by S. Celi
We slid our backpacks around our shoulders and strolled out of the library. From there, it was just a short walk to the front of the school. I didn’t have the car that day, so I planned on walking home, and had about a twenty-minute trek ahead of me.
“Are you walking home, or driving?” Laine asked once we stepped out of the school building and into the dreary January day. Cold wind whipped around out faces, and I shuddered inside my navy wool pea coat.
“Walking.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Really? You don’t have a car?”
“Not today.” I shrugged. “Sometimes I like walking. It’s not too far.”
“No one walks.”
“Sometimes I do.”
“Whatever.” She took a few steps down the sidewalk. “Come on. I’ll drive you.”
“No—you really don’t have to.”
“Don’t be stupid, Geoff.” She motioned for me to come along with her hand.
“Well, what about—”
“Just as long as you don’t judge my car,” she said with a smile. “People always make fun of me because my parents didn’t get me a new one when I turned sixteen.”
“People make fun of you?”
She nodded. “Yep. Sometimes they do.”
“I live in the third house on the left,” I said, as we turned onto Ammunition Ridge, a long cul-de-sac in the north end of Robert Hill. The drive home took us past a couple of old churches, a small northern business district with a coffee shop, salon, and convenience store, and streets where the homes got larger with each block. Robert Hill city officials painted the tag line “Scenic City” wherever they could in town, never hesitating to drive home the fact that the town’s high taxes and stringent building codes kept the city looking more beautiful than any of the other suburbs that clustered close to Cincinnati. The ease of wealth shone in Robert Hill. Every house had a manicured green lawn, and most featured a garden or landscaped porch. Even, clean sidewalks complimented street medians that doubled as gardens. Local magazines often photographed homes in Robert Hill, and one house near Heritage High had landed a spread in Midwest Living back in 2003.
But none of that compared to glittering sophistication of Ammunition Ridge. Behind an iron entrance gate, this street had some of the largest homes in Robert Hill. Ours was a five thousand-square foot Tudor that blended right in with the others, except for the fact that it was the first home built on the street, back in 1950. A four-car garage, washed brick walkway, pool house, and unnaturally green lawn treated with special chemicals, and manicured rose bushes completed the picture. Homeowners on Ammunition Ridge threw parties all the time, and each house contributed HOA fees for an exclusive pool and clubhouse just for residents of the street. Wealth lived there, and no one wanted anyone to forget it.
For ten years, David had lived there with Blake and Bruce, and the three of them refused to move when David married Mom. The twins didn’t want to leave their fortress in the furnished basement, which included two rooms, a bathroom, games room, and a separate entrance. David insisted the home had more than enough room for all of us, and he sold Mom on that right after they got engaged. She even got a budget to redecorate the house as she desired, and for the most part I think the home made her happy. She certainly seemed to like her large walk-in closet with a separate alcove for shoes, and the master suite that took up its own wing of the first floor.
Meanwhile, I lived on the refurbished second floor of the house, just off the stairs. Mom and David almost never came upstairs, and the twins only ventured up there if they wanted to annoy me. My room and its adjoining bathroom were far enough away from the noise of the house that I didn’t have to hear my stepbrothers talk about stupid stuff, like how much back acne they had from football workouts, or how much money they’d won from bets with classmates about how much pizza they could eat in ten minutes at lunch.
“Wait. This is your house?” Laine said, as she pulled her Toyota RAV4 up to the curb in front of the house. Hearing her obvious awe made me embarrassed. I hated it when David’s wealth impressed people. He had so much money, way more than even the standard rich guy, and it came from a mix of old family money and a successful law practice in one of the glass-encased buildings that dotted the skyline of downtown Cincinnati. He had clients like Proctor & Gamble and KAO. I wondered if he treated them the same way he treated me—with a careful disdain that told me I’d never measure up to his impossible standards.
“Nice place,” Laine said.
“Don’t you live in something similar?”
Her laughter filled up the car as my face twisted. I could have cut off my lips for asking that. No, I should have cut off my lips for asking that. Way to sound like some kind of crazy stalker. Goddamn Facebook, and all its worthless information. We weren’t friends on the site, but that didn’t matter. I found out plenty about her anyway, just from all the photos people tagged her in to prove they knew her. Even the geekiest and most socially unacceptable classmates of mine wanted to show the social media world they knew her.
“My parent’s house is big, but not that big.”
“The outside is nothing. You should see the inside. Looks like a decorator vomited in it.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Lots of gold and dark wood.” I shrugged. “Supposed to give an English hunting lodge vibe.”
“Sounds awesome.”
My eyes shifted in the direction of the monstrous mansion. “You play your cards right, you just might get to see it.” I turned my head back to her and raised an eyebrow. “I overhead Blake and Bruce talking about hosting a party in their basement soon.”
“Their basement?” She flipped the SUV’s gears into park.
“Yep. They live in the basement, and they have all of it.” I leaned forward in case she didn’t quite get what I had said. “All. Of. It.”
“Nice. Do you have a wing in that place?”
“Just my room.” I paused, knowing I had to be careful with my tone. “And I like it there. I do.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Are you sure?”
“I do,” I insisted. “I like it.”
She gave me one of those looks that told me she didn’t believe me, but she didn’t press me, either. Instead, she shifted the focus of the conversation. “A party? You think you’ll be there?”
“Why would I be?” I shrugged. Didn’t everyone at school know that while the twins were my stepbrothers, they weren’t my friends?
“Might be fun . . .” She trailed off, and for a moment all I heard was the quiet wail of the Dave Matthews Band. She must have liked them. We’d heard their music on the drive home, and I knew I’d never listen to any of their songs the same way again.
I shrugged it off, and tried to stay centered. “I doubt they’d want me there, Laine.”
“They might.”
“Oh, trust me, I know Blake and Bruce. They don’t.”
I studied her for another second, taking in the way the car window shined light on her face. God, I had to get out of that car. Fast. Before I did something I’d regret, like shove my tongue down her throat, and then moan her name six thousand times.
“I’m sure they’ll invite you. And Evan.”
She cocked her head, and her eyes held mine, but she didn’t look excited to hear his name. “Evan.”
“Your boyfriend? You know, the one who eats whole trays of cafeteria pizza?”
Evan weighed at least 250 pounds, and was the size of three freshmen. The coaches had to order special pads for his football uniform. Facebook told me that, too. So did the Cincinnati Enquirer, in its annual write up about our school’s illustrious football program. People kept track of these kinds of meaningless statistics about Evan. Almost everyone in town also knew his favorite restaurant (Pete’s Grill), his shoe size (13D), and his hero (Tom Brady).
“Right.” She turned her eyes away from me, and looked at the street. It was still covered in salt from the recent
snow. “Evan.” Her eyes floated to the clock on the center dashboard, and the blood rushed out of her cheeks. “Oh God. Look at the time. I should go.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Shit.”
“Shit? What’s going on?”
“I’m late.” Her abrupt rely chapped me like the winter wind. “I can’t be late.”
I know an exit when I hear one, though, and I decided to not press her.
“Thanks for the ride, Laine.” I loved the way my tongue felt when I said her name. What I wouldn’t give to just get to say it over and over again without anyone thinking I was crazy. I pulled the door handle and hopped out of the car. “Have fun writing about Lady Macbeth.”
“I’m sure your paper on Hamlet will be better.” She grinned at me, but it looked halfhearted and hurried, as if my presence suddenly annoyed her.
I shut the door and she pulled the RAV4 away from the curb without another glance my way.
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 1
LAINE HAD SMILED at me every day after that afternoon in the library. Every time she did, it was like I’d stolen a piece of heaven. And every day, I wanted more. So much more.
I’d walk past her between third and fourth period in the hustle between class changes, somewhere between the stairwell entrance and the first landing that led to the math hallway. I had Calculus third period and World Cultures fourth. I used to hate that hallway because it smelled like rotten socks, but I walked it every day senior year because it took me past her.
And since that day in the library, she’d noticed I was there.
She would always give me a large smile, and a nod. Sometimes she’d pause for breath if I caught her on the stairs, but we’d never speak. She’d never stop, and I didn’t, either. I knew that right after she saw me, she encountered Evan every day, too. Of course I knew, because I had watched her for so many months, stealing glances in her direction, and looking over my shoulder when I knew something had distracted her.
I lived for that walk. My steps were always lighter and more confident after I saw her. Our eyes would meet, she’d toss me a smile and a lingering glance, I’d smile back, and then we’d both move on to whatever awaited us. And every day that this happened was better than the last one.
Then, one day, she reached out and stopped me on the landing.
“Geoff.” She pulled me over on the landing, but our bodies still constricted the space and interrupted the flow of traffic in the hallway.
“Hey, Laine.” My toes curled in my shoes, and I had to hold myself back from throwing her against the wall and kissing her right then. Just hearing her say my name sent me to another planet.
“Are you having a good day?”
“Sure I am,” I lied. Already that day I had tripped over a shoelace walking to third period, been called “Geoff Megadeth” by some brainless stoner in front of a teacher who didn’t do anything, and received only an 80 percent on my Calculus test—a first.
“So, I have a quick question.” She bit her lip, which she’d glossed in some kind of bright pink goop.
“Shoot.”
Whatever happened next, I wanted this conversation to last forever. I was well aware of all the passing stares we were getting from the rest of the students in the hallway, their looks directed mostly at me in a mixture of confusion and envy. I enjoyed that. Let them look. I had her attention. Me. Not them. Me.
“Are you going tonight?”
“To what?” I feigned ignorance, only to let the conversation drag out.
“To the party later.” She laughed, and pulled herself closer to me. I inhaled a combination of floral perfume, bubblegum lip-gloss, and salty lunchroom grease. Absolute heaven.
Times ten.
“Oh, right.” I shook my head. “No. I have other plans.”
I didn’t add that I planned to head to Mark’s house for a four-way World of Warcraft tournament between the two of us, Josh and Nathan. Nathan said he’d even bring over his dad’s vodka, which had sat untouched in his family’s liquor cabinet as a casualty of his parent’s divorce. This plan sounded more fun than making an appearance as the comic relief at Blake and Bruce’s stoner party in the basement of David’s house.
“Oh.” Her face fell. “It sounds like it’s going to be fun.”
“I’m not invited.”
“Whatever. Of course you are. Aren’t your parents out of town?”
“They are. Gatlinburg.” I could have rolled my eyes, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to look too judgmental about David and my mom’s clichéd choice for a weekend getaway. Even David’s rental of a five-star chalet couldn’t take away the tourist trap feeling I got whenever I thought about the one time I went to Gatlinburg during the summer after tenth grade. Still, most of my classmates vacationed in that town, and I didn’t want to offend Laine if she liked going there, too.
“How long are they going to be there?”
“Till Monday.”
The crowd in the hallway thinned until only a few students walked by us, a signal that the five-minute time change between classes was almost over. It was not the first time in my life that I wished I had Superman powers. It would have been nice to stop time, amongst other things.
“Well, I think I’m going to the party. Evan says he wants to go.”
“Ah. Evan. You remember him this time.”
She lifted her chin. “Remember him? What are you talking about? Of course I remember him.”
“Right . . . um . . . well, that time in the car . . .”
“Oh yeah. That time in the car.”
She shoved her sweater sleeves up her arms, and I saw it: an unmistakable yellow, purple and dark blue bruise wrapped around her forearm. What had done that to her? How long had it been there? I couldn’t look away if I wanted to, because of its sheer size, and its menacing colors. My expression must have said as much, because seconds after she’d pulled up her sleeves she pulled them down again.
“So. The party,” she said, in an obvious attempt to distract me.
“What happened?” I asked. “How’d you get that mark?”
She hesitated and took a step backward. “Anyway. Yeah. So. I guess maybe I’ll see you later?”
“But what about the—”
“At the party? Maybe you’ll be there?”
“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know,” I replied, as disappointment and confusion started to creep through my toes and make its way up my legs. “Later.”
Then she turned, and bounded down the steps. I stood on the landing and watched her disappear. I didn’t move until the bell sounded, and I knew I was late to class for the first time in almost twelve years of school.
I sat on Mark’s checkered blue bedspread and stared at the flat screen TV hanging across the room on his wall. Months before, he’d yanked $3,000 out of his summer job savings account and spent it on upgrades and contraptions he found on eBay and Amazon, not stopping until he had two gaming systems, a crate full of accessories, and enough wires to transform his entire wall into a nerd’s wet dream. He called it The Wall, and the whole setup looked awesome. I had to admit that.
“Get it . . . what are you . . . this . . . I’ve got this . . . yes . . . he’s dead . . . Boom! That’s how you do it!” The latest round of grunts from Mark sounded like some sort of half-assed war charge.
He and Nathan battled endlessly for top score on World of Warcraft. This latest fight had gone on for two hours, and whoever lost had to drink whatever liquor remained in a red Solo brand cup that sat between the two of them like a threat. The vodka from Nathan’s dad’s liquor cabinet turned out to be cookie-dough flavored specialty vodka with a Russian label. It tasted like farts mixed in gasoline. I took one shot and refused to drink any more, but everyone else didn’t seem to mind the awful taste.
“So, the party’s happening now?” Josh asked. He stretched out face up on the bed, sounding bored.
“Yep.”
“How many people did they invite again?”
�
��Not enough. They didn’t invite us.” I laughed.
“I kinda wish they had,” Josh said.
“They’re trolls,” I replied.
He chuckled. “Tell me something I don’t know. But I do wish they’d stop leaving us out.”
A lot of the time, I looked at the calendar on my phone and counted the days until I could leave the twins and our boring town in suburbia behind. Two million people lived in Greater Cincinnati—probably more than that, if you counted the fringes of Dayton, OH. There had to be more to life than a small town where everyone was rich, warm, comfortable, and focused on beating each other for scholarships, grades, state championship football titles, and awards given out by the local newspapers. It all just resembled a boring game—one I didn’t want to play anymore.
“You know—” Josh ran his tongue along his front teeth, “—we could show up.”
“Show up?”
“And crash the party.” He looked over at me. “It’s your house. There’s nothin’ stoppin’ us.”
Josh liked to drop the “g” from his words when he drank.
I rolled my eyes. “They’ll stop us.”
“’Nd do what? Kick us out? Call the fuckin’ cops? Start some kind of fight?” He also liked to switch up his voice and cuss a lot, so that he sounded tough. Trouble was that Josh wasn’t tough. Not really. A long scar decorated his shin from the one time he’d gotten into a fight after school in the second grade, but for most his life, Josh shrank from conflict. He talked big, but he never followed through.
“Yeah. Call the cops. Exactly,” I replied.
“I’m not scared.” He paused. “Not scared at all. We should go the fuck over there.”
“Come on,” I said. “You don’t mean that.”
“What if I do?”
“It’s not worth it. No reason to make things worse. They’re already horrible enough—”
“Whatever. We should still go over there.” Josh rose up and blocked my view of Mark and Nathan, both still shaking and shouting as they started the final push to win the level. With their energy level, this could go on for hours.
