Steve Stevenson stood on the edge of a diving board wearing an American flag Speedo, sunglasses, and a plastic lei, gripping a mic and “rapping” along with . . . was that Cardi B? Through the bass shaking my bones, I heard something about a little bitch and shoes and making money move. Yes. It was definitely Cardi B. In his other hand, a red Solo cup sloshed beer into the steaming turquoise water below. The rest of the pool was packed with people hanging from various animal-themed floaties, gripping their own Solo cups, whooping and cheering him on. God, he was everything I spent my life trying not to be. What was he adding to the world other than lame SpongeBob memes and a certainty that the beer industry stayed solvent? But everyone loved him. Why?
“Steve Stevenson is fucking hilarious,” the girl next to me said. I turned. She had a flamingo inner tube hanging off her waist and a lei wrapped around her head.
“Um, I think you mean vaguely racist.”
“Huh?” She blinked, confused.
I gestured to the atrocity bouncing at the end of the diving board as Steve dropped into a half squat and shook his ass at the crowd. “Sure, he’s skipping over certain words but, I mean, this is the embodiment of appropriation. What connection does a rich white boy from Ventura have to the culture of hip-hop?”
“Maybe he just likes Cardi. She’s my girrrrrl!” She swiveled her hips in the inner tube, knocking the flamingo’s head into me.
“Really? A former stripper is your role model?” The girl, who I’d had Spanish with sophomore year, just looked confused again. “I mean, have you ever listened to her lyrics? What sort of message is she sending to young women?” Steve was a lost cause, obviously, but maybe I could get through to her. But the girl just rolled her eyes, hitched up her inner tube, and walked away. I sighed. Kaia would understand what I was getting at. I needed to find her. She was probably having a miserable time, too.
I scanned the crowd. It seemed like most of our class was here. People kept bumping into me, shoving past on their way to the keg. The only illumination was coming from the pool or the twinkle lights wrapped around the palm trees, making it hard to see anyone’s face clearly. Warm water splashed onto my feet and seeped through my shoes as I inched forward. I saw Conner from PE and asked, “Have you seen Kaia?” But he just shrugged, yelled, “Timber!” and fell like a chopped tree into the pool. I continued, creeping along the slick edge of the concrete. Ahead was an empty area where I might have a better view. Still hugging the side of the pool, I pushed my way through the last few bodies. “Kaia?”
On the diving board, Steve stopped rapping. He tossed the microphone to one of his bros, chugged the last of his beer, and chucked the cup into a bush. He pulled something over his shoulder. I hadn’t noticed the black strap crossing his torso earlier. I did now. Because it was attached to a gun.
A big gun. The sort I’d only seen in movies or video games. Was it an assault rifle? What the hell was he doing . . . ? Why wasn’t anyone screaming? Running? Resting the butt on his shoulder, Steve squinted one eye and aimed it.
At me.
He pulled the trigger. I screamed and dropped, automatically covering the back of my neck and rolling into a ball.
Splat. Splat. Splat. Something burst over my head. Specks of wetness hit my hands. For a minute the only thing I could hear was the blood pounding through my ears. When it stopped, it was replaced by a different sound: laughter. I uncurled. Looking up, I saw people doubled over all around me, their Solo cups spilling as they struggled to breathe. Then I saw it. Behind me, an enormous sheet was stretched between two palm trees with a target spray-painted on it. The whole thing was splattered with neon-colored paint. The same paint that now speckled my hands. I’d walked right in front of it.
Steve tossed the paintball gun aside and cannonballed into the pool. People screeched as they were smacked with the wave. Before I knew it, he was climbing out of the deep end and onto the deck next to me, water streaming off his body. He’d lost the sunglasses, but the lei still hung limp and bedraggled around his neck. I hurried to my feet, only to discover the front of my pants was soaked from crouching on the wet concrete. Steve grinned, huge and delighted.
“Oh man, that was fucking hilarious.”
Of course. Of course there would be no apology. “Oh yeah. Ha ha. So funny. I had a perfectly normal reaction to getting shot at.” I tugged at my pants, feeling the fabric cling to my shins.
“I didn’t know a dude’s voice could go that high.”
And cue the misogyny. “Um, ‘dudes’ have a wide range of vocal registers.” I glared at him. I wasn’t going to give him a pass. No one else would call him out, but I would. “And the assumption that something coded female automatically equals bad or less than is not—”
Steve cocked his head, fully taking me in for the first time. “Do I . . . know you?”
My stomach flipped. Technically, I didn’t have an invitation. But I’d assumed this was one of those parties where people just showed up. That’s how these things were supposed to work, right? I mean, no one was at the door. Well, aside from the guy in a unicorn onesie and fairy wings, who was passed out with a half-eaten pizza next to him. But it wasn’t like there was anyone taking names or checking a list. Or any parents.
Steve was still staring at me, waiting. I stuck my hand out. “I’m Cam. Cam Webber. Kaia invited me.” It came out all in one breath, which sucked because it made me sound nervous. I wasn’t. Very. I tried not to think of old movies where the nerd with taped glasses was unceremoniously thrown out the front door by the big popular guy with cool hair. I swallowed. Why was my mouth suddenly dry?
Steve took my hand, shaking it, looking even more confused, if possible. “Kaia?” Steve seemed to be searching his memory.
“Yeah. Kaia Gonzales. Have you seen her?”
“Kaia . . . Kaia . . .” He put his hand to his chin in a fake “I’m thinking” pose. “What does she look like?”
I tried not to roll my eyes. He clearly had no idea who she was. This guy probably had the entire girls’ volleyball team in his phone, but I doubted a girl like Kaia would register. On the other hand, there were two hundred people here, it was dark, and it was his house. I didn’t have much of a chance of finding her on my own and maybe he had seen her. “Uh, dark, curly hair? Brown eyes? This high?” I held my hand out to a level slightly below my eyebrows.
Steve shook his head. “You gotta be more specific. Am I looking for a Kardashian or a Swift? What’s she working with?”
“I don’t feel comfortable answering that on any level.”
Steve gave a short bark of surprised laughter, then threw his arm around me. I flinched. Up close I could smell chlorine and beer. I felt my T-shirt getting damp. Suddenly, his face was inches from mine. His eyes were bright and a touch manic. He grinned. “I like you. You’re funny. Let’s go look for her.”
Before I could answer, he started walking, his arm still over my shoulder. I was forced to stumble along beside him. Naturally, the crowd parted in front of us, with no effort on Steve’s part. People just automatically made way for him.
Seemingly on a mission, Steve crossed his yard with vigor. “I don’t know if you know this, Cam, but I’m a pretty popular guy. People from everywhere showing up. Some I don’t even know. Like you! Still, let’s ask around.” Reaching the pool house, he yanked open the sliding glass door and shoved me inside.