High School Hangover

by Stephanie Hale

  “Don’t get mixed up with him,” Jack demands. He follows up this order with the most serious look I have ever seen on his normally-goofy face.

  “Like Leo Doolin would ever want to get mixed up with me,” I reply, laughing at the thought.

  Leo picks that exact moment to move over and congratulate me on beating him out for valedictorian. “Bested by a chick,” he teases me.

  “You were my stiffest competition,” I say, hoping I don’t come off as conceited and scare him away.

  “You said, ‘stiffest’,” Jack howls, showing his maturity level.

  “Are you going to Josie’s party later?” Leo asks, setting his intense blue eyes on my boring brown ones while completely ignoring Jack.

  “I am,” Jack pipes up. “Save me a dance, Leo.”

  “Funny one, McAllister. That humor should serve you well at community college,” Leo says.

  I know I should be happy that Leo just burnt Jack, but I can almost smell the sting of Leo’s words coming off Jack. It’s a well-known fact at Higginsville High that Jack’s father somehow ran his business into the ground and their family was forced to sell their McMansion and move into a condo. As aggravated as I still am with Jack for letting me down, I know how hard it is to be the talk of the halls. Even though I’m not popular, I could tell that people knew about my parent’s divorce, and Dad’s subsequent move, because of the pity looks I got a few years ago. I’m sure Jack has dodged his fair share of those, too.

  “Which college was it your father paid your way in?” Jack responds, his body stiffening.

  “I’m the smartest person in this school,” Leo says, gritting his blindingly-white teeth. “My dad didn’t need to buy anything for me. But at least he could afford it if I needed him to.”

  “Guys, please,” I interject, not liking where this is headed. It would be flattering to think that they’re fighting over me, but I know this isn’t the case. These two have been taking verbal jabs at each other for years. I guess it’s a guy thing.

  “As I was saying, Laney,” Leo says, composing himself, and refocusing his intense icy blue stare at me, “I would love to see you tonight.”

  My heart flutters in my chest. I have waited two years for Leo to talk to me about something besides the grading curve, and now, on the last time we will ever be together in this school, he finally decides to make his move. I feel like I’m going to pass out and my brain can’t seem to form a cohesive response.

  “She’ll be there,” Mom answers for me, sneaking up behind Leo’s imposing build. Jack exhales loudly and stomps off.

  I just stand there nodding like a bobble head.

  *****

  Much to Grandpa’s dismay, we skipped the buffet. Mom is acting a bit insane and rushed us home to start primping me. She has been trying to push her designer clothes and shoes at me with the intensity of a drug dealer trying to get me hooked on crack.

  “I’ll look like a Vegas showgirl,” I say, eyeing the red, strapless gown she picked out for me. To my ultimate horror, I have just found out that we are exactly the same clothes and shoe size. It’s not that Mom doesn’t dress nice, actually, quite the opposite, but I’m more of a khakis and T-shirt kind of gal.

  “What about this one?” She asks excitedly, tossing the red dress on my bed and holding up an emerald green halter style dress that I don’t immediately hate. If I wore a jacket over it I would almost be fully clothed, unlike most of the other options she has presented me.

  “I don’t hate it,” I answer unenthusiastically. Mom’s face lights up like a Christmas tree as she delicately hangs the dress in my closet.

  “I have the perfect shoes to go with it,” she says, scurrying off to get them.

  I’m trying to remember how happy it is making Mom helping me get ready for tonight but her obsession with clothes and shoes has always been a sore spot for me. I know as Karen Mathers, real estate agent, she has to dress a certain way to impress her clients, but I’ve always assumed that Dad is the one footing all of the bills. Every time I see her drag home a new pair of shoes, I can’t help but think of Dad working more to pay for them.

  He is already a workaholic, but it still makes me feel bad for him. I’ve only seen him twice since he moved from Missouri to Tennessee. We text daily, but his job keeps him flying all over the world at a moment’s notice so it’s hard to coordinate actual visits. I keep trying to convince him to Skype so I can actually see him, but for some reason, he is totally against it. Having a technology based relationship is getting harder and harder, I’m starting to forget things about him.

  “Check these out,” Mom says, flashing a pair of black leather heels at me.

  “I’ll break my neck,” I say. Besides, I see the red soles on the bottom of the heels and realize how expensive they are. I may not subscribe to Vogue but I do know a few things about fashion. I don’t want my clumsy butt ruining an expensive pair of shoes that Dad paid for.

  “No, you won’t,” Mom assures me, and I don’t have it in me to put up a fight.

  “I’m going to do your hair and makeup, too,” she says excitedly, pulling on the ponytail I had my blah brown hair pulled back in for graduation.

  “Please don’t make me look like a freak,” I beg.

  “When I get done with you, Jack is going to be following you around like a love sick puppy all night,” she promises.

  “Leo is going to be following me around like a love sick puppy all night,” I correct her.

  “I like Jack better,” she states, while curling fat sections of my hair.

  I’m reminded of our not-so-distant battle of the wills over my choice in colleges and I decide it isn’t worth it to try and change her mind. She just doesn’t understand that I have to go to college in Tennessee. I’ve been with her for three years and now its Dad’s turn. Even Dad battled with me, insisting he wouldn’t be around much, but I’ll take whatever I can get. Besides, I’m going to be super busy myself, so it isn’t like I’ll be waiting around to see him.

  Mom hums contentedly while she rolls up the remaining sections of my hair. It’s been a long time since we’ve done anything like this together. I try not to let the memory of the last time creep into my mind, but it does anyway. It was right after the divorce was final and Mom whisked me away to a day spa for a treat, only to suggest halfway through our hers-and-hers body wraps that she wanted me to legally change my last name to her maiden name. The woman purposefully bought me a body wrap so I couldn’t storm away. Needless to say, I refused.

  We fought so hard about the name change. I had already given up my father, I wasn’t about to give up the one thing of his that I had left.

  “You have the most beautiful eyes,” Mom says, sweeping shadow on my lids. I just smile and fight back the urge to tell her that they match Dad’s.

  It’s not that I won’t miss her because I will. Sometimes I still feel like a little kid because I just want my parents to get back together. I don’t even know what happened. There were no shouting matches, or tawdry affairs. One day they were in love, and the next day they weren’t. At least that’s how it seemed to me. Maybe they had years to come to terms that it was over between them, but it was news to me, and I’m still mourning.

  “Okay, look up,” she says, carefully brushing mascara onto my virgin lashes. I have no doubt that I will wipe half this crap off my face as soon as I walk out the door, but I’m going to let her have her fun.

  “I want you to come see me in Tennessee as much as you can,” I say, needing to clear the air about my choice of colleges. Mom’s hold on the blush brush she just picked up tenses.

  “I know you want to be close to your father, but it isn’t too late to go somewhere around here,” Mom stresses, tears welling up in her eyes.

  “We’ve talked about this. It’s what I want.” She just doesn’t get it. Her parents live with us, she gets to see them every day of the week.

  “Of course I’ll come see you,” she perks up, surprising me. “But is it
okay if we don’t spend every day of the next two months talking about you leaving?”

  “Deal,” I agree. Wow, it feels like maybe she is finally starting to accept my decision. Instead of relief, I almost feel trepidation. I push it down, reminding myself that I’ve made the right decision.

  Mom brushes my newly curly hair out and it cascades down my shoulders. I’m not much of a girly girl but I do hope that all of Mom’s work gets Leo’s attention tonight.

  “Erika told me there’s an entire weekend of graduation parties. I want you to spend the weekend with her,” Mom springs on me, and then blasts an aerosol cloud of hairspray around my head so I’m forced to keep my mouth shut.

  “I already packed a bag of cute outfits and everything you’ll need. I want you to take this one weekend and really live like an eighteen-year-old.”

  I wait for the hairspray cloud to dissipate to respond. “You are so weird. You want me to spend all weekend partying with people I’ll probably never see again?” I ask, amazed, but also a little freaked out. The idea of one party was bad enough, but an entire weekend of parties? I’m not sure my social skills are up to this challenge.

  “Just humor me,” she says, helping me slip into the green dress. She zips up the back as I slip my feet carefully into the black heels.

  “You know people are going to be drinking, having sex, and doing God knows what else,” I tell her.

  “I trust you to use your best judgment,” she says turning me around so I can see my reflection.

  Holy crap. How in the world can a dress, some makeup, and a different hairstyle be responsible for the image looking back at me? I can’t fight the giant smile spreading across my face. I might actually have a chance at Leo looking like this. Still, I feel sort of self-conscious wearing a sleeveless dress so I slip my white cashmere cardigan on top of it. Mom just rolls her eyes but doesn’t say a word.

  Erika beeps her Jeep horn from the driveway. Mom snaps a quick picture of me with her cell phone, probably so she has proof that there was one time in my life when I looked like a real life girly girl, then shoves an overstuffed bag and my purse at me.

  “You can’t be serious about not letting me in the house,” I say, clutching my keys for dear life. The very idea of an entire weekend of socializing seems as exhausting to me as running a marathon backwards.

  “I’m dead serious. You’re forcing me to let you go to college over a thousand miles away, so you’re going to do this for me,” she insists.

  “What if they’re mean to me?” I ask, finally voicing my biggest fear.

  “Just be yourself and everything will be fine.” As if she knows anything about the brutal high school social scene.

  I suddenly realize she has been backing me onto our front patio the entire time. In one fluid motion, she grabs my keys, slams the door, and deadbolts it.

  “I love you, but I don’t want to so much as talk to you until Monday,” she says, her voice muffled through the door.

  I’ve been evicted for the entire weekend. I turn toward the driveway, terrified, to face my fate.

  Chapter Two

  Driving around with Erika on a good day is heart-attack inducing, but today is especially bad, because instead of watching the road, she keeps sneaking glances at me.

  “Take me somewhere so I can change,” I demand, glancing at her casual sundress and flip-flops.

  “Not happening, Wentworth,” she says, taking a corner so fast I practically fall out of her door-less Jeep. “You look stellar and this is going to be an amazing night,” she says, cranking up her radio.

  I reach over and turn it down. “Not night. Weekend,” I tell her in the same voice a Death Row inmate uses to order their last meal.

  Erika swerves to the side of a residential road and slams on the brakes. “You’re spending the entire weekend with me?” she asks, her eyes looking like a startled bush baby.

  “She told me she doesn’t want to see me until Monday. Today is Friday,” I say, trying to hide my horror because I don’t want Erika to take it personally.

  “Your mom is so AWESOME,” Erika screams, scaring the bejeezus out of a little kid riding his bike next to us on the sidewalk.

  “Oh yeah, she’s really awesome. Throwing her teenage daughter into a vile pit of promiscuity, underage drinking, and all around inappropriate behavior for the entire weekend,” I rant, knowing I’m being overly dramatic, but I can’t help it.

  Erika peels out nearly making an innocent recycling bin roadkill. “You know you might actually have a good time if you lighten up and take the book out of your ass.”

  She’s right. I’m being a jerk. Erika lives for stuff like this and I completely dissed it. She’s never done that to me.

  “Sorry. I’m kind of nervous,” I admit.

  This is the first time I’ve ever been to an actual party. I always at least make an appearance at the big events, like Homecoming and Prom, but I always bow out of the after parties, knowing my time could be spent better doing more practical things, like studying. I’ve just never felt like people were that interested in me. Everyone is always friendly, but I wonder what they really think of me.

  “Everyone really likes you, Laney,” she says, sensing my concern. “How about we stay for an hour and if you aren’t having fun, we’ll leave and go see a movie?”

  Her eyes are filled with cautious optimism and I realize that she is so used to me letting her down that she really never expected me to come with her tonight. How many times have we ended up at the movies because I was too chicken to be around other people? This party may test the limits of my comfort zone, but I owe it to Erika to stick it out for once.

  *****

  Dance music is blaring as we roll up to Josie’s cul de sac. Josie’s parent’s enormously long driveway is already full of cars, as well as most of the street on both sides close to her house. There must be over a hundred people here already. Erika cruises down the block until she finds a spot to whip her Jeep into.

  “What if somebody calls the cops?” I fret.

  “Her family owns this town, including the cops,” Erika reminds me.

  Josie’s family owns a chain of pet stores across Missouri and a popular pooper scooper business here in town. I guess slinging poo has its advantages. It’s not like I’m going to be drinking anyway, so I guess I don’t need to over think things and worry about getting in trouble. Although Mom would probably give me a raise in my allowance if I managed to get arrested this weekend. She’s always so worried that I’m not having any fun. I keep trying to explain that there is nothing more fun than getting the best grade in the class.

  “Aren’t I kind of overdressed?” I worry, spotting a few girls wearing denim cutoffs and tank tops heading toward the party.

  “You look freaking amazing. People aren’t even going to recognize you. Wait, that didn’t come out right,” she says, but I start laughing.

  She’s right. I’ve been sporting a ponytail since about seventh grade, and the most makeup I’ve ever worn before tonight is a little bit of blush and some lip gloss.

  “I guess I can always change later if I feel weird,” I say, gesturing to the bag Mom packed for me. I set my purse in my lap and toss the bag in the backseat. Erika lunges at my purse like a lion going in for the kill on its prey.

  “Oh my God, she let you borrow her Birkin bag?” She practically screams while caressing the buttery-soft leather bag Dad sent me as a graduation gift.

  “That’s mine. Dad sent it to me for graduation,” I say, surprising her.

  “Holy crap, it feels like it’s made out of butter,” she says, rubbing it against her cheek.

  I knew as soon as I unwrapped it and saw that it came with a dust bag and certificate of authenticity, not to mention Mom’s gasp, that it was a very pricey bag. Instead of being overcome with joy, like Erika obviously would have been, I felt disappointed that Dad must not know me at all if he thinks I would want a purse that costs as much as my entire freshman year of college te
xtbooks. He must have thought the bag was really special if he picked it out just for me. It was tempting to list it on eBay, but I realized that he would want to see me carrying it when we see each other in August.

  “I’d give it to you if I could,” I tell her, wishing I could enjoy the purse as much as Erika obviously would.

  “Your dad has good taste,” she says, placing it gently back in my lap. A memory of Dad barely being able to match his socks comes back to me. What if he wasn’t the one who picked out this purse for me? Maybe he has a girlfriend and that’s why he seemed so hesitant about me attending college in Tennessee. My stomach flutters wondering if I’ve made a huge mistake.

  “Are you ready for this?” Erika asks, pulling me out of my thoughts. I clutch my purse like a security blanket.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I lie, swallowing my college doubts. I can only deal with one crisis at a time.

  We carefully navigate the cobblestone cul-de-sac toward Josie’s parent’s so-not-humble abode. The homes in this neighborhood are ridiculously huge. My mom’s perfectly-coiffed hair and blindingly-white smile catch my eye from one of her real estate signs anchored in a neighbor’s yard. Under her name and cell phone number, the sign reads, “Higginsville’s Top Real Estate Agent.”

  “Huh? She never told me she was the TOP real estate agent in town,” I say.

  “Duh, that’s why her face is all over every bench in this town,” Erika clarifies. “Your mom’s had more guys sit on her face than Amelia,” she teases, referring to our school’s rumored easy girl. I try to ignore rumors like that because who knows what people are saying about me.

  “You’re bad,” I say, but can’t help giggling. I guess I never really paid attention to the fact that Mom’s face is plastered all over town. The sign has a smaller star-shaped tag attached that boasts the selling price of the house.

  “Nine hundred thousand dollars?” I shout.

  “Chump change,” Erika teases, following my eyes to the sign.