Besides, part of me is really hoping they’ll say I can’t go.
For the record, Sari never did ask me to disappear so she could buy me a present.
No big deal, I guess.
At dinner that night, I say, “Is it okay if I go to a New Year’s party at Erica Trager’s house?”
My mom says, “Who’s Erica Trager?”
“A jerk.”
My dad asks, “If she’s a jerk, why’re you going to her party?”
“Sari wants me to.” I push my mashed potatoes into a little mountain. “She’s all hooked on some guy.” I add this because I think it makes me sound less pathetic, making Sari sound more pathetic.
My dad asks, “Why isn’t she going with the guy?”
“Because the guy is quite ‘cool’ and dating someone else.” My parents look at each other. “She’s got some stupid crush on him.”
My mom says, “Do you want to go?”
I poke at the mashed-potato mountain. “Not really. But Sari wants me to.”
There’s a little silence. Then my mom says, “Then, okay … I guess.”
She smiles at me, wanting me to be happy she said yes.
Instead, I stick my fork in the middle of the mashed potatoes to see if it will stay standing up.
After dinner, I call Sari. “I can go.”
“Great.” She sounds hugely relieved.
“Yeah, I just have to be home, like, right after midnight.”
“Cool.” She says this like it doesn’t matter, and for a second, I wonder why. Cool because she has to be home at midnight too? Or cool because, by then, she’ll be passionately entwined with David Cole and won’t care if I am there or not?
Looking at my desk, I realize it’s time for me to stop thinking about Sari and David Cole. If I don’t start studying soon, I’m going to be in serious trouble.
Except …
Except first, I think I have to get a soda.
When I go to the kitchen, my dad’s there, washing the dishes.
He puts a glass on the drying rack and says, “How’s the studying going?”
“It’s … about to be going really well.” I get a soda out of the fridge.
“Glad to hear it.”
My dad turns off the faucet and wipes his hands. “So, this New Year’s thing.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re going ’cause Sari’s going?”
“Well, she wants me there.” I climb up on the counter and let my legs swing.
“In case this ‘cool guy’ doesn’t come through?”
I smile. “Yeah.”
“So how cool is this guy?”
“So cool he doesn’t know she’s alive.”
My dad throws his head back and laughs. I smile along with him. I love making my dad laugh.
Then he shakes his head. “I don’t know. If Sari’s got a crush on him, I’d say chances are he knows she’s alive.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, hon …” My dad shrugs in this way I can tell means he wishes I hadn’t asked. “She’s a pretty girl. Guys tend to notice interest from someone like that.”
All the happiness drains right out of me. I don’t know why. It’s not like my dad has told me any big secret. Sari is pretty, I know that. And guys do notice her. But somehow, my dad telling me that is like saying he’s noticed it too, and that makes me feel very weird.
For a split second, I want to ask him if he thinks I’m pretty. And then I totally don’t.
I slide off the counter and take my soda. “I think I need to do the study thing,” I say, and go back down the hall to my room.
6
—Hollow Planet: Thorvald’s Hammer Rana advanced with stealth. It was essential to attract no attention, for she was deep within enemy territory, and recognition meant death.
I finished my last exam five minutes ago. I am sitting in the middle stall of the bathroom.
My brain has ceased to function. I am too tired even to go home.
Don’t ask me how I did, because I have no idea. I’ve slept two minutes in the last week. My hand still feels like it’s holding a pen, and I can’t get the verb tenir in the subjunctive out of my head.
I guess I should leave. I don’t think the school is going to let me go into a coma here.
Which is basically all I want to do.
It’s Saturday. I have slept twenty-three out of the last twenty-four hours, and now feel almost normal again.
I hear my mom knocking on the door. “Jess? It’s Sari on the phone for you.”
Between the last day of classes and New Year’s Eve, Sari calls me every single day to talk about the party.
“What time do you think we should get there?”
“How ‘bout never?”
“Ha-ha. I think we should get there at, like, nine thirty.”
“Sure. Then we can leave at, like, nine thirty-five.”
Sari pretends not to hear this. “I cannot decide what to wear.”
“You’ll look great, whatever you wear.”
“Yeah, right.” Sari sighs. “Hey, can you do me the biggest favor?”
“What?”
“When you come over before the party, bring the Book?”
“Sure.”
“I want to ask it right before the party—you know, when the energy is strong.” Sari tries to say it like she’s joking, but I can tell she’s deadly serious.
“Sure, whatever.”
“Thanks, I owe you. Whatever favor, just ask.”
Unfortunately, the only favor I want is not to go to this party. I know it’s pathetic, but I’m actually a little nervous. Some of these parties have gotten pretty wild. One girl passed out once, and they had to take her to the emergency room. Another time, some guy stole something of Erica’s dad’s, and there was this whole big thing before it was returned.
A few days later, my mother tries to lay down some rules. “Be home by twelve.”
I think: Twelve? Try ten thirty. No way can I stay in close proximity to Erica Trager for three whole hours.
“And call if things get too much.”
Now she’s being bizarre. “Ma.”
“If things get out of hand, and you want us to come get you, just call.”
I can’t imagine what my mom thinks is going to happen. Like someone’s going to drop acid in my Pepsi and sell me into slavery. More likely, I’ll just puke out of boredom.
I say this to her, and she says, “I know. It’s just your first high school party, and I want you to know we have you covered if you need it.”
“Okay, Ma.”
She pretends she’s moving some hair out of my eyes, but I can tell it’s just an excuse to touch me.
Yes! I have scored three B + ’s, one B−, and an A−. Life is amazing and perfect.
At least, it would be if I didn’t have to go to this stupid party.
On the big day, I look through my closet and all my drawers and realize one thing: I have no social life.
Because, theoretically, if I did have a social life, I might have some clothes to go with it.
It’s two hours before I have to be at Sari’s, and all I have is the stuff I wear to school, five thousand T-shirts, and two revolting skirts my mom makes me wear when we go somewhere fancy.
I wonder if I can call Sari and tell her I have come down with plague.
Finally, I throw on some jeans, my most obnoxious T-shirt, run out the door, and head over to Sari’s. Really, it doesn’t matter what I wear. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I am not one of those people everyone looks at to spot the latest trends. Ooh, what’s Jess Horvath wearing? Quick, go out and buy one just like it … and burn it.
“Did you bring the Book?” This is the first thing Sari demands when she opens the door.
I pull it out of my coat pocket, hold it up.
“Cool.” She lets me in, closes the door. “Let me see what you’re wearing.”
I open my coat, show her.
She checks it out. “I think you should borrow something of mine.”
“Get real.” I pull the coat closed.
Now that Sari’s done staring at me, it’s my turn to stare at her. I’ve never seen her so dressed up. At least, not like this. Everything is short and tight, and, well, there isn’t much of it. I guess to someone like David Cole, it’ll look great, but it looks weird to me. I want to put a coat over her.
“Let’s go to my room,” she says, pulling me past the living room before I even have a chance to say hi to her parents. They’re watching TV. I wave, but they don’t see me.
In her room, Sari shuts the door and starts shoving stuff out of the way so we can sit down in the middle of the floor, the way we do at my house. Her room has basically exploded. Every drawer is open, clothes are sprawled everywhere: over her chair, on her bed, hanging over her closet door. I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to have this many clothes.
Finally Sari kicks the last of the mess aside and sits down. Waving her hands in the air, she says, “Okay, come on, let’s go.”
Lifting the Book, I say, “Will you speak the words?”
Sari shuts her eyes tight. Her hands are fists as she says, “Tell us, O Book, how does the future look?”
I wait. When Sari doesn’t say anything, I say, “Ready?”
Sari nods. I hand her the Book. Taking a deep breath, she opens it and points.
For a second, she looks away.
Then she holds the Book out. “You read it.”
I want to say, No, I don’t want the responsibility. Sari’s so flipped with nerves, I feel like shell go nuclear if the Book doesn’t tell her what she wants to hear. But I pull the Book closer and read, “‘I am doubtful whether I was at heart sorry or glad when—’”
I stop. The rules are that you read to the end of the line.
Sari frowns. “When what?”
“Well, after that, it’s ’when my school days drew to an end, and the time came for my leaving Doctor Strong’s.’”
Sari rolls her eyes. “Oh, great. What does that mean?”
“Well, it’s sort of about growing up.” I shrug. “Leaving things behind maybe.”
Agitated, Sari shakes her head. “Whatever. I don’t get it.” She scrambles up, grabs her coat. “We gotta go, we’re going to be late.”
I slide the Book back into my pocket and follow Sari. As we go by the living room, she rushes by without saying anything. I call, “Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Aaronsohn.”
Then, as Sari closes the door, I hear her mother call, “’Night, girls.”
Erica’s building is one of those places where the second you walk into the lobby, you know that seriously rich people live there. The doorman is wearing an overcoat and gives us a suspicious look as we come in. Immediately, I have the impulse to hawk up a gob of spit and leave it on one of the enormous mirrors or smear it on the oak paneling.
Sari doesn’t seem to notice. Striding to the elevator, she presses the button, one, two, three times. Then she shoves her hands in her pockets and watches the floor lights as the elevator comes down.
She says to me, “Okay, whatever you do, do not leave me alone.”
“Yeah, right. Like I’m going to go party down in the VIP room.”
“I’m serious.”
The elevator reaches the lobby. We stand aside as two people, all dressed up, get out.
In the elevator, I say, “What do you want me to do when you see … Him?”
Sari shakes her head. “I bet he doesn’t even come. And you know what, even if he does? He’s gonna totally ignore me.”
“He won’t ignore you, Sari.” I say this because I am Sari’s friend, not because I necessarily know this to be true.
So I tell her, “You know what I bet? I bet so many guys are hanging around you, David Cole can’t even get near you.”
Sari rolls her eyes. “Oh, great.”
We get out of the elevator and start walking down the hall to Erica’s apartment. I start feeling nervous again.
If you hate it, I tell myself for the hundredth time, you can leave.
Five seconds after we walk in the door, I want to say to Sari, Okay, let’s leave.
Right away, the whole thing feels wrong.
For one thing, the music is loud. I mean, really loud. Nobody can hear anybody unless they yell right in your ear. And a lot of the lights are turned off, so you can’t see who’s here unless you fall over them. And there are a million people here. There’s a lot of screaming. A lot of laughing. Two guys are racing from room to room spraying Silly String on people. Some other people have torn all the cushions off the couch and are whaling away at each other. I feel like I don’t know any of them, even if I’ve been going to school with them for forever. Everyone just feels … different.
I look over at Sari, hoping she feels like I do, that she wants to get out of here.
She says, “Let’s go get something to drink.”
So we go to the kitchen, and there’s Coke and Sprite.
And Budweiser. And Heineken. And even a bottle of real liquor.
I stare at the beer. I stare even more when Sari pops a can and hands it to me.
“No.”
“Come on.” She gives me a look like, Don’t be dumb.
“Sari, I totally mean it. No.”
For some reason, I feel like I might start screaming.
“’Kay.” Sari starts drinking it herself. I try to think of something sarcastic to say that might stop her. But I can’t.
While I’m thinking, this girl Christie Siegler comes up to Sari and says, “Hey.” And Sari shrieks, “Hey!” and they hug like they’re best friends, even though I can’t remember Sari ever mentioning Christie before.
But Christie dates Nicky Williams, one of David’s best friends. Hence the sudden wonderfulness of Christie.
While they talk, I look around the kitchen to see if there’s anyone else here I can talk to. I mean, it’s not like Sari’s the only one who can talk to other human beings.
Unfortunately it doesn’t look like a lot of human beings are at this party.
Only a lot of raving maniacs.
I pour myself a Sprite, try not to look like I’m just waiting around for Sari to remember I exist. For a few seconds, I even try to stand next to this other group, like I’m with them. But then one of them gives me this look that says, Get away from us or die.
So I get away from them.
And that’s when I realize that Sari has split.
After all that “Don’t leave me alone” stuff … she’s gone.
For a second, I think, Great, now I can leave.
But then I think, If I leave, I will be a total loser. Leave, and I might as well forget ever having a social life in high school.
Taking my Sprite, I leave the kitchen and walk slowly back into the living room. These guys are mostly sophomores, and I don’t know any of them well enough to talk to. Besides, they all seem … well, drunk. A few of them have even laid a broom on the floor and are taking turns walking on it to see if they can walk in a straight line. Every time one falls off, they all cackle hysterically. As Rachael Bennett steps on the broom, I feel the urge to push her off, watch her fall over.
For a little while, I stand by this bookcase and check out what Erica’s parents read. From the look of it, they are only marginally more intelligent than Erica. My father would laugh at these books. He would say that people who have books like this in their house deserve to be shot.
No one is talking to me. I try to look like I prefer it that way.
I duck as Michael Potok sprays Leisel Franklin with a can of Bud. In that second, I hate Michael Potok. I want to hit him. I want to take the can of beer and smash it in his face.
I wander down the hall, which is packed with idiot laughing people. I find a little spot on the floor and sit down. For a while, I just watch everything that’s going on. I feel like some invisible being, like an alien or a spirit no one can see. It’s not a
bad thing to be. People do very interesting things when they don’t know anyone’s watching.
I see two guys shooting condoms at each other like they’re rubber bands.
I hear a girl say something really cruel about another girl who’s supposedly her best friend.
I see two people come out of the bathroom. A guy and a girl. They’ve been in there forever. The guy’s a senior, the girl’s a sophomore. She looks upset to me. The guy keeps walking down the hall, but she stops and slides down to the floor right near me.
I ask, “Are you okay?”
She gives me a nasty look, says, “Yeah.”
I have made a mistake. I have spoken. My cover’s blown, and I decide to move on.
There are beer cans everywhere. I kick one, and it spills all over the floor.
Good.
I don’t know why I’m so angry. But it feels good to be angry. It feels good to hate these people, to not feel like one of them.
My mom was all worried I couldn’t handle something like this. I can handle it just fine.
Then I see David Cole come down the hall. Thea’s not with him.
I wonder where Sari is. If she knows David is here. I think about trying to find her and tell her. But I decide no. Let her find out for herself.
I decide to keep moving. I find Erica’s parents’ room. The door is closed and has a big sign on it: MY PARENTS’ ROOM. STAY OUT. So Erica isn’t totally stupid.
Out of curiosity, I open the door. It’s dark, but I can see two other people who didn’t pay attention to the sign.
I shut the door and head back toward the living room. On the way, I run into Danny. Literally.
“Hi,” says Danny. Really loud. Like meeting me is the greatest thing that ever happened to him.
“Danny,” I ask, “what’s that in your hand?”
He offers the bottle. “You want a sip?”
“No.”
Danny isn’t just drunk. He’s really drunk. Like he can hardly stand up, he’s so trashed. I can’t believe these people let Danny get drunk. He’s just a kid. I mean, yeah, he’s my age, but he’s a numbnut. I’ll bet a million dollars he never drank before in his life.
The True Meaning of Cleavage Page 6
