by Sara Farizan
“Not a bad recovery . . . Maybe she didn’t notice?”
“Are you serious, Kevin?”
“But enough about us,” said Marcus, saving me from embarrassing myself further. “What’s going on for the rest of tonight?”
“Well, Drew’s probably going to pass out soon,” Erin said, watching Drew chug down something in a red Solo cup while other guys from the team cheered him on. “So I guess not much.” For the life of me, I will never understand what girls see in Drew Young.
Erin’s phone buzzed again. She let out an exasperated sigh at her screen and shoved the phone into her jeans pocket. “Yeah, I’m not looking forward to driving him home later.”
“You could leave him here,” Sean said with a shrug before taking another swig.
“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Erin said. Beer frothed down Drew’s chin while he high-fived his whooping buddies. Will and his pals joined in, jumping and yelling.
“Excuse me a moment,” Marcus said as he walked over to his teammates. This left Sean and me alone.
Alone.
With.
The.
Girls.
I was not prepared.
“All this party is missing is a piñata full of hundred-dollar bills, right?” I asked with a little chuckle that quickly turned into a whimper because Jessica was staring at me like I had just expressed my undying affection for jockstraps. “Is there any food, or is that not a thing at this kind of party?”
“That would be a fun party,” Elle responded. “Unlike this one. I was kind of hoping to have a girls’ night with my friends at home.” She said the last bit while looking at Jessica.
“I couldn’t not come to his party,” Jessica said. “I’m his girlfriend.”
“When it’s convenient for him,” Elle grumbled. “He hasn’t said much to you or your friends all night.”
“You can do better,” Erin chimed in.
“Maybe some of us aren’t as picky as you, Elle,” Jessica said, ignoring Erin. “It’s high school and he’s hot. Enough said.” Jessica’s freckled face became a little pink.
“Will is pretty handsome. For a Neanderthal,” Sean interjected.
“Sorry . . . Remind me, why are you here?” Jessica asked.
“I’m here as Bijan’s moral support,” Sean said. “Plus beer. Moral support and beer.”
Jessica put her focus back on me, ignoring Sean.
“So, are you, like, on varsity now?” Jessica showed off her toothy grin. “Will didn’t mention you were going to play.”
“It was a last-minute thing. Kevin was pretty badly injured last game, so Coach Johnson asked me to fill in,” I said.
“I was just asking because we already took the team photo for yearbook,” Jessica said. “But we can totally add a separate photo of you.”
“Yeah, like an action shot of him scoring the winning hoop tonight,” Sean said, slapping me on the back.
“How is the yearbook coming along?” I asked Elle. Opportunities to talk to her at a cool-kid party didn’t come very often. Now that I was here, I wanted to make the most of it.
“Well, it’s—” Elle began.
“It’s so much work, but it’s so rewarding,” Jessica answered, cutting Elle off.
“Sorry, I was asking Elle,” I said. Jessica wasn’t grinning anymore. She took a sip from her drink and glowered at me over the rim of her cup.
“No way,” Erin said, looking behind me, as her face turned a shade of pepperoni.
I turned my head to find Stephanie Bergner and Noah Olson walking down the stairs. People usually rolled their eyes whenever Stephanie spoke, and a lot of guys called her Busted Bergner, but she was okay. She was a little intense, but it was kind of cool how she was involved in everything. She was in the finance club and on the debate team, and she was my grade’s student council representative. She also played the cello in orchestra and at all the school talent shows. The cello didn’t exactly get the crowd going, but she was good at it. I liked the way her face scrunched up when she played.
Stephanie, all five foot two inches of her, still in her school uniform and penny loafers, marched over to us. A pink headband held her wavy light brown hair in place.
“Fellow juniors! Nice to have solidarity in numbers,” Stephanie said as though she were campaigning for next year’s student council election. Noah lingered behind her. He gave me a bro nod.
Noah was pleasant most of the time. We had been lab partners in chemistry sophomore year. He was reliable and did his work, but he always felt the need to look over my answers before handing them in with his, which bothered me. I got better grades on our tests, but he was sure he was smarter than me.
“What are you guys doing here?” Elle asked. Her tone wasn’t malicious. I think, like the rest of us, she was surprised that Stephanie had decided to be social.
“Yes, why are we here?” Noah asked. He seemed annoyed to be at the big party of the weekend and not alone with Stephanie. He was wearing “date night” clothes: chinos and a tucked-in Ralph Lauren button-down. His hair was slicked back with gel.
“She’s here for the same reason we all are. To have a great time,” Sean deadpanned before letting out an unapologetic burp. Mama Hana would have been disgusted. Mom Jane would have been pleased that Sean was trying, in his own way, to make a newcomer feel welcome.
“I got a text that there would be a party this evening,” Stephanie explained. Erin’s green eyes widened, as if she was shocked anyone would invite Stephanie Bergner to a Thompson house party. “I thought it might be good to get some signatures while people are in a compliant state.”
Noah, as if on cue, passed her a clipboard. He seemed to be enthusiastic about causes, but only when Stephanie was involved. I’d never seen him take on a community project on his own.
“What’s the petition for this time?” Jessica asked. “Not enough kale in the cafeteria?”
“I am willing to let that little jab slide. It would be wonderful if you would participate in our mascot change campaign, Jessica.”
“You can’t let that go, can you?” Erin asked. At the end of last year, Stephanie had written a guest opinion piece for our school paper, the Granger Gazette. In it, she’d said that our mascot, the Gunner, was inappropriate for a school environment. Initially, it hadn’t struck a chord. For the most part, we all kind of went about our day-to-day lives and got ready for summer vacation.
That was until Will Thompson’s grandfather, who was a member of the school’s board of trustees as well as an esteemed donor, got wind of the article. He wrote his own op-ed for Granger’s glossy alumni magazine, discussing his disappointment with the lack of respect for tradition.
Mr. Thompson’s piece galvanized Stephanie’s cause, and suddenly a group of students and their parents began to voice their opinions online and in person at school events. I’d thought discussion would die down over the summer, but Stephanie and a sizable group of students hadn’t forgotten about it when they showed up at this fall’s homecoming game. She and Noah had made T-shirts. On the front was a graphic of the Gunners rifle crossed out Ghostbusters-style. no tradition of violence was written on the back. Fifty or so students lined up on the sidelines along with Stephanie, wearing the shirts. Nobody booed them. People noticed and gave them dirty looks, but the only booing during the game was when the refs made calls in favor of Armstead Academy’s team.
“The petition is to change the Granger School’s mascot from the Gunners to something nonviolent but still in line with the school’s history,” Stephanie said. She blinked an awful lot. It must have been stressful, being that smart around people who didn’t appreciate it.
“We’re hoping to work with the administration on choosing a more inclusive mascot,” Noah explained. “As soon as we have enough signatures, we can make a motion to meet with the board of trustees.�
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“I like the mascot the way it is,” Jessica said. Stephanie wasn’t going to have much luck with this crowd.
“You have a right to your opinion, however backward it may be,” Stephanie replied. Elle laughed, and Erin smiled a little before she remembered she wasn’t supposed to be amused by anything Stephanie Bergner said. Her face reset to ambivalent frostiness, but Jessica had already noticed. She nudged Erin with her elbow.
“I don’t think this is the time or place for a petition,” Erin said. Stephanie squared up to Erin, her penny loafers toe-to-toe with Erin’s Frye boots. Erin stared right back at her, like she was trying to figure out which planet Stephanie came from. Were they going to have a catfight?
“You weren’t invited tonight,” Erin said coolly. Stephanie’s face crumpled. I knew I shouldn’t get involved, but I had never seen Stephanie Bergner cry. I didn’t plan to if I could help it. We nerds had to stick together.
“I invited her,” I lied.
“You what?” Erin and Noah asked me in unison.
Everybody stared. I couldn’t be sure, but Elle might have smiled a little. Maybe that was wishful thinking.
“You invited her?” Erin asked. She was giving me a kind of evil squint. I wondered if we were going to fight. I wouldn’t last a round of that battle.
“Yeah, I texted her after the big win. Wanted my buddy here to celebrate.” I grinned at her. Stephanie stood up straight, her chest puffed out like Andre Iguodala’s after he scored a three-pointer. “Should we get some people to sign?” I asked, offering my elbow to her like dudes do to women in old movies.
“I would be amenable to that. Thank you,” Stephanie said, linking her arm with mine. We moseyed over to the other side of the room, where some of the boys’ varsity ice hockey team members were playing beer pong. Three of them were wearing the same here to stay shirt Will had on. I had a feeling they wouldn’t be signing Stephanie’s petition.
Her arm felt good linked with mine, and it sucked when she pulled away. It would be so great to walk around like that with a girl all the time. Well, not all the time—I’d have to unlink to go to the bathroom—but it’d be awesome to walk with someone who was as proud of me as I was of her.
“Thanks for saying that,” Stephanie said as she adjusted her headband, making sure her long brown hair was tucked behind her ears.
“No sweat! Next time I win the social lottery prize, I’ll invite you for real,” I said.
“I meant the buddy portion. I don’t have that many buddies at present, aside from Noah. I saw the game. You were very good.”
“Thanks! I guess I played well enough to get invited to one of these things. Are we supposed to be having fun now?”
“We’d probably have a better time if we were drinking. Only I find the notion of not being in control of myself a little unnerving,” Stephanie said, looking over her shoulder at Jessica, Elle, and Erin.
“Well, that’s a better reason than being terrified of your mom,” I said. “If my mom smells me reeking of booze, she’ll lock me up in my room until the dystopian future arrives. That is, if we aren’t living in one now.”
“I’m fairly certain we are,” Stephanie said, taking in the landscape of girls snapping selfies and dudes shotgunning beers, foamy suds spilling onto the light green carpeting. Sean was shotgunning. I knew I shouldn’t have left him alone with seniors. “Shall we ask your teammates for some signatures?”
“Oh, well, they’re not exactly my teammates. I mean, I’m just on loan from JV,” I said, but she kept walking. She was on a mission.
“Gentlemen, good evening, and well done on a great game,” she said as she approached them.
“Busted Bergner! What’s good?” a rosy-cheeked, droopy-eyed Drew Young asked. Stephanie flinched a little. I’m sure she was aware of the nickname, but that was different from hearing someone say it to her face.
“Always a pleasure to see you, Drew,” Stephanie said dryly. “We were wondering if you would be interested in signing a petition to change the school’s mascot to something less violent but still formidable?”
Drew looked at her clipboard as he took a long swig from his cup. Then he looked up at me. He seemed more annoyed with me than he did with Stephanie. He slapped his heavy hand on the back of my neck.
“Hey, man, come celebrate with us and quit wasting time with her,” Drew slurred, slamming a can of beer against my chest. That would leave a bruise.
“Thanks,” I said as I clutched the can. Drew’s breath smelled like cold cuts that had been left in the sun too long.
“Go ahead. Drink it,” Drew said. His eyelids fluttered. He wobbled a little too.
“I think you’ve had enough for the both of us, man.” I patted his shoulder. He jerked away from me.
“Drink the beer. It’s just a Natty Light. Allah’s not gonna mind.” His smirk was suddenly not so playful. “If you don’t want my beer, it’s cool. I mean, it’s weird, but it’s fine,” Drew said. “You played one good game. One. So what? I bust my ass every game and at every practice.”
“I used to have my fair share of dealing with trash talkers, Kevin. You gotta give what you get! John Starks learned that the hard way in the 1995 playoffs. You remember that series?”
“Not the time to reminisce, Reggie. Not the time.”
“You’re right. It was just one game. For now,” I said, trying to defuse the situation—though maybe I straightened my posture a bit to let him know I was not one to mess with. At six foot four, I’ve got inches on Drew, but he’s more built than I am. I’m lean and he’s stocky. He has the body of a non-steroid-using wrestler.
“You got lucky. That’s all,” he said as his head lolled forward and he stumbled even closer to me.
“There’s no need for conflict,” Stephanie said. She squirmed her way between us.
“Oh! Intercepted by Bergner! Having a girl come to the rescue, that must be a blow.”
“How’s your sister Cheryl, by the way? Didn’t she earn way more accolades than you growing up?”
“Point taken, Kevin.”
“Stephanie, it’s okay. I got it,” I whispered.
“I took a seminar on conflict resolution at Emerson last summer. I’d like to put what I learned into practice,” she whispered back, then turned. “Now, Drew, I can understand that you’ve been drinking, but why don’t we all take a deep breath—” Drew leaned forward and spewed chunks all over her penny loafers.
“Oh, technical foul! Are you kidding me? Somebody eject this guy!”
“Looks like Drew Young really enjoyed the beef stew at the cafeteria today, Reggie.”
I pulled Stephanie back by her sweater, doing my best to keep her away from the exodus of booze, Gatorade, and nastiness coming out of Drew’s mouth.
“I think I’d like to go home now,” Stephanie squealed as she stepped out of her soggy shoes. The party, for Stephanie and me, was over. We weren’t really supposed to be there anyway.
CHAPTER THREE
It was seven a.m. on Sunday when my phone buzzed and fell off my bedside table. It vibrated on the floor until I got out of bed to see who would call me at such an insane hour. I didn’t recognize the number. If it was a scammer posing as an employee of the IRS, I was going to be pissed.
“Hello?” I said, answering.
“Good morning! This is Stephanie. Bergner. You assisted me at Will Thompson’s party?”
“Oh. Hi,” I slurred, half conscious. How had she gotten my number? Why couldn’t she text, like everybody else?
“I wanted to thank you for your kindness. Noah was a bit squeamish at the sight of my vomit-soaked shoes, but you weren’t, which I found to be quite admirable. So thank you,” she said.
“No problem,” I said before I yawned loudly.
“I’ve called you at a bad time, haven’t I? I forget not everyone is a morning
person,” she said.
“Izzz okay,” I managed, rubbing sleep boogers from my eyes.
“Oh, good! Since I have you on the phone, I was wondering if you would be interested in helping get signatures for our mascot petition tomorrow at lunch?”
“What? Oh, I don’t know,” I said as the sleepy fog began to clear.
“Noah, Elle, and I will be at a table in the cafeteria. It’s fairly informal. We’ll be asking students and teachers passing by if they’d like to sign.”
“Elle’s going to do it?” I asked, my eyes widening at the mention of her name.
“Yes! I think her involvement will really get some of the more popular students to participate. By ‘popular,’ I mean those students that fit a construct of what high school–aged peers deem to be cool. Though my father says those things don’t matter in college. I can’t wait for college.” Stephanie talked so fast I couldn’t tell if she was actually breathing.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll join, I guess,” I muttered, lying back down on my bed.
“Wonderful! I think this will really help us keep the momentum going,” she said. “Now, I think what we might consider doing is sending out an email blast and then—”
“Okay. Bye,” I said as I hung up on her midsentence. It was rude, but so was waking up a guy on a Sunday morning.
***
“Since when do you care about the school mascot?” Sean asked me as we walked to the cafeteria from the schoolhouse that Monday. He didn’t wear a coat over his uniform like I did as we trudged out into the cold. When I first started at Granger, it was a little overwhelming to travel around the five-hundred-acre campus full of giant Gregorian buildings like I was already at college. Sometimes I took for granted how good I had it, being part of a place that made you feel like you were on the verge of greatness.
“I see what Stephanie’s saying. It’s kind of messed up to have a guy carrying a rifle as a mascot for a school,” I said.