by T. A. Kunz
“All right, get going. But try to be home at a reasonable hour, okay?”
“You got it,” I say before pulling open the door and rushing outside.
I’m pretty positive Lori’s car has seen better days. It’s not a clunker by any means, it just has its fair share of dents and scratches along its mostly shiny black exterior. At the very least, it makes me question her driving skills. The fact she’s waving around a bottle of vodka and two purple sports drinks only adds to the evidence piling up in my head.
Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.
I’m amused despite my observations. “Cool it with the drink waving,” I tell Lori as I open the passenger door. “My aunt’s probably watching us through the curtains.”
“Oops, my bad,” she replies with a mischievous grin as she stashes the drinks in a bag in the back seat.
After I settle into the passenger seat, she roughly pulls me toward her and declares, “Pre-party selfie!” She holds the phone out in front of us before snapping the pic. “We’re so photogenic. I love it.” Her thumbs fly across her phone’s keyboard. “And … posted.”
“I’m not photogenic. My face always looks like I’m holding in a fart or something.”
“Holy crap, can you not? Are you kidding me? You have to know how you look, right?” She shows me the pic of us. “You’re a certified little hottie, my friend.”
“At least one of us thinks so,” I murmur.
She giggles. “I literally can’t with you.”
She throws the car into drive and pulls away from the house.
The sun hangs low in the sky. It casts sinister shadows of bare gnarled branches, resembling long boney fingers creeping out for us on the road ahead. They conjure forth thoughts of the impending Halloween holiday. My favorite. The biting chill flowing through the open car windows adds the perfect flourish.
I’ve always loved fall, and here in Haddon Falls it’s far from disappointing. Much better than the pseudo-fall I’m used to in the South where we’d get, like, two days of seventy-degree weather before it shot back up to a constant eighty until around December.
“Hey,” Lori says, “I’ve got to make a quick stop before we head to Sophia’s. We’re kind of running early anyway.”
“Sure. You’re the one driving.”
“And being fashionably late is key, darling.” Her posh accent is perfection personified.
We pull into RJ’s drugstore down the street from The Pour Over and she puts the car in park. “Be right back.”
I grab one of the purple drinks from the back seat and twist off the cap. Without thinking, I take a huge gulp and instantly regret it. A burning sensation courses its way through my mouth and nose before swirling down my throat. I’m sent into a coughing fit as I struggle to get the cap back onto the bottle.
“Damn,” I get out between coughs. “She’s already mixed in the vodka.”
My eyes land on the two deputy cruisers parked a few spots down. I tense up. There are no cars between us, giving them a clear visual of me. I not-so-discreetly try to lower the bottle out of view and shrink back against the seat, wanting to disappear. I’m sure the whole thing looked spastic to anyone on the outside.
Nailed it.
A familiar mix of people exit the store, catching my attention. Connor and a few members from his group are talking amongst themselves while sharing a large bag of chips. There’s one girl and two guys with him.
I can’t help but stare at the piece of human artwork as he passes by. He’s exactly the kind of guy I’d go for. Actually, he checks most, if not all, of my aesthetic boxes.
Taller than me … check.
Dark hair … check.
Light colored eyes … check.
Lean and cut … check.
Killer smile … check.
Well-kempt facial hair … check.
Piercings and tattoos … double check.
One obvious thing about Connor and his group is how different they all are from each other. They seem to belong to separate factions that each send a delegate to a meeting of the minds to discuss how to keep the peace between their crews.
If this were an eighties teen movie, they’d all fit the parts of the stock characters based on visuals alone. There’s the jock, who, interestingly enough, usually orders the fruitiest teas we have on the menu. Then there’s the queen bee who consistently gets the blonde roast with soy milk and one packet of Splenda. At least, that was the case until recently. Now it’s been all pumpkin spice all the time.
Next is the geek, who only ever requests a double shot of espresso in a cup. The good girl prefers a light herbal green tea with a packet of raw sugar. At the opposite end of the spectrum, the outcast always orders his coffee strong, dark, and straight up with no additions.
I wonder how these people all became and stayed friends. It’s fascinating, to say the least.
Connor—the rebel of the group—catches me staring. I avert my eyes. For some strange reason, I begin whistling awkwardly while acting like I’m searching for something in the car. I inch my eyes back over to where the group was, but they’re gone now.
I’m a complete dork.
The lights surrounding the drugstore flicker to life as the sun sets. Lori’s still not back. I begin an impromptu drum solo with my fingers on the dash as I grow fidgety.
She emerges from the store and hurries over to the car. “Sorry it took so long,” she says, plopping down in the driver’s seat. “They didn’t have my prescription ready, so I had to wait. Damn depression.” She shakes a sandwich-sized Ziploc bag containing a handful of pink pills before tossing it into the cup holder. “And they were out of bottles on top of that.”
Is it legal to give out prescriptions without labels?
I shrug it off. This is a small town. I suppose even the pharmacist has to manage with what supplies are readily available.
I want to ask Lori about her depression since I’ve definitely been there before, but our friendship is still too new. I wouldn’t want someone just coming out and asking about mine if the roles were reversed. It isn’t my business anyway.
“No worries,” I say. “I kept myself busy. But you could’ve warned me you prepped the drinks already.”
She snorts. “You downed some, didn’t you?”
“Sure did,” I reply. I’m mildly amused by how entertained she is by the situation.
She bursts into a laughing fit. “Damn, man, sorry about that. I should’ve given you a heads up.”
“It’s all right. Honestly, I think it’s exactly what I needed to start this night off right.”
“Now that’s what I like to hear,” she says before throwing the car into reverse and pulling out of the small lot and back onto the road.
When we reach Sophia Gomer’s house, which in all reality should be called a mini mansion, there are vehicles everywhere. Cars are parked in the massive driveway, on the sprawling lawn, and in front of other houses along the street. Her party is most definitely matching the hype.
“There are houses like this in Haddon Falls?” I ask as Lori parallel parks on the street down a ways from the party.
“Not many. This is kind of the only neighborhood with houses like this. Everyone who lives in this area makes well over six figures. That’s why Sophia always has parties, because the chick’s family is seriously loaded. And her parents are rarely home because of some traveling business or whatever they’re involved in.”
“Must be nice,” I say, peering out the window at the roof of the house which is still in view even from this distance.
Lori presents the bottles of purple liquid and I grab the one I drank from earlier. “Pre-game time, little Donnie.” She taps her bottle against mine and proceeds to take a sizable gulp.
I follow suit, though admittedly she’s handling the drinking a lot better than I am. I wouldn’t consider myself a lightweight, but Lori puts away drinks like she’s training for the liquor Olympics.
Looks like I may have t
o be DD tonight.
“Okay, one last selfie before we make our grand entrance,” she says.
I stash my bottle off to the side as she readies her phone to take the pic. She pulls me in and yells, “Goofy face!”
I stick out my tongue and act like I’ve died from alcohol poisoning, which probably isn’t far from the truth if I keep at this drink like I have been.
“Epic,” she states as she goes to post the pic. “I can’t wait for you to officially hang out with my bestie, Drea. You’ll love her. We used to do things like this all the time.” She flashes me a quick pic of the two of them at a concert.
“You don’t anymore?”
“She’s going through some stuff, but she’ll be back. Then we’ll be like the damn three musketeers. Senior year isn’t ready for us.”
I can tell something weighs heavy on her. Her mood suddenly shifts. After a moment, she shakes herself out of it and yells at the top of her lungs, “Project Trent, Commence!”
This should prove to be an interesting night.
Drea
Image after image, my heart sinks further.
Swipe up.
Swipe up.
Swipe up.
If someone told me a month ago that I’d be standing in front of the house of arguably the most popular girl at Haddon Falls High scrolling through my supposed best friend’s socials, alone and torturing myself instead of partying it up inside like every other teen in this town, I’d have called them crazy. Lori and I are inseparable, I would’ve said, and there’s no way I’d be here without her.
Well, it turns out there’s always room for change.
And now I’ve apparently become a glutton for punishment on the verge of being a masochist. She looks happy, but then again, that’s Lori’s M.O. Her “always on” photo smile, she calls it. Her mask, I like to tease. If I summed up her life with a solitary motto it’d be, “If you stay ready, you don’t have to get ready.”
I should be thrilled to see her posting these fun pictures, but given the current state of things, I’m not sure I can scrounge up such an emotion.
Swipe up.
Swipe up.
Swipe up.
The common thread throughout her most recent posts is Donovan Walsh, the new guy at school and Lori’s shiny new best friend. My replacement. At least, that’s the consensus among our mutual acquaintances.
I lower my phone and stow it away, ending the little stalker session. I can’t say I’m terribly proud of my current love affair with jealousy and resentment. Especially because I’m about to enter the first major party of senior year and the last thing on my mind is having a good time.
But I have my reasons.
The front door to Sophia Gomer’s house flies open and a group of people stumble out. The frontrunner of the pack is fellow cheerleader and Sophia’s number two, Chloe Fern. A self-proclaimed high functioning hot mess. From the looks of it, she’s definitely living up to her reputation. Out of the entire group, she seems to be the only one “talented” enough not to spill an ounce of her drink in the process.
“Drea, you so need to get on this level,” she slurs, toasting me and sloshing some liquid from the cup.
There goes her no spilling streak.
She’s right though. I am too sober to deal with this right now. I’m here with a purpose, and this is only serving as a distraction.
“Hey, Chloe, have you seen Lori?”
She shakes her cup as she gets closer. “Where do you think I got this? Lori’s at the bar, like always.” She pokes her index finger into my shoulder. “Hey, why haven’t you been at practice?”
I go to answer her with the rehearsed little white lie I prepared for this exact kind of situation, but her attention shifts to three guys doing a keg stand in the front yard. “I call next,” she announces, and stumbles away.
I nod and carry on the conversation at a low volume as if she were still there. “Thanks for asking about that, Chloe. I just went through a major trauma, no big deal. But I haven’t fallen into a deep pit of despair yet, so fingers crossed.” My words drip with sarcasm.
Awesome, now I’m talking to myself.
She glances back at me. “Did you say something?”
I shake my head and look away, hoping she loses interest and keeps moving along, kind of like a T-Rex with potential prey standing completely still.
When she returns her attention to the keg, I let out a relieved breath. I turn my own attention back to her response about Lori. I should’ve known. Lori tends to like being the main focus at these things, and at a high school party like this, where is most of the action? The makeshift bar, of course.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not hating on her need to be in the spotlight. Her extroverted nature is the thing that ripped me, clawing and screaming, from my introverted rut when I moved to Haddon Falls at the beginning of sophomore year. Lori was my first friend here. My best friend. There’s no way I can ever repay her for what she’s done for me. Period.
The sounds of the party meet me before I enter. In our little cheerleading world, there’s an unwritten rule making attendance to these parties mandatory since our squad leader hosts them. Since I’ve been kind of MIA as of late, I felt maybe my presence here would suggest I haven’t completely given up on the squad. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
The moment I cross the door’s threshold, I immediately regret my life choices.
This is too soon.
I’m not ready for this.
This is my first foray back into the Haddon Falls High social scene since my little hiatus. I know there will be triggers all around me, but I’ve got to push them aside. I have to find Lori.
I’m temporarily blinded by the rapid pulse of strobe lights assaulting my eyeballs. Flash silhouettes of bodies writhing on the “dance floor” to the deep throbbing base line register through my squinted eyes. A cacophonous mixture of shrieking laughter and multiple conversations crash into each other all at once. Sensory overload.
I don’t know if I can do this.
I draw in a deep, calming breath and keep moving forward against the flow of the crowd. Several people feel the need to say they’re happy to see me. I flash them a forced smile accompanied by a nod since it’s all small talk anyway … nothing to make me stop and actually engage. I’m not surprised the usual suspects are in attendance. Every “it” person at our school is present and accounted for.
Sophia’s burn-out of an older brother, Will, must be playing the part of DJ because the whole house feels like one giant EDM concert, complete with laser lights and fog machines. I try to blend in by “dancing” my way through the throng of people, but it’s more like a shimmy with forward momentum. I want to at least give off the illusion I’m enjoying myself. High school is all about keeping up appearances, after all.
My entire body seizes up and skids to a halt. My eyes are pinned in disbelief to the sight in front of me. I clench my fists so hard my nails dig into my palms. My heartbeat quickens to a feverish rate and my vision tunnels.
The nerve.
The gall.
The audacity.
A picture-perfect pair stands there hovering dangerously close to one another. Their body language screams attraction as they exchange smiles. The only problem is the pair happens to be comprised of my supposed best friend, Lori, and the jerk face who shall remain nameless for a plethora of reasons.
Lori’s hand trails up the aforementioned douche canoe’s arm. He leans closer to her with a roguish grin complete with bedroom eyes. I try to bite back the words forming in my throat, but fail spectacularly.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” The vigor in my voice surprises me. It didn’t even sound like me to my own ears.
The forceful statement lands me on the receiving end of some serious stares from the surrounding crowd. I swear I hear a record scratch and the music die abruptly, but alas, it’s all in my head.
Lori breaks away from the asshole’s clutches with a
playful shove and hurries over to me. “Bitch, you came! I’m so glad you’re here.” Her tone is hesitant but upbeat.
She envelopes me in a hug and squeezes tight. I reciprocate, but I’m still in a daze over what was just on display. The honeymoon phase fades away.
I tilt my head back and my eyes fix on hers. “Of all the guys in all of this town, why him?”
I glance over at the jerk in question in time to catch the snide smile smeared across his face. He throws me a pompous two finger wave while still holding onto his beer. I vomit a little in my mouth … metaphorically speaking, of course.
“Who? Trent? He’s harmless,” Lori says.
Harmless?
Harmless!?
Harmless!?!
My frustration mounts by the nanosecond. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and the sensation swirls down both of my arms. My body is wound so tight I should have a “Contents Under Pressure” warning sticker slapped on my forehead.
My jaw clenches. “Wow. So you’re just going to stand there and pretend that he hasn’t been the main source of my trauma for the past few weeks?” I say. “And then to top it all off, you call him harmless?”
She places her hands on my shoulders and applies the slightest pressure while holding my gaze. “Sweetie, you need to calm down. You’re making a scene.” A smile cracks through her serious demeanor. “This is a party where you’re supposed to be having fun. Besides, I was just being friendly with Trent. Nothing more. Promise.”
Lies.
A few weeks ago, that’s how it all started between Trent and me too. Friendly. I’m not even sure why I was entertaining his company in the first place given his notorious man slut reputation. Call it a serious lapse in judgment. But after a shot of vodka here and a couple of beers there, it was suddenly morning and I was waking up in one of Sophia’s guest rooms in nothing but my bra and panties. I had little recollection of the night before, but I know I didn’t have enough alcohol that night to get black-out drunk.
“Regardless of you just being friendly with him,” I say to Lori, “you know how I feel about Trent. He’s a spoiled brat who takes advantage of girls and then hides behind his bros. He gets away with everything. I mean, come on, his dad’s that sleazeball lawyer with his face on most of the benches downtown. Tell me that’s not Shithead of the Year material right there.”
