Not Worth Remembering

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
It's not a pleasant story. But no one ever asked for one. Jordan Nap certainly didn't. That's how she got here. That's how she spiraled out of control. And ended up in a living hell.

Format is a fucking piece of shit, so that completely ruins the story for me. I apologize. It's a really terrible story to begin with.

Submitted: July 29, 2009

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 29, 2009



“What the hell?”

“Stop fucking hogging it.”

“Fucking bitch.”

I draw the joint from my lips. Smoke coats my tongue and curls down my throat. I hold it as long as I could before breathing out a stream. My eyes water and I lean back.

A screen door screams and another person saunters into the basement. “Danny, you brought the beer!”

The case of Coors is passed around and someone pulls out a funnel. I curl against the couch and smile as I watch. A girl sidles up to me and centers a camera in front of our faces. A series of flashes go off and I grin ear to ear.

I love summer.


It’s four thirteen in the morning. And I want cake. But I’m lying on the floor with some boy and I have no idea whose house I’m in.

I wonder if they have cake.

We had angel food cake at the restaurant last night. Maurice let us the waitresses each try a slice. It’s not as good as the chocolate. The chocolate’s deadly.

Now I’m completely fixated on chocolate cake.

Danny The Beer Guy turns out to be the boy next to me. He rolls over, mumbling in his sleep. It doesn’t look like he remembers what we did either. But I’m wearing his oversized T-shirt, so that has to say something.

I stagger to my feet and find a staircase that leads upstairs. Tiptoeing across the wood floors, I slip into a linoleum kitchen.

An open box of Twinkies sits on the counter, which will have to do.

Inhaling the creamy deliciousness, I close my eyes and relax. Until I hear a voice.

“Who the fuck are you?”

A boy with ragged hair and wrinkled clothes is squinting into the fluorescents from the threshold of the living room.

I gulp down a mouthful of Twinkie. “Um. The party. Yesterday…”

“Oh. Angela’s.”

“Yeah. That’s it.” Angela?

“But. Why are you in my kitchen?”

“Your kitchen?”

“I’m Angela’s brother.”

I stare at him unblinkingly.


“Eli and Ella.”

“You call Angela that?”

“I don’t call her.”

He widens his eyes before he narrows them. “Who did you say you were?”

“Jordan.” I fix the hem of Danny’s shirt.

Eli snickers. “Jordan Nap.”

“Yeah.” I raise my chin. “That’s me.”

“I remember you.”

I run a hand through my hair. “From when?”

“Angela brought you home when she met you in junior high and you told me I was cute.”

“I did not.”

“You did, and you invited me to play.”

“I don’t remember this at all. I don't know Angela.”

Eli takes a few steps into the kitchen and shakes his head. He takes his own Twinkie package. “Too bad. I think you’re cute too.”

I smirk, biting my lip. I brush my fingertips across his forearm and move into his chest. He kisses me back and we push back against the counter. Off goes Danny’s shirt and Eli’s shorts. The kitchen floor is sticky and as we fall down together, a rain of Twinkies falls with us. We bump against the walls and the stove and the refrigerator.

We fall asleep together.

And we wake up to faces staring at our naked shame. I crawl inside Danny’s shirt and face the audience.

“You fucked my brother?” Angela, I’m guessing, is jabbing a fake fingernail at me.

I cleared my voice. “Don’t get in my face.”

“He has a fucking girlfriend. What if my dad fucking found you? You fucking slut.” The acrylic tips dig into my shoulders.

“Don’t. Get in my face.” I give her a push.

She shoves me back. “Bitch, get the fuck out of my house.”

Heat pinpricks my face. I turn to Eli. He shrugs.

“Fuck all you.” I push through the onlookers to the screen door.

© Copyright 2017 to lie on the floor without holding on. All rights reserved.

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