“Do you know why Sari would be hanging out with Eric Reed?”
Danny looks surprised. “No. I thought she was …” He’s all embarrassed. “You know, with David Cole.”
“That’s dead.”
He thinks, then shakes his head. “How do you know she’s hanging with Eric?”
“I saw her. In the library. These stupid chicks were going on and on about the senior party and—”
Then I stop. Danny stops too, says, “What?”
“Eric is going to the party, right? Even though he’s not a senior?”
“Yeah. He always gets invited. He sells to all those guys.”
“That’s why.” Danny looks at me like, You’re making no sense. “Why she’s suddenly all hot on Eric. She wants him to take her. To the party.”
Danny nods. “Oh. ’Cause of—”
“’Cause of David. God, I can’t believe her. How can she want to do that? Those people hate her, they’re all friends with Thea. She’s, like, totally lost her mind.”
Danny shrugs. “Maybe she really wants to see him.”
“She just wants to see him at the Big Event. She’s always been psycho about the senior party; it’s, like, her dream to go.”
“I’ve heard it can be kind of cool.”
I blow a raspberry. “Oh, please. ‘Oh, we’ll never see each other again. Oh, it is so sad. Our wonderful little clique will never be the same. Now we must go out into the real world, where we will become roadkill because we have no brains.’”
Danny laughs. “Oh, come on.”
I walk to the side of the path and pretend to barf. As I stand up, I see Danny’s looking uncomfortable. He kicks a stone across the path, follows it as it skitters off into the grass.
He says, “Well, then, I guess I shouldn’t ask this….”
“Ask what?”
He shuffles his feet, then looks down like he’s telling them to quit it. “You think the whole thing is completely lame.”
“What whole thing?”
“The senior party.”
“What about it ?”
“I was going to ask if you wanted to go.”
At first, I don’t know what to say. “We can’t. We don’t know where it is.”
“I do.” Danny grins. “Steve Howett lost all his physics notes on his laptop. I got them back for him. But as payment, he had to tell me the secret lo-ca-tion.” He says it like in some crazy spy movie. “So, I thought maybe you’d want to go. But I guess not.”
“No, I—” Then I stop, because I’m not sure what I was about to say.
“No, it’s okay.” Danny starts walking.
I follow, saying, “No, I just think … I don’t know, maybe we could go.”
There, I’ve said it. Sort of.
Danny looks over. “Really? Even given the lameness quotient?”
“Yeah, kind of even especially given the lameness quotient. Like, maybe it’s so lame it has to be done.”
Even as I say this, I think: This is a total cop-out.
But I’m going with Danny. I can hardly be accused of trying to be cool.
Actually, me and Danny crashing the hallowed senior party, invading their sacred turf with our freakish selves, spreading geekdom wherever we go—it’s pretty funny when you think about it.
Danny breaks out into a smile. “Well, great. Excellent.”
That night at dinner, it occurs to me that I will have to ask my parents if I can go.
I watch them as they eat, trying to determine the optimum time and approach—that is, the one that offers the least opportunity for my mom to drive me bats.
She will be psycho with happiness. I can just hear her: You’re going to the senior party? Who asked you? That boy, Danny? I can’t believe it!
Then I hear my mom ask, “How’s the portrait going?”
“Uh …” I pretend to chew while I think. “It’s, um, going.”
“Can we get a special members’ preview?” My mom smiles, and my dad nods.
“It’s not actually ready for viewing yet,” I say. “But definitely, when it’s ready to show.”
My self-portrait is definitely not ready to show. But not because it’s not done or not good. The picture I did the night I flipped out has turned out to be quite interesting. But I don’t want to show it to anyone until I understand it better, because it really wasn’t what I expected.
My dad asks how the studying is going. I lie and tell him it’s going really well.
Later, as we’re clearing the table, I say, “Uh, guys?”
Both my parents look at me. Staring down at the plates in my hands, I say, “Some people are going to the senior party. Is it okay if I go with them?”
There’s a pause. Then my dad asks, “It depends on the identity of ‘some people.’ Sari?”
I shake my head, put the dishes in the sink. “Danny Oriel.” I glance at my dad. “He’s a perfectly decent human being, I promise.”
I steel myself for my mom’s explosion of happiness. The shrieking … the hugs …
My mom says, “Sure. Just not too late, okay?” Then she starts taking dishes out of the drying rack.
After a second, I help her.
Sometimes my mom is nor completely terrible.
Over the weekend, I study like mad for my biology final. I read about reproduction, how sperm fertilizes egg, how chromosomes divide, become zygote, become fetus. So that’s love.
I read about arteries, how they carry oxygenated blood from the lungs to the heart to the rest of the body. How once the heart stops, the oxygen to the brain stops, and the brain waves cease. So that’s death.
And then it’s all over, and I’m done.
Done with freshman year.
I didn’t even fail. Not a single class.
At least, I don’t think I did.
The very last thing I do on Friday is hand in my art project. I wait until the end of the day to go to the studio. Ms. Rothstein is washing out old coffee cans we use to clean the brushes. I wonder what she does with them at the end of the year. Throw them out? Save them?
I put my portrait between two pieces of cardboard to protect it on the way to school. I’m not really sure how to present it to her, so in the end, I just hand it to her, say, “I did it.”
For a second, she holds it, then looks at me like she’s asking permission. I say, “Sure, go ahead.”
I’m about to add, Just don’t tell me if it sucks. But I don’t. Because I know it doesn’t, and it would sound stupid to say it. Like I was forcing her to compliment me. That’s something I get now. That I should leave people alone that way, let them think what they think.
She works her fingernail between the pieces of cardboard, breaks the pieces of tape on either end. Then she takes off the top layer. For a long time, she just looks. I see her eyes moving, but I can’t tell what she’s thinking from her expression.
Here’s what the portrait looks like: What I first drew, when I was trying to think of what really looked like me, was a huge mouth. Which I thought said everything about what I had done: opened up my mouth and spilled everything all over the floor in a big, disgusting mess. I thought it would be like a baby crying, some horrendous brat demanding to get fed. I didn’t expect to like it when I looked at it again, but I thought it would be the truth, that it would help in some way.
But when I got up the nerve to look at it again a few days later, I didn’t see any of that. There was this huge open mouth, but it was more like a scream, almost a storm. Around it I drew my hair from that time in front of the mirror when I took it out of the rubber band, when it was all tangled and impossible and I hated it. And some of the pain of pulling it and getting stuck ended up in the picture, and my eyes are shut, and you know I don’t want to look at myself—but what you really know is that I want someone to look at me.
I’ve looked at it a few times after finishing it, and I always see that. And that’s why I don’t think it sucks.
Ms. Rothstein is grinnin
g at me. She puts the picture down on the table.
She says, “You really did do it.” Then, “How does it feel?”
I don’t quite know the right words. So instead, I grin back at her, and she bursts out laughing.
Ms. Rothstein says she’d really like to display some of the portraits in the school lobby; would I mind if mine was up there?
“Ugh. Everyone would see it.”
She smiles. “Well, you’re going to have to get used to that. Sooner or later.”
I see Sari only once on the last day of school, and it’s from far away. I’m heading to the library to return some books when I spot her at the end of the hall. She’s about to go into the stairwell, probably to go home. Her Tornado bag is slipping off her shoulder, and she stops to adjust it.
And all of a sudden, I remember last year, when it was so hot and sticky and gross, and we went to any dumb movie we could find … and then the first day of school, walking around these halls like it was a whole new world and hiding out in the back of the gym at assembly because only suck-ups sit up front….
And I really, really miss her.
I’ve been to just one party before. And Erica Trager’s party was all about getting together and being this little group. But the senior party is the last time some people will ever see one another. It’s all about goodbyes, and that’s why these parties get crazy.
For a second, I think of calling Danny, telling him I don’t want to go. But then I think of Sari on her own in the hallway, and I have the strongest feeling that it’s very important for me to be there tonight.
One thing about cool parties: They’re always in dumb places it takes forever to get to. This year, the senior party is in this old factory space all the way downtown. On the subway, I joke to Danny, “Maybe it doesn’t exist. Maybe it’s like Dahj—this eternally shifting world that disappears just when you think you’re there.”
He laughs. I can’t believe how calm he is. Sari would be all tense and weird.
I know she’s going to be there tonight. I just know it.
I have to admit I feel somewhat tense and weird myself. What are people going to say when they see us there? What are they going to think about me being with Danny? I seriously hope no one makes any obnoxious comments.
I have to be positive about this. Who knows? Maybe they’ll throw us out.
The street is dark and deserted except for the glow from the open front door of the factory, which lets light spill onto the street. Some people are hanging out on the steps, sitting on cars and drinking. No one says a thing as we pass and start walking up the stairs.
The party’s on the top floor, and with every floor, I can hear the music getting louder and louder. Even two floors below, I can hear people screaming and laughing.
I shout up to Danny, “Whoo-hoo—par-tay!”
He grins over his shoulder, and I feel better. At the door, I steel myself for the person who will tell us to get lost. But we pass right into the crowd, like we’re just anybody.
“You want something to drink?” Danny shouts.
I nod. “A soda.”
I want to go with Danny, but I know I’m supposed to wait for him to bring the soda to me. I fold my arms in front of me and fight off anyone who might be staring at me by staring right back.
Cautiously, I examine the space. It’s one of those places where there’s one big room for dancing, and then a lot of little rooms that don’t make any sense. A lot of people are just hanging out in the hallway, waiting to see who comes in next. Everybody’s all mixed up out here; laughing, screaming, drinking. I look around for Sari or David or even Thea, but I don’t see any of them.
The Prada Mafia is here, waiting by the door to see all the senior gods show up. They’re clumped together, with Erica at the center, like they’re sticking to her. Erica sees me and waves; a little wave, so her drones don’t catch on. Immediately, she cranes her neck to see beyond me, and I know she’s looking for Sari. Unconsciously, I turn and look for her too.
Then I feel Danny nudge my arm, two cups in his hands.
“Hey.” I take one of the sodas.
“Sorry, it’s kind of nuts.” He raises his cup. “Well, here’s to … something.”
“Here’s to doing lame things.”
“Yeah, absolutely.” He grins, and we clink cups. I’m about to say we should go check out the other rooms when there’s this big burst of screaming and hugging at the door. I stand on tiptoe to see who’s here. Then the crowd breaks up a little, and I see …
Couple of the Year: David and Thea.
It’s strange—when David and Thea are together, they look like they’re straight out of a TV show. If that’s a great thing to look like, I don’t know. But they make most other people look … average. He’s got his arm around her shoulder, and he’s kissing her, like, every five seconds. She’s leaning against him, holding the hand that’s on her shoulder.
The Prada Mafia is going berserk, looking at David and Thea and whispering away.
“Oh, my God, they’re here.”
“… and, you know, she might be here.”
“Can you believe it …?”
“…so bizarre…”
All of a sudden, I feel Erica Trager standing next to me.
“Hey.” All friendly, like we’re best friends. Then she lowers her voice. “Did you come with Sari?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Well, do you know if she’s coming?”
I shake my head again.
Erica presses. “But she probably is coming, right? I mean with … David here.”
“I really don’t know, Erica.” I almost scream it.
Some song starts up in the next room, and suddenly, everyone’s whooping and running to dance. That’s when I see my escape and grabbing Danny’s hand, I pull him into the dance room. It’s pitch dark and vibrating with music and hundreds of people pounding away on the dance floor. For an instant, I feel totally lost; what did I come here for?
Danny jumps onto the dance floor and starts leaping around like he totally knows this song, totally knows how to move to it. I feel more frozen than ever, unable to move until he gestures, Come on. I glance around; all these people staring. But there’s Danny, and I can’t say no. He got us in here. So I take a few steps forward, and before I know it, I’m on the dance floor.
I have to move. Everyone else is, and if I don’t, I’ll be decapitated by a flailing arm or knocked over with a full-body blow. Basically, at first, I’m just jumping to avoid people. That, and to save my life. Then I watch Danny and try to jump with him. The song launches into the chorus, and everyone roars along. Danny too. I don’t know the words, so I just laugh.
Then I glance around. Nobody is watching. Nobody cares.
For a second, it occurs to me: I am at a party. And I am having fun.
Very strange.
Another song starts, some speedy, boppy thing, and people start dancing like crazy. It’s like the whole room hit fast-forward, and I’m swinging and twisting like a madwoman just to keep up. I’m aware of the crowd swelling like a wave, as everyone goes, “Whooaaa….” I’m pulled away from Danny as the crowd separates into two halves, then crashes back together. Everyone dances backward again, then charges forward, laughing hysterically. It’s part of the dance. I see Danny fading back, reaching his arms out, and I do. too. I run back with everyone else, but this time, I can’t find him.
I nudge my way to the side, try to spot Danny in the crowd. I’m just wondering if he went to look for me somewhere when someone taps me on the arm. I turn and there’s David Cole.
He points a finger. “I saw what you did.”
For a split second, I know absolutely that he’s talking about Erica Trager. But before I can say I’m sorry, he says, “In the lobby. Your Rothstein picture. How come you didn’t tell me you were so good?”
It takes another second for me to understand what he’s talking about.
I say, “Um … I didn’t
actually know that I was.”
“Not going to forgive you for that.” Then he grins. “Come on, dance with me.”
I look for Danny, but I can’t find him. Meanwhile, David is lifting up my hands, gently kicking at my feet, so I have to move them.
“Yeah, that’s it.” He swings my arms, like we’re doing some corny old fifties thing. I can’t help it, I laugh.
Whatever the joke is, we both get it, because he laughs and then we start making the same moves. We’re both imitating the same old dance, so we know how it goes and know when to goof on it. And all of a sudden, I get it. Why everybody likes David Cole. Why Sari likes him. How he can make you feel like it’s just you and him. And all the rest of it—school, parents, the whole game—is sad and silly and boring, and the least you can do is laugh at it.
Other people start dancing around us: David’s friends from the soccer team, Charlie, Sasha, and Tobin. Then some girl, Leslie somebody and Debbie. I feel David’s hand break from mine, but then I feel him nudge me with his hip, like I’m still here. But a few seconds later, he’s dancing with Leslie, pretends fighting with Tobin. I’m still moving, but I feel out of sync. A little silly.
Finally, the song ends and everybody cheers. I smile Thanks at David. But he’s already moving off with his little crowd and doesn’t see me. Behind his back, I wave good-bye.
Then I go look for Danny. I find him coming back into the dance room. Seeing me, he starts, says, “Hey.”
“Hey yourself. Where’d you go?”
“I don’t know.” He grins. “I kind of got carried off. Then I realized you weren’t around, so I came looking for you.”
Something about him saying that feels good. I say, “Well … cool.”
“So …” He gestures toward the dance floor. “You feel like dancing some more?”
They’ve put on a sappy slow song. Couples are sleepwalking around the floor, all wrapped up in each other. Shy, I shake my head, hoping Danny doesn’t mind. Across the room, I see David lead Thea out onto the floor, holding her by the hand. There’s a burst of cheering and applause as they start to dance.
And then all of a sudden, I see her. Sari. Dancing on her own around all these couples. Most people would look very strange doing that, but not Sari. She’s a great dancer. I don’t know what it is, she just knows how to move. She goes off in her own little world and just connects with the music like she doesn’t care who’s watching her.
The True Meaning of Cleavage Page 15
