by Liz Fichera
“You better not.” Jay pulled my belt loops till our hip bones pressed together. The next thing I knew, his tongue was teasing my tonsils.
People around us began to clap, loud and steady, like we were about to start a race or something. We were the center of attention. We were the center of everything. It was as if the whole world had landed in my lap. Through my eyelids, as Jay’s tongue made itself at home inside my mouth, flashes popped.
Only Drew’s tap on Jay’s shoulder, motioning with two red cups in her hands, broke us apart. A knowing grin spread across her face as clear liquid spilled from the cups. I was seeing a whole new side of Drew, but then, I supposed she was probably thinking the same about me.
I took one of the cups and chugged it, adrenaline pushing through my veins from the music, the kiss, the drink. The energy in the room. The possibilities.
More flashes and clicks.
My head spun long after the taste from Jay’s lips left mine.
After Jay passed me my third drink, I forgot to keep looking around the hazy room for Sam and Fred. But mostly for Sam.
32
Sam
I rode my motorcycle out to the Estrella foothills to the usual Friday-night party spot on the Rez.
For once I was glad that it took forever to reach it. The cool night air brushed against my face and through my hair as I flew down the road, listening to the reliable engine roar, making me feel alive. Truth? I could ride all night. I’d already put two hundred miles and three tanks of gas into my new ride since buying it from Trevor. In the dark, racing headfirst into the wind, anything was possible.
Martin, Peter and a handful of our friends were already seated around a campfire with flat rocks for chairs in front of a boulder that glowed coppery-orange from the campfire’s flames, miles from anywhere. The sagebrush barely curved in the wind as I coasted the bike off the dirt road and parked next to a pickup truck with its passenger door open. Music spilled from inside the truck, but the desert swallowed most of the noise before much of it reached the party around the campfire.
“Dude!” Martin yelled as I approached the group, jovial as always, a shiny can in his hand and a smile stretched across his face. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen Martin in a bad mood and if anyone had a right to a bad mood, it was him.
People with their backs to me turned and nodded, but their faces were mostly shadowed. They didn’t gawk at me like kids did at school. I’d had enough gawking since the Saturday Night Rescue Debacle to last me a lifetime. To my friends, I was just another guy on the Rez.
“Glad you could make it!” Martin added, tossing a silver can at me.
I nodded, catching the cold can in my right hand. Before I sat down on one of the rock seats around the fire, I pulled back the tab and enjoyed a long fizzy sip with my eyes closed. The first sip was always the best. It tasted good going down.
“Have a seat. Stay awhile,” Peter chimed in.
My eyes opened and I frowned at him. “Where else am I gonna go?” I looked around the circle at all of the familiar faces, almost twelve in all. I saw them every weekend but there was one face that stopped my breathing, one that I hadn’t expected.
Fred? What was she doing here?
Even though my lips didn’t say the words, I was certain my eyes said, Where is Berenger? Why isn’t his arm sewn to her shoulders? Not that they ever partied with us. These days, Fred usually spent her Friday nights on the other side of Pecos Road.
I shot a questioning look at Martin but he only responded with a discreet shoulder shrug.
“Hey. Fred.” It was an effort to push out a greeting. I nodded at her as fake casually as I could. Seniors Kelly Oliver and Yolanda Studi sat on either side of her. Yolanda’s lips didn’t stop moving.
Uh-oh.
Something was up. Kelly and Yolanda always rallied around Fred when something was wrong. They treated her like a little sister. Seriously, those two girls kind of scared me, Yolanda especially. She was like the short fuse that you never knew when it would blow.
Suddenly my cool, happy vibe shriveled and my heart began to hammer against my chest. And it had nothing to do with Kelly and fireplug Yolanda.
“Sam,” Fred said from across the fire in that soft, sweet voice of hers. The one that used to reduce me to a puddle. She smiled at me in the firelight, pulling her knees into her chest. Six months ago and I would have been rendered speechless by that smile. Now? Oddly, I didn’t feel that same pull at my heart.
I nodded at her again and chugged another sip from my can.
Fred’s eyes sparkled, but there was something hidden behind her smile. I could tell she was uncomfortable by the way her forehead lowered and tilted to the side, her hair falling across her shoulder. Sitting around a fire in the middle of the desert shooting the shit with a bunch of mostly guys drinking beer wasn’t exactly her scene. It never had been, even before Ryan Berenger invaded our lives.
Martin broke my trance. “We thought maybe you’d take off for Mexico or someplace on your new wheels,” he said, nodding at my bike.
“Huh?” I said numbly.
“I said, why don’t you take a road trip?”
I coughed, trying to regain some composure. “Don’t tempt me,” I said, staring up at an inky black sky that stretched forever in every direction—staring anywhere but into Fred Oday’s eyes. They were like truth serum.
“What’s stopping you?” Martin said.
“The bike doesn’t run on your hot air,” I said. “I got a shift tomorrow night. You know how the chef gets when you blow off work.” I had to start replenishing my already depleted bank account. After paying Trevor for the bike, I was pretty close to broke and I hated asking my parents for money. Then there were all the demands from Riley about new shoes, new jeans, new everything—most of which I had to ignore. Mom usually gave me cash whenever I needed a little—and never in front of Dad—but I knew things were tight.
Martin’s chin pulled back. “Tell me about it. That chef is a real piece of some serious messed-up work.” Martin didn’t show up once for a weekend shift of bussing tables and the chef had blacklisted him from returning for two months, for which Martin nicknamed him the Chef Nazi. Bussing tables at the Wild Horse Restaurant paid pretty well, and for reasons many of us didn’t understand, people came from all over the state, even the world, to eat the chef’s Native fare and pay seventy-five dollars for an entrée in the middle of the freaking desert. But, hey. No one complained. It was a good job. It was good for our tribe.
“Dudes,” Vernon said, tilting his cell phone high into the air like he was trying to communicate with a satellite. His skinny arm stretched up into the sky.
We all turned to him. Even Fred sat higher. “What up?” I said, noticing that my palms had turned sweaty and it had nothing to do with Vernon’s mysterious text message. Even Yolanda’s jaw stopped flapping.
“Buddy of mine just forwarded me a text from someone.”
“That’s fascinating,” Martin said and laugher floated around the circle.
Vernon turned to Martin and frowned. “There’s a house party in Phoenix tonight. Just south of Pecos Road.” Vernon returned to his phone. “Man, there’s got to be at least a hundred people on this text. Probably more. This one’s gonna be Project X huge.”
I didn’t dare mention that I’d already heard about it from Riley. She’d begged me to meet her there. I still felt guilty for not showing, but she knew how I felt about Hawkins.
Martin sat higher on his rock. “Really? Who’s throwing?”
“Doesn’t say. Just says to go to the end of Pecos and follow the music.” Vernon looked around the group, a smile spreading across his face. “Could be bitchin’. Game?”
Fred sank back, her arms still wrapped around her knees.
Martin pressed his hand to his chest. “What? And leave this lap of luxury?”
“Check it out,” Vernon said, passing his phone to Martin. “People look pretty wasted already.”
&nb
sp; Martin smiled at the phone as his thumb scrolled through some pictures. “Jeez, no kidding.” He passed the phone to Peter. Peter passed it to Fred.
Then Fred’s jaw dropped. She exhaled, shaking her head. Yolanda and Kelly looked over her shoulder.
“Son of a bitch!” Yolanda said, loud and clear.
Fred just shook her head at Yolanda and then leaned forward and offered me the phone.
“Hey, isn’t this your girlfriend?” Peter said.
I leaned forward to take the phone from Fred. “Yeah, that’s Riley.” But seeing her sucking face with Jay Hawkins made it even worse. I warned her about him but she obviously hadn’t listened. My stomach tightened, looking at his hands on her.
“I take it you’re not a fan of Jay Hawkins?” I said to Yolanda. At least we could agree on that.
“I’m not a fan of Ryan Berenger,” she said with an irritated eye roll. “Especially not tonight.”
Puzzled, I scrolled through the photos, expecting more of Riley and Jay Hawkins but my thumb stopped on a photo of Mr. Perfect Ryan Berenger himself. He was seated between two pretty girls. One of them was Riley’s friend, Drew. Slanty wasted eyes. Or maybe it was the camera flash? Ryan’s arms were draped across their shoulders.
“Oh,” I said to no one in particular. This must be the photo that had Yolanda breathing fire and spitting nails. I could almost feel sorry for Ryan. Almost. If there was one thing that most of the Rez kids knew, it was never to get between Yolanda and whatever pissed her off. You never wanted to get on her bad side. She could let fly expletives better than most guys I knew.
“Okay, Sam. Whatever you say,” Martin chimed in. He knew the photo of Riley and Hawkins together was bothering me more than I let on, even more than the photo of Ryan, but Martin also knew I detested Hawkins.
My whole body clenched. “You say another word and I swear I’ll toss you into this fire.” I didn’t know which photo to fixate on—both captured in color and no doubt being loaded onto Instagram and Facebook pages everywhere. I should have been more sympathetic, especially toward Fred, but it was hard not to say “I told you so.” With guys like Ryan Berenger, this was bound to happen. He’d obviously grown bored of Fred. Riley was right.
Martin pulled back, laughing. “Chill, bro. Just messing with you.”
“Yeah, I know what you’re doing.” I glared at him as he air-chuckled, obviously spurring more curiosity among the others. “Stop it.”
More teasing. “I thought you and Riley were tight.”
“Stop. It.” My teeth clenched. Anger stormed through my veins. I was exploding inside in a dozen directions.
“I think your new haircut has done something to your brain.” More laughter.
“Shut up,” I said, but even I couldn’t help but chuckle a little at that. Martin had been teasing me all week about the new way I tucked and untucked my shirts, the way I combed my hair. He could still smell Riley’s body spray—which I’d decided to keep using, for reasons yet unknown to me—but I just told him Mom bought a new brand of soap.
Martin stood, twirling his keys around his fingers, completely ignoring me. “Who’s with me? Let’s go crash this bad boy and join the fun.”
“Your truck wouldn’t make it to the freeway,” I said.
Martin spun around, his expression hardening in the glow of the campfire. “Don’t knock the ride.”
Peter stood. Then Vernon and two others.
Even Fred stood.
Hey, if she wanted to go to some stupid party, let her. Let her see with her own eyes that her precious boyfriend had no problem chilling with other women when she wasn’t available.
I drained the rest of my can.
“Sure you don’t want to come with us?” Peter said.
“Positive,” I said before reaching over to stoke the fire.
“Good,” Fred said, the firelight dancing in her eyes. “Because I need to talk to you.” The way she said it left nothing open to debate.
My breath froze, but whether it was from the request or the way her gaze gripped mine, I didn’t know.
“Now,” she said.
I still didn’t answer. I was too stunned to say anything.
And then in a softer voice, she begged, “Please.”
I didn’t stand a chance.
*
Everyone except Fred and me loaded into one of the three pickups and two dusty cars parked next to my bike. A dozen Rez kids would stand out at a party across Pecos Road like rain on a sunny day, but if enough people from school crashed it, maybe it would be cool.
Fred stood looking at me from across the campfire as if I were the only person on the planet, just like she had on Monday in the cafeteria. Her hands were balled up and stuffed in the front pockets of her shorts. The last of the vehicles chugged to life and caravanned back to the main road. A light breeze lifted the ends of her hair, the fringe on her shorts, and brought a whiff of her shampoo to my nose.
“Why are you here?” I said.
“Same as you.” Her shoulders shrugged. “To relax with friends. I know that I don’t hang out with you guys often enough….” Her voice trailed off.
“Save it, Fred.” I lifted my palm. “Why aren’t you with Ryan tonight?”
“Riley said he was out with friends. The movies, or something.” Her voice caught a little. “Obviously that wasn’t true.”
My tongue thickened. Riley. “You shouldn’t believe everything Riley says.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause. You just shouldn’t,” I said, wondering how much to tell her. What could I tell her that wouldn’t make me sound like the World’s Biggest Idiot? I was just as guilty as Riley. Guilt flooded my conscience.
“Riley said I should have gone to the party with you.”
“Would you have wanted to?”
Fred didn’t answer, though not answering didn’t give me the kick to the gut that I expected. Instead, in a soft voice, almost a whisper, she said, “Did he happen to say anything to you?”
“Who?”
“Ryan.”
Okay, now I was confused. “Why would Ryan say anything to me?”
Another shoulder shrug. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something in passing. Something during school. Maybe in chem class?”
“Like what, Fred?”
She steadied herself. “Like…why he’s acting kind of different lately?”
My skin prickled with more guilt. “Hasn’t said anything to me. You better ask him.” And, seriously. This wasn’t about me. This was about Ryan and Fred. I had to wonder about the strength of their relationship if a little white lie or two from Riley could throw them into so much turmoil. What kind of a relationship was that? If Fred had been my girlfriend, that wouldn’t have happened. But she wasn’t.
“Oh,” her voice quivered. “Yeah. Right. I plan to. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. Ryan probably called over at the house after I left tonight. I should have waited a little bit longer for his call. If he called…” Her eyes lowered to a stone in the dirt. She kicked it. “So.” She paused, watching the stone shoot across the desert. “Are you dating Riley now?”
A nervous laugh bubbled deep inside my throat. “Um, that would be a no. Besides, didn’t you see the photo on Vernon’s phone?” Riley had looked wasted in the photo, and I cringed thinking about it. Her eyes had looked heavy and dull, her hair all crazy and spiky around her head, as if someone had raked his hands through it a hundred times. The photo didn’t even look like her. What happened to Pink Girl? She was behaving more like Party Girl now, not like the Riley that I had gotten to know on the Mogollon Rim and certainly not like the girl I’d been spending days with after school. But people could surprise you. That much I knew.
“Yeah. Guess not.” She bit her lower lip, like she was thinking, so I knew there was more.
“What’s really going on, Fred? It’s not like you ever partied with us before you started seeing Berenger.”
“I just wanted to see how you we
re doing. That’s all. You’ve been…different lately.” Her eyes swept across my face, studying me.
My throat turned dry. “How?”
“Good different.” Her hand swept through the air toward me, as if it were obvious.
“Why do you care all of a sudden?”
“I always care about my friends.”
My stomach plummeted at that horrible little word. Friends. “Yeah, right.”
“I mean, not that you aren’t a great guy and one of my best friends—”
I raised one palm again and sighed. “Save it, Fred. I get the picture.”
But Fred kept walking toward me. Her front toe slipped forward on the same stone she’d kicked in front of her a second ago.
The next thing I knew, she started falling toward me, arms open.
I reached out to catch her.
In that moment, the world went into slow motion.
I looked down at her. She looked up at me. We blinked at the same time. My gaze moved to her lips; her gaze did the same to mine. Then I had to wonder: had Fred planned this? Falling into my arms as if we were in some kind of cheesy movie? Fred wasn’t exactly the trip-and-fall type. That was more Riley Berenger’s job.
After a thousand years, Fred said, “This isn’t going like I planned.”
We stopped breathing. The air froze. I swear I could hear my heartbeat.
Finally, we blinked. My eyes traveled down to my hands. They still clutched Fred’s forearms, which were soft and warm from the campfire. She didn’t pull away. It was as if gravity kept messing with us, pulling us toward each other when it should be doing the opposite. Behind her, embers popped and crackled in the campfire, angry and confused. Just like me.
I blinked again.
The world started spinning.
I cleared my still-dry throat, looking around for my beer can, looking everywhere but down into Fred’s dark eyes and the firelight that sparkled inside them. “What’s this really about, Fred? Because you’re starting to mess with my head.”
I dropped her arms and put a few more inches between us. Her hands returned to her pockets and locked at her elbows. I could see each of her knuckles through her pockets. She suddenly looked very uncomfortable, even for Fred. “I’m sorry you think I’m messing with you, Sam. I just thought we could…talk.” Her shoulders shrugged. “I’ve missed you.”
