“It just doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “She was being so secretive about that stupid thing, and it’s like…why? Who cares?”
“I’m just telling you what Amber told me, and her parents have been fighting lately and…I don’t know. Maybe there’s something else going on. Don’t get all bent out of shape about it.” Kristen shrugged.
“I’m not all bent out of shape about it. Why do you always take her side?”
“Why do you always think I’m taking her side? Maybe there aren’t any sides,” she said. “Ugh, you made me miss my turn!”
She hooked a right at the 7-Eleven, its windows dark, a CLOSED sign on the front door. Then we looped around the block so we could go back to the light. We drove the rest of the way in silence. When we got to Jen’s house we parked down the street so the party wouldn’t be as obvious, but a few kids were already outside, staggering up the lawn.
“Is that Chris Arnold?” Kristen squinted out the windshield, trying to change the subject. “He’s wasted.”
It was Chris Arnold, and he was wasted. He’d always been much taller and bigger than the other guys in our grade, but he looked almost comical now, as one of his friends helped him walk. His legs came up to the guy’s chest.
In the quiet of the car it all seemed so stupid. Ty hadn’t said he was definitely coming, and now that Amber was out, why were we even here? I’d tried every drink there was—beer, wine, shots, cocktails with weird names like Sex in the Driveway and the Sassafras Slinger—but I’d never once gotten drunk. While everyone else was hooking up in closets or playing beer pong I was usually planted on the couch, petting the cat. I might’ve said as much, but Kristen was already out of the car.
I could feel her staring at me through the driver’s side window, waiting. Eventually she tapped on the glass. I looked over and her nose was pressed against it so I could see up her nostrils. Her eyes were wild, like she was a pig monster from the woods, ready to gobble me up.
“You’re a psycho,” I said, but it was what got me out of the car. We were both laughing as we walked toward the house.
7
There was no sign of Tyler. I kept watching the kitchen door like I could will him into appearing, but a half hour passed and nothing. The party was small, only twenty or so people, and mostly other juniors that I knew. Kristen and I stood in the narrow space between the island and the stove. I’d been drinking some pink concoction for the past hour, but I didn’t feel anything. I couldn’t even taste the liquor in it.
“And then the guy was all: what’s the secret password. He literally said that, ‘secret password’.” Kim Kennedy leaned over the counter and tipped the fake ID back and forth in the light, showing us the hologram. She’d bought it in December, when her parents took her to New York City to see the Rockettes. “He wouldn’t let me into the back room until I told him.”
“So what was it?” a sophomore with a mushroom cut asked.
Kim paused dramatically. “New England Clam Chowder.”
“New England Clam Chowder,” Mushroom Cut repeated. “From Ace Ventura? You’re lying.”
“Why would I lie about that?” Then, before anyone could question her, Kim snatched the ID and tucked it back in her wallet. The music changed, and that cheesy Savage Garden song came on. Z100 was playing it every hour.
“Hey, I wanted to see,” a familiar voice said.
The group was suddenly quiet, and it wasn’t until I turned that I realized Patrick Kramer was standing right behind me. He was in his iconic red and black North Face fleece, his hands pushed deep into its pockets. Okay, he was good looking—like Joey Lawrence if he was taller and had darker hair. I knew why Kristen and Amber wanted me to want him, but everything about him was just so…blah.
Kim passed the ID to him and he inspected it, looking at her, then to the photo, like he was some bouncer at a club.
“Decent,” he finally said.
“I haven’t had any problems.”
Patrick smiled, but no one else said anything. He was usually trailed by at least three guys from the varsity soccer team. When they moved in a pack it was impossible to approach them, and we didn’t know what to do with him now that he was alone. He kept glancing around the room, then pressing his lips together, like he was waiting on line in a bank.
Kim said something to Kristen, and then everyone broke off into side conversations. I tried to maneuver myself closer to Kristen but she inched away, separating me and Patrick from the group.
“You don’t come out much,” he finally said.
I probably should’ve made up something that sounded mysterious or cool, but it was Patrick Kramer. It didn’t feel worth it.
“I was grounded for six months. Now it’s been downgraded to close surveillance,” I said. “After my house was broken into? You probably heard?”
“Oh, right. You’re over in the flower streets, Honeysuckle Court, Rose Lane. That’s why those Swickley Alarm cars are everywhere.”
“I don’t feel like I missed out on much. I mean, this isn’t really my scene…”
I swirled the pink concoction around my cup.
“So what is your scene?” Patrick moved closer, dipping down so we were eye level. I had a jolt of nervousness, like I was taking a test I hadn’t prepared for. Kristen was right…Patrick Kramer was flirting with me.
“I kind of like the Wolf Den, that place on Main Street where they have live music twice a week.” My voice got all weird and pitchy. “It’s sixteen and over now to get in.”
Patrick leaned against the wall and stared off, like I’d just said something incredibly profound. I was 99 percent sure he’d never been to the Wolf Den, but even if I was right, he didn’t ask about it.
“Yeah, I don’t think this is my scene either. It can be hard to relate. Everyone’s getting high, or talking about stupid meaningless stuff, like the yearbook superlatives. I feel really separate sometimes, like I’m watching a movie of it all, that it’s all happening in front of me but I’m not part of it. Especially after last year.”
He didn’t look at me as he said it, and I knew that was my cue. We were supposed to have some deep conversation about what happened that day at the Empire State Building. You’re a hero, I’d say, resting my hand on his chest. Tell me what it’s like.
“I have to uh…go to the bathroom…” I slipped past him, immediately wishing I’d found a better excuse, that I’d said anything but that. I just wanted to get rid of him, not make it seem like I had explosive diarrhea.