
Whatever rope had been holding her back, pulled taut from years of inaction and desire, snaps free. She leans forward and connects her lips with Jackie’s before fear can creep far enough to stop her.
The first thing Shauna notices is that kissing Jackie doesn’t feel like fireworks, the way all those Saturday night movies told her it would. It feels like when you’re twelve years old and take the first sip of hot chocolate after spending hours in the snow. It’s heat spreading slowly through her body, melting in her fingers and pooling in her toes. That’s how it’s always been with Jackie, she thinks. Safe. Familiar. Home.
The second thing she notices is Jackie’s lips stilled from shock against her own, before feeling the firm press of her kissing back.
Jackie has a lot more experience with this, and Shauna can tell. Bad kisser my ass. Her lips move deftly against Shauna’s, somehow tender and forceful all at once. It takes an incredible amount of willpower not to open her eyes and check that this isn’t a dream as she feels a soft exhale escape Jackie’s mouth. Against every ounce of common sense telling her to keep it together, screaming I’m drunk, she’s drunk, we’re drunk, Shauna feels herself start to come undone.
Dread sets in quickly the moment Jackie pulls away. No doubt there’s a joke coming, or a dig about how much Shauna sucks at this. But she opens her eyes to see the other girl looking at her with an unreadable expression, her eyelids still half drawn over hazel irises that have always been unmistakably Jackie’s.
“Maybe, try—just…” Jackie moves like she’s in a trance. She scoots closer and places Shauna's hand on her waist, before sliding her own up the back of Shauna’s neck, into her hair, and tugging them back together.
Shauna isn’t sure if she didn’t have time to inhale or if she’s simply forgotten how to breathe. Her palm burns against the smooth skin of Jackie’s waist, but she squeezes instead of letting go. There’s a faint stinging sensation as Jackie nips at her bottom lip, dragging her tongue back over it, nudging Shauna to let her in. And Shauna never denies Jackie what she wants.
Strawberry chapstick mixes with the taste of alcohol and grapefruit as the flames licking up Shauna’s spine climb higher. She feels the thud of Jackie’s heartbeat against her own. Thump-thump, thump-thump, a steady drum keeping her present while Jackie's tongue darts into her mouth. Her fingers dance along slender hips, and Shauna feels Jackie tug at the roots of her hair in response to her touch. Not Jeff’s touch. Not Jonah’s. Shauna’s.
They keep at it for one minute, then two. Shauna never wants it to end. If she could stay here forever, the both of them covered in each other, she’d trade anything. She starts to believe that she exists just for Jackie to hold her, to hurt her, to kiss her.
Unfortunately for Shauna, moments like these are just that: moments. This one comes to a turbulent stop when Jackie jerks away with a gasp.
“Fuck,” she says, opening and closing her mouth like she means to say more but can’t find the words.
Shauna knows Jackie’s waiting for her to take control again, and her mind races with what to say. Should she tell her she really is a good kisser? Should she tell her that she’s always wanted Jackie to be her first? Truthfully, she wants to ask her if this really was just practice, or if something more had happened between them. But Shauna knows there’s no way. Her heart cracks a bit at the thought.
So she settles on “We really are fucking drunk, aren’t we,” even if she doesn’t feel the slightest buzz anymore.
Jackie’s face breaks into a small smile. “Yeah,” she croaks, before yawning. “We should probably try to sleep it off.”
Nodding, Shauna wanders down the hall to brush her teeth while Jackie pulls down the covers.
She stares at herself in the bathroom mirror, eyes rimmed with red and mouth glistening with Jackie’s lip gloss. She envies Josh and Cher and that stupid movie ending. Everything she wanted had been hers ever so briefly, disappearing out of reach again just as suddenly. Tomorrow this will all be forgotten, Jeff will get the girl, and Shauna will be left with the what-might-have-beens.
And if she weren’t so smart, she’d let herself believe she wasn’t just imagining the faint sound of tears drifting out of Jackie’s room.