“Sure, they’re both from Rainy Lake,” she says, speaking of the wooded part of town just outside Arkin that people always seem to be talking about in hushed tones. Apparently, there are some bad biker bars out there, and a man was rumored to have been killed at one.
“Oh,” I say. No matter, anyway. Tomper is way out of my league.
Jessie and I notice Mike Anderson and some other hockey players tromping drunkenly out of the tall brush, dragging wooden railroad ties. They grab the ties like battering rams and push them through a narrow opening in the crowd of kids. The ties crash into the fire with a flurry of sparks, and Mike haw-haws like a moose.
“Some party, huh?” Jessie says to me.
“Hey, whash up?” Shari, one of Jessie’s friends from typing, swoops into our personal space. Her pale hair has been permed and bleached so much that it looks like electrical wiring, and the last button she’s unbuttoned on her shirt looks just a little too low.
“Not much,” Jessie says, looking back into the fire. “Hey, what’s the deal with the V8s?”
My head swivels and I see that Marsha Randall and some of the other popular girls are sporting cans of V8—the vegetable drink—as if this is a health-food convention. Marsha is flirting with some football players, trying to step on their toes and giggling.
“Oh, those assholes.” Shari takes a shaky puff from her Marlboro. I try to lean out of the way when the used smoke comes charging out of her nostrils. “They say they can’t drink ’cause of cheerleading.”
And gymnastics, I think to myself. Marsha is the captain of the team.
“What a bunch of show-offs, those cheerleaders,” Jessie says, loud enough that Marsha and her friends can probably hear. I admire how Jessie says exactly what’s on her mind.
In fact, the first time I met her, we were at a music recital, and she came right over and said she’d like to sit with me. I was surprised and flattered—I had no idea she even knew who I was.
She said she was going to play the Moonlight Sonata. Then she showed me her hands: she’d put on at least two cheap plastic rings—the kind you get out of gumball machines—on each finger.
“I wanted to get into the mood by wearing my Liberace look,” she said, while I tried not to laugh out loud. I thought she’d take them off before going onstage. Instead, she waved her hands around before she sat down. I thought old Mrs. Matheny, our piano teacher, would have a heart attack, but she just sat there and smiled. Then Jessie played the most beautiful Moonlight Sonata I’d ever heard—the music was so pure that it drew tears to my eyes. I couldn’t believe the sound was coming from Jessie, her big body crouched down to the piano, all those crazy rings moving to the music.
“It was the rings,” she told me modestly later. “You want to come over to my house? Ever drink coffee before? It’s good if you put a lot of milk and sugar in it.”
Ever since, we have been inseparable.
If the cheerleaders hear Jessie, however, they don’t show it. They keep giggling and talking to all the popular guys. Shari talks to Jessie about typing class. I mostly sit back and watch.
“Who needs another beer?” Jessie holds up her empty cup.
“I’ll come with you,” I say, even though I’m done drinking for the night. At the kegs, a white jean-jacket sleeve brushes mine, and I catch a whiff of a nice, sophisticated-smelling perfume. I look up to see Marsha Randall making, I guess, a V8 and beer cocktail.
Marsha glances over at me just as I realize that I am staring. I start to smile hello—as I try to do every day in gymnastics—but I stop when I see that she’s turning her back on me, as if I’m a little ant that she’s seen but not noticed.
Jessie fills her cup and then sneers once Marsha vanishes into the crowd. “So much for not drinking,” she says. “Give me an H-Y-P-O-C-R-I-T-E. Rah rah.”
“She’s so pretty, though,” I say wistfully.
“She’s a real doorknob, you know,” Jessie says. “I had her in Math One, and she could not figure out how to divide fractions for the life of her. She just sat around giggling. Finally, she got Mike Anderson to do her problems for her.”
“I’m surprised he knew how to,” I say.
Out of nowhere, I feel a touch on my back. Uh-oh.
“Hey, Ellen.” Tomper’s voice.
“Hi, Tomper,” I say. Now my back is burning.
“I’m going to get another beer,” Jessie says quickly, and she scoots away.
“How do you like the party?” he asks as the butterflies in my stomach start doing violent flip-flops. Tomper is standing before me, his biceps now hidden inside his jean jacket, which is frayed at the elbows.
“It’s okay,” I say as my mind races for something clever to say.
“A great night for it,” he says as we start wandering away from the fire into the dark brush. “You can see all the constellations from here,” Tomper goes on, looking up at the sky of obsidian and ice. The heavy metal music from the party faintly bleeds into the night.
Then, like in a dream, I feel one of his hands close around mine. My heart beats like a tom-tom.
“There’s the North Star,” he says, pointing with his other hand. You can find it by tracing the path from the Big Dipper. It comes in handy if you need to find your way home.”
I look at Tomper in fascination. He looks like an angel, his gold hair a halo in the moonlight. A warm breeze touches my neck and gives me the shivers.
“If I followed the North Star,” I say softly, “I think I’d just end up at the North Pole, not home.”
Tomper’s laugh covers me, mixing in with the sound of the wind disturbing the tall pine branches. His head moves, eclipsing the moon. The next thing I know, his mouth is gently pressing on mine. This can’t be happening, I think as Tomper’s arms close around me. Tomper Sandel and me?
I don’t know who is the first to pull away, but we both bounce away like springs. His eyes look silver for a moment, by the moon. He is smiling.
“You’re a good kisser,” he says.
“My first time,” I admit. A strand of my long inky hair flutters, bat-like, into my face, and Tomper gently brushes it away.
“Beginner’s luck, then,” he says, grinning. Why did I tell him this was my first kiss? I’m such a nerd. Then I remember to check my watch. It is almost midnight.
“Oh no, Tomper,” I say. “I really have to go.”
“You turn into a pumpkin at midnight or something?”
“No, my parents will kill me if I’m not home on time.”