They Wish They Were Us

by Jessica Goodman

  I had been standing in the candy aisle with my fists clenched, holding my breath. When Shaila pulled the beer off the counter, I let out a rush of air. But then the bell on the door chimed.

  “Jill? Shaila?”

  The voice was deep and familiar. I spun around and my heart sank. Mr. Beaumont was standing right in front of us, his collar askew and his shirt tails untucked. He looked . . . cute. Not like a teacher. Not like the person who was about to ruin my life and get me thrown out of Gold Coast Prep for buying beer.

  “Hey, Beau,” Shaila said first, casually. She held the cardboard box in both hands and didn’t bother to hide it. “How you doing tonight?”

  “Not as well as you girls,” he said, laughing. His cheeks were flushed and he ran a hand through his hair.

  Shaila giggled. “Are you gonna rat us out?”

  Mr. Beaumont reached into his pocket and pulled out an empty cigarette pack. “Just here for a refill.”

  “Weingarten hates smokers,” Shaila said in a singsong voice.

  “I won’t tell if you won’t?” Mr. Beaumont cocked his head and his mouth turned into an amused smirk.

  Shaila smiled. “There’s no one like you at Prep,” she said.

  Mr. Beaumont laughed again and shook his head. “You too, Shaila.”

  My heart was beating fast, like it was going to burst out of my chest.

  “See you tomorrow.” Shaila skipped out of the gas station and I darted behind her, making a run for my bike. My arms were shaking as I gripped the handles.

  “Come on!” Shaila shouted as she took off down the main drag toward the water, the case of beer rattling in her bike’s basket. But before I started pedaling, I glanced back. Mr. Beaumont stood right outside the storefront. He lit a cigarette and watched us ride away.

  When we dropped off the provisions at Rachel’s, Shaila detailed every moment of our run-in, amping up the drama and tension. “We were almost expelled!”

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “At least for a good cause, right?” She laughed, cracking open a can. She tossed one to Tina Fowler, who sat next to her on the big leather sofa, her strawberry-blonde hair piled on top of her head. “All these pops have a purpose, you know. To make you stronger. To bond you together forever.” Rachel would say that over and over throughout the year. They all did. And so we believed it and said it, too. “Nothing brings you closer than being made to feel like someone’s little bitch.”

  Tonight’s event is one of the bigger ones, though. When we were freshmen they called it Showtime. But now we just refer to it as “the Show,” and it always happens a few weeks before seniors are due to hear back from their first round of college applications. That way everyone is on fire, ready to unleash hell and expend all that frustrated energy. Kind of messed up. Even Henry’s a little tense when he picks me up to take me to Nikki’s. Neither of us bring up Brown or Wharton.

  “Thank God you’re here,” Nikki says, answering the door in a rose-colored gauzy maxi dress, even though it’s freezing outside. “I need help!”

  “With what?” I push past her and into the kitchen, ready to raid whatever snacks she has already poured into bowls. Henry trails behind me.

  “This.”

  I grab a handful of Cheez-Its and turn. “What the . . .”

  Nikki has forgone the casual setups of Showtimes past, and has instead turned her living room into an arena, complete with stadium seating. In front of the massive TV, she’s built a makeshift stage out of crates, and covered the whole thing in glittery fabric.

  “This isn’t Broadway, Nikki. They’re just reading corny sex scenes we’ve all heard a million times before.” I roll my eyes. The scripts had been handed down for years, laminated in the Toastmaster binder. But every senior class tweaked them just a bit, adding a new line of dialogue here, some dramatic stage direction there. According to Jake Horowitz, they were actual scenes from sex tapes Players made back in the nineties when camcorders were a thing. But he only said that when he was trying to convince us that the pops used to be so much worse.

  Nikki balls her hands into fists and stamps her foot. “I want this to be better! Remember last year, no one could hear the stupid undies because everyone was laughing so hard. It was way too easy.”

  “Whatever.”

  The doorbell rings and Nikki just stares at me. “Can you get that?”

  “Sure, your highness,” I joke. Nikki stomps away, unamused. Henry rolls his eyes.

  “Whaddup, Jill!” Robert yells, clearly already a few deep. Quentin and Marla are right behind him.

  “Whoa, sick,” says Marla.

  “At least someone gets my vision.” Nikki stares daggers at me.

  I relent. “What can I do to help?” Nikki’s face softens and she starts rattling off instructions for how to set up the bar and which dimmers should be set on timers.

  “C’mon,” Marla whispers to me. “I’ll help you.”

  I mouth thank you to her and we retreat to the far side of the living room to stack plastic cups and dump ice into buckets.

  “She in a mood tonight?” Marla asks. Her hazel eyes are rimmed in thick liner and her nearly fluorescent hair is tied into a knot high on her head.

  I snort and rip open a bag of ice. “Seems that way.”

  Marla shakes her head. “Let’s just get this one over with.” Her gold hoop earrings jangle as she leans over the bar. Marla’s always been the steady one, the one who calls us on our crap. Perhaps because she’s less invested. She knows this is temporary. Out of anyone, she would be the one to root out the bullshit, which makes me wonder if she would understand why I went to talk to Rachel, if she has questions, too.

  “I actually wanted to ask you something,” I say, lowering my voice.

  “Shoot,” she says.

  “I can’t stop thinking about Shaila,” I start. “About Graham. Don’t you think it’s insane no one wants to talk about how he could be innocent?” I hold my breath and Marla stops lining up bottles on the bar. She turns to face me, her head cocked to one side.

  “One hundred percent insane,” she says. “But that’s Gold Coast. No one wants to stir anything up. We all just pretend like everything is perfect all the time.”

  “Aren’t you curious?” I ask. I pick at a cuticle on my thumb.

  “Of course,” Marla says. “But let me be real with you. Nothing you or I say or do will change anything. We’re not Arnolds or Millers or Garrys. We’re just lucky to be here.” Marla’s face softens and she resumes stacking cups. “My mom works double shifts at the hospital to make sure I can go to Prep. We haven’t taken a vacation in a decade. Why do you think all my brothers went to Cartwright? My parents are investing everything they have in me. My mom prays every single night that I’ll get into Dartmouth. The last thing they need is for me to get caught up in some Law and Order nonsense a few months before graduating.”

  After more than three years of friendship, I can’t believe I don’t know this about Marla, that we’re both buried under an avalanche of expectations. But something stops me from telling her that. Instead I reach out and squeeze her hand. “You’re so right.”

  “We’ll be out of here soon,” she says. “But until then, we just have to keep pretending everything’s okay.”

  I nod and try to push images of Shaila and Graham and all that thick, dark blood out of my head. My chest tightens and I clench my fists into little balls.

  Nikki’s doorbell explodes.

  “They’re here!” she yells. “Let’s get this shit going!”

  The door opens and a stream of Players enter Nikki’s living room. Suddenly, it’s a party. Nikki’s smile grows wider every time someone compliments her set design and I can’t help but be annoyed. It’s just the Show. I don’t know why she feels the need to go all out.

  A tuft of dark hair catches my eye. “Jared!” His eyes gr
ow bright with recognition and I swear the muscles in his face relax. I push my way through the crowd. Bryce stands next to him and they both break into laughter. “What?” I ask.

  Jared blushes an ungodly shade of red, but Bryce, with his Miller swagger, leans in close. “Just getting ready for our performance,” he says.

  “Which one do you have?” I ask.

  “The threesome,” Bryce says with a smirk.

  Jared breaks into giggles. “I may need you to leave the room, Jill. Way too awk.” He takes a long sip of beer and I close my fist to stop from knocking the can out of his hand.

  “You guys will be fine. Just make a joke out of it. That’s all anyone wants to see.”

  Bryce laughs. “We got this. Right, J?”

  “Hell yeah.” They slam their beers together, spilling liquid onto the rug.

  “Players, assemble!” Nikki’s voice rings out over the room, and the undies scatter to their seats. “Move.” Her voice is sharp like a razor as she shoves her way to the couch. “Seniors only.”

  “Ugh. Dictator much?” Topher Gardner says. He had already planted his butt in the best seat, where the two sides of the L-shape meet.

  “You heard the lady,” Robert growls.

  Topher rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his dark buzzcut. But he relents and slides onto the floor. Nikki kicks at him with her wedge heel. “Get me a drink, Toph.”

  “And I thought I was already initiated,” he jokes.

  “Do it,” Nikki seethes through clenched teeth. Her face is red and splotchy and she narrows her eyes at him. I make a note to keep quiet for the rest of the night. To stay out of her way.

  “Sit with me,” Henry says, as if reading my mind. “Over here. C’mon.”

  I follow him to the other end of the couch. We take our seats while Nikki presses a few buttons on the remote, dimming the lights and creating a pseudo spotlight at the front of the room.

  “Scene one!” she calls out. “Places!”

  Larry Kramer pushes himself to his feet and lumbers to the front of the room. He clears his throat and drains the can in his hand. “Oh shit,” he starts. “I’m horny.”

  Henry erupts in laughter next to me. That didn’t take long. “This one is always hilarious,” he whispers. I know I should be giggling, enjoying watching Larry be humiliated. But a sinking feeling creeps into my stomach. I want to crawl out of my skin.

  Larry continues, reading different “ooh” and “aah” sounds from a piece of paper, while the rest of the group chucks potato chips, crumpled napkins, and empty plastic shot glasses in his direction. I watch through parted fingers and take another sip of my drink, trying to fight the churning nausea deep in my stomach. This seemed more fun last year.

  Larry clears his throat again and comes to the natural end of his scene. His face is crimson. “Uh,” he says. “Thank you.”

  Topher erupts from the ground and throws his wide, meaty fist into the air. “Woo-hoo, Kramer! All-star whacker-offer!”

  “Seven feet of rawness!” Robert yells.

  I take a peek at Nikki but avoid making eye contact. Her eyes are locked on Sierra McKinley, who shifts nervously in her cross-legged seat, whispering to another freshman. Both of their faces grow pale.

  “Next!” Nikki calls out.

  Sierra stands, and so do Jared and Bryce. “I don’t know if I can watch this,” I whisper to Henry.

  Henry squeezes my knee. “You only have to stay for a sec,” he goads. “Then go get a drink or something.”

  I nod and clasp my hands together, bracing to watch my baby brother embarrass the shit out of himself. Because of me. Because I brought him here.

  “Action, losers!” Nikki shrieks.

  “Well, hi there, boys,” Sierra recites in a small, high voice. “What are you doing here by the pool?”

  “We’re lifeguards this summer,” Bryce says, lowering his voice about an octave. “Wanna take a dip?”

  “Oh, definitely,” she says. “I’m so thrilled you’re here to keep me safe.”

  The stilted dialogue continues and I begin to relax. This won’t be so bad.

  “Boring!” Nikki yells, tossing a plastic cup toward the front of the room. Robert wraps an arm around her shoulder and leans into her ear to whisper something. Nikki’s face breaks into a smile and she nods furiously. “Act it out!” she cheers. “Act it out!”

  To my horror, the rest of the room begins chanting the same three words. “Act it out! Act it out!”

  I can’t sit still anymore. I reach over to Nikki and put one hand on her bare ankle. “Nikki, chill out,” I whisper. “You’re going too far.”

  With a flick of her foot, she shakes me off. She doesn’t even look my way as she continues cheering. “Act it out! Act it out!”

  Only Quentin is silent beside me, staring in wide-eyed confusion as the rest of the room turns into a mob. Jared, Bryce, and Sierra freeze, unsure of how to proceed.

  I shake my head at Jared, hoping he can read my mind. No, I think. You don’t have to do this.

  But Bryce takes the lead and moves to stand behind Sierra. He nods for Jared to shift in front of her. As the room gets louder and louder, so does the throbbing in my head. Sierra’s face turns red and puffy and I have to leave.

  I heave myself off the couch and push my way through the clump of sophomores in folding chairs, still hollering at what’s going down in front of them.

  The back door is only a few feet away and the relief I feel when I push it open is so overwhelming. I sink to my knees on the wooden deck and lean my back against the house. I try to steady my breathing and look up. But the clouds are blocking out the stars. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to hear my heart beat. Breathe, I tell myself. Breathe.

  The door opens behind me and breezy fabric passes over my head. Nikki.

  “What’s your deal?” Her words are loud and sharp. It’s a side of her I’ve never seen. And it makes me want to run.

  “It’s too much,” I whisper. “You’re humiliating them. That’s my brother.”

  Nikki takes a step forward, towering over me.

  “This isn’t like you,” I say. But her face is stone.

  “Do you remember what happened when we had Showtime?” she asks.

  “Of course.” I got off easy, reading out some stupid softcore scene with Quentin. We were last and everyone was so wasted at that point that no one even realized we were speaking. They had basically lost interest and it was over in sixty seconds flat.

  “It was the absolute worst,” she says, her voice softening. I rack my brain to remember Nikki’s part, but I can’t. I can only picture Shaila hooting and hollering, moaning in her deep, gravelly voice with such over-the-top hilarity that everyone cheered. “I was with Robert,” Nikki continues. “We were almost at the end when Jake Horowitz got up from the back of the room.” She stops. “You don’t remember, do you?” I shake my head and bite my lip. Wind gusts from the ocean in the distance and a shiver runs up my spine.

  “Ugh,” Nikki says with disgust. “Jake shoved Robert back into the crowd and said, ‘This is how it’s done, loser! This is how you screw her!’” Tiny tears appear in the corner of Nikki’s eyes and the memory floods my brain. He had mimed doing all sorts of things with Nikki in front of everyone, and afterward, she disappeared for the rest of the night. Shaila finally dragged her out of the Calloways’ third-floor bathroom when it was time to go home. Nikki never said how much it stung. How ashamed she must have felt. How we did nothing to stop it. We let it happen to her.

  “Nikki,” I start, stumbling to my feet.

  But she cuts me off. “The boys were always in charge. It’s our turn to make the rules,” she says. “If we can take it, so can they. Look how we turned out? Strong as hell. Brilliant bitches. We’re doing them a favor.”

  I know she’s wrong. So, so wrong.
But looking at her beautiful, furious face, I know there’s nothing I can say that will change her mind. She’s my friend. My best friend now. I just have to stay.

  I say nothing and Nikki takes that to mean I’m on her side. She turns her chin up and retreats back into the house, leaving me alone in the cold night. I squeeze my eyes shut and will this all to be over, for graduation to come in an instant, for all of this to wash away.

  A small vibration hums against my leg. I pull out my phone and see Rachel’s name. My stomach flips.

  I know it’s been a while, but what do you think? Are you down to help us? We need you, Newman.

  I stare at the words turning blurry on the screen. Maybe I need them, too.

  ELEVEN

  WHEN I GET home that night, I gaze at the stars on my ceiling. I’m so tired, but sleep won’t come. I try to remember the moments before everything changed. Before I became scared. Of the Players, and, more so, myself. What were we capable of? How far could we be pushed? How much would we sacrifice? When did my world shift?

  It always comes back to one night in November of freshman year. It was a Friday, warmer than it should have been. The day after Thanksgiving. I remember because I had apple pie for breakfast and I could still taste the thick, sweet filling on my lips when Adam texted.

  Be ready at 9, Newman. We’re having a night.

  My skin tingled. I knew he was dating Rachel, but he was planning to hang out with me. It didn’t matter that the Calloways were in the Hamptons for the holiday. Or that Adam and his buddies had spent the past few weeks embarrassing me and my friends, forcing us to be available constantly. That night he sought me out on his own.

  Okay, I responded. Should I bring my Player pack?

  Nope. Night off. You deserve it.

  The rest of the day was a slog and by 9, I had started to freak out. Where were we going? What was going to happen? When Mom asked me what I was up to, I just said hanging out with Adam. She didn’t ask questions. That was a plus, of course, having my parents trust that Adam wouldn’t lead me into something dark and dangerous.

  Finally, I heard the familiar notes of crashing guitar chords coming from his Mercedes.