Promise Me Something

by Sara Kocek

  Reyna—

  I just want you to know that I submitted a poem about you to the lit mag. Don’t have an aneurysm. I changed your name. Also, I kept it to five lines, since that’s all the space you deserve in my life. Good luck living with yourself, you stupid, timid bitch.

  —Olive

  At the sight of the familiar handwriting, my heart revved up like a getaway car and zoomed off, leaving me in a cloud of dust. Olive was sitting two rows ahead of me, tapping her fingernails against the desk. The sight of it infuriated me. Cramming the note into my pocket, I stared at my copy of The House on Mango Street and watched the words swim around on the page like fish scattering in a pond. When I am too sad and too skinny to keep keeping, when I am a tiny thing against so many bricks, then it is I look at trees. None of it made sense.

  A minute later, David’s hand appeared again, hovering by the side of my desk. Even though I knew better, I reached over and snatched the note.

  Don’t you have anything to say to me?

  Yes, I wrote back. Has anyone ever told you that you need braces?

  When David handed it to Olive, her spine shot straight up as she whipped around to stare at me. Eyes wild, knuckles red, she grabbed her pen and scrawled something else. David passed it back to me.

  Let’s be honest. It’s not my teeth you find so odious.

  If I had known what odious meant, I might have denied it. Instead I just folded up the note and didn’t write back. At the end of the period, when David stood up to sling his backpack over one shoulder, I tapped him on the arm and said, “Thanks.”

  “Sure.” He looked embarrassed. “Any time.”

  “One thing.” I lowered my voice as Olive shoved a couple of binders into her backpack, followed by the tattered moleskin notebook. “Next time, just rip up the note.”

  History was made in fourth period History.

  Five minutes into Mr. Murphy’s brain-bleeding lecture on the Byzantine Empire, Tim Ferguson walked into the room carrying a hall pass, a handful of roses, and a tiny, pink teddy bear. I did a double take. He was also wearing a tutu.

  Mr. Murphy dropped his jaw as soon as the door swung open. “What the hell is this?” he demanded as everyone in the room burst out laughing. Behind me, I felt Olive move her feet off the bar at the base of my chair. We hadn’t made eye contact since English.

  Tim did a curtsy and stepped forward. “A tutu, your majesty.” He had a grin on his face like he’d been waiting forever for this moment. From the far left side of the room, John Quincy wolf whistled, and I looked around, smiling, to meet Levi’s eye. He raised his eyebrows with an innocent sort of waggle as though to say, Gosh! Whoever could those roses be for?

  I turned toward the front of the room and watched as Tim made an elaborate show of twirling on his tiptoes like a ballerina while the class laughed. Mr. Murphy was not amused. “Why don’t you swish your way over to your seat?” he growled.

  “Can’t,” Timothy answered brightly. “I’m here on behalf of the Cupid Squad.” He held out a rose, daring anyone to object. Mr. Murphy muttered something underneath his breath, but he knew as well as everybody that members of the Cupid Squad were entitled up to five minutes of uninterrupted pandemonium in every class. People took the opportunity to chat among themselves while Cupid-Tim made his rounds. Lennie even got out of her seat to come over and poke me on the shoulder. “Gretchen says you’re going to a party tonight,” she said. “She’s canceling her birthday for it. Can we come?”

  I glanced over at Levi, who was watching Tim prance around the room with the rest of the roses. Then I said somewhat stupidly, “She can’t cancel her birthday.”

  “Her birthday party,” said Lennie, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, give us the deets at lunch. I think Timmy has a rose for me.”

  “I don’t even know where the party is—” I started to say, but she’d already turned toward the front of the room where Tim was rifling through his roses. I looked over at Levi for the second time and saw that he was watching me.

  “It’s on Durham Drive,” he said quietly. “Just FYI.”

  I was surprised to realize he’d been listening. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I almost asked how we were going to get to the party—by car or on foot—but before I had a chance to formulate the question, Tim skipped toward me from the front of the room and held out the tiny pink teddy bear wearing a miniature guitar pick necklace.

  “For Reyna Fey,” he announced. “The cutest-freaking-most-adorable thing ever.”

  I glanced over at Levi, who was pretending to stare at the blackboard, but before I could say anything, Mr. Murphy coughed loudly from the front of the room and called, “Ferguson! On with it!” He looked like he was trying to refrain himself from physical violence.

  “I would love to,” chirped Tim. “But I have one more special delivery.” With that, he walked straight up to John Quincy, paused dramatically, and placed the final remaining rose on his desk. “For you,” he said. “From me.”

  John almost toppled the books on the desk as he scrambled out of his seat. “What the hell?” He brushed the flower onto the floor. “You frickin’ homo—”

  “Ferguson!” barked Mr. Murphy.

  Tim looked elated. There were bright pink splotches high on his cheeks. “I’m out now,” he said. “In more than one sense of the word.” Then he pivoted on his ballet slippers and marched out the door.

  Mr. Murphy looked around at all of us, a vein throbbing near his temple. “There’s a word for people like Tim,” he said after a moment. “The PTA would have my neck for saying it, but I’ll give you a hint. It starts with the letter F, and it ends with the letters A-G-G-O-T.”

  A few people laughed, but most of the class just sat there, stunned. John Quincy used his sleeve to wipe the surface of his desk like somebody had placed a warm diaper on it. As for me, I had other things on my mind. I looked over at Levi, who was watching Mr. Murphy with a deep frown. Then I picked up the stuffed bear and noticed a note tucked into its shirt. Looking forward to tonight, it said.

  I was too.

  PLEASE come?

  I hate parties, Olive.

  We’ll say you’re my cousin from out of town. Or that you live next door and you’re homeschooled or something like that.

  I’m not even invited.

  Neither am I. That’s the point of crashing.

  Go on your own. I have plans.

  Like what? A date with an oncoming train?

  Ha, very funny.

  Come on. It’ll be fun. We’ll show up and ruin Reyna’s night.

  That’s your idea of fun?

  That’s my idea of vengeance.

  13.

  Durham Drive was long and stick-straight. Twenty-eight driveways and twenty-eight mailboxes led to twenty-eight identical houses painted in safe shades of blue, taupe, and beige. Abby, Leah, and Madison lived side by side in numbers fourteen, sixteen, and eighteen, and I prayed, as Levi’s mom turned the corner, that none of them would see me drive past their houses on my way to somebody else’s party. But Abby’s house was the only one on the block with all its lights on, and I felt my stomach lurch the minute I realized how many cars were parked outside. I took my phone out of my pocket and opened my messages to look for some kind of last minute text from Abby. When I scrolled to the bottom, my fingers got sweaty. There was nothing. She hadn’t invited me to her own party.

  Levi’s mom pulled to a stop at the end of the driveway and reminded us that she’d be back at midnight to pick us up. In a hoarse voice that I could barely hear, I thanked her for the ride as last-minute excuses jostled in my head. I could say I was sick. I could say I’d forgotten my phone at home. I could say I didn’t feel like going to the party after all. But Levi was already clamoring out of the SUV, his sneakers crunching against the packed snow on the driveway. So I climbed out after him and stared at the house with dread in the pit of my stomach.

  Abby’s front door was open and the split-level foyer was packed with people. I fo
llowed Levi as he made his way up the steps and through the crowd. I knew the house so well, I could have navigated it with my eyes closed, but instead I kept them open, combing the crowd for Abby, Leah, or Madison. The party was concentrated in the living room, but down the hallway, just past the bathroom, I could see the door to the sunroom where we once played Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board with Abby’s cat.

  Tonight the living room was decorated with red balloons in honor of Valentine’s Day. I grabbed one by its string and held on tight as we pushed our way toward the oversized L-shaped couch in the middle of the room, where a few dozen people were hanging around, drinking out of red plastic cups. Twisting the nylon string around my fingers, I tried to choke off the awful feeling in my gut but ended up choking off my circulation instead. The tips of my fingers felt numb by the time I spotted Leah on the sofa. Her eyes widened at the sight of me.

  “Levi, I know these people,” I croaked as she jumped to her feet, nearly spilling her drink. There was a faint ringing in my ears. “They’re my friends.”

  “Sweet.” Levi was craning his neck around. “My friends are here too.”

  I didn’t get a chance to say, Nope, not sweet, before Leah barged through the crowd and threw her arms around my neck, obviously drunk. “Reyna!” she cried. “We totally meant to invite you!”

  Madison appeared behind her, clutching a red plastic cup. I hadn’t noticed her at first, but now the sight of them both made my stomach twist into a hard knot. “Oh my God.” Madison’s eyes grew wide. “Who told you about this—”

  She didn’t get a chance to finish before Leah interrupted her. “Reyna, you have to find Abby! She’s like, so stressed! She’s going to freak out when she sees you.”

  “Her parents gave her permission to invite six friends over,” said Madison. “That’s why we didn’t invite you. It was supposed to be just six Ridgeway freshmen, but then Abby’s brother invited a bunch of juniors, and he’s got a fake ID—”

  “Do you want me to leave?” My head was spinning, and knowing the reason for not being invited didn’t make the situation any less embarrassing.

  “No!” Madison’s eyes widened. “Of course not! It’s just that Abby’s freaking out. We don’t even recognize half the people here.”

  I thought for a minute she meant Levi, but when I turned around and followed her gaze, I saw a handful of faces I knew from Belltown. John Quincy and Lennie King were strolling up the stairs with their hands in each other’s butt pockets. Emma and Gretchen trailed behind them, talking on their cell phones. I had the odd impression, as they laughed simultaneously, that they were talking to each other.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered. “It’s my fault. They found out about the party because of me.”

  But before Madison could say anything, Levi tapped me on the arm, and I turned around to see two semi-cute boys looking at me. One was skinny, one fat. They both had Justin Beiber hair.

  “Grant and Brett, this is Reyna,” said Levi. “Reyna, these are my friends from middle school.” I nodded at both of them and then turned back to Madison.

  “Where’s Abby?” I asked, steeling myself for the worst. Half of me wanted to see her. The other half wanted to run away and hide in her bedroom.

  “I think she’s in the kitchen—”

  “Does anyone want beer?” Abby’s older brother Jason was walking around carrying a blue cooler. Both of Levi’s friends dove in and grabbed a bottle just as Abby showed up looking frazzled, a cordless phone in her hand.

  “Reyna,” she sputtered, looking between Leah, Madison, and me. “What are you—? We were going to invite you—”

  “It’s OK,” I said, my face heating up. “Madison told me.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. It wasn’t, but I didn’t want to make a scene.

  Levi grabbed two beers from the cooler and handed one to me. “Hi,” he said to Abby, eyeing the phone in her hand. “Are we crashing your party? I thought it was open.”

  “It is open, bro,” said Jason. “This is my house too.” He tipped back his plastic cup and took a gulp.

  “I’ll drink to that,” said Levi, holding up his beer. “Cheers?”

  “Cheers,” I echoed. He helped me pop off the top of my bottle, and everything got foggy from there.

  I don’t know when Olive showed up. Maybe around the time Leah started throwing grapes into the air to catch in her mouth, or maybe just after the phone rang when Abby started screaming, “Shut up! Shut the whole house up!” Or it might have been right after Tim Ferguson arrived wearing jeans so skinny Gretchen Palmer almost died of envy. Nobody knew who invited Tim to the party in the first place, until he told everyone he read about it on someone’s away message, and then people left him alone.

  All I know is that I was two beers deep before I noticed Olive. Or rather, before I noticed Grace. She was the one I spotted first, standing by the piano looking just as bedraggled and corpselike as she had on the day I met her. Only this time she was wearing a long purple raincoat, and Olive was close by, picking out a beer from the cooler.

  When Leah’s next grape missed her mouth, it bounced past me and rolled along the floor toward the base of the piano, where Grace bent down and picked it up. I thought she was going to throw it back at Leah, but instead she placed it on top of the piano and let it sit there.

  “Hey,” called Leah. “Pass that?” But Grace didn’t say anything or even look up. “Hey, hobo girl!” Leah tried again. “Can you pass that grape?”

  Grace flicked it straight onto the floor and turned around, her back toward us.

  “Hey!” Leah wandered over drunkenly and touched Grace on the arm of her purple raincoat. “What’s the matter with you? Aren’t you having fun?”

  “No, not particularly,” droned Olive, materializing beside them. “Maybe we should get a hickey from a vacuum cleaner. Isn’t that your idea of fun, Leah?”

  “What?” Leah’s eyes grew wide.

  Olive looked smug. “Making out with inanimate objects. Ring a bell?”

  “Ignore her, Leah,” I said, stepping forward. “She’s mixing you up with someone else.”

  Comprehension dawned in Olive’s eyes. “Oh, right, that wasn’t you.” She turned around and spotted Madison, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, talking to a cute boy I didn’t recognize. “Hey, Madison!”

  “Shut up.” I stepped sideways to block her view. “Don’t you dare say anything I told you in private.”

  “Why not? You don’t respect the things I tell you in private.”

  “That’s different,” I said. “Besides, I said I was sorry for overreacting.”

  Something in her eyes changed. “If you’re so sorry, then make it up to me.”

  “What?” I looked around. Levi was watching us carefully.

  “You heard me,” said Olive. “I’m giving you a second chance. Do you have anything to say to me? Anything to say to Grace?”

  “I’m sorry,” I blurted.

  “Sorry for what?”

  “I already told you—for overreacting to what you told me!”

  “And?”

  “For running out of your room?” I hated the sound of the question mark in my voice.

  “Not good enough.” She shook her head.

  “I’m sorry!” I didn’t know what else she wanted me to say.

  “I needed a friend, and you gave me a coward.”

  Madison was making her way toward us.

  “I’m really sorry,” I breathed. “Please don’t tell her.”

  But Olive turned toward Madison without hesitating. “Reyna thinks you’re such a prude that making out with a vacuum cleaner is the only way you’d ever get a hickey. There. I’ve said it. Her words, not mine.”

  Madison’s eyes widened “What?”

  “It’s not true,” I muttered.

  “It is.” Olive addressed the entire crowd that was forming around the piano where we were standing. “She said Leah was a
slut and Madison was a prude. She said it herself on Thanksgiving. Don’t kill the messenger.”

  “You called me a slut?” Leah giggled. “Aw, thanks!”

  But nobody else laughed. Abby walked up to the piano and pushed her way into our circle. “What’s going on?”

  “Olive is putting words in my mouth,” I lied. “She’s making things up.”

  “You’re such a coward.” Olive shot me a dirty look. “You won’t even own up to the things you say.”

  “Olive, maybe you should leave,” said Abby, stepping over to stand next to me. I felt my heart swell up. She may not have invited me to her party, but she was still my friend. She would stick up for me, and that was what counted.

  Olive just laughed. “Wait until you hear what Reyna had to say about you, Abby.”

  “Reyna would never say anything bad about me,” said Abby. “She’s my best friend.”

  But Olive was grinning now. It made me sick to my stomach. “You might want to rethink that,” she said. “Reyna betrayed you the worst of all.”

  “Shut up!” I pleaded.

  She ignored me, looking straight at Abby. “Reyna told me all about your first encounter. Sexual encounter, I mean.”

  Abby’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about Fido,” answered Olive, loud enough for everyone around us to hear. “Or Sparky or Buddy or whatever your dog’s name is.”

  “Gizmo,” said Abby, her cheeks pink.

  Olive exploded with a laugh that turned heads. People moved in closer around the piano. “Exactly,” she said. “Exactly.”

  “I hate you,” I whispered. My hands were shaking at my sides.

  Olive raised her eyebrows in mock offense. “It’s your story, Reyna. You’re the one who told it to me. Why don’t you tell it again? Tell us how Abby violated Gizmo.”