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Fiona and Jane(25)

Author:Jean Chen Ho

Fiona stared at the condom wrapper. I grabbed it and threw it back at Won. It bounced off his chest and landed somewhere on the ground.

“What do you think is going to happen at the party?” he said.

“Fiona, drive. Let’s go.”

We peeled off, nearly hitting Won when Fiona angled Shamu away from the sloped driveway. I watched him grow smaller in my side mirror. After we’d passed at least four or five lights in silence, I asked Fiona if she was okay.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel. I waited for her to blink, say something.

“He shouldn’t have done all that,” I said. “But maybe we’re wrong, too,” I added slowly. “We only knew about the bar because of him—”

“I don’t care,” Fiona said suddenly. “He’s such a—just a boy. I’m over high school guys, you know?” She ran her fingers through her hair, raking a tangle that didn’t exist. “I knew he liked me,” she said. “But there was no way I—” Fiona shook her head and sighed. “I didn’t tell you before. But we’ve like, I don’t know. We made out.”

“You what?” I said. “With Won? When?”

She nodded almost imperceptibly, her eyes fixed on the road. I stayed silent while she signaled left and swung back onto the freeway.

“You’re not mad, are you, Jane?” she said. “It’s seriously not a big deal.”

I didn’t know what to think. I told myself it was no big deal, just like she said.

“It just happened.” She glanced over at me quickly. “I was going to tell you, but—”

“Do you like him?”

“No. It’s Won.” She frowned. “Oh, Janie. You didn’t—you don’t—”

“What? Me?” I laughed a little. “Him? No way. Gross.”

“Right,” Fiona said. I was waiting for her to laugh, too, but she didn’t. “Well, he’s not—completely gross. Actually he does this thing with his tongue—”

“Ew,” I cried. “I really don’t need to know.”

Now she was laughing. “Sorry.”

It was no big deal, I repeated to myself. They kissed. Fiona and Won kissed each other. I realized I’d been clenching my fists. I let go of them softly. A strange feeling throttled me.

We passed by a sign on the side of the freeway announcing Cal State Long Beach, next exit. Fiona signaled, then moved into the right-hand lane. All of a sudden I felt nervous about what would come next.

“Do I look okay?” I considered my outfit: an oversized T-shirt with maroon and green horizontal stripes across the chest, a pair of dark blue jeans, black socks, and black Vans with black laces.

“Use the lipstick in my purse,” Fiona said. She was wearing a white scoop-neck baby tee tucked into tight black jeans that flared at the ankles. “Can you check the directions?”

At the next stop sign, Fiona reached over and put a hand on my arm. “This is going to be fun, okay? Let’s just relax and have a good time.” She sounded so confident. Fiona always sounded confident. “You look great,” she added. “I mean it. You really do, Jane.”

I squinted at Sung’s handwriting on the napkin.

“You look like one of those people in the CK One ads. Cool ’cause you’re not trying so hard to be something.”

I flipped the visor down and studied my face in the tiny rectangle mirror. My eyes weren’t bloodshot anymore. I found Fiona’s Toast of New York in her purse. I opened my mouth just a little bit and applied the brown color with soft strokes. The girl in the mirror pressed her lips together into a thin straight line, then puckered them in a kiss. I slapped the visor shut. Did they make out here, in Shamu? Just be cool. You hear that, Jane? No big deal, I said to myself. It was no big deal.

* * *

? ? ?

Sung’s directions led us to a motel near the Long Beach Airport, a two-story stucco building painted salmon pink, with ocean-blue window trims and doors to suggest a seaside resort theme. A large black satellite dish rested on top of the roof, which was missing more than a few of its terra-cotta tiles.

Fiona maneuvered Shamu into an open parking spot. We sat buckled into our seat belts for a moment after she shut off the engine.

“Should we have a plan?” Fiona said. “A signal. If we want help from each other, or—”

“We don’t have to go up there,” I said.

“How about this?” She held up two fingers in a V and pressed them to her chin.

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