Yes, that Slade Johnson.
“We meet again.”
He held out one of the two Solo cups in his hands. Never much of a drinker, I wasn’t about to start with something served out of a trash can.
“No, thanks,” I said. “I don’t like the taste of alcohol.”
He flashed a dazzling smile. Not even my parents could find a single flaw in spacing or symmetry.
“It’s Kool-Aid and Everclear,” he said. “Not tasting the alcohol is the whole point.”
If Slade were Troy and Troy were still my boyfriend, I would have made a joke about Kool-Aid and Everclear being the beverage of choice for our brainwashed generation. But Slade wasn’t, and Troy wasn’t, so I didn’t.
“No, thanks,” I repeated firmly.
Slade shrugged and dumped the contents of one cup into the other. Then he said something I couldn’t hear. Someone had pumped up the volume on the stereo because Vanilla Ice said so.
“BUM RUSH THE SPEAKER THAT BOOMS!”
To be fair, “Ice Ice Baby” is best appreciated at the precise decibel level that causes instant deafness.
“I’M KILLIN’ YOUR BRAIN LIKE A POISONOUS MUSHROOM!”
Slade leaned in and shouted directly into my ear.
“Sorry about the job.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” I shouted back. “I got hired somewhere else.”
“Oh really?” he asked. “Where?”
“Bellarosa Boutique.”
Like Vanilla Ice, Slade didn’t miss a beat.
“As a model.”
“As a bookkeeper.”
He took a drink, then carefully licked his lips.
“That’s a shame.”
Slade inched even closer to me. The room already felt more crowded than it had moments before.
“It would’ve been fun to work together,” he said. “But Bethany gets jealous of anyone hotter than she is.”
I was not used to being talked to like this. And I reacted in the only reasonable way. I laughed right in his gorgeous face. And not a cutesy giggle either, but a guttural Ha! Ha! Ha! guffaw.
Slade was undeterred.
“We can still have fun.”
I knew what “fun” meant. And most girls would’ve been flattered by Slade’s attention. But I was confused by it. And more than a little uncomfortable too. I looked for Drea to help me, but she was deep in conversation with a mustached guy wearing an orange Electronics Universe T-shirt. Her ex, I assumed. He was one of the few in attendance who looked old enough to drink legally. Maybe that’s why he was put in charge of tapping the keg.
“What do you say?” Slade tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. By now, his flirtation was making me downright claustrophobic. He grinned again, only this time his perfect teeth were stained purple.
“You know what? I’ll take you up on a drink after all.”
Slade didn’t hesitate. As he rushed to the trash can, I seized the opportunity to take off in the opposite direction. I couldn’t move very far or fast because the Cabbage Patch had filled up with faces I sort of recognized. A makeshift dance floor had formed between the trash-can punch on one side and a keg on the other. Mostly girls but some brave boys did all the sweaty things C+C Music Factory commanded.
“So your butts up, hands in the air, come on say, yeah.”
I admired the dancers’ joyous, gymnastic gyrations. Their needs were so simple. Total bliss was this basement, some booze, and a booming sound system telling them exactly what to do next …
“Troy. Gimme a drink!”
Helen’s voice sledgehammered through the wall of noise and smashed me in the chest.
“Gimme a drink. Troy!”
I was totally incapacitated. My ex-boyfriend had arrived at the Cabbage Patch with his new girlfriend, and all I could do was watch.
I watched as my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend ladled Everclear and Kool-Aid into Solo cups.
I watched as my ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend straddled him on the couch of dubious hygiene.
I watched as my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend broke every rule we had ever set for ourselves about public displays of affection.
I got feverish, dizzy, and barfy all over again. Only this time, I knew for sure it wasn’t mono.
I had to get out of the basement without being seen. Troy and Helen seemed pretty oblivious to the world outside their grubby, grabby-handed lust bubble. But what if they came up for air just in time to catch my humiliating exit? I pulled on the nearest door handle and slipped inside. When the automatic lights flickered on, I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing:
Row upon row of creepy babies staring back at me.
Cabbage Patch Kids in their original boxes.
Evidently, I had stumbled into the storage closet that had given this underground party place its name. As marketed, each “Kid” looked different. And the manufactured individuality went way beyond variations in skin, hair, and eye colors. Computers had been used to track freckles and dimples, outfits and facial expressions. Eight years ago, the promise of individuality made them irresistible to millions of kids like me. Like all fads, the frenzy had fizzled as swiftly as it had begun.
I walked up and down the aisle, whispering their names.
“Prentiss Charlemagne. Orville Toby. Rhonda Bess.”
For varied as the kids were, each and every ones’ arms were outstretched in the exact same way. After all that time—nearly a decade—these unwanted orphans were still waiting for a hug.
It was this excessively maudlin detail that put me over the edge.
I’d tried to convince myself I had it all together when I absolutely did not. I slumped to the ground and finally gave in to my ugliest sobs.
8
OVER AND UNDER
I didn’t know how much time had elapsed when the door opened.
“Cassie!”
I was eye level with a pair of shiny black heels.
“Get up off the gawddamn floor!”
A stiletto stomped the cement. I still didn’t move.
“Look! I got a present for you!”
An Electronics Universe bag landed on my head.
“It’s that memory expansion thingie for the computer you asked about.”
Had Drea flirted with Mr. Mustache just to get this for me? On any other day, I would’ve expressed gratitude for the gift. But full deletion of my heart’s hard drive was what I really needed, and I doubted Electronics Universe sold any products for that purpose.
“What happened to you?” Drea asked.
What happened to me?
What happened to me?
I’d lost everything I’d worked toward my whole life.
“You never used to cry,” said Drea. “And now you’re boo-hooing all over the place.”
I’d always been so proud of my stoicism. Like, when our team lost our case in the first round of Mock Trial, I was the one who consoled a tearful Troy. Had mono weakened my physical and emotional immunity?
“Don’t tell me all this drama is about your ex and his new girl.”
I sat up.
“You know?” I sniffled. “About Troy and Helen?”
“Well, yeah,” she said. “Anyone with eyes knows because they’re grinding all over each other out there.”
I moaned.