Innocents

by Mary Elizabeth

  I slip into the Mercedes, relieved. I’ve spent the last half of this day unsure if I was still having a party. “I didn’t think I’d be allowed over.”

  “Why, because my daughter can’t control her temper? She’s nothing compared to Thomas, and I wouldn’t let this ruin your birthday.” Tommy puts the car into drive and pulls away from the curb.

  If it was I who had been in a fistfight, I wouldn’t see the light of day for a month. But Thomas and Becka don’t fear their parents, and there’s no reason to. There are no consequences.

  Tommy and I chitchat a little on the drive home. She talks about her husband’s clients and how she hates their wives. “I have to go on these dinners and pretend to love these people. I’d rather stay home with my kids.”

  “That must be hard,” I say, captivated. I love to hear about her life. It’s fancy and far from what I experience at home.

  “It’s hard, Leigh. You have no idea …” She goes on and on and on.

  I’m spellbound.

  Rebecka waits for me on her porch dressed in a band tee and boyfriend jeans. The studded black ballet flats she bought all by herself a few weeks ago are on her feet, and she points at them so I’ll notice.

  “It’s unfair,” she whines as I step onto the wooden porch.

  I kiss her forehead and hold her hand. “You can’t hit people, girl.”

  “But you heard what she said.”

  I sigh, suppressing a bolt of disappointment that wants to burn me. “Yeah, I did.”

  “Petey called her. He totally went off. She was crying.”

  The boys are always home before us, but today Rebecka beat us all.

  “They’re here?” I ask, trying to look through the front door.

  “No, they left a while ago. They’re meeting up with this guy Casper. I don’t know, but they’ll be back for your party.”

  It looks like autumn has exploded inside of the Castor home. Warm and soothing, the air smells like spice and eggnog. There are bouquets of flowers, like the ones Tommy sent to me at school, placed and blooming all over. The coffee table is topped with presents, and there’s a scarecrow holding a pumpkin in the corner.

  “This feels like Thanksgiving,” I whisper, holding tightly to Rebecka’s hand.

  “Well, it’s not. It’s your birthday. Come look in the kitchen.” She pulls me along. Her mother stands in front of the oven like a pleased chef. “She didn’t make a thing. Don’t fall for it,” Rebecka jokes. Tommy rolls her eyes and admits she cooked nothing.

  On the counter, right next to the small chocolate fountain, are Rice Krispies treats, Twinkies, brownies, cupcakes, and cubes of fruit. Rebecka opens the fridge, and two four-packs of Bartles & Jaymes strawberry wine coolers sit on the top shelf next to the fat-free milk.

  “We’re going to have so much fun,” she promises.

  It takes me an hour to drink my first one.

  I’m sitting at the counter sipping the last few drops between Twinkie bites when Thomas, Ben, and Petey come through the front door. Thomas and I make eye contact, and he smiles before heading upstairs taking three steps at a time. His friends hang around.

  Petey hugs me from behind. “Little sisters aren’t little anymore. Happy birthday,” he whispers, kissing my temple. His lips are cold and he smells like pot.

  “Thank you,” I say before shoving the last of a Twinkie in my mouth.

  Ben tugs my hair and says, “You’re still little to me.”

  “Jeez, thanks,” I say with a mouth full of yellow sponge.

  Once my bottle’s empty, Rebecka passes me a new one. She’s halfway through her third. My best girl’s cheeks are red and her eyes are tipsy-glossy. She’s bouncing all over the place, begging to skate in the house. Luke refuses, so she settles for a brownie she eats sitting on his knee.

  Thomas comes down stairs, mumbling a happy birthday as he passes and opens the fridge. The resident troublemaker pulls out the Coke. He lines up three red cups, pouring Captain Morgan in each one before splashing some soda on top.

  “Take it easy, Dusty,” Lucas warns with humor in his tone.

  “Sure, Dad,” Thomas says, taking a drink. Tiny carbonation bubbles pop from the top of his cup. “Are you ready to party, party girl?” he asks with a silly grin.

  “I am.” Rebecka stands, taking her bottle and mine before jetting out of the kitchen into the living room.

  Petey and Ben are right behind her. Light and sort of tipsy on my feet, I’m next to follow. The front door opens and it almost smacks me right in the face, but Thomas pulls me out of the way by the back of my sweater.

  It’s the neighbors from down the street with a bottle of wine.

  “They’ll be out of our way all night,” Thomas whispers, referring to the adults, releasing my sweater. He walks past me, sitting next to Petey on the smaller sofa. I sit next to Rebecka.

  She hands me a small gift box. “Open your presents.”

  “But Smitty and Oliver aren’t here yet,” I say.

  “Do you need them to hold your hand or something, Bliss?” Thomas asks mockingly, messing with the stereo remote.

  “No,” I reply, “but I don’t want to be rude.”

  “Open your presents.” He never looks at me.

  The house fills with breathy vocals and deep beats, drowning out all the smaller noises. The bass vibrates through my chest, launching adrenaline into my veins. Thomas looks at me now, smiling, smirking. He lifts his eyebrows and takes a drink from his cup.

  I shake the box. Petey and Ben call me a cheater. Thomas looks uninterested. I know better.

  Rebecka drops down in front of me, blowing her bangs out of her blue eyes. “Open, open, open! You’re going to love it.”

  I unwrap the box and think, My parents are going to be mad.

  “We all got one, look—” Rebecka pulls her cell phone out of her back pocket. “iPhones. It’s been hard keeping this a secret from you all day.”

  I can hear my parents already:

  You’re too young. You need to give it back. You’re our daughter, not theirs. You’re only thirteen, Leighlee.

  Rebecka turns on my phone, briefly showing me how use it. “We programmed your contacts for you last night.”

  I scroll through the numbers: Becka. Dusty. Luke. Tommy.

  Home.

  Not my home. Their home. This home.

  I look over at Thomas. He types something on his cell phone, and my phone beeps. It says I have a message from Dusty. Rebecka laughs, complaining she wanted to be the first person to text me.

  I check it.

  Hey, princess.

  And I know exactly what this means.

  It feels like too much, but there’s an entire table of presents left to open. Smitty and Oliver show up between a new pair of jeans and a dress my parents will never let me wear out of the house. It’s short with a floral printed bottom and an off-white sleeveless top—definitely one of my favorite gifts. Not only because it’s pretty, but because it’s unlike anything I own. It shows that I’m getting older.

  “Put it on.” Rebecka pushes me back on the couch and pulls off my black boots.

  “Becka.” I laugh. “I can dress myself.”

  She peels off my socks. I wiggle my toes. I painted them, and they’re pretty.

  “Take her to the bathroom,” Thomas says, sounding annoyed. Petey and Ben have their eyes covered with their hands, but they’re both peeking.

  Up on bare feet, Becka tugs off my black cardigan, leaving me in a white tank top. The dress goes over my head and down my waist. She takes off my tank and unbuttons my jeans, yanking them to my ankles where I kick them off.

  “You look beautiful,” my best girl gushes.

  I push my fingers through my hair, separating curls, and circle on tippy-toes. The skirt sways around me, brushing my skin.

  I want to look at Thomas, but I don’t.

  “One more, Leigh.” Rebecka hands me the last box. Inside is my very first pair of wedges. Jute and c
ream colored, they’re peep-toed and just high enough. I slip them on my feet and lift a foot to show everyone. This time I look directly at Thomas.

  He smirks.

  I run into the kitchen and thank Tommy a million times. Lucas puts his arm around my shoulders and introduces me to the neighbors as his third child, Leighlee.

  “She isn’t mine, but I love her like she is,” and “She’s Judge McCloy’s, but I may have to take her from him.”

  Back in the living room, Rebecka dances in the tissue and wrapping paper.

  “Oh my gosh.” She stops, pointing a finger at me. “Let’s do a shot. Our first shots ever.”

  Thomas lines up the glasses, and I count them, noticing that we’re two short. “Thomas, you need two more glasses.”

  He looks at me briefly, then over at Hal and Oliver. “Oh. Do you guys want one?” he asks in a disregarding manner. Mischief dances behind his beautiful blue eyes.

  They both decline.

  “To Leighlee Bliss on her sweet little thirteenth birthday.” Thomas winks, tossing his drink back.

  I smell the clear colored liquor before I set my lips on the rim, bearing sips.

  Rebecka takes hers and screams, “It’s like a liquid inferno!”

  I feel warm and woozy after the shots, so I lay off the coolers. We sit around, laughing and joking. Somehow the fight at school comes up and Becka stops dancing long enough to reenact the entire thing. Although dramatic, she does a great job of mimicking the exact pitch of Kelly’s scream.

  Then the doorbell rings.

  “The Sluts are here,” Thomas says.

  Sabotaged by my best friend’s brother, disappointment kills my joy and settles heavy at the bottom of my stomach. We’re nothing but moments, but I thought we were more than this.

  Petey answers the door and Valarie’s on the other side holding a bottle of vodka. “Party’s here,” she says.

  “What is she doing here?’ Becka asks loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “No Sluts?” Petey slams the door in Valarie’s face. He’d send them home if Becka said so.

  If I said so.

  “No,” she says. “Dammit, Thomas. Stop bringing your whore girlfriend to my house.”

  Thomas smiles and drinks.

  But this isn’t his party; it’s mine. I’m not afraid of her. I’m not afraid of him.

  “Let her in,” I say.

  My betrayer looks toward me over his cup. He called her because Oliver was invited; he thought I’d send her away. But he doesn’t get it. I don’t have sex with Oliver. I’ve never kissed a boy. This hurts me worse than Oliver’s presence bothers him.

  “Sluts.” Petey opens the door and bows sarcastically.

  As if Petey didn’t insult her, Valarie comes in and hugs me before introducing her friend Mixie.

  “Little sister, you look so grown up,” she says. Valarie smells like nicotine and beer. So does the girl she’s with.

  “Thanks,” I say, stepping back. I don’t want her to taint my dress.

  “It must be the clothes,” she says. “I mean, you’re only like, thirteen, right?”

  “Yeah,” I answer with fake enthusiasm. She won’t ruin this night.

  Uninterested in the way the party is turning, I excuse myself and head to the kitchen. I pick a piece of pineapple from the fruit bowl and dip it under the stream of chocolate from the fountain. As richness touches my lips, Thomas walks in and stands on the other side of the counter.

  “I know what you heard today,” he admits quietly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  He chuckles, finally looking at me. “I have no fucking clue, Bliss.”

  “She shouldn’t be here,” I say, dipping a strawberry this time.

  “I know.”

  Suddenly I’m not hungry anymore.

  “I have a couple of things for you. One of them is from me and the boys. Do you want it now?”

  I shrug. “Sure.”

  “Come on.”

  Valarie and Mixie are talking to Oliver, and Becka’s busy sucking face with Hal. No one notices me, Thomas, and dumb and dumber head upstairs.

  In the room I spend stolen nights in, I sit on the floor while Pete, Ben, and my traitor sit in a semi-circle around me. The window is open and two of the three boys are giggling like girls.

  “Only a couple of hits. Don’t fuck her up.” Thomas places a joint in the corner of his lips and lights up with squinted eyes.

  Petey and Ben do the same thing.

  “Happy birthday, princess baby,” Thomas says before taking a deep hit.

  All three of them hold the smoke in their lungs, coming a little closer, a little closer, and a little closer, until they are right in front of my face.

  Thomas holds up his hand, counting: one, two …

  On three they blow smoke in my face.

  I gasp.

  They do it four more times.

  “OH MY gosh,” I say, falling back onto the floor.

  “Dude,” Pete chokes on his hit. “She’s lit.”

  While his friends move to the window, Thomas leans over me.

  I want to kiss him.

  “Are you okay?” he whispers quietly from above me.

  “I feel tingly.”

  Thomas laughs, taking my hand. “Don’t say that to me, Bliss. You’re too young … you have no idea.”

  “Am I having a heart attack?” My heart is racing.

  “No. You’re too young,” he says again.

  “I’m thirteen,” I say, brushing blonde hair away from his forehead.

  “Exactly.” He licks his lips.

  “I can kiss you like she does,” I say, looking at him, biting my bottom lip.

  “I know you can.”

  Thomas sits up and I follow his motions, making sure he stays close. Conflicted, Dusty runs a hand through his hair and exhales a deep breath. He looks at me, but not for long. I’m not surprised or hurt when he gets up to smoke with his friends out the window.

  Outside and two stories below, Lucas complains about the ashes.

  WE’RE IN the kitchen. I’m starving. I’ve never been this hungry in my life. I’m eating all of the Twinkies and drinking soda straight out of the two-liter.

  “Will you make me a peanut butter and jelly?” I ask Thomas.

  He does.

  “Best sandwich ever,” I say, third bite in.

  Tommy and Lucas come inside to grab two more bottles of wine. They take one look at me and laugh like the boys.

  “Dusty.” Tommy smacks her son in the chest. “Your parents would kill me, Bliss.”

  “She didn’t smoke. Not really,” Thomas tells her, making me another sandwich.

  I keep eating. Then I start laughing and don’t stop.

  By two-thirty in the morning, Becka’s passed out facedown on the couch. Tommy takes her daughter’s flats off and covers her with a blanket. Lucas is in the kitchen with Petey and Ben, lecturing the slackers about “doing something important with your life,” and about “the importance of being important.”

  He’s drunk.

  Smitty and Oliver left, and the only ones who still want to party are the Sluts.

  Valarie sways and shakes her ass in front of Thomas, even though the music’s off. She tries to kiss him, but he pushes her away. “My parents are here, Val. Have some respect.”

  She tries to start a fight. He tells her to leave.

  Thomas and I wait for everyone else to fall asleep before we head up to bed ourselves.

  His room is cold from the window being left open. The faint scent of weed mixes with Thomas’ usual vanilla and trouble. I take my feet out of my brand-new wedges and slip under the covers in my dress, setting an alarm on my cell phone to wake us up at five.

  Thomas changes out of his clothes. I don’t watch. “Set it to seven, baby. Everyone will sleep in.”

  He comes to bed holding a gift bag. “Here.”

  I smile like a lunatic and rip out the tissue paper. It�
��s his baseball hoodie.

  “Is it dumb that I gave it to you?” he asks, laughing, uncertain.

  “No.” I get out of bed. “Turn around,” I say. He watches me for a moment longer before listening.

  I tug out of my dress, lay it neatly on his dresser, and pull the sweater over my head. “You can look, but be careful because I’m in my undies.”

  Staying over the blankets as I get under, he holds his hand out for me. I take it, and he plays with my fingers under the long sleeve of his hoodie, tickling my skin until I fall asleep.

  The alarm goes off at seven a.m. Thomas has his arm over me and I don’t want to move, but I do, taking my dress and shoes with me. Safe and sound in Becka’s room, I change into a pair of her pajamas and hide the hoodie at the bottom of my overnight bag.

  I smile brighter than the sunrise.

  I can’t help it.

  “I’m glad it’s Friday,” Rebecka calls from the opposite end of the hallway. She pulls a sweatshirt down over her flannel. “It’s been so long.”

  Other students head toward the double doors that lead to weekend freedom. Cold wind blows from the open exit, sending loose leaves flying above the crowd as I slip into my pea coat. It’s only the first of November, but fall’s only getting colder.

  “I know,” I call back to my best girl. I wrap my scarf and button my toggles, all but bouncing with excitement. “It’s been forever.”

  I left the Castors’ house Sunday afternoon. It hasn’t been a week, but it feels like more. I miss her room, her home, her brother.

  “A week isn’t forever, Bliss,” I hear from behind me.

  Oliver smiles warmly with a sucker between his back teeth. The stick rests in the corner of his lips, and his hands are in the front pockets of his jeans. Smitty’s with him, giving Becka sweetheart eyes as she pulls her beanie low over long blonde bangs and marches toward us like a punk rock soldier.

  “Oh, yes it is,” I say.

  He has no idea what it’s like to live with parents like mine. They flipped when I came home with a cell phone, and as a result, I’ve spent every minute of my free time being an extra Bliss-ful wonder. I had to promise Mom a girls’ day in the garden when I come home to get out of the house tonight.