Where I Live

by Brenda Rufener

  He groans and holds his stomach. “Bad meat sticks or something.”

  I remember the convenience-store loot and ask, “Where’s Toby? I haven’t seen him since the game.”

  Ham laughs. “And you probably won’t see him again. He’s a little tied up right now. Or should I say taped up?” He flops over on his back.

  “Ham? What have you done?”

  He rolls over, shuts his eyes, and moans.

  “You’re cold.” I glance back at the door. What’s taking Reed so long? “Let’s get you inside.”

  “No.” Ham swings his arm, then kicks his legs like an overturned beetle. “I don’t want to go in there, Linden. I want to go home.”

  “Okay? Okay.” I pat Ham’s chest. He’s right. Going into the gym would be a bad idea, especially if a teacher witnessed his condition. “I’ll get Seung. We’ll get you home.”

  Ham grumbles and moans and grabs his stomach. “Hurry, Linden. Please.” There’s worry in his voice that causes hesitation.

  “I hate to leave you. Maybe you should just come with me.”

  Ham straightens his arm, points, and shoots. “GO!”

  I race for the gym.

  Inside, lights flicker and horns toot like it’s a new year. I follow the glow-in-the-dark court lines toward the locker room, glancing around for Reed and his promised towels. Midway, the crowd splits into a gap and at the head of the aisle, I see Seung, his crown, and his ear-to-ear smile. The crowd claps as Seung moves toward me. His eyes dart around the room and take in everything but me, his arms locked with his queen—Bea.

  A forearm snakes around my neck. “I told you I wasn’t king.” His breath, hot on my ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

  A part of me wants to leave. Run. Flee far from this scene. Seung and his smile. Bea, staring at Seung as if he could smash away her problems. But another part of me is left outside, spread-eagled on the grass, nearly naked and alone.

  “Towels.” I snap my fingers. “Where are they?”

  Reed points to a stack on the bench, and I race for the pile. At least I can wrap Ham in towels and scoot him to the car before the dance ends. Seung would never leave without us. I drop a towel on my way to the door but don’t stop to pick it up. I hit the side exit at full speed and race toward the garbage can. There, on the ground, lie his ripped-up vest and a tail of duct tape.

  But no Ham. He’s gone.

  “Ham!” I shout, spinning 360 degrees. “Where the hell are you?”

  I jog to the front of the school, circle around, and run to the back of the building. He could have crawled off, passed out, fallen behind a bush. But he’s nowhere I look.

  I run back to the place I first saw him and snatch his vest. The back fabric torn, the bottom frayed and frazzled with loose threads. I didn’t notice the rips before, but then again, Ham didn’t have it on. He wore duct tape instead. I step on something plastic and it squirts brown liquid onto my shoe. I pick up the bottle and squint to read the front: ULTIMATE BRONZER GUARANTEED TO COVER EVEN THE BLOTCHIEST OF SKIN TONES. Oh, Ham. What have you done?

  I scour the entire perimeter of the school before heading back inside. Ham couldn’t have crawled far unless he had help. My stomach turns. Ham said Toby was taped up, but I can’t help wondering if the tape is strong enough to hold a monster.

  When I open the gym door, the music is loud and everyone’s dancing, including Seung. He’s still smiling, too. Having the time of his life. Enjoying this moment without Ham, without me.

  Jarrell stands at the opposite door with his coat draped over one shoulder. I dart and weave through the crowd, forcing my way to him.

  “Hey, Linden,” Jarrell says when he sees me.

  I slap his chest. “Ham? Have you seen him?”

  He frowns, eyebrows fold. “Indeed.” He rubs his forehead. “Pretty sure Ham left. He said he had to check on Toby.” And the way he spits out check on Toby slugs my stomach.

  Shit. Left? How? Was one of them sober?

  Jarrell glances behind me as two heavy arms cloak my shoulders. “Let’s dance,” Reed says in my ear, although it’s more of a command than a suggestion.

  He pushes me toward the middle of the room, guiding me with his arms, while I insist, “I can’t. Must go. Have to find Ham. Need to speak to Seung.”

  Reed points at the newly crowned couple and says, “Seung’s a little busy right now.”

  Seung’s wrapped in Bea’s arms, dancing, more relaxed and fluid and all Seung 2.0. He doesn’t see me dancing with Reed. He’s forgotten I’m here. And it hits me: I’ve been searching for Ham like a good freaking friend, and Seung hasn’t even bothered to find out where I went.

  I twist Reed around so I have a clear view of Seung. I yank, then push hard to steer him, because he’s twenty feet tall. That’s when I notice, just for a moment, everyone watching me. Noticing me. Seeing me.

  I’m the girl.

  The one others long to be.

  At least right now. In this moment. Which has nothing to do with me, only Reed. Sure, it feels good to wear a fancy dress and dance with the guy everyone worships, but I don’t really want to be that girl, the one hanging on his arms and every word, for more than this instant. I want to be mopping Ham’s face and laughing with Seung. I want to be poking fun at plastic pagodas while stuffing my pockets full of egg rolls. That’s who I really am.

  I tug Reed toward Seung. We half dance and half walk, weaving through the crowded floor. Reed inches with ease toward Bea and Seung, and I realize they’re his target, too, and I’m not the only one aiming the bow.

  We turn left, right. We walk more than we dance until we reach the head of the crowd. Only one couple between us and the homecoming king and queen, and when the song ends and a new one begins, there is only space between us.

  As soon as we land next to Seung and Bea, Reed rubs his hands up and down my bare back. This is the moment when I’m supposed to get turned on. And maybe if I could let my guard down, or if Reed weren’t so hell-bent on making Bea jealous, I would enjoy this moment. But news flash, Reed. You picked the wrong girl.

  Seung’s eyes dart my way and he scowls.

  I act like I don’t see him at first and desperately wish I didn’t. Bea rubs his chest and Seung twitches his shoulders. We move beside them and Reed shoulder-bumps Bea. She whips around and laughs. Okay, to me it’s more of a cackle.

  “Nice date,” Bea snaps, and as I prepare to mouth the words nice crown to Seung, Reed snatches my chin with his thumb and forefinger and shoves his lips into mine.

  I expect his tongue to force its way between my lips, pushing and probing to get what it wants. What I don’t expect is a warm, slow stride, his mouth matching the movements of his body. I also don’t expect his fingers to graze my neck and web the back of my hair, or my stomach to wobble like Jell-O.

  When Reed opens his eyes, he finds mine never closed. He smiles and rubs my cheek with the pads of his fingers. I draw short breaths while my lungs fight for air and my stomach falters. The feeling is pleasant, and I can’t help myself, I don’t want it to stop, but when I see Bea’s bare leg hook around Seung’s clothed one, and her mouth stick to his like a lamprey, the poke jabs. Hurts. Bleeds. Bea, sucking the life out of Seung, which means I’m dying, too.

  I twist away from Reed and his weighty arms and tap Bea on the shoulder. Okay, jab her on the shoulder. She whips around and I shout, “Cutting in!” She shakes her head no and I bump her to the side. Reed steps in for backup and whisks her away. Bea’s the girl he wanted anyway, not me. But the way Bea looks back at Seung, her eyes brimming with hurt, tells me Reed is the wrong guy.

  “Where have you been?” Seung says, no longer dancing, his hands on his hips, pissed.

  “Oh my God. Are you serious?” I slap his chest and hold my hands there for a few seconds. Okay, a minute. He looks at his chest and I drop my arms.

  “Why didn’t you stay?”

  “Why would I want to?”

  He thumbs at his crown. Yeah
, I’ve seen it.

  “This is weird,” he says, eyeballing his forehead.

  “I guess Bea pulled some strings.” I smile, although it’s forced. I’m happy for Seung and his awkward confidence, just not settled with the fact that Bea’s involved.

  “Yeah.” Seung smiles.

  “Well, glad you’re happy, but celebration time’s over. Ham’s MIA.”

  Seung’s face scrunches. I tap his chest. My fingers like magnets drawn to his damn chest armor. “Found Ham sick outside. But now he’s gone. Missing. And Toby Patters is unfortunately involved.”

  “Ham will turn up. He always does.”

  I shake my head with force. “Jarrell said he might be with Toby.”

  Seung pauses. A hint of worry spreads across his face; then Bea reaches between us and snatches Seung’s arm. “Royalty’s leaving,” she snaps. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Seung turns back with saucer eyes. “Follow us!” he shouts over the cheering, clapping crowd. “Please, Linden.”

  I raise a finger. Sure. I’ll get right on that. Follow you, following Bea.

  Principal Falsetto announces that the royal court will meet in the corridor for pictures and the rest of us, peasants, are free to leave. I half smile at Seung when I slip by him toward the exit. He’s standing like a scarecrow, straw stiff.

  At the front of the school, a pack of smokers join forces beneath the awning.

  “Hey,” a girl says from the step.

  I smile and say, “Hey,” back.

  A guy with curly bangs bubbling from beneath a knit hat lifts his hand in my direction. “Want one?”

  I shake my head. “No, thanks.” Then I fall against the concrete pillar to wait for Seung.

  “What’s up with you and Man Bun?” a girl asks. She’s wrapped in a poncho and boots I’d die for.

  It takes a minute to register that she’s talking about Reed. And me. “Oh. Yeah. Reed. Me. Nothing’s up.”

  “Yeah,” she says, “that’d be weird,” and I wonder what she means exactly by that and weird. Lately, I seem to be misinterpreting what people think about me. How they view me. I mean, Toby tells the story like he sees it. Bea never shuts up. But people like Jarrell or Kristen or Reed seem genuinely interested in me. Sure, Reed has a motive, but when he kissed me, I felt it in my ankles. You can’t fake that. Can you?

  “Have you seen Ham?” I ask, not directing the question to any particular person.

  “Saw him on the field,” a guy says. “Stellar moves.” He jumps to his feet and shimmies back and forth.

  “Wasn’t he dancing with Bea?” someone asks.

  “I saw him with Jarrell. Looked like they were arguing.”

  Huh. Jarrell didn’t mention that detail.

  Knit-hat guy says, “How’d Seung swing homecoming king? Thought he was better than that.”

  I chuckle. “It’s a fluke. He doesn’t really care about the whole king thing.” At least I don’t think he does.

  “He cares,” a girl says in middrag off her cigarette, “about one thing, anyway.” She smiles, and I know exactly who she’s referring to.

  “Bea would be okay,” hat guy says, “if you duct taped her mouth.”

  “That’s vile.”

  “And wrong.”

  “That’s what she’s into. Isn’t it?”

  “Again, a horrible thing to say.”

  “Seung wouldn’t treat her that way,” the girl with the cigarette says.

  “Seung’s hot,” a girl says.

  “Agreed,” a guy says.

  “Extra hot,” they both say.

  I roll my eyes and try not to barf, even though I heart-and-soul agree. I decide to try my question again, forage for more detail. “So where did Ham go? Anyone see him leave?”

  Hat boy says, “He was in the parking lot with Jarrell. I told you.”

  Uh, no. You forgot that detail.

  He puffs his cigarette twice before I snap my finger and motion for him to pass it to me. I take a drag and cough like a barn animal.

  “Ham’s probably at Beth’s party,” a girl says. “Isn’t that where everyone’s going tonight?”

  The front doors open and laughter surges. Voices suck away the second-hand smoke and my questions.

  “Make way for Hinderwood’s King and Queen!” Complete with entourage in tow.

  Seung’s eyes widen, and his mouth drops open when he sees me. He wiggles his hand loose from Bea and I wave my cigarette in the air, pretending not to see their webbed fingers.

  I bump shoulders with members of the court and force my way inside the group.

  “Linden!” Seung snaps, and points. “Smoking? That shit will kill you.” The crowd rolls down the steps like a wave and I glance at my hand still clutching the cigarette. I wave it in Seung’s face and ignore his alarm over lung cancer. It’s not like I’m inhaling correctly, anyway.

  The group ripples into the parking lot. “Where are you going?” I shout.

  Seung walks backward. “Bea and Beth’s party. Come with!”

  I suck on the cigarette, cough a few more times, and toss the butt into a soda can.

  “Vape, Linden. Heard of it? That shit’s so unhealthy.”

  I want to shout, “So is Bea and Beth’s party!” but instead I sprint toward Gold Nugget.

  Bea cuts me off at the driver’s-side door. “You’re not going,” she snaps. “Unless, of course, you’re going with him?” She points to Reed strutting down the steps.

  I shake my head. “Whatever. Move over.”

  “The whole school saw you attack his mouth,” Bea says. “Go with Reed. You guys are perfectly matched.”

  Seung, shocked by Bea’s words, says, “You kissed Reed Clemmings?”

  Oh my freaking God, Seung. Where have you been?

  I lift my arms, and Seung snaps, “Yeah, Linden. Maybe you shouldn’t go with us.” He sounds like a puppy, all whimpers. He has no reason to be hurt. It’s not like I asked Reed to kiss me. It’s not like I kissed back. Besides, Seung is the one marching around with his fingers wrapped around Bea’s.

  I scoff. “Yeah. Well, if you see Ham, take care of him. Better yet, find me so I can make sure he’s okay.”

  “Ham will be okay, Linden. He always is.”

  I hope Seung’s right, but he’s hard to believe. If only he’d act like himself, or at least who I think he should be.

  “C’mon, Seung,” Bea calls from inside the car.

  Seung bumps me, scrambling for the passenger’s-side door to sit next to his chauffeur. He won’t even let me sit behind Gold Nugget’s wheel.

  The engine revs and Seung rolls down the window and shouts, “Come with us! Ham’s probably already there. Plenty of room in the back.”

  News flash, Seung. I prefer shotgun.

  The car windows are dark, but light enough for me to see my bag, the blanket, and my belongings piled in the backseat. Dammit. I reach for the handle as Bea kicks the car into drive. Gold Nugget’s tires spin and squeal and I’m left with the scent of rubber and a hint of rejection.

  There, in the parking lot, dressed to the nines and decorated with Grandmother Rhee’s lotus, surrounded by smokers and small-town hipsters, I scream at the top of my lungs.

  “Fuck. FUCK it! FUCK IT ALL!”

  The crowd behind me cheers.

  Maybe it was the applause that shot me with moxie. Normally I’m not a girl who seeks danger on purpose. I plan. I schedule. I prefer to know what’s happening next. It’s what living homeless has done to me. I adapt to change yet fight to keep everything the same. However, tonight is anything but normal. So when the guttural crack of a motorcycle pops behind me, I weigh all options: (1) eliminate regret, (2) rescue friends, (3) all of the above.

  First I wave for Reed to hand over his prized sheep. Then I button his coat to my neck, wrap my legs around his hips, and squeeze. I need to feel safe.

  We race down the highway, free of helmets and horse sense. I’ll admit it’s not my smartest moment, but I’m o
n a mission to save my friends. I shut my eyes as we climb the hill before Triangle Park, when I begin sliding in the wrong direction. Away from safety. Seatbelts should be regulation on motorcycles. That’s what Seung would say. One bump and I could break open, spill all over the pavement. I press my knees into Reed’s ass and clench. He mistakes fear for flirting, and shifts sideways and smiles, but who cares? If clutching his ass with my knees prevents me from hitting concrete, squeeze I will.

  We slow alongside a 1950s brick rambler overlooking the park. Cars block the drive but Reed manipulates the bike toward the tiny porch and parks horizontally. He lifts his hand to help me out of the straddle, and winks.

  He opens the front door without ringing the bell, and music booms from the basement. We walk downstairs, bumping into three guys passing in the opposite direction. They hold red plastic cups and splash beer with each stomp. At the bottom of the stairs, we’re met with low lights, beer bottles stuffed in coolers, and the smell of feet. I glance at couches in search of Ham or Seung, while Reed scans the room, too, but for different reasons.

  “Want something to drink?” His breath tickles my ear.

  “Yeah, sure,” I say, soaking up the ambience. There’s nothing more appealing than being one of the few sobers in a space full of drunks. “I want something to drink, something strong, maybe something to smoke, too.” If for no other reason than to clutch weaponry. . . . I may need to crack a bottle over someone’s head, send smoke signals with a lit cigarette.

  Reed strolls toward a cooler, opens the lid, and grabs a beer. He ignores two girls saying, “Hi, Reed,” and beelines back to me, twisting off the bottle top and flicking it onto the tile. He hands me the beer and I slurp bubbles off the top. Too much, too fast. Here’s me gagging, wiping my tongue, and looking damn desirable.

  Reed snatches the bottle from my hand and gulps. Apparently we’ve reached bottle-sharing status. I mean, we did kiss and my thighs clutched his ass, but there’s something more intimate about sips from the same bottle.

  “Want to dance?” he asks. My answer is a firm no in my head, but I reach for his waist and push him to the center of the room. His eyes go saucer big, but he’s reading me wrong. My mission is to circle the floor to search for Seung and Ham.