by Askew, Kim
The thought of anyone giving a crap about wearing a fakey rhinestone princess crown in a badly decorated gym was laughable to me. I wished I could have delivered one of those cutting one-liners that I always managed to think up hours after the fact when I replayed the conversation in my brain. Instead, the left portion of my fake mustache had chosen that exact moment to slip down over my lips. I forgot I’d been wearing it and now felt even more foolish. Beth smirked, grabbed her plastic trident, and sashayed out of the classroom. As she exited, the red felt tail attached to her belt swung like a decisive pendulum.
• • •
Old Burny’s ancient branches cast an appropriately eerie shadow over the quad as I made my way toward the school parking lot. I was eager to get home and see my baby bro, Oliver, dressed up like Yoda. My dad was a rabid Star Wars geek and had found the cutest pair of costume Yoda ears online, but I knew my brother was likely to keep them on for all of two minutes before he’d start to get fussy and recalcitrant about the whole thing. I wanted to get some pictures of him before that happened. The sky was beginning to turn the color of a bruise. Purples and grays swirled together as the sun glowed red behind the clouds. Already the days were getting shorter. By December we’d be down to only five-and-a-half hours of daylight. The wind cut against my cheeks and I pulled up the lapels on my oversized men’s suit borrowed from Dad’s closet. I think he’d worn it only twice: to a funeral and to a job interview. It still smelled new.
“Hey, tramp!”
I glanced over and saw Cat unlocking the trunk of her car. Tess and Kaya tossed in their boulder-sized backpacks. All three were wearing nylon witches’ hats, the kind you might pick up in the costume aisle of a drugstore. Apart from that, they were decked out in their typical dark denim jeans and ironic T-shirts layered over thermals, the epitome of hipster nonchalance. I felt overdressed in my suit.
“Charlie Chaplin,” said Tess, grabbing for my pocket hankie and teasingly waving it at me. “Nice ’stache!”
“We’re going to the midnight showing of Rocky Horror over at the Regent tonight,” said Kaya. “Want to come?”
“Thanks for the invite, but my dad is still into the militant curfew thing on school nights.”
“How charmingly provincial of him. Well, the offer’s out there if you can bust outta Alcatraz.”
“Thanks,” I said with laugh, before retrieving my hanky.
As Cat shut her car trunk, a posse of our school’s A-listers walked past surrounded by their various groupies and hangers on. Oh God … was Beth right? Did I look like those chumps fawning over Craig? In the middle of the pack, I noticed him, his hair combed into an outrageous pompadour. He wore a white bejeweled bell-bottomed jumpsuit with a huge collar, and he sported the trademark gold-rimmed shades.
“Hey, hey, li’l darling,” he drawled, pointing in my direction and striking a wide-legged stance. “Why don’t you go on and make me a peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich?”
Tess and Kaya had already gotten into the car, and as Cat opened the driver’s side door, she remarked on Craig’s costume.
“Looks like we had you pegged. You were destined to be ‘King.’ That Yup’ik mask, man — it doesn’t lie. Let’s hope, for your sake, the predictions end there.”
She entered the car, slammed the door shut, and all three girls gave us a friendly wave as they pulled out of their parking spot. They were still wearing their witch hats, which were bent over under the roof of the car.
Craig removed his sunglasses and watched them drive down the road. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and since I’d already been feeling awkward about our last conversation in the darkroom, I tried to break the ice as his groupies slowly dispersed.
“Where’s Beth?”
No answer. He was still looking off at where Cat’s car had turned out of sight; Elvis rocking it pensive-style.
“Did she go to hell?”
Craig turned and looked at me, confused.
“What? Who?”
“Beth.”
“Why would you say something like that? That’s not cool.”
“Uh, she was dressed as a devil. It was a joke, Mac, jeez!”
“Oh. Right. She actually went home sick this afternoon. She threw up in gym class.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I hope she feels better.”
More silence. This was weird. The sky already seemed darker now than it was five minutes ago. I peeled off my mustache and quickly stashed it in my messenger bag. Craig reached over and rubbed off some of the sticky residue from my upper lip, causing my face to instantly flush. Was he seriously wiping off my mustache boogers? I looked down toward the blacktop rather than make eye contact with him, but eventually glanced back up. I couldn’t tell if the smile on his face meant anything other than, “You look ridiculous,” but it seemed like it could have. I blushed again, but thankfully he didn’t notice. Duncan was yelling to us from across the parking lot.
“Yo, numbnuts! You want a ride or not?”
Craig’s jawline visibly tensed. He and Duncan had become pals pretty quickly on the heels of his debut at school two years ago, but there was definitely a pecking order to this friendship. As much as Duncan seemed to enjoy Craig’s company, he occasionally seized the opportunity to show him — and everyone else — who was the alpha male. Craig usually tried to laugh it off, but I think it bothered him more than he let on.
“What?” he yelled back. “Is your crap car going to turn into a pumpkin in thirty seconds?”
Duncan grinned and started casually striding in our direction, tossing his keys up in the air and catching them every few steps.
“Whatever, bro. I don’t exactly see you driving a luxury vehicle and god knows your pops could afford it. Dude, I’m sick of waiting around for you to wrap up this session of ‘geek love’ — no offense, Skye — so let’s motor. I’ve got three hours of SportsCenter to veg on before my mom gets home and pries my ass off the couch.”
Craig gave me an apologetic look, then used both hands to mash my bowler hat down over my face. By the time I’d righted it and could see again, he was jogging in his white jumpsuit toward Duncan’s car.
CHAPTER FIVE
It Is a Knell That Summons Thee to Heaven or to Hell
LATE TO SCHOOL YET AGAIN, I skidded in my Chuck Taylors, rounding the corner of the fluorescent-lit hallway only to run smack into Craig, who reached out to steady me. Not in time, unfortunately, to stop my books from tumbling to the tile floor in total disarray.
“Whoa, Beanpole! Where’s the fire?” He grinned before bending to help gather up my scattered belongings.
“Overslept,” I said, while trying to accomplish a couple things at once: checking out how adorably hot he looked in his blue T-shirt while also reaching over to pick up my green leather journal before he could spot it. “What about you? Shouldn’t you be in homeroom?”
“I have thoroughly convinced half the staff of this high school that I suffer from an overactive bladder,” he said, digging his cell phone from the front pocket of his jeans. “Pretty much gives me carte blanche to roam the hallways at will. Right now I’m arranging refreshments for tonight’s festivities. There’s a party out at Kristy’s dad’s hunting shack.” He ran one hand through his dark wavy hair and started dialing with the other. “You should come.”
“Sounds like a teen slasher movie in the making.” I couldn’t hide my sarcasm. “Trapped out in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of Future Frat Boys of America, not to mention Beth Morgan. I’m not exactly her favorite person, you know.”
“You should give them a chance,” he said. “You might be surprised…. Yeah, can I speak to Mick,” he said into the phone as he reached down to pick up a stray sheet of paper. “Or, you could go to this instead.” He held up the invitation to Jenna’s monthly, and poorly attended, Power to the People Potluck. Rolling my eyes, I reached out to snatch the flyer back. He held it — and my gaze — for about two seconds too long. Then he let it go, turned, an
d walked out the door to the quad just as the morning bell started to echo through the hallway.
As Friday morning classes wore on I became more and more vexed about my encounter with Craig. Even Mr. Richter’s lecture on Man Ray in fourth period failed to distract me from my inner turmoil. How dare he continue to pull these “come one, come all” invitations to hang out with his posse, as if I were really welcome? As enticing as it sounded, I figured I’d better pass for the sake of my own sanity and self-preservation. Besides, who knows what I’d say to Craig after guzzling a drink or two? No way did I want to live that down for the rest of the foreseeable future. Still, I was making it just a little too convenient for him to smile and pat me on the back with that “Beanpole” act of his. As if his offer was genuine when we both knew I would never actually take him up on it. Was this his way of feeling less guilty about our pseudo-friendship and the way he’d dropped me with barely a backward glance? And now to pretend that being the odd-girl-out was my own doing. … How thoroughly would he freak if I should happen to call his bluff? I knew that it would be asking for trouble, but I didn’t have a whole lot to lose at this point. I’d swooned over “Golden Boy” long enough. Now, I decided, I wanted to make him squirm.
• • •
I’d concocted a solid enough plan by the time the noon bell rang, but it was going to require faking my way through some tremendously uncomfortable moments. When I casually strolled over to his crowded table at lunchtime, I felt like Marie Antoinette proudly stepping up to face the guillotine.
“Hey, Craig. Just wanted to let you know that my plans for tonight fell through, so I would love to take you up on your offer to come to the party.”
The dismayed, mouth-agape look on Beth’s face was priceless. So far, so good. I held my head up a bit higher now even though I sort of felt like peeing my pants.
Craig placed his half-eaten slice of pizza on his plate and wiped his mouth as the rest of his table waited, like loyal subjects, for him to respond. He could barely look at me as he unenthusiastically replied.
“Umm … okay then. See you there.”
“Where?”
“What?”
“Where’s the party? You never gave me an address.”
He concentrated intently now on the wavy white line on his Coke can. Beth wasted no time in shanghaiing the conversation.
“Oh Skye, it’s superrrrr far from here and the directions are soooo confusing. I wouldn’t even know how to explain it to someone who’s never been.”
What would Leonard Livermore do in a situation like this? If my tentative prom date had taught me anything, it was how to win an argument with unflappable confidence and blatant disregard for the chill in the air.
“Hmmm,” I said. “Well then, in that case, it might just be easier if I hitched a ride there with you guys. Craig, you know where my house is. Why don’t you just swing by on your way?”
Beth was about to protest, but I saw Craig grab her hand and give it a squeeze, as if reining her in. He mustered a weary smile for me. “Can you be ready at eight thirty?”
“Of course! See you guys then. Can’t wait!” Before I turned jauntily on my heel I saw Beth shoot Craig one of her furrowed brow specials.
• • •
My dad chopped organic carrots for Ollie’s baby food while I sat at the kitchen counter, a dozen lipsticks pilfered from my mom’s makeup drawer arrayed in front of me like pirate booty. She was working the late shift at the Regent, the oldest and best of Beth’s uncle’s movie theaters and the only one that showed classic films like Philadelphia Story and Casablanca. When Craig first moved to Anchorage, a noir film series was in full swing and we spent hours, elbow to elbow, in the darkened theater watching sultry scenes between Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly. I could hardly believe the guy I shared Red Vines with back then was the same person who had so grimly accepted my ostensibly bold R.S.V.P. hours earlier.
I carefully applied a cherry-red shade using the silver toaster as a makeshift mirror and was relieved to notice that the zit-zapper cream I’d been applying all week had finally destroyed most of the freakishly large pimple sitting rakishly astride my left nostril. Despite this glimmer of good news on the complexion front, I was not in the best frame of mind to take advice — especially from my dad, who I was fairly certain had absolutely no clue what it was like to be me. If the ink-filled pages of his yearbook were any indication, he’d spent the better part of high school basking in the unadulterated admiration of everyone from fellow jocks to drama geeks. He and my mom, former high school sweethearts, were always after me to be myself. I know they meant well, but really, how cliché can you get? It’s easy to be yourself when everyone thinks you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread.
“Skye, I know I’m not supposed to say this,” Dad said, “but when it comes to teenage boys, I think you shouldn’t be above playing hard-to-get.”
Sometimes I appreciated the fact that my dad was comfortable enough to talk to me about anything — and I mean anything. This was not one of those times. Now that I had to face the repercussions of my inspired lunchtime performance, I could feel my confidence take a slow dive. It was going to be a long and trying night for me, and I was attempting to shore up my tough-girl exterior to hide how terrified I really felt. I looked up at my dad and scoffed.
“First of all, like I’ve told you a couple million times already, Craig and I are just friends. And secondly,” and here’s where I really screwed up, “why don’t you try taking your own advice for a change?” Dad looked stricken and Ollie, as if in protest, began to howl.
It was a low blow and I knew it. My mom had recently gone back to school to study medicine and my dad had become a veritable Mr. Mom, taking care of Ollie and the house when he wasn’t working as the manager at a hardware store. I helped out too, when I could spare the time from school, homework, and the paper. At first it seemed to be working out great, but then Mom started clocking more hours with her study group. Between that and her part-time job at the Regent, she was spending less and less time with us. The harder my dad tried, the farther away she seemed to get. When I slammed the front door shut on the way out an hour later, I was still giving Dad the silent treatment as if he’d actually done something wrong, rather than the other way around.
Beth didn’t even attempt to push her seat forward as I squeezed in behind her and tumbled into the back seat of Craig’s Jeep Wrangler. Ever in a state of denial, Craig tried to pretend like the situation was one hundred percent normal. At least Beth had the dignity to be honest about her feelings. She certainly didn’t attempt to veil her disgust with me as we merged onto the highway that led out of town. The ride was strained, to say the least, and her occasional grimaces in my direction were reminiscent of a teenage Medusa. She used every opportunity to blatantly caress Craig’s leg or entwine her manicured fingers in his hair while giving me tight-lipped smiles that seemed to say, “Jealous much?” She even rolled down her window completely to blast me with arctic air while she tapped the ash of her cigarette into the wind.
“Oh, is that too much air for you, honey?” she said, when she saw my now-knotted red hair plastered against my face. “I didn’t want to bother you with my smoke.”
Turning onto a winding rural road, we careened over icy patches as the outline of snow-covered trees, illuminated by the headlights, narrowed in on us. I could swear I saw the glowing eyes of some forest creature — a moose no doubt, or perhaps some enormous she-wolf — peering at us ominously from the depths of the forest. Whether inside or outside the car, I was not in safe territory. When we reached the end of a long sloped driveway, my relief at having finally arrived was short-lived. A warm, but not welcoming, bonfire raged in front of the cabin. Every window of the old domicile was lit up, and the silhouettes of drunken seventeen-year-olds made me sigh in trepidation. These people obviously didn’t have a care in the world. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what that must have felt like.
/> CHAPTER SIX
That Which Hath Made Them Drunk Hath Made Me Bold
TYPICALLY I’D ONLY OVERHEARD TALES of the epic parties held here as they were retold during hasty Monday morning postmortems. Details would emerge in hushed tones at the back of the rancid-smelling senior study hall presided over by an overscrupulous and ancient guidance counselor, Mr. Kirkpatrick, who still threw around words like skullduggery as if they were part of your average twenty-first-century teen’s lexicon. Now, I’d actually stepped over the threshold and into the crème de la crème of East Anchorage High’s party central.
All was confusion and noise as my eyes adjusted to the room; that too-familiar feeling of panic rose and I knew instantly that my skin was probably the crimson shade of a boiled lobster. Luckily it was too dark inside for anyone to see much, and anyway, everyone was apparently utterly bewitched by über-couple Craig and Beth whose big entrance preceded my inconsequential one. Damn, you’d think they were royalty or something the way everyone seemed to bow and curtsey in their presence.
My first thought was that even though I’d only ever heard the place called a “shack,” it was really a sprawling conglomeration of rooms that branched off from what had evidently been the original homestead. I didn’t know how many rooms there were, but at least three doors led away from the small shack into other parts of the structure that, judging from what I could see, must have been added on in different decades. Scattered throughout were abandoned pieces of furniture. Here a stained couch gradually losing its stuffing, there a rickety table and stool. Empty, it would make an excellent spot for a photo shoot. A beer can flew across the room, landing on a pile in the corner.
“Hey,” someone in the crowd joked, “better recycle that or Jenna will have your ass!”
“Craig!” Duncan waved from a corner of the room looking more brawny and barrel-chested than ever. I tried to act nonchalant as I shadowed Craig and Beth over to where Duncan stood surrounded by a rapt group of freshmen and sophomores, including the vapidly pretty Tiffany Towers, his girlfriend-of-the-month and the police chief’s daughter.