Those Girls

by Lauren Saft

Josh asked if I wanted to dance when Alex’s band started, and I said sure, because at this point, all I had to do was wait and not look like I was waiting. I went up to the dance floor and bobbed my head and watched Alex, eyes closed, singing and swaying like no one was watching—but everyone was. Onstage Alex and offstage Alex were slowly meshing into the same person; I could see it in the way she stood and hear it in her voice. No costume, no character anymore. It occurred to me that I was proud of her, an emotion I was not entirely familiar with. Raging envy, yes. But pride? The stuff of fairy tales. But I really was excited for her; she seemed happy. And I was excited that I got to be this girl’s best friend, and that I finally felt like that again for the first time in a while. Finally, I felt like we were back on the same team. Maybe she’d be famous one day. Maybe I seemed cooler because I was friends with the girl in the band.

  “Alex has gotten so good!” Josh screamed to me between awkward shuffles of his feet.

  “I know!” I screamed back. “They all have!”

  We both laughed, and I gave in to his silly shuffles and danced around with him. I even let him take my hands and twirl me once or twice.

  “Thanks for taking me to the prom, Josh. You’re always saving me, it seems.”

  He smiled and twirled me again.

  “Thanks for letting me,” he said.

  I glanced back at the table; Drew and Veronica were making out. I rolled my eyes and looked up at Alex, who also seemed to notice and seemed to be singing angrily at them as if to tell them to knock it off and fucking pay attention to their fucking friend singing her fucking heart out onstage.

  Sam was three feet behind me on the dance floor; I felt him in my orbit—his body mass created waves of pressure that dented everything within a ten-foot radius. We’d been there maybe an hour, and already his shirt was untucked and his tie was around his head. He caught me looking at him.

  He smiled and waved. I waved back and gave him the finger.

  He bopped over to me and Josh smiling his shit-eating smile and hugged me from the side. His dress shirt was moist with sweat, and I tried not to let the smell of Jack Daniel’s, cigarettes, and Hugo Boss evoke any kind of warm emotion.

  “So you’re still mad at me?” He slurred his words.

  “Go away.”

  “Ouch” was his response.

  “You came with Steph Black, huh? Feeling nostalgic for middle school?”

  “She asked me. You know I can’t turn down a party. And I knew I’d see you. I hoped maybe you’d talk to me.”

  The music and the kids pounded around us, circled and knocked us, jarring our conversation. I looked into his sweaty face, into those electric blue eyes I’d melted for so many times. I so easily could have said fuck it, hugged him, kissed him, started dancing our little dance, enjoyed the rest of the night, and forgotten everything. Then I looked at Alex up there by herself singing in front of everyone. I touched his clammy face and that familiar make him love you, don’t let him leave you panic feeling started to set in, that feeling that I had previously called love.

  “Fuck you,” I said.

  “Whatever. Have fun with Josh Holbrook. You two look cute together.…”

  Josh waved at Sam, a small, polite acknowledging wave that also dismissed him and implied a good-bye, you’re leaving.

  “You like my sloppy seconds, Little Holbrook? How’s my dick taste?”

  Josh just laughed and shook his head. He went to take a step toward Sam, but I put my arm out as a barricade and he halted. I wasn’t going to let Josh get involved—he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve Sam. He was a good person.

  I said, “Your dick tastes like the shit you stick it in, Sam. Leave us the fuck alone.”

  “Well, if my dick tastes like shit, it’s because it was in your ass, Mollie,” he said.

  I wanted to punch him, but I just blew a kiss in the air and flipped him off as Steph Black yanked him back to their table.

  “Are you okay?” Josh asked, putting a comforting hand lightly on my back.

  The tears clumped in the back of my throat, but I was okay. I nodded, and then the music stopped.

  “Thanks, everyone! We’re gonna take five!” Alex looked right at me and jerked her head toward Drew and Veronica.

  It was time.

  Alex and I beelined for the table. Drew stood up to hug her when we got there.

  “You…” He paused. And then he said nothing. He just hugged her again, she smiled and mouthed thank you, and he held her shoulders for a little longer than normal.

  “Come outside for a smoke?” she said.

  “Veronica is really hammered,” he said. “I hate to say this, but I think we may need to get her out of here.”

  Veronica sat in her chair, but barely. Her eyes were practically crossed and filled with water, and her mouth gaped open. She rested the weight of her bobblehead on her hand, which seemed to be slowly crumbling under the pressure.

  My heart rate sped up again. I had a line; what was my line…?

  “Oh, she’s fine. It’s Veronica—when is she not inappropriately hammered? I’ll take her to the bathroom, and we’ll get her shit together.”

  Drew shrugged, and they scurried out to the terrace, where people were smoking. I looked at Veronica, glaring at me with empty glassy eyes.

  I bent down, put her arm over my shoulder, and hoisted her up to a standing position. She was heavier than I thought she’d be, like a bony sandbag. She could barely walk, and her breath was shallow. Had I given her too much? Was she too thin to handle this? How bad were these drugs? I started to panic a little, wondering why I didn’t do more research. But it was too late. I’d committed to this and was going to follow through. I always followed through.

  I looked around. Mr. Boardman was the only chaperone in eyesight and, obviously, he was hovering by the food, so I went out the side door by the stage, which meant I had to get by the dance floor. There were some whispers from the people we passed, but nothing any more suspicious than Oh, there’s ol’ drunken Veronica again.

  “Whurrwehgoin?” Her tongue was thick. I knew she’d be out in a minute. I had to get her to the lobby while she could still (sort of) walk.

  “Outside,” I said, and got her out the side door and into the hallway. There was no one there, thank god. I got her to an elevator. We got in, and I looked at us in the mirror, her arm around me, her face contorted into a sheepish, oblivious smile. There were about a thousand pictures of the two of us like this: she, a mess, tits out, drunkenly smiling, me, eyes wide, trying to stand up straight, smile too big, trying to look together for the camera.

  The doors opened to the lobby, which was empty. I dropped her onto a sofa, and she did the embarrassing tits out/crotch flash thing all on her own. I took one shoe off, just for effect, and mussed up her hair a little more. I’d forgotten the drink to spill on her and looked around for something to dirty her with. There was a plant. I picked up some dirt and smudged it on her face and dress. I debated turning her over and rubbing it in her ass to make it look like she shat herself, but for some reason decided that would be going too far.

  I heard people coming, brushed off my hands, stood back, and admired my work. She just lay there on her back, mouth open, legs apart, covered in dirt. I started to wonder if maybe this trick wasn’t even mean enough. I’d seen her in this condition on any rowdy Saturday night. This wasn’t extreme. This wasn’t her demise. This was just fucking hilarious.

  ALEXANDRA HOLBROOK

  Everything, all of it, Mollie, Drew, Fernando, roofies, sex, it all went quiet when we got onstage. I’d been so nervous, so worried about what people would think, what would happen with Drew and Veronica and Mollie and Fernando, been so prepared to throw up on someone’s face, cry in public, spontaneously combust before I even got to the hotel, but once I got onstage, I felt better. Singing, playing, felt better than sitting, thinking. All that unfocused anxiety became one noise, a noise that once I made, I realized I really didn’t care i
f anyone liked. I sang the songs, watched everyone dance, and gave in. Finally.

  And Drew smiled when I sang “Grow Up.” He knew. He understood.

  And then Veronica’s limbs went limp, and her eyes went dark. I saw it happen from the stage halfway across the room, and I got scared again.

  We were actually going through with this. I was in awe of Mollie’s strength. This is why she got boyfriends and I didn’t. When she decided she wanted something, she threw caution to the wind to make it happen. No fear. She’d see this through to the end; she always did. I should have known. But now, everything had to go exactly as planned or we’d be royally fucked. I wanted to run, but I checked myself into gear. Mollie was counting on me.

  I asked Drew to come smoke with me as planned and wondered if the teachers cared, if we’d all get in trouble because we were smoking at a school event, or if they were just choosing to ignore us and saving their energy prowling for scents of underage drinking.

  “Do you want my jacket?” he asked as we made our way to the ledge of the balcony.

  We were on the top floor of the hotel, and the terrace outside the ballroom was windy. The bridges, buildings, and Boathouse Row were lit up across the river, and glowing Matchbox cars puttered around hundreds of feet below. Being up so high, I felt wobbly, like we could tip over and crash like a Jenga tower.

  People told me how good the band was, how great I sounded, and I smiled politely and thanked them and wondered what they really thought, what the whispers were saying out of earshot. The wind cut through the silk lining of Drew’s jacket and sent sharp goose bumps up my bare back. I reached into the pocket and took out a pack of Camels and a lighter. I lit one and handed it to him, then lit the other for myself.

  “So, we did okay?” I asked. My heart sprinted thinking about what in god’s name Mollie could be doing with Veronica’s flaccid body and how she was managing to get her to the lobby without anyone noticing. I tried to stay cool and calm and be normal in front of Drew. Normal with Drew, like I even knew what that meant anymore.

  “You’re awesome. Get over it,” he said. “Every girl in here wants to be you right now.”

  That was hard to imagine.

  “Did you like the song?” I asked.

  “I loved the song—” he started.

  “Holbrook!” a familiar, slobbering voice hollered from somewhere noisy behind me. It was Sam, pummeling through the band of smokers in my direction.

  “Dude, can I have a smoke?” he asked, his face about an inch from mine, reeking of sweat and whiskey.

  “They’re Drew’s,” I said, and turned my back to him.

  “Hey, homo,” he said, turning to Drew, backhanding him in the chest, “can I have a fucking stog?”

  Drew coughed up the air that Sam had knocked out of him and nodded.

  I furrowed my eyebrows in disgust.

  “How about you ask fucking nicely?” I couldn’t believe I’d actually talked to Sam, talked to anyone, like that. I never talked to anyone like that. It’s like I was drunk, but I wasn’t.

  “What, Holbrook? You think you’re tough, because you’re a fucking rock star now?” Sam said, snatching the pack from my hand. “Better watch out. You’re next, ya know. Gotta complete the trifecta.”

  He smiled, reached around me into Drew’s coat pocket, and rummaged around for a lighter, touching my leg, which, even through the silk coat lining, turned my stomach. I pushed him back, but he lunged at me, thrusting both hands into both pockets this time.

  Drew grabbed his thick shoulder and pulled him off.

  “Chill,” he said.

  He stood in front of me and faced Sam, then pushed him back one more time and stood like a tower between us. I prayed Sam would walk away before he said anything else. I begged, pleaded with every god I didn’t believe in, to let this be the end of this conversation; but we didn’t deserve that.

  “Or what?” Sam snapped back, and poked Drew in the shoulder. He fell back into me, and I lost my balance in my heels and almost fell over the railing. “I already fucked one of your girlfriends. Now you’re not gonna let me take a crack at the other one?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Drew stood up straight against Sam. He was much taller, which was easy to forget. He hovered over Sam’s head and peered down his long nose into Sam’s wet, spiteful eyes.

  Sam cackled. “Dude, tell me you know.”

  “Know what?”

  I lost my breath and swallowed hard; an already bad night was about to get a lot worse.

  Sam stepped back and bent over laughing, his thick sandy hair shaking as he convulsed and his eyes glowing brighter with each burst.

  “She didn’t tell you?” He pointed at me. “She didn’t tell you I fucked Veronica? Dude, why did you think Mollie and I broke up?”

  Drew spun around and glared at me. I hid my face in my hands and shook my head.

  “Is that true?” he asked.

  I just stood there with my face in my hands, squeezing my eyes closed, hoping that when I opened them I would have traveled through time and not be here right now.

  “Where the fuck is Veronica?” It was a tone I’d never heard Drew use with me, or anyone.

  “I don’t know,” I said, eyes still closed.

  He pushed Sam, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me back inside. He said nothing, just weaved through the people into the ballroom, dragging me along like a short-legged, disobedient child.

  He spotted Mollie.

  “Where is Veronica?” he asked her. Mollie’s face lit up, not knowing the turn this quest had taken, thinking our plan was still on course and that we were all about to boil over laughing about silly, drunken, passed-out Veronica. I stood an arm’s length behind Drew, trying desperately to tell her with just my eyes that this situation had suffered an unforeseen complication.

  She looked at me, confused. I looked at her and mouthed SAM, gesturing outside, and her face darkened and she bit her thumbnail.

  “Maybe she’s in the lobby?” She gulped.

  Drew marched past the elevator and galloped down the stairs, the two of us tailing behind, trying to keep his pace.

  The lobby was empty when we got there.

  I looked at Mollie, confused. The pink drained from her face and the white from her eyes. She looked around, and I sensed panic growing in her, that something was not right.

  “Sh-she,” she stammered, “she was right here, on this couch, when I left her.”

  She looked at me, shaking her head, throwing her palms to the sky, mouthing I LEFT HER HERE between frantic shakes of her head.

  “Check the bathroom,” Drew ordered me.

  Mollie and I ran into the bathroom by the lobby, disoriented by the overwhelming stench of lavender and Windex. We screamed Veronica’s name and looked under all the stalls, but she wasn’t there.

  “I left her right there! Oh my god.” Her shoulders, then her head, then her whole body, started to shake.

  “She can’t have gone too far,” I said, feeling the water rise in my own eyes. “She could barely walk.”

  Tears started to roll down Mollie’s cheeks, drawing black lines down her flushed face. I grabbed her wrist, the way Drew’d grabbed mine, and led her out of the bathroom. I marched up to the bellhop desk and asked if they’d seen a girl in a leopard dress.

  “Yes,” the girl behind the desk said in a Southern drawl. “A man came and got her.” Desiree. Her name tag said Desiree, and she was round and blond, pretty, but with sharp snaggleteeth.

  “A man?” Mollie asked through sniffles.

  “Yes, a man. He took her that way. She seemed pretty out of it. Don’t let your teachers catch her like that.”

  We thanked her, grabbed Drew, and went in the direction she had pointed, toward the service entrance where we’d come in with the band equipment.

  I felt a brief wave of relief. I was sure that Ned or Pete or Fernando had seen her and taken her out to the van to get her out of public vi
ew.

  “Let’s go in here,” I said.

  Drew pushed open the heavy door, and the bright, sterile service hallway stung my eyes. We walked briskly toward the van, past the maids’ carts and room service trays.

  “Veronica!” I screamed. “Veronica?”

  I heard a knocking sound coming from down the hall. We all heard it and started toward it; it seemed to be coming from behind one of the metal doors. Drew pushed one open. It was a janitor’s closet. Mollie opened one across the hall, which just upped the volume on the dull hum of washing machines.

  I pushed open the next one. And there she was with Mr. Boardman.

  MOLLIE FINN

  What the fuck?” Alex gasped.

  Mr. Boardman dropped Veronica and looked panicked, but then composed himself. Veronica fell over and squealed.

  “Getttoffff!” she yelled, and she crawled over to and curled up on a pile of dirty sheets on the ground.

  Mr. Boardman just stood there, red-faced and dumbfounded. “What are you girls doing down here?” he yelled.

  “What are you doing with her?” I couldn’t breathe or think. My heart was racing, and my face was getting hot, like when I found out about Veronica and Sam—when something so big is happening right in front of you that you just can’t even process it, it’s more like watching a movie than an actual moment in your actual life. I just wanted to sit down and see what was going to happen, see the girl run or the guy get arrested. I couldn’t interject myself into the scene, that would have ruined it, it was outside of what I was qualified to handle. But I had to, this wasn’t a movie, this was happening, and it was largely my fault that it was happening… and what could have happened had we walked in five minutes later.

  “You sick fuck,” Drew said, and he lunged toward him, but Alex grabbed his wrist.

  “Now hold on just a minute,” Mr. Boardman said in his teacher voice. “She was passed out in the hallway. I brought her here to keep her out of trouble.” He coughed and wiped his mouth. “Look, I know you girls have been drinking. I am fond of Miss Collins, and I didn’t want her to get into trouble.” He looked down at his belt buckle.