by Paula Stokes
A girl screamed at us from the big-screen TV. We all turned to watch as a man wearing a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled low swung at her with an axe. The silvery tip lodged in her forehead and blood spattered onto the camera lens. The scene cut away to another room in the house where the dead girl’s friends were giggling and doing each other’s hair.
“That’s what she gets for saying Woody in the Hoodie three times while looking in the mirror,” Parvati said. “If you’re going to be stupid, you deserve what you get.” Her voice sounded off again.
Preston gave her a look but didn’t say anything. He took a long drink from the bottle of whiskey and then turned back to his computer.
I glanced back and forth between him and Parvati. “Are you two all right? You’re acting weird.”
They both started to speak at the same time, but then the maid yelled from the top of the stairs. “Preston. Enchiladas in fridge, okay? You just heat. You need more help before I go?”
“No. We’re good, Esmeralda. Gracias,” he hollered back, without looking away from the computer screen.
“Man, you’d starve if it wasn’t for her,” I said.
He grunted in agreement. “I know. You should invite me over to your house to eat. I want to kick back around the kitchen table and have a nice family dinner.”
I snorted. “If you call Hamburger Helper a nice family dinner.” I never invited Pres or Parvati over. I wasn’t embarrassed by where I lived, but I figured they’d rather hang out in their own bigger, quieter houses.
“At least your parents make an effort.” Preston tipped back the bottle of whiskey again.
Parvati yanked me up from the overstuffed sofa. “I believe I owe you a life-changing time.”
“What’s your hurry?” I lowered my voice. “I just got here.” I wasn’t sure if I felt bad about taking advantage of Pres or if I was going into panic mode at the thought of getting to be with Parvati again. I hadn’t found the time to take precautionary measures today and didn’t like the thought of lasting only five seconds, especially in Preston’s house.
She turned to Preston and fluttered her thick black eyelashes in his direction. “We’ll be back, all right?”
“Can I record you guys?” He turned toward us and held up his phone.
Parvati threw a yellow sofa pillow in his direction, and he took aim with the squirt gun again. “You’re a freak,” she said, using a second pillow as a shield.
He rolled his eyes and turned his phone around so that he was filming himself. “Sadly, it appears there will be no footage of this epic union.” He pocketed his phone and fiddled with the gold band of his watch. “Go on. I wouldn’t want to be the guy who stands in the way of true lust.”
Parvati’s eyes narrowed. “For all you know, it could be true love.”
I coughed. Even though we’d been dating for four months, I didn’t think Parvati and I were anywhere near the L word. Not that I wasn’t crazy about her. Love just always seemed like something for people who were older. Stable. People who had their shit together.
Preston grabbed the TV remote off a glass end table. “You’re not capable of love, Pervy.”
“You wish you knew what I was capable of.” She scoffed.
I couldn’t help but feel like a second conversation was taking place in the dead space between their words. I looked back and forth again, wondering if they’d had a fight.
Pres flicked a button and axe-wielding Woodie became pulsing music videos. He punched the volume up a few notches, and his features melted into his usual relaxed grin. “Use the guest room on the main floor. And don’t say I never gave you anything.”
Parvati practically skipped up the stairs and down the hall. I followed behind her, creeping around each corner as if I might run into Senator DeWitt or Esmeralda at any moment. The guest bedroom was at the back corner of the house, its wooden door pulled tightly shut. I froze up for a moment, half convinced Parvati’s father would be hiding in the bedroom with a squadron of air force commandos.
“Come on.” She pushed the door open. The room wasn’t much bigger than the rooms at the Seabreeze, but it was nicer, with muted blue walls and pastel paintings of flowers and lakes. The bed was wide, with a fluffy gray comforter. Parvati collapsed backward into the center of the mattress, pulling me down with her. Threading her fingers through the belt loops of my jeans, she pulled my body up against hers, her mouth finding the tender spot she’d been sucking on earlier. “Max time,” she murmured. “My favorite time in the whole world.”
I rolled her over so that she was on top of me. Her skin glowed. Her eyes were dark tunnels, made even deeper by the thick eyeliner goo she was wearing. “Are you guys fighting?” I asked. “Things seemed kind of tense downstairs.”
“It’s fine.” She brushed her lips against mine. “I think he’s pissed about something online. Probably lost more money.”
“Are you sure? Because I always felt like he was into you—”
“Preston is only into Preston,” she said. “And I’m only into you.”
I loved the way she said it. So matter-of-fact. But I didn’t want Pres to be pissed at us. I didn’t exactly have a lot of friends. “I don’t know, Parv—” My voice cracked in the middle of her name.
“Oh, that’s so cute. You’re nervous.” Her fingertips expertly undid the button of my jeans and whatever I’d been planning to say died on my lips. “I’ll relax you,” she said. Pushing my shirt up to my armpits, she kissed her way downward from my chest.
My muscles went weak. I sank deep into the soft mattress, like it was an ocean and the current was pulling me under. My breath caught in my throat. I was drowning, in a good way. Nerve cells fired across my body, little fireworks that made my arms and legs twitch. Parvati slowly worked her way back up, landing soft kisses on my abs and chest until we were eye to eye and I was staring into those dark hollows again. She tugged her slippery dress over her head, and the heat of her body made my heart stutter. Blood pulsed hot in my veins. I muttered something, a combination of words that didn’t make sense together.
She laughed her tinkly little laugh. I grabbed a condom from my wallet, and we quickly lost the rest of our clothes.
Parvati took the foil package from my hand and opened it. “I got this.” I watched her for a moment, my eyes taking in every inch of her bare skin. Then I pulled her tight against me. Her thick hair fell around my face like a tiny cave. The room disappeared as we started to move together.
Time passed. Slowly. Quickly. I had no idea. Wave after wave crashed down on me. I just kept moving. Faster and faster until everything blinked hot. I exhaled forcefully and Parvati collapsed on top of me a few seconds later, her body slick with sweat.
We lay there, motionless, for several minutes. “God, you are so amazing.” I buried my face in her hair.
“You too,” she said, lifting up so that I could see her face. Her eyes were shining; her mouth curled into a wild smile. “Still feel tense?”
“Maybe a little.” I grinned. “Why? Are you up for a replay?”
She dragged one fingernail down the middle of my breastbone. “Pres said his mom won’t be home until after midnight.”
“Oh yeah?” Fake or not, this was going down on the books as Preston’s best party ever.
About twenty minutes later, Parvati and I got dressed and then laughed at our failed attempt to remake the bed. The comforter hung crookedly over one side and was lumpy where I had tried to tuck it underneath the row of feather pillows.
She shook her head. “I hope Pres has Esmeralda on speed dial. It’ll take someone trained in the fine art of bed-making to fix this.”
“I know, right?” I said. “Let’s go find him and see if he’ll share those enchiladas. I’ve kind of worked up an appetite.”
Preston was still downstairs, the television now muted. He was typing out an email, his fingers rattling the keys with machine-gun-like ferocity. When he saw us, he minimized the screen. “I trust you guys didn�
��t break anything?” He scanned both of us up and down. “Nobody needs medical attention?”
“The pillows might need a little fluffing,” Parvati said.
Preston snickered. He slouched back in his chair, relaxed, like he’d fixed whatever was bothering him. Or maybe he was just drunk enough not to care anymore.
“I owe you one, Pres,” I mumbled, slicking my still-damp bangs back behind one ear.
He smirked. “Wait until you get the bill.”
It made me think about Liars, Inc. again. About alibis. I wasn’t the only guy in school who struggled to be alone with his girlfriend. Would I have paid for the opportunity Preston just gave us? Hell yeah. Suddenly the idea of coming up with cover stories for classmates in the same situation made a whole lot of sense. After all, it wasn’t like we’d be hurting anybody.
FIVE
SO WE DID IT. WITH Preston’s and Parvati’s help, it took only a few days to spread the word about Liars, Inc. across the entire junior and senior classes. They were an unbeatable team when it came to publicity work. Because of her office assistant and newspaper connections, Parvati knew the head of every clique. As the new football captain and host of the school’s biggest homecoming party, Preston knew just about everybody. I handled the leftovers—detention regulars, special-edders, a handful of juvenile delinquents from the alternative wing. PR wasn’t really my gig. I was the man who got his hands dirty.
By the beginning of December, I had set up two alibis and was “under contract” to sign a number of semester failing notices. Parvati was developing a specialty for calling kids in sick. She had the perfect fake-mom voice, altering it to be a fake aunt or fake grandmother as the situation called for. Preston was more of a marketing and promotions guy, but he had a regular customer from his calculus class who paid in advance to trade quiz papers, since “he couldn’t get a grasp on differential equations,” whatever the hell that meant.
Liars, Inc. was on pace to make over two thousand bucks before Christmas, and I knew exactly what I was going to spend my windfall on: an awesome present for Parvati. She had bought me a new surfboard for our three-month anniversary, and I wanted to surprise her with something equally amazing. If I had any money left over, I’d pick up something for Pres too. Then again, what could you buy for the guy who had everything?
“How do you feel about camping?” Preston asked, startling me out of my reverie. We were in the cafeteria. The whole area was decorated with garlands and paper snowflakes, even though Vista Palisades never got any snow.
The usual crowd of jocks and pom-pom girls turned toward Preston when he spoke, but they went back to their own conversations just as quickly when they realized he was talking to me. Across the room, Parvati was chatting up a table of sophomore tennis players, probably spreading the word about Liars, Inc. As I watched her, I wondered if things were getting out of hand. Sophomores were young and dumb, and the more people who knew about us, the better the chance that a teacher would find out.
“You want to go camping?” I asked dubiously, dipping a trio of limp french fries into a puddle of ketchup. I was pretty sure Preston never did anything that might take him outside the cell service grid. Especially lately. I hoped he wasn’t gambling away his inheritance as we spoke.
Pres looked up from his lap. “No, but what if we say I did?”
I blotted my mouth with a greasy napkin. “Huh? I don’t follow.” I could still see Parvati, leaning over the table, her barely-there miniskirt exposing several feet of tawny skin. How did girls know exactly how far they could bend over without flashing the really good stuff?
“I’m saying I need my own cover story.”
That got my attention. “For what? Your parents are never home.”
Preston dragged a single fry through his ketchup, leaving a bloody trail across the bottom of his cardboard tray. “Dad’s back from D.C. for the holidays. And I want to go to Vegas this weekend.”
I coughed into my hand. “Do you really think Vegas is a good idea?”
Pres stared down at his fry with distaste. “I’m not going to gamble, Max. I can do that anywhere. I want to go see a girl.”
“What girl?” I wanted to believe him, but it seemed unlikely that the poster child for Gamblers Anonymous would just happen to meet a girl who lived in the gambling capital of the world.
“Who cares what girl?” Then, seeing my look, he added, “I met her online, if you must know.”
I laughed out loud. “Dude. You came in here and basically took over the school. You could get any girl you want.” Dropping my voice, I continued, “Including Astrid Covington. Why are you hitting on desperate internet chicks?”
Preston glanced down the table at Astrid, who was busy giving her pom-pom minions a lecture on the importance of eyebrow plucking. “Astrid is made of plastic,” he said. “And anyway, it wasn’t like that. I met this girl playing online poker, not whoring around a dating app. She seems cool, so I want to meet her.”
“Are you even sure she’s a chick? Maybe you’ve been playing poker with some dirty old man.”
“I’ve talked to her on the phone, Maximus. It’s no big deal.”
I craned my neck to get a glimpse of the phone in his lap. “I know you got a picture on there. Let me see her.” Just then I heard Parvati’s distinctive bell-like laugh over the dull roar of cafeteria conversations. I turned in the direction of the noise. She had finished talking to the sophomores and was standing in line at the cash register with her usual tray of wilted spinach and soy milk. The guy in front of her said something and Parvati laughed again.
Preston followed my gaze. “She really has you whipped, doesn’t she?” he asked abruptly.
“What? I—” It had been over a month since the fake party at Preston’s house, but things between Pres and Parvati still seemed a little tense. I didn’t want to say anything that would make the weirdness worse. I watched her bat her eyelashes at the elderly cashier, who in turn flushed red and dropped the change all over the counter. “It’s not like that . . .” I trailed off, because it kind of was. We both knew it.
A smile quirked at Preston’s lips. “Do you think she’s all in lurve with you too?”
“No idea.” I knew she was into me, but Parvati wasn’t exactly romantic. “Why? Did she say something?”
“No.” The fluorescent light reflected off Pres’s polo shirt, making his blue eyes look almost gray. “But even if she did, it’s not like you could believe her.”
“Come on. She doesn’t lie to us.” Just everybody else.
Preston slipped his phone into his pocket. “You don’t think so?”
Damn it. I bet he did have a thing for Parvati. Maybe she called him out on it the night of his “party,” so he hooked up with some online girl to feel better. That would explain everything. Parvati and I never should have had sex at his house. Maybe you never should have started dating her, if you thought he liked her first.
No. Not fair. He knew her first. He had his chance.
I sucked down a gulp of soda. “So what’s this mystery woman’s name?” I asked, eager to change the subject.
“Violet.”
“Sounds hot.” I raised an eyebrow. “She’s not some lonely stripper, is she?”
Preston grinned. “God, I hope so.” He cast a look back over his shoulder. Parvati was grabbing napkins from the condiments station. “So you’ll do it?” he asked quickly. “Just between us? I figure the fewer people who know, the safer it’ll be.” His jaw tightened. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only one I can really trust.”
I nodded, but it wasn’t like Parvati would rat him out. Pres just didn’t want her to think he’d gone all rebound with some fugly internet girl.
“I’ll tell my parents we’re going to camp out at the beach this Saturday,” he continued. “I’ll meet you there and even help you set up the tent if you want. Once it’s dark I’ll sneak off.”
“Wow, that’s really going all out,” I said. “Do you want to brin
g the boards and actually catch a few waves before you go?”
“Nah, we’ll have enough stuff as it is. Besides, the water gets cold at night, and the current can be a bitch.” His face tightened as he said this, as if he was remembering some past fight he’d had with the ocean.
I had only seen him struggle once: during his second surfing lesson. Against my advice, he went after something a little too epic, wiped out, and almost drowned.
I was on the beach at the time. I saw the surfboard shoot out from beneath Pres’s feet and watched him plummet into the water. He was no dummy—he made for the shore immediately. But he couldn’t escape the series of waves that crashed over him, slamming his body around like a washing machine and pushing him toward the ocean floor.
I left my board on the beach and raced into the surf, swimming deep beneath the surface to avoid the churning waves. I managed to get a grip on one of Pres’s ankles and pull him out of the impact zone, but not without nearly getting in trouble myself. Panic had apparently set in, and Preston fought me as I tried to rescue him. We’re lucky he didn’t drown us both.
Later, as we knelt in the wet sand, gasping for breath and coughing up seawater, I realized he’d split my lip out in the surf.
“Sorry, Max.” He pulled his rash guard over his head and held it to my mouth to stanch the bleeding. “I’ve never felt like that before—I guess I lost it a little.”
“Felt like what?”
“Like I was really going to die.” Preston looked back at the ocean for a moment, at the two pieces of his broken board still bobbing on the waves. Then he turned toward the parking area. “I owe you one.”
“No worries. Life-saving is included in the lesson fee,” I joked.
We never talked about that day again, but it felt like the moment I stopped being Preston’s surf instructor and started being his friend.
SIX
December 3rd
