Pretty Reckless

“Hey, Melody,” I holler at them as they run the length of the hallway toward the elevators, trying to catch one that’s sliding closed. “You—”

“Not now, Daria!” She shares a laugh with the girls, disappearing between the closing doors of the elevator.

Daria.

She is Melody, and I am Daria.

Mom and Lovebug are officially dead.

I turn around and exhale. I check my phone. No new messages. Penn forgot about me, and maybe it’s the way it should be. I handed him my icy heart only for him to thaw, heat, burn, and then stab. He doesn’t deserve me, and I don’t deserve to be saddled with the title homewrecker.

I drag my feet to the bathroom and start a bath before noticing Mel’s phone is lighting up with a new message.

Hello, Melody. Grace here. I was wondering if we could reschedule our meeting from tomorrow at 2pm to today at 2pm? Our HR director has to leave town this evening and won’t be able to go through the fine print with you.

I stare at the words. My hands are shaking, and each breath feels like I’m gulping lava into my lungs. All the anger and frustration I’ve been feeling for the past few months bubble inside my chest.

First, she took Penn in.

Then she decided to homeschool Bailey.

Then she took Via in.

Then Penn broke my heart.

And Via stole both her and Bailey from me.

I know I’m only here because Mel couldn’t not invite me. A sense of overwhelming vindictiveness washes over me. I try to tell myself not to do it when my fingers float of their own accord over her phone screen.

Actually, I appreciate the opportunity, but I decided we will not be a good fit after all.

I shoot the message across to Grace.

I regret it immediately, but confessing what I did is only going to make it worse. Mel already hates me. She doesn’t need any more excuses to want to disown me.

I am so very sorry to hear. Please let us know if that ever changes.

What have I done?

What have I done?

I delete the entire chain of messages and block and erase Grace from my mother’s contacts, then put the phone exactly where she left it before she went out with the girls.

Burying myself under the blankets of the queen-size bed, I don’t come up for air.



Behind every untrusting girl is a boy who made her that way



Mel looking frantically for her phone.

Mel searching for Grace’s number in it.

Mel sniffing, whispering shit, shit, shit as the pieces fall together. She is not getting this job. She is not fulfilling her dream.

My fingers quiver around the pen as I stare at my last entry in my journal and the memories of the exact moment she found out slam into me. By the time she reached Grace, the position had already been filled by the runner-up for the job.

When I started the little black book, I never thought I’d reach the level of evilness I did with Via again. But not only did I repeat the grave mistake of preventing someone from an opportunity of a lifetime because of my jealousy—but I did it to my own mother.

I roll on my bed and stare at the ceiling. Recently, especially since Penn and I started hanging out, I’ve been thinking of breaking things off with Principal Prichard. I don’t need him anymore. Now, it burns in me to see him tomorrow and share this with him.

I pad downstairs to get a glass of water. It’s probably close to midnight. All the lights in the house are out, and the only audible sounds are the thermostat humming and the coffee machine, which bubbles water automatically.

I grab a glass of water and make my way back to my room when the front door pushes open. I turn around on instinct. Stumbling in is a banged-up looking Penn. His face is bruised, cut, and downright purple. He limps toward the kitchen, dragging his left leg, his shoulders crashing into walls, a Greek statue, and a massive plant. He is obviously shitfaced on top of being injured.

I open my mouth to ask him if he was at the snake pit, then clamp it shut when I remind myself that it’s not my business. His baby mama can take care of him. He made it perfectly clear. If anything, I should stop humiliating myself by caring for the boy who so ruthlessly played me. Who took my virginity while promising himself to another girl. At least this time he wore a condom.

Perhaps you’re not a worthy longtime mistake to make.

I turn around and start climbing the stairs.

“Scullys,” he croaks. I keep my pace steady. Up, up, up to my room. I can do it. If I don’t turn around. If I don’t get lost in his light eyes and dark soul. “Skull…Eyes,” he amends.

A hand jerks at the hem of my shirt, and he yanks me the two stairs down, back to the landing. He pins me to the wall in an alcove between the kitchen and the living room in one ruthless shove. I wince when I smell the alcohol and coppery blood on his breath.

His eye is swollen, and his lower lip drips blood onto his shoes. Drunken Penn is a sight I didn’t think I’d see on a school night. He usually wakes up at the same time, rain or shine, for his morning strength training, always looking like a million bucks in a tattered ten-buck outfit.

“What do you want?” I hiss. I feel so breakable in his arms.

“A kiss.”

I push on his chest. He is not making any sense.

“Drop dead, Scully.” It actually looks like he might.

I turn back around toward the stairs. He tugs my wrist again. His eyes are pleading. His eyebrows pulled together. He looks…pathetic, and the old Daria would take great pleasure in basking in this sight. But the new one wants to die knowing he hurts. Even worse than that, that he is hurting. That Via reentering his life was not everything he hoped it to be.