Hemorrhage.

Molly kept giving me these weird looks. She was speculating something, and it made me shift uncomfortably, because it kind of felt like she was speculating my face. She stood next to me in line at F.Y.E., but rather than making the usual small talk, she chose to stare. I almost asked her what was so interesting, but I was afraid that I might come off sounding kind of like a bitch, so I chickened out. She still kind of intimidated me.

I didn’t like being in this store. We drove twenty minutes out of Tempe because I accidentally let it slip that I didn’t have The Maine’s debut album. I mean, I knew about the band (obviously), but I didn’t have the CD. Molly had insisted that we get it, but that we go to the next town over, because Target was always sold out and Hot Topic had swarms of The Maine stalkers all over the place. I hadn’t noticed any overly zealous girls, but I took her word for it.

The cashier was pretty - really pretty. Her hair hung straight, passed her shoulders. Her eyes were a warm chestnut. She looked kind of irritated, as if she had somewhere better to be. Maybe she did.

She sighed when we stepped up to the cash wrap. Molly seemed to snap out of her trance.

“This it?” The cashier asked in broken English. Her nametag was covered by her hair.

I nodded. Molly just stood there. The cashier picked up the CD, scanning over the barcode. She briefly glanced at the title.

“The Maine. Oh, hometown heroes.” She said.

I remained standing. I shifted my weight from foot to foot. I scratched my wrist.

“Yup.” Molly said, adding a word to ease some awkward tension.

“They’re okay.” The cashier shrugged. “For a pop-punk, All Time Low rip-off, I guess.”

I never understood why music store clerks always felt the need to give input when someone was buying a CD. They acted like their job gave them a right to share their opinions. Honestly, if she would have just kept her mouth shut, none of this would have happened.

“Emilie’s John’s girlfriend.” Molly declared.

That was a lie. But I was a little preoccupied with the feelings that ran through my brain when she said that to deny it or notice the girl’s reaction. I only saw her face pucker unhappily.

“Oh, no, we’re not-,” I tried to get the words out fast enough, but Molly was faster. She had no hesitation in her voice.

“They’ve been going out for over a year.”

“No, we haven’t.” I shook my head.

The cashier looked at me. “Oh.” Her voice was strained. “That’s nice.”

I could tell that she was an in-the-closet, under-the-covers Maine fanatic. It was in her face. She would shrug at their name in public, even laugh at their mediocrity, but when it actually came down to it, she knew every word to both EPs, CD, and secret tracks. She probably knew where they all lived, and if we were both asked twenty questions about John, she might just know more.

She was probably struggling with her composure.

“They’re pretty much fate.” A bulldozer couldn’t have taken the smugness out of Molly’s tone, and the clerk must have detected it to, because she flipped her hair over her shoulder and put on her game face.

“Really? The tour must be so hard then.” She said. “With them being gone so much, and you not being there and all.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but I was the dummy and Molly was the ventriloquist.

“Not really. They have lengthy phone conversations, and we’re going to all of the dates within four states of us.”

That was a lie. I was going to two Warped Tour dates, maybe, and even those were debatable depending on the situation at hand. But Molly was a convincing liar, and she seemed like she was itching to stir up some trouble.

“Really?” Brunette’s eyebrows were lifted so high that they disappeared behind her bangs. She had very thin eyebrows, one’s that Jared would joke about being applied with a Sharpie. “That must be nice.” Her attention turned to me. “You must really trust him, with all of those girls out there begging for his attention. Must be great to have such an open relationship like that. I mean, John is a lady’s man, after all.”

My hands felt sweaty, and I blushed. A seventeen-year-old was intimidating me. That was another accomplishment to add to my list.

“We’re not - he’s not - it’s not like that.” I stumbled over my words. “We’re just really good friends.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “She’s just being modest. They’re a great couple together. I don’t think Emilie has anything to worry about.”

“That’s good, being so confident about yourself like that.” Brunette was ignoring Molly. “I mean, Warped Tour does get some of the hottest girls each date. I could never feel that confident about my body or my boyfriend. I applaud you.”

Though her words were made to sound like she was in awe of my accomplishments, the sickly sweet tone was mocking. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like the way her words made me feel.

“Emilie really is great.” Molly replied, her eyes narrowed at the girl. “Their relationship is doing fantastic. Are you done ringing the CD yet? It’s been what, five minutes?”

I’d witnessed hundreds of girl drama in high school - catty comments, narrowed eyes, and even the occasional acrylic-nail scratch. This was different, though, because I was the center of their bitter banter, and it was such a new feeling. From one perspective, I was flattered that Molly would stick up for me, getting defensive over the girl’s comments. On the other hand, I felt like I was creating unneeded drama, and that caused the guilt to set in.

The clerk nodded, bagging the CD and looking at me. “Thirteen seventy-two.” She announced.

I reached into my pocket and grabbed a twenty-dollar bill, sliding it over the counter towards her. She entered the amount into the cash register and got my change from the drawer. She forcefully pressed the money down on the counter, along with the receipt.

I grabbed it. Molly rolled her eyes. We both moved to walk away. The girl didn’t even bother forcing out a, “have a good day,” which was both a good thing and a bad thing, I guess.

I just felt relieved that the confrontation was over, and now I could go home and sit and wait for John to call. Even if the time that I was sitting and waiting would be spent rewinding and repeating the brunette’s words. I would most likely take them to heart.

I had just pushed the glass door open, Molly trailing behind me, when we both heard the brunette mutter - from some vague place behind us -, “Stupid anorexic bitch.”

Now, I was fully prepared to let the words sting, cry a little about it, and become a hermit again. That was how I dealt with hurtful comments like that. However, Molly had a different plan of action.

Now maybe she had been having a bad day, or maybe she was just in a bad mood, but Molly was pissed. I knew this by the way she whipped herself around and went lunging.

“Excuse me?” She asked, her voice ringing high and clear.

The brunette - whose nametag was now visible - looked startled. Melissa, as I believed her name to be, obviously thought she was quieter than she actually was.

“What?” She faked innocence.

“Oh, I heard you, bitch.” Molly retorted. “If you have a rude comment to make, I suggest you say it now, because I won’t stand for your childish shit.”

I had never heard Molly cuss so much in such a short period of time.

I stood, frozen in spot, with my eyes wide. I wanted to make them stop, but I didn’t know how.

“I - I didn’t say anything.” Melissa stuttered, most likely rethinking her actions and deciding that she didn’t want to get into a fight with a psychotic redhead.

“That’s what I thought.” Molly glared. “Next time, keep your mouth shut.”

She turned and stormed out of the door. I meekly followed her. The entire walk to the car, she was silently fuming. I was afraid to say something to her, so I remained silent.

The ride home was only accompanied by the CD, which I put in to hopefully calm her down. By the time we drove into her driveway, I had decided that yup, my best friend was basically the shit. It was a nice feeling. I was proud of him. I was going to tell him that when he called that night, too.

The only problem was that he didn’t call that night. I thought maybe he was too busy, or that maybe he was driving passed a place that got shitty cell phone reception. I had no idea that it was because of Molly’s little confrontation, or an article posted on Buzznet.

“JOHN O’CALLAGHAN’S (THE MAINE) GIRLFRIEND GOES BALISTIC ON A CASHIER WHEN THE GIRL MAKES A REMARK ABOUT HER WEIGHT. READ INTERVIEW BELOW.”