“Hell yeah!” Stacey exclaimed, linking her left elbow with mine and her right with Adrian’s. “Come on, Todd!” she barked.
I tried once more to disentangle myself from her. “Stace, I’d love to, but my friend Cass just ran out of here upset and-”
Adrian leaned forward, looking past Stacey. “Quentin went after her. She’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, relax, Kara,” Stacey insisted, tightening her grip on my arm. “I haven’t seen you all summer. We need to hang out and this party’s just getting started. Ooops!” Stacey stumbled and Adrian and I barely managed to prevent her from falling down the basement stairs. “See,” she hiccupped. “I’m the friend who needs you right now.”
So I sighed and went along with them to a far corner of Shelly’s basement. I figured that after Stacey smoked the one joint, she’d be ready for Todd to carry her out and drive her home and then I’d look for Cass. But Stacey had an amazing constitution. After she smoked the joint and cashed a bowl Todd had, she leapt to her feet, bouncing to the beat of the electro tunes Harlan spun. “Wanna dance with me, Kara?”
The pot combined with the beer I drank earlier left me feeling woozy. I waved her away, saying I didn’t feel like standing up. She and Todd disappeared into the masses.
Adrian lifted his arm, his leather jacket creaking, and put it around me. He began to kiss the nape of my neck and it felt good despite my lingering doubts about him. But when I heard Quentin’s voice, I immediately broke out of Adrian’s embrace.
“Is Cass okay?” I asked.
Quentin slid down onto the floor beside me. “Yeah, she’d just been awake for too long. She’s sleeping now.”
“Told ya she’d be fine,” Adrian murmured, nibbling on my earlobe.
I halfheartedly batted him away and leaned my head back against the leather couch behind us. Now that I knew Cass was okay, I just wanted to go to sleep.
Quentin asked Adrian, “You got some more weed, man?”
“Naw.” Adrian’s lips brushed my neck again. I turned my face toward his, allowing him to kiss me.
Quentin loudly dumped the contents of his backpack onto the basement floor. He discovered two pills and swallowed them, declaring, “Mmm, NoDoz!”
He quickly became manic, using some Wite-Out that he’d found in his bag to paint words on the black tile floor.
“Shelly’s gonna kill you,” Adrian said, dragging me onto the couch.
“No, she won’t. Words are art,” Quentin replied, pushing his braids out of his face.
I rested my head on Adrian’s chest, closing my eyes.
Next thing I knew, the basement was silent and completely empty. Quentin stood over me, the floor in front of him covered in phrases, some big, some small, like:
icicle
she’s staring like an epic
and he wears evasive conspiracy eyes
“Shelly likes it, Adrian,” he annouced proudly.
Adrian peeled an eye open. “Good.”
I asked groggily, “What time is it?”
“Three. Shelly said we could sleep over. She said we could watch TV if we wanted.” Quentin looked longingly at the nearby big screen.
“Sleep, dude,” Adrian groaned.
Quentin bounced from foot to foot. “Okay, I’ll watch the TV upstairs. And maybe work on the script. Kara, can I take the notebooks from your backpack?”
“Sure, if you turn the lights off on your way upstairs.”
The lights went out and I started to drift again, but after a couple of minutes of restless twitching, Adrian slipped out from under me and onto the floor.
“I’m not feeling that pot anymore,” he explained, reaching into his pocket.
I yawned and stretched. “I’m not either, but let’s just go to sleep.”
“I wanna feel good as I go to sleep.” He poured powder from a small vial onto the black tiles beside Quentin’s Wite-Out masterpiece, chopping two lines with a razor blade he kept in his wallet. “Want some?”
I sat up and pulled my knees to my chest, peering over his shoulder. “Heroin.” It was more of a statement than a question. It made at least part of Jessica’s story true.
Adrian didn’t answer, just offered me a rolled dollar bill.
Staring at the pale brown lines, I felt fascinated and frightened at the same time because heroin brought two words to mind: numb and dead. If Adrian had been making out with Viv like Jessica said, I really wanted to be numb. But I could cut to achieve that and I knew how to control cutting. I wouldn’t accidentally slip and kill myself. With heroin, however, the boundary between numb and dead was easy to inadvertently cross.
I shook my head to decline. Adrian shrugged and snorted both lines. He put his supplies away and snapped the stereo back on, filling the room with the loud, angry sounds of Nine Inch Nails.
He returned to the couch and tugged me on top of him like I was a blanket. Wrapping his hands around the back of my head, he brought my mouth to his. I could taste something vaguely chemical in his kisses and found myself seeking the flavor with my tongue. Adrian’s hands crept up my shirt, but after a couple minutes, he pulled his lips away from mine and settled his head against the couch. The ends of his soft brown hair tickled my collarbone as I placed my head on his chest. His palm rested across my back. His breathing became slow and even.
I tried to relax, but couldn’t. I stared through the glass-block window above the bar across the room and watched the sky go from black to dirty shades of gray. I wanted to get up and turn off the music, but the thought of removing Adrian’s hand from my body scared me. It seemed permanent. I waited for the CD to end, but someone had mercilessly put it on repeat.
Eventually Jessica’s words rushed back into my ears. This whole thing was too complicated, getting attached to a person, worrying if he was as attached to you.
I gently slid out from under Adrian’s hand and it rested on his stomach right beneath where I’d been. Like I’d never existed. I paused to study him. His sharp cheekbones and the way his lip curled up on the right prevented him from looking innocent even in sleep. I whispered “I love you” into his ear, figuring it was a safe thing to say if the other person was sleeping and never actually heard it, particularly safe if you were leaving and never intended to say it again. I left Adrian sleeping to Trent Reznor’s anguished screams.
Quentin sat on the living room couch with our script on his lap. When I lowered myself beside him, he looked at me, blue eyes wide. “What’s wrong?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“What’s wrong?” he repeated, gaze penetrating me like Adrian’s always did.
I fiddled with a loose string on my jeans. “Did you guys come here last night?”
“We were wandering. We didn’t even mean to. We just…I don’t know why he keeps you at a distance sometimes.”
“Because you’ve been doing heroin?”
Quentin wrinkled his brow, frowning. “He tell you that?”
“No, I watched him do it before he fell asleep. How long has he been using?” A sliver of pain worked its way into my voice.
Quentin stared at the black-and-white movie on TV as he said, “You know me and Adrian, always searching for the best buzz.”
“What about Viv? Were you guys with her last night?”
He didn’t answer.
Rage stirred within me, but I ran my fingernails over the scabs beneath my left sleeve. “Did he kiss her?” My tone was neutral, numb.
Quentin quickly glanced at me. I could have sworn I saw tears in the corners of his eyes. “Kara, no one means anything to Adrian but you.”
“And you.” I kissed Quentin on the forehead as I rose from the couch. “Thanks for telling me the truth.”
“You’re leaving us, aren’t you?” he asked softly.
I couldn’t bring myself to face him. I just whispered “See you later,” and headed out into the bleak dawn.
VERSE
OCTOBER 1994-JANUARY 1995
[FIRST SEMEST
ER OF JUNIOR YEAR]
“Sweet little girl, I wanna be your boyfriend.”
—The Ramones
1.
WHEN I LEFT ADRIAN, I PROMISED myself I would never even think about falling in love again. And for the first month of my junior year, I did a pretty good job keeping myself distracted. At Scoville, I spent the majority of my time with Liam, Maya, and Christian. After their fight on Labor Day, Maya and Christian finally decided that they were better off as friends. There was some tension at first, but eventually that dissipated, and it was just me and my best friend and my brother and his best friend. Life was simple and comfortable. I felt at peace for the first time since the divorce.
Then one afternoon in October while we watched Liam and Christian skate, Maya dropped a bombshell.
“I was on the phone with Christian for three hours last night,” she confided.
“Oh?” I arched my eyebrows. “Thinking of giving him another chance?”
She shook her head adamantly. “No. I’m not capable of being more than friends with him. The whole not-wanting-to-talk-about-my-mom thing is too much of an issue,” she reminded me. “Actually”—her lips curled into a devilish grin-“we were talking about you.”
“Me?”
Maya’s eyes danced. “Christian’s been pining for you. Apparently he was worried I’d be upset about it, but I think it’s perfect. You’re my girl best friend; he’s my guy best friend. I told him I’d give you his number and that if you hadn’t given up on men, maybe you’d call.”
“What? You’re trying to set us up?” I sputtered, horrified. So horrified I was blushing. Had she known I once had a crush on him back when I’d visited Scoville with Stacey?
“Christian’s a really sweet guy, Kara,” Maya said, growing serious. “And you deserve a guy like that after the crap Adrian put you through.”
“Adrian didn’t put me through anything. We had a fling and the fling is over,” I snapped defensively. It was easier to pretend I hadn’t had any real feelings for him. “And I’m not interested in getting involved with anyone right now, particularly not your ex.”
“I don’t even consider Christian my ex. We’re friends. That’s really all we ever were. And I want him to be happy. You guys would make each other happy.”
I studied her intently, searching for signs that her smile was forced or she hid deeper emotions about Christian, but she seemed genuinely enthusiastic about pairing the two of us up. Regardless, I maintained, “No. Relationships are messy. I don’t want one.”
“Just call him. Get to know him a little bit.” Before I could object, Maya whipped out the black Sharpie she used to draw pictures on her jeans. She grabbed my right arm (knowing it wasn’t the one covered in scabs and scars), flipped it over, wrenched up my sleeve, and scrawled Christian’s number in huge print.
But that night when I sat down on my bed with the phone, rolled up my sleeve, and prepared to dial, the ink on my forearm reminded me of Adrian’s tattoos. It’d been a month and a half since I’d left him and I hated having random thoughts about him, especially since he didn’t appear to be thinking of me at all.
It seemed that Adrian knew things were over between us when he woke up and I wasn’t there. He’d actually disappeared for a month right after Labor Day. I didn’t know if he’d run off to New Orleans again or to find Wes in L.A. or if he was just holed up somewhere doing heroin. Those were the popular theories that circulated, but with Adrian anything was possible. After he reappeared, he avoided me. I knew why I wasn’t speaking to him anymore, but I wondered why he’d let me go so easily.
The conclusion I came to was that he hadn’t called or even waved to me at the park for the same reason he’d never officially asked me to go out with him: I meant nothing to him.
Was I seriously going to put myself through that again with a different guy?
I tugged my sleeve over Christian’s number and was placing the phone on the floor when it suddenly rang. Spooked, I dropped it, but managed to recover and grab the receiver.
“Kara?”
I recognized Christian’s slightly cocky tone, but played dumb. “Who’s this?”
“Christian. But I’m not calling for Liam, I’m calling for you,” he added quickly.
“That’s funny, Maya gave me your number and I was considering calling you.”
“Yeah? Great minds think alike, I guess. How are you doing?”
“Okay.”
At first, my awkwardness from early high school resurfaced and I could barely muster one-word responses to his questions. After all, I was talking to the cute boy from the Amoco station that I’d crushed on before I regularly hung out at Scoville Park. But then I reminded myself that I’d changed drastically in the past six months. The girl I’d been wouldn’t even recognize me. I had friends. I’d sort of been in a relationship. I could handle a conversation with Christian.
Once I regained my confidence, Christian and I talked until three a.m. I untangled all the necklaces I was wearing and painted my nails while we conversed. He fixed and ate a turkey sandwich. We both took our phones to our windows so we could smoke. He heard the music playing in my room and guessed, “Bad Religion?”
I told him ding, ding, ding, he’d won a brand-new convertible and wasn’t he excited. He told me no because his dad had one in their garage. “Midlife crisis?” I asked.
“For the past fifteen years,” he replied wryly. He moved closer to his speakers and asked me, “Can you name that band?”
I guessed Pavement and was informed I’d won an all-expenses-paid trip to Florida. I told him that I was thrilled because I’d never been. Every year, my parents promised we’d be able to afford Disney World soon, but now I was too old and they were divorced.
Toward the end, I agreed to hang out with Christian that coming Saturday afternoon while he watched his five-year-old sister. I knew he and I had chemistry. I knew “watching his sister” meant that while she napped or whatever, we’d make out. I was resigned to it. I would just let it be physical, not emotional, because that was how these things worked. Then, as the conversation wound down, he surprised me.
“I didn’t like the way Adrian treated you. He uses girls. I’m not like that and I definitely wouldn’t do that to you.”
“What do you mean?” I stammered. For the first time that night, my fingers danced over my scabby arm.
“I mean…” Christian faltered slightly, his words losing that characteristic swagger as he rushed them out of his mouth. “Kara, would you go out with me?”
After Adrian, it seemed so official and almost embarrassing, like a throwback to the fifties, when a guy gives a girl his class ring and they go steady. After Adrian, it should have meant the world to me. But I couldn’t let it. “I don’t know…”
“You aren’t still with Adrian, are you?”
“No!” I snapped. Then my voice grew softer. “It’s got nothing to do with Adrian. It’s just me. Since my parents got divorced. Or maybe before that, watching them fake it. It got to me or something…” I trailed off. I’d never talked to Adrian about those feelings.
Christian’s voice was comforting. “It’s okay. I know exactly what you mean. Seeing my dad’s relationships with women makes a good relationship seem impossible. And when your parents let you down, it’s hard to trust anyone. But please, say you’ll still come over Saturday. As a friend.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
2.
CHRISTIAN’S SISTER, NAOMI, ANSWERED THE DOOR wearing a pink dress made of polyester nightgown material and a plastic tiara in her blond hair. She stared at me, then turned to her brother and declared, “She is pretty as a fairy-tale princess!”
I wondered if there was a new Disney movie out that I didn’t know about where the princess had turquoise bangs and wore ripped jeans and lots of eyeliner. Regardless, I thanked Naomi, adding, “I think you make a better princess than I do, though.”
She beamed before informing me solemnly, “My brother likes you a l
ot.”
Christian’s face glowed redder than his hair and he laughed nervously. “That’s the last time I confide in a five-year-old.”
I blushed as well, but couldn’t help smiling when Naomi protested, “Why?”
Christian shook his head and took Naomi’s hand, guiding her away from the door. “Why don’t you let Kara in and change out of your Halloween costume so we can go to the park?”
Naomi clapped enthusiastically, crowing, “The park! The park!” She ran a few laps around the living room like an excited puppy before skidding off in the direction of her bedroom.
“I should follow and make sure she picks something appropriate.” Christian smiled at me and jerked his head toward the couch. “Have a seat.”
I sat, but my eyes roamed the living room. It felt about as welcoming as a dentist’s office. The decor looked like it’d come straight out of a magazine: expensive leather couch, glass coffee table-clearly not the place where Naomi regularly spent her time. Kids seemed like an afterthought to Christian’s dad. He only had one photograph of each child, the most recent school picture, and probably updated the same frame on a yearly basis. There were no family shots, no pictures of Christian and Naomi as infants like the ones that cluttered the mantel at my house.
I hadn’t been allowing myself to think about my dad in the four months since he’d left-thinking of him meant I cared, and I didn’t, dammit!-but seeing how Christian’s dad decorated, I couldn’t help but wonder what my father’s apartment looked like. Every week he called and invited Liam and me over. We always refused. His apartment was probably sterile as an OR, and unless he’d slipped a few photos out of the family albums while packing, he didn’t have a single picture of me or Liam.
Before I could get too depressed, Christian and Naomi reappeared.
Christian lived three blocks from Scoville, but for some reason, I never thought we’d go there. It was bizarre being in the one tiny corner of the park I rarely spent time in-the playground. I usually only ventured as far as the bathrooms, housed in a small brick building that separated the playground from the wide green lawn that I treated like my own backyard. And I’d smoked pot in those bathrooms…with Christian on a couple of occasions. Thinking of that as I tramped through the sand with Naomi, I felt guilty, but it soon passed. As the afternoon progressed, it felt like that had happened in a different lifetime, a different world.
Ballads of Suburbia Page 15
