by Blou Bryant
Wyatt didn’t reply but his face flushed. He hoped his friend couldn’t see it in the dark of late dusk.
Ford laughed, not helping his anxiety level, “You’re kidding?” They’d never talked much about their experience with girls, or lack thereof. “You’re definitely not drinking then.” He sounded like he’d continue but was kind enough to stop that line of discussion and pointed ahead. “Need to find new directions, looks like.”
Wyatt could see flashing lights at the on-ramp, where two police cars blocked the way just before the toll-booths. As Ford turned right at the intersection, the phone directed them to return to the interstate, “Recalculating, recalculating,” the soft voice said. “Make your first legal U-turn.”
He opened the map function and found alternate directions to the party as they waited in silence for the light to turn green. He was anxious that they’d be arriving late, although he wasn’t sure exactly what would be on-time. “Come on,” he said. “What’s with the light? I swear, nothing works anymore.”
“Relax. If she has to wait, it’ll make her want you more. Show her who the boss is,” Ford said with obvious sarcasm.
Wyatt ignored his buddy, got out of the car, and ran over to push the walk button, quickly got back into the car, and took a deep breath, in an attempt to regain focus.
Ford snickered, “You know that those don’t work, right? They were disconnected when the city automated the traffic system. The buttons were left in to make people feel like they have control even when they don’t.”
Wyatt said, “I counted, it was over a minute. That’s not how technology should work, and yes, it made me feel better, so their plan worked,” he said, at which point the light changed. As they continued on their way, he gazed out the window at the few stars not obscured by the city lights. He looked at one, then another in turn, blinking twice after each switch. He was at twelve when Ford called him on it.
“Are you counting again?” asked Ford, well aware of his friend’s compulsive habits.
Wyatt ignored the question. “Whatever,” he said, but he stopped anyhow. It bothered him when people commented on it. “And, buddy, in answer to your question, I’m sure she knows who the boss is. There ain’t any possible world in which it’s me.”
Ford nodded and replied, “Meh, women like a man who pretends he’s in charge, as long as he knows he’s not. You’re perfect for the role.”
They drove the next half hour in silence. When they’d arrived, there were cars lined up along the road for a block. At the house, a guy with spiked hair and a beer in hand waved at them to park behind the house in a field. It was pitch black in the trees around them as Ford gingerly parked beside an iron-gray Hummer that dwarfed his Datsun-Z. It was the last time either of them would see the little car.
Chapter 2
Wyatt didn’t get out of the Datsun right away. He sat still in the darkness, his mind occupied with thoughts of what he’d do, one finger tapping rhythmically against his knee. The stress created by anticipation of the meeting with Jessica had his mind in overdrive, no one thought able to occupy him for more than a moment. He asked, “So, how do I do this? What do I say?”
“Say as little as possible. I recommend you go with strong and silent,” was the overly chipper reply.
“Why?”
Ford replied, “Girls like it, that’s number one and number two, it is a lot easier than charming, smart or witty. Act a bit dumb. Let her talk.”
Wyatt grunted in reply.
“Exactly. Do more of that.”
While Ford was having fun, his good mood didn’t transfer to his friend. All Wyatt wanted to do was go home, get into bed, turn out the lights and pull the covers over his head. A darkness hovered over him as he contemplated the next hours.
He was sweating up a storm, which wouldn’t look good, but knowing that only made him sweat more. He took a box of Kleenex out of the glove compartment, balled up a bunch of them, and shoved them under his shirt to soak up the sweat.
“That’s just gross,” said Ford as Wyatt shoved them back in the glove box.
“You want me out of the car, I need to be dry,” Wyatt replied. “This isn’t a track meet, I don’t get to glisten,” he said and got out. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
It was a short walk back to the house. When they arrived, they found small groups of people huddled in circles on the back deck, red solo cups in hand. “So, it’s my first real party,” said Wyatt. He recognized some of the people from school but they weren’t friends. “Should we mingle?”
Ford whispered, “It’s your party, I’m only here for moral support.”
Wyatt recognized one person from his grade 10 Algebra class, although he forgot the guy’s name. With two years lost to the teacher’s strike, there were a lot of people he didn’t quite remember. He tapped him on the arm and said, “Hey.” His classmate looked at him vacantly and turned back to the group without reply. Nobody moved to give him a space in the circle, so he stood there, two feet away, too far to be part of their group, but close enough to be uncomfortable.
Ford stepped up and took him by the arm. “Don’t try to fit in, it’s the easiest way not to. Just walk through like you belong, like you own the place. If you act like people should like you, they will. If you act like you want them to like you, they won’t. Let’s find your date.”
“That’s just messed up,” said Wyatt with disgust. This, he thought, was why he hated high school.
Ford pulled him towards the back door, and they squeezed between a couple of girls in skimpy skirts and tall boots, who barely moved to let them through. One put a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder as he passed by, and looked at him hungrily as she let it slowly trace down his arm. His face burned red as he was reminded how tight his shirt was. He thought he heard her say, “Come back later,” as he moved away from her.
They walked through the large kitchen, all white except for the oversize fridge and stove, which were gleaming stainless steel. A large print over the entrance said that “Food is love and love is the only truth.” Idiots, thought Wyatt.
There were two kegs on the marble counter, but, memories of their earlier conversation in mind, he got a Coke from a large cooler on the floor next to the enormous kitchen island. The house was packed and he couldn’t have felt more out of place. The only thing he liked was the music that blasted from hidden speakers, a song he recognized as a synth and backbeat heavy version of a James Brown song. People made him nervous and out of place, but music had the opposite effect. He sang along, “Get on up…” and followed his friend past a pair of girls swinging rhythmically to the song.
Ford leaned back and whispered, “Don’t sing, only girls and losers sing.”
He seethed with frustration at the rules but stopped anyway, which made the party even less fun than it’d already been. This, he noted to himself, is why he didn’t go to parties. High school and parties, he thought, two of the circles of hell.
They navigated between people, some dancing, some sitting, most standing in small groups, talking. Two guys he recognized from track played a shooter on a mammoth TV, a crowd gathered around them, watching every shot. Ford wandered over to join them but Wyatt grabbed him by a sleeve. “I don’t think so,” he said.
He didn’t see Jessica anywhere, so they took the stairs to check the second floor. They navigated between people sitting on the treads when one asked “Did someone call Geek Squad?” as they passed by.
Ford stopped and turned to the speaker, a handsome guy with a chiseled jaw wearing jeans and an untucked striped button-down shirt, a grin on his face which disappeared quickly as Ford stared the guy down. As an anti-social computer programmer and World of Warcraft gamer, he wasn’t well liked, but he’d put on a lot of muscle over the past year, something the other boy hadn’t noticed until Ford stood over him. “What did you say?”
The boy looked to his friend, a pretty girl in a long black skirt and red tank top. He appeared to debate his response. If he w
asn’t weighed down by his own darkness, Wyatt would have laughed at the conflicted expression the other boy wore. He’d often known that uncomfortable feeling.
Ford knelt down next to the guy on the staircase, his face only inches from his potential opponent, “How about you mind your manners and focus on your pretty friend? What’s your name?” he asked, and put his hand out.
The other guy hesitated, then surrendered and extended his own. “I’m Mike. Just goofing around, no harm?”
“No foul,” answered Ford, grasped Mike’s hand and shook it hard enough to make a point. He winked at the girl and then continued up the stairs with Wyatt and whispered, “The trick to avoid a fight is be tough and then offer the other guy an out.” To Ford, the world of social interactions was all about rules. There were no grey areas, no right and wrong and no need to worry about feelings unless the rules made it a requirement.
The first room they tried was occupied, and they quickly shut the door, leaving the occupants alone to their entertainment. In the master bedroom, they found Jessica with a gaggle of pretty girls, huddled together on a bed, giggling at whatever last inane comment one of them made.
Wyatt hesitated in the entry way until Ford pushed him forward. He hesitantly approached Jessica, who didn’t even bother to turn to look at him. He spoke up, “Hey, Jess.”
The other girls went silent and stared at him. After what seemed to him an eternity, she turned and looked at him with cold eyes. His stomach lurched. “Um…” he stuttered.
“What?” she asked nonchalantly, and leaned back against the headboard, her legs crossed, her eyes hardly meeting his.
He said, “Hey.”
She looked him up and down. “What?” she repeated, her voice cold and disdainful.
Wyatt wanted to retreat but couldn’t imagine any way to do it and ever return to school. “You know, you sent me a text, asked me to the party?”
She looked at her friends and laughed, a cold and cruel sound. “I texted you?” Her girl-friends took her cue and laughed along with her.
Wyatt pulled out his phone to show her the texts she’d sent him. “But?” he said, unable to say more than that. He felt his heart sink as he realized his worst nightmare was coming true but that he was unable to back off.
Jessica glanced at the other girls on the bed with bemusement and rolled her eyes. “Who are you?” she asked, without even a glance at the phone. She somehow made ‘you’ sound like an insult, to the cruel laughter of her friends.
Wyatt didn’t move or reply, his phone in hand and mouth open. Ford stepped up and rescued him. “Who’s the chick, Wy?”
Wyatt didn’t reply, his friend took the phone, and put it in his own shirt pocket.
“Chick?” asked Jessica, raising one eyebrow at the unexpected and uncommon slight.
Ford looked at her like he’d noticed her for the first time. “Oh, I know you guys, you’re cafeteria hyenas who giggle all day over nothing. Hey, I’m sorry my buddy here bothered you, he’s a bit out of it. You know how it is, right?” and steered his friend out of the room before the gaggle of girls could reply.
“WTF?” asked Wyatt when they were out of ear-shot.
Ford ignored him and checked the phone.
Wyatt didn’t comment on the fact that his friend knew his password, something he’d never shared. “What are you doing?”
“I’m checking the message to find out who sent it to you.”
“She sent it, it was from her, I saw it.”
“Buddy, did that look like she’d invited you to the party? Just cause it was her name on the message doesn’t mean it’s from her. All you saw was the result of computer code, it’s not real.”
Wyatt looked back to the room and heard giggling that he was sure was directed at him. I don’t care who sent it, I just want to leave, he thought.
“No way can leave yet,” his friend said, reading his mind. Ford casually leaned back against the top handrail of the staircase, and fiddled with the phone. He handed it back and said, “It wasn’t sent by her, sorry good buddy.”
“How can you tell?”
“There are ways to spoof a text, but if you hack the message, you can see what the true originating… anyhow, trust me, I can tell. I doubt it was one of her friends, there ain’t anyway they could pull this off. Someone played a gag, I guess. You piss off any hackers lately?” he asked.
“I have no clue.” He leaned in as two people walked by and then said to his friend in a low voice, “Let’s just leave, you didn’t want to be here anyhow and I sure don’t anymore. I’m humiliated.”
“You don’t what to know who did it? I thought you were the chess player, always with the need to know your opponent’s moves before they make them?” He handed Wyatt his phone back.
“Computer opponents, absolutely. They have rules, they follow rules. You’re always on about how people got rules, but it’s not like that with machines, people aren’t simple like that,” Wyatt said, as he fixed a picture that leaned a bit to the left. He looked at it, a twenty-dollar print in a two hundred-dollar frame, what a waste.
Ford shook his head. “That’s where you’re mistaken. People are machines too, they follow rules just as well. Your problem is that you care what people think, it makes you blind to their real nature. Watch this,” he said.
Ford grinned broadly and winked at a pair of girls standing at the top of the stairs. To Wyatt he whispered, “Just cause you don’t like em, doesn’t mean people don’t have rules, and bro, there are rules at school. That’s why we are going to stay. You need to make it look like this was no big deal otherwise your life will be hell for the rest of high-school time.” He walked over to the girls.
Wyatt hung back and checked his phone. The message was still there, and he replied, “Why’d you do this?”
He was about to put it away when it buzzed a reply. He read the note, “I’m sorry, I thought you liked her.”
“Is this Jessica?” he replied, although already knew the answer.
“No. I wanted you to be happy.”
“Failed. Who R U?”
“You like her,” was the text response.
“I do. I did, I don’t now, but you made me seem like an idiot.”
“I’m sorry.”
Fat load of help, that was, Wyatt thought, and put the phone back in his pocket. Just another jerk.
Ford returned with the two girls in tow. The taller one introduced herself as Mercedes. The second one was Gloria, who claimed she knew Wyatt from school. He didn’t quite recognize her but smiled and nodded anyway.
Wyatt stewed and listened as the other three talked about music and school. He ignored the group and pulled his phone back out, he needed to know who was playing games with him, and texted, “Who are you?”
“My name is Joe. I’m nobody,” was the reply.
“You’re crazy.”
“I know.” There was a pause. “But I’m trying to fix that.”
Wyatt looked at the message for a moment, and easily tuned out the surrounding conversations. None of it made any sense. He typed out a reply and then deleted it. Why bother taking the time to engage with this idiot, it wouldn’t do him any good.
Gloria moved to stand closer to him. “You’re quiet. Mysterious.” She put one hand on his upper arm, squeezing it. “You work out?”
She was petite and pretty with big blue eyes, close enough that Wyatt smelled the shampoo in her hair. Normally, this would terrify him. He was the opposite of Ford, women both enthralled and confused him, and made his brain turn to boiling mush. Tonight however, Jessica was the only woman on his mind.
His inattention caused her to turn back to the others, which suited him just fine. He checked his phone to see if she had sent him another message, which was crazy because she hadn’t even sent the first messages, but he wasn’t able to help himself. If only he could send her something, say something, this mess could be fixed but his notes were being intercepted by the freak who’d send him the first fa
ke note.
Everything about the evening confused him, and made his head ache right behind the eyes in a way that told him a migraine was coming on. A part of him wanted to forget her, forget the night, crawl into a cave and hide, but another side dreamed that it was all a mistake, that somehow, he’d be with her. Perhaps he should go upstairs and talk to her. They could work things out if only he could tell her how he felt, an idea he knew was idiotic the second it appeared inside his skull. I’m going insane, he thought to himself.
Nobody noticed his angst. Eventually, Mercedes pulled him back in, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Hey, enough with the phone, how about we go get something to make the party more fun?”
Wyatt looked at her dismissively. “I’m not a fan of drugs.”
“Why not,” she asked. “Mom gives me three or four every day, why not take one to make for a better night?”
“Your Mom gets you drugs?”
“Sure, stupid, she wants me in the best schools, so of course she does. She gets me ADHD stuff which helps me concentrate on my homework and exams. Also keeps me skinny, which you don’t mind, do you?” she replied, giving her hips a little shake.
“Do you have ADHD?” he asked, although he already knew the answer. Drugs were nothing more than a new, modern and easy way to cheat.
“No, but so what?” said Mercedes. “Why not change yourself if you can?”
“Really, your Mom helps you with drugs to do better in school? How’s that fair?”
Mercedes sneered, “Spare me your middle-class judgment. Is exercise cheating? That can help your memory. How about eating well or sleeping? Both of those help you do better in class. Or coffee for that matter, does your Mom cheat at work by drinking coffee? Or having rich parents, good books, internet connection and tutors? The world is already fixed, don’t judge me for trying to balance things. This helps my brain do its thing, just better.”
Wyatt wasn’t in the mood for a argument and didn’t care enough about either of the girls to bother changing their opinions. They did what they did and believed what they believed and that was their problem, not his. “Fine, go get your stuff, but I don’t need it.”
