Holly J scurried out of her house later that evening, after Jay had announced his presence with three long, obnoxious blats of his horn. As she strolled across the lawn towards his car, already horrified by the disparity of its junky appearance against her classy neighborhood, she cringed at the blaring rock music that she could hear from several feet away. As soon as she climbed into the passenger's seat, she switched off the radio.
Jay scowled playfully as he pressed his foot to the gas pedal. "Wow, three seconds into the evening and you're already trying to piss me off."
Holly J shrugged, flipping down the visor and using the mirror to double-check her lip gloss. "Sorry, homes, but I respect myself too much to listen to that garbage." She sighed and flipped the visor back up with a distinct click. "Sometimes I think I can't go on living in a world that would let Nickelback happen."
Jay pouted. "Nickelback is not that bad."
"Ebola virus is 'not that bad.' Nickelback is sheer torture."
"Well I'll just take whichever one would shut you up faster."
This bickering continued in the absence of music as they rode through the streets. Holly J was more than comfortable using meanness and insults as a part of casual conversation, but she had never experienced anyone quite like Jay, who was just as fluidly unkind. Their teasing was so natural that it was only when they pulled into parking lot outside a shady-looking apartment building that Holly J could even pause for a moment to realize how strange it was to be hanging out with him. What exactly did someone like Jay Hogart do for fun, anyway?
With her arms folded to fend off the slight evening breeze, she followed behind Jay as he climbed the concrete stairs to apartment number twenty-seven. He knocked, and as he waited for someone to answer, he glanced back at Holly J with a sudden sense of awareness and urgency. He, too, had come to the surreal revelation that Holly J was most definitely out of place.
"You brought a purse?" he asked in shock. None of his other friends had purses, after all.
"Do I look like a cavewoman? Of course I brought a purse," she answered.
"Well… keep it on you, don't leave it alone or anything."
Holly J stared at Jay incredulously. "Sounds like a classy bunch of guys you hang around with. Should I have brought my switchblade?" She faked a dramatic gasp. "Is there going to be a rumble?"
The door swung open before Jay could respond, and a gawky boy with bad facial hair and a black t-shirt greeted them, leaning against the door-frame. He high-fived Jay and then paused dumbly as his gaze moved over Holly J.
"Whoa," said the boy. "Is this your little sister?"
"Nope," Jay responded merrily. "It's Heather Sinclair's little sister."
The boy's blood-shot eyes widened and he noticeably shuddered. "Whoa. What a trip." He turned towards Holly J. "What's that like?"
"Tangy, with a minty aftertaste," she answered in bored tone. Heather's notoriety no longer flattered or amused her, so she didn't feel like wasting any more words than she had to.
Perplexed by Holly J's dull sarcasm, he ushered her and Jay inside and offered them beers. Discomfort settled over Holly J as she took in her surroundings, and more importantly, as the surroundings took in her. There was little of the dull beige carpet visible beneath all the beer-product litter, magazines, and video game paraphernalia that covered the floors. The walls were white and blank other than the odd Bob Marley or 50 Cent poster, and the entirety of the apartment carried a stale, yeasty smell.
There were two other boys in the apartment, parked on pieces of moldy furniture, holding plastic cups of beer. They wore the same non-descript black attire that Jay usually wore, like it was some kind of uniform. Holly J, with her glossy lips and sleek ponytail, floral skirt and blue tights, easily contrasted them. It was obvious that they were all old enough to be out of high school (having graduated or otherwise exited), and that when they were in high school, Holly J was exactly the kind of girl they would have stayed away from.
In varying states of stoned and drunk, Jay's friends eyed Holly J with utter confusion. The entire scene was a clash of frilly, glittery girl against shifty, sludgy boy, and all Holly J could do to break the awkward moment was take her seat and sip her beer.
An hour into the evening, she had turned into a piece of furniture, ignored completely. She spent a lot of time staring at her nails as she listened to Jay engage in shameless, unfunny cock-talk with his garish posse. This is what it would be like to be a groupie for a white trash boy band, she realized.
"Hey goldilocks," called one of Jay's friends, summoning Holly J from her bored daze. This one was named Kody, a thick guy, greasy black hair, wearing a shirt that brandished a pair of fluorescent purple dice. "You play cards?"
Holly J rolled her eyes with impatience. "Sure. Me and the three bears love a good Texas wild-card." She followed Kody's beckoning motion and pulled up a chair to the black plastic card table.
"You've been looking pretty bored over there. Let's make this interesting," Kody suggested with a mischievous grin. "Strip poker?"
The other boys joined him in a chorus of laughter, which Holly J only regarded with another eyeroll. "That wouldn't be interesting, it would be nauseating. Besides, in case it's not painfully obvious, I'm the only lady here… are you guys really that eager to see each other take off your clothes on the off-chance I might have to take off some of mine?"
She had struck a direct hit on their homophobic insecurities; their laughter immediately died off and they abandoned the idea of strip poker.
"What about shot poker, then?" another of the boys chimed in.
"Ah, just give it up, dude," yet another entered with a laugh. He hooked his thumb towards Holly J. "We may as well just play with lollipops with this one."
"Dude, shut up," said Jay, smacking the guy's shoulder. Holly J felt slightly touched that he was standing up for her. But then he kept talking. "You don't want to get her all sugared up before bedtime!"
"Shot poker sounds great," Holly J snapped defensively before the teasing could continue. She marched towards the kitchen and picked up two bottles of liquor from the counter. "Which one are we shootin', boys? Vodka or tequila?"
The group of boys began to bubble with delight and amusement at Holly J's feistiness. One way or another, they could see that the night was definitely going in a more interesting direction. Holly J rummaged through the dirty dishes to find some shot glasses and brought them, along with the liquor supply, over to the card table.
Jay, however, frowned. "Hey, we were just messing around," he said gently as she sat back down. "You don't have to play."
Holly J huffed. "So I'm supposed to hang out in the corner all night? Newsflash, Holly J Sinclair doesn't do well in corners."
Jay scratched his head. A protective instinct was deluging over him, though he wasn't sure where it was coming from. "Holly J… these guys play for real money. And when you throw in drinking… I don't want you to wind up in a bad spot."
"Oh, how chivalrous of you. Afraid to get out-drank and out-played by a girl?"
Jay couldn't believe how stubborn she was being. Normally it was cute and harmless, but he felt like she was getting genuinely pissed off this time. "Holly J, be serious. All of us are twice your weight. There's no way you can keep up."
"Sexist much?"
"It's not sexism, little button, it's science."
"Whatever you say, Rush Limbaugh. Are you in or out?" She poured herself a shot of tequila and slammed it, chasing it with her beer. The other boys howled and applauded, both stunned and amused. Her eyes were alight with challenge as she gazed at Jay, waiting for his response.
"Fine," Jay answered. "It's on."
Holly J's expression quickly changed from a daring scowl to a chipper smile. "Great. Now… how do I play?"