by Nora Cobb
Anthony: I’ll take you out for mimosas. They cure hangovers.
Me: Cool. Is Beth coming?
Anthony: No, just us.
I look over and he’s got his phone hidden under the table. I’m hoping it’s a friend date, and if it’s not, maybe it will be a good time to talk. A little while later, I feel a pinch of jealousy when Beth wraps her arm around Anthony’s shoulders and they head outside to smoke. I can survive without the weed, but it’s the freedom I crave.
I do find a silver lining, Arielle and the girls have been treating me a little better. Well, moody Arielle hates me forever, but Lexi has started talking to me. She’s okay when the other girls aren’t around because she actually takes the time to explain things to me. I hadn’t planned on wearing my cheer uniform to school every day, but when I didn’t, I got stares of hate. One day, Lexi pulled me aside and explained that I was expected to wear my uniform every day.
“I can’t wear the same outfit every day,” I squealed.
Lexi rolled her eyes. “You buy six uniforms and mix them up.”
She then marched me out of the cafeteria and to the bookstore, where she ordered everything on Phil’s account. Nervously, I thanked her, but she rolled her eyes.
“And start wearing heels to school. Stop embarrassing us.”
After that impromptu lesson, I had to start dressing better. Today at practice, the girls are discussing the party while Ms. Petrenko argues with the football coach who wants to cut our show during homecoming if there’s overtime.
“Natalie, where are you going to buy your dress?” Lexi picks at her pastel-blue manicure as she does her best casual act.
My response is cautious. “The mall at Little Knolls.”
“The mall.” Lexi’s eyebrows demonstrate her disgust and disapproval. “No, you cannot wear a mall dress to Lucas’ party. Why are you like that? Friday, we’re going into the city and getting dresses from my mom’s store.”
Lexi’s mom is Fiona Herrera, a famous pop singer in the eighties. She transformed herself into a fashion icon after marrying into the Spanish royal family. I know that Phil saw her mom onstage at Webster Hall before I was born. She had Lexi in her forties, when it was chic to have a baby late.
We sit on the grass and watch Ms. Petrenko put her finger in the coach’s face. “It’s your birthday, girl,” she winks. “You have your birthday and you have your academy date.”
“You mean the day I started the academy?” Arielle takes over and pairs us off to practice our flips. It hurts to think it, but she is a good captain.
“You’re correct,” Lexi beams. “There are the lower-grade preps, then the middle-grade preps, and then there’s Montlake. Most kids are on the academy track by their sixth birthday. I was twelve. So you have a lot of catching up.”
She spots me as I do a backbend on the grass. “When I go to college, no one will care where I went.”
“You’re so naïve.” Lexi smiles tenderly, like a D-grade actress, “but it’s endearing.”
Being called naïve is a nice way of telling a person they’re clueless. But now, that’s as vicious as it gets.
On Friday, Lexi and I arrive at her mom’s flagship store on Madison Avenue, and I try not to look like a tourist outside the chic sandstone building. We’re still in our school uniforms, but we’re wearing heels so we look older than we actually are. Her mom’s not there but the staff knows Lexi well.
“Buy this dress,” Lexi squeals after we’ve tried on a rack. “It will turn Arielle fifty shades of green with envy.”
It’s a long slinky dress in black silk, and it looks nice against my fading summer tan. The front has a low scoop, but the back is even lower with slits up the sides.
I hang it back up. “I’m afraid that my butt cheeks will show.”
“Trashalicious, butt crack is the new cleavage.” Lexi holds the dress against me, and I’m wondering if it will cover the top of my panties when it’s on. Lexi makes the dress my birthday present. Swinging my shopping bag as we exit the store, I know that Lucas will have a hard time ignoring me at the party.
***
Lucas’ mom owns a major piece of real estate in Tribeca. The loft is the size of an airplane hangar and filled with candy-colored furniture. My eyes widen, but I keep my mouth from gaping open as I ogle the place. The exposed brick is painted gray, and it makes the bright colors pop like crazy. I want the overstuffed bubblegum couch for my bedroom if I could sneak it home in my purse. Unfortunately, the heated air is humid with the scent of perspiring teenage bodies.
“Welcome, ladies.” The doorman greets us and we walk in.
Jacob offered to pick me up, but Lexi insisted that we arrive together. I thought she would ride with Arielle and Cora, but they arrived thirty minutes before the party started to help with set up. Lucas didn’t want the staff around to inform his mother.
I walk in with Lexi, but she leaves me the moment Arielle looks in our direction. In a bat of an eyelash, a laughing Lexi is standing beside a furious Arielle, who wants my head on a stake. Immediately I see why. Arielle and I are wearing the same dress, except hers is in white.
“It looks like a chess match,” purrs Lexi. “Who wore it better?”
That bitch. I should have known better. Spinning on my heel, I storm off to the corner of the loft with the stacked bar. Mancuso is handing out red Solo cups to whoever’s reaching for them. I can’t help but feel a sense of vindication. Rich or normal, red Solo cups are universal.
“Looking hot, Trashalicious.” Mancuso stares at my chest as he hands me a cup. “Have a drink.”
“Thanks, prick-man,” I joke with him.
The kids around us laugh, but Mancuso calls himself that multiple times at practice whenever he scores.
“You know my tagline, hottie. And I’ll show you where to stick it.”
He winks, and I laugh. Turns out that Mancuso busts on everyone, so it’s a joke that’s not at my expense. I relax on a stool, checking out the crowd. Troy’s off in a corner surrounded by three blondes in short dresses. He gives me a quick, sharp look and they look over at me. He makes a remark and they laugh. I have no illusions that I’m surrounded by friends.
Jacob is sitting on a cobalt-blue couch with another jock from a different school. Troy is wearing a slim-cut suit, but Jacob is in his varsity jacket and jeans. They’re staring at their phones and something good must be happening because they’re shouting. Jacob sees me looking and smiles, raising his arms to signal a touchdown. He’s lucky that he’s hot or he’d be a dork.
I start to laugh, but stop when Lucas walks in. He is burning hot and I almost drop my cup. A lot of the guys are dressed in their school polos with jeans, but not Lucas. Tonight, he looks as if he’s just flown in from a shoot with Italian Vogue. The tailored dark blue suit accentuates his frame, and a flawless white shirt opens enough to reveal his hard chest. His hair is shorter, but the wave still sweeps across his forehead. His chin is covered in sexy stubble, and he’s barefoot. He looks so tasty, I could melt as he walks toward me.
“You look beautiful, especially when you blush,” Lucas whispers as he takes my drink and sips from it.
Mancuso waves. “Hey, Arielle.”
We both look behind us, but she isn’t there.
Mancuso laughs. “Just checking, girl.”
Lucas aims a look at Mancuso. But saying her name must summon the witch because Arielle walks toward us. It’s mean to say but she’s glaring as hate radiates off her. Smoothly, Lucas intercepts Arielle, and then he’s ignoring me again. Fuck him. I’m done. For the last few weeks, Lucas has been dictating who I can socialize with while he’s on and off with Arielle. If Lucas wants to be with Arielle then be with her and stop bouncing back and forth. It’s trifling.
“Trashalicious,” shouts Mancuso, grinding his hips. “Want to play a game?” He holds out a shot glass.
It’s time to have fun. I don’t need to ask the rules. I down the shot, and almost gag it back up. It’s warm g
rain alcohol.
“Jesus,” I sputter. It burns like turpentine. “What is this shit?”
“Homemade moonshine,” he brags. “My dad uses it on his feet. Want another?”
“What the hell.” I hold out the glass, he fills it. And I down another.
“Wait,” shouts Cora, “put her name on the board.”
Mancuso actually writes Natalie, and not Trashalicious. I’m impressed. Then again, he might not be able to spell Trashalicious.
The bar corner of the loft has granite counters along the corner walls and a stainless-steel refrigerator. Bottles of liquor are crowded on the island counter, and stools are clustered around it with people downing all kinds of alcohol. I take a seat at the island. Troy takes a seat beside me, but I learned to ignore him long ago. His gaze travels down and stops at my breasts.
“What’s the game, Mancuso?” I shout. “Or do we just drink until someone pukes?”
“Classy,” mutters Troy.
“It’s a game I call liquor taste test.” Mancuso sweeps his hand toward an impressive row of bottles filling another counter along the wall. “Everyone in the circle drinks a shot then passes the bottle. If you can’t finish the shot then you take a dare.”
Yikes, rich-kid parties are as lame as any other. What about beer pong? Flip cup? We’re just gonna play lame-ass truth or dare with a bottle? I got dressed up for this shit? Never mind. I’m here to have fun.
“And if you want out, you’ve got to do a dare,” adds Cora, smirking.
Two shots have given me false courage. “Nope, I’m in. Pour it.”
Another shout of “whoa” from the crowd, and Mancuso pours me a shot of lukewarm vodka. Tears come to my eyes as it burns my throat.
The music is louder as the bass vibrates the floor. The air feels warm and sticky, and someone lights a strong joint. By the time the bottle comes back to me, my head is actually bobbing on my shoulders. I’m not trying to sit like a lady. My only goal is remaining on the seat.
“I can’t drink anymore,” I gasp, holding my forehead.
“Trashalicious takes the dare,” shouts Cora. “Kiss Lucas, if you haven’t already.” Her laugh sounds like a cackle.
I don’t want to do it. Lucas has ignored me all evening. After school, he drove me home, and we made out in the woods. I stopped him before we went too far. I’m obviously good enough to toy with, but not good enough to date. Well, he can dance by himself, because I’m not going to touch him again. I get up from the chair, and the room sways around my head until two strong hands grab my arms. My body is draped around Lucas.
“I’m supposed to kiss you.” My words slur. “But I’m not going to, because you’re bad for me.”
“You’re legal now, birthday girl.” His hands slide onto my hip. “We can do a lot more.”
“Legal to do what?” I slur as I stare into his hazel eyes.
Lucas smirks, and I don’t like that look. He helps me back onto the stool and he steps in between my open legs. Lucas brushes his lower lip against mine, teasing me, but not kissing me. He holds me tight against his body, and I feel a twitch in between my legs.
“You haven’t been nice to me,” I whisper. “And it’s my birthday.”
“What do you want for your birthday, Natalie?”
I wrap my arms around his neck and press my lips against his. The tip of my tongue traces the seam between his closed lips. Lucas opens his mouth and we kiss deeply and hungrily as people start to clap and holler, egging us on. But it’s not a game to me. I want Lucas to want me as much as I want him. But he won’t let go and try something new. Why does Lucas want Arielle, and not me? Panting, I break away, but I still want him. Lucas’ hazel eyes are tender as his hands stroke my hair.
“I always want you,” he leans in and whispers in my ear. “You’re my dream.”
Taking the lead, I’m too lit to care who’s watching. I grind my hips against his lean body as people chant, “Spread ’em!” I don’t care until someone yanks my hair viciously. I’m screaming as my head burns from the pain, as Arielle digs her nails into my scalp.
“Got off him, you whore!” she screams over the music. “You piece of cheap trash!”
Twisting, I grab her wrists and get her hands out of my hair. I’ve had it. Her man has been ramping me up all week with his fingers under the desk. I’ve got pent-up frustrations that need release, and she’ll do. I hate the stuck-up look on Arielle’s face so much that my hand whips back, then forward, slapping her across the mouth.
Time stops. Arielle is frozen in shock with her mouth wide open. I must be the only person that’s ever hit her. Her face twists into a rage of fury, and I barely have enough time to cover my face before she’s raining slaps on me. I scream as I lash out blindly, hitting whatever I can reach on her. The stool is on the floor, and hands are reaching to pull us apart. Arielle won’t stop until she wins, but I know how to fight dirty. I reach out and I grab the neckline of her dress and jerk it down. She’s not wearing a bra and her breasts pop out of the top. I gasp as I stare in horror.
Mancuso gives a whoop and a holler, and gets his phone out. Now I know why they say the devil has red skin, because a livid Arielle is red from top to toe. With her nails out, she lifts both hands in the air, and I brace myself for the wicked pain but nothing happens … to me. Lucas, Jacob, and Troy are pulling her away toward a door in the back of the loft. Arielle is hysterically crying and swearing that she’s going to get me good.
Pick a number, bitch, if there’s any left.
Lucas yanks her dress up, while Troy continues dragging her away. Years of cheer have made Arielle strong. They underestimate her and she breaks free, running back into the main room. Her wild eyes are on me, and I almost pee myself. The fight has sobered me up and I need to go home. Lucas and Troy grab her again as she tells everyone they’re dirt compared to her. I have my phone out, and I’m trying to call an Uber when Jacob puts his hand on my shoulder.
“Come on, why don’t we duck out?”
We hurry into the hallway, and through another door. Lucas’ mother owns the entire floor and rents a smaller studio. The studio is vacant and Jacob opens another door which leads into a tiny bedroom. The room has an unmade twin bed that almost touches the wall.
A loud Cora tags along, expressing surprise that Arielle would act that way since she broke up with Lucas. I give her a withering look. After all, she’s the one who dared me. Tonight, Lexi and Cora have messed with Arielle in a nasty way and I wonder if screwing with her is their definition of friendship.
“Just hang out here,” Jacob tells me, then looks at Cora. “Get her a seltzer or something.” She nods and turns to leave. “No alcohol,” he calls after her.
I’d rather see Jacob glare at me than give me that look of disappointment. “My car is in the lot. They’ll have to move some cars around to let me out and then we’ll go.”
I thank Jacob, and then Cora, who hands me a glass.
“I think it’s seltzer,” she smiles at a grim Jacob, who leaves to get his car. “I told Troy to give me a seltzer,” she explains. “You’re going to be okay?”
I’d like to think she cares, but that smile is so tight and stiff. Thanking her, I sip it. It tastes weird, but there’s a lot of odd-flavored seltzer. But this tastes like dirty sidewalk. Cora takes the glass and shuts the door as I lie on the bed, hoping that Jacob won’t be long.
***
Someone is tugging my legs apart. My eyes are so heavy that I’m not even sure if they’re open or if it’s pitch-black in the room. I try to open my eyes, but I can’t. I try to say Jacob’s name, but my tongue is thick and heavy. Someone’s hands are on my thighs, pushing up the hem of my dress. I mumble again, but whoever it is won’t answer me. I’m not even sure if I asked a question.
No, no, no. I feel cold fingers on my panties. I try to lift my arms to push the hands away but they’re heavier than lead. I try to scream, but I can’t.
The lights come on, and my eyes flutter ope
n. Troy is on top of me as his hands fumble below his belt. Glaring, his face is twisted and he’s sweating profusely. I whimper, then hear a shout. Jacob rushes into the room, and yanks him off and onto the floor. His hands ball into fists as a wild-eyed Troy backs away into the corner. Troy puts up his hands to defend himself, but it’s not fast enough. Jacob punches his stomach, and he collapses to the ground.
“What the hell are you doing, you sick fuck?” shouts Jacob.
“What the hell is wrong with you, man?” Wincing, Troy holds his gut. “Wait your fucking turn.”
They both stumble out of the tiny room and the door slams hard, but the light stays on. I can barely hear their voices. I recognize Jacob’s voice when I hear someone shout, “Off-limits!”