by Sarah Bumpus
“Anyway, I got to go. I just wanted to say hi.” He waves at us, and runs back to his group.
Seth has a look of complete horror on his face. “What the hell was that about, Joy?”
Hmm, maybe it’s time I catch Seth up to speed.
“And you’re just telling me this now? Why were you hiding it? Don’t tell me you have a thing for him?” Seth says with annoyance.
“What? No…” I grab Seth’s hand and pull him closer.
“Bryce got offered a scholarship but I’m tutoring him because he was practically failing history. It’s not just him, I’m tutoring Carver Halsey, too,” I throw in. “Don’t be butt hurt just because Bryce forgot your name.”
“Oh please, Joy,” he rolls his eyes. “I’d rather he didn’t. That guy’s a douche.”
Before I can say anything in response, Seth says, “Speaking of Carver Halsey, isn’t that him over there?”
As if he heard us, on cue, Carver looks up and meets my eye. He’s standing talking with a couple other seniors, all male, I note approvingly. He appears to excuse himself and comes over to say hello. I don’t think he’s entirely pleased to see that I’m clutching Seth’s hand. I drop it quickly from my grasp.
“Hey Joy, I didn’t know you were coming to the game…You didn’t mention it to me.” He stares at Seth’s hand as if he can still see mine in it.
Funny, you didn’t mention it to me either. There is a brief moment of nonexistent conversation before Carver continues, “So are you guys going to the dance tonight?” he asks, and I know he’s trying to decipher if I’m going with Seth. After our last make-out session, he should know it’s an absurd thought.
Seth laughs and tells him that he wouldn’t be caught dead at a school dance. To which Carver replies, “I know how you feel, man.” Carver stares at me for a moment before adding, “I kind of have this thing for someone, and I’m hoping she’ll go, so I’m going to.”
Oh. I suddenly picture myself screaming through a cheerleader’s mega phone. It’s M-E…me! That spells me!
“I’m going…with Farah!” I cut in hastily. “Farah and I are going together.”
“Well, I guess I’ll see you there, then. Have fun, guys.” Carver gives a farewell wave and I will myself not to follow him like a puppy. Seth adds a dumbfounded look to the one of horror and the two blended together are not a pretty sight.
“You are so unbelievable! You hate those dance things just as much as I do! What’s gonna happen next, cheerleading try outs?”
I laugh, picturing me with said megaphone. Give me a C-A-R…Before I can finish with a V-E-R, Seth interrupts me.
“Your mom’s here right? Maybe you can catch a ride home with her. I don’t wanna stick around for this.” He starts to walk away.
“Hey, Seth, wait!”
He turns around. “If I had said I wanted to go to the dance, would you have gone…for me?”
“Seth…” I pause trying to decide if it’s a good time to him about Carver, but he takes my silence as a no.
“That’s what I thought. See all those guys over there?” he motions to the group of players, in which Bryce is included. “Those are the idiots that make my daily life a living hell. Call me names, and push me around in and out of school…Why, because they’re popular? They play football?”
Oh, he thinks I’m going because of Bryce. “Bryce picks on you?” I ask.
“The point isn’t which one. They’re all the same, Joy,” Seth replies bitterly. Then before turning and walking away he adds, “If you want to be associated with assholes like that, then I really don’t want to be associated with you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I moan to Farah’s reflection in her mirrored closet door. She is kneeling behind me running a brush through my tangled up hair. I’m sitting on the edge of her bed, wearing a sweatshirt and yoga pants.
Farah ignores me. “I think you should wear it down.” She tosses the brush on the bed and asks to see my dress. While I’m removing the plastic dry cleaning bag, Farah tells me that she’s glad I changed my mind, even if it’s only because Carver is going. To which I just shrug and hold up my dress for her to examine. “Are you serious, Joy? It’s a dance, not a tea party!” Farah exclaims in disbelief.
I look at my dress, a navy sleeveless number, with a small floral pattern. A crocheted ivory shrug is sitting on the hanger over it. I wore the outfit to a cousins wedding last year. “It’s all I have! This is kind of last minute and all,” I say in my own defense. “It’s not like I had time to go shopping.”
She looks me up and down and touches her index finger to her lips. “I have something that will probably fit you.” Farah walks over to her closet. Robotically, she starts pulling out articles of clothing and drapes them on the bed.
“I am so not wearing that!” I say, eying a lace-up, leathery, corset thing.
“Relax! I know what I’m doing,” Farah calls from the depths of her closet. “Here it is.” She proudly holds up a form fitting, coral mini dress. It has one shoulder that pulls down into an empire waist, with subtle ruching down the length of it.
“I loved this so much when I saw it, I didn’t care that it was a size to small. I’ve never been able to squeeze into it, but you’re a little smaller than me so it probably will fit you.” She takes it off the hanger and pulls off the price tag with her teeth.
“This is a surprise, I can’t picture you wearing it,” I comment as I finger the material.
“Yeah, well…I’m not all Joan Jett at heart,” she smirks like she’s been caught with her hand in a cookie jar.
I watch her from behind as she selects what to wear for herself, and don’t believe it to be true. Not the Joan Jett comment, but the notion that the dress wouldn’t fit her.
She looks thinner.
Why am I just noticing this now? Is all the late night partying taking a toll on her, or is it something else? I know she’s always been self-conscious about her weight, even though she has a great body. As if sensing my eyes on her she turns around and puts her hand on her hip, “Are you going to try it on or what?”
“Yeah, totally,” I tell her, hastily shaking the thought away. Farah’s my best friend. She would tell me if something was wrong. I’m not going to ruin the fun of this night for her. Decision made, I yank my clothes off and slip the dress over my head. I manage to work the clingy material down over my body and the dress stops mid-thigh. Doing a complete spin in front of Farah’s mirrored closet door, I determine it looks alright.
“Wow! It looks amazing, Joy!” Farah stops and admires me, “especially with your hair down. What on earth would you do without me?” she jokes.
Farah decides on a long sleeved, sequined sheath dress, in black with a deep v neck, that she just ‘happened to have lying around’. She secures her strawberry curls up into a bun on top of her head, and outlines her eyes heavily in black eyeliner, then completes the look by slipping into a pair of patent leather pumps. Farah applies make-up to my face, a bit more subtle than hers, then goes to her closet and throws a pair of low heeled silver wedges at me. Of course they’ll be a little tight but judging by her look, I don’t have a choice in the matter.
Pulling into the school parking lot, I start to feel anxious and begin to question my choice of attire. As we walk through the parking lot, I self-consciously pull down at the hem of my dress, trying to cover myself up a little bit more. Stubbornly, like a shrunken wool sweater it won’t budge, and I’m forced to give up.
Why I am even here in the first place?
Because Carver will be here, and that answer makes me feel even more anxious. My stomach growls, angry that I was too nervous to eat anything before going to Farah’s.
We pass Bryce’s jeep on the way in and I try to imagine how he spent the rest of his day. After Seth left me, I hoped to find Carver, but apparently he decided to not stick around for the game. Reluctantly, I found my mom and actually watched the entire thing
with her. In the final possession, Bryce was able to drive the offense far enough up field that the Sea Hound’s kicker was able to win it with a field goal, so I know he had some celebrating to do.
I shake the thought of him away as we hurry to the school’s entrance, out of the cold night air. Suffering through all that time with Missy doing the planning, was worth it. The decorations around the gymnasium actually look amazing. There are cranberry and gold streamers twisting about the ceiling and I wonder who they suckered into climbing that high to hang them. Matching balloon are scattered about the freshly polished hardwood floor. The lights are dim and there is a hokey looking DJ, wearing big head phones, set up on risers towards the back. He’s bobbing his head up and down to the music like one of those velour dogs you see perched in the window of an old lady’s car. So far he appears to be the only one enjoying the beat, because the dance floor is empty, even though there are a ton of students already here.
Near the entrance to the girl’s locker room there is a large rectangular table with food and beverages laid out. A glass bowl with some sort of pink punch concoction is in the center and the refreshments have attracted a small group of students who are loitering around the table. I swallow, only to find my throat is full of Styrofoam. I suggest getting a drink, and Farah and I make our way over to the spread.
Scooping out a cup of punch, I quickly down it for relief, then proceed to refill it immediately. Farah grabs a can of soda and we make our way to sit at a table off to the side. I nervously sip at my punch and we take a moment scan the gym. Right away I see Bryce, standing near Missy. He’s surrounded by a small group of football players and their dates. I have to admit he cleans up nice. His usually out of control hair is styled, but not overly gelled or stiff. He is wearing a white dress shirt with a tie striped in the school’s colors and I think about how cheesy this would look on anyone else but him. Bryce has opted to wear khaki chinos instead of the unavoidable black dress pants that his teammates are all wearing, and looks as if he belongs at a prep school instead of a silly North Tide dance.
Missy’s in her glory, surrounded by a separate clique of girls, most likely gossiping about everyone else at the dance. She looks perfect as usual, with her hair secured in an up-do, a few loose tendrils falling down her back. Her dress is light teal, strapless with a fitted bodice, and has a bubble skirt of shimmery tulle. Her slender legs are accentuated with high, stacked, matching heels. Looking further around the gym, I don’t see Carver.
I guess the DJ must be getting a sore neck, because he puts on some cheesy, seventies sounding, slow number. By this time all the females present are itching to dance and manage to drag their dates out onto the dance floor. Slightly depressed, I swig the rest of my punch and make my way back to the refreshment table to see if there is anything chocolate around.
“Looking good, Joy!” cat calls my ex Ben Sweeney, who sneaks up behind me as I’m scoping out the choices. He’s been in most of the same honors classes with me over years, and we don’t have any bitterness towards each other.
Trying to decide between a cupcake or a brownie, I opt for the brownie. “Thanks, Ben. So do you,” I reply. Hoping it won’t go to his head and lead to an invitation to dance, I quickly add, “Have you seen Carver Halsey around at all?”
“Yeah…he’s here somewhere, but I wouldn’t worry about him tonight. There are plenty of other guys ready to have some fun!” He does this awkward little dance and raises his cup in the air. I give him a half smile, and refill my glass. Grabbing my brownie, I make my escape as quickly as possible. I attempt to make my way back over to Farah, and still not used to the consigned shoes upon my feet, I stumble a little. Sipping my punch, I stop dead when I finally see him. Carver, looking amazing in a dark, slim fitting sport coat and jeans, with his hair neatly tucked behind his ears. He is in close proximity to the dance floor talking…I squint…wait, no, laughing…with some blond senior, whom I can’t at the moment identify. I feel a twinge of jealousy, and even more so, annoyance.
The DJ switches to a popular hip hop song that I’ve heard so many times, I think I’ve been brainwashed into liking it. Standing there, I finish my brownie and down the last of my punch. Suddenly, I’m more than annoyed. I’m angry that I’ve made an effort to wear this ridiculous dress, that I’m actually at a North Tide function by choice, and Carver hasn’t even noticed me, after blatantly saying he wanted me to come.
Well, guess what? I am here, and I will get him to notice me. I toss my cup in the trash and try to pull down the hem of my dress only to have the same result as before. I hold my head up and make my way across the dance floor. I grab Bryce by the shoulder and pull him from the conversation he was taking part in. As he turns around I start grinding up to him in time with the beat of the music. Bryce’s look goes from that of bewilderment to appall in a matter of seconds.
“Joy? What are you doing? Are you drunk!?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Drunk? Am I drunk? No…all I had was some punch…
“I must be if I’m dancing with you!” I laugh.
He grabs my arm and I stop dancing. Well, my lower half does, my head is still spinning and I’m starting to feel slightly queasy. Bryce now has a mixture of concern and anger on his face. The gym starts spinning faster. I start to see little shimmery black dots, moving with the ebb and flow of pop music, and I know I’m going to puke.
I need to leave now.
Turning abruptly, I make for the exit. Running as fast as the tight silver shoes will allow, I manage to make it outdoors and locate an inviting boxwood shrub just outside the doors to the parking lot. Thank god everyone is inside by now because I just can’t hold it. I kneel down into the bush as a fire-y coagulation of pink and brown expels from my mouth. Holding the back of my hand to my lips doesn’t help, and I start to heave again.
I feel a cool hand collect my hair and bring it back into a ponytail. It’s Carver, and with his free hand, he uses his fingers to brush back a few loose strands along my temple. The 1% sober part of me is completely mortified, while the 99% drunk me is feeling rather smug that my plan worked. Not quite the way I intended, but worked never the less.
Moments later Bryce comes exploding out the double doors and sees Carver bent over me. He glares at him and then crouches down next to me. “Joy, are you OK?” He puts his hand on my back and his bulky size forces Carver out of the way. “Let me drive you home.”
Not wanting to leave Carver, I try and protest but have a hard time standing up. I grab for the nearest anchor which happens to be Bryce’s arm. Carver crosses his and stares at Bryce. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Colton. How do I know you haven’t had any alcohol as well?” he accuses, throwing him a smirk.
“You know I don’t drink, dude… and I know where she lives. Does it look like she’s in a state to give you directions right now?” he throws right back at Carver, not quite in his face, but close.
Wait a sec…are they arguing over me?
Bryce scoops me up easily, like I’m a mall Santa’s sack of fake presents, and lifts me over his shoulder. My arms are dangling freely down his back and he’s wrapped his own around my knees. Angry at not having a choice in the matter, I start hitting his back with my fists. I try to kick my way out of his grasp, but Bryce’s hold is too strong and he carries me off in the direction of his jeep. Carver just stands there, arms still crossed, watching us go. As we get further into the parking lot, he becomes a dark shadow, silhouetted by the flood light mounted over the entryway.
Finally acknowledging defeated, I give up and relax my body. I’m tired from throwing up and just now starting to realize exactly what has happened. Bryce unlocks his Jeep and loads me into the passenger seat. As he’s fastening my seatbelt, I chance looking at his face. Wincing, I regret it instantly. He looks pissed. His lips are set in a tight line, and his tie is askew, a result of my struggling against him. I try to think of something to say but can’t muster up the right words. He just slams my door shu
t and moves around to the driver’s side.
We ride in silence. I lean my head against the cool glass of the window, trying to absorb as much as I can, willing it to sober me up completely. After pulling into my driveway, Bryce turns off the engine and stares at the steering wheel a moment before finally speaking. “I can’t believe it. You, of all people, getting wasted like that!”
He turns to face me. “Do you even know why I don’t drink? It’s not because of staying in shape for damn football like everyone assumes!” He slams his right fist down on the dash. “It’s because of your dad, Joy! How could I put the very thing that caused his death into my body and actually enjoy it?”
I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face. I look down at my lap and feel a warm tear slide down my cheek. It leaves a round splotch on my dress that I wish could be made permanent, forcing the thing to never be worn again.
“I didn’t know it was spiked,” I admit. Even though it’s truth, it sounds like a lame excuse. I just don’t know what else to say.
“Just rest up, OK?” he looks straight ahead and turns the key in the ignition.
I nod and stumble out of the car. Our eyes meet briefly before I shut the door. Bryce backs out of the drive way and leaves me again. This time, though, it’s no fault but my own.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
My alarm wakes me Sunday morning and I fumble to turn it off. It keeps ringing…Ringing?
Realizing it’s my cell phone, by the time I locate it I’ve managed to establish that it’s after ten in the morning, and I have a killer headache. “Hello,” I croak.
“What happened last night?” Farah, of course! I feel bad that I completely forgot all about her during my escapades at the dance.
“The punch was spiked,” I say, as if this will explain everything.
She giggles. “I know and they still don’t know who did it. Well, when you’re feeling better, check yourself out on YouTube. You’re actually not a bad dancer!”
