You Don't Live Here

by Robyn Schneider

  I poured myself a drink, mixing Coke with rum, because I knew at least that was a thing. I didn’t know the ratio, though, and when I cautiously took a sip, I suspected I was way off.

  “Hey,” Ethan called, holding out a piece of spaghetti. “You need a stirrer?”

  “Sure,” I said, grabbing it. “Thanks.”

  “It’s eco-friendly,” he said. “Save the environment, right?”

  “Where is everyone?” I asked.

  “Cole’s probably in the screening room,” Ethan guessed.

  I didn’t think I’d heard him right. But sure enough, after some wandering, I found an actual screening room, with a projector screen and reclining leather seats. In the back was a Ping-Pong table, which some boys were using for beer pong, and the screen door was open, spilling out onto a backyard deck.

  Thankfully, I spotted Cole immediately. He was wearing his Supreme hoodie and skinny jeans, barefoot, dashing around playing host.

  “You need anything?” he asked. “A drink? A napkin? A potted fern?”

  “The fern, definitely,” I told him.

  “I’m going to need to see some ID for that.” He grinned, taking a few steps closer, and staring down at me through his criminally long eyelashes. I could smell pot on him, and his eyes were dark tunnels instead of stained glass.

  “What happened last night?” he pouted. “You left early.”

  “Oh, um.” Friya had begged me to bail with her. She’d gotten ketchup on her top on the way back from the concession stand and declared she was so over the game anyway. I’d taken the ride, since I’d figured Cole was too wrecked to drive me home. “Football’s not really my thing,” I finished lamely.

  Even standing so close to me, Cole was still playing party host. He made a face, momentarily distracted.

  “Jared! Use a coaster, you heathen!” Cole roared.

  “Suck my nutsack, Colon,” some boy from the soccer team yelled back, joking.

  “Sorry. Some people have zero manners,” Cole said.

  “Who are all these people?” I asked, twisting around. I recognized a lot of them from our school, but there were dudes with full-on beards walking around.

  “Archer’s friends.” Cole rolled his eyes. “I hate it when he comes home and does this. Our parents treat him like a god.”

  “Thor, son of Odin,” I joked.

  “Nah, he’s the other one,” Cole said. “The asshole god.”

  And then he leapt across the room for a moment, being like, “Jared, I was serious about that coaster, dude.”

  He slapped one down on the table and then slunk back.

  “I like your house,” I said. “You never told me you have a screening room.”

  “It’s my mom’s.” Cole shrugged. “She’s a producer.”

  “Of movies?” I said, impressed.

  “Yeah. Well, she used to be. Now she just complains about digital.”

  “Gah! Netflix!” I said, shaking my fist.

  “Exactly,” Cole said. “Hey, come upstairs with me. I have something to show you.”

  “Okay?” I said, wondering what it was. Part of me was hoping puppy.

  Cole reached for my hand. He’d done that once before, and it was both electric and thrilling, the way mine felt dwarfed in his.

  I didn’t know where we were going, or what we’d do when we got there. I just knew that I was at a house party with a boy who liked me, and I was pretty sure, at some point very soon, he was going to kiss me. And I was going to kiss him back, and hopefully not be terrible at it. And then I wouldn’t have to stress over Whitney’s passive-aggressive comments, or worry about my place at their lunch table. Then I’d belong.

  We tangled down a hallway and through the living room, where I caught sight of Friya on the sofa. She was sitting on Nick’s lap, the two of them making out hungrily, as though their breakup had only made them more starved for each other.

  “Wow,” I said. “Really?”

  “Yep. They’ve been like that all night,” Cole said, shaking his head. “I give up.”

  “I thought they were over,” I said.

  “Nah. Friya got a thrill out of saying that because it meant Whitney had to listen to her talk, for once,” Cole said, being strangely insightful. I shot him a weirded-out look, and he shrugged. “What? Nick and I go way back. Plus Whitney and Ethan have been a thing since freshman year. Who do you think gets stuck hearing about all their shit?”

  “You contain multitudes, Cole Edwards,” I told him.

  “Twelve vitamins and minerals in every bite,” he assured me.

  And then he squeezed my hand and led me up the stairs, through another hallway and past some sort of lofted gaming area where a bunch of jacked-looking dudes were sprawled in beanbag chairs, screaming as they played Fortnite.

  We passed a laundry room, where a couple was going at it, door ajar, and then Cole stopped, told me to wait until I heard a secret knock, and disappeared into a dark room.

  He was definitely going to kiss me. Except, the longer I stood there, my heart pounding, the more I started to wonder if it wasn’t an elaborate prank. I could picture the joke easily: Cole leaving me standing outside that door for the rest of the party. Cole and Whitney and whomever else was inside, hands over their mouths so I wouldn’t hear their laughter, spying on me to see what I would do.

  Or no one in the room at all, Cole slipping out a second door, through a bathroom, leaving me alone, waiting, hoping, forgotten.

  And then a knock sounded from inside the room, and Cole’s muffled voice called, “You may enter.”

  I pushed open the door.

  The room was awash in candlelight.

  Candles flickered on his bedside table, his dresser with clothes trailing from half-open drawers, his bookshelf full of sports trophies, the stack of AP textbooks on his desk.

  It smelled like vanilla. And tuberose. And ocean breeze. And jasmine.

  And Cole was standing in the middle of it, his shirt off, the top button of his jeans undone, the Calvin Klein of his boxer briefs on full display.

  “Surprise,” he said, grinning.

  He looked like a model. Like he’d walked straight off Instagram and was standing shirtless in the center of the room. A kiss seemed too tame for him to have gone to so much trouble. My stomach twisted at the question of just how much more than a kiss he was expecting, but I tried to push past it, because I was almost seventeen, and clearly I’d missed a couple of things hiding behind my camera for the past few years.

  “Wow, you didn’t warn me we were performing a ritual sacrifice,” I joked, gesturing toward the candles.

  No one laughed.

  Instead, Cole stepped forward, putting his hands on my hips. His touch burned. I could feel my heartbeat everywhere. And he said, “I borrowed them from my mom. For you.”

  He beamed like he’d figured out the secret to the universe. And maybe he had. He tilted my face up toward his, using just one finger under my chin. His chest was all muscle, and his arms were powerful, and suddenly, he was kissing me. It was wet and smoky and minty, and I couldn’t believe it.

  I couldn’t believe he’d done this for me.

  He steered us over to the bed, and when I pulled away for a moment, he lounged backward on his green duvet, staring up at me.

  “You know what?” he breathed.

  “What?”

  “I’ve been wondering what color your panties are all night.”

  “Oh,” I said, surprised he’d been thinking about them. About me. It wasn’t like I’d been wondering the same thing about him.

  “I’ll show you mine,” Cole purred, taking my hand and gliding it down the zipper on his jeans, releasing the dark bulge of his black underwear. “Now you.”

  I had to do it, I realized. We were already here, in his bedroom, surrounded by a dozen flickering candles, fortified by rum and Coke, kissing. And it wasn’t that I didn’t want to. I was curious what it was like, and if I’d enjoy it. But I was also afraid t
hat I wouldn’t enjoy it, and that he’d notice.

  He was so handsome. With his shirt off, his jeans gaping open around his waist, he was marble, a statue of a hero they erect in the town square. Oh god, erect was really the wrong word. Now I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  Erect erect erect.

  I slid off my jacket. I had on a dress underneath, floral and short, with spaghetti straps. Against dress code. I saw Cole clock it, licking his lips. He watched as I pulled it off, as I sat there across his legs in just my navy-blue bikini briefs. I didn’t have a bra on. The straps had shown, and I’d worried one of the girls would say it looked tacky, but now, without one, I felt far too exposed.

  “Nice,” Cole said appreciatively, leaning back in bed and pillowing his arms behind his head and staring up me with dark, hungry eyes. The bruise on his forearm had turned purple, and there were small scars on his rib cage, marring his perfection. They made him seem less marble and more real. A living, breathing teenage boy, alone in his bedroom, with me.

  “What are we doing?” I asked.

  “Whatever you want,” he said, waiting for me to make the next move.

  I’d never been undressed with a boy before. But the internet is a wonderful crash course, because I knew exactly what to do. At least, I knew what other girls did in this situation. I reached for his jeans, pulling them off entirely, sliding them down his legs and then running my lips over his ankles, kissing his calves, his knees, his thighs. Working my mouth, and my courage, up.

  I glanced at Cole to see how I was doing. He was staring down at me, grinning, his cell phone propped upright on his chest.

  “What are you doing?” I asked suddenly.

  “Relax,” he said. “Keep going.”

  “You’re filming me,” I said, aghast.

  “I am not,” Cole protested.

  I grabbed the blanket at the end of his bed and pulled it over me, covering myself.

  “Show me your phone,” I demanded, holding out my hand.

  He wouldn’t give it to me.

  “Chill, Sasha. I just took some photos to look at later.”

  For a moment, I didn’t think I’d heard him right.

  “Photos?” I said, horrified. “You have to delete them! Right now!”

  “I’m not going to share them with anyone,” he promised. “Come on, you look hot.”

  I stared at him in total disbelief. How could he possibly think this was okay?

  “Cole, I’m serious,” I said, grabbing for his phone.

  He twisted out of the way, laughing, holding the phone over his head.

  He’s such a nice boy, my grandmother had said, from such a good family. He’s the right sort of person to know.

  I didn’t even know how bad they were. I just knew it was me, in a boy’s bedroom, topless, kissing him below the waist. The kind of pictures my mom had always cautioned me never to send to anyone, not even a boyfriend. The kind of photos that had undone girls at my old school.

  Cole was still holding the phone over his head, grinning, like this was all a big joke.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “You,” I snapped, tremendously angry.

  I tugged on my dress, grabbed my jacket, and got out of there. There was no reason to panic. I could fix this. Friya and Whitney would help me.

  I ran downstairs, spotting Whitney immediately. I was hoping for Friya, but Whitney would work.

  “Whitney!” I said. “I need your help!”

  “What’s up?” she asked, sounding bored.

  I explained what Cole had done, expecting sympathy, or anger. What I didn’t expect was for her to laugh so hard that she had to hold on to a weird sculptural chair for balance.

  “He paparazzied you?” she gasped. “Oh my god, that’s hilarious!”

  “Hilarious?” I didn’t think I’d heard her correctly. “He took pictures when I had my clothes off. Without my permission. And then he refused to delete them.”

  “Honestly?” Whitney said. “You should be flattered. I mean, Cole? He totally has his pick.”

  It was like we were speaking different languages, and something vital was getting lost in translation. So I tried again.

  “Whitney, this is serious,” I said, completely freaking out. “You have to help me get rid of the photos before he does something with them.”

  “It might already be too late,” Whitney said, grinning. She was enjoying this.

  “Too late for what?” Friya asked, poking her head in.

  “Cole took nudie pics of Sasha,” Whitney crowed, giggling.

  “I hope you mowed the front lawn,” Friya said. “Because I know this girl Chloe who posted soooo many bikini photos last summer, and you could completely see her muff puff in every one.”

  Whitney cracked up.

  “Oh my god, that was hysterical!” she said. “Remember how I made all those people comment about her hairy potter? She was so confused.”

  Whitney cackled.

  I stared at them, blinking, wondering why we were discussing someone else’s crotch hair.

  “Also, big news. We don’t hate Nick anymore,” Friya went on, oblivious.

  “Really?” Whitney screeched. “Tell me everything.”

  And Friya was off, talking a mile a minute about how he’d finally apologized over DM, sending like a whole novel.

  I was going to be sick. This couldn’t be happening. These couldn’t be my friends. I mumbled that I was going to get a drink, and then I staggered out into the yard. My heart was hammering, and suddenly I hated this party so, so much.

  It was grotesque and terrible, and I wished I’d never come. Ethan was wandering around, dropping pieces of uncooked spaghetti into everyone’s drinks and telling them to save the environment. Some girl was vaping into her friend’s phone. A cluster of college-age jocks was loudly playing flip cup on the patio.

  I was angry at Cole, but I was angrier at Friya and Whitney. The first day of school, in English, when I’d helped Friya avoid her ex, she’d said girls sticking up for other girls was the most important thing. But now, when I really needed her, it turned out she didn’t believe that at all.

  “Hey,” someone said. It was Lily. A few strands of spaghetti poked through her topknot, no doubt Ethan’s work. She peered down at me, concerned. “You okay?”

  I must have looked really rough if Lily Chen was stepping in. Like, sprained-ankle, face-plant rough.

  “Not really,” I said. “Actually, no. I’m not okay.”

  Lily sat down next to me. Her perfume smelled deep and woodsy, and I wanted to breathe it in until the party dissolved entirely. Until it was just the two of us somewhere quiet and far, far away from all of this.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  I explained about Cole.

  She didn’t laugh. Instead, her eyes burned with rage.

  “That asshole!” she fumed. “Come on, let’s get his phone and fix this.”

  “Really?” I said, surprised.

  “Of course,” she said, frowning. “I’m really freaking sorry he did that to you.”

  “You sure I shouldn’t just lighten up and be flattered he even wanted to hook up with me?” I said. It came out more bitterly than I’d intended, and Lily frowned.

  “Who said that?” she demanded, and then, before I could tell her, she guessed. “Whitney.”

  “And Friya.”

  “Those bitches,” Lily swore. She stared out at the backyard for a moment, all keyed up, her knees bouncing, her mind whirling.

  “I don’t even want to tell you the rest of it,” I said darkly.

  “Well, now you have to,” Lily insisted, so I did.

  “I never should have hung out with them in the first place,” I finished, shaking my head. “And I definitely shouldn’t have come to this party.”

  “Don’t say that,” Lily said sternly. “It’s their fault if they want to be garbage people, not yours.”

  She’d known all along they were
awful, I realized. And she’d thought I was one of them. I’d told her I was one of them. No wonder she’d been so cold and so dismissive.

  She certainly wasn’t being dismissive now.

  Lily’s rage was beautiful and terrifying. She was like a vengeful spirit, glittering with anger, and it made something inside my chest flutter, just a little bit.

  “Well, come on,” she said, pulling me to my feet. “We’ve got to see a douchehole about a phone.”

  Chapter 16

  LILY DRAGGED ME UPSTAIRS, THROUGH THE living room full of strangers, and then stopped at the top of the stairs, lost.

  “Which one’s his room?” she asked.

  I showed her, and she didn’t even knock. She just burst in.

  The room smelled sickly sweet, the aftermath of so many candles. They were all blown out, though. And Cole wasn’t there.

  “Shit,” I despaired.

  “Oh, we’ll find him,” Lily promised, stepping closer. “Let’s go.”

  I looked down, realizing that we were holding hands. Hers was the same size as mine, soft and a little cold, as though she’d been holding a drink for a while.

  She pulled me back into the downstairs throng, pushing her way through the party. Word had apparently gotten out, because it was even more crowded now. And I fought down a stab of disappointment as we squeezed through a packed hallway, because obviously the handholding was necessary.

  Cole was in the screening room, playing a game of beer pong, not a care in the world. He’d tossed on a hat, which sat back on his head at a rakish angle. He was laughing as he aimed the Ping-Pong ball toward his opponent’s cups.

  “Cole!” Lily thundered.

  He held up his index finger without even looking over, like, “one minute.” Like, “this Ping-Pong ball is more important than you.” And then he made his toss.

  The ball sank into the cup, and he pumped his fist.

  “Whoooo!” he crowed. And then he turned to Lily, glowing from his win.

  “What’s up, Lil?”

  “Phone,” Lily said, holding out her hand. “Right now.”

  “Jeez, better do what the lady says,” some dude hooted.

  Cole looked confused as he dug out his phone.