“You’re trying to put doubt in my mind.” I bounce my finger at him. “I have to admit, it’s a very good plan, and it would probably work if I didn’t know Chase so well. I barely know you, Max. You’re a stranger to me.”
“You know him because he sat in the same school for all these years?”
“Precisely.”
He shrugs. “Then go back to your Prince Charming. I’m happy to be wrong, but he did try to buy the drug from me, and he did take it when offered.”
“Wait a minute. You gave him the drug?”
Max rolls his eyes. “Didn’t I tell you? Where would I get a roofie? I slipped him an unmarked Excedrin. If he puts it in your drink, it won’t melt. A roofie melts.”
My eyes narrow at him. “Thanks for the information.”
“I looked it up on the internet before I gave him the Excedrin. I didn’t know. I sell hot dogs.”
“I know that.”
“Go enjoy your party. You look incredible. I like”—he waves his hand over his head—“you know, the blonde. I’m probably not supposed to notice that, huh? It’s like a woman’s age. I have so far to go.”
I stand beside him, pausing for some unknown reason. “Max, come on. Come with me. You can teach us how to tango.” I grab his hand, and he pulls me closer, pushing me into tango pose, which causes me to giggle.
“You are not ready to tango. First, you must learn the steps. It’s a circle, then you move with intention.” He stretches out my arm. “It is all in the attitude. Look at me. Give me some attitude.”
I try to muster all the attitude I can, but I’m worried I look more like I have a stomachache.
He laughs.
“You are way too smooth for me, Max. Sophisticated. Isn’t that what you like to say? You are way too sophisticated for the likes of me.”
He starts leading me again in his dance. “Do you feel my right hand?” He places it on my upper back. “This is how I lead. You follow my hand—when I push, you turn.”
“Like a puppet?”
“Uh, no. A puppet has no intention. When you learn the steps, you follow my ‘chest intention.’ You won’t even need the hand.”
“I think this is illegal.”
“You have watched too much Dancing with the Stars. First you learn the steps. Right.” He pushes me backward. “Left, right, left, promenade.” I stumble over his foot. “Try again. Right, left, right, left, pivot.”
“I’m terrible.”
“You are, but you’ll get better. Give me some attitude. Slow, slow, quick, quick, pivot. Wrap your leg around the back of my knee.”
We try the dance again, and I end up hanging like a limp rag doll. He lifts me close, and my heart is pounding at his proximity. “You have to learn to trust your partner. If you don’t let me lead, it is not the tango.” He lets go of me suddenly. “I doubt your band knows any tango. I am not smooth, I am utterly entranced.”
“Stop it.” I giggle, my hands on his chest. The chemistry between us is natural, but not because he’s any more velvet teddy bear than the next guy. We get each other. “You’re going to stand out here on the porch instead of coming and dancing with me? That’s weird. You’re pulling a tantrum.”
“A what?”
“You heard me, you’re acting like a toddler who doesn’t get his way.”
He pushes me away. “Go to your party, Bellissima. I will throw no more tantrums.” He raises his hand. “If you don’t check in with me every hour on the hour, I’m coming to get you.” His black T-shirt stretches across his perfectly toned body, and I force my eyes away.
“When I met you that first day, you seemed so unsure of yourself, so happy to meet me as a friend. To be known. But that’s not you at all, is it? You were playing me.”
“Just because I do things differently doesn’t make me a dog. The truth will bear out, and unlike your friend, I can wait.” He leans against the brick wall, crossing his arms and his feet at the ankles.
“What are you studying when you get back to Argentina? Are you going to be the next Bruno Tonioli?” I ask, referring to the Italian, overly expressive judge on Dancing with the Stars.
“Hasn’t Claire told you?”
“Believe it or not, you don’t fill our conversations.”
“I should.” He grins. “I’m going to be a pastor.”
My cheek muscles tighten. “You are not!”
“What is so funny about that?”
“We’re not allowed to dance in my church. You’re going to be a tango-loving pastor?”
“You cannot live in Argentina and not know how to tango. It is a national necessity, but my country, like yours, is in desperate need of revival.”
I back away from him. “My dad sent you. That’s why I can’t trust you. This is all a big joke to you, isn’t it?”
He holds his hand on his heart. “I pledge that I have never met your father. Other than that day he took the stage at school, and I don’t know, I wouldn’t call that a meeting.”
The front door opens. “Everything okay out here?” Chase stands there and grins. He came to my rescue. I gaze at him, then back at Max.
“Everything’s fine.”
Chase holds up a bottle. “I stole some bubbly from my dad. Come share with us. I thought we’d celebrate my future.”
“Where’d you get that?” I try to grab the bottle, but he whisks it away. “Chase, we said nothing illegal at this party.”
“Champagne isn’t illegal.”
“It is if you’re seventeen. Give me that.”
He shuts the door but winks at me first.
“Did you see that? That was the most cheese-ball move I’ve ever seen. He did not do that.” I pace the front porch. “I’ve got bugs crawling all over me.”
Max is laughing. “Next thing you know, you’re starring in a cheesy rock video and writhing around on the beach in your Christian bikini.”
“This is not funny.” I drop my head. “I’m a poseur. Look at this dress. I’m a poseur. I’ve got to go keep this party under control. You know, I always think I can handle Claire, but that’s not true. She always throws me a curveball.”
“That’s not Claire. That’s life, Daisy.”
I meet Max’s dark, serious eyes. If there’s deceit in them, I am blind to all of it. I can hear the party getting louder, but I’m not wooed by it. I’m more interested in knowing why Max came tonight. Why he’s willing to stay on the front porch, in the background.
“Do you think I’m not capable of handling things? Is that why you’re here?” I ask him in an almost accusatory tone.
“I’m here because God told me I should be. I suppose I’ll find out.” He raises his brows mysteriously.
“Maybe I should wait and find out with you.” I step a bit closer to him. “Do you think?”
He grins, and I feel warmed by his presence. Safe. “I’d be honored if you would.”
I sink to the porch steps and pat the bricks beside me. Max sits beside me, and I can feel his leg touching my own. We talk about everything, from international politics to our rap names, well into the evening. Time seems to stand still.
Kids come. Some I recognize, some I don’t. The night slips away quietly.
15
The roar of the party reaches a fever pitch, and I look at my watch. “Max, it’s midnight!” My dress catches on the brick as I pull myself away.
He shrugs. “Do you turn into a pumpkin now?”
“I said I’d watch out for Claire! I have to go check on her. How did it get to be so late?”
He looks out across the driveway and the massive parking lot that’s replaced the brick path. “I didn’t do a very good job as sentinel either. I’m sorry, I was supposed to help you.”
“I’m sure everything’s fine. I’m just going to check.” I run through the house, which is now a mess. There are pillows on the wood floors, popcorn kernels on the marble, and empty plastic cups everywhere. It’s like I’ve been asleep and I’ve suddenly awoken t
o a very bad nightmare.
Max and I talked about his dreams, my dreams, and the reality that stops them from coming true. He promised to pray for me. I promised to pray for him, but the underlying current between us made me question everything I’d thought to be true about Chase. What if I wasn’t meant to have one true love?
I feel a strong sense of calm and hear a resonant voice in my soul. You were meant to have one true love, Daisy. It’s not Max or Chase. I hear it as though it were spoken directly to me, and I know my conscience is seething.
I walk through the house, opening all the closed doors. Sometimes I find couples clutched together; another room has a group of guys playing beer pong on a skateboard. “Get out of here!” I hear myself shout. They scatter like rats. In the giant foyer, someone has taken toilet paper and threaded it through the curved bannister, and it waves in the breeze from the front door. All I can think about is how laughable my perfectionism seems now. How void my vision of maturity currently seems.
The majority of kids are still in the backyard, and the band’s music forces the talking levels to screaming. At the sight, I know I have to call the police. I need help, and all I can think of is that joke about how you eat an elephant one bit at a time.
I scour the crowd, searching for Claire, but she’s nowhere in sight amid the throng of kids. The yard is massive, and yet it’s inundated with throbbing, sweaty bodies, some clad only in bikini tops and skirts—which is disturbing considering this is supposed to be a Christian party. Most of the guys are wearing screened T-shirts and skinny jeans or plaid shorts, but some of them—those with six-pack abs, it seems—are shirtless. The shapes and colors mix and swirl into a giant canvas of bodies. Bodies, I think with terror, I’ve never seen before in my life.
The grassy area is used as a dance floor, with the brick Tudor pool house serving as a stage for the band, which I’d describe as a mix of AC/DC and Jonas Brothers. I wonder where Claire found them—how any of this happened, really. It seems impossible that our small seedling of a party, in order to get noticed by our classmates, could have erupted into this. My eyes and ears will probably never recover, and the thought of having fun in this kind of chaos is ridiculous. All I can think about is Claire’s parents and the house they’ve worked so hard for, the precious treasures they’ve filled it with, and I feel so ungrateful. All the times they fed me, took me on family trips, and this is how I repay them—with a yard full of gyrating strangers.
The swimming pool in the middle of the yard is full as well, with people dancing to the beat in their own watercise class. The food in the outdoor kitchen and patio has been picked over, and there’s nothing left but bits of parsley and chicken bones, along with a banged-up keg next to the smoking barbecue. No sustenance.
“You made it!” Chase wanders toward me in a crisscross pattern, and I can’t tell if he’s drunk or pretending to be. The bottle of champagne is in his hand, and he lifts it in some kind of toast. Our Gossip Girl theme looks more like Animal House.
I clutch my BlackBerry in my hand. One call to the police and this will all be over. Claire will kill me, but that’s probably the best of my options. I close my eyes in the middle of the ruckus and pray for an answer, then Chase barrels into me clumsily. I push him off me.
“What are you doing?” I shout.
“Come on, Daisy. Let’s celebrate,” he slurs. “We’re going to be off to college and these lazy days of high school will all be over.” He whips the bottle around as he speaks. Something tells me it’s not the first one he’s emptied. “Well?” He comes close to my face, the sour smell of alcohol on his breath. “They’re all over. I get trained. I’m off to war and I might never see you again.” He nuzzles into my neck, looks up at me with his hazel eyes wide, and puckers his lower lip. “You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you, Daisy May? My sweet Daisy May Crispin. I love your name. It’s so sweet. Girl next door. But come on, Daisy. I bet you’re not so shy. Huh, Daisy?”
“Where’s Claire?”
“Claire’s celebrating! Let’s go celebrate.” He drops the empty bottle. “You know, your boyfriend tried to sell me an Excedrin instead of a roofie. What does he think I am, some kind of idiot?”
I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. My heart stops for a moment as I realize Max told me the truth. How could I have questioned it? He came to the party and never left the front porch for us.
“What’s a roofie?” I ask in my best innocent voice.
He laughs. “It’s a relaxing pill. You know, for people who have a hard time relaxing. They’re perfect for high-strung people like us.” He slides to the grass. “I need to sit down.” He pulls me down beside him. “You sit down too.”
My dress, already having been pulled from the brick, will now have mud spots and grass stains. “There’s nothing more disgusting than a drunk person,” I say.
“See? Too high-strung. You need to relax. Relax with me, Daisy.”
“You’re drunk, Chase.”
“Come on. Give me a fact, Daisy. Tell me something about drunk people. You know any facts about drunk people?”
“I know they’re ridiculous. Where’s Claire?” I stand up and brush off the back of my dress.
“I told you, she’s with Greg. They’re celebrating.” He lies back with his head on the patio and his legs on the grass, and bodies gyrate over him on the makeshift dance floor. There’s a sea of kids, and I don’t recognize any of them. They’re all wearing casual shorts and ripped T-shirts, that type of thing. I feel panic as I search for a familiar face.
“Sarika!” I see her near the pool with Angie. “Angie!” I wave, running toward them. Both of them look like they’ve been pegged by a laser.
“We called the police,” Angie says. “We’re going home.”
“Where’s Claire?” I ask them.
“She was hanging all over Greg. That’s the last time we saw her.” Sarika shakes her head. “You were supposed to watch out for her.”
“I didn’t know it would get like this,” I yell over the crowd. I look to the outdoor kitchen. Two guys built like linebackers are throwing the empty keg around in anger. It crashes on top of the grill, and the dent it makes is substantial.
Then life happens as if in slow motion. I hear myself yell, “Noooo!”
I run to close the sparking barbecue as the empty keg crashes into the nearby gas line. I push the guys away, but fire erupts almost immediately and climbs the vine and wooden trellis, igniting the corner of the house. Then the sirens begin. Thank goodness Sarika and Angie had the sense of mind to call. Why didn’t I do this? Where is my sensible brain? My designated-driver soul?
“Why didn’t I do this?”
Chase curses. “The cops! I gotta get out of here!” His slurring has evaporated, and he runs like the wind. I’m stunned as I see the back of him getting smaller in the distance.
My hero is a complete zero. It can’t be true.
“Where’s Claire?” I ask everyone I pass, but they’re all running to get away from the house. I lift up my dress to cover my face and nose and enter the house. I’m pulled from behind.
“No, Daisy.” Max pulls me out of the house. “I’ll go. Where’s her room?”
“In the front, where you saw me from earlier!”
The band has stopped, and they do their best to get their instruments far from the house. The yard is nothing more than garbage, empty cans floating in the pool.
The gas line is still open, and the fire quickly engulfs the whole side of the house. I run to search for the shut-off valve. My dad always taught me to get out of the house and go for the shut-off valve. I run around the house, looking for the red valve that is so easily marked at my own house, but I see nothing like it.
As I watch the flames lick the edge of the house, I have visions of an explosion and I am frantic to find the line. In my head, I recite prayer after prayer. Please, Lord, get us out of here alive. Nothing else matters. Get us out of here alive.
Greg and C
laire come running out of the house together. Claire catches sight of the flames at the edge of the house, and her face turns stone cold.
“Where’s Max? He went in looking for you!” I shake her shoulders. “Where’s Max, Claire?” I’m feeling frenzied by now as an upstairs window blows out, followed by a flash of flame. The roof has caught now, and the flames are well into the sky.
I run around the house and am met by a line of firemen. “Max is in the house,” I yell, panting for breath. “My friend Max. He went inside. In that room there! That’s where he went. Please!” I scream. “Please, get him out!” One of the firemen pushes me out of the way, and I watch as men in full gear head into the house. Just then Max staggers out of the house with a girl in his arms and collapses on the lawn. Two of the firemen immediately go to work, and I stand by, screaming out prayers. I think I’m hysterical. I just hear my own cries as I struggle for breath.
“You’re burned,” a firefighter says to me.
“No, I’m not burned. Get Max. Please!”
“Come with me,” the fireman says. He tries to put me on a stretcher, but I protest. “Max!”
Max, still unconscious, lies flat on the front porch while I’m led away. The girl who was in his arms rouses. It’s Amber Richardson. They load her into the ambulance with me, her blonde hair splayed in a sunshine pattern on the ambulance bed. It’s not the pretty sight I’d once imagined.
I never imagined I’d be in this position. I never imagined that Claire’s bright idea for a party might lead to this. I’m left to dwell on my lack of perfection as I watch the casualties of my mistakes.
I’m sorry, Lord.
I think I say something about roofies to the fireman, and it’s my last memory.
16
“Daisy!” I hear my mother’s voice. “She’s awake!! Doctor, she’s awake!”
Perfectly Dateless Page 16
