“Nice to meet you,Jude,” the girl said, licking her lollipop and really working the Lolitavibe.
I didn’t even know hername.
Three days later, when I saw Jessa at a band rehearsal, I asked her, “Who was that girl with you at the apartment the othernight?”
“That was Roni,” shesaid.
“You mean Wild Card,” Zane said. “That’s Jessa’s new friend from school.” His eyebrow arched in a way that told me he’d met her,too.
Jessa rolled her eyes. “Her name’sRoni.”
Zane mouthed at me:WildCard.
Within a week, I’d found out all kinds of shit about VeronicaWebber.
First of all, the “Wild Card” thing: Zane’s invention. And unfortunately, it caught on. Even though she was new to Jessa’s school, Roni Webber was already making something of a reputation for herself around the neighborhood. She was a junior, a year ahead of Jessa—and obviously, lightyears more sexuallymature.
I found out she lived with her mom and her mom’s boyfriend in a crappy old house about ten blocks from the house where Jesse and Jessa had grown up, where Jessa now lived with their mom. I also found out that Roni used her mom’s piece-of-shit car to go to parties. And that she was starting to take Jessa to those parties withher.
Parties neither of them should’ve beenat.
Jessa seemed to like her, was always hanging out withher.
Jesse didn’t love her. Definitely didn’t want any of her “wild card” ways rubbing off on his babysister.
I was reservingjudgment.
I didn’t dislike her, that was forsure.
The Lolita thing didn’t really do it for me, but something about herdid.
I’d always been pretty selective with girls. Usually, I was attracted to older women. Maybe it was my own insecurity, or maybe I was just wired that way. But I’d never understood my brother’s fascination with club sluts. I was never drawn to the fangirls who hung out like flies around my dad’s motorcycle club, now also my brother’s motorcycle club,oraround theband.
I preferred women who offered a little challenge. Smart. Classy. Maybe a littlemysterious.
Women who wouldn’t touch men like my brother with a very long and sterilepole.
I wasn’t usually drawn to younger girls, in general. When I was sixteen, I was already sleeping with twenty-year-olds.
But I was curious aboutRoni.
And the few times I crossed paths with her, when she was with Jessa, she kinda stared at me. She flirted a little. She asked me about myname.
“Jude,” she said, the third time I met her, stressing the U sound. “Juuude. I’ve never met a guy named Jude. Is that like the Beatlessong?”
“It’s not unlike the Beatles song,” Isaid.
She smiled. She had round, pouty lips, and she definitely knew how to work them when a guy was looking at her. It was the first time she’d smiled at me, and I likedit.
Then she showed up at a band rehearsal with Jessa, literally the next day—and flirted up a pheromone storm with Zane, right in front ofme.
And withDylan.
At that point, I pegged her as a groupie. Disappointing, sort of. But it wasn’t like I was surprised. I was so familiar with the routine that it had already become numbingly boring. The way some girls looked right past me to my brother, or Zane, or Jesse, orwhoever.
I knew thetype.
Call me crazy, but I preferred women who actually sawme. Who actually gave a fuck aboutme.
