Going Under

by S. Walden

  “Done what?” he asked with his mouth full.

  “Lived together.”

  Dad swallowed. It sounded like it hurt on the way down. “You weren’t happy with your mom?”

  “No, I’m not saying that. It’s just, why is it usually the mom who gets the kids?”

  Dad stared at me.

  “I mean, why didn’t I have a choice?”

  “Did you want to live with me?” he asked tentatively.

  “I don’t know. It could have been fun,” I said.

  Dad stared at his plate. I felt an overwhelming need to hug him, but thought it was the wrong time.

  “Well, I guess we’ve gotta make up for lost time,” I said.

  Dad looked at me and grinned. “Don’t you dare come home drunk, young lady.”

  “Never.”

  ***

  “I’m totally excited!” Gretchen squealed as we walked, arms linked, up the sidewalk to Tanner’s house.

  Yes, I felt guilty for lying to my dad. It wasn’t Olivia’s house. There’s no Olivia anyway. But I thought it would sound better if the party were being thrown by a girl and not an immature boy. Tanner was just that. An annoying, loud, overbearing football player from my old high school who insisted on being popular whether people wanted him to or not. I think he was only accepted into the club because he had parents who traveled a lot, thus opening his house to the most over-the-top, alcohol-infused, sex-crazed parties in the city. It amazed me that not one of them had ever been busted by the cops.

  “What’s there to be excited about?” I asked. “These parties are obnoxious.”

  “Whatever, Brooke. You loved them last year.”

  “Yeah, that was last year,” I said. “God, I don’t want to run into anyone I know.”

  We pushed through the front door and nearly toppled onto Stephanie.

  “Oh my God!” she screamed, throwing her arms around my neck and choking me.

  “Steph.” I know I sounded less than enthusiastic, but I just couldn’t pretend anymore.

  “I was so hoping you’d come tonight!” she replied, pulling away and looking me up and down. “You look so pretty!”

  I did look pretty. I wore dark blue skinny jeans with a gray sequins top and alligator pumps. My very first pair of closed-toe heels. I bought them immediately after Beth’s funeral, and I made sure there was nothing sad about them. Not a hint of black. They were purple instead. I wore my hair in a messy chignon at the nape of my neck to show off my mother’s wedding earrings—the diamond studs. I felt confident and sexy.

  “Thanks. I love your dress,” I replied. “It’s really cute.”

  Stephanie looked down at her outfit. “I know, right?!” She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the living room. “Look who’s here, everyone!”

  “No no,” I said, shaking my head and tearing my hand out of hers. “No one needs to know.”

  I smiled nervously and looked around. Thankfully no one heard Stephanie or they didn’t care. The music was turned up to the max, and half the partiers were already wasted. There was an uneasy energy bouncing about the room, like a huge fight would break out at any moment. I didn’t like it, or rather my spirit didn’t like it. I could tell because my heart fluttered and thumped, and not to the beat of the song.

  I turned around assuming Gretchen had followed me into the living room. I assumed wrong.

  Shit. Why didn’t I grab her hand when Stephanie pulled me along?

  I maneuvered through the dancers, cursing when I felt a foot land squarely on the top of my purple pump, and squeezed into the kitchen. It was the busiest room in the house. Naturally. Liquor bottles and various juices lined the countertops and crowded all the space on the island. The refrigerator door hung open. Guys vied for the imported beers over domestic ones. That’s the kind of party this was.

  I scanned the group for Gretchen but couldn’t locate her. I tried not to panic. We had only just arrived. I doubted anything lascivious could have happened to her in ten minutes.

  I pushed through the crammed kitchen to an equally crammed hallway. Cal was walking my way.

  “Hey, Brooke!” he called as he approached.

  I knew to expect him here, but I still jumped. I hoped he couldn’t see.

  “Hi,” I said.

  He backed me against the wall to make room for a few girls rushing by, squealing about how badly they needed to pee. Apparently we were in the way.

  “You look really nice tonight,” he said raking my body with his eyes. He kept them lowered once he got to my feet. “Sexy shoes!”

  What guy says that? What guy compliments a girl’s shoes at all?

  “Thanks?” I knew it came out as a question. I meant for it to.

  He chuckled. “What? I can’t have good fashion sense?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, grinning. I looked down at my shoes. “They are sexy, huh?”

  “Very,” he replied, and leaned in to kiss my cheek. I could smell the alcohol on him. “Is that okay?”

  It was most certainly not okay. Who the hell did this guy think he was? So what that I was going to let him do me. That wasn’t happening tonight, not when I didn’t know him. Fucking get to know me first before you act so insolently.

  I nodded, cocking my head and twirling my stud.

  “So, you know Tanner?” Cal asked.

  I debated how much to tell him. I didn’t think he knew I went to school with Tanner last year, but then again, why would I be here? Why was he here for that matter?

  “Do you?” I asked.

  He looked at me strangely, then shook his head. “No. But Parker does.”

  I remained stoic although I screamed inside. Great! Just great! I already had the creeps about that guy, and now he had a connection to my past. I did not want any of them discovering my ties with Beth. It would ruin everything.

  “Who’s Parker?” I asked. “You say his name like I know who he is.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot you’re new to the school,” Cal replied. “Parker’s my best friend. He’s on the swim team with me. Everyone at school knows him.”

  “Wow, that’s a lot of people,” I said.

  “No easy job being popular, that’s for sure.”

  I wanted to throw up.

  “Anyway, you never answered my question,” Cal said. “Do you know Tanner?”

  I opened my mouth to tell a big, fat see-through lie, when Stephanie stumbled my way.

  “Oh my God! Where did you go?!” she screamed, teetering on her four-inch strappy sandals while holding up a plastic red cup.

  “Here, I’ll take that,” I said, plucking the cup from her hand before she could protest.

  She bumped into Cal and mumbled a halfhearted apology.

  “Let’s go dance!” Stephanie screamed. “Like old times!”

  “Old times?” Cal asked. Again, he looked at me oddly.

  “She’s a friend from a long time ago,” I explained. “And she’s drunk.”

  “You bet your ass I’m drunk,” Stephanie said. “I’m soooo drunk!”

  “And I’m soooo taking you to the bathroom right now,” I replied, handing the half-empty cup to Cal and excusing myself.

  “Come find me later!” he called.

  Yeah, I’ll get right on that. Then I immediately shook my head. No, Brooke. You need to find him later. You’re supposed to be pursuing him, remember? Stop thinking like a bitch and start thinking like an assassin!

  “Brookey, we miss you!” Stephanie said, clinging to me while I helped her through the bathroom door.

  “Try to make yourself throw up,” I said. “And don’t come out of this bathroom until I get back. I’m going to find Gretchen.”

  “I know where she’s is,” Stephanie slurred.

  “Where?”

  “In the basement shatting with some cute guy.”

  I burst out laughing. “‘Shatting’? She’s ‘shatting’ with a cute guy? Do you know how revolting that is?”

  Stephanie furr
owed her brows. “I don’t get it.”

  “Never mind,” I said, and headed out the door. After tonight, no more playing mother to my drunk friends. They were all grounded. I could do that after all. I was the mother.

  I forced my way into the basement, half listening to a handful of girls spit insults at me for shoving them aside. When I spotted Gretchen, my heart dropped to my feet. She was standing in the corner with Parker. My instinct was to run and jump on him, sink my claws into him and draw blood. Maybe make him bleed out. Instead, I hurried over to my friend and addressed her cheerfully, trying hard to mask my fear.

  “There you are!”

  Parker turned around and looked at me. He was clearly annoyed. I interrupted his game.

  “Brookey!” Gretchen cried. “Oh my God. I’ve so been looking all over for you!”

  “Have you?” I asked. I couldn’t hide the sarcasm, even at the risk of Parker hearing.

  “This is Parker,” Gretchen said, ignoring my question. “He’s on the swim team at your school.”

  “Hi,” I said.

  He nodded. “How do you two know each other?”

  “We’re best friends!” Gretchen said. “Brookey used to—”

  “Hey Gretchen, I think we need to go check on Stephanie,” I interrupted. “She’s puking her guts out upstairs.”

  “Gross,” Gretchen replied. “Why don’t you go deal with her? She drives me crazy.”

  “She’s asking for you,” I said, tugging on Gretchen’s arm.

  “Hey, let Gretchen stay,” Parker said. He pushed my hand away. “We’re getting to know each other.”

  I wanted to strangle him. How dare he push my hand away! Another insolent bastard. Was that a personality requirement to get on the swim team?

  “Maybe some other time,” I said.

  “No,” Parker replied. “Maybe now.”

  We stood staring at each other. I learned everything I needed to know about him in the few moments we locked eyes. He always got his way, and he considered himself superior to everyone. The problem was that he underestimated me. And that was a mistake.

  “Gretchen’s coming with me now,” I said, wrapping my hand around Gretchen’s wrist. I wasn’t about to let go either. He’d have to slice my arm off. “Move.”

  I shoved him aside perhaps harder than I meant to, but he got the point. He watched as I dragged Gretchen behind me, ignoring her protests to stay in the basement.

  “You’re not staying in the basement!” I hissed. “So get over it!”

  I chanced a backward glance at Parker. He stood with his hands in his pockets, staring at me, deciding how he would deal with me in the future. I’m quite sure he planned to since I stole away his fuck toy for the evening.

  Stephanie did what she was told. She was still in the bathroom when Gretchen and I returned upstairs.

  “I’ve got a lot of people pissed at me,” she said, as I helped her wash her face and hands. She was successful in making herself throw up—multiple times, I observed—but not so much in cleaning it up. At least she was no longer slurring her words and was slightly more coherent, or as coherent as Stephanie could possibly be.

  “There are five hundred bathrooms in this house,” I replied. “They’ll get over it.”

  Just then Gretchen decided she needed to get sick, too, and I barely pulled her mass of brown hair away from her face in time before she heaved into the toilet.

  “I’m really mad at you, Brookey,” she said after the first round. She didn’t look at me when she said it. She was wise enough to keep her head in the toilet.

  “Don’t talk,” I ordered. “Just keep going.”

  I was annoyed, naturally, even though I could recall Gretchen doing the same thing for me, and on many occasions. I can’t believe I used to party like this. I can’t believe I ever wanted to. What was the point? I wasted all of the following day lying in bed with an herb-infused bean bag stuck to my forehead surrounded by bottles of Gatorade. And if the hangover was especially monstrous, I’d cry, which made it worse. Such a waste of time. A waste of life.

  “He was cute,” Gretchen continued after the second wave. “I wanted to kiss him.”

  “I know you did,” I replied. “But he’s a dick.”

  “Who’s a dick?” Stephanie asked. She was sitting on the sink counter, her already too-short dress hiked up around her hips, long legs slightly spread and dangling off the side.

  I turned around and looked at her. “You don’t sit like that in public, do you?”

  She shrugged. “Who’s a dick?”

  “Just this swim guy at my school,” I replied.

  “He’s not a dick!” Gretchen said, then heaved again.

  “Good grief, Gretchen. How much did you drink?”

  I patiently waited for the wave to subside. She wiped her mouth with a bit of toilet paper and addressed me. “How should I know?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Was he feeding you drinks all night?”

  “He’s a gentleman,” she replied.

  “What the hell does that mean?” I asked.

  “He went to get me drinks,” she said. No longer able to stand bent over, she fell on the bathroom floor. I could have reached out and grabbed her arm to keep her from going down, but I didn’t.

  “Yeah, I bet he did,” I said. “Stay away from that guy, Gretchen. I mean it.”

  “You are soooo not fun right now,” Gretchen pouted.

  True. I wasn’t being any fun. The real purpose for coming to this lame party tonight was to do a bit of sleuthing. Well, and to keep Gretchen from being violated. I succeeded in the second, but not in the first. I didn’t know what I expected to overhear or see, if anything at all. But I knew in my gut that Parker and Cal were up to something. If they were, in fact, part of a salacious sex club, I was sure they were looking for partners. Unsuspecting partners. I made it my mission to find out, but I realized I’d have to investigate another night. My top priority was keeping an eye on my friends. I would never sacrifice their safety to discover more clues about Parker and Cal.

  I walked with my tired, dehydrated friends out of the bathroom and towards the front door. Stephanie couldn’t remember how she got to the party, so I decided to take her home. On our way out, I spotted Cal and Parker talking. They were huddled in a corner of the foyer whispering. I caught Cal’s eye, and he waved at me. I waved back, watching Parker scowl. He tried getting Cal’s attention again, but Cal was more interested in watching me walk away.

  Even when I turned my back on him, I knew he was still watching me. It was the same feeling I had at registration, the hairs standing on the back of my neck. I didn’t like it then, and I hadn’t met him yet. It was worse now because I had met him. I knew what he wanted from me, and I knew eventually I’d have to give it to him.

  Seven

  The first time I had an actual conversation with Ryan Foster was right after our little spying game. I was vacuuming the living room floor Saturday morning and had pulled back the curtains that usually hung over the large window overlooking the street because I needed sunshine. I realized that part of my dad’s problem was that he had gone too many years without sunshine.

  He lived in a little box of a house closed up with thick fabric that forbade the outside world to get a peek. I didn’t care who wanted a peek so long as I could feel the sunlight on my face when I sat on the couch reading. I lived in my old house a total of nineteen hours before I opened everything, tearing away the dust and heavy seclusion. I could tell it made my dad nervous, but he gave me my sunshine because he’d give me whatever I wanted.

  I carefully maneuvered the vacuum underneath the coffee table when I saw him in my peripheral vision. I looked out the window and watched him ride his skateboard down the sidewalk. He didn’t look anything like a skater except for his hair. He wasn’t dressed in skater clothes. He wore regular straight-legged jeans with a form-fitting blue T-shirt. He had nice arms, but he didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who lifted weights. Nobody
was just blessed with toned muscles like that, though. He had to do something to work them. I imagined he chopped wood. I liked that image. Even better without a shirt.

  He paused in front of my house and looked towards the front door. It startled me, and I knew his eyes would move to the open window next, so I averted mine and continued vacuuming, trying hard to look oblivious and pretty. But how does someone look pretty while vacuuming?

  I tried cocking my head to the side and smiling, but felt so stupid doing it that I stopped. I put my free hand on my hip, but that made me feel like one of those models on The Price is Right. I gave up altogether and turned off the vacuum. When I braved a glance out my window, he was gone, and the disappointment manifested itself as tightness in my chest. I didn’t like the way it felt. I thought I shouldn’t feel that way at all about a person I didn’t know. I grunted and put the vacuum away.

  When I returned to the living room, I spotted him again. He was rolling along in the opposite direction. Again he paused in front of my house, and again I averted my eyes. I looked over at the family portrait still hanging above the couch. I scowled, then thought twice about it. Scowls were ugly. I tried for a smile instead. A sweet smile. But it seemed fake. I lost the smile and tried to look pensive. What the hell?

  I looked back out the window and just like that, he had disappeared. I walked over to the window and peered out in the direction I thought he’d gone. He was only a few houses down, one foot poised on his skateboard as though he were about to take off in the direction of my house. I watched him decide, silently begging him to come my way.

  What I should have done was close my curtains. I knew it, but he glided past my house a third time, and I decided to check the mail.

  He rolled along towards me when I reached the mailbox, and I looked over.

  “Hey, Brooke. I was wondering when you’d decide to come out and say ‘hello’,” he said, stopping short of me and kicking his skateboard up into his hand.

  Cocky bastard. I flushed and looked down at the mail. Suddenly it was all so interesting: bills and a craft magazine. Craft magazine?

  I felt him staring at me and stopped rifling through the mail.