No Time Like Now (Lesbian)

Chapter Thirteen

For the record, the drinking didn't happen the next night, like I thought. The three of us were wrapped up with busting our asses off completing the long-ass assignments due before Thanksgiving break.

So, we end up locked in Ikra's room the day school's out for the holiday, sitting in a circle and taking turns as bartender. We're using those plastics tea cups little girls would use for their tea party with their favorite stuffed animal as shot glasses. What am I supposed to do - not act like a little girl having a pretend party?

"Why thank you, Miss Ikra," I say in a high-pitched voice, as my friend pours vodka in my cup. "Surely you're the best at throwing tea parties!"

I get weird looks from the both of them. "I think you're done for the night," Jeremiah comments. 

He reaches over for my drink, but I simply hold it far away from him. "I'm done with school, not the vodka," I say. Carefully placing the teacup down, I add, "I swear all my teachers are trying to convert nice, 'trying to get by' students into strung-out drug addicts."

"Good thing this isn't a drug," Jeremiah says.

"Good thing I have more IQ points than you, since I know for a fact alcohol is a drug."

He rolls his eyes. "Whatev." 

He proceeds to slug back a shot. Immediately, his face scrunches in bitterness. The flash of my phone catches his attention when he opens his eyes.

"Did you just take a picture of me?" he accuses.

"Yep." I play with the settings until I have his bitter face as my home screen background. But now I have Jeremiah as backgrounds for both screens. And I don't want to see his face all the time if I'm not talking to him. What other photo can I use for my opening screen?

As I go through my photo collection, Ikra pours another shot for Jeremiah. "We were supposed to make a toast with the first shot," she tells him when he protests getting another drink much sooner than the first one. "You don't have to drink it with us, but you gotta clink with a full cup."

"I don't see how much different it makes whether or not I have something in my cup," he grumbles. 

Ikra, not giving a shit about what he said, raises her cup. I do as well, and Jeremiah holds his up. "A toast," she announces in a stage-whisper, since her parents are downstairs. "A toast... to the last year of school, hopefully getting accepted to wherever we want to go, and a great Thanksgiving break."

We cheer, we clink the cups, and we all point fingers at each other as soon as some vodka drips to the floor right after the collision. On the one patch Ikra hasn't covered with towels. Of course, I'm not going to take the blame. 

With annoyance, Ikra takes the time to scrub out the stain. Jeremiah and I take our shots, and I hand over the Febreeze spray she points at for me. 

"Okay, it's good for the most part," Ikra says. "We'll just have to clink gently next time."

I'm not in the mood to take shot after shot, so I just lean against her desk. For the most part, I plan on contributing to whatever conversation either friend wants to engage in. I don't have the energy for much else.

"So, why did you want Aspen's number?" Jeremiah asks, the one time we're all quiet or doing nothing to keep us busy. 

Ikra's eyebrows shoot up as I glare at him. "What's next, you gonna tell the teacher they forgot to collect homework at the end of class?"

"Just answer the question."

Bending my legs so I can put my chin on my knees, I don't answer immediately. I'm too busy formatting my answer so it comes out less suspicious or however Jeremiah decides to interpret my answer.

It takes me longer than I'd like to admit. "I was curious about how she made the cards, and she was more than happy to show me."

"More than happy?" Ikra repeats.

"Curious about the cards?" Jeremiah adds. "Or were you curious about something else entirely?"

Both give me a "hmmm?" afterwards. I hate their guts right now. 

"Yes," I say flatly. "She's proud of her illegal business and I was proud to know more about her --" Jeremiah laughs hysterically before I can even finish my sentence. "I don't want to know why you're laughing."

Ikra pipes up with a distracted "Probably something supposed to be dirty." I turn to her pouring another shot. "Sorry, did you want some, too?"

With Jeremiah still laughing his ass off (the vodka's gotta be a cause of his behavior by now), I nod. I take the bottle, though. Ikra's getting too comfortable in the bartender position, and I want to pretend to be one for a little bit. 

The drink stings on its way down instead of burning. This time I'm getting lightheaded.

"Do you have any food?" I ask in the middle of it. "Don't want another shot until I have something else in my stomach."

She checks the mini-fridge hidden in her closet. "No, it's still in the second week," she answers apologetically. With her parents checking the electricity bill like a hawk (and they don't know about the mini-fridge since it was stolen from the jackass neighbor next door), she uses it once every two weeks and keeps it off the rest of the time. "I'll make sure to plug it in and store some of those Uncrustables next time you come over."

I beam at her. "You do love me!" Those sandwiches taste so much like innocence and no responsibility. God, I miss those days when I thought Mom was watching my every move out of unconditional love. 

"And I'll prove my love for you again." With that, Ikra stands up and leaves the room. 

Minutes later, she comes back to the room (Jeremiah finished with his maniacal laughter) with three snack-sized Cheeto bags and a box of Cheez-Its. The Cheetos were handed out and the box in the center of our social circle.

"Awww, how can I repay you?"

She shrugs. "Help me out on math?" she suggests. "Pre-calculus is kicking my ass again."

"Deal." 

Now's not the time to tell her I'm averaging a D in that class. I'm sure I can find a way to understand the subject while helping Ikra on her assignments. Without her suspicion that I don't know what I'm doing, of course.