The Best Laid Plans

by Cameron Lund

  We all go down to the lake in the afternoon, everyone lying out on brightly colored inner tubes and inflatable pizza slices. There’s an ice chest full of beer hidden in the grass on the edge of the water, buried under a pile of beach towels so cops or parents or whoever else is around won’t know we’re drinking. The beach is crowded—practically everyone in our class is here, like we’re all trying to suck up every last minute we have with one another, savor every last drop. The sun is high in the sky, casting a golden summer haze over everything, and the beauty of it makes me ache. I know it’s never going to be just like this—like right now—ever again.

  I’m lying on a pizza slice raft, taking a nap, when an excited shriek wakes me, a cold splash to my left. When I turn, I see Andrew and Danielle struggling to fit in the same inner tube. Her hair is in a wet knot on the top of her head, red bikini struggling to stay tied as she lunges onto his shoulders, trying to dunk him under. I can’t seem to look away. They’re both so beautiful, like they’re in some bubblegum ChapStick ad in Teen Vogue, and the sight makes me a little sick. I wish they didn’t look so much like they belonged together.

  Andrew notices me looking and waves, shaking the water out of his hair like a dog. I wave back and his smile falters for a second and I know he’s feeling the same way I am. We shouldn’t be waving to each other across the lake, not today.

  “Hey, Collins,” Danielle says, shouting a little bit so I can hear her. “Do you think James Dean would buy us some booze? For tonight?”

  I don’t really want to get Dean involved, not when there are so many other available options; Andrew’s cousin, for one, or whoever supplied the thirty rack of beer currently chilling in the cooler on the beach. But I know, for Danielle, it’s some sort of test. She wants to see if I can; if I’ll have the guts.

  “I’ll give you money,” she calls across the water. “We need your help, Collins!” She loops a slippery arm around Andrew’s neck, pulling him close. We. Like they’re a unit.

  “Yeah,” I call back to them. “No problem.”

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  DANIELLE

  Sooo did you ask James Dean for alcohol yet?

  ME

  Not yet

  DANIELLE

  Get some beer for the dudes. My parents have a margarita machine, so have him pick up some tequila and chasers too

  ME

  I don’t know, that’s a lot to buy with a fake ID

  DANIELLE

  Just ask, Collins. If we don’t have booze at the party it’s on you

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  ME

  Hey

  DEAN

  What’s up

  ME

  Can I ask you something?

  DEAN

  . . .

  DEAN

  What

  ME

  Danielle is having a party tonight and she needs alcohol

  DEAN

  That’s not a question

  ME

  Do you think you could maybe get some for us?

  ME

  No pressure

  ME

  I’ll pay you back

  DEAN

  How?

  ME

  . . .

  DEAN

  I’ll see what I can do

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  ANDREW

  Hey

  ME

  Hey

  ANDREW

  Are you coming tonight? To the last supper?

  ME

  Yeah, you?

  ANDREW

  Do you want to go together?

  ANDREW

  I mean, carpool?

  ME

  I can’t. I’m going to Dean’s first

  ME

  to pick up alcohol

  ANDREW

  Oh. Yeah I’m probably gonna stay over anyway, so carpooling won’t really work

  ANDREW

  Unless you wanted to spend the night too? Could give you a ride home

  ME

  Yeah, we can spend the night

  ME

  I mean, I know you’re spending the night with Danielle. I just meant I’ll be staying over too. On the couch

  ANDREW

  Yeah, I got it

  ME

  Ok see you there!

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  When I get to Dean’s house, he has a box waiting for me full of plastic handles, some tequila and something with a dragon on the label that looks like it might kill a grown man. He’s sitting on the couch with Cody and they’re playing Mario Kart again. It’s like the world might end if they ever stop.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” I ask him, trying to lift the box. It’s way heavier than I imagined.

  “Nah, you go ahead,” he says. “You should come by after though.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get a ride.” If all the contents of this box get consumed, there’s no way anybody will be driving before tomorrow. And I don’t want to walk across campus in the middle of the night.

  “It’s just the last supper concept is kinda weird,” he says. “I feel kinda out of place going to your end-of-high-school stuff. You know, you could always skip it and we could drink this booze here.” He’s smiling in a way that makes me think he’s joking and it’s not a real offer. What’s strange though is that I don’t think I’d take him up on it if it were. For some reason, even though I’ve spent all of high school complaining about parties, I’m actually looking forward to this one. I think it’s because it might be our last.

  “It’s not going to be anything weird,” I say.

  “I’ll just see you tomorrow, okay?” he says. “For prom. That’s gonna be the real party.”

  “Dean is so excited for prom he’s practically peeing his pants,” Cody says, and I can’t tell whether he’s being sarcastic. I get the sense that what he’s saying is a little bit mean, but I can’t be sure.

  “Okay.”

  “It’s two fifty for the booze,” Dean says. I nod and dig through my wallet, handing him the money Danielle gave me. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?” he says. “You’re not mad, right? You’re still excited about prom?”

  I pick up the box, straining as I head for the door. “Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m still excited for prom.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  THE PARTY IS already in full swing by the time I get there. The house is alive, vibrating with noise and energy, and it looks like everyone is here—all of the senior class and most of the juniors. The Olivers have the kind of house that’s full of negative space—rooms that cost a fortune to decorate but no one ever actually uses. The staircase to the second floor wraps up from the foyer like a showpiece, the kind of stairs you’d expect a line of chorus girls to dance down in an old vaudeville show. Right now, it’s crammed full of people.

  There’s a big poster board taped to the back wall with THE LAST SUPPER written across it in red paint. This is risky, because the paint doesn’t seem totally dry, and every piece of furniture in this house probably costs more than a car. At the bottom of the poster in Sharpie, someone else has scrawled WHAT’S SUP? And another person: EAT MY DICK!

  B
elow that is a folding table piled with food—trays of cookies and breads Danielle made, plus some suspicious-looking brownies she clearly didn’t. There are electric tea candles everywhere, casting the party in a soft glow.

  I carry the box of alcohol into the kitchen, my arms straining, trying to edge my way past groups of people who don’t seem to see me or care to get out of the way. I scan the room and see Hannah dancing with a group of girls from her field hockey team. Before I can try to make my way over to them, Chase comes up to me, nodding his head toward the cardboard box full of bottles.

  “Collins!” he says. “What did you bring me?”

  I tilt the box toward him and he grins, pulling out a bottle of tequila.

  “Looks like we didn’t really need this,” I say, motioning to all the people around us who are clearly already wasted.

  “Dude, no, you’re a god.” He twists the bottle open and takes a swig, wiping his mouth with his hand.

  “You’re just drinking it straight?” I ask, wrinkling my nose in distaste.

  “Believe me, I need this right now.” He takes another quick swig and holds the bottle out to me. I set down the box.

  “No thanks.” I don’t want my head to be too clouded, especially by something like tequila, which Ava has always said “makes her clothes fall off.” “Hey, have you seen Andrew?”

  Chase nods behind him. “He’s with the lady of the house.”

  I look to where he’s motioned and that’s when I see them. Andrew is sitting on the couch in the TV room, Danielle perched on his lap. His hand is resting lightly on the thin strip of exposed skin between her shirt and her jean shorts.

  “They look cozy,” I say.

  “They’ve been on top of each other all night,” Chase says. “He’s like her tumor.” He takes another sip of tequila. Before I know what I’m doing, my hand reaches out and grasps the edge of the bottle.

  “Can I have some of that actually? I changed my mind.”

  “Be my guest.” He gives it to me. I pour it into a cup with a little margarita mix and then wince as I bring it to my lips. “It’s not poison,” Chase says.

  “Actually, it sort of is.” I take a sip, expecting to shudder in disgust like I did with the whiskey, but it’s surprisingly good. Dangerously good. I suddenly understand why people sing upbeat, beachy songs about margaritas. I know I’m going to have to drink it really slowly or it will hit me fast.

  I glance back and see Andrew tucking a lock of hair behind Danielle’s ear and something clenches in my gut. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My gut was perfectly fine before the stupid Plan.

  “Hey, can I ask you something?” I turn to Chase suddenly. If there’s ever going to be a time to get information out of him, it’s now, when we’re on the same side.

  “Yeah, Collins, shoot,” he says. “You’ve seen me ass naked, so at this point what’s left to hide?”

  “Did you write the notes?”

  “What notes?”

  I shake my head. “I mean that thing on the wall of the lounge. About Danielle.”

  “Fuck no,” Chase says, and I believe him. “I would never be a dick like that.”

  “Okay, but then why did you tell everyone you slept with her?” I take another sip of my drink and feel the heat of it spreading down my chest, making me more confident. I don’t know if maybe I’ve crossed a line and he’ll get mad, but at this point, I don’t really care anymore. Surprisingly, he just shrugs.

  “I fucked up,” he says. “I shouldn’t have told Ryder. I’ve known the kid since kindergarten and I know he has a big mouth. But he’s my best friend. When you finally get with the girl you like, aren’t you allowed to tell your best friend?”

  I think about all the personal things I’ve ever told Hannah, how upset I was learning that Andrew hooked up with Danielle and didn’t tell me. How can I be mad at Chase for spilling a secret he was excited about when it’s something we all do?

  “You like her?” I glance over to the couch where she and Andrew are sitting. Of course he does.

  “It’s too late now,” he says, following my gaze. “I blew it.”

  “Ryder blew it,” I say. “You’re right—she can’t fault you for telling somebody. You’re not the one who told the whole school. Why didn’t you say something to him?”

  “To Ryder? We’re in the final sprint of high school. Just ride it out, Collins.” He clinks his tequila bottle against my cup. “After next week, we’ll never have to see any of these people ever again.” Then he smiles and walk away, slinging his arm around Cecilia, who’s just come into the room and is scowling in the direction of the couch. It strikes me that even though I’ve seen him naked, I don’t really know Chase at all.

  I make my way over to Hannah, and I can tell she’s tipsy. Her cheeks are flushed pink, her bangs messy.

  “Keely!” she shouts when she sees me, like it’s been three years instead of three hours. “Happy last day of finals!” She’s with Molly Moye, the two of them swaying back and forth to the beat of some old Ariana Grande song.

  “What have you been drinking?” I like the feel of her next to me, warm and secure.

  “All of it,” she answers, bopping me on the nose.

  “Are you excited for tomorrow?” Molly asks me. She holds her drink out in the direction of mine and I tap my cup against hers and take another long, tangy sip. I start to nod, about to say something about prom and how it’s a moment and all of the other phrases I’ve been forcing through my head for the last week or so, but I realize all of a sudden that no—I’m actually not that excited for tomorrow. When I think of tomorrow night, I don’t think of prom itself, of dancing with my friends, celebrating the end of school, the final few moments we’ll still be together. All I can think about is the hotel room that Dean and I got for afterward, the moment when we’ll both be undressed, right on the edge. The moment that I promised him.

  Losing your virginity is supposed to be exciting, right? Tomorrow night is making my stomach swoop, but not like it’s full of butterflies. More like it’s full of gas. But I don’t want to think too much about it right now, so I take another long sip of my margarita and I lie to Molly.

  “I can’t wait.”

  She lights up like a Christmas tree and loops her arm through Hannah’s so we’re all linked together, like a drunken daisy chain.

  “Me too,” she says.

  “Me three,” Hannah agrees.

  “I’m going to miss you guys next year,” Molly says, and maybe it’s just the alcohol that’s got us feeling all sentimental, because I barely know Molly Moye. Well, that’s not true. I know all of the facts about Molly: she’s dating Edwin Chang, she’s played field hockey since fifth grade, she’s going to Dartmouth in the fall. But knowing these details about Molly’s life doesn’t mean I know what’s going on inside her. And yet, when she says she’s going to miss me, I understand what she means. Because I’m going to miss Molly too. She’s part of my ecosystem. I’m used to her life orbiting mine, like she’s always just on the edge of my vision. And I know after we graduate—after summer is over, when I go off to California, and Hannah leaves for New York, and Molly for New Hampshire, I’ll probably never see Molly Moye again.

  I wander around the house feeling slightly lost in the crowd of people, the sweaty mass of bodies. I’m already on my second margarita and the tequila is blurring them together, morphing them into strangers.

  In the kitchen I find Danielle and Ava. I guess Danielle must have peeled herself off Andrew’s lap. Where has he gone?

  There’s a cookie sheet on the counter and they’ve sprinkled tortilla chips and cheese on it, their fingers greasy. Because these are Danielle nachos, there are other ingredients too: black olives, jalapeños, sliced onions, and tomatoes. I can picture her cutting vegetables up before the party started, putting them in little bowls like my mom does.
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  “Collins!” Ava shouts when she sees me. “Come eat the last supper with us! We’re making a feast.” Ava operating an oven is probably a bad idea, but I’m happy she’s moved from kaleories to nachos. Hopefully Danielle will keep her from burning the house down.

  “Where’s Andrew?” I ask, grabbing a chip off the tray and biting into it.

  “Wait!” Ava shrieks. “They’re not ready yet!”

  “Let’s make guacamole.” Danielle grabs some avocados from the basket of fruit on the counter and then picks up a big knife.

  “Don’t!” Ava says. “You’ll cut your hand off. I read an article about it on BuzzFeed—like hundreds of people are going to the hospital with guacamole-related injuries.”

  “Do you even know me at all.” Danielle slices expertly into the skin of the avocado, sticking the knife into the pit and throwing it into the compost. “If I ever wound myself on an avocado, please finish me off.”

  “Have you guys seen Andrew?” I repeat.

  “Not for a while.” Danielle puts the tray of nachos into the oven. “Just wait until these start cooking and then he’ll magically appear. Guys can’t resist melted cheese. It’s science.”