The Memory Book

by Lara Avery

  Good afternoon, Future Sam. The topic for debate is that Sammie will attend a party at Ross Nervig’s house, Friday, April 29. We define the topic as follows: A party is a gathering of adolescents in a residence where no parents are present and alcohol is present. “Sammie” is an eighteen-year-old who has not previously attended a party. “Ross Nervig” is a former student at Hanover who regularly facilitates parties as they have previously been defined. We, as the affirmative team, believe this statement to be true, and that Sammie will attend her first party.

  As the first and only speaker, I will be discussing the professional benefits of attending said party, the feasibility of Sammie’s parents allowing her to attend, and the likelihood of the presence of Stuart Shah at said party.

  My first point addresses the conditions under which Sammie’s attendance at the party was requested, and how Sammie’s fulfillment of this request will further her professional goals. Sammie aspires to win the National Debate Tournament in two weeks. At debate practice, Maddie Sinclair mentioned the party as a reward for their hard work.

  We define “Maddie Sinclair” as Sammie’s debate partner of three years, a regular attendee of parties at Ross Nervig’s house, and a future student at Emory University. Find Maddie in every school play, as the head of the Queer Union, and in the center of an orbit of theater kids and film kids. (She once told me she’s like Rufio in that old Peter Pan remake Hook, and all of her friends are the Lost Boys. For the record, I Googled it, and her hair, currently a bright red Mohawk, is pretty close.)

  Today, Maddie and Sammie were trying on their National Debate Tournament pantsuits in the girls’ bathroom next to the government classroom. I will now relay the transcribed exchange verbatim, in support of the affirmative:

  Maddie: My butt in this pantsuit makes me want to jump my own bones.

  Me: It’s like I finally know what people mean when they say “hourglass figure.”

  Maddie: So true! Looking good, Sammie.

  Me: I was talking about you. I look like a box.

  Maddie: Whatever.

  Me: Your affirmative rebuttal is killer now. Alex kept pretending to have to sneeze but you know she was just killing time.

  Maddie: Right? (facing Sammie) Your closing is airtight, too. We’re set.

  Me: We’re not set…

  Maddie: We’re as set as we’re going to be at this stage. I say we cancel Friday practice.

  Me (cautionary): Maddie…

  Maddie: Fine.

  Me: You can. I’m not.

  Maddie: No, it’s fine…

  Me: Why, you have somewhere to be?

  Maddie: Ross Nervig’s having a party and I want to pregame.

  Me: It’s cool. You go. I can work on other stuff tomorrow.

  Maddie: You want to come?

  Me: Nope.

  Maddie: Come.

  Me: No, thanks.

  Maddie (narrowing her eyes at me, thinking of an argument): We need to bond as friends.

  Me: This is friendship.

  Maddie: This is a bathroom at school, next to a government classroom at school. We need to be less institutionalized. We need to be on each other’s level. We need to feel each other’s rhythm.

  Me: …

  Maddie: You disagree?

  Me: I don’t disagree, but my parents would never let me go.

  Maddie: What if they did?

  Me: They won’t.

  Maddie: Ignore the conditions, acknowledge the desire.

  Me: You sound like an inspirational quote poster.

  Maddie: See? This! Your zingers. You’re secretly fun.

  Me: I’m not secretly fun. I am openly fun.

  Maddie: People who have to label themselves as “fun” are not fun.

  Me: That’s not true.

  A silence passes between us wherein both of us acknowledge that this is true.

  Maddie: I want to see you drink! Seriously, you probably don’t believe this, but smart people are the best partiers.

  Me: Prove it.

  Maddie: No! You know why? (pretending to brush dirt off her shoulders) I just want to rela-a-a-x with you. I just want us to relax so I don’t have to feel like I always have to be top of my game around you. You know what I mean?

  Me: I think. Like I stress you out?

  Maddie (pauses): Kind of. You’re just really intense.

  Me: That’s not my problem.

  Maddie: It will be if I start hating you and want to quit debate.

  Me: This is true.

  Maddie: Plus, I can tell my mom that I’m spending the night with you so I can break curfew.

  Me: Just tell her you’re staying with Stacia!

  I go into a stall to change out of the pantsuit.

  Maddie (from outside): You know I can’t tell my mom I’m spending the night at Stacia’s because she’d never believe me. Stacia’s like a little mouse who lives in a little mouse hut, and I don’t think she’s even come out to her parents.

  Me: Oh.

  Maddie: You don’t have to go to the party. I was just saying.

  I emerge. Maddie has never asked me for this kind of favor. I’m curious, and I don’t want her to hate me or feel stressed out around me. (Note: I just hope forced social interaction doesn’t worsen this effect.)

  Me: Okay, we’ll go.

  Maddie: YES.

  Maddie smacks her own ass, and then smacks mine.

  END SCENE

  As was evidenced, Maddie desires Sammie’s presence in order to make their partnership stronger, therefore making them better debaters. Sammie’s acquiescence in this matter will make her a more effective debater, thereby moving her closer to her goal of winning Nationals, therefore she will go to Ross Nervig’s party.

  My second point asserts that Sammie’s parents will give her permission to go to the party because Maddie is a first responder as well as a fellow debater. Because of Sammie’s medical situation, in order to go anywhere with her parents’ permission, Sammie has to think about the conditions and prevention of her own death (thanks, Dr. Clarkington!).

  Sammie can also tell her parents she’s going to a debate party. Historically, debate parties mean root beer and Trivial Pursuit in Alex Conway’s basement, which does not pose as much of a threat of death as a traditional “alcohol and no parents” party. However, because Sammie will attend Ross Nervig’s party with Maddie, technically it is a debate party, so she would not be lying.

  Because she will be in the presence of a trained saver of lives, and attend, for all intents and purposes, a “tame debate party,” Sammie will have her parents’ blessing, and therefore, Sammie will go to Ross Nervig’s party.

  My third and final point is simply a screenshot of the text Maddie sent just minutes ago:

  Maddie Sinclair: Anddddddd

  Maddie Sinclair: Guess what I heard?

  Maddie Sinclair: Your old flame is gonna be there

  Me: Who?

  Maddie Sinclair: Stuart Shah

  Therefore, Sammie will go to Ross Nervig’s party on Friday, April 29.

  THE UNEXPECTED PARTY

  So here’s why I’m regretting this:

  Stuart Shah is coming here, to Maddie’s house, to this very room, before we all go to the party. She just decided to drop that little bomb when her mom pulled out of the driveway.

  Stuart is a friend of a friend, Maddie told me.

  Stuart had become super close with Dale when Dale played Rosencrantz to Stuart’s Hamlet.

  And Dale’s friends with Maddie.

  And Dale and Stuart are coming here.

  My stomach is a washing machine.

  Earlier we picked up my siblings after school and waited until my dad got home from trimming trees. While I made us a quick dinner of spaghetti, Maddie played with my sisters out in the yard.

  Bette roamed around the perimeter, yelling her questions, and Maddie yelled back answers while throwing a Frisbee to Davy and/or Puppy, whoever got to it first.

  Then came the whole
CPR-certified thing. Maddie still didn’t know I was sick, and at the risk of her thinking I couldn’t handle Nationals, I had to keep it that way.

  So I did some James Bond shit. As Maddie was outside, I asked her for some gum. She pointed to her bag and invited me to dig around. I dug. Instead of gum, I pulled her Red Cross CPR-certified card out of her wallet and slipped it into my jeans. While the spaghetti boiled, I went to the family desktop, scanned it, printed it, and then returned it.

  Dad came home. I followed him into my parents’ bedroom, told him my plans, and showed him the scanned certificate.

  He pretended to examine it really closely like he actually knew what he was doing. He even put on his bifocals and took it to the desk where they pay bills and held it under the lamplight. I was like, Cute, Dad.

  After leaving a message on my mom’s cell, we came here to Maddie’s place in Hanover, where I told Maddie’s mom, Pat, that yes, Maddie would be spending the night with me and therefore would not be home at curfew.

  Maddie stood behind her in my sight line, giving me a quiet thumbs-up, which made me feel cool and rebellious. Pat gave us both a kiss on the cheek and went out to eat with her book club.

  Maddie’s room smells like how I think Lothlórien, the elf realm from Lord of the Rings, would smell. Like burning wood and lavender and kind of like dirt. She has leafy plants hanging from every corner, succulents in little glass terrariums in rows along her windows and desk and dresser, a skinny tree in a big ceramic pot. Her stereo speakers take up almost a third of the wall, blaring synthesizers, and she roams back and forth from the bathroom in her bare feet, wearing boxers and a tank top, hair in a towel.

  The plan was that we would pregame and leave for the party before Pat got home at ten. That was the plan. Stuart was not part of the plan. I was just going to watch him from a distance at the party and if he saw me, wave, and that would have been enough for me. And now he’ll be in the same room as me. Where I am one of four people. Where I can’t just hope he’ll notice me, where he will have to notice me, and where I will have to acknowledge that he notices me. I will have to pretend like I haven’t wanted him since the first time I saw him. Maybe I’ll even have to figure out if I actually want him to want me back, or just want to add him to a list of smart people with whom I would make out if given the chance.

  Once, shortly after he had gotten published for the first time, I had stayed late to talk to Ms. Cigler about an assignment, and Stuart came into the classroom for the following period. He had sat down and scrawled something quickly on a piece of notebook paper, looking back and forth from a novel held open, doing his homework at the last minute.

  I could have said something so simple. Like hi. Or congratulations. Instead, I said loudly to Ms. Cigler, “Thanks, Ms. Cigler. I didn’t consider that passage that way before.”

  I guess I hoped he would have looked up and said, What passage?

  And I would have told him which one, and he would have said, You have an unconventional beauty. Let’s talk about it sometime.

  But I had wanted him to think I was smart before he thought I was beautiful, because I knew no one would think I was beautiful, so I just kept talking, louder and louder, about the book, until Ms. Cigler said, “My next class is about to start,” and he never looked up from his homework.

  That was about how much I was prepared for an interaction with Stuart. Talking loudly to other people while he was in the room. Oh god.

  THE DEATH DRIVE

  When Maddie was done in the bathroom, she came back with wet hair and a green glass bottle of gin.

  “What color is your hair now?” I asked.

  “Just a little darker red,” she said. “Less Ariel, more Loud-era Rihanna.”

  I bunched my curls into a ponytail and looked past her to her mirror. “What music is this? This isn’t Rihanna.”

  Maddie laughed. “No, it’s not.” She toweled off her hair and tossed the towel aside. “It’s the Knife.”

  I took my hair back out of the ponytail. “How long until they get here?”

  She squirted gel into her hands. “I don’t know. Maybe an hour.”

  “Do we have a designated driver?”

  Maddie spiked her hair. “Dale doesn’t drink, and he can take my car.”

  The image of Stuart walking along the road played in my head. I unbuttoned my shirt one button, so you could see the hint of upper chest. Then the thought of sitting next to Stuart, his thigh touching mine, made me paralyzed, and I buttoned back up.

  “Sammie.” I looked at Maddie. “Relax.”

  “That’s the worst way to relax someone.”

  “Your teeth are audibly grinding.”

  “I do that when I’m concentrating!” I told her, which is true. “Do you not want me to concentrate on the task at hand?”

  “You know what?” She opened a drawer from her bedside table and brought out a deck of cards. “We’re going to play a game.”

  I felt my muscles loosen a bit. Games meant winning. I liked winning. “What game?”

  Maddie set the deck in front of me on the floor, and handed me the bottle of gin. “It’s called Loosen the Fuck Up.”

  “How do you play?”

  Maddie pointed. “Pull the first card.”

  “It’s a queen of hearts.”

  “Take a drink.”

  I did. “Now what?”

  “Do it again.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s the game.”

  “This isn’t—”

  She held up her hands. “Any more talk of the game will defeat the purpose of the game.”

  Maddie is the only person who I would let interrupt me. I don’t know why. Because I always liked listening to her. I rolled my eyes and swigged.

  “Is Stacia coming?” I asked.

  Maddie flexed her abs in the mirror. “She better.”

  Stacia is Maddie’s “something.” Maddie told me she doesn’t call Stacia her girlfriend because she doesn’t believe in monogamy, but I also think it’s because Stacia isn’t totally sure she only likes girls. Stacia is tiny with red lips and huge eyes and a breathy voice. She paints the sets for all the plays and, at some point, everyone has been in love with her. Including a teacher, which got him fired.

  Maddie, because she’s Maddie, has been the only one to get Stacia to want her back.

  She put on a sleeveless black T-shirt over her sports bra. I stood up next to her. I was wearing my dad’s old button-down, black leggings, and Keds. I stared at my pale lips, my ballooning thighs, my butt, my waist invisible under the sack of a shirt. “I wish I had features traditionally considered attractive.”

  “According to who?”

  “According to…” I laughed a little. She was asking for sources.

  Maddie pulled the next card from the deck on the floor. “Three of diamonds! Doesn’t matter.” She tossed it aside and took a drink. We both laughed. You had to give it to her—Loosen the Fuck Up lived up to its name.

  “Then again,” I started, still thinking about what sources to give her. The tangibly measured, very nontraditional attractiveness of Maddie fought against what I was saying. So I fished around. “… to the average appearance of people who have had another person express attraction to them. Openly. I mean, you could take a poll at Hanover…”

  “You can go on all day about what’s wrong with you or you can just fucking own it and enjoy yourself.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I muttered.

  “What was that?”

  “I said, easy for you to say. You have the confidence of a bull in a china shop,” I said. Maddie furrowed her eyebrows. “But like a really, really well-coordinated bull.”

  She cackled and took another swig of the bottle, handing it to me. I drew a card. “Ace of spades.”

  “Cool!” Maddie said, shrugging. I threw it across the room. She continued. “Have you ever considered that I might have confidence because you mostly see me in situations that require confi
dence?”

  This was true. Debate practice. Debate rounds. School plays. High school in general. “I see your point,” I said, and lifted the bottle to my lips. I choked down a couple of swigs, feeling the burn.

  As I drank, she returned to the mirror to put on eyeliner. “Like, for me, every situation requires a ton of confidence. You know?”

  “Sure.”

  Maddie had shaved her head when she was fourteen. When I met her, she had just gotten suspended for punching a bro who had called her a dyke, and she had joined debate because her mom said she had to diversify her extracurriculars, she couldn’t just do theater. Within a week, she was first team. Oh! And she eventually made friends with the guy she punched and convinced him to join Queer Union as an ally. She had dated at least two girls at our school, as well as a Dartmouth girl.

  After picking up the deck, Maddie drew a card, swigged, and handed the deck and bottle to me. “And you, too, are in a battle with outside forces. So be brave.”

  “Nine of clubs. I don’t know, though, Maddie, I think it’s different.” I swigged, and handed both back to her.

  “Well, yeah, I mean, we’re up against slightly different forces, that’s true. You’re not gay. But I’m telling you, Sam, you’re down on yourself for no reason.”

  I mean, I wasn’t down on myself for just no reason. I thought about my pain medication in my purse, which I hadn’t taken because I knew I would be drinking. I thought of shaking my hands out while she turned her back, trying to get the numbness out of them.

  “But…”

  She stood up. “I’m done arguing with you. Dale and Stuart and Stacia are on their way, so if you want to leave, you’re gonna have to find your own way home.”

  Maddie went to the stereo, took a drink, and started dancing. She lifted her knees and ground her hips into the air and shook her Mohawk from side to side. It was as if I wasn’t even there. My brain started churning. I had avoided these situations for a reason: because it was easy to screw them up. Because there was no right answer, and except for those in stupid romantic teen movies, there were no rules about how they should go, and I had no control over anything that occurred outside of my body.