High School Hangover

by Stephanie Hale

“Yeah, I’ll write a check today,” I joke. Mentally I begin calculating what four percent of nine hundred thousand dollars is. I overheard Mom say her commission is four percent. That means Mom would make thirty-six thousand dollars for selling that one house! Surely that can’t be right. I mean, I know she enjoys her career but I always just assumed it was something to keep her busy.

  My heart catches and I wobble when I spy the name, Doolin, on a mailbox belonging to a giant brick Tudor next to the house up for sale.

  “That’s where Leo lives?” I ask Erika. It’s not as if Higginsville, Missouri is some metropolis but I’ve never really paid much attention to where my classmates live.

  “That is indeed where His Highness resides,” she confirms, rolling her eyes. Erika isn’t exactly the president of Leo’s fan club, although she has never really given me a good explanation why. A moving van looms in the driveway. The van has a giant picture of a cowboy riding a horse inside the shape of the state of Texas on it.

  “Leo isn’t moving to college already, is he?” I ask, panicked. I hoped to bump into him at least a few more times before I leave for Tennessee. I heard through the school grapevine that Leo decided on the University of Texas. I guess we are both ready to get the heck out of this state.

  “That’s one of his dad’s moving vans,” she reminds me.

  “Oh, right,” I say, slapping my palm against my forehead. Leo’s family owns a moving company and even though he could skip going to college and step into a management position at his family’s company, he is way too motivated to take advantage of nepotism. I can’t help but fantasize that we would make such a perfect couple.

  “You’re too good for him,” Erika blurts out.

  “Why do you say that?” I ask. It’s not like Erika not to like someone. She is about the only person in our school that can comfortably co-mingle with any clique and be accepted.

  “He’s a jerk,” she says, very matter-of-factly. I love Erika but without some kind of concrete proof, I’m not going to change the way I feel about Leo.

  “I respectfully disagree,” I tell her, knowing that just because we are best friends doesn’t mean we have to agree about everything. The chances of Leo and me actually dating are about the same of Pluto becoming a planet again, so it’s not like it is going to jeopardize my relationship with Erika. But he did say he wanted me to come tonight, and I do look very un-Laney like, so maybe there is a miniscule chance.

  Suddenly I am very excited to get to this party. I sling my purse over my shoulder and pick up the pace while concentrating on not breaking my neck in these heels. Erika is a jumble of nervous energy next to me babbling about her devious plan involving a head-turning bikini to finally get Ronnie Baker to notice her.

  I take a deep breath as we maneuver around all the cars in Josie’s driveway following the thumping bass. Erika stands on her tiptoes and unhinges the giant wooden gate, the only thing standing between me and a backyard full of rowdy partygoers.

  I can do this, I think. I got a 2300 SAT score: how hard can one little party possibly be? Besides, if I make an idiot out of myself, I just have to hide for a few months, then it’ll be time to go to college and I’ll never have to see any of these people again.

  The gate swings open to reveal a carnival midway scene of scantily-clothed teens. There is so much insanity packed into this backyard that I don’t know where to look first. Someone lets out a bloodcurdling scream and I see Parker Zinn, thankfully clothed this time, fly over the Olympic-sized pool on a crude zip-line crafted out of a clothesline and bicycle handlebars. He lets go at the last possible second, barely missing smashing his coconut on the concrete pool ledge, and drops into the water.

  My eyes drift toward bursts of flame periodically erupting from a corner of the yard. For a second I wonder if Josie hired a real life fire-eater. Then I see Justin Tate holding a can of aerosol hairspray and a lighter to Ryan Farney’s bare butt. Ryan bends over and from the look on his face seems to be working incredibly hard to fart. Soon another blast of flame shoots from his undercarriage. That one must have singed his privates because he whimpers then belly flops into the pool.

  “Is it always like this?” I ask Erika, Mom’s heels starting to back themselves toward the exit. I felt less intimidated at my college entrance interview.

  “You’ll be fine,” Erika assures me.

  I try to believe her but as we pass by several people bobbing for condoms in a kiddy pool, I’m not so sure. I feel like Audrey Hepburn from Breakfast at Tiffany’s if she just walked into Superbad.

  “Check it out, a photo booth,” Erika exclaims, grabbing my arm and dragging me toward it. Even I have to admit it is pretty cool that Josie rented a photo booth for the party. At least I’ll have photographic proof that I attended one crazy party in my lifetime.

  Erika pulls the curtain on the booth back and we both scream. I recognize the freshman cheerleader in the booth alone, but my brain can’t seem to process what she’s doing. Erika quickly yanks the curtain closed and steers me toward another part of the yard. Was that a pool noodle?

  I almost stumble over a guy passed out in the grass. Someone has taken a black Sharpie to him. They gave him thick black eyebrows and a Borat mustache.

  “Look, a trampoline,” Erika says, trying to distract me.

  It works because as soon as we reach the trampoline and witness Ashley White and her DDD’s jumping topless, I almost forget all about the photo booth. Guys flank the circumference of the trampoline in various stages of salivation.

  “Jesus, Ashley, get a bra on,” a stressed out Josie yells out as she jogs past us doing damage control. I do not envy Josie’s job as host of this party.

  “Let’s get a drink,” Erika suggests, clearly worried that I’m going to bail.

  We make our way over to a bar covered in green grass skirting with several tiki masks hanging on the front of it. A clear plastic container sits on the bar filled with tons of keys. Erika drops hers in before I can offer to carry them for her. Oh dear God, I’m going to be trapped here all night. I try to think happy thoughts about curling up in my window seat with a novel so that I don’t have my first full-blown panic attack.

  “Hello, Erika,” Derek Burns says from behind the tiki bar. I try not to care that he doesn’t say anything to me. It’s not like we ever talk or anything, but Derek’s non-greeting isn’t doing much to calm my nerves. Is this how everyone is going to react? It’s going to be a long night if everyone is going to ignore me. I smile at him then can’t help but drop my eyes to his chest and lower because it appears he has nothing on. If he does, it is well hidden under the bar.

  Embarrassed, I glance down at a sign dangling off the front of the bar explaining that everyone will be shuttled home in the pooper scooper company van. Since there is no way I’ll ever be able to find Erika’s keys, I guess we’ll be riding home in a neon green van that has the company name, Dingleberries, emblazoned on the sides of it. This night keeps getting better and better.

  “Hey, Derek,” Erika flirts, batting her eyelashes at him while trying to peek behind the bar.

  “Who’s your friend?” Derek asks, causing me to glance behind us, but no one is there.

  “It’s Laney, you dork,” Erika giggles. That’s when I realize that Derek wasn’t being rude, he didn’t recognize me.

  “Laney Wentworth?” Derek asks, astonished.

  “Hey, Derek,” I say, giving him a shy smile.

  “Dang, girl,” he says, moving his eyes up and down me for a few seconds. I think his reaction is good but who can tell for sure. “That was quite a speech,” he says.

  “Um…thanks?” I reply.

  Derek moves toward a giant cooler giving us a peek at his miniscule red Speedo. Erika wags her eyebrow approvingly at me and I have to force myself not to crack up.

  Derek doesn’t bother waiting for a response and hands us two bottled beers. Erika immediately takes a giant swig from hers, apparently seeing Derek has left her parched. I grip min
e, knowing that I’ll have to find a place to ditch it later. I don’t have anything against alcohol, I just don’t participate in anything that might make me lose control of myself, whether it’s beer drinking or skydiving.

  We pass several deck chairs occupied with people passed out or making out trying to find a place to sit. I feel like I do when I accidentally turn on Cinemax After Dark, except this is real life. Apparently the zip-line tuckered Parker out because he is now sprawled out naked with a blow-up doll on top of him. I have seen entirely too much of Parker’s anatomy for one day. I consider snapping a picture and sending it to Mom to show her the cesspool she forced me into, but I don’t. There are so many things I’ve already seen tonight that I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to un-see.

  We make our way over to an empty patio table covered in discarded beer bottles and cigarette butts. Erika scoops the trash in a nearby bucket and I use a towel to wipe the table down. I lower myself down as lady-like as possible in a plastic chair and gingerly set my purse and beer on the table a good distance away from each other. We both look toward the shimmering aquamarine pool illuminated by the flames of the tiki torches. The pool is filled with topless girls in thongs and guys in their birthday suits. I’ve seen more naked people in the last five minutes than I’ve seen in my whole life. There isn’t enough beer at this party to make me undress in front of everyone.

  At the table next to us April Stevens is getting a tattoo. I cringe thinking there is no way this is even close to a sterile environment.

  “How’s it look?” April asks, wincing as the tattoo needle digs into her back again.

  Erika and I take a peek at the giant tattoo that starts at her left shoulder, crawls down her entire back, and ends above her right butt cheek.

  “What it is?” Erika asks, as confused as I am.

  “A dragon. Like the one Lisbeth Salander has in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo,” April replies.

  I glance at the guy doing the tattoo. He has so many holes punched out of his face that he probably spouts a leak anytime he takes a drink. I don’t really think the tattoo artist and April were on the same page with their dragons. The dragon on April’s back is Puff the Magic Dragon, the sweet cartoon dragon, who is nothing like the elaborately wicked black dragon that Lisbeth has inked on her back, but I’m sure not going to be the one to break it to April.

  “Is it totally bad ass?” April asks eagerly.

  “You’ll be surprised,” Erika and I answer in unison. The tattoo artist tells April he’s done and she bolts for the house to find a full-length mirror. Something tells me April won’t ever forget her graduation night.

  Erika seems to be doing a visual sweep of the entire party, no doubt checking for Ronnie. She slinks down into a chair, her target locked at seven o’clock. I glance in that direction to see Ronnie tossing some blonde underclassman into the pool. Erika’s shoulders slump a bit and she drops her gaze.

  “You better get that teeny-weeny bikini on and get out there,” I order her. She looks up, surprised.

  “You don’t mind?”

  “You don’t have to babysit me,” I assure her, even though I already have to fight the urge not to grasp onto her arm for dear life. “Besides, we’re going to be together all weekend.”

  “I love how you say that in the same tone of voice that a doctor uses to deliver a fatal diagnosis,” she says, half out of her chair already.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I’m looking forward to it. I really am,” I say, channeling the same inner strength I used to deliver my commencement speech.

  She eyes me for a minute, not sure if she buys it, then smiles and bolts the rest of the way out of her chair like she is on fire, rushing inside to get changed. I grab the chair with both hands to avoid bolting inside after her. I’m terrified to be left alone out here.

  I try to appear interested in the large movie screen hanging from the back of Josie’s house. Every few seconds, it refreshes, and a new text message or picture pops up. A phone number rolls across the bottom of the screen with a number that anyone can use to text to the screen. So far it’s just a few shots of a wet T-shirt contest taking place in Josie’s basement and some shots of random guys raiding her mom’s closet and parading around in lingerie and fur coats. A pic of a hysterical April as she sees her tattoo for the first time pops up.

  I just hope a picture of Leo making out with someone doesn’t pop up. Now that I’m actually here, feeling as out of place as a one-legged person in a potato sack race, I realize that I have zero chance with Leo.

  “Aren’t you that girl who gave the downer graduation speech?” Stacey Easton asks, as she waltzes by in a bikini top and sarong.

  “Guilty as charged,” I admit to her retreating figure. I really should have gone with my grandparents rap idea.

  I busy myself with my phone so I look like I’m doing more than just sitting here taking up oxygen. I really wonder what people did in awkward situations before cell phones.

  I pull up my contacts list to look at Dad’s icon picture. He hasn’t even called today to wish me a happy graduation. Maybe he’s afraid that he’ll get too emotional. Besides, he’s in Paris and I keep forgetting about the time difference. I hate that he couldn’t be here, but when you’re in charge of a Fortune 500 company, you have to make sacrifices. I hope that someday I’m as successful as he is. Mom’s devotion to her Sunday afternoon showings, complete with freshly-baked cookies and fancy lattes is honorable, but I want more for myself.

  I click the web browser on my phone to find out what the time difference is between Missouri and Paris, France. I haven’t even had time to pull up Google when Erika comes streaking through the yard, a blur of flesh. She was being extremely conservative when she called her suit a bikini. Two circle Band-Aids would cover more than her top does, and the bottoms consist of a triangle of the smallest piece of fabric ever made held up by dental floss thin strings. She looks amazing and I can’t push down a tinge of jealousy at her boldness. I must look ridiculous sitting here in a sweater, but even though I’m broiling, it’s not coming off.

  I watch her prance to the edge of the pool, stretch her arms above her head, then when Ronnie glances her way, she launches herself into the air and perfectly slices through the water. Ronnie doesn’t waste any time discarding the blonde to start swimming in Erika’s direction. I’ve never admired her more at that moment. She always goes after what she wants. She would never sit here alone and self-conscious.

  Just then I see Leo bound through the wooden gate ducking as he goes under the arch. He straightens as Derek tosses him a bottle of beer, which he catches without missing a beat. He is wearing a crisp red short-sleeved button-down tucked into pressed khaki shorts. His cropped blond hair looks newly-trimmed, a detail I can’t believe I overlooked at graduation today. I watch him tilt his head back and take a long swig off his beer, his Adam’s apple bulging with every swallow. I have never wanted to be a beverage so bad in my life.

  I scoot back in my chair and try to appear casual in case he comes over. I look back down at my phone to avoid being busted visually molesting him. I can see a blur of red coming toward me out of the corner of my eye. My heart rate speeds up exponentially. His woodsy scent hits my nostrils and I nearly tumble out of my chair. I have to pull it together or Leo is going to write me off as a socially inappropriate geek.

  “Who knew you had all that hiding under your khakis,” he says, stopping directly in front of me.

  I force myself to look up casually, like I don’t have a clue who is talking to me. My insides turn to jelly when I meet his eyes. I would have an easier time speaking to the President of the United States than trying to converse with Leo. I end up just staring at him blankly.

  “Are you here with your boyfriend?” Leo asks.

  His question jolts my brain into action, finally. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I reply, my voice so high I probably just injured some dogs in the neighborhood.

  “I thought you an
d McAllister were an item the way he was sweatin’ me today,” he says.

  “Jack? No way. I’m totally single,” I repeat.

  “Sweet. I wanna hang out later,” he says, winking at me. Thankfully he turns and heads inside without another word because it takes me a minute to compose myself.

  Leo Doolin wants to hang out with me. ME! But what does that mean? Is he going to come back for me? Or should I go look for him? And how long should I wait? I don’t want to seem too aggressive, but I don’t want him to think I’m blowing him off either. Ugh, I’d rather retake my calculus final than try and decipher appropriate social behavior.

  *****

  After one hour of sitting alone, and two attempts by total strangers to try and lick salt off my neck while doing tequila shots, I finally work up the courage to go inside. I know that Erika would gladly come inside with me, but I can’t bring myself to pull her away from Ronnie. They have been floating on a giant raft together for about thirty minutes laughing hysterically. If Erika can bravely go after her guy then I can do it, too. I stand carefully, still not too sure of myself in these heels, swing my purse over my arm and start toward the back door.

  I can do this, I remind myself mentally. I pull open the glass door and walk into a screened-in porch area. Jennifer and Candy Jones, twins and now former co-captains of the cheerleading squad, are sprawled out on a wicker couch painting each other’s toenails. They freeze, paint brushes in mid-air when they see me.

  “This party is for Higginsville High students only,” one of them, I can’t ever tell the difference, says with the charm of a rattlesnake.

  “I’m Laney Wentworth.” I explain. “We’ve gone to school together since kindergarten.” I walk toward her so she can get a better look at me.

  “Nice try, but Laney’s not hot,” the other one pipes up.

  “Yeah, so not hot,” the other giggles. “Do you really think we can’t tell an Our Lady of the Lake skank when we see one?”

  I know my feelings should be hurt, but considering they think I’m from the all-girls Catholic school thirty minutes away where Erika swears they recruit people based on hotness, I’m actually flattered. I realize they must be standing guard over the party because OLOL girls are known for stealing all the hot Higginsville guys.