A & L Do Summer

by Jan Blazanin

  They’re all smiles at Laurel, complementing her lowrise denim shorts, yellow halter top, and the brown henna swan above her shoulder blade. The cloak of invisibility hides my navy tee, khaki shorts, and me. Tessa and Wynter manage to act as if I’m not in the car—or on the planet.

  As soon as we take off, Tessa turns around in the passenger seat. “Now remember what I told you about working the party, Laurel. It’s okay to touch base with each other once in a while, but guys don’t like to approach clumps of girls—especially if one of them is a loser. No guy wants to get stuck with the dead weight.”

  Tessa should give herself a little more credit. Just because I think she’s dead weight doesn’t mean everyone does.

  “If you hook up, let one of us know before you head out,” she continues. “We don’t want to waste time trying to find you when we’re ready to go.” For the first time she looks at me. “I’ll nod at you or something. Wait for us by the car.”

  Enough is enough.

  I lean against the back of Wynter’s seat and gush, “Ooh, let’s work out a super-secret ‘time to go’ signal. One finger up your nose means we leave in five minutes, and two fingers means ten.”

  Tess curls her upper lip at me. Too bad there isn’t spinach stuck between her teeth. “Don’t get too wasted, either,” she says to Laurel. “Being super-drunk is tacky.”

  Tessa’s lecture on coolness continues, but now I’m fearing for my life. Wynter is blasting down the unmarked, pitch-black gravel roads, taking corners like a NASCAR driver. My death-grip on the armrest is all that keeps me from crashing into Laurel. I can’t believe how relaxed and smiling she is, with her hands resting in her lap.

  When Tessa finally turns back around, I scoot across the seat and whisper into Laurel’s ear. “You’re not going along with this ‘work the party’ crap are you? I only agreed to come because you said we’d stay together.”

  “Of course we’ll stay together,” she whispers back. “Maybe not ‘together, together’ but definitely ‘together.’”

  “What does that—”

  Wynter screeches around a corner, hurling me into the driver’s-side door and Laurel into me. The car’s rear end fishtails, slamming us against each other again. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for a collision.

  “Wynter, slow the hell down!” Tessa shrieks. “Farmer Boy isn’t worth dying over!”

  Farmer Boy? No, it can’t be. There are thousands of farmers in Iowa. Then I flash back to Manny’s graduation party and Wynter’s tongue groping for Clay’s ear.

  My eyes fly open, but the night is blacker than ever and I see nothing but trees. Wynter backs off the gas as we bounce down a rutted path that’s nearly overgrown with weeds. It’s a good thing she’s driving us home, because I have no idea where we are.

  After a few minutes of us bumping through the dark, the trees open into a clearing packed with cars. Wynter parks between a muddy pickup and a muddier SUV, both of which look as if they drove up a creek to get here. I guess it has rained a lot this week.

  As soon as we’re out of the car, Tessa links arms with Wynter and Laurel, leaving me to walk behind them. The worst part is that they look perfectly natural together, like three exotic parrots on the same perch. And I’m the sparrow on the floor of the cage, getting crapped on.

  The barn door is only a quarter of the way open, which means they have to break apart to go inside. Laurel falls back with me. “Don’t let them get to you, Aspen. You and I are going to have an awesome time tonight.”

  It’s almost as dark inside the barn as outside. A few gas lanterns hanging along the far wall backlight the people standing in clusters and sitting on hay bales. I hear the rumble of bass in the background music, but the volume is turned down.

  Laurel stops by the door and scans the huge, open area. “What’s going on? Why’s everybody so quiet?”

  “Cops.” Wynter squints into the semi-darkness. “They’ve got nothing better to do on the weekend than cruise around, looking for parties to bust.” She shifts her boobs to a higher elevation. “So we have to find quiet ways to keep busy.”

  “I think you mean ‘get busy,’” Tessa says. She and Wynter exchange a leer that would make even Ferret flinch. With their hips swaying like pigs in a gunnysack, they sashay off in search of unsuspecting males.

  As I watch them disappear into the dark, my skin crawls. “You seriously want to be friends with those two?”

  Laurel’s quiet for a moment. Then she shakes her head. “For two seconds I thought I did. But that’s not the kind of popularity I want.” She links arms with me. “Come on. Let’s see what this party has to offer.”

  The barn smells of spilled beer, cigarettes, and weed layered over the dusty smell of pigeon droppings. The combination of odors in the heat makes my mouth pucker and my tongue curl. As my eyes grow used to the dark, I recognize several girls from my class. Laurel and I exchange hellos with them but keep shuffling forward to see who we can see.

  Tessa’s “farmer boy” remark still has me frazzled, and I pull up short at every tall guy who looms out of the darkness. There’s no sign of Clay, which is disappointing. But at least he hasn’t hooked up with Wynter. Not yet, anyway.

  Laurel stops us by the keg where Sam and Tyler, who I’ve known since kindergarten, are manning the tap. “Would miladies care to partake of some brewskis?” With a goofy smile, Sam holds out a foaming paper cup like a kid flying a paper airplane. His eyelids can’t seem to make it more than halfway up.

  Sam asked me to the Winter Wonderland Ball in February, but I turned him down for two reasons. First, I knew he’d asked five girls before he got to me. And second, he called me the morning of. I do have some standards.

  “Thanks.” Laurel snags the beer from Sam’s wobbly hand and takes a drink. I pass. To me, beer looks and smells like something you bring to the doctor’s office in a jar.

  “Come on, then. We have to work the party,” Laurel says in a spot-on Tessa imitation that cracks me up.

  It doesn’t seem like much of a party. The music is barely audible, and everyone’s talking in hushed voices. I get more excitement reading in bed with Carmine’s head resting on my thigh. At least he snores once in a while.

  “This is what everyone raves about?” I whisper so as not to wake the dearly departed.

  “I don’t get it,” Laurel whispers back. “There was better entertainment last winter at Great-aunt Evelyn’s seventieth birthday party. Cuter guys, too.”

  “Does anyone in here have a pulse?” a guy shouts from the open barn door. “Charge up the paddles, because this party’s coming to life!” His voice sounds disturbingly familiar.

  Laurel and I look at each other and gasp, “Buster,” just before he, Ferret, and Kong stomp by. They’re loaded down with bulging plastic bags and an oversize cooler like the ones Mom borrowed for Manny’s graduation party. Luckily they don’t notice us in the dark.

  “Do you think Buster’s still pissed about getting drenched with pop?” Laurel asks.

  “Nah.” I pull her in the opposite direction from where they went. “Buster’s not one to hold a grudge. Tear off a limb, gouge out an eye, but not hold a grudge.”

  “That’s a fun fact.” Laurel drains the last of her beer. “If I’m going to be blinded and dismembered, I’ll need more than one beer to dull the pain.” She makes a beeline for the keg, and—not wanting to be left behind—I follow her.

  As we’re walking, Tessa reaches out of the dark and grabs Laurel’s arm. “Hey! How’s it going?” She’s leaning against a stocky, brown-haired guy I don’t recognize. Her lipstick is smeared and her eyes are out of focus. “Are you having fun? I am.”

  Before Laurel can answer, Tessa lifts her head and kisses the guy behind her. Then she turns around, shoves her tongue down his throat, and grinds her hips against him. I pull Laurel away before Tessa’s flying bra hits one of us.

  “Back for seconds, I see.” Sam, who’s obviously been drinking as much as he’s been serving,
needs several tries to position the tap over Laurel’s cup. Beer overflows onto their hands. When Sam tries to lick beer off her hand, she backs out of reach.

  My mouth is parched, but not enough that I’ll stoop to beer.

  “Hey, Aspen.” Sam tilts his head as if he’s trying to remember what he was saying. “Hey, Aspen, since you don’t like beer…you might…maybe you’d…like this punch.” He reaches for a plastic milk jug on the floor and almost falls on his face. Finally, he squats, picks it up with both hands, and sets it on the keg.

  “I hear it’s fruity-licious,” Tyler chimes in. His face is shiny with sweat, and there are huge damp rings around his neck and under the arms of his T-shirt. “Fruity-licious,” he says again. He and Sam snicker.

  Fruity sounds better than urine sample, so I take the jug from Sam, pour some of the red stuff into a cup, and sniff it. It smells like Hawaiian Punch. Tastes like it too—a little too sweet with kind of an aftertaste. But it’s nice and cold.

  I drain the cup and pour myself a refill. “What’s in here?”

  Sam shakes his head and only stays upright by holding on to the keg.

  Tyler shrugs. “Probly Kool-Aid, ginger ale, fruit juice …”

  Laurel tips the jug to her lips and drinks. “More like rocket fuel. Take it easy with that stuff.”

  “Hey, that’s nasty!” I snatch the jug away from her, wipe off the top with my shirttail, and replace the cap. Just for that, I’m not going to mention the pink ring it left around her mouth.

  “I’m serious, Aspen.” Laurel tries to take the jug from me, but I hide it behind my back. “Back in Chicago, kids dumped everything from their parents’ liquor cabinets into the punch and called it jungle juice. That’s probably what you’re drinking.”

  “Jungle juice is a funny name. I wonder what it means.” I swish the next mouthful around before I swallow. It tastes pretty good. “But I think you’re wrong about the alcohol.”

  Laurel frowns at me over her beer. “Just drink it slow, okay?”

  Music blasts from invisible speakers. The barn explodes with hoots and whistles. Sam and Tyler applaud. The sudden energy in the room hits me like a lightning bolt.

  My hips sway with the music. My head bobs. My long, sexy legs ache to move. “Come on, Laurel. Let’s dance.”

  She stares at me. “You hate dancing. You’ve told me at least a thousand times.”

  “Tonight I don’t.” I don’t care if this punch is made of rubbing alcohol. I feel beautiful and graceful and so sexy.

  My cup is empty again. The lid of the jug is stuck, but I finally twist it off and pour more punch into my cup. It tastes very wonderful.

  Dancing feels very wonderful, too. I’m going to dance every day from now on. Sam is staring at me. Too bad for you, buddy. You missed your chance to dance with me. Chance to dance. That’s a poem. I’m good at poems. I can write songs and chor…choreo…make up dances for them.

  Laurel doesn’t look like she’s having much fun. She’s hardly even moving her arms. She needs to loosen up. I should give her some of my punch.

  I am so thirsty. It’s good I left the lid off the thing because my fingers are fumbly. The floor is kind of tilting, probly ’cause it’s an old barn. Hey, my punch is almost gone! Who’s been drinking it?

  No matter. I’ll get some more.

  I fling my hair over my shoulder like a rock star. “Isn’t this fun?”

  Laurel isn’t dancing. She’s staring at the door. With her eyes all wide, she looks like a raccoon in a tree.

  “Laurel, you have a funny look—”

  She grabs my arm and jerks me. “Aspen, let’s get out of here!”

  I jerk back. “Ouch! Don’t pull so hard.”

  She jerks me again even harder. “Come on!” She sounds mad.

  “I don’t want to. I’m having fun.”

  Laurel holds my arms tight. “Aspen, try to focus.” She’s talking into my face. Her nose looks so wide, and her breath smells like beer. “A police car pulled up in front of the barn. We have to find another way out.”

  My stomach makes a loud sound, and a bitter taste boils into my throat. I drink the rest of my punch to wash it down.

  “Do you want to go to jail, Aspen?”

  No, I don’t. When I move my head back and forth, Laurel’s face goes out of focus. She looks funny.

  “Good.” Laurel nods her head. I think. “Now walk with me. And don’t talk to anybody.”

  She hooks her arm into my arm. She walks really fast, and I trip over stuff in the dark. Somebody swears at me, which is not very nice. I didn’t kick that girl on purpose. But I want to now.

  We’re almost to the back of the barn when Kong’s big body lurches in front of us. He has an ugly smile. “Look, Buster. It’s Ass-wipe and Limp-tits.”

  “That’s a mean thing to say. You always say mean things to us.” I shove Kong in the stomach.

  “Hey!” He shoves me back, but Laurel catches me before I fall.

  “Forget him, Aspen.” She’s got my left arm again. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”

  I dig in my heels. “I don’t want fresh air. I want to see Kong get arrested.”

  Laurel slaps her hand over my mouth. Her hand is all sweaty. “Ignore her. She’s drunk.” She pulls on my arm.

  Kong grabs my right arm. “Hold on! What’s she talking about?”

  I don’t like being pulled apart like a wishbone. “The police are coming in the front door to arrest you,” I tell Kong. It serves him right.

  From the corner of my eye, I see flashlights swarming through the barn door like fireflies. “See! There they are!”

  Everything happens at once. Kong drops my arm; Laurel yanks me hard toward the back wall. Because of the lanterns, it’s lighter here, and I see the outline of a door in the corner. Laurel runs toward it, and I try to keep up.

  All around us girls are screaming. People crash into each other, swear, turn around, and crash into other people. Someone shouts orders through a bullhorn, but nobody listens.

  Laurel shoves the door open with her shoulder and pushes me outside. The cool air feels nice on my sweaty face. It smells good, too.

  “Don’t stand there, Aspen! Run!”

  “Run where?” The ground feels wobbly, but that’s silly. Ground doesn’t wobble.

  Laurel looks left and right like she’s watching a tennis match. She points left. “That way!”

  She takes off really fast. I don’t want her to leave me, so I run after her. Hey, I’m fast, too. Faster than a deer. My feet are flying over the ground, and I’m not even out of breath. I could run a marathon. I could run two marathons back to back. I could run—

  Oof! Why am I on the ground? Squishy, gritty mud is in my mouth and on my hands.

  “Aspen, are you okay?” Laurel pulls me up by the armpits. “I think you tripped over that log.”

  I can’t see a log, but it’s darker than night, which is silly because it is night. It can’t be darker than what it is.

  “You scraped your knee. It’s bleeding.”

  “I’m okay.” My knee doesn’t hurt, but my head feels thick and the trees look blurry. The punch in my stomach is sloshing.

  Laurel bends down and touches my knee. “It doesn’t look too bad. Can you walk okay? We need to get as far away as possible.”

  I wipe my eyes and look around. I don’t see the barn, just trees—and weeds. Tall, thick, tangled weeds. “Where are we?”

  “I have no idea.” Laurel brushes dirt from her arm. “But I guess we’ll come to a road eventually.”

  “All right.”

  Laurel will figure it out. She figures everything out.

  With Laurel taking the lead, we duck around tangled shrubs, catch our toes on branches, and push through chest-high weeds. After a while, I don’t feel strong and powerful anymore. I feel bruised and beat up and sick to my stomach. And scared.

  “What if the police are waiting on the road?”

  Laurel shrugs. “I don’t k
now. They didn’t see us drinking, so maybe we’re okay.”

  “But what if they make us take breath tests?”

  She bends a tall weed and smashes it flat with her foot. “We can’t get caught. That’s all.”

  Good deal. At least it’s something easy.

  thirteen

  AFTER TEN OR A HUNDRED MINUTES, LAUREL AND I STAGGER TO the top of a hill and stop to catch our breath. From here I can still see the flickering red and blue lights of the police cars parked by the barn. But my stomach flips like a spinning disk of pizza dough when I see the smaller, fainter lights fanning out through the woods and fields.

  “What are we going to do, Laurel? The police are chasing us!” Terror sucks at my breath. “If they catch us …” it’s too horrible to put into words.

  Laurel’s round face hardens into grim lines. “They won’t.” She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “Let’s go.”

  Hand in hand we hurl ourselves downhill, away from the flickering lights. Raspberry canes tear at my bare legs and leave long, fiery scratches. Hundreds of burrs poke into my new tee and shorts. Heat sears my lungs, and my breath comes in sobs that tear at my throat. I trip and catch myself, only to trip again.

  We can’t get caught. We can’t get caught. We can’t. We can’t. The words pound in my head, keeping time with my running, stumbling feet.

  My sandals slip on the soggy weeds and sink into the soft earth. The farther down the hill we run, the muddier it gets. Dampness clings to my face and arms, and I hear a wheezing, gurgling noise that’s growing louder and louder.

  By the time I realize what’s making the noise, we’re going too fast to stop. Momentum carries us into cold, murky creek water that smells like earthworms and other things that gave up on being alive a while ago. My feet try to slide in five directions at once, and in half a breath I’m sitting waist-deep in water.

  Laurel, having a lower center of gravity, is still standing, although the water is sloshing up to her knees. She leans over and drags me to my feet. “OMG, Aspen! Did you get any of that water in your mouth?”