Tonight We Rule the World

by Zack Smedley

  Look at us, man.

  Sincerely,

  O

  THIRTEEN

  THE RUMORS ABOUT THE SCHOOL INTERROGATIONS level off over the next few days—once people realize no one is getting jailed on the spot, they all go back to studying for finals. That doesn’t make me any less jumpy, though. The whole issue is like an untamed animal that lives inside me, constantly clawing at its cage and keeping me awake at night.

  So I put all the focus on group activities. The last week of April, the five of us have a cookout in Lily’s backyard to celebrate Vic’s birthday. Lily hangs a sign up in her living room—a plain white one that simply reads “Birth”—and we play the game Taboo. Essentially it’s a game where someone has to get their team to guess a certain word but can’t give clues that explicitly state what it is. Except in our version, the other team shouts out gibberish to try to throw everyone off.

  “Alright,” Vic says. “Uh, Beth’s hair is …”

  “Long!” says Beth.

  “On fire!” says Austin.

  “Greasy!” says Lily.

  “Wow, thanks!” Beth shouts at them. “Blue!”

  Vic spins her hand.

  “Navy! Turquoise!”

  “YEAH!” Vic high-fives her.

  “And your hair’s gorgeous, Beth,” adds Lily.

  I grin, holding up my phone to take a picture of the scene. If there’s one thing I could do all day, it’s watch my friends hanging out with each other. Every time they do, I look around and try to capture the scene. What it’s like to turn to my left and see Austin there, holding hands with Beth. Vic’s snide remarks and Lily’s giggles. It’s the magic of everyone being under the same roof—the air crackling with all our joy and teasing. During these moments, I feel completely at ease: totally in tune with life and just being my plain old self.

  “Your turn, O,” Lily says, passing me a card. I smirk at it—my word is “pencil.”

  “Last week I gave Lily my …”

  “Autism!” shouts Vic.

  “Bisexuality!” yells Beth.

  “Those aren’t it, but they win,” I say.

  “Food!” Lily tries, her face scrunched up.

  “Nope.”

  “Dick!” Austin says.

  “Dude, you’re on my team!”

  “That answer’s plausible!” he protests.

  “You think the answer’s ‘dick,’ Austin? You think that’s the word on his card right now?” Vic chews him out.

  “Just, in all caps—DICK.” Beth traces her finger in the air.

  “That one’s not plausible anyway,” Lily says between gritted teeth, throwing the game into pause as everyone yells, “Ohhh!” I do my part, giving a good-natured laugh and accepting her apologetic kiss on the cheek, but deep down it makes me want to break a window.

  The timer goes off, and I throw the card down harder than normal.

  “There’s the goddamn word,” I mutter, instantly regretting my tone. I’ve flipped the lights off everyone’s smiles. I cough, then force a grimace to erase the awkwardness. “Wow, this game causes a headache.”

  “Yeah, buddy,” Austin says, buying it. He hesitates, then takes his turn. As soon as he reads the card, he says, “Oh, perfect. This week at school there was a huge …”

  “Exam!” says Lily.

  “Hemorrhoid!” shouts Beth.

  “Assembly!” I pipe up.

  “Gangbang!” says Vic.

  The timer dings—everyone groans.

  “Austin,” Vic chastises as she gets ahold of the card and looks at the word on it—interview. “That’s not even the right category, you fucking mistake.”

  “Way to go, Austin!” says Beth.

  “Way to go, Austin!” I echo.

  “Yes it is!” he calls over a chorus of slow claps. “Wait, yes it is! Hold up, hold up—didn’t the cops talk to you guys?” Everyone stiffens. Snapsnap.

  “They talked to you, Owen?” Austin asks, noticing the way I shift in my chair. All eyes train on me. For the first time in living memory, I feel uncomfortable around these people.

  “Ah. Erm.” God damn it. “Was it the school cop or the real cops?”

  “Who’s the school one?” Vic asks. “That young guy, always looks like he’s holding in diarrhea?”

  As everyone laughs, Vic goes, “No, have you seen him? He always has this look on his face.” She sits up straight, staring into the distance in wide-eyed panic.

  “Yeah, I think it was him,” Austin says. “So did he talk to you?”

  I try to turn it around on him. “Did he talk to you?”

  He thumbs at his glasses. “Well, yeah. He asked about you, actually.”

  My fingernails sink into my jeans and squeeze until it hurts. “… Me?”

  “Yeah.” He leans forward. “They said, ‘We’re looking for a guy who caused a traffic incident three years ago when he got hit by a truck waving to a girl.’ Sorry, man. Had to throw you under the bus.”

  “Or truck,” Beth snickers.

  Everyone relaxes. I muster a scoff. “Ha ha. Asshole.” “Nah, I’m playing. They just asked about the trip to Lanham last month. Apparently some shit went down there.”

  “That’s what I heard,” says Lily, scooting closer to me. “What else?” I ask her, way too urgently. “Literally just that.” “I heard a girl got assaulted,” Beth says.

  “Whoa, what?” Lily’s eyebrows arch. “Did someone talk to you?”

  “That’s just what I heard—no, nobody talked to me. Some girl in my Latin class—Kayla someone—she said the school questioned her or whatever, and they asked if she knew about any incidents that happened on the trip. When she said, ‘Hey what do you mean by incidents,’ that’s when they basically said they were looking into a sexual assault. I don’t know.”

  “So do they mean like …” Austin lowers his voice, unusually serious. “Like, what exactly happened?”

  “I don’t know; that’s what I’m saying.” Beth raises both hands. “That’s all she told me.”

  “Jesus,” Vic says.

  “Shit,” Lily adds, shaking her head. “Can you imagine? Just imagine being that girl, and you’ve got to come to class every day knowing the whole school is all over your shit. I’d kill someone, man.”

  My blood boils.

  “Yeah, poor girl,” Beth says quietly, munching on a potato chip.

  “That has to suck,” Vic agrees. “Yeah,” adds Austin. “Poor girl,” I croon.

  Snapsnap.

  When I go to sleep that night, I dream that I’m lying in a dark and shapeless world. A deck of cards labeled Taboo sits on my chest, but it’s heavy as an anvil. It crushes the air out of my lungs and presses me into the floor, so I pull the deck apart. My name is on every card, penned in permanent red.

  FOURTEEN

  April 21st—Junior Year

  Journal:

  I’m writing this as I sit in the Studio in the middle of the night, listening to the sound of rain on the roof above me. My ears are still ringing from Junior Prom earlier tonight, and as a footnote, there is a possibility I’m still a bit stoned.

  We didn’t get high at the dance, obviously. It happened afterward, once the five of us got home and had the chance to change out of our formal wear. We met back up at the playground shortly after midnight, where Austin distributed the banana bread edibles his older brother had snagged.

  Lily, who decided to abstain, became babysitter.

  “Okay, show of hands,” Austin said as we all raised the bread to our mouths. “Who here has never been high before?”

  Everyone’s hands went up, including his own.

  “Jesus Christ,” Lily said, snapping a picture of us.

  “Hey, delete that! That’s evidence of criminal activity,” Austin hissed.

  “It looks like regular bread in the picture, dumbass,” Vic said.

  I spent the next hour rubbing my hands together, invigorated. This had been Austin’s idea, but I was excited to be part of it
. (After doing research to know what to expect, of course.) It was the type of new experience I didn’t mind trying.

  Sometime later—I can’t quite remember how I ended up there—the girls were swinging on the swings in their pajamas, Austin was sitting on a stump with his tie draped over one shoulder, and I was saying to him in a serious voice: “You aren’t listening. I’m not asking if you’d have sex with a vacuum; I’m asking if you would try sticking your dick in one.”

  “Okay.” Vic held up a hand mid-swing. “Normally I’d think you’re weird for asking that, but that’s a good question.”

  “Hey, I wonder if it’s kicked in yet,” said Lily.

  “Oh, it has, all right,” Austin declared.

  “God damn it’s right,” Vic said.

  “What is?” he asked.

  “You know, man …” She lobbed her head back and forth. “That one is a bad question. First Owen asked a good question, then you asked a bad one. You ruined it; good job.”

  I remember making a joyful squeak, letting my head tilt so I could look up. It was just one of those nights, you know? The air was perfect—alive with the chorus of crickets, blending with the ringing in my ears and banter of the people I love. I sighed, taking a deep breath of being alive next to them.

  The next hour was a little fuzzy, but I know everyone started getting hungry. At one point, I asked Vic how she was doing. She just gave me a light, rare hug.

  “I,” she said, “am like the stars in the sky. Do you know why?” Then she leaned and hissed, directly into my ear, “Cause I’m hiiigh.”

  Someone suggested we go back to the Studio and hang out there since it looked like rain. Then Beth floated the idea of us spending the night in there.

  “YES!” I screeched it loud and shrill, jumping to my feet.

  “Hey—dude, calm down,” Lily said, hugging me close to keep me still and putting a finger over my lips.

  “That idea makes me so happy,” I murmured in a more contained voice.

  “I know it does. Here’s what we’re going to do.” Lily held up a hand to shush us all. “You guys walk with Owen back to the Studio, and I can bring over snacks and sleeping bags from my place. Remember to text your parents.”

  “Do you have chips?” Austin asked, looking like he’d just won the lottery.

  “Chips sound so good right now,” Beth crooned. “With Cheez Whiz!”

  “Is the Cheez Whiz critical?” Lily asked.

  “YES! Just call me the Whiz Queen.”

  “Or the Cheez Wizard,” I piped up.

  “Someone look up ‘Whiz Queen,’” Austin said.

  “I wouldn’t,” Lily advised.

  The next part I remember is one of my favorite images ever: the five of us, chilling in the Studio in our pajamas. Lily brought ice cream with her, prompting a giggly group hug. I inflated a spare air mattress, triple-checking if anyone needed extra blankets. God, what a RUSH! This was happening! We shut the garage door, the lights were dimmed, and the TV was turned on to some late night talk show.

  “How’re you doing?” Lily asked me, leaning her head on my shoulder.

  “The air feels good!” I said.

  “Hold on, wait …” She lost it in a fit of giggles. “What exactly do you mean by that?” “The air feels good!” I said.

  “You know what? It does,” said Vic, patting me on the leg. “I’m with Owen on this one.”

  “Love me some good air,” Austin chirped up. He was taking a video on his phone. “God, Lily, you don’t even support your own boyfriend!”

  “I support him!” She clutched my shoulders, sounding horrified. “I support you, Owen!”

  “Wait, guys,” I frowned. “I feel like I was saying something before? Like way before.”

  “Vacuum cleaners,” Beth reminded me. When that didn’t help, she clarified, “You were asking Austin if he’s tried having sex with one.”

  “I haven’t, by the way!” Austin yelled, pumping his fist.

  “Have you?” Lily asked me with an openmouthed laugh, and I shook my head.

  “No, no … my sexuality’s not that fluid.”

  (I stopped myself just in time. Over the past school year, I’ve definitely confirmed to myself that I’m bisexual, which isn’t a huge deal, but it’s still one of those things that I haven’t told the group yet. Not that I’m afraid to, but I figure, why go through the hassle? I’m with Lily; it shouldn’t matter anyway.)

  “Now I’m wondering what inspired the question,” Lily said, joining the other girls on the couch with a mock pout. “What’re you trying to say, O? You prefer a vacuum over your own girlfriend?”

  “In his defense, vacuums have that fancy tank where it power sucks everything into, like, a vortex,” Austin pointed out. “You got to give him that torque power drive swirl action.”

  “Sounds like a job for the Whiz Queen,” said Vic.

  “Listen,” I told them. “In my defense, I didn’t ask if you’d fuck the whole vacuum.”

  “An autobiography by Owen Turner,” said Lily.

  “I was just thinking out loud, wondering if it would feel good. How do you know it wouldn’t feel good, Austin? That’s all I’m saying is how do you know? Oh wait, you don’t. It could be like a blowjob.”

  “OR A SUCK JOB!” yelled everyone else almost in sync, and we lost it again.

  The five of us carried on like that for I-don’t-know-how-long … another couple hours, at least. We dimmed the lights more as the TV shows turned into shitty infomercials, and the clear night outside morphed into a steady drizzle on the Studio exterior. Inside, though, it was inebriated anarchy: The couch got moved for reasons I can’t remember; Beth and Lily drew doodles all over the whiteboard I use for my weekly planning; Vic rambled to Austin and I about the gaming emulator she’d just built; and he and I listened while splitting the old pack of candy corn that had fallen out of the couch cushions.

  “The forbidden corn,” he whispered to me with a knowing nod.

  We giggled about this until Beth found his clarinet—which he’d left in the Studio after our last gym session—and we took turns trying to play it while he gave us pointers and took video.

  Eventually Vic and Beth were lying on the couch, Austin was on the air mattress, and Lily and I were snuggled in sleeping bags. The weed started to wear off, and the others conked out one by one. But I wanted to capture this while it was fresh, so here I am. Writing this and looking at all of them.

  God damn I wish I could exist like this forever. Such pure joy. The five of us lying around in our pajamas, inebriated, listening to the pitter-patter outside against the steel door. Pure resplendence of being. I’d sell a piece of my soul to stay here awhile, sitting in my favorite spot with all the people I love.

  I think about a video Lily recorded and posted online earlier tonight, captioned, “Look at this cutie patootie!” In it, I’m in the middle of the dance floor just completely letting myself go—hips moving, clothes close-fitting with my tie thrown over my shoulder and my sleeves rolled up. Hair matted with sweat and sunglasses crooked, but wearing a huge at-home grin. And I think about how wacky it is that time can just fly by, and we can all look older but it feels so clearly like we were just doing these same things one, two, almost three years ago. And I feel myself wanting to tell my friends I love them, but when I whisper it, all that comes out is, “I love.” So I just say that over and over again. “I love. I love. I love.”

  I really do.

  Sincerely,

  O

  FIFTEEN

  “IS YOUR SEAT UP FAR ENOUGH?” DAD ASKS. “ARM CHECK.”

  I lean back in the driver’s seat of his SUV and stick both my arms in front of me. My wrists can just touch the steering wheel.

  “Perfect. That’s where you want it.” He hands me the keys.

  Driving practice is something I’ve put off as long as possible—Dad and I have never graduated from parking lots. When I’d told him I wished I could stay off the road indefinitely, he
offered me his version of practical advice.

  “Wish in one hand and shit in the other and let me know which fills up first.”

  So here we are.

  “Your first drive on the main road. This is going to be exciting!” says Mom from the backseat.

  “Nooo,” Dad says in an impatient singsong, like, we know better. “Driving isn’t supposed to be ‘exciting’—don’t put that in his head. I guarantee no one’s premiums ever went down over something exciting.”

  Mom volunteered to come along to help “manage tempers.” It isn’t working so far.

  My father, meanwhile, looks like he hasn’t slept in a decade. According to Mom, all he does is refresh his email every few hours to check for updates from the school. He’s acting like we’re on critical lockdown, waiting for a reprieve so we can start living again. By night he still roams the halls, limp-pacing back and forth like he’s trying to sweat out an illness.

  “Okay. Let’s go over our preemptive plan here,” he says. “Are you paying attention?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’re going to make a right-hand turn out of the driveway onto the street—remember that it’s two-way, so you may pass other cars. If that happens, just let it happen. We’ll go past the playground, left onto the main road—don’t give me that look; I’ll help you through it—and make a right turn into the plaza past the field. Say that back to me.”

  “Right turn onto street, left onto main road, right into plaza. Got it.”

  “Do you have any questions?” I shake my head.

  The thing is that Dad’s actually a great driving instructor when he’s calm. I love Mom, but this is one area where I prefer Dad’s no-nonsense approach. He knows exactly what kind of information I need—lane info, landmarks, hazards—and reliably rattles it off with military precision. I eat it up. For all his faults, he’s one of the most important things a person can be: consistent. We don’t exactly have a warm father-son bond that involves us winning any three-legged races together, but for things like this, we function well as a unit.