by Katrina Leno
One of the Phipps’ racing horses sold for four hundred thousand dollars. And one of their biggest winners—of the ones they hadn’t sold—had, at last count, won them more than three million. And at current count, they were raising thirty-seven horses.
So no matter how you sliced it, the Phipp family was loaded.
The small group came to a stop near the end of the driveway where the fences that circled the entire hundred-plus-acre property came to meet at an overlarge iron gate that looked more than a little out of place in the middle of farm country. The gate was so big, in fact, that there was another regular-size door set into it, and this door had a little call box next to it, and after she regained her nerve, Clare marched deliberately up to it, punched in some numbers, and was met with a satisfying buzz as the door unlocked.
“You know the code?” Luke asked.
“Brandon put it on a private Facebook page for the party,” Clare responded.
“Of course Brandon made a private page for his party,” Brianna grumbled.
“How else would he let people know how to make it through his totally inconspicuous private gate?” Jeremy replied, laughing. He took Clare’s hand, and they walked through the door. Brianna and Luke followed them, with Magpie and Ben bringing up the rear. Magpie let the door close behind her, shutting the group inside the Phipp property.
The main house sat a good half a mile down the driveway, and as they got closer and closer, Magpie’s memory of that night six months ago—well, almost seven now, wasn’t it?—grew sharper and sharper until it was so clear in her mind that it might as well have happened yesterday.
Magpie had been so drunk that the walk from the front gate to the house had felt like an eternity, every step her own personal punishment for ever daring to have been born. The memory of her father’s and her aunt’s naked bodies had been so fresh in her mind that it was as if she were still seeing the burn of them, like when you look at something too bright and its shadow crowds your vision for minutes afterward. No matter where she looked, there they were: her father, naked and paralyzed with shame, her aunt covering herself with her arms.
Magpie had wanted to say, Don’t bother. There is nothing either of you can do to erase what I have seen. But she couldn’t say anything. She couldn’t back out of the room. She couldn’t look away. She couldn’t even blink.
The moment had lasted forever. The moment was consuming her even now, a black hole that was sucking everything backward, gobbling up her entire universe, changing the landscape of her brain.
“Having second thoughts?” Ben asked her.
She realized she had stopped walking. Ben had paused a few steps in front of her. At some point they had let go of each other’s hands. The rest of the group was forty, fifty feet in front of them. They’d have to jog to catch up.
Magpie blinked until the past had faded enough that she could finally see Ben clearly. She tried to smile, and when that didn’t work, she tried to at least not grimace. And when that didn’t work either, she nodded.
“There are a few people at this party who aren’t going to be very happy to see me,” she said.
“Who—Brandon? Allison? They can fuck off.”
“This is their territory, though. I’m the intruder here.”
“It’s a party. That Facebook page Clare mentioned—it said, All are welcome. We fall under the umbrella of all, don’t we? Plus, have you seen the size of this house? Chances are you won’t even run into them.”
Yes, Magpie had seen the size of this house. Magpie had been in this house. She had seen parts of this house she wasn’t supposed to see, all the shadowy dark bits that were off-limits on nights like this.
Like Brandon Phipp’s bedroom.
Like the quiet hallways that had led them there.
What had he said?
I just want to talk.
That was it. He had just wanted to talk.
Where’s Allison? Magpie had asked.
She had needed to find Allison.
She was very, very drunk, and the house wouldn’t stop spinning, and the hallway wouldn’t stop spinning, and Brandon Phipp’s bedroom wouldn’t stop spinning.
Allison would be able to fix things; Allison would know what to do.
Allison always knew what to do.
Except tonight.
Tonight Magpie was the one who knew what to do, and Allison would be the one with the rug swept out from underneath her.
Two times on the walk from the front gate to the front door Ben had asked Magpie if she wanted to turn around and ditch, go to the movies, go wherever, do whatever in the world she wanted besides attend this party.
“Really,” he said the second time, when the door was so close to them that even now Clare was reaching her hand out to open it. “We can do whatever you want. I don’t mind. I don’t even like parties.”
“We’re here,” Magpie said flatly. “And I have to pee.”
“You can pee in the bushes. I’ll block you.”
The offer was kind of charming, but Magpie shook her head, and in one decisive movement that occurred with so much forward momentum that she couldn’t possibly change her mind, she let herself be consumed by Brandon Phipp’s front door, and she was deposited, quite suddenly, in his enormous foyer.
The house felt alive.
It had a pulse and heartbeat in the form of loud music thumping relentlessly from somewhere farther in. The foyer was relatively empty, but through an archway to their left, Magpie could see what could only accurately be described as a swarm of bodies. She picked out some people she knew, but there were far more people she had never seen before.
“I know that kid,” Jeremy said, pointing. “He’s from Edgewood.”
“Brandon knows a lot of people,” Clare said, nodding knowingly. Like she and Brandon had ever once had a conversation, least of all one about the people he knew.
“Is the music going to be this loud the whole time?” Brianna complained.
“I’m hungry again. Is there food?” Luke added.
Magpie took a step toward the living room (or rather she took a step toward this living room, for Brandon Phipp’s house was the kind that had multiples of everything).
“Where do we get drinks?” Jeremy asked.
And Magpie took another step toward the living room.
“Is it hot in here?” Clare asked, and sniffed her armpit.
“I love this song!” Luke squealed.
And Magpie took another step toward the living room.
And then, without anyone seeing, she pressed herself against a wall of bodies.
And let herself be sucked inside.
Magpie felt relief as soon as she was out of sight from Ben and Clare and the others because she had to do this part herself, and every moment spent with them was a wasted one. She couldn’t have anyone watching her. She had only herself to rely on, and it was time to accept that and get on with it.
So she got on with it.
There were strobe lights set up in the Phipp household that flashed in time to the music. Brandon’s parents traveled out of town often, and he and his older brother took advantage of that to throw these ridiculous parties. When it was over, they would pay people to clean up everything and fix everything that had been broken and fish all the empty beer cans out of the pool and that would be the end of that—until the next time Mr. and Mrs. Phipp went to the south of France or wherever very rich people went on vacation.
The bodies around Magpie stank of cheap alcohol and beer as she diligently made her way through them, searching each of their faces for the face she most wanted to see. Which felt a little funny, because for the past six months she’d been trying her best not to see it.
But the situation was different now, and here she was, and she searched and searched and searched.
The party and the house were endless.
Room after room was filled with sweaty people dancing and drinking and making out on couches or standing in the corner trying t
o work up the nerve to do any of the above.
Hither stayed as small as a flea, nestled somewhere in her hair. She couldn’t see it, but she felt it, and it made her feel as if she wasn’t alone.
She made her way to the kitchen and slipped out though a pair of French doors to the backyard patio. She was surprised no one had jumped fully clothed into the pool yet, but if history was any indication, it was only a matter of time.
The music was just as loud out here, pumping over the outdoor speakers and amplified by the surface of the still water.
And it was there, by the line of kegs, bent over the spigot of one trying to see why it wasn’t working, that Magpie saw the person she’d been searching for.
Brandon Phipp.
And even better, Allison wasn’t with him.
Magpie found the shadows in the backyard, and she stayed in them, getting closer and closer to the kegs while remaining invisible to anyone who might glance her way.
Brandon was arguing with someone. Magpie recognized the kid but couldn’t quite recall his name.
“Jesus, I said hold it, asshole,” Brandon said, and shoved his friend roughly.
Magpie would never understand these machismo male friendships, the kind where physical abuse and name-calling were exchanged in a violent attempt to prove you were not gay. The harder you hit, the straighter you were. And Brandon hit hard. The kid grabbed his shoulder and rubbed, then held up his middle finger. “Fuck off, shithead, this thing is heavy.”
“You’re a pussy,” Brandon retorted.
“Not one, but I’ve seen your mom’s.”
And then they both laughed, two loud, heavy laughs that set Magpie on edge.
“This isn’t gonna work. Somebody jammed this shit. What asshole put this together? Go inside and look under the kitchen sink; I need a hammer, something to get it moving.”
The kid with the name Magpie couldn’t remember got to his feet obediently and passed within two feet of her on his way to fulfill Brandon’s orders.
Magpie stepped out of the shadows, and for a moment, she was still invisible. It was just she and Brandon; Hither, who was as small as a bug; this night; and this music, and then—
He turned around.
“Jesus Christ! You fucking scared me. What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, actually jumping.
Magpie liked that. She wanted to see him jump again.
“Your Facebook post said all are welcome,” Magpie said, and she smiled.
“Yeah, well, you’re lucky Allison isn’t here yet. But she’s on her way, so I’d run back home if I were you.”
“I’m not worried about Allison,” Magpie said. “Are you going to offer me something to drink?”
Brandon smirked. “I can’t believe you had the balls to show up here, Mags. Or wait—what did Allison call you? Magpie? Yeah, I have to give you credit for that.” He looked her up and down. Not in a nice way. “So why are you really here?”
“I have something fun I want to show you.”
“Something you want to show me?”
Magpie reached up to her shirt. She’d worn a button-up shirt knotted at the waist for just this purpose. She had given this moment a lot of thought, and everything was working out exactly the way she’d imagined it would.
She undid the top button.
“Something really fun,” she said.
Brandon looked behind her. “Are you serious?” he asked. “I just said that Allison is on her way.”
“So she’s not here yet, right?”
There was a long moment.
A long moment in which Magpie wondered idly whether Brandon Phipp had grown into the sort of boy who would not take advantage of any warm body he could get alone. She supposed it was possible, insomuch as everything is possible. It was also possible that he would sprout wings and begin to fly.
But was it likely?
“Come this way,” he said, and gestured to her. When she got close enough, he grabbed her arm, not gently, and led her around the back of the house away from the kitchen, away from the party noises, to another set of French doors that were shut and locked. He removed a key from his pocket and opened them, and they slipped inside.
A long hallway. A staircase.
A staircase that Magpie had been led up once before.
She let herself be led again.
But she wasn’t like the girl in the story. She just had to pretend for a little while longer.
And it was so deliriously satisfying to let someone think they were in control when in reality they were so very much anything but.
A door at the end of the hallway was closed, and Brandon opened it and pushed Magpie inside and then slipped in after her. He glanced down the hallway to make sure they hadn’t been followed, then quickly shut the door.
The closet light was on, enough light to bathe Brandon Phipp’s bedroom in a pale-yellow glow.
Before she could stop him, he pushed her against the wall.
And in the next moment he leaned in to kiss her.
And in the next, she pushed him back, hard, and said, “I told you I had something to show you.”
“I am not interested in having a fucking conversation with you,” Brandon replied. His voice had gone all husky and breathless, and Magpie rolled her eyes.
“Trust me, you’re going to want to see this,” she said, and before he could respond again, she had slid the pen out of her pocket and uncapped it in one single second, and in the next second, she had swiped through the air three times and made a perfect, glowing door.
“What the fuck?” Brandon said. He pushed Magpie away even though she was up against the wall and couldn’t actually go anywhere. “What the fuck is this?”
A flick of her wrist and there was a doorknob.
Another flick and the door was open.
And one enormous shove and Brandon Phipp had fallen into Near.
And Magpie stepped daintily in after him and shut the door behind her.
Brandon Phipp—to Magpie’s exceptional delight—puked. Long and hard and loud, gasping on his hands and knees as he choked and vomited into the grass.
“Not such a tough guy now, are you, Brandy?” Magpie teased, kicking him with her shoe, then kicking him even harder because she liked how it felt.
“What did you fucking give me? What happened?”
“You think I drugged you? Damn. I should have drugged you. That would have been some grade-A karma, right? I mean, I know you didn’t have to drug me, but I also know you’re not shy when it comes to the shit you put into girls’ drinks. Right, Brandy?”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Get off the grass. You look pathetic.”
And maybe Brandon Phipp had lived his entire sheltered life without once being called pathetic, but that word seemed to spark a small recovery in him, and he got to his feet slowly and wiped chunks of sick off his chin.
“Where are we?” he asked. His voice had gotten smaller. He had gotten smaller. It was either Magpie’s imagination or Near had made Brandon Phipp shrink two full inches.
“Welcome to Near. Pretty cool, huh?”
“We were… in my bedroom…”
“And now we’re here, yup; speed up the adjustment period if you can—it gets a little repetitive.”
“You’re fucking with me,” Brandon said. He put one hand on the back of his neck and rubbed it.
“Not any more than you fucked with me,” Magpie said.
And Brandon’s eyes grew wide, and Magpie knew he was remembering the same night she was remembering, the same night she had remembered—both tried and tried not to remember—every single night since it had happened.
The same night that changed and slithered in her memory, that warped and mutated and was sometimes clear and sometimes not clear.
But not anymore.
Now she finally knew.
Or—she finally let herself know.
She finally let herself remember what had happened the night Brandon Phi
pp led her to his bedroom and wouldn’t let her leave.
“You know what I’ve thought an awful lot about, Brandon?” Magpie asked. She looked down to Near, to where a far-off figure was just stepping through the little white gate that kept the town safe and sound. “I’ve thought an awful lot about how many times a girl has to say no before a guy really believes her. You ask a girl to suck your dick, and she says yes, well—great, right? But she says no? Suddenly she needs convincing.”
“You didn’t do anything you didn’t want to do.”
“What I wanted was to find my best friend. And you told me you’d help me, remember? You told me you knew where she was.”
“Look—you started kissing me,” Brandon said. “No amount of psycho-girl logic is going to change that.”
“Yeah,” Magpie said, nodding. “I did. I kissed you, Brandon. It was the worst night of my life, and I thought I could change that by kissing you. But I remember now. I remember that I pulled away. And I said I was sorry. And I tried to leave to find Allison.”
“I don’t have to listen to this shit,” Brandon said, but he didn’t move. Maybe he couldn’t move. He seemed rooted to the spot, swaying lightly in some imagined breeze.
“And you grabbed my arm and… I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. You already know.”
He had grabbed her arm. So hard she woke up the next day with bruises.
And he’d pushed her to her knees. So hard she woke up the next day with bruises.
And he gripped her by the hair.
So she couldn’t turn her head from side to side.
And he’d said:
Open up, or I’ll put it somewhere else.
Magpie squeezed her eyes shut, so the bright day of Near became a red glow filtered through the skin of her eyelids.
How many times had she said no?
Before she’d finally done it.
“Do you know what else I’ve thought a lot about?” she asked, opening her eyes again. Brandon was still stuck in the same spot. The figure walking up the hill was making impressive time.
