Summer Unscripted

by Jen Klein

  “He’s coming,” she says after a moment. “But—and tell me if I’m being a controlling bitch—I kinda thought he’d be here by now.”

  Ella looks at me and I shrug. I’m not sure how you answer that.

  Luckily, Gretchen doesn’t seem to really be looking for an answer. “When you’re the boyfriend, you come at the beginning of the party, right? To make sure it doesn’t suck?”

  Again, Ella and I look at each other. There’s no way—like, literally no way—that one of Gretchen’s parties would ever suck. She’s just too pretty and popular and wild and fun. “Sure,” Ella says. “But I think you’re doing okay.”

  “I wish I could suck like you,” I say, and immediately regret it when Gretchen howls with laughter.

  “I taught her the cherry-stem trick.” Gretchen points at Ella. “I can teach you anything you want. I’m sure we have a banana around here….”

  “That’s really okay,” I tell her.

  Happily, Gretchen seems to immediately lose track of the conversation. She sets a hand on her hip. “You know what would make this party better?”

  “Strippers?”

  Gretchen’s head swivels to me. She purses her lips like she’s considering it. “Where could we get strippers right now?”

  “I’m kidding,” I tell her. “You don’t need strippers. Your party is awesome.”

  “It’s the best party we’ve been to all summer,” Ella confirms.

  “Yeah,” I continue. “There’s music. People are drinking and dancing. It’s fun.”

  What I don’t say is that, BTW, part of what makes it so great is that Gretchen’s place is kick-ass. It’s not a shitty college apartment like Logan’s, but rather a full-out townhouse. It’s like something my parents would rent if we were skiing in Colorado. There are ivory candles and framed artwork and Oriental rugs. Not a movie poster or beer pyramid to be seen. Seriously, it’s awesome.

  “Wait.” I look at Gretchen. “What were you going to say? What would make your party better?”

  She sets her hands on my shoulders and stares at me. I can’t tell if she’s trying to glean information from my face or if she’s forgotten what she was going to say. When she finally speaks, her black-fringed eyes go really wide. “A game. Don’t you think we should play a game?”

  The memory of my first Gretchen sighting flashes through my brain. It was her screaming “Trust fall!” before flinging herself backward into a sea of her quick-reacting friends. It stands to reason that any game Gretchen wants to play might be…dangerous.

  But before I can record an opinion, I catch movement in my peripheral vision. It’s Ella nodding her head. “I’d play a game.”

  “Yay!” Gretchen flings her arms around Ella and then, maybe for good measure, hugs me too. “Come on, let’s get dirty.”

  Gretchen strikes off toward the living room—I assume to round up the troops—and I look at Ella. “Dirty?”

  “Don’t ask me.” She takes a swig from her goblet. “But whatever it is, I bet it’s more interesting than dancing.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” I tell her.

  After a trip to the restroom, I head to the kitchen to covertly dump my The Carol into the sink. The last thing I need is to be a wasted jackass at Gretchen’s not-sucking party. I fill my goblet with ginger ale and am starting to thread back through the crowd when I’m surprised by the sight of Milo heading toward me. He raises his hand in a halfhearted wave and—despite the lackluster greeting—I go to meet him. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “Who told you that?” He cocks his head, and I remember that no one told me, that I’d overheard him telling Paul during the show.

  Whoops.

  “I mean, I didn’t know you were here.” The attempt at clarification seems to mollify him, because he nods. Still, he keeps standing there, arms crossed, looking at the party around us. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something different about Milo tonight. It’s not just that there’s a darkness around his mouth and chin, like he’s a day behind in shaving. He seems darker. Moodier. Maybe even angry. “Are you…okay?”

  Milo’s earth-brown eyes widen and dart down to mine. “Sorry. Just…” He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

  That single drink must be controlling my appendages, because one of my hands reaches out and touches his forearm. It’s hard, as if he’s tensing the muscle. Or maybe it just always feels like that. Either way, I definitely like it a little too much. “You can tell me.”

  Milo looks at me, weighing his options. Finally, he nods. “Just this thing with my sister.”

  “Cat?”

  “Yeah.” He looks surprised that I remember her name. “She came in for the weekend and…it’s stupid. She’s all judge-y about why I’m here. It turned into a thing.”

  “Here at the party?” I’m having trouble following the conversation. That first The Carol was chock-full of alcohol.

  “No, in Olympus. Cat thinks I shouldn’t be doing the same thing I’ve been doing literally every summer since birth. She thinks I’m wasting time, that it’s dumb to be here again when I know it’s not going to mean anything later in life. That I don’t love it.”

  To be honest, it sounds like Cat has a point. “What does she think you should be doing?”

  “There was—” Milo pauses, running his fingers through his hair. “There was this photography internship. I filled out the application in December and…I never sent it. Whatever.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Milo’s eyes narrow, and I attempt to clarify, to soften my question. “I mean, if you already filled it out. Why not just send it in?”

  “I don’t know.” We both stand there for a long moment. “Yes, I do. Know, I mean.” He sighs. “I didn’t want to put myself out there because if I didn’t get it, maybe it would mean I’m not good enough.”

  “But what if you did get it?” I’m not being facetious. It’s a genuine question. I can’t imagine a world in which Milo doesn’t get what he wants. He’s so competent at everything. Able to stride across a stage as a crow or a tragic Trojan, no problems talking to a girl he doesn’t know in a coffee shop. He doesn’t seem like someone who worries about making the right decision. He acts like every decision he makes will automatically become the right one.

  He gazes down at me and seems to be turning it over in his mind. “Remember opening night? How you felt?”

  “Like I was going to screw it up.” And, worse than that…“And everyone would see.”

  “Yeah.” Milo’s eyes crinkle up at the corners, just the tiniest bit. “That.”

  I nod. I get it….

  I get him.

  As we look at each other, the music cranks up a notch. Someone makes a beeline for the fridge, bumping into me. I lurch sideways, and Milo grabs my elbow to steady me. “Hey, watch it,” he says to whoever’s in such a rush to get more booze. He glances toward my goblet. “What’s in that?”

  I hold it up so he can take it from my hand. He takes a sip before handing it back. “Ginger ale and…?”

  “Just ginger ale.”

  Milo nods and then, like there was never a break in the conversation, he keeps talking. “I honestly don’t know which one freaked me out more, the possibility of getting the internship or not getting it. Which I recognize is a very manly thing to say.”

  I answer his wry smile with an encouraging one of my own. “It’s a very human thing to say.”

  “Maybe. Either way, I wasn’t planning on getting attacked about it. We were supposed to have a nice night—maybe play Scrabble or something dorky like that—and suddenly Cat’s giving me the third degree. She doesn’t get it, that we missed her, that we want to hang out. She just blows into town and causes drama.”

  “Is that why you came to the party?”

  “Yeah.” He leans forward, and suddenly I realize he’s still holding my elbow. “And I figured you’d be here.”

  “Me?” It comes out in a startled whisper.

  “Bec
ause you’re all brave and crap.”

  “I’m brave and crap?”

  “When you had your freak-out, you still went onstage.” He grins. “It’s probably what they’ll write on your tombstone. ‘Here lies Rainie Langdon, she’s all brave and crap.’ ”

  “But I’m not.” The Carol–infused truth spills out of me. “Ask around, ask anyone. I second-guess everything. I can’t make a decision to save my life.”

  “You’re here, aren’t you?” Milo lets go of my elbow, spreading both hands wide to indicate the party, the theater, the town. “You wanted to try something new, so you did it. You marched in like you owned the place.”

  I stare up at him. There’s no way—like, seriously no way—he can view me like that. There was no marching. There was no owning. I practically slithered. I crawled along like a worm after a boy who never wanted me at all.

  But of course Milo doesn’t know that. How could he? I’ve been trafficking in half-truths ever since I met him.

  Milo moves closer. “My sister was like, ‘There was an opportunity you didn’t take because you wanted the safe choice. Olympus is easy, and the other thing is dangerous. Stretch your wings and effing fly already.’ ” He reaches out and touches my collarbone, right at the edge, where skin becomes shirt. He slides his finger down the length of my arm. “And all I could think was that I know someone who doesn’t take the safe choice, someone who sees something she wants—”

  Or someone she wants…

  “—and just goes for it. So I’m a dumbass for not sending that application, fine. But I don’t regret it, because already this summer is better than any of the others.” His eyes are warm and serious again, like the night of the fireworks. “I mean, you’re here.”

  Except he’s wrong.

  Because he thinks the wrong thing about who I am.

  Because I am wrong.

  But of course I don’t say that. Instead, I deflect. I take a step backward. I pull my arm away. “Gretchen wants everyone to go downstairs and play a game.”

  “Uh-huh, one of Gretchen’s games. That means drinking or kissing. Or both.” Milo looks at me in a way that I can’t quite read. “You’re going to play?”

  “Sure. I mean…yeah.” Wait, what is he asking? Is he trying to ascertain if he’s going to kiss me?

  “All right, then.” He opens the refrigerator and scans its contents before grabbing a can of beer. “I guarantee I’ll need one of these. Are you good with your ginger ale?”

  “I’m good,” I tell him. It’s a little bit true.

  Downstairs, a rousing game of “Never Have I Ever” is in full swing. As Milo and I descend the steps into the low-lit den, there’s a burst of uproarious laughter, followed by the sound of Paul defending himself: “It’s only because I have Ivy League aspirations!”

  I plop down next to Ella, who is cross-legged on the rug, with her back against the sofa. At least a dozen other Zeus! cast members are wedged around the floor and furniture in similar positions. Ella gestures toward Paul, who is atop an ottoman across the coffee table from us. “He’s never skipped a class.”

  “Not even once?” I ask.

  Hearing us, Paul gives me a despairing look. “Ivy League!”

  Milo ambles to a space across the room from me. He leans against the wall, crossing his legs at the ankle. I’m reminded of when I first met him, at Wendell’s party. Tonight, Milo looks like one of those James Dean cardboard cutouts sold at kitschy stores in the mall. All he needs is a red leather jacket. Plus shorter hair, lighter skin, whatever…

  “When did he get here?” Ella asks me.

  “I don’t know.” More important, why does she want to know? “I had to pee. He was in the kitchen when I came out.” My answer seems to mollify Ella. “What did I miss?”

  “Let’s see.” She takes a swig of her The Carol. “Pretty much everyone here has smoked a cigarette before. Most have tried weed. Katrina and Jon have both stolen lipsticks from a drugstore. Tuck is the only one who’s ever been naked on school property.”

  “That seems about right.” Belatedly I realize that—indeed—Tuck is here. He’s perched on the arm of the sofa behind me.

  When we make eye contact, he winks and raises his glass in a silent cheer. I return the gesture and then can’t bring myself to look in Milo’s direction.

  Luckily, there’s a thudding on the stairs, and Gretchen bounces in with a pitcher and a six-pack of beer. “Who’s thirsty?” she sings out.

  Several people raise their hands, including Paul, who first chugs whatever’s in his glass before waving it for a refill. As Gretchen sloshes some of what I presume is The Carol into the glass, Ella nudges me. “That’s not going to end well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s, like, his fourth one already.”

  I look down at my drink—still only ginger ale—then over at Ella’s The Carol. They’re both still full. “I’m good with this,” I tell her.

  “Me too.” Once again, we clink our rims together, but this time we don’t take sips.

  Gretchen sets the empty pitcher and three remaining beers on the coffee table, then waves her pointer finger around the crowd before zeroing in on Paul. “You. Mr. Attendance. You’re next.” She clambers into the empty seat behind me, tucking her legs beneath her. I’ve turned to look at her, which means that—unfortunately—I get to witness the way she flings her arms around Tuck’s neck and her tongue into his mouth. I whip around to face forward, and I see that Paul’s grimace is mirroring mine. I assume they’re for different reasons. Behind me I hear a slurping sound, which is apparently Gretchen extracting her tongue, because next I hear her speaking to Paul. “Come on, make it a good one.”

  “Okay, got it.” Paul sits up straight. “Never have I ever kissed someone of the opposite sex.”

  A chorus of groans swells through the room. Someone throws a pillow at him. Gretchen yells, “Lame!” and we all take a drink.

  Paul shrugs. “You don’t go straight to the deed,” he says in a mild voice. “It’s foreplay. You have to ramp up to the good stuff.”

  Ella nudges me. “Do you think Paul knows about ramping up to the deed?” I shrug, and she raises her hand. “I’ll go,” she tells the room. “Never have I ever kissed Paul.”

  Paul looks comically shocked as everyone bursts out laughing. I raise an eyebrow at Ella, and she shrugs. “I’m curious, okay?” she whispers. “He’s kinda cute.”

  I give Paul the once-over. He’s half lying, half sitting in his chair, and his eyes look a little drunk, but…

  “Yeah, he’s definitely cute,” I whisper back.

  As everyone looks around at each other, it becomes clear that Paul has kissed no one here. He pulls a look of mock despair, which makes Gretchen rise to her feet and shake her hair back from her face. She arches an eyebrow at Tuck. “You’re going to have to forgive me this one.”

  People start to hoot and clap, but Tuck’s expression stays blank as Gretchen sashays to Paul and leans over his chair. She presses her mouth against his in an exaggerated kiss, being careful not to spill the glass she’s still holding. After several seconds, during which I very specifically do not look at Tuck, she straightens and takes a big gulp.

  As the room explodes into laughter and applause, Paul shoots Tuck an apprehensive look. “You know I didn’t instigate that, right?”

  “I know,” says Tuck. I can’t tell if he’s pissed or jealous or doesn’t care. Either way, Gretchen immediately bounces back and straddles him, which I imagine must distract him from whatever he’s feeling.

  “It’s just a game.” Gretchen coos it into Tuck’s ear loudly enough for us all to hear. I avert my eyes from their sudden make-out session. My gaze lands on Paul, who’s looking at Ella.

  “Thanks for that,” he says.

  “You’re welcome,” she tells him.

  It’s super unclear whether one or both are being sarcastic.

  Ella points to Bianca, leaning against the opposite wall.
“Bianca hasn’t gone yet.”

  “Okay, hold on.” Bianca thinks, twirling a strand of her long pink hair between her fingers. “Ooh, I’ve got one! Never have I ever hooked up with someone backstage.” Victorious, she slams back her beer.

  Ella throws me a sideways glance before taking a drink. Paul and Gretchen and Katrina and probably half a dozen others also drink. One of them is Milo, which makes my stomach clench because I know it was with Ella. I look down into my glass of ginger ale. Whereas everyone else is running a race to Drunk Town, I’m now playing a one-person game of Who’s Gonna Pee First. I start to regret dumping my The Carol.

  Joanna from props raises a hand. “Never have I ever hooked up with someone on the stage.”

  There’s another round of laughter and applause. This time, Milo doesn’t drink. Gretchen and one other girl on the couch do. When I’m glancing back there, I catch sight of Tuck. He looks annoyed. I whip around, away from him, but I’m close enough that I can hear the question he whispers to Gretchen. “Has anyone asked a question tonight that you didn’t drink for?”

  “Please,” she whispers back. “Like you’re one to talk.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Tuck asks her.

  Although I stay facing forward, I can feel Gretchen rearranging her body on the couch behind me. “Hey, everyone,” she calls out. “I got one.”

  I cringe, although I don’t know why.

  Gretchen’s voice rings out behind me. “Never have I ever kissed Tuck Brady.”

  Along with a burst of giggles, there’s an immediate parade of glasses moving to lips. Every girl in the room—except me but including Ella—takes a sip of her drink. So do Jon and a really cute pyro guy named Roy. Ella doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her next to me. Lowering her glass. Being hyperaware of me sitting, paralyzed.

  And so I do it.

  I lift my glass and take a sip. It’s fast, but not so fast that Milo doesn’t see it. He looks startled.

  And upset.

  And—maybe—angry.

  Because even though I’ve told half lies the entire summer, apparently this is where I tell the truth. I could choose to ignore the rules of the game, but I don’t.