“This is my vinyl collection,” I announce to Levi, posing in front of it like a Price Is Right model.
Levi looks around and nods in approval. I can’t help puffing up with pride.
“And these are my playlists,” I say, pulling them up on my computer. I tell him about how my playlists are specially crafted for each mood, and how, depending on what I want to imagine, I know exactly where I can find some matching songs. I wait for him to laugh and kiss me and marvel at my excellent taste in music.
“Interesting” is all he says, and I can tell from his tone that he doesn’t find my system endearing or unique, like Strand did. Just confusing.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“R U MINE?”
—ARCTIC MONKEYS
Against all odds, Krina agrees to play at Kaitlyn’s this Saturday.
“But,” she informs us as we stand shoulder to shoulder in front of her. “I will not speak to her. I will not look at her. I’m there to drum and leave. Understood?”
“Yes,” we say in unison.
“You shitheads owe me.”
Annie and I sneak out of her apartment at nine o’clock and take the train to the Upper East Side. Kaitlyn lives in a large apartment, even larger than Levi’s, next to Central Park. It has high vaulted ceilings and brightly polished tiles. Professionally photographed portraits of Kaitlyn hang delicately on the walls. Kaitlyn on a horse, Kaitlyn reading a book, Kaitlyn posing with a violin.
I’m nervous to perform tonight, more nervous than I was at the bowling alley a couple of months ago. This is different. I’m not performing in front of strangers, I’m performing in front of people I pass in the halls every day. If I mess this up, I have to face them for the rest of high school.
Thankfully, we’re not playing too long. Kaitlyn’s hired a DJ, and according to Levi, we’re only playing a twenty-minute set during the DJ’s break.
This is my first real high school party. I would never choose to spend my free time with the Evanston population, but I’m sacrificing myself for the band. Swarming around me are actual drunk high schoolers. People I know are transformed. Shy, sweet Erin Wheaton with the big eyes and the Minnie Mouse voice is dancing against a wall. Math Club president Kevin Young is straddling a keg like he’s riding Seabiscuit. It’s eerie the way alcohol brings out people’s inner selves.
Annie and I find the others right away when we enter, except for Strand.
“Are you okay?” I ask Krina. She’s sitting stiffly on Kaitlyn’s Chanel couch, her eyes darting around the room.
“I need a drink” is her response as she gets to her feet, leaving me, Annie, and Levi on the couch by ourselves.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Annie offers.
Krina’s eyes stop moving for a second. “No thanks. I’m okay.”
When Krina’s out of earshot, Annie says, “I’ve never seen her like this.” Her brows scrunch together. “Do you think she’s really okay?”
Krina is swigging a bottle of beer on the opposite side of the room, eyeing Kaitlyn, who is giggling in a corner with a group of lacrosse players.
“Krina’s always okay,” I tell her.
“She’s not,” says Annie. “She just pretends to be . . . God, I can’t stand her.”
“Krina?”
“No,” Annie says. “Kaitlyn. The way she started those rumors about Krina . . . she’s a terrible excuse for a human being.”
“Kaitlyn started the rumors?” I ask. “Even the one about the wrestling coach?”
“Of course,” Annie says. “Krina wouldn’t do any of that stuff.”
I feel guilty for believing anything when it comes to Krina. It turns out that the more I learn about her, the less I feel I really know her.
Annie looks distressed, but I can’t keep my gaze from drifting around the room.
“Where’s Strand?” I ask Levi.
Levi jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Talking to some girl over there.”
I look past him and, sure enough, Strand is chatting up a girl—my former cross-country teammate and captain, Rachel Levine. It hits me how annoying I find Rachel. She always runs in a sports bra that shows off her flat, toned stomach, and she’s always tan, even in the dead of winter.
“I’m going to get a drink,” Levi says. “Do you guys want anything?”
I figure a little booze might soothe my nerves. Plus, since I’m staying at Annie’s tonight, there’s no danger of my parents waiting up for me to get home and smelling alcohol on my breath. I ask Levi to bring me a shot of tequila.
“Isn’t that a little much?” Annie asks. “You don’t want to get sick again.” She’s in a mood tonight.
“I won’t have much,” I assure her.
“If you say so . . .” Her lips tighten as she takes a sip of her ice water. Honestly. Who drinks water at a party? Annie can’t even loosen up enough to have a soda, because of the sugar content.
I look over at Strand and Rachel again. She’s taking a sip of his whiskey and laughing at something he said. She looks pretty when she laughs. It’s the contrast of her teeth and her tan.
“Rude,” I say aloud.
Annie, who is openly staring at Kaitlyn, tears her eyes away to follow the direction of my gaze. “Who? Strand?”
“Yeah. He hasn’t even come over to say hi.”
“He probably didn’t see us come in.”
“He saw us.”
Annie shakes her head. “Look at her.”
“Who? Rachel?”
She sighs in exasperation. “Krina.”
I look. Krina’s hair is extra spiky tonight, her liner painted in thick circles around her eyes. But if I pay close attention, I can almost see Krina without the haircut, makeup, and snarl. She looks less terrifying tonight, despite the extra effort she put into her appearance. She looks depressed.
Before I can respond, Levi comes back with a beer for himself and a tequila shot for me. I sniff at it and wrinkle my nose.
“You’ve never had one?” he asks me.
“No, she hasn’t,” Annie replies for me.
I frown at her. “Stop making it such a big deal.”
“Just take it in one gulp and chase it with the lime,” Levi says.
I tip the glass so the liquid goes straight into my throat and my tongue burns with the sharp, metallic taste. My body coughs and shudders involuntarily as I reach for the slice of lime in Levi’s hand to end this assault on my taste buds.
“I told you, that’s too much for you,” Annie says, and she’s so satisfied at being right that I turn away from her and say to Levi, “I’ll do another if you do it with me.”
Krina comes back to the couch empty-handed. She must have downed her beer in about five minutes. She looks down at the empty shot glass and lime rind on the table. “Are we doing tequila shots?”
“No,” Annie says.
“Yes we are,” I reply. “Do you want one?”
Kaitlyn laughs loudly at something one of the lacrosse players says, and Krina squares her shoulders. “Hell yes.” She nudges Annie. “Come on, Annalise, don’t be a party pooper.”
“I’m fine,” Annie says, lifting her chin.
“Bring her one,” Krina says to Levi, and Annie sucks in her cheeks but doesn’t protest.
Levi is back in a flash, trying to balance two shot glasses in each hand. He places them on the coffee table in front of us.
Krina recites a toast in Spanish that I’ve never heard before. “¡Arriba, abajo, al centro y adentro!”
I laugh, already light like I’m filled with helium, and the four of us down the shots together. It doesn’t take long to kick in. I recognize the feeling of being slightly dizzy but happy.
“I want to dance,” I decide. There’s a group of people dancing near Strand and Rachel.
“Levi doesn’t dance,” Krina reminds me.
I pull him up off the couch and offer, “I’ll dance, you can just stand.”
He does exactly that once I drag him o
nto the floor. He stands there and looks uncomfortable while I move with the music, matching my hips with the thumping bass line. I dance with people I’ve seen in the halls but I’ve never spoken to before. Levi bobs his head but doesn’t join the action.
After a few minutes I’m sweaty and flushed. I look over to find Strand openly staring at me, his expression unreadable. When I meet his gaze, he looks away and says something to Rachel.
“You look good when you dance,” Levi says.
“Really?” I smile at him.
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s sexy.”
Sexy. This is the first time Levi, or anyone in the world, has used the word in relation to me. I wonder if Strand thinks I look sexy when I dance or if he still considers me a sheltered little girl. When the DJ starts a new song, I get even more into the music, dipping my hips low, desperately trying to solidify my sexiness. I’ve never danced like this in public, but I’ve practiced plenty of times in my room, and I know I look good.
See, Strand? I’m not so sheltered now, am I? The two sides of my brain are at war, one insisting that I stop worrying about what Strand thinks, the other wanting to prove him wrong. Out of the corner of my eye I glance at him, but he’s not looking at me anymore. Instead, he’s kissing Rachel. She has her hands wrapped around his neck, her fingers caressing his hair. The same hair that I was touching a few days ago. It bothers me that she knows how soft it is.
And Strand had the nerve to tell me he wasn’t the playboy I thought he was. How could I ever have felt an attraction to him?
“Do you want to sit back down?” Levi asks. His face is beet red even though he hasn’t moved much, just bobbed back and forth like a water buoy.
“Nope.” I look away from Strand. “I want another tequila shot.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? We’re up soon . . .”
“One more,” I promise.
Levi ventures to the kitchen for another shot while I continue dancing alone, uninhibited. I realize that guys are looking at me, smiling at me. Maybe Strand doesn’t find me desirable, but other people might. Including my boyfriend. My sweet boyfriend who is obediently fetching me a drink.
When Levi returns with the shot, I take it quickly, my tongue barely registering the taste this time. Then I make out with him, right there on the dance floor in front of everyone. I run my hands under his shirt, pressing my fingers against the dimples in his lower back.
“Let’s go somewhere,” I tell him in my sultriest voice, trying hard not to slur my words.
His eyes widen. “Where?”
I take his hand and lead him even though I’m not sure where we’re going. As I drag Levi behind me, I purposely bump into Strand and Rachel so they have to break apart.
“Sorry!” I say innocently.
Strand rubs his lips, stained pink from Rachel’s lipstick. “Where are you going, Cutlet?”
“Somewhere private,” I say pointedly, gripping Levi’s arm.
Strand narrows his eyes at Levi. “Is she drunk?”
“She had a few tequila shots,” Levi says.
It’s infuriating, the way they speak to each other like I’m not there.
“I’m perfectly fine,” I tell them both. “Don’t treat me like a kid.”
Rachel fiddles with a charm on her gold necklace and looks at the three of us. “Hi, Victoria. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Hi, Rachel,” I reply coldly.
Then I feel bad because she looks confused, and she really hasn’t done anything wrong. No one’s done anything wrong. Strand owes me nothing, and I have no say in who he kisses. He’s not my boyfriend, after all.
I look at Levi, and my heart floods with affection. Good old Levi.
“Why don’t you get her some water?” Strand says, again to Levi.
Levi nods and leaves me there with Strand and Rachel.
“Don’t worry about me,” I tell them both breezily. “Carry on with the kissing.”
For some reason, I add a salute to show them how okay I am with it. It’s one of those moves that makes sense in my drunken mindset but fails in real-world execution. I turn to follow Levi to the kitchen, but my ankle twists and I wobble unsteadily. Strand’s hands are around my waist before I have time to stand up again.
“I’ll be right back,” he tells Rachel, then he pulls me into an empty hallway. I let him guide me, reluctantly.
“Strand, I don’t need a babysitter.” I close my eyes to stop the walls from tilting.
“I’m not babysitting you.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“I’m making sure you’re okay.”
“Why?”
“Because . . . I’m your friend.”
“Well, thank you, friend,” I say sharply. “I appreciate you looking out for me.”
When I open my eyes, Strand looks slightly wounded. “What the hell, Victoria. Are you mad at me or something?”
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“Great question.”
I look down, and his hands are still on my waist. We’re standing so close that I can see the bits of stubble on his chin and smell the whiskey on his breath.
“I’m not mad,” I say quietly.
Our eyes lock, and it occurs to me that it would be so easy to reach up and close the distance between our lips. I want to know what they feel like. They look soft, like little pillows. His eyes flicker down my face. Is he wondering the same thing about mine?
“I’m glad,” he says.
“What?”
“That you’re not mad.”
“That rhymes,” I blurt out stupidly, and he laughs. “I’m a little drunk.”
“You don’t say.”
“I should go find Levi.”
“Right.” He lets go of my waist. “I should get back to Rachel.”
Even though I told him I wasn’t mad, a flare of anger burns through me.
“Are you going to have sex with her?” I ask abruptly. He doesn’t answer right away, and it bothers me. “Is that a yes?”
He’s looking at me in that way he does, like his mind is constructing a theory. “Is there a reason I should say no?”
“Ugh. You’re disgusting.”
“I’m sorry we’re not all as chaste as you, Victoria.”
“I’m not chaste. Levi and I have done plenty of stuff.”
“What do you care anyway?” he asks. “Why don’t you stop concerning yourself with what I do?”
“Why don’t you stop acting like a disappointment to the male species?” I shoot back.
“Oh, get over yourself. Go back to your boyfriend.” He practically spits the word out, boyfriend, and it slices through me. He’s never talked to me like that before.
“I will,” I say in a similarly harsh tone. “I’m lucky to have Levi. He’s nice and he makes me feel safe and—”
“Are you describing a car seat or a person?”
“Stop it.” Either I’m swaying, or Strand is. Or maybe it’s the room.
“I mean, it’s an odd way to describe someone you love. You do love him, right?”
“I don’t need to explain myself to you, Strand. Or my choice of words.”
“No, you don’t.”
Still, I want to. I have to, for some reason. “There’s nothing wrong with being safe.”
He presses his thumb between his eyebrows and closes his eyes. “I know that.” He sounds tired.
“But you’re too cool to play it safe, right, Strand?” I say, and there’s a stop sign going off in my brain but my mouth ignores it, charging ahead. I’m infuriated at what Strand is implying. To prove my point, I blurt out, “At least Levi doesn’t have to screw every girl in sight.”
He opens his mouth like he’s about to speak, but he doesn’t. I keep going.
“It’s disgusting,” I say. My brain shouts at me to stop, but I’m tired of censoring myself. I deliver my final words with a flourish. “You disgust me, Strand.”
There. I wounded him
like he wounded me. It’s written all over his face.
“Hey . . .” And Levi is suddenly here, standing in the middle of the hallway with my glass of water. “I couldn’t find you two. Is everything all right?”
Strand’s expression shifts from hurt to disdain.
“She’s drunk,” he says bitterly, and leaves us behind, probably to head toward Rachel.
“What happened?” Levi asks.
“Nothing.” I snatch the water out of his hand. “Let’s go back out there.”
We skirt past the swarms of Evanston students grinding against each other and bump into Annie back in Kaitlyn’s living room.
“Where’s Krina?” Levi asks her. “We’re up in twenty minutes.”
“I can’t find her,” Annie says, her eyes scanning the room. “She went to get another drink and never came back.” Worry creeps into her voice.
“Wonderful,” Levi says, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “Now we don’t have a drummer.”
Annie folds her arms over her chest. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have pressured her into playing tonight. Kaitlyn treated her like dirt.”
“She should put the band before her personal issues,” Levi says.
“Or maybe you should put your friend before the band.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” I say, raising my hand like I’m in a classroom. “Let’s focus on finding Krina.”
Strand, too, has disappeared, but I’m in no mood to run into him.
“I checked the kitchen,” Annie says, “but I didn’t go into the bedrooms.”
“You do that,” I say. “I’ll check the bathrooms. Levi . . . you stay here in case Krina comes back.”
Annie takes off down the hallway, and I ask a broad-shouldered football player where the bathroom is. He points me up the spiraling staircase, looming above me like Everest. Shit. I go up slowly, clinging to the railing. Tequila shots and spiral staircases are not my friends tonight. When I make it upstairs, the bathroom door is closed, so I rap my knuckle against it. No answer.
“Krina?” I call, knocking harder.
Still nothing. I grimace and push the door open, hoping not to walk in on anything too traumatic. The bathroom is massive, all sparkling white tiles and sleek chrome fixtures. Huddled in the corner is not Krina, but Kaitlyn, sitting against the wall, looking glassy-eyed. Her beautiful auburn hair hangs in a tangled mop around her face, looking unstyled for the first time ever.
The Victoria in My Head Page 18