“Right in Montclair…maybe the ice cream parlor or Round Table Pizza, something like that.”
I busted out some spontaneous dance moves. “That means free noshables! Can you imagine going in high? We’d scarf for days!”
“I’m so sick of lame summers. All we do is party. I want to do something, see something,” Jaime said. “I am not sitting around doing nothing for three months again.”
Mary flicked her cigarette ash. “We could go camping. Our parents probably wouldn’t let us go by ourselves, though.”
“We could go to Great America. That’s fun.” My last ride on their best roller coaster replayed in my mind.
Mary agreed. “They have concerts there now.”
Jaime borrowed Mary’s cigarette to light her own. “We need some trips to the beach—like Santa Cruz.”
“The Boardwalk rocks.” Visions emerged of sandy feet, mustardy corn dogs and chocolate dipped cones.
“Beach, here we come!” Mary said.
I stuck my hand into the center of our circle. “Let’s make a pact to do fun things this summer.”
“Deal.” Jaime placed her palm on mine.
Mary added hers to the top. “For sure.”
“To excellent adventures!” I chanted as we threw our arms into the air.
I wandered over to Pete, immersed in a conversation about international soccer with Tez and Jim. I was bored in two minutes.
Fortunately, Steve and Reese sped into our hideaway and careened to a stop, spraying us with dirt. Pete cussed. I coughed and brushed myself off.
Steve slammed his car door and motioned to Reese with his thumb. “This guy just stole two cases of beer right off the damn truck!”
Reese shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “What can I say? The truck was just sitting there, open. The beer was begging me to take it…an offering from the Budweiser gods.”
Exclamations and laughter erupted.
“That’s true,” Steve said. “Usually those trucks are locked up tight, but off went the delivery guy, so Reese grabbed a couple of cases, threw them in the car and told me to step on it.”
“Who wants a beer?” Reese threw them to waiting hands.
Pete popped the tab on his brew, causing the familiar psst sound. “We’re getting some blow. Want some?”
“Sure, babe.” I rifled through my purse and handed him twenty bucks. “That’s all I got.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered.”
“That’s what boyfriends are for.” I winked.
“That’s all I’m good for?”
I pretended to think. “Eh, you’re pretty good in the sack, too.”
“I may need more practice.” He made me a sympathetic face.
I laughed. “Practice makes perfect.”
Pete grabbed my butt affectionately and took off with Reese and Jaime to buy the drugs.
I fetched another beer and joined Mary, who I found gazing at the stunning bay view.
I popped the top and beer foamed onto the ground, making me jump back. I wiped my hand on my jeans. “You okay, Mar?”
She shrugged. “Just tired of being alone.”
“Have you talked to Jake at all since…”
She shook her head. “He’s totally avoiding me.”
What an asshole! “Is there anyone else you like?”
“What does it matter? No one ever seems to like me, except as a friend. I’m sick of trying.”
I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll find someone.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Mary cast her eyes to the ground. “Do you think I’m ugly?”
“What? Why would you say something like that?” But I knew why. Guys joked about her in an unflattering way—not to her face, but she must have known. I found her genuine and friendly, and those attributes alone were attractive. People could be so superficial.
“There has to be a reason no one wants me to be their girlfriend. They only want to have sex with me, then they disappear.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t let them have that part of you so quickly.”
Mary nodded. “I can’t help it. I get a little drunk, they say nice things, make me feel good, and I let them do what they want. I keep thinking they’ll want more. But they always end up leaving—until the next time they want sex.”
I choked down some beer. “Can you see they’re just using you, that this is some kind of pattern? Do you think you could say no next time? Or suggest a date for the following day, when you’re both sober?”
“I can try. I just want to love and be loved.” Mary lit a fresh cigarette.
“Don’t we all.”
Pete lined up the last of the blow. The fine granules in this batch snorted smoothly, causing almost no burn as I sucked it up my nose. Having my share of a gram left me wired, and adrenaline pumped through my veins hard and fast. On top of the world, my energy beamed as limitless as the number of stars shining down on us from the sky. It was a mega rush. Totally rad. Gnarly, bitchin’ and all the way live all at once. Looking around at my circle of friends, emotions surged. I savored the closeness and laughter we shared. All that mattered was our sliver of mountaintop right now.
I spun around, dancing to a song by The Pretenders, which blared out Pete’s car window. Tez played his air guitar while Reese performed lead air vocals.
Pete interrupted my moment. “Excuse me…Cinderella?”
“What?”
“You’re about to turn into a pumpkin. Your curfew ends in fifteen minutes.”
“Noooooooooo! That was so fast. Where did the time go? That can’t be right.”
“It is though.”
“I don’t want to go home!”
“I don’t want you to go home, either but your old man—”
“Screw my father. He’s a bastard.”
“That may be so, but if you blow this off, he’ll go ballistic.”
“I could sneak out.” I trotted out my best come-hither, go-along-with-my-hairbrained-idea face.
He shook his head. “You are one stubborn Italian, you know that?”
I smiled. “How about it?”
He grabbed my hands in his. “Not tonight. You just got off restriction, and summer is just around the corner. Be a good girl.”
I sighed. “Fine. Take me home.”
Pete was right. I needed to stay squeaky clean, behaving like a perfect daughter, at least until school let out. Had I forgotten so quickly my father’s hawk eyes watching my every move? One false step, and he’d ground me the entire summer and ruin my relationship with Pete once and for all.
34
Free at Last
The bell rang for the final time, blessedly ending my junior year—and with it, my reign as a cheerleader. The lineup of parties all weekend proved I wasn’t the only one intending to celebrate.
That evening, after receiving the obligatory stern warning from my father about being home on time, I rushed out the door with Pete, and we drove to Manny Rodriguez’s party. Most of our friends had arrived, along with a hundred other people looking to get wasted. Michael Jackson’s Off the Wall album—one of my favorites—blasted from inside. We made our way past the gyrating bodies to the keg on the back porch and waited in line.
“Look who’s finally joining the party,” Jim said.
“I couldn’t escape without hearing my dad’s standard lecture, despite my recent incarceration in Alcatraz.”
“We’ve all been in prison, Paisano, only it’s called Skyline.”
I snickered. “Cheers to that.” I held out my plastic cup, which Jim filled to the brim, suds oozing over the side.
Beers in hand, Jim herded us around the side of the house to join the rest of our gang. I leaned against the railing and sipped my beer. Through the window, Reese and Jaime gyrated in sync with the music next to Steve and Sabrina, clad once again in jeans she’d painted on. Jake danced with the curvaceous, buxom Eva, the Swedish exchange student attending ou
r school. I didn’t see Mary, but I predicted a tough night ahead for her. I wished Pete would dance, but he despised pop music. How could anyone hate anything with that kind of beat? I swayed by myself, watching my friends boogie down with longing.
The boys lit up a joint, and I left to find the bathroom, hoping it wouldn’t be gross. On my way back, I found Mary in the kitchen, well on her way to getting hammered. She lifted up a bottle of tequila and asked if I wanted a shot, pouring two before I had time to answer. We licked the salt off our hands, threw back the honey-colored liquid and quickly sucked on the lime wedges to dispel the harsh taste.
“You good?” I asked.
“Never better,” she quipped.
“You don’t sound like it. What’s up?”
“Same old BS, different day.”
“Jake?”
Her face said it all. “All he can do is fawn all over blondie.”
“I can see that.” He and Eva were all but screwing on the dance floor.
“And no one else is giving me the time of day.” She shrugged.
Reese and Jaime entered the kitchen, interrupting us. “Tequila!” Reese said. “Pour me a shot.”
“Shots all around!” Jaime said.
Mary lined up four more.
“May all your ups and downs be between the sheets,” toasted Reese, holding his glass toward the rest of us.
Jaime rolled her eyes. “That is so stupid, honey.”
Reese sneered when she turned away. We drank our shots and lined up the glasses again, following the ritual once more before I begged off to rejoin Pete.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
“Drinking tequila with Mary in the kitchen.” The telltale beginning to Parliament’s “Flashlight”—a perfect dance song—began. “Dance with me. Please?”
He made a tortured face. “No can do. I can’t support Parliament. This is a democracy after all.”
“I’ll dance with you,” Steve said. “If your old man doesn’t mind.”
“Just keep your hands to yourself, Connor, and everything will be jake.”
I beamed, gave my boyfriend a quick kiss, and Steve and I went off to join the sweaty crowd. In no time, I gyrated to the music in sheer bliss. Bodies were meant to do this, and Steve held his own, making the experience even better.
When the song ended, I grabbed his arm. “One more?”
“At least,” he said with a grin.
We waited while someone fumbled with the stereo.
“How’s it going with Jaime?”
He smiled knowingly. “She thinks she’s in love with Reese, but we all know that’s going to end badly.”
“And when it does, you’ll be there to pick up the pieces?”
“That’s the plan.”
“She might be pretty messed up from the whole thing.”
“C’mon Anna, don’t you think I’m studly enough to bring her around?”
I laughed. “Of course. I didn’t mean to imply your studliness isn’t enough to make all girls swoon. What was I thinking?”
“Obviously a lapse on your part.” He winked.
“How about dating someone else in the meantime? You’re awfully young to be carrying a torch, aren’t you?” Not to mention, good-looking.
“It might be time to make some moves.”
“How about Sabrina? I saw you dancing with her earlier.”
“She’s fine as hell, but she’s got nothing upstairs.”
“One hundred percent airhead. Plus, you’d never get her pants off.”
Steve laughed. “You have to admit, it would be fun to try.”
The music started up again, and we lost ourselves to the beat.
Pete had me on the countertop in Manny’s bathroom, where my legs encircled his waist. Not the most romantic venue, but our options were limited lately. He kissed my neck and gently sucked on it.
I jerked away. “Don’t even think of giving me a hickey!”
He grinned. “I love that neck.”
“Kiss it all you want, just keep your bloodsucking intentions to yourself. My dad’s already a crazy person—a hickey will put him over the edge.”
He continued his focus, tickling me when he neared my ear, but when his hand rubbed between my legs, I moaned.
“Take these off,” he said, yanking on my jeans. I quickly shed my pants and soaked underwear. He propped me back on the counter and slid into me.
Someone banged on the door, and Pete yelled an obscenity before thrusting into me again and sending shock waves of pleasure through my body. I clung to him as he came a few minutes later. We dressed in haste and exited the bathroom, passing a line of gawkers down the hall.
All too soon, Pete drove me home while I sulked the whole way. He planned to return to the party, which bummed me out. I hated being the only one with an early curfew and strict parents. Once home, my father met me at the door and sniffed the air around me for signs of wrongdoing. I had eaten four breath mints and avoided getting drunk to keep me in the clear. Once I passed his test, I trudged off to my room and flopped on my bed, irritated about missing out on the fun still raging. At least I had tomorrow night to look forward to. There were more parties, and I was spending the night at Mary’s, which meant a later curfew.
Saturday night, Mr. and Mrs. Murphy asked the typical parental questions over dinner. Was I happy to be out of school? Were Pete and I still dating? What was I doing with my summer vacation? I could see Mary rolling her eyes, but it didn’t bother me. I liked her parents.
Three parties waited for us, and Pete and I planned to rendezvous at the first one. Mary and I took our time getting ready, making sure our hair and outfits were on point.
In the car, she whipped out some pink capsules. “Take one.”
“What are they?” I’d never taken any pills before.
“My mom’s muscle relaxers. They’re like aspirin, but they make you feel mellow.”
“Are you sure? Isn’t mixing pills and booze is a bad idea?”
“Trust me. I’ve popped these suckers all year.”
I shrugged, took one and swallowed it down dry. “Here’s to nothing.”
Ten minutes later, we arrived at Nate Johnson’s house. We could tell the party sucked by the lack of cars. We went inside and confirmed our suspicions. Twenty unknown people, at most—stoners by my appraisal—stood around while rock music blared.
“This is dead,” said Mary. “Let’s book.”
I hesitated. “I’m supposed to meet Pete here.”
“As soon as he realizes it’s not happening, he’ll find us at the next one. I’m sure of it.”
I vacillated. “I don’t know, Mar.”
“Mellow out. I’m not staying at this graveyard. It’ll be fine.”
I gave in. What else could I do? I was at the mercy of my ride.
Jack Campbell’s party was in full swing. Cars lined the street, and the bass reached our ears before exiting the vehicle. I froze, a tremble shuddering through me. Jack was a popular football player. Even though Alec had graduated the year before, what if he showed up? I couldn’t handle it.
Mary grabbed the door handle. “Come on. What are you waiting for?”
Reassurance, a luxury I wouldn’t get.
I tagged along behind Mary as we entered the house. I didn’t recognize many people, and the majority were seniors, adding to my unease. We forged on in search of booze and friends.
“Whoa!” I said.
Mary stopped. “What?”
“It feels like I’m floating.” The effects of the muscle relaxer had kicked in.
She laughed. “Me, too.”
We found the keg, poured two beers and found a spot to lean against the wall.
“Check him out, a stone fox!” Mary said.
“Go get him, sister.” My lips struggled to form the words.
Mary never left, perhaps due to the volume of gorgeous guys parading by us. Being near the keg yielded multiple benefits. I downed my first beer and
filled up a second, followed by a third. The combination of alcohol and the muscle relaxer made me spacey and unsteady.
“Let’s see if we can find some friends,” Mary said.
In the dining room, we found Roger Homely with a small crowd. I swiftly clocked the room for Michelle but didn’t see her. We weren’t friends anymore, a thought consuming me with utter sadness in seconds. Roger sat at the head of a table crowded with people playing a drinking game. I concentrated—a joke in my state—but couldn’t figure it out. Each player strummed their fingers on the edge of the table but sometimes stopped to make strange motions before returning their fingers to the table edge to strum it like a drum again. Eventually, a player was “it” and had to drink.
“Trapani! What’s up, girl?”
“Not much, Rog. How’ve you been?”
“Never better. Ever played Thumper?”
I shook my head.
“Want in?”
Mary said yes, but I hesitated. How could I possibly learn a complicated new game in my condition? I could barely remember my name.
He glanced up from under his long blazing hair. “Don’t be a chicken. Pull up a chair.”
We squeezed in around the table.
“Let me tell you how it’s done. Come up with some kind of gesture for yourself. We all have one. Just use your hands to touch your face or shoulder or make a peace sign, or whatever you want. Then commit it to memory. During the game, if you see somebody make your sign, you have to make your sign followed by another person’s, and if they miss it, they drink. If someone makes your sign and you miss it, you drink. The rest of the time, just keep your fingers on the table, like this.”
Players strummed the table while taking turns demonstrating their respective gestures. Roger’s was touching his ear. Another guy pressed the top of his head. One girl put an “okay” sign by her boob. I decided to go with a “thumbs up” in front of my chest, figuring I wouldn’t forget it. Mary picked scratching her cheek.
For our benefit, the group did a practice round. It didn’t help much. I drank several times in a row until I started to get the hang of it. If you didn’t pay attention, you missed your sign. It was also easy to mess up doing your own gesture, especially drunk. Beer after beer went down my throat, and I got lost in the fun.
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