“This is a pivotal moment,” Arden continued, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “Do we want to lead totally superficial lives? No way. We have to stop accepting everything at face value, like we did with Alex Ritter. ‘Oh, he’s the most crushed-on guy at this school since Joe Lefort graduated, let’s just fall down and worship him.’ Or like, ‘Let’s keep eating lunch at this generic popular table because everyone wants to sit there, even though it’s super crowded.’”
“And loud,” put in Terry.
“Extremely,” Arden agreed. “It’s time to start living more intentionally, making conscious choices so we can manifest our own future—” She broke off at Lydia’s forceful throat-clearing.
“The thing you need to know about Arden is that she reads a lot of those ‘hey loser, fix your life’ books,” Lydia informed me, flicking one of her long blond braids over her shoulder. “How to revolutionize your existence in five minutes. Step one, buy this book. Step two, check out my line of yoga mats and water bottles. That kind of thing.”
“Excuse me,” said a clearly affronted Arden. “Some of us didn’t plan our entire career at the age of seven. We’re still searching.”
Lydia gestured at me with her can of sparkling water. “I’m just explaining to Mary what she’s getting into.”
I wasn’t sure what my face was doing, but my shoulders might as well have been carved from a block of stone.
“It’s nothing bad,” Arden hastened to assure me. She took a deep breath before releasing a rush of words: “I hope you won’t be offended, but I have a feeling you might be our good luck charm?”
“No,” I replied, after mastering my surprise. “That’s not offensive.” I could think of much worse things to be called.
“Oh, good.” Arden shifted forward on the bench, clearly relieved to have that behind us. “Because I was thinking about yesterday, and how close we came to disaster. I mean, I was ready to push Terry right into you-know-who’s arms. The only thing that saved us was you.”
Heat rushed into my cheeks. I had no idea how to respond. Fortunately, Arden wasn’t finished.
“What kind of person does something like that?” she asked. “Stepping up to help people.”
I shrugged, hoping the answer wasn’t a busybody.
“The kind of person you want to have in your corner. A quality person.” Arden lifted her brows in a significant manner. “If you get what I’m saying.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it again. I did not, in fact, get it.
“Am I coming on too strong?” Arden glanced from my face to Lydia’s. “I don’t want to smother you, Mary, so tell me if this is too much too soon. I like things to be super clear, so I’m just putting it all out there.”
“She wants you to be our fwend,” Lydia baby-talked.
“Sorry, did I not say that?” Arden shook her head, the sun bringing out glints of magenta in her hair. “It’s just, you have the kind of energy we want in our lives. I like to be around people I can learn from, who are on an upward journey. Trying to figure out what it all means.”
“Getting a little woo-woo,” Lydia murmured.
“Okay.” Arden pressed her palms together. “Bottom line. I think we’d be good together. The four of us.” She looked hopefully in my direction.
I swallowed hard. “That sounds really good to me.” This may have been the understatement of the century.
“Fantastic!” Arden blew out a long breath. “Whew. I am sweating right now. That was like asking somebody out, times ten.” She fanned her face with the paper bag from her lunch. Terry passed her an extra napkin.
“So.” Lydia played with her necklace as she considered me. “Old books. That’s your fandom?”
“Yes.” It would have been silly to pretend otherwise.
“And is there a lot of death?” Terry asked, dark eyes eager.
“See, I pictured them being more about relationships,” Arden put in. “Like love stories, only messed up.”
I screwed the cap back on my water bottle while I thought it over. “It’s all that, but other stuff too. Like power, and who has it and who doesn’t, and how oppressive society can be with its rules and restrictions, especially for women. Class conflict. Being judged by appearances. How one mistake can ruin your life.”
“Pretty much the story of our lives, am I right?” Arden poked Lydia in the shoulder.
Lydia’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t know how excited I can get about a time that was basically, Men Control Everything, They Do What They Want. Oh wait, make that White Men. Even more than now. It’s like, ‘Yay, let’s be more oppressed!’ No offense,” she added, glancing at me.
“Actually, a lot of them are women’s stories, written by women.” I tried not to sound like I was disagreeing with Lydia, who was by far the most intimidating of the three. “They’re the heroines. And even when they get shafted by society, the books make you see how tragic that is, because they have these rich inner lives. It gives them a voice.”
“Exactly!” Arden pointed a potato chip at me. “Maybe they couldn’t fix all their problems, because patriarchy, but we can. It’s about taking control of your destiny. We can learn from the past. ‘Heads-up, don’t get owned.’”
“That’s how I think about it.” My heart raced. Was I courting public ridicule all over again by talking about these things? “I don’t want to be a victim, or a villain, so I try not to make any of the mistakes I already know about.”
“Or let your friends make them,” Arden added, with a significant look at Terry. “Like dating the wrong people.”
“There are plenty of those,” I agreed.
Arden’s eyes widened. “At MHS?”
“In books. But maybe also at our school. I don’t really know anyone else, so it’s hard to say.”
“But we do. Know people, I mean. Or people who know people.” Arden flung out a hand. “Wait. I’m having a brain wave. That should totally be our goal, don’t you think, Lyds?”
Lydia squinted at her. “Having brain waves?”
“To show Mary the ropes,” Arden corrected. “See the sights, meet new people, try all the things they didn’t have at her old school. Give her the complete Millville High experience.”
“What about Terry?” Lydia asked.
“Terry’s new, but not new new. She’s coming from a different school, but it’s like Mary’s from a different century.” She offered me a quick smile. “In the best way possible.”
“Uh-huh,” said Lydia, who did not seem to find this analogy as pleasing as I did.
“I have a really good feeling about this,” Arden assured her.
“You have feelings about a lot of things.”
“Yes, I do, Robotica. But this one’s bigtime. And you know how much I like having clearly defined goals.”
“Arden’s mother runs an event business,” Lydia informed me. “The urge to plan is genetic.”
A fluttery feeling migrated from my stomach to my throat. “It sounds almost like a season.”
“I guess we could make it a fall thing.” Arden’s furrowed brow suggested this was a significant scaling back of her plans.
“Not that kind of season,” I said. “There used to be a tradition where a young woman would make her debut, usually at a ball.”
“Like a debut-tante,” Arden put in.
“Exactly. After that she’d officially be ‘out.’”
Terry’s mouth opened in an O of surprise. “Out as in—?”
“Letting down her skirts, changing her hairstyle, going to grown-up social events. Once you made your debut, you were eligible for courtship, so your chaperone would plan a ‘season’ to introduce you to everyone, mostly in hopes of finding you a husband.”
“So pretty much like high school,” Arden said.
Lydia raised a hand, index finger extended. “Except for the teen bride part.”
“Obviously,” Arden retorted, rolling her eyes. “That’s just how they did it back in the day. They were pr
obably in a hurry to lock it down before they lost their teeth. We can focus on other things. Personal growth. Fixing your skirts, like Mary said. Which I totally love, by the way. It feels”—she cupped her hand as if summoning the right word—“classy.”
Lydia stood and began gathering her things. “You know what’s not classy? Pit stains. We better start walking so I don’t sweat all over myself.”
“I can’t wait until Thursday,” Arden sighed as we began the return journey. She must have seen the consternation on my face. “It’s my birthday. Sweet sixteen. And I think we all know what that means.”
“Limousines and a DJ?” Lydia teased. “A sheet cake with your face on it? Renting out a hotel ballroom?”
“Yeah, no. Great-Aunt Aggie’s birthday is the same day, so we’re going to her house for dinner. It’s a whole thing. But on Friday I get my license.” She waggled her brows. “Just in time for the party at Kaitlynn’s.”
Lydia pinched the pink fabric of her T-shirt away from her chest, fanning it for air flow. “So we’re going?”
“I think we should. It’s the first big event of the school year, and everyone will be there. What better way to kick off the season?”
There was a beat of silence before Lydia spoke. “What’s with the TV announcer voice?”
“I’m in my feelings, okay? This is going to be epic.”
“It’s not going to be that epic,” Lydia tossed over her shoulder, to where Terry and I were walking side by side. “My curfew is eleven.”
Arden shushed her, thumb and fingers clamping together like a sock puppet. “Don’t spoil the moment.”
Dear Diary,
Parties at my old school: The same minuscule guest list every time. Allergen-free snacks. If things got wild, magic tricks.
Parties in books: Gossip and games of whist. Piano ballads. If things got wild, rolling back the carpet for a quadrille.
Parties at Millville High: ???
M.P.M.
Chapter 7
The thumping bass seemed to emanate from inside my bones. The sternum, to be exact. It was Friday night, and we were standing in front of a two-story house on an otherwise quiet cul-de-sac, preparing our souls for what lay on the other side of the door.
Arden looked nervously from me to Terry. “Um, yeah, so I thought it would be a little more chill.” Her smile lacked its usual wattage. “But don’t worry. If it’s a nightmare, we can leave. I have lots of other things on my list for Lady Mary’s season. You don’t mind if I call you that, do you? Like from Downton Abbey?”
I shook my head, dazzled by the prospect of such a glamorous nickname. Or any nickname bestowed by someone outside my family.
“Great! Okay then.” Arden paused in the act of turning to the door. “Listen, once we start meeting people, if any of them are bad news, pass it on. Dark secrets, evil tendencies, a twisted past. Whatever.” She gave me a conspiratorial wink before raising her hand to knock.
The door flew open before she made contact. The noise from the stereo punched the night, followed by a chorus of hyena-like shrieks. A guy in a dripping T-shirt staggered past, clutching a large athletic shoe (in addition to the two on his feet).
The music cut off abruptly. A few seconds later, a slower, smoother beat took its place.
“Right.” Arden straightened her shoulders. “Maybe it’s starting to calm down.”
“You’re a real glass-half-full kind of person,” Lydia murmured, following her across the threshold.
With Arden in the lead, we wedged and twisted ourselves along the front hall. The crush of bodies was borderline claustrophobic, and I felt at least one other person’s sweat slick the bare skin of my arm. At the same time, part of me thrilled at the unaccustomed sensation of being in the thick of things, especially when no one looked askance at me or demanded to know what I was doing there. Even Terry slipped past without undue notice, likely because she was looking at the floor, and all anyone could see was the part in her hair.
The hallway opened onto a living room. There was enough space now that I could lower my arms. Arden made a beeline for a girl with a nose ring and lavender highlights. The two of them embraced, Arden holding on to the girl’s shoulders as they took turns speaking into each other’s ears.
“That’s Kaitlynn,” Lydia explained. “She and Arden were in some kind of club together. Or maybe it was a camp. The possibilities are endless.” The three of us had settled into a pocket of empty space beside a leather love seat. A few feet away, Arden squeezed the other girl’s arm before working her way back to us.
“Okay,” she said, swirling a finger in the air. “Let’s circulate.”
I was afraid she meant separately, but when no one else peeled off, I followed them up a step into a formal dining room, where the only refreshments appeared to be a forlorn plate of celery sticks. From there we passed through the kitchen, a smaller room with a large-screen TV where we were nearly deafened by video game explosions, and into another hallway. Arden paused beside a half-open door. The music pulsed from the other side like a living organism.
Terry shook her head. “No basements.”
Arden blinked. “Oh. Well, that’s where the dancing is, if you want to check it out later.”
As we started moving again, Terry edged closer to me. “Horror Movie 101,” she whispered.
More shoving and squeezing brought us back to the living room. This time Arden led the way to a secluded spot against the wall, between a floor lamp and a potted palm.
“At a party like this, it’s good to do a lap first,” she explained. “See who’s here. And who isn’t.”
I got the feeling this was supposed to be a dun dun duuun moment, but the implication was lost on me.
Lydia shrugged. “You knew Miles wasn’t coming. He never does.”
“Thank you for the reminder, Lyds. That’s very helpful.”
“Who’s Miles?” Terry’s question relieved me of the worry that I was the only one who didn’t know.
“My bae.”
“Your what?” I asked.
“Bae,” Arden repeated. “My man. Significant other. Honey bear. All that.”
“You mean your beau?”
“It’s pronounced boo, actually,” Lydia corrected.
Was this another of those words I’d only ever read on the page, leading me to invent my own pronunciation? I made a mental note to check later; for now, the more important revelation was that Arden had a boyfriend. I was immediately curious, both about the courtship experience in general and the specific identity of her paramour. “Is he a sophomore too?”
“Miles goes to Memorial, in Waterford. He’s pretty much the star of their debate team.” Arden tossed her hair in a way that said she was trying not to brag but couldn’t help herself. “But if we could focus for a second on someone who is not bae material, I was trying to tell you that Alex Ritter”—her voice lowered to a whisper—“isn’t here. Kaitlynn said he showed up about an hour ago with Megan G., but then she saw him head out the door with Eva Moskowitz.”
I wondered if either was the girl who’d been hand-feeding him at lunch the other day, or if these were new conquests.
“Wow.” Lydia’s tone was grudgingly impressed. “You weren’t kidding, Mary. Dude gets around.”
“I told you.” Arden patted my arm. “Mary is very wise. She’s looking out for us. Did my own brother tell me any of this important information? No, he did not. But like I said, we don’t have to worry about you-know-who bothering us tonight. We can people watch in peace.” With a sigh of contentment, she settled her shoulder blades more comfortably against the wall. Terry moved sideways to make room, tucking herself partway behind the plant.
“What do you think so far?” Arden gestured at the loose groupings that filled the room. One knot had formed around a game board, but most were engaged in conversation, a dozen different stories unfolding at once.
Lydia leaned across Arden. “She means have you spotted any creepers yet.” Her brow
creased. “Is it just me, or does it feel like we should have night vision goggles and then Mary does the voice-over like, ‘Here come the cheetahs, gathering at the watering hole’?”
The last part was delivered in the gravelly British accent common to nature documentaries. Unfortunately, I hadn’t spent years observing the nocturnal habits of teenage wildlife. My face must have betrayed my qualms, because Arden gave my forearm a reassuring squeeze.
“No pressure. We’re just soaking up the atmosphere.”
“And the reek of body spray,” Lydia said, not quite under her breath. She glared at the guy walking past us in a cloud of cologne. His long shorts and bleached bangs seemed designed to give off an improbable surfer vibe, considering our landlocked location.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Lydia’s gaze was still fixed on the pseudo beach bum. As we watched, he approached a girl with a deep tan and lip gloss so shimmery it looked like crushed pearls. She fluttered her lashes; he leaned close enough that his hip bumped hers.
“That’s Preston Hicks,” Arden explained. “He’s been dating Allison Grant for ages.”
I nodded slowly, though in truth I wasn’t sure why an intimate tête-à-tête between a guy (however overscented) and his longtime girlfriend had so thoroughly scandalized Lydia and Arden. Surely that sort of thing was par for the course at high school parties?
“That’s not Allison.” Lydia jerked a thumb at the shiny tan girl, whose neck smelly surfer boy was now nuzzling.
Terry sucked a breath through her teeth.
“I know, right?” Arden shook her head.
“It’s so brazen,” I said.
“Super shady,” Lydia agreed. “One summer of protein shakes and Proactiv and he thinks he’s God’s gift to womankind. And poor Allison is probably sitting at home all lonely and sad, because from what I hear in band, he’s still stringing her along while he tries to upgrade.”
“Who’s she?” Terry asked, indicating not-Allison.
By the Book Page 5
