Ask Again Later

by Liz Czukas

  Not surprisingly, Neel was the first one out of the van. He’d been going on about how hungry he was since before the dance had even ended. Everyone unloaded and headed for the restaurant’s door. Our gear caught the attention of a few people in line, and we got honked at. Cassidy curtsied deeply in the beam of someone’s headlights, fanning her face and demurring like she’d been given a third curtain call.

  God, I love my friends.

  When the inner doors opened, the smell of half-assed fast-food Mexican wafted at me, and suddenly I was starving. This was far from gourmet eating, but when the stomach craves the Bell, there is no cure but the Bell itself. I happily hopped into line behind Dan, already calculating how many soft tacos it would take to satisfy my needs.

  Ryan slid his hands along the wooden railings meant to herd us toward the register in a zigzag pattern. Hoisting himself up like a gymnast on the parallel bars, he leaned ominously toward me for a second and I squealed, anticipating him falling on me. But apparently, not everyone is as physically inept as I am, so he just righted himself and landed on his feet.

  “You’re gonna break your neck.” I swatted him on the shoulder with my overloaded clutch purse and the clasp burst open, spewing the contents out like a party popper. “Oh no!” I made a fumbling grab for my cell phone, but it took a nosedive and slammed into the tile floor on one corner like a spiked football.

  Everyone held their breath as we waited for the telltale sound of a shattered screen, and we weren’t disappointed. The tiny pop! made my blood run cold. Several people gasped in unison, which was almost funny, even considering the circumstance.

  Already I could see the back of the phone was cracked like a windshield after a rock bounces off at high speed. I sucked in some air and squatted down to get it, feeling the strain across my duct-tape dress patch. When I turned it over, the front screen was totally unharmed.

  “Woo-hoo!” I held it up, victorious, and everyone cheered.

  “It’s a prom miracle!” Neel declared.

  “Nice.” Ryan smiled at him.

  “Oh my God, I am so happy right now.” I held up my hands to Neel and Ryan, who happened to be the closest, and they pulled me to my feet. “I love you, sweet phone.” I planted a kiss on the unbroken screen, leaving behind a lip print, sticky with my freshly applied gloss.

  “Nice move, genius.” Neel rolled his eyes.

  “Whatever, I don’t even care.” I clutched my phone to my chest and smiled at them all.

  “Um, what about the rest of your crap?” Ally bent down to pick up the roll of Rolaids that had landed near her foot. “You’ll definitely want these after eating at Taco Hell.”

  “I just need my money. I don’t really care about the rest.” In fact, I considered the rest of Aunt Colleen’s treats to be an appropriate offering to the gods of cell phones and eighty-nine-cent tacos.

  Everyone searched the area around the railed-in line, calling out as they each discovered small bits of my life. But the vintage silver cigarette case where I’d tucked my driver’s license and a small amount of cash was nowhere to be found.

  “Ooh, gum!” Cassidy said. “Is this yours?”

  “Yeah, probably, but I can’t guarantee it.”

  “Can I have it?”

  “Whatever. Just look for the silver case.”

  “Bandages?” Schroeder asked.

  “Those were mine, too,” I answered. “I guess I could take them back.”

  He held them out to me from the other side of the wooden corral we were queued up in. I smiled at him as I took them back, and he returned a smile of his own.

  “Money!” Dan shouted, and I leaped to my feet to see, but he was only holding up a quarter.

  “Keep looking,” I said, as I dropped back to a squat. All around me, I saw nothing but dirty brown tiles. Had I been pickpocketed in the middle of the dance? Where the hell was my silver case? “Shoot,” I muttered as the first traces of panic surfed through my veins. “Shoot, shoot, damn it!”

  “Is this it?” Ryan called, holding up the small metal box.

  “Yes!” I jumped up and ran at him, throwing my arms around his neck and laying a big, smacky kiss on his lips. “Oh my God, you have no idea how happy I am right now!”

  “Who’s the greatest prom date in the world?” he asked, tucking me under his arm to hold the case out to me.

  “Obviously you!” I plucked it from his fingertips and flicked it open with a practiced move to reveal undisturbed contents. “Huzzah! It’s all here!” I grabbed his chin and planted another kiss on his cheek, leaving behind yet another lip print.

  “Does that mean you’re buying me a taco?” Ryan winked at me.

  “I’ll even throw in a burrito.”

  With my crisis averted, Neel took the opportunity to cut past us in line and be the first to order. He was a man with a plan, cash already in hand to make the transaction. I guess he wasn’t kidding about being ready to go cannibal on us if he didn’t get some chow soon. As soon as he had his change, he slid down to the pickup end of the counter and went for the packets of sauce.

  No sooner had I turned my attention back to the menu than a bellow of laughter brought my eyes to Neel again. “Oh man!” he cackled. “Somebody’s going to be very disappointed when they bust out a packet of mild sauce in bed later!” He held up an all-too-familiar strip of three pleasure-shaped condoms, and my face burst into flames.

  “Eww! Who does that?” Ally demanded. “Put them down! There’s probably herpes all over them.”

  “Ah God, Ally, you had to go there?” Neel moaned. “Now how am I supposed to enjoy my chalupa?”

  “Stop spazzing, they’re mine.” I held out my hand, but all I got in return was silence and the confused stares of seven of my dearest friends.

  “Yours?” Ally demanded.

  “Yes,” Ryan said right away. “For all the hot sex we’re going to have later.”

  I tried to squelch the laughter bubbling up from my chest, but it was impossible, and it burst out of my mouth in an unladylike donkey bray. I grinned at Ryan and emphasized my empty hand for Neel. “Can I have them, please?”

  Neel looked at me, looked at Ryan, back to me, to the condoms, and back to Ryan again before stretching out his arm to set the strip in my hand. He screwed up his whole face into an expression of disbelief. “There you go. You kids enjoy yourselves.”

  “Thank you.” I tucked them into my purse, distinctly aware that the ambient noise of the group was at near zero. Looking at Cassidy’s and Ally’s faces made me roll my eyes, laughing. “Would you guys relax? My dumb aunt gave them to me along with all the other crap that went all over creation.”

  Cassidy’s face dissolved into understanding. All she was missing was the cartoon lightbulb over her head. “I should have known Colleen was involved.”

  “I know, right?” I shook my head.

  Cassidy nudged Ally in the back, and she took her place at the cash register to order. Everyone else shuffled up behind her, giving me a clear view of Schroeder, who was staring at me with disappointment. As soon as he saw me looking, he shifted his eyes to the menu board, but his posture remained stiff.

  I’d never seen him go prudish on anyone before, so it was hard to imagine he was giving me the cold shoulder over condoms I had no intention of using, but the guy was being downright weird tonight. Or maybe I was being oversensitive because of Ryan’s theory. No. It didn’t seem possible that it was completely in my head—I’d experienced subtler temperature changes in the shower after Phil flushed the toilet in the other bathroom.

  Seemed like maybe it was time to call him out on the mood swings. And this time I wasn’t going to apologize like Ryan had made me do before. I considered my options and decided to bide my time until we got to the party, and then I’d corner him. And with a plan in place, I was free to enjoy my disgusting but somehow satisfying tacos. With condom-free mild sauce.

  22 In which Troy loses consciousness, and I am kidnapped by jocks
/>   HEADS

  I had become a hostage.

  After the parking lot fight, Amy and the infamous Rob left with squealing tires and shouted obscenities, while my brother and his friends crawled back into the limo, all hopped up on post-fight adrenaline.

  Apparently, fighting works up an appetite, because Doug declared he was going to starve to death, and the others were quick to agree. None of the other girls seemed to care one way or another, and my attempts to protest that we were supposed to meet the No Drama Crew at Blanchard’s house fell on deaf ears.

  The limo driver aimed the stretch SUV in the complete opposite direction I wanted to go, and someone cranked the music back up. Troy, his pants now wet from the knees down thanks to Randi dumping several bottles of water on him before allowing him entrance to the limo, took three long swigs from the latest bottle of whatever it was they were drinking and let out a terrifying belch just before his eyes rolled up in his head and he passed out.

  “Is he okay?” I asked Austin, who was next to me again.

  He didn’t look away from his attempts to slip his fingers under the top of Olivia’s dress but said, “He’s fine.”

  “Great.” I sighed. My head was still swimming with vodka-y fuzziness, but it wasn’t the pleasant, dreamy feeling I’d had earlier. Now I couldn’t be sure if the limo was turning corners, or if that was just going on in my own head. I scrounged for my clutch, almost getting kicked in the head by Randi, who was a lot more receptive to Doug’s advances than Olivia was to Austin’s.

  I had to get out of here.

  The only positive about the gropefests going on to either side of me was that they were taking up less room glommed together like that. So I could open my purse and gingerly fish out my broken cell phone. The screen was already alive with a handful of text messages.

  Cassidy: Emergency Taco Bell run, be there in a few.

  Cassidy: Do you want some T-Bell?

  Cassidy: Hel-lo

  Kim: U missed yr chance. Left T-Bell.

  Cassidy: Where R U?

  Cassidy: Srsly. Where R U?

  I typed in a quick reply. Troy took his pants off. Parking lot fight. I’ve been kidnapped. Help!

  The reply came almost immediately. Cassidy: OMG R U OK? Where R U?

  I typed in a longer version, but it was hard to concentrate with the amateur pornography going on to my right. I wasn’t sure how well I explained everything.

  Cassidy: R U coming???

  Me: Yes. Soon.

  Me: I hope.

  Lisa: Get out of the limo. Marcus will come get you.

  Me: We’re still driving.

  Lisa: As soon as you stop.

  Cassidy: Screw that! Jump!!!!

  Me: I AM NOT JUMPING OUT OF A MOVING CAR!

  The limo turned into the parking lot of a diner, and my heart sank.

  “I thought we’d be going to a drive-through or something,” I said, but no one was paying any attention to me.

  “Yo, Rafferty!” Phil elbowed Troy to wake him, but he didn’t move. Phil shrugged and opened the door. “Let’s go.”

  Doug waved off the command. “Go ’head,” he muttered.

  I scooted out of the way just as Randi swung her leg over Doug’s lap to straddle him. And even though my butt was still a little sore from getting shoved to the ground, I moved. Fast. I did not want to be present for whatever came next. I caught a look at Troy on my way to the door, but he wasn’t moving. Just breathing heavily through his mouth and drooling slightly.

  Audrey Hepburn would never put up with this crap.

  I ran a few steps to catch up with Phil and poked him in the shoulder. “This is going to take too long. Can’t we just go to the party?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “Phil, my friends are waiting for me.”

  He shrugged. “You should have gone with them.”

  I stopped walking, my fingers stretching into very angry jazz hands, then curling into fists. Anger rattled through me, making my stomach cramp and my muscles quiver with tension.

  Tara patted me once on the shoulder as she swept past. “Should have had another drink when you had the chance.” She looked back at me. “Makes it easier, trust me.”

  Rock. Hard place. Me.

  I couldn’t go back to the limo, or who knew what I’d have to see from the Randi and Doug show. And I didn’t want to go into the diner. What I wanted to do was hit Phil over the head with my purse. Or a baseball bat.

  Getting my shattered phone back out, I sent an SOS to Lisa, begging for a pickup. It took her way too long to get back to me, and frustrated tears were beginning to gather on my lashes and make my nose run.

  Lisa: I can’t find Marcus. Hold on.

  Just then, the limo door opened and Randi came out looking pissed. She gave her dress a yank to straighten it and stalked toward the diner without a backward glance. Doug came out a few minutes later looking annoyed, but he was in no hurry as he fastened his pants and smoothed his hair. He spotted me leaning against a parked car near the entrance. “What’s wrong with you?” It didn’t sound like concern, or even curiosity. More like irritation.

  I stared at him. “Absolutely nothing.”

  “Whatever.” He passed me by and disappeared into the diner, and I went back to the limo.

  I considered knocking on the passenger door and asking the driver if I could sit with him, but I wasn’t really in the mood for small talk. So I climbed into the backseat again, carefully avoiding any contact with Troy for fear of waking him.

  Then, all by myself, and feeling about as pathetic as I’ve ever felt in my life, I sat in the corner and helped myself to a few more sips of the cake-flavored vodka. It was either that or go on a homicidal rampage with a spoon.

  Note to self: find a spoon. Just in case.

  23 Wherein I learn what a spinet is, and that Ryan is wise

  TAILS

  My plan to confront Schroeder post–Taco Bell was all well and good, except that I couldn’t seem to find him anywhere. I knew he’d come into Blanchard’s house with us. I’d walked in right behind him, in fact, but then it was like I’d blinked and he’d been sucked through a rip in reality to another dimension. There was no trace of the boy, no matter where I looked.

  On my quest, I stumbled across a lot of strange sights. Some sweet, like the couple who didn’t know I could see them when he stole a kiss from her and she smiled and leaned her forehead against his. Some funny, like the two guys doing an impressive rendition of a Lady Gaga dance. Some depressing, like the girl crying on the basement stairs. And some downright disturbing, like my brother lying on a Ping-Pong table in the garage with the business end of a funnel in his mouth and someone I didn’t know cracking a beer over the other end.

  No one seemed to know where Schroeder was. My feet ached as I climbed the stairs to the second floor for the third time. I was fairly convinced he was just avoiding me at this point, but I couldn’t seem to stop my body from moving through room after room of the ridiculously huge Blanchard house. Mansion. Whatever.

  A lot of the second floor rooms’ doors were closed, and I was sure at least a few of them were concealing scenes between couples I didn’t want any part of. I felt like a complete creep as I paused outside each closed door, listening for any sign of life inside that wasn’t of the X-rated variety. Finally, outside a set of double doors at the end of the hall, I heard the faint sound of classical music inside.

  I took a risk, easing open the doors slowly and peeping through the crack to make sure I wasn’t going to disturb anyone.

  Jackpot.

  There was Schroeder, sitting at a small upright piano under a wide mullioned window.

  “Hey,” I said softly, approaching at an angle so he would see me.

  “Hi.” He didn’t look back, but his fingers rose from the keys. They danced along the surface of the ivory for a moment before settling into a new position. The fingers of his right hand went to work, picking out the opening notes to “Für Eli
se.” I pressed my own fingertips against my breastbone, as instant feelings of wistfulness stirred at the sound.

  His left hand joined the tune, and for a long moment I simply watched him play. I’d had my share of piano lessons as a kid, but I’d never come close to this level. I’d like to blame my small hands, but the truth was I just wasn’t interested enough in the instrument.

  Watching Schroeder play made me wish I’d stuck with it.

  When he got to the busier bridge of the song, he trailed off, turning slightly to look at me. “Did you need something?”

  “I like listening to you play,” I said. “You’re Schroeder, after all.”

  “Mmm.” He put his hands in his lap. “I probably shouldn’t be in here anyway.”

  “No one seems to care.” I shrugged. “And frankly, I’m surprised they only have this little piano. Seems like the sort of place that should have one of those shiny grand pianos.”

  “This is just a spinet,” he said, as if that meant something to me. “I think this is a practice room for all the other instruments.” He gestured vaguely to a pair of music stands and a violin case on the floor. “The grand piano is downstairs. Didn’t you see it?”

  “Oh.” I thought back to my multiple trips through the living room. He was right; there was exactly the glossy, showpiece instrument I would have imagined, sitting in a small alcove surrounded by windows. “Well. Must be nice to be two-piano rich.”

  He smiled slightly. “No kidding.”

  I pursed my lips, waiting for him to say more, but nothing came. “What’s your deal tonight?”

  “I already told you, I don’t like Frank Blanchard.”

  “Not about that. What’s your deal with me tonight?”

  He looked in my eyes. “I don’t have a deal with you.”

  “You’re acting like you do.”

  “If you say so.” He turned back to the piano and carefully lowered the lid over the keys. I felt like he was closing the lid on our conversation, and frankly, it pissed me off.