Page 6 of Not So Goode
“So what? So what’s the point of fucking if you don’t get your titties sucked on, Charlie?”
I blushed so hard I thought my face would catch on fire. “Alexandra Rochelle Goode. That is inappropriate.”
“Oh shut thefuckup,Mother.” She flipped me off, both hands. “You are so fucking uptight.”
“And you are a serious potty mouth.”
“Andyouare a serious Goody Two-shoes. Loosen up. Drop an F-bomb. Fuck a dude without caring whether he liked it or not, and don’t call him the next day. Get hammered before noon—just because.”
I hissed. “That last one Ihavedone. More than once, and recently.”
Lex clapped a palm over her mouth. “No, you havenot!”
“I have too!” I started helping her stack the piles of outfits together, and then shoved them into her hard-sided four-caster suitcase. “You’re not the only one in crisis mode, Lexie.”
She set a pile of clothes down on the bed, tilting her head and staring at me. “You? Really?”
“My life is not as neat and orderly and perfect as you girls all seem to think it is.” I fixed my eyes on the suitcase, fixing the piles of clothing so they were more neatly stacked. “It’s kind of upside-down right now, actually.”
“So this road trip is for you, too.” She stuffed shoes willy-nilly into the suitcase, which I then promptly began rearranging to fit more neatly.
“Yes,” I answered. “I need this, too.”
“So, here’s the deal,” Lexie said. “We are officially the no-bra, man-hating, day-drinkers road trip club.” A broad, giddy grin. “Membership, two.”
I shook my head. “That’s a terrible idea.”
“It’s a great idea. It’s completely irresponsible and stupid, which is exactly why you, more than anyone, need it most. You’ve been the epitome of a good girl your whole life. Four-point-oh every semester from eighth grade to graduation. Valedictorian. Three-letter athlete all four years of high school. Accepted to every school you applied for, including at least two Ivy League schools that I know of. Full athletic and academic scholarship to Yale, where you double-majored in business and law.” She yanked my bra out of my hands and tossed it into her suitcase and zipped it up. “You dated the same lame dickbag allfiveyears you were at Yale. Right out of college you got a zinger of a job at a big hoity-toity real estate law firm, a classy apartment with your lame dickbag boyfriend…”
“Okay, you think Glen is a lame dickbag and I’m an overachiever. I get it.” I huffed and rolled my eyes. “No need to rub it in any further.”
“My point, sister of mine, is that you have done exactlyeverythingin your life correctly, by the book. You dot every i, cross every t, never speed, never swear, never drink. Glen was the one serious boyfriend you’ve had in your whole life. You probably gave him your V-card, too, I bet.”
I glared at her. “Are you trying to upset me? Because it’s working.”
From the back of the nearby desk chair, she grabbed a chunky, cable-knit saffron cardigan with giant wooden buttons and slipped it on. “No, Char. I envy your ability to do things that way. But I just can’t. I’m not built to be that kind of person, and I often wish I was.” She grabbed my hand and the suitcase handle. Paused—glanced around and snatched a small hard-sided black ukulele case hand-painted with daisies and dragonflies and thorn bushes and poetry lyrics. “What I’m saying is, you deserve to take this time, this road trip with your irresponsible wild child of a sister and get a little crazy. Cut loose. Break a few rules. Be a rebel. Do dumb things. Then, when we get to Ketchikan with Mommy and Cass, you figure out the next phase of your life as an upstanding, morally aligned, socially responsible adult with an Ivy League degree and an impeccable resumé.” She winked at me. “And fantastic tits.”
I rolled my eyes at her, but my heart was a little warmed. “You’re not an irresponsible wild child, Lexie.”
“Ohhh yes I am. Just wait till I tell you my fucked-up train wreck of a story, girlfriend. You’re gonna wanna slap me silly.” She headed for the door, pulling me with her.
I tugged her to a stop. “Um, Lex?”
She glanced at me over her shoulder. “Um, Charlie?”
“Purse? Phone? Toiletries? Charger? Laptop? Makeup? A jacket?”
Lexie bit her lower lip and made a “derp” face. “Oh. Right. Those minor details.”
I cackled. “You’re such a space cadet, Alexandra.”
“I am not,” she said, archly. “I just get caught up in things and overlook details.”
“Yeah, well, you know what Dad used to say—the devil is in the details.”
She turned into a human hurricane, dumping all the aforementioned items and a host of other random items into a big duffel bag, shoved her phone and charger into her purse—a huge, battered, scratched, worn, leather sack-type purse she’d had since high school. All this done, she smiled at me eagerly. “Well? Is that everything?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, Lex, is it?”