by Alyson Noel
“Drinking? Rio, you had like one glass of wine. You were fine when we dropped you off. I don’t get it.”
I just shrug, and continue to stare at the table, but I can feel him looking at me.
“Well, I guess that explains it.”
“Explains what?” I ask, looking up.
“Why you just stopped hanging with us. But I wonder. If your mom thinks I’m a bad influence, how’d you get Kristi past her?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask defensively.
“Come on, Rio, you’ve been hanging with her long enough to know what I’m referring to.” He narrows his eyes.
And did he just smirk?
I lean all the way back in my chair, and cross my arms in front of me. “Well, I’m sorry Jas, but I don’t know what you’re referring to. And before you say anything else you might regret, you should know that Kristi Wood is one of my best friends. I mean, it’s not like she ever misled me or lied to me.” I lock eyes with him.
“So far, I have no regrets,” he says, smiling.
Smiling? Does he think this is funny?
“Well, it’s really none of your business who I’m friends with, is it?” I continue. “And it’s not really your place to judge them, since you don’t even know them. I mean, it’s not like you don’t have your own friends to keep you warm and busy.”
Oh, god! Oh, no! Did I say “warm”?
I’m back to looking at the table. “So, just handle your business and stay out of mine.” Kind of harsh, but it should get the point across.
“You’re right. It’s not my concern,” he says, getting up. “And I’m sorry for any problems I might have caused you with your mom. But, Rio, don’t think for a second I don’t know all about your friends.”
I can feel him looking at me, then he turns and walks away.
And after sitting there for a while, just breathing in and out and staring at the table, I grab my camera and tell Ms. Tate I’m going to do some outdoor photographs. She gives me a hall pass and I don’t return until after the bell rings.
After school Kristi, Kayla, and Jen Jen come home with me and we go into the kitchen, where my mom is waiting at the brand-new intricately carved table that came all the way from Far East Asia just to live in our house. She’s set out a big pitcher of iced tea and a bowl of weird-looking fruit that may or may not be edible, but it blends in perfectly with her Thai kitchen theme, and that’s all that really matters. And all of this is taking place so we can sit around, chug iced tea, and hammer out the final details of my stupid, fucking party.
“What’d you think of the invites?” my mom asks excitedly as I walk into the kitchen.
“Well, I kind of wish you’d asked me first,” I say, dropping my bag on the counter.
“I wanted to surprise you! I found that painting in your room and thought it would be perfect! Who painted that by the way?”
She doesn’t know?
I just assumed she did since Kristi did. But I just look at her carefully and say, “Um, someone from my art class.” Then I avoid Kristi’s eyes, even though I can feel them burning into me. “They did it for a project and then they gave it to me,” I lie.
“Well, I hope they don’t mind, but it was just too good to pass up!”
I just shrug. Then I sit there slumped at the table for like the next hour watching my mom and my friends debate important issues like catering (not like they eat), and a band vs. a DJ vs. CD’s. And I know I should be grateful and excited that they all want to do this for me, but I can’t stop thinking about that horrible fight with Jas, and the way he sounded light before he walked away.
There was something so final about it.
When they finally leave (with all the big decisions having been made with absolutely no input from me), I go upstairs to my room and on my desk I find a big square envelope with a New York stamp. I open it excitedly, wondering if it’s from Paige or Hud, and when I read the cover I realize it’s from both.
They sent one of those cards that you find in the “from all of us” section at the Hallmark store and they each wrote a little note in it and enclosed a picture. At first when I look at the picture I just think, “Oh, that’s cute.” Then I set it down and start to reread the card.
But then it hits me.
So I pick it up again. They’re at Winter Formal. Which is really no big deal because if they wanted to go then of course they would go with each other, being best friends and all. But there’s something about the way Hud is holding Paige, and something about the way Paige is leaning into Hud, that makes me feel really angry because it looks like they’re a couple. And how can they be a couple when we’re all supposed to be JUST FRIENDS? I mean, how long has this been going on? Were they just waiting for me to leave so they could hook up?
Ohmygod—was I just a third wheel with Paige and Hud, too?
I don’t even bother with the computer. I just pick up the phone and punch in the numbers. And when she answers I go, “I got your card.”
“Oh, good,” she says. “I was hoping it would get there on time.”
Then without even making an attempt at small talk or beating around the bush, I go, “Did you and Hud hook up?”
And she goes, “Well, we’re dating now, yeah.” And she sounds really uncomfortable when she says that.
“Are you guys serious?”
“Well, kind of. Yeah.”
I don’t know why, but hearing her say that makes me feel even angrier. And my voice is kind of shaky when I ask, “So exactly how long has this been going on?”
“Uh, a couple weeks after you left,” she says quietly.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demand. “I mean, you e-mail me like every day!”
“Well, I wanted to.” She hesitates. “But your messages always sound like you’re having kind of a rough time. And I don’t know. I just—”
“Well, don’t go feeling sorry for me,” I say, totally cutting her off. “Because my life is great!” I kick over my trash bin for emphasis, watching wads of paper and water bottles scatter across the carpet.
“I’m happy to hear that,” she says softly.
“And just so you know, I’m having a major party this weekend, and like everyone from the junior class will be there. Even some of the hot senior guys are coming. It’s going to be really big, really major,” I say, crushing an Evian bottle under my foot.
“That sounds fun. I wish we could be there,” she says.
We!
“Well, listen,” I say, feeling completely irrational and out of control, but unable to stop. “I have to go.”
“Are you mad at me?” she asks, sounding so genuinely caring that it totally infuriates me.
“No! I’m really very happy for you, Paige. I’m happy for both of you. But I’m extremely busy right now, so I have to go!”
“Okay, well, have fun at your party.”
“Oh, I will.”
“Okay, well, bye,” she says.
“Ciao!” I say, and then I push the off button really, really hard. But it’s hardly the same as slamming it.
Twenty-two
Okay, so here’s a list of the people I am no longer talking to:
1. Paige
2. Hud
3. Mason
4. Jas
And here’s a list of the people I am talking to:
1. My mom
2. My dad
3. Kristi
4. Kayla
5. Jen Jen
6. All the juniors and seniors on the invite list
7. All the juniors and seniors that weren’t on the invite list, but who are totally sucking up to me hoping for a zero-hour reprieve
So on the night of the party, I come downstairs in this amazing green BCBG halter dress that my mom bought for me on a recent shopping trip to Fashion Island (which isn’t really an island, just an upscale, outdoor shopping experience).
My mom’s on the phone and when she sees me she goes, “Oh, here she is now.�
� Then she hands me the phone and whispers, “Honey, it’s your dad.”
“What?” I give her a confused look as I take the receiver because he’s supposed to be walking through the door, not calling me. “Dad?”
“Hey, kiddo, happy birthday!”
“Where are you?” I ask, hoping he’s just fooling around, like calling me from the driveway or something.
“I’m at the studio,” he says. “I finished late, missed my flight, and now I’m about to tape a Larry King segment. I’m sorry, honey I wish I could be there, I hear your mom has quite the party planned.”
I feel like crying. But that will ruin the makeup my mom spent the last hour applying, so I tell him it’s okay, even though it’s really not. And then I go, “But when are you coming home?”
“Well, I’ve got to be back in court on Monday morning, so probably not until next weekend. But listen, we’ll do something great, something to make up for it. I promise. But meanwhile, try to take a little time out from your party to watch your old man on Larry King. I just might surprise you.”
When I hang up, my mom gives me her “it’s just you and me so let’s try to get along and not maim each other” smile, and I just shrug. Then the doorbell rings, and it’s Kristi, Kayla, and Jen Jen, all three of them dressed in two-hundred-dollar jeans and high-heeled, stiletto sandals with a vintage-looking beaded cardigan (Kayla), a white ribbed tank top and black sequined capelet (Jen Jen), and a red silky halter top (Kristi).
We all sit on the couch and watch my dad yak with Larry, and when the segment is almost over and my friends are nearly bored to tears (because once the initial charm of my dad being on TV wore off, we were left with nothing more than insomnia-curing legal speak), Larry goes, “So, Griffin, I hear it’s your daughter’s birthday today.”
My dad looks at Larry and then directly into the camera and goes, “That’s right, Rio’s just turned seventeen, and I’ve got a lot to make up for since I’m spending it here with you, Larry.”
And then they both chuckle.
Then Larry looks into the camera and tells me to have a happy birthday.
And my friends look at me with their mouths wide open.
And while it’s nice that they’re impressed, I still feel totally gypped. ‘Cause even though this isn’t the first birthday of mine that he’s missed, it’s definitely the one where I’m really missing him.
I look at my mom sitting on the couch, laughing with my friends, and it’s like she fits in easier, and with less effort than I do. Then she looks at me and smiles, and it’s obvious how proud she is that I’m part of all this. And it makes me want to feel happy and proud, too.
Within a half hour the house is filled with like forty of my closest friends, and apparently, according to Kristi, there’re some seniors who may or may not show up. I guess that’s not really a ton of people when you think about it, but she was very strict with the guest list.
Kristi’s floating around, acting like this is her party and she’s the hostess (which I guess in a way she is). But I don’t really mind since it allows me just to hang back and observe, and I’m really more comfortable with that anyway.
I go into the living room (which, by the way, has now been fully decorated to resemble something one might find in the Taj Mahal section at Disney’s Epcot World Showcase), and I find my mom perched on top of a silky, beaded door pillow, showing off numerous scrap-books of her glory days when she was an almost-supermodel. God, I can’t believe her! I mean, can’t I have just one thing that belongs to me? Isn’t it enough that she leaves voice-mail messages for my friends?
So I walk right up to her and go, “Uh, Mom, you’re totally gonna be late for dinner. You really need to wrap it up.” Then I give her a look.
And she goes, “Oh, right.” Then she gives me a look.
But it’s not as harsh as the one I gave her. Then she gets up from her little cushion, grabs her purse and car keys, and says good night.
Kristi runs to the window and when my mom’s car is safely out of view she grabs the Louis Vuitton duffle bag she brought, unzips it, and pulls out several bottles of vodka, champagne, and beer, and sets up bar on the coffee table.
“Happy birthday!” she yells, popping the cork on a champagne bottle and holding it up high so the bubbles run down her arm.
She drinks from the bottle then hands it to me, and the second I’m done she takes it back, puts her arm through mine and goes, “Come on, I’ve got something for you.” She leads me down the hall and into the big guest bathroom near the stairs, then she pulls me inside and locks the door behind us.
“What’s the big secret?” I ask, wondering what she could possibly have that can only be given to me in a bathroom.
She sets her brand-new black Balenciaga bag on the counter and pulls out a little glass vial of coke. “Happy birthday!” she says, handing it to me.
Instinctively I reach for it, but once it’s in my hand I start to feel really uncomfortable. I mean, if she wants to do coke, that’s her business, and her secret is safe with me, but there’s no way I can partake in this. I set it on the marble counter and look at her. “Um, Kristi—” I start.
“It’s supposed to be really good stuff,” she says, grabbing it and tapping it out against a little handheld mirror. “But I haven’t tried it yet, I thought we could do it together. You know, just us. Kayla and Jen Jen can’t know.”
I just stand there not saying anything because even though I’ve totally made up my mind that I’m not gonna do it, there’s still this tiny part of me that’s whispering, “Why not?” I mean, I’ve watched Kristi do it, and it’s not like it made her all crazy or anything. And it’s not like one line’s gonna make me an addict.
“I bet you’re really disappointed that your dad totally ditched your birthday, huh?” she asks, sculpting a perfect white line.
“I’m used to it.” I shrug. But she’s right, I really am kind of angry.
“And your mom showing everyone her swimsuit photos.” She shakes her head and cringes. “Kinda harsh.”
I just shrug. But she’s right, it is pretty sick and wrong.
“I read this great line recently, about how your friends are the family you choose.” She looks at me and smiles. “I’m really glad we’re friends, Rio.” Then she leans down and inhales.
And when she comes back up her eyes are wide and sparkling, and her skin is flushed slightly pink, and she looks so happy and perfect, that I think: What the hell? I mean, it is my birthday. And I’ll only do a little bit. And no one will ever find out since it’s our secret…
“Exactly how do you do this?” I ask, moving toward the mirror.
Withm two hours most of the alcohol is gone, but there’s still plenty of food. Everyone’s just sort of scattered all over doing whatever, and some guy I’ve never seen before has plugged in his iPod, and all this really great music is blasting through the house.
I admit, after doing those two lines of coke I’m feeling pretty hyper and aware, and almost kind of powerful, and I’m just wandering around and around until I end up standing outside the little cabana next to our pool.
It’s pretty dim, but there are candles flickering inside so I can just make out the shapes of people moving around in there, and I’m cupping my hands against the glass to get a better view when someone comes up from behind and hugs me. I have no idea who it is, but the hug feels nice so I just close my eyes and let it unfold.
And then he says, “Happy birthday.”
And I think:
Oh, my god, Jas?
So I turn around and JC is standing there smiling. His light-brown hair is gelled perfectly in place, and his eyes look bloodshot and sleepy, but he’s still cute in the way most girls agree on. But I can’t hide my disappointment when I say, “Oh, it’s you.”
He’s all ego though, so he just laughs. “After you,” he says, opening the cabana door.
We go inside and there are these random couples everywhere, and JC grabs my hand, leads me
to the couch, and pulls me down next to him. And when my eyes adjust to the dim light I realize those random couples are my friends.
Then he leans in really close, touches my face, and says, “You are so hot.”
And I wonder if he means I have a fever.
Then he kisses me.
And even though I don’t have much experience, and my head is feeling pretty messed-up, I’m still kind of disappointed that my first real kiss is turning out to be not so great. But I don’t stop him, because I’m seventeen now, and it’s about time I hooked up with someone.
So we’re making out and he’s way more into it than I am, because mostly I’m just wondering how far I’ll let him go. I mean, yeah, JC is cute and popular and all the girls like him, but still, this is nothing like I hoped it would be. And just as I’m thinking we should probably stop, he takes my hand and puts it right on his crotch.
“Oh, my god! What are you doing?” I say, moving my hand and backing away from him.
But he just laughs in that overconfident, lazy way and goes, “Relax, it’s no big deal.”
“It is to me,” I say, not caring how uptight I sound.
“Look around,” he whispers, sliding closer to me. “Everyone’s doing it.”
So I look around, and he’s right, everyone is doing it. But that doesn’t mean I have to. “Forget it,” I tell him, getting up to leave.
“Okay, okay It’s your call,” he says, lifting his hands in surrender and following me back into the house.
Twenty-three
The next morning Kristi, Kayla, Jen Jen, and I are dressed in cute, cotton good-girl pj’s and we’re drinking fresh-squeezed orange juice and eating the blueberry pancakes my mom made. And we’re telling her how great the party was.
