Save Steve

by Jenni Hendriks

  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.

  It was even darker than outside, the music was even louder, and the room was humid from all the wet bodies. There were a lot of wet bodies. Holy shit, what was happening back here? My eyes darted around the room, but all I could see were limbs. Tangled together. Half hanging off couches. Pressed up in corners. Thank god the music was so loud because who knew what I would hear if it wasn’t. There was literally nowhere to look that didn’t feel like I was violating someone’s right to privacy.

  Steve walked into the middle of the room, stepping over legs and arms with ease, dragging me along behind. I mumbled sorry to the hands and toes I squashed, but no one seemed to notice. “Any of these body parts look familiar?” he shouted into my ear.

  “Oh, um . . .” I stared at the poster of a parrot and a margarita on the back wall, too afraid of what I would see if I looked any lower.

  “Cam, Cam, Cam. You are not making this easy.” He put one hand up to his mouth and shouted, “Yo! Any of you people getting on Kaia?” There was a smattering of laughter from the room. “Is this Kaia?” some guy asked, and the redhead he was making out with smacked him and laughed, “Shuttt uppp.” More laughter. Steve looked at me and gave an exaggerated shrug. “Guess not.” Then, grabbing my arm, he pulled me back toward the sliding glass doors.

  “This is a consent nightmare, Steve!” I shouted over the music as my foot kicked an empty plastic cup. “Everyone’s drinking!”

  Steve stopped. His eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, thanks, Cam. I missed that!” He turned back toward the room. “Hey! Is everyone getting consensually laid here? Cam is very concerned!”

  There was an answering “Woooooooooooo!” from the pile of bodies, followed by more laughter. A few fists pumped in the air. Steve slung his arm around me again, smiling brightly.

  “Well, I feel better now! The search continues. . . .”

  He dragged me out onto the pool deck. The cool night air hit me in the face, a shock after the sticky warmth of the pool house. My cheeks were hot. I knew they must be bright red. It was annoying. I had no reason to be embarrassed. I’d done the right thing by saying something. But my cheeks stayed red. And Steve noticed. Of course he did. His smile got even bigger. Sliding his arm from my shoulders, he grabbed a cup off the top of the nearby keg and expertly poured a beer.

  “You want? You look a little warm.” His eyes glittered with amusement.

  “No.”

  With a shrug, Steve drank the beer. Alcoholic peer pressure didn’t seem to be in his repertoire. He wiped the foam from his lip and then leaned against the keg, ready to settle in for a conversation. “So, you and Kaia close?”

  “Oh, um, we’re friends.”

  “But you want to get on that, right? Rub that scrawny little body of yours all over her.”

  “No!” I objected both to the scrawny and to the rubbing. Not that I hadn’t had a thought or two . . . but it wasn’t . . . and I always . . . “It’s not like that,” I mumbled.

  “Please. You wanna ride Kaia like Aquaman rides a dolphin.” Steve started thrusting his hips suggestively. I looked away, but he just thrust his way closer to me. “Kaia . . .” He clo
sed his eyes and let his mouth go slack. I stepped back. He thrust closer. “Mmmmmm. Kaia . . .” Steve started moaning. People turned and snickered.

  “It’s not just about sex, okay! Kaia’s amazing!”

  Steve’s eyes snapped open. He stopped thrusting. “Let’s try inside,” he suggested, suddenly all business.

  We ended up in what I guess people would say was a den. Or a man cave. I wasn’t sure, since my place had a living room and that was basically it for the “hanging out” areas. And even that space had a dining room table tucked into it. You could probably fit two of my living rooms in the space we were in now. A huge squishy L-shaped leather couch filled the room. There were jerseys under glass hanging on the walls—Lakers, Dodgers, Rams. All signed. A popcorn machine sat forgotten and unused in the corner.

  A bunch of guys were scattered on the couch, hunched over the controllers clutched in their hands. I tried to guess what game they were playing but I didn’t recognize it. Something with lasers and aliens. Suddenly my vision went black.

  “Cease fire! Cease fire! This is a safe space for Cam! He’s afraid of guns!” Steve had covered my eyes with his hands. I struggled to get away, but Steve just gripped tighter.

  “Stop it! Let go!” Finally, I yanked his hands down only to be faced with everyone in the room staring at me. The game was paused and its silence underscored the players’ annoyed glares. Awesome.

  Steve nudged me. “Maybe these guys know,” he faux whispered.

  “Uh . . .” I quickly ran through my options on how to get out of this with minimal embarrassment. Sadly, giving in seemed like the fastest way. “Have any of you seen Kaia Gonzales?”

  Blank stares. A few uninterested grunts. Steve clapped me on the shoulder. “Sorry, buddy. No luck.” He gestured grandly to the room. “Resume the bloodshed!” Someone unpaused the game and there was a blare of laser fire and explosions. Some sort of tentacled creature splattered into a million pixelated pieces and then my vision went black again as Steve covered my eyes and dragged me from the room.

  I ducked out of his grip as we entered a wide tiled hallway. It was big enough and long enough to have those weird half tables pushed up against the walls every few feet. Steve was stroking my back.

  “Shhhhh. It’s okay now. The bad bang-bang sticks are gone.”

  I jerked away. “Dude, I’m not embarrassed by my natural fear response. It’s totally okay to be afraid.”

  Steve shrugged. “Being scared is boring.”

  “Don’t pretend that you aren’t afraid of anything.”

  Steve thought for a moment. “You’re right. I’m afraid you’re ruining my party.” He opened one of the many doors lining the hall and disappeared.

  I followed him in and immediately started coughing. The room was filled with smoke so dense it was impossible to see anything but silhouettes. The stench of weed was overwhelming. I could vaguely make out a pool table with an assortment of bongs scattered on top. Clearly, Steve’s friends were old school. “I hate you,” I finally managed after a few more wheezing coughs.

  Steve turned to me. He was close enough that I could see the fake look of hurt on his face. “Dude, that’s harsh. After all this work I’m doing to help you find your girl?” He spun around and stepped farther into the smoke. “Attention, stoners! Has anyone seen Kaia? Cam here won’t tell me what we’re working with on the booty and titty front so I can’t give you a description.” Seeing my chance to escape, I crouched below the weed cloud and made my way back toward the door. I’d find Kaia on my own. Steve continued, “Also, does anyone know Cam? Anyone? Because I’m starting to think this guy’s a ghost.”

  Waving away the smoke, I found the door and stumbled back into the hallway.

  And right into a pair of khaki pants.

  An adult.

  Shit.

  I straightened, knowing the weed still clung to my clothes, and hoped my eyes weren’t bloodshot.

  He was tall and broad, with pumped-up pecs that strained the too-tight polo shirt he was wearing. Close-cropped gray hair and a super erect posture that screamed ex-military completed the look. There was no question who this guy was: Steve’s dad.

  “Uh, sorry, Mr.—”

  “Have you been drinking?” he asked before I could finish, his eyes narrowing.

  “No!” I’d never been so glad I didn’t drink. I had a feeling this guy was a human lie detector.

  “Where are your keys?” He continued to eye me with suspicion.

  “In the bowl by the front. Where the sign said to drop them.” I gulped.

  Mr. Stevenson’s face split into a broad smile. “Then why aren’t you drinking?” He pounded me on the back and slapped a beer he’d pulled seemingly out of nowhere into my hand. I stared at it, too stunned for a moment to do anything but feel the chill of condensation on my palm. Mr. Stevenson strode to a window at the end of the hallway and looked out, cracking open his own beer. “Look at that.”

  I hung back, but he gestured at me to come closer, so I inched forward. Looking through the window, I could see the full chaos of the party displayed. People chased each other across the lawn in swimsuits, pushed each other into the pool, made out against the palm trees, and danced with cups in the air to music that I could barely hear. Mr. Stevenson sighed and took a swig of his beer.

  “Now that is what a high school party should be, right? Those are fucking memories.” He clinked his beer to the one I had in my hand, then resumed staring out at the party, a proud expression on his face. It was my chance to back away. I needed to find Kaia in the next few minutes, and if I didn’t, I was ready to grab my keys and bail. I took a careful step backward. Steve’s dad turned away from the window and glared at me, his eyes flicking to my can. “You’re not drinking.”

  “Uh . . . I . . .”

  A door opened and a wave of smoke poured out, followed by Steve. Spotting me and his dad at the end of the hall, he sauntered over. “Hey, Dad. That Granddaddy Purple is the shit. Thanks. Gotta steal Cam, though. We’re on a secret mission.” He swung his arm over me.

  Mr. Stevenson beamed at his son, his pride evident. “Have fun, boys. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He chortled. Gross.

  Steve steered me away, plucking the beer from my hand and leaving it on a table. “We wouldn’t want to sully that temple of righteousness.” I’d been momentarily grateful for being rescued from his dad, but as Steve dragged me down the hall, my irritation returned. I shrugged out of his grasp.

  “You know what? I’m good, Steve. You can go back to your karaoke or target practice or whatever.”

  Steve gasped, offended. “What? No way! What sort of host would I be? I mean, it’s obvious you don’t have any friends. Like, no one knows you. I checked.”

  “It’s not like the whole class is here.”

  “Um, they kinda are.”

  “I have friends outside of school,” I said, thinking of Todd and Patrice.

  Steve clapped his hands to his cheeks. “Ohhh. Are they from Canada?”

  I crossed my arms. “Kaia’s my friend.”

  “Right. The amazing Kaia. You told me. So let’s go find her! I don’t want you to be lonely, Cam.” Steve’s tone was heavy with concern. I was a pacifist, but he was making me seriously reconsider.

  We turned down a hallway.

  “How big is this place?” I’d been wondering but now I had to ask. At this point, I had lost all sense of direction. It was one beige tiled hall after another.

  “Hmmmm, five thousand seven hundred square feet plus the pool house?” Steve ventured. “My dad’s a contractor. Does a lot of shit in Calabasas. This place is basically a write-off.”

  He pulled us down another hall while I contemplated what it must be like to live in a palace. “Running out of rooms . . .” Steve singsonged. “Where could amazing Kaia be?” I didn’t bother to answer.

  As we turned a corner, music that had been distantly thumping suddenly got louder. A wide archway revealed a dining room with a t
able so big it had two chandeliers hanging over it. It must have looked super impressive and formal most days, but tonight it was being used as a dance floor. Girls were standing on top of the shining wood, swaying along with the music, the drinks held high in their hands occasionally spilling onto the table.

  “Lots of medium-sized brown-haired girls up there, Cam,” Steve observed. “Any of them yours?”

  “Kaia’s not mine.”

  “I hope not, because you’re doing a terrible job keeping track of her.” He crossed over to the table, helped a few girls to climb off in order to make space, and patted it. “Hop up there, buddy. Ask away!”

  I crossed my arms. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  Steve just cocked an eyebrow and waited. I sighed and climbed up on the table.

  “Hi. I’m looking for Kaia.”

  A girl dancing on the floor squinted up at me. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Cam, Sadie. We have AP Bio together.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “I don’t think so.”

  “He’s the one who hates Cardi B!” I turned. Stumbling from the corner where she’d been dancing next to (or possibility with) an oversized vase filled with artistically arranged sticks, the girl from earlier weaved her way toward me.

  Steve whirled around to face me, aghast. “What? A Cardi hater? How did you get in?”

  “He said she was a bad role model for me,” the girl whined.

  Steve gasped and clutched his chest. “No!”

  “She glorifies being a stripper! How is that good?” I sounded defensive, but come on.

  Steve nodded. “Ahhhh! Now I get it! You’re here to rescue Kaia from my corrupting influence!”

  “What? No—”

  “With the beer. And the Cardi. And the fun. I mean, look at all this.” He gestured to the debauchery around us. “Poor Kaia. She must be so frightened.”