“Is it totally bad ass?” April asks eagerly.
“You’ll be surprised,” Erika and I answer in unison. The tattoo artist tells April he’s done and she bolts for the house to find a full-length mirror. Something tells me April won’t ever forget her graduation night.
Erika seems to be doing a visual sweep of the entire party, no doubt checking for Ronnie. She slinks down into a chair, her target locked at seven o’clock. I glance in that direction to see Ronnie tossing some blonde underclassman into the pool. Erika’s shoulders slump a bit and she drops her gaze.
“You better get that teeny-weeny bikini on and get out there,” I order her. She looks up, surprised.
“You don’t mind?”
“You don’t have to babysit me,” I assure her, even though I already have to fight the urge not to grasp onto her arm for dear life. “Besides, we’re going to be together all weekend.”
“I love how you say that in the same tone of voice that a doctor uses to deliver a fatal diagnosis,” she says, half out of her chair already.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I’m looking forward to it. I really am,” I say, channeling the same inner strength I used to deliver my commencement speech.
She eyes me for a minute, not sure if she buys it, then smiles and bolts the rest of the way out of her chair like she is on fire, rushing inside to get changed. I grab the chair with both hands to avoid bolting inside after her. I’m terrified to be left alone out here.
I try to appear interested in the large movie screen hanging from the back of Josie’s house. Every few seconds, it refreshes, and a new text message or picture pops up. A phone number rolls across the bottom of the screen with a number that anyone can use to text to the screen. So far it’s just a few shots of a wet T-shirt contest taking place in Josie’s basement and some shots of random guys raiding her mom’s closet and parading around in lingerie and fur coats. A pic of a hysterical April as she sees her tattoo for the first time pops up.
I just hope a picture of Leo making out with someone doesn’t pop up. Now that I’m actually here, feeling as out of place as a one-legged person in a potato sack race, I realize that I have zero chance with Leo.
“Aren’t you that girl who gave the downer graduation speech?” Stacey Easton asks, as she waltzes by in a bikini top and sarong.
“Guilty as charged,” I admit to her retreating figure. I really should have gone with my grandparents rap idea.
I busy myself with my phone so I look like I’m doing more than just sitting here taking up oxygen. I really wonder what people did in awkward situations before cell phones.
I pull up my contacts list to look at Dad’s icon picture. He hasn’t even called today to wish me a happy graduation. Maybe he’s afraid that he’ll get too emotional. Besides, he’s in Paris and I keep forgetting about the time difference. I hate that he couldn’t be here, but when you’re in charge of a Fortune 500 company, you have to make sacrifices. I hope that someday I’m as successful as he is. Mom’s devotion to her Sunday afternoon showings, complete with freshly-baked cookies and fancy lattes is honorable, but I want more for myself.
I click the web browser on my phone to find out what the time difference is between Missouri and Paris, France. I haven’t even had time to pull up Google when Erika comes streaking through the yard, a blur of flesh. She was being extremely conservative when she called her suit a bikini. Two circle Band-Aids would cover more than her top does, and the bottoms consist of a triangle of the smallest piece of fabric ever made held up by dental floss thin strings. She looks amazing and I can’t push down a tinge of jealousy at her boldness. I must look ridiculous sitting here in a sweater, but even though I’m broiling, it’s not coming off.
I watch her prance to the edge of the pool, stretch her arms above her head, then when Ronnie glances her way, she launches herself into the air and perfectly slices through the water. Ronnie doesn’t waste any time discarding the blonde to start swimming in Erika’s direction. I’ve never admired her more at that moment. She always goes after what she wants. She would never sit here alone and self-conscious.
Just then I see Leo bound through the wooden gate ducking as he goes under the arch. He straightens as Derek tosses him a bottle of beer, which he catches without missing a beat. He is wearing a crisp red short-sleeved button-down tucked into pressed khaki shorts. His cropped blond hair looks newly-trimmed, a detail I can’t believe I overlooked at graduation today. I watch him tilt his head back and take a long swig off his beer, his Adam’s apple bulging with every swallow. I have never wanted to be a beverage so bad in my life.
I scoot back in my chair and try to appear casual in case he comes over. I look back down at my phone to avoid being busted visually molesting him. I can see a blur of red coming toward me out of the corner of my eye. My heart rate speeds up exponentially. His woodsy scent hits my nostrils and I nearly tumble out of my chair. I have to pull it together or Leo is going to write me off as a socially inappropriate geek.
“Who knew you had all that hiding under your khakis,” he says, stopping directly in front of me.
I force myself to look up casually, like I don’t have a clue who is talking to me. My insides turn to jelly when I meet his eyes. I would have an easier time speaking to the President of the United States than trying to converse with Leo. I end up just staring at him blankly.
“Are you here with your boyfriend?” Leo asks.
His question jolts my brain into action, finally. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I reply, my voice so high I probably just injured some dogs in the neighborhood.
“I thought you and McAllister were an item the way he was sweatin’ me today,” he says.
“Jack? No way. I’m totally single,” I repeat.
“Sweet. I wanna hang out later,” he says, winking at me. Thankfully he turns and heads inside without another word because it takes me a minute to compose myself.
Leo Doolin wants to hang out with me. ME! But what does that mean? Is he going to come back for me? Or should I go look for him? And how long should I wait? I don’t want to seem too aggressive, but I don’t want him to think I’m blowing him off either. Ugh, I’d rather retake my calculus final than try and decipher appropriate social behavior.
****
After one hour of sitting alone, and two attempts by total strangers to try and lick salt off my neck while doing tequila shots, I finally work up the courage to go inside. I know that Erika would gladly come inside with me, but I can’t bring myself to pull her away from Ronnie. They have been floating on a giant raft together for about thirty minutes laughing hysterically. If Erika can bravely go after her guy then I can do it, too. I stand carefully, still not too sure of myself in these heels, swing my purse over my arm and start toward the back door.
I can do this, I remind myself mentally. I pull open the glass door and walk into a screened-in porch area. Jennifer and Candy Jones, twins and now former co-captains of the cheerleading squad, are sprawled out on a wicker couch painting each other’s toenails. They freeze, paint brushes in mid-air when they see me.
“This party is for Higginsville High students only,” one of them, I can’t ever tell the difference, says with the charm of a rattlesnake.
“I’m Laney Wentworth.” I explain. “We’ve gone to school together since kindergarten.” I walk toward her so she can get a better look at me.
“Nice try, but Laney’s not hot,” the other one pipes up.
“Yeah, so not hot,” the other giggles. “Do you really think we can’t tell an Our Lady of the Lake skank when we see one?”
I know my feelings should be hurt, but considering they think I’m from the all-girls Catholic school thirty minutes away where Erika swears they recruit people based on hotness, I’m actually flattered. I realize they must be standing guard over the party because OLOL girls are known for stealing all the hot Higginsville guys.
“Jennifer, Candy, one of you busted your chin open in third grade when you tr
ied to do a banana flip on the playground. You didn’t realize you had grown three inches over the summer,” I reveal, leaving them gaping at me as I push open a sliding glass door and step into the mudroom of the main house. Cool air envelops me and I let out a sigh of relief escaping from the heat.
I follow the ear-splitting noise down a hallway and spill into a giant room. The first thing I notice is the massive moose head mounted above a rock-encrusted fireplace. Some creative soul has sling-shotted a blue thong onto the moose’s antlers. The fireplace is lit even though it was ninety degrees today and several people are using Josie’s dad’s extensive collection of antique hunting spears as marshmallow roasters. Josie is too busy screaming at a group of guys using his priceless coin collection to play quarters to even notice the flaming marshmallows scorching the spears.
Our house is big, my grandparents even have the entire lower level to themselves, but Josie’s house looks like it could eat mine for breakfast. People are jammed into every free space. I’m pretty sure if the fire department showed up Josie could be fined for exceeding the maximum number of people allowed for this residential dwelling. I’m not normally claustrophobic, but my chest feels tight just being here. I do not belong here. I’ll just walk home. No! Leo. Leo. Leo.
I can do this. I’m on a mission to find Leo. I push forward through the crowds of people. It helps that people start to recognize me and I actually stop and visit with some of them. I start relaxing and realize that no one is thinking that I don’t belong here.
“Hey, everybody, our valedictorian is here,” Ted Chan announces, slapping me good-naturedly on the back. Everybody claps and cheers sincerely and it almost makes up for my disastrous speech.
Eventually, I make my way through the giant room bypassing some guys playing Call of Duty, past a group starting a game of Spin the Bottle, and past several couples who really need to think about moving things upstairs. I squeeze past a round table where eight people are methodically putting together a ten-thousand piece puzzle without saying a word. It is the weirdest thing I’ve seen all night.
Leo isn’t anywhere. I wonder if he could possibly be behind one of the closed doors upstairs. Maybe he meant he wanted to hang out with me in a friendly way. I’m not sure if I could take it if I saw him with another girl. I really hate the self-doubt I feel in situations like this, I would never doubt myself while taking a test. If only life could be more multiple choice.
I hear shouts coming from some sliding oak doors on the other side of the room. I make my way over and peek through a crack in the doors. Several guys are sitting at an impressive cherry dining room table playing poker and smoking cigars. I nearly gag from the tiny bit of smoke filtering through the crack, but it’s worth it to watch Leo in action. His back is to me and I run my eyes over his muscular shoulders and the way they fill out his shirt. He moves to see a bet and I watch his beautiful lips suck on the end of that lucky cigar. I nearly fall through the crack in the door.
“Hey, beautiful, why don’t you get us some beers?” Billy Allen says, noticing me at the door.
I freeze and nearly whir around and race away from the door when I remember Erika’s bravery at the pool. I can do this. Leo is never going to notice me if I hide in a corner all night. I pull the doors apart and hold my breath.
“It’s about time, gorgeous,” Leo says, turning toward me. He pats the empty seat next to him.
Oh my God, he called me gorgeous. No one has ever called me that. I stride to the empty chair, attempting to look like I wear heels all the time.
“Laney?” Jeff Applebaum asks, his eyes bulging out. The other guys seem to notice me for the first time and I haven’t felt so uncomfortable since I went through the full body scanner at the airport last summer.
“Holy crap, girl. I was kidding about the beers,” Billy says, talking pretty much directly to my chest.
“Careful now, fellas. She’s taken,” Leo warns, draping his muscular arm over my shoulders. His arm is heavy but I don’t mind. “You don’t mind if we finish our game, do you?”
“No, of course not,” I manage to squeak out. I’d watch Leo trim his toenails if it meant spending more time with him.
I spend the next hour observing the guys play poker, very badly. The cigar smoke starts to get to me, and as much as I hate to leave Leo’s side, I have to get some fresh air.
“I’ll be back,” I tell him.
“Promise?” he asks, looking so adorable that a bead of sweat runs down my back.
“Yes, I promise.” I practically skip out of the room I’m so giddy. Leo likes me. He really likes me.
I walk around the house, grinning like a mad woman, for a little while. I chat up girls that suffered through P.E. with me last year, and I surprise myself by being kind of charming. Maybe it isn’t as hard to relate to other people as I thought.
All of this socializing has me starving, so I set off to find where people are getting the plates of food I’ve been seeing.
I wander into a gigantic marble and stainless steel kitchen. Two giant islands in the middle of the room are filled with trays of fruits, vegetables, and deli meats. Several slow cookers are filled with delicious smelling dips, meatballs, and cocktail wieners.
I grab a plate and start piling on everything that looks even remotely good. I was so nervous about my speech today that I didn’t eat anything. I want to hurry up and scarf this food down so Leo doesn’t see me eating enough for an army. In one corner of the kitchen is a custom-built booth like at a restaurant. I carry my overflowing plate over and slide it on the tabletop. I place my purse gently on the table and go back for a drink.
A huge crystal punch bowl filled with red liquid is in the middle of one of the islands. I ladle some into a plastic cup then sniff it. I don’t smell any alcohol so I take a tiny sip. It’s fruity and laced with bubbles, like Hawaiian Punch and ginger ale. Satisfied it is non-alcoholic, I chug it down, refill my glass, then return to the booth.
I slide in, careful not to dump any punch on my purse. I proceed to jam three napkins into the top of my dress so that hopefully it will emerge unscathed. I bang my ankle against something.
I reach down under the table and feel a smooth box. I lift it up to reveal a bin of Lego’s. They must belong to Josie’s little brother. I set the bin on the tabletop and pull the lid off. My entire body practically buzzes with excitement when I see hundreds of perfect primary-colored blocks.
I’m probably the only eighteen-year-old girl alive with a closet full of Lego’s and Tinker Toys. I seem to lose track of time when I build things, so I don’t allow myself to do it very often. I never wanted it to interfere with my studying. I push my plate aside, telling myself I’ll just build something really quick. I can only imagine what Leo would think if he caught me playing with Lego’s. I love to build things. I really considered majoring in Architecture, but the college near Dad doesn’t offer the major. I was bummed about it, but being near Dad will be worth the sacrifice.
Soon, I’ve got a pretty good mini replica of the Eiffel Tower built, but my food is getting cold. I just need a mini-Arc de Triomphe to match my Eiffel Tower. Maybe I’ll take a picture of them and send them to Dad asking him to send me pictures of the real thing. I’m about halfway done when I can’t wait any longer to find a bathroom.
I scoot out of the booth, my legs tingling. I shake them out and figure I must have been sitting there longer than I thought. I charge out of the kitchen hoping a bathroom is close. I make my way into a hallway and spot a half bath down a few doors. I duck in not a moment too soon.
I check my face in a hallway mirror on my way back to the kitchen. It’s still a shock seeing my reflection. My cheeks are rosier than I remember when I left the house and I don’t remember my eyes looking so crazy big but it must be all the eye makeup I have on.
I make my way back into the kitchen and around the island to the booth. I freeze when I see a guy with his back to me touching my tower.
“I’ll figure it out,” he
says, his voice so familiar, but I can’t place it because of the sudden roaring in my ears. I can’t let this guy see me and realize I’m in here playing with toys. “Don’t worry, Mom.”
The voice registers in my memory. It belongs to my ex-chem partner Jack. The guy who thought it would be funny to make S’mores with our Bunsen burner and almost got me a detention. I refused to eat one, afraid our teacher might ask to smell my breath to determine my guilt or innocence. Jack shoved one in my mouth anyway. I nearly choked to death and I pretended it was from the size of the S’more and not from the reaction I had to Jack gently placing his hand against my jaw.
The jolt that ran through me that day reminded me of what happens when you dump a packet of Mentos into a two liter bottle of Diet Coke. A geyser of sticky fizz that is fun but also an unpredictable mess. Against my better judgment, I fell for Jack’s goofy charm. I really thought he liked me, too. Then he screwed up our grade and the rest is history.
He’s wearing a royal blue polo and jeans and I have to admit he fills them out good. I get a whiff of his citrusy scent and remember how I used to live for the time we spent together in lab. At least Jack never realized how I felt about him. That would have been the ultimate humiliation.
I attempt to back away slowly because I am not up for another confrontation. Then remember that I left my purse on the table. Jack turns away from the booth and I’m sure he’ll spot me, but he pours his beer into a small sink in the island then turns on the faucet and fills the bottle with water, not noticing me. Weird. I always assumed Jack would be the good time Charlie of the party, as my grandpa would say.
The Alpha Bet Page 21