Game of Fear

by Kabongo, Glede Browne

  “Just put the outfit on already, Abbie,” Frances says, in frustration. “Are we going to this party, or are we staying in your room all night?” She’s done with her makeup, looking sleek and glamorous in a ruffle collared, white top and black slacks. Her long, thick hair hangs loose. She never questions Callie’s choices for her.

  “You just want to get there so you can make out with Trevor. Seriously, you two should just get an apartment,” I say, teasing her.

  “And send my parents to an early grave? I don’t think so.”

  “Your dad is worse than mine, and that’s saying a lot.”

  Frances and her sister, Penny, are first generation Taiwanese-American. Her father, a trauma surgeon, founded a healthcare company that specializes in medical products and equipment to help improve surgical outcomes for patients. Her mom works for the Department of Environmental Protection for the State of New Jersey.

  “That’s why I haven’t told my parents about me and Trevor.”

  Callie and I look at Frances in disbelief.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Callie says.

  “They know that I like this boy named Trevor. They would go postal if they knew what Trevor and I get into.”

  “Frances, it’s been six months, and you haven’t told them he’s your boyfriend?” I ask.

  “What they don’t know won’t hurt them. All they want me to do is study. Besides, they’re all the way in Jersey. What happens in Massachusetts, stays in Massachusetts,” she concludes, winking at us.

  “You’re so wrong,” Callie says laughing.

  “Look, my parents see what they want to see. I let them.”

  The two of them eventually wear me down, and I decide to go with the outfit Callie picked. I added knee-high boots to the ensemble. Not bad.

  I come to a stop in the long, winding cobblestone pathway leading to Evan’s house and hand my car keys to one of the valet attendants. Callie, Frances, and I hop out and make our way toward the main entrance of the massive red brick colonial. Frances rings the doorbell, and the door opens instantly. Evan appears, sporting his famous rock star hair and a Led Zeppelin T-shirt.

  “Ladies. Welcome to Casa de Mueller,” he says, with a goofy grin. He opens the door wider to let us in. Music drifts from the sound system as we enter. “Abbie, you made it. Nice.”

  I thank him for inviting me, and he leads us into the foyer. A Steinway piano sits against the wall to the left, and a massive grand staircase looms before us. Evan gives us instructions like a flight attendant before takeoff.

  “There are two bathrooms on this floor. The kitchen and living room are through there,” he says pointing to a narrow hallway off to the right. “There’s food and booze in the kitchen. Help yourselves to anything you want. I’ll catch you hotties later.” He then disappears.

  “Any bets on who gets plastered first?” Frances asks as we size up the living room area. The place is already thick with seniors drinking and socializing, a few swaying to the beat of the music. “I know there’s a news story in there somewhere.”

  “Look who’s coming this way,” Callie says.

  We follow her line of vision and land on a petite girl with flaming red hair, and an unlit cigarette between her fingers, squeezing her way through groups of people. Brooke Westerly, Sidney’s underling. I sense the tension radiating off Frances. As if by telepathy, we each understand the threat and draw in closer to each other, forming a protective shield. Brooke stops in front of us, but her attention is focused on Callie.

  “Total bummer about your parents splitting up. That’s rough. I’ve been through it myself. If you ever want to talk, I’m here.” She places her hand on Callie’s shoulder. “We have to stick together, you know.”

  We all look at Brooke dumfounded. She takes the hint and scuttles off to fake friend someone else.

  “What was that?” I ask. “Is Sidney recruiting for her clique?”

  “Brooke the opportunist has been trying to be my friend since junior year. I gave her a bunch of hints, but so far, she hasn’t picked up on any of them,” Callie says.

  “I hear she wants to be an actress,” Frances says, using air quotes. “Even auditioned for a couple of TV pilots. No surprise she didn’t make the cut since she has no talent. Well, that’s not true. There are plenty of guys in the senior class who can testify to just how talented she is.”

  I arch my eyebrow. “Where do you get this stuff from? I never hear any of the juicy gossip first-hand.”

  “You don’t give off the friendliest vibe,” Callie says.

  We arrive at the kitchen entrance and poke our heads in. There’s a spread fit for a banquet on the island in the center and all around the counter tops. It’s 9:00 p.m., and I already see a handful of people who would fail a Breathalyzer test.

  “I’m plenty friendly,” I say to Callie.

  “We understand your intensity, Abbie, but other people don’t get it,” Frances says.

  “Let’s mingle,” I say to the girls as if to prove I’m not an ogre. “Meet up in an hour to compare notes.”

  Frances goes off to find Trevor. Callie sees a fellow fashionista and takes off, too. I go back to the living room area and find a cozy spot against the wall next to a potted plant where I can observe everyone. I look across the room, and my heart skips a beat. There, next to the French doors with Sidney mere inches from his face, is Christian. His arms are folded, and his eyes wander aimlessly around the space. A few seconds pass with Sidney’s mouth moving and Christian maintaining his bored stance.

  Then Sidney places her palms on his chest. He removes them. She pouts. He looks up, and our eyes connect across the room. He smiles at me. Sidney turns around to see what changed his mood. Her eyes are hard as marbles, I imagine. I can’t see too well because the lights are dimmed. The irritation on her face is unmistakable, though.

  Christian opted for a black, crewneck sweater that stretches across his chest, revealing his perfectly sculpted form, and a pair of dark jeans. I can’t blame Sidney for wanting to touch him. I bet he smells great, too. Still, she should keep her grubby little claws off him. Not that I’m jealous or anything. I leave them to sort out whatever issues they’re having, elbowing my way through the throngs of people who’ve overflowed into the hallway from the living room.

  Someone almost spills a drink on me. I run smack into Preston Harvey sporting a major Afro, looking like he was just struck dumb. Preston is into embracing his blackness in the face of what he calls almost white-out conditions at Saint Matthews. He stares at me as if seeing me for the first time; his eyes fixated on my chest. I knew it! I told Callie this sweater was too tight. I snap my fingers to pull Preston out of his stupor.

  “Abbie, my sister,” he says, with a nervous chuckle. “Glad you came. You know we have to represent.”

  “Okay, Preston, duly noted. Excuse me.”

  “Hey, what’s the hurry?” he asks, grabbing me by the arm. “Can’t you give a brother a few minutes of your time?”

  “I’m looking for Callie.”

  “Oh, last time I saw her, she was with our illustrious host. I don’t think you need to worry about her. She’s in great hands.”

  It’s hard to miss the double entendre. I don’t want to think about what kind of trouble Callie might get into. She and Evan have been flirting with each other since last year, but he had a girlfriend at the time. That’s no longer an issue.

  “So, what do you say we go somewhere quiet and get acquainted?” Preston asks.

  There was a time I had a major crush on Preston and any attention from him would have been welcome. That was until he embarrassed me in front of the whole class. I never forgot the slight, and I refused to acknowledge his existence the rest of that school year. I only started coming around last month. He has some nerve hitting on me now.

  “I have to go, Preston. See you around.”

  “Come on, Abbie.”

  “She said beat it, Preston.”

  We’re both startled
when Christian appears.

  Preston throws his hands up in the air and backs up a few steps. “Sorry, man. I didn’t know you were hitting that.”

  I’m stunned, unable to move a muscle. My brain is on pause as if it checked out to search for an appropriate response. The stinging sensation at the back of my eyes is about to erupt into a volcano of blistering tears. I look down for a second to see my hands trembling.

  “You’re a disgusting creep,” I say. “How could you disrespect me this way? I thought you were better than that, Preston. Guess you can’t teach a pig to be a gentleman.”

  He coughs and grabs at the collar of his shirt. Then he looks to his left and then his right, desperate for an escape route. I don’t stick around for an apology. I know he won’t issue one. All I want is to find a quiet spot to calm down and recover from the most grotesque insult ever hurled at me.

  “Are you okay?” Christian asks. We sit next to each other in two accent chairs in a little alcove along the wall of the grand staircase.

  “I will be.”

  “Preston is a douchebag for saying what he did. Glad you told him off. He didn’t have a single comeback. You’re lethal.”

  I nudge him as if we’ve been friends forever. He flashes those perfect teeth at me, his eyes dancing under the dim light.

  “You look supermodel fantastic,” he says. “I couldn’t believe it was you from across the living room.”

  I should say thank you and bask in the compliment. Instead, I kill the mood. “I saw you and Sidney earlier. She’s probably wondering where you are.”

  “Sidney and I are not together,” he says, his voice tight. “I’ve already told you that.”

  “Yet every time I turn around, there you are. Together.” I cover my mouth quickly before any more embarrassing sentences pop out. Where did that come from?

  A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Are you jealous?”

  “Of Sidney? Puh-lease.” I have to set him straight before he gets any weird ideas.

  “I’m flattered.”

  “Don’t be. You’re reading too much into it.”

  “You don’t have to hide your feeling from me, Abbie.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Why does he have to make a big deal about everything? Okay, so I think he’s beyond gorgeous. Resplendent would be a more accurate description. I also spend too many of my waking hours thinking about him. None of it means anything. It’s just a phase. It will pass.

  “I really like you, Abbie. I think you like me too.”

  I look directly into his eyes, searching for anything that will confirm what I know about him so my heart will stop doing back flips every time he looks at me. Christian, the player, who has left a long list of girls sobbing in bathrooms or in their dorm rooms late into the night. The arrogant, self-involved bad boy who doesn’t care what anyone thinks. The untamable, wild child who was expelled from two boarding schools for behavior most adults would find reprehensible.

  I don’t see any of that. I only see a vulnerable boy who likes a girl, and he’s scared she won’t like him back. Maybe Mom was right all along.

  “I’m not saying that I like you, but I’m not saying I don’t, either. What are you going to do about it?”

  “This.”

  He lowers his head and moves his body closer to me. His lips connect with mine, soft and sensual, demanding nothing. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I can feel the blood roaring in my ears. Christian palms my face and pulls me closer to him. I don’t resist. My bones have turned to liquid. He runs his lips over mine, taking his time, but I’m driven by my instincts. I open my mouth. When our tongues collide, I feel a lightning bolt go through me. I close my eyes, and a soft moan escapes my throat. His breathing is erratic and becomes more frenzied by the second. The kiss deepens, and our tongues engage in a powerful tango.

  He vacates his chair and comes to kneel beside me. I shift my body, so it better aligns with his. My hands turn into tentacles, greedily clawing at him. I hear distant voices. I mentally shush them.

  “Ahem. Excuse me.”

  The meddling voice pierces my subconscious. It’s loud and irate. Christian hears it also. He lifts his head from my neck. His face is flushed. His expression vacillates between exhilaration and annoyance. He gets off his knees and returns to the chair. We both turn our attention to the unwelcome intruder: Sidney.

  Sidney folds her arms as if waiting for us, the misbehaving children, to come to our senses. I don’t know what I was thinking, making out in an open space like this. Guilt and shame consume me. It wasn’t too long ago that I found the idea of going out with Christian distasteful. I had a catalog of reasons why I shouldn’t, but I underestimated the attraction between us.

  “What do you want, Sidney?” I ask. “Is the house on fire?”

  “No, but someone should turn a hose on the two of you. You’re such a hypocrite, Abbie. Pretending to be so innocent when—”

  “Watch it, Sidney,” Christian says, his tone menacing. “You wouldn’t want anyone finding out about your vintage encyclopedia, would you? Lay off Abbie.”

  His words strike fear in Sidney. Her porcelain-like features take on a gloomy air. I’ve never seen her with an encyclopedia. It’s obviously a code word for something else. If Sidney’s involved, it has to be something nefarious. She frowns, tosses me a look of undisguised loathing, and then storms off.

  “I should go,” I say to Christian.

  “Why?”

  “The girls might be looking for me. We agreed to check in with each other.”

  He takes my hand in his and squeezes. “Are you nervous?”

  “What?”

  “The intensity. I feel it too.”

  I’m not sure how to respond, so I go with the truth. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “I’m scared too,” he says.

  I cast him a look of disbelief.

  “It’s true.”

  He reaches into his pocket with the other hand and pulls out his cell phone. He taps a few buttons and tells me to check my phone. I pull the phone from my purse. The text message from him is the yellow smiley face emoticon with a look of sheer terror.

  A peal of laughter escapes me. The corners of his eyes crinkle into a smile. He’s not so scary. He’s just a boy—a beautiful, infuriating, tenacious, curious boy who makes me uncomfortable.

  “What are you so scared of anyway?” I ask.

  “That you won’t give me the chance to show you I’m not all bad. That you won’t give me an opportunity to make you laugh, argue with you, spoil you, ask a million questions to learn what hurts you, makes you happy, scares you, what’s important to you.”

  Every girl, no matter how sensible, can succumb to vanity. At the moment, I feel powerful, desired, unrivaled, a rare flower that only blooms under specific conditions. As incredible as the feeling is, the cautious part of me, the part that needs everything to line up according to plan, still whispers: be careful.

  “You made me laugh tonight. Getting me into an argument is easy. Just tell me about your favorite movies or singer, and I’ll tell you why your taste in music and movies suck. When it comes to spoiling me, you already have serious competition. Between my family and friends, and the guy who works weekends at the French bakery downtown, you’re going to have to up your game. The rest? Make me tell you.”

  “Okay,” he says, leaning forward. “No surprises so far. But, I’m going down to the bakery this weekend to have a word with that guy.”

  “You can’t do that,” I say. “He’ll stop adding freebies to my order. I’m especially fond of the Gȃteau Saint Honoré and the Tarte Tatin.”

  He finds the scenario funny and says he’ll file that in the back of his mind. I tell him I have to find Frances and Callie to make sure they’re not getting into trouble, especially Callie. He makes me promise to text him when I find them, and we’re ready to head home.

  I navigate through the party to find the nearest b
athroom to freshen up. The crowd is thick as if it swelled to hundreds of people in minutes. An idea occurs to me. Upstairs. Sleeping quarters in a house this large would have at least two bathrooms upstairs.

  With a series of “excuse me” and “sorry”, I make it up the stairs and find myself in a dimly lit hallway. Two couples lean up against the walls, making out.

  “Bathroom?” I ask.

  One of them points further down the hall to the right without interrupting his lip lock. I knock on a closed door and push my ears up against it, waiting for a response. I hear nothing. I turn the thick gold knob slowly and then peak inside. It’s empty. I dash inside and lock the door behind me. Leaning up against it, I close my eyes and just breathe in and out. When I open my eyes, I notice how massive the bathroom is—a Jacuzzi, his and hers vanity sinks, thick rugs, a shower stall, and the scent of potpourri floating in the air.

  I walk over to the large mirror with gold accents and glance at my reflection. I don’t even recognize my own eyes, which now resemble two glistening, sable brown pools. Callie did my makeup, and the double quote of black mascara makes my already thick lashes even more dramatic. I didn’t look too bad when I was hanging out with Christian, not that I care what he thinks of my appearance or anything. I prefer minimal makeup, if any at all, and little fuss when it comes to choosing my wardrobe. When Callie is around, though, all my efforts at keeping things simple disappear.

  I fluff my hair and break out the lip gloss from my purse, then reapply. I sit on the toilet seat, let my shoulders sag, and do what I do best: overanalyze every situation.

  Why did I enjoy Christian’s kiss so much? Am I lying to myself about how I relate to him? Why does Sidney keep popping up, yet Christian insists they’re not together? He makes me feel things I thought I would never feel for anyone else after Ty graduated and went off to Yale. Maybe it’s time I grow up.