by Liz Fichera
“Wow,” I stammered, summoning something better to say. “I’m sure thirsty.”
Ryan chuckled. “Well, you came to the right place.”
“I guess.” I took a sip. “Can I help with anything?”
“Nope.” He reached back inside the endless refrigerator and pulled out a shiny beer can.
My eyes narrowed automatically at the can. How I’d grown to loathe the sight of their flashy pretty colors and fancy letters.
“Something wrong?” He popped the tab back and lifted the can at me. “What? You don’t drink?”
“Not…not usually,” I lied as he opened a bag of potato chips and poured them into a silver bowl.
“Well, maybe later.” He smiled, taking another sip. “Want to go wait outside? Everyone will be here in a little bit.”
“Sure,” I exhaled. “Outside.” Where it should be easier to breathe.
I followed Ryan past a wall of windows to a patio surrounded by desert that looked like a photograph, the kind you see in magazines and on postcards. The yard was more manicured than a golf course. All of the mesquite and palm trees dotting the rear fence were perfectly trimmed, along with the red oleanders and the sage bushes. They lined all of the flagstone pathways like giant mushrooms. White, twinkling lights peeked from every tree. Ryan pressed a button on a wall switch to light up a swimming pool that shimmered like turquoise. I stepped near the edge and peered at my reflection.
“Wow,” I whispered again as Ryan jogged over to another wall switch next to a cabinet that held stacks of white towels. Each fluffy towel was perfectly folded.
The only thing missing was the desert smells that I was accustomed to—creosote, honeysuckle, sweet red earth baked all day from the sun. Here the air tightened around every one of my ribs whenever I breathed. Even the breezes moved differently, thick and confused, as if they were waiting to escape.
“What kind of music do you like?” Ryan said as he fiddled with another row of switches and buttons. Suddenly voices and guitars filled the backyard. They came from everywhere—the ground, the trees, the skies.
I swallowed. “Um, music?” I didn’t have much time for music, not with homework and practice and weekend shifts at the restaurant. “Anything, really,” I said, although that was a lie, too. I’d have bet Ryan never listened to—had never even heard of—Native Radio.
“Anything, huh,” Ryan said, making a face as he switched through the channels. “How about this?” Electric-guitar music invaded the air. “This is one of my playlists.”
“Playlists?”
“On my iPod?”
“Oh, yeah. Right,” I answered over the music. Just because I didn’t have my own iPod didn’t mean I’d never heard of them. “This sounds good.”
Ryan turned down the volume just before the doorbell rang. He frowned but said, “Good timing.” The doorbell sounded hollow, like church bells. He held my gaze till the bell completed its little tune. Then he jogged back through the sliding glass. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
I fidgeted with the label on my water bottle while I walked one fast loop around the patio, mostly to calm my nerves. I wouldn’t have minded a few more minutes with Ryan, alone. Maybe then I could have asked him a few questions for a change, like how many brothers and sisters he had or where he’d learned to play golf. The only thing I knew about Ryan Berenger was that he sat behind me in English, had a beautiful golf swing and parents who took him to fancy restaurants. And, for some bizarro-land reason, he compelled my attention despite my best efforts to ignore him.
I finally sat down in one of the white wicker chairs around a glass table facing the pool. I took a few more steadying breaths of the heavy air as I waited for the rest of Ryan’s guests.
Just don’t say anything stupid, Fred, I told myself. Better yet, don’t say much at all. You’re pretty good at that.
By the time the first few arrived, I’d almost completely peeled off the wrapper around my water bottle. I stuffed the sticky mess into the front pocket of my newest pair of jeans just as Seth Winter and Troy Bean bounced through the back door. Two girls I recognized from yearbook photos walked behind them. Seth held a brown paper bag in his arms.
Seth Winter. I wanted to crawl underneath the table.
“Whoa,” Seth said the moment our eyes met. His blue ones widened to the size of quarters, enough to show that his pupils were dilated and glassy. The girl walking behind him bounced off his heels when he pulled back in midstride. But then he lifted his chin and grinned.
I didn’t like his smile.
“Well, there. Hola, Pocahontas—I mean…”
My stomach tightened.
But Seth quickly faked a grimace. “Fred,” he said finally.
“Winter!” Ryan said. He frowned at Seth as they stood in the doorway. Ryan nudged Seth’s shoulder, hard, but not enough to knock him over. I wished he had.
Seth made a show of mock pouting as he lifted sheepish eyes from Ryan back to me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he said to Ryan with a frozen smile. There was more than playfulness behind his words and his glassy smile.
“Cram it, Seth,” Ryan added but with a dark kind of chuckle. He ripped the bag from Seth’s arms and placed it on the table where the items rattled against the glass top. He pulled out a bag of potato chips, another six-pack and an opened bottle of vodka, and lined them up on the table.
“From my old man’s stash,” Seth said, grinning and still studying me. I wished he’d stop. His eyes traveled across my face and then down toward my shoes and up again. It lasted less than a heartbeat, but it was enough to prickle every inch of my skin. Then he added almost as an afterthought, “Graser was behind us on the freeway.” He nodded over his shoulder. “Should be here in a few.”
I’d hoped that was the end of Seth.
Someone turned up the music so that everyone had to yell around the table to be heard.
I continued to fiddle with my water bottle, pretending to be interested in their conversation as Seth dragged back a chair across from me. Something about someone’s new car. All the while, I could feel Seth’s eyes on me, challenging me to look back at him when he knew I wouldn’t. My forehead began to throb from the mental game we played, and I jumped when Ryan sat beside me. It seemed like hours had passed since I’d last seen him instead of a handful of minutes.
No one introduced me to the other two girls, but one of them answered to Tiffany. She looked like a Tiffany, and I recognized her from gym class. They sat across the table but didn’t acknowledge my existence, which was fine. I’m not sure what we would have talked about.
I placed the water bottle below the table and between my legs as Tiffany lined up vodka shots with pale pink fingernails and white tips that presumably had never seen the bottom of a sink full of dirty dishes. Her fingernails matched her lipstick. I kind of liked the color and wondered if it would look as nice on me.
When there was a brief pause between songs, the somber doorbell filled the air again. No sooner had the sound ended when a new voice filled the kitchen. “Who drove the Tenement on Wheels parked out front?” the voice yelled through the opened patio doors. Like Seth’s, her words slurred. Tiffany and the other girl began laughing again, more loudly than before. Seth joined them, in between a vodka shot and a swig from his beer can. He made an obvious head tilt in my direction.
My breathing stopped.
The girl from the kitchen laughed again, a high-pitched sound that was sharp enough to compete with the electric-guitar music in the backyard speakers. I recognized her voice immediately. It belonged to Gwyneth Riordan. I was starting to hear her voice everywhere. Of course she would be invited to her boyfriend’s party.
My stomach sank a little more.
Gwyneth sauntered through the glass doors, smiling. But the grin turned icy just as soon as her eyes met mine. Like Seth, I didn’t have to be a psychic to read her mind: What’s she doing here? her eyes demanded of everyone seated at the table. Everyone but me.
Then I remembered Ryan was sitting next to me with his arm draped casually across the back of my chair.
Seth laughed again, forced this time. For Gwyneth’s benefit? His nervous laughter filled a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. “Yeah, I saw that, too.” Seth tossed back another shot and slammed the glass on the table.
I pressed my hands against my stomach. They were discussing Dad’s van.
“Better make sure we lock our cars tonight,” he continued. “This neighborhood’s going to shit.” Then his eyes landed on me, and I felt the undertow begin to pull me lower.
“Stop it, Seth,” Ryan said over the laughter, but there was a seed of a grin in his voice. That made everything worse.
“Hey, when are we going in the hot tub?” Tiffany asked, her words slurring.
Hot tub?
“I didn’t bring a bathing suit,” I blurted, turning to Ryan.
Everyone laughed, Gwyneth loudest of all. She walked closer. “Oh, I’m sure we could find you a nice one-piece from Riley’s closet, right, Ryan?” Her thick eyelashes batted with mock helpfulness.
“Stop it, Gwyneth,” Ryan said. I had some satisfaction knowing Ryan was the only one not laughing. But from the corner of my eye, I noticed that the corner of his mouth did turn up.
“Seriously, Fred,” Gwyneth said. “That is your name, isn’t it?”
I nodded.
“By the end of the night, bathing suits are pretty much optional,” she added, looking over my head to Ryan with a grin on her face that said they shared some kind of a secret. The people at the table laughed again.
My insides lurched. What was it about white people and hot tubs?
Then I turned to Ryan. “Where’s your bathroom?” Breathing became difficult. It was like duct tape was pulled tight around every single one of my ribs.
Ryan leaned closer. His breath smelled like beer. “Just off the kitchen, underneath the stairs.”
The table turned quiet as I stood away from my chair. I kept my eyes lowered. I really didn’t want to watch six pairs of eyes tracking me.
“I’ll go find you a suit,” Gwyneth said, again with the fake sisterly voice, but I ignored her. “Don’t worry. It won’t show—” her eyes drifted to my boobs, or lack thereof “—much.”
She stepped away from the back door so that I could pass. It was an effort for me not to leap through the opened door.
I not only wanted to leap. I wanted to run.
It seemed like I walked forever before I finally found the bathroom underneath the stairs. The light was already on, and I quickly closed the door, locked it and then braced both hands against the edges of a marble sink. Ice-cold, the stone jarred my skin. I took several deep breaths, waiting for my heartbeat to slow, even as laughter from the back patio floated beneath the door between pauses in the music.
It was like a nightmare.
Slowly, I raised my head and opened my eyes. A row of round, overly bright lights surrounded the upper half of an oval mirror. I stared back at my reflection and touched my cheek. My skin burned at the contact. The corners of my eyes were moist with tears, and my lips were dry. I bit my bottom lip to keep from crying. The last thing I needed was to cry inside Ryan Berenger’s house.
I turned the silver faucet, and cool water rushed between my fingers. I lowered my head and patted my fingers against my face, soothing the heat on my cheeks. I shut off the water and stood straight again. Forcing three long breaths, I ran my fingers through my hair, so that it hung loose behind my shoulders.
Then I turned out the light and opened the door. Instead of walking toward the back door, I walked toward the front, the balls of my feet barely touching the tile.
“Fred?” Ryan’s voice stopped me at the door.
Reluctantly, I turned around. “I need to leave.” My voice had all the signs of cracking.
Ryan crossed the foyer and stood below a chandelier that sparkled like a wedding cake. He reached out and lightly grasped my elbow. His fingers were warm. I really wished he hadn’t touched me. “Why?” he said.
“I promised my dad I wouldn’t be late,” I said quickly as tears began to build behind my eyes. Someone coughed from the top of the landing. My gaze darted up the stairs. A girl with a blond ponytail smiled at me, but her smile was apologetic. She had Ryan’s smile. Surely she was his sister.
“Riley,” Ryan said. “A little privacy. Do you mind?”
Riley’s small shoulders slumped forward. Then her slender body shot up to a standing position before she pirouetted off the stairwell and into the shadows without a single word.
Ryan returned his attention to me. Softly, he said, “But you just got here. Party’s just starting.”
“I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”
“I know.”
“And I’m not a big fan of hot tubs.”
“I got that. It’s okay, Fred. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“I know. That’s why I need to go, Ryan. Sorry.” This was a mistake.
But he didn’t let go of my arm.
My eyes dropped to his hand at my elbow. “I need to go now,” I said and tugged against his hand so that his fingers opened like flower petals.
Ryan frowned. His hand fell heavily against his leg. “Look, I’m sorry about what Seth called you. If that’s why you’re mad….” And before his next breath, he added, “I told him not to say that. I should have said something. I’m sorry.”
My eyes widened with disgust. “He’s said it before?”
Ryan’s eyes dipped sheepishly, just as Seth’s had done. “Yeah.”
“A lot?”
He exhaled. “A couple of times.”
I chuckled darkly. “Guess it’s kind of funny, then.” My voice caught between breaths. “A big joke.” I’m a big joke.
“Fred,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “It’s not like that.”
“Like what?”
Ryan paused, considering this. “It’s just Seth. That’s how he is.”
“Impressive.”
“Fred.” Ryan reached without touching me, but I’d already made it to the door. “Wait.”
“I’ve got to go.” I opened the door and stepped outside. “I should never have come. Bye, Ryan.”
Ryan stayed silent. This time he didn’t try to stop me.
I jogged down the flagstone path to the sidewalk. I didn’t look back. And I waited until I was inside the van before I allowed myself to cry.
Chapter 22
Ryan
“DID SHE LEAVE?”
I heard Gwyneth’s quick footsteps before I heard her voice. I was waiting in the opened doorway, watching Fred climb into her van. The driver’s door creaked loudly enough for me to hear. My head wanted to go after her, but my feet stayed planted in the doorway.
“Please say yes,” Gywneth added with a forced chuckle meant to get me to laugh.
But I couldn’t. I felt like a tool. Again. “Stop it, Gwyn,” I said, finally finding my voice.
Gwyneth wrapped her arms around my waist, and my entire body stiffened. Her hands were ice-cold. “Why’d you invite her anyway?” she said, pressing her mouth against my shoulder.
I continued looking down the street, the warmth from Fred’s skin still lingering on my fingers. Her van eventually started up on the third try. For a second, I kind of wished that it’d stall. Then she’d have to come back.
“Well?” Gwyneth prodded. She let her arms drop, and it was easier to breathe again, although just barely.
“She’s okay,” I said finally. “I like her.”
Gwyneth’s tone grew sharper. “You mean, as in you like her?”
I sighed. I wasn’t about to explain everything to Gwyneth. She wouldn’t get it. “She’s just a friend.” I finally turned to face her.
Gwyneth’s eyes narrowed. “But we’re your friends.” She made a circle with her finger. “Seth, me, Henry, Zack. Right?”
I didn’t say anything. Yeah, they’d all been my
friends forever, but this was different in ways I couldn’t explain, least of all to Gwyneth.
“Right?” she asked again, her tone sharper.
I nodded.
Gwyneth licked her lips. They were still pink and shiny. “And us…” she started but then hesitated. “We’re still tight. Aren’t we?”
It was as if someone had stuffed my throat with a towel.
“Ryan?” She tugged on my arm, kind of helplesslike, at least for her. Oddly, my chest tightened. I wasn’t making this easy for anybody.
Fred’s van drove down the street, chugging like a diesel truck. Gwyneth looked around me and glared at the dark street.
“Jeez,” Gwyneth murmured. “Nice ride.”
“Stop it.” I closed the door. “Leave it alone.”
“Chill, Ryan,” Gwyneth snapped back. “Can we just get back to your party?”
“Yeah.” I sighed, and despite knowing better, I draped my arm across her shoulders, mostly because I wanted to get away from the door.
We walked down the hallway and through the kitchen where the music was cranked so loudly we wouldn’t hear each other.
Chapter 23
Fred
WHEN I GOT home from Ryan’s party, Trevor and Sam Tracy were seated outside the trailer on plastic chairs. Trevor was drinking a beer, the silver can shining underneath the glow from the front-porch light.
Before I got out of the van, I wiped my nose and ran my fingers through my hair. If I was lucky, I could make it to the front door without stopping.
“Hey, Freddy,” Trevor called out. “Look who stopped by.” It was impossible not to notice Sam. It would be easier not to notice the sun.
“Hey, Sam,” I said brightly. Too brightly. I kept walking.
“Wait up. Can’t you hang for a minute?” Trevor said. “Sam walked all the way over here to visit.”
Now I had to stop. Sam probably lived a few miles from us. So I swallowed and then spun around. I walked to where they sat and plopped down on the only other chair. It happened to be right next to Sam. “Hi.”
He smiled. “Fred.”