The Julian Game

by Adele Griffin

  “This is good. Not trapped,” said Ella, “in case we gotta bolt.”

  “If the cops come, I’m not waiting for you two,” Doug answered.

  “Chivalry lives,” Ella answered, unbothered, while I made a decision to keep an eye on Doug all night.

  Light boomed from the downstairs, but the kitchen was nearly empty when we walked in from the enormous pillared veranda. Doug and Hannah seemed familiar with the territory. They were a spidery, stylish couple, twin heights to match an identical gender that lay in that futuristic zone between male and female. His thin hips and her jutting ones, his pink T-shirt and her black leather jacket making a complementary mix-and-match.

  Also they were nice to me, which made them vital in this evening of strangers.

  I followed them as they followed Ella through the kitchen and dining room and then into the hotspot central area, molded and paneled and gilded—and feebly lit, despite the multiple wall sconces. Looking around, I got an instant, high-dive shock. Maybe the light was deceptive, but on a glance it seemed like everyone at this party was ridiculously beautiful. A gathering of the gods.

  A freestanding bar took up the back of the room. Where drinks, with ice and mixers and stirrers, were being served. Not for the last time, I wished Natalya were here, just to get an eyeful.

  Every single person except for me seemed interconnected. As if all the jokes and conversations lapped around the room on the same wavelets and I was, without a shred of doubt, the only person off the matrix. To make matters worse, Ella had disappeared on the far side of the room, and Doug and Hannah had attached to another couple.

  “You driving?” A guy who looked and sounded like Harry Potter’s devious cousin veered up out of the jam of bodies. British accent—could this be the infamous Henry Rubbish? He was on the quirky end of cute, with an outgoing smile, malt-brown eyes and hair like a dropped pile of straw, and he was offering me one of two red-wine-filled juice glasses.

  “No.” I squinted. “And no, thanks.”

  “Only the hard stuff for you, then?” Was his smile baiting or just teasing me?

  “I’m more of a champagne person,” I offered. Which was true, though I’d had champagne only the past two New Year’s Eves. I knew as soon as the words left my lips that I sounded pretentious and childish. I wanted to run.

  But the spark in his eyes seemed friendly. “How about a fine old port? Or a brandy with a Cuban cigar? Let’s go hunt down the wine cellar, shall we?”

  I didn’t have any time to answer because suddenly, Ella had zipped in to sling an arm around my shoulder and whisper something unintelligible in my ear.

  “Oh, cheers, Henry,” she said as she pretended to just that moment spy him. “You alone?”

  “Parker. Not a bird I thought I’d see tonight.”

  “What a curiously British expression. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m playing wingman. But I wasn’t aware of your vast array of West Chester High School friends.”

  “Maybe I’m playing spy.” Ella’s voice had a cool edge.

  Definitely not pals, these two, as Henry matched the temperature of her tone. “Let’s keep it neutral tonight, Ellie, shall we?”

  “Neutral is my middle name.”

  If Henry had a retort for this, he decided not to use it. I had a gut feeling he wanted to keep talking to me but didn’t want to hang out with Ella. Sure enough, Henry handed the glass of wine to me as a parting gift, and then slipped off into the crowd.

  “Good.” Once he’d disappeared, Ella turned to me and gave a little clap of delight. “That means Kilgarry is on the premises. I couldn’t have planned this more perfectly. Meri says Brandon will be here any minute.”

  “Who’s Brandon?”

  “Meri’s new boyfriend, Brandon Last, who got in a beat-down with Henry after an ice-hockey game this past winter. Then the rumor was that Julian and Henry slashed Brandon’s tires over Valentine’s Day, and now Brandon’s beyond aggro. Not that Meri has a clue, or she’d have never let them in. So stand back, it’s gonna get ugly.”

  Tension flicked down my spine. “Wait a minute, Ella. Is that why you got me to invite Julian here? To set up a fight?”

  “I know. Brilliant, isn’t it?”

  “This is . . . so much worse than I thought.”

  Two wrongs, Ella mouthed, and in the next breath, she’d turned away, only to be swarmed by girls. Presumably, this was “the Group” of West Chester, and one of them—the beachy sunstreaked one—was Meri Clemence, the hostess.

  The louder they got, the more I faltered, held back, pitched myself against the wall. Kept watching, until Ella was yanked deeper in and they all herded off to the dining room. Now I couldn’t get to her at all.

  “Hey. That’s my wine you hijacked.”

  “What?” I turned. And there he was.

  Chinese firecracker snaps of shock. All our e-conversations spun like sugar in my head.

  Julian smiled. A slouchy, easy, you-don’t-know-me-but-you-will-love-me smile. It felt like his trademark. “My vino. I’d found two jumbo glasses in the kitchen. My friend’s job was to fill ’em up. He came back with one and said he gave the other one to some girl who was something. I couldn’t tell if he said haughty or a hottie—his accent can wonk up his words. So I wanted to find out for myself.”

  I shrugged, tongue-tied, and tried to look as hottie and unhaughty as possible. Mostly I couldn’t breathe. And my heart had evidently stopped.

  Even in a crowd of perfect people, Julian shone without trying. He could have modeled that faded-to-coral T-shirt on the cover of Men’s Vogue and sold a million others just like it. All I needed to do was act like I didn’t overly, giddily realize this.

  “You from here?” Julian asked as his eyes cut a quick rove of the room. “This party seems pretty high school. Do you go to high school?”

  “Fulton.” I sensed he was asking about Elizabeth, and sure enough, he looked disappointed at my answer.

  A thought crackled on my brainwaves: What if I just said, I’m your Elizabeth and I think I might have accidentally set you up for something bad and you need to get out of here. Could I risk it? My previous not-quite plan for the night—to get myself introduced to Julian, then to win him over with my Elizabeth-ish charms while simultaneously making him forget about finding the “real” Elizabeth—had just turned over on its ear with Ella’s new info. Now it seemed way more important to get him out of here.

  Meantime, Julian was waiting. What to say? Heat filled my face. “I don’t want this.” I handed off the glass.

  “Sure?” As he took it. “Yeah, you look sure.” He moved nearer to me. “You look like someone who doesn’t give away drinks to be nice.”

  “Red wine reminds me of blood,” I said. “And the Big Gulp size isn’t helping.”

  “Aha, I see your point. But I might need the anesthetic.” He took a huge swallow, nearly half the glass, then brushed his thumb against his lips. ( Julian’s thumb! Julian’s lips!)

  “What do you mean?”

  “Over there.” He made the slightest chin gesture. “If you look, be subtle. My night has recently become complicated. I’m in enemy territory. As in, those guys infiltrating at your six o’clock might want to kick my ass.”

  So he already knew. Circumspectly, I checked out the group of jocks hovering in a circle by the pantry. When one of them looked my way, I could feel the razor focus. How could Ella treat this like a game? Those guys were real. Way too real.

  “Maybe you’re being paranoid,” I said lightly. “Maybe they’re just, um, practicing for future mug shots.”

  Julian frowned. “I might not stick around long enough to find out.”

  “Don’t let my idle chatter stand in your way.”

  “It’s not as idle as most. Let’s do it a little longer, till I can’t. Good party, eh?”

  “Definitely. I just wish my friend Natalya was here.”

  “Where is she?”

  If I couldn’t tell Ju
lian the truth about Elizabeth, then I’d be up front about Natalya. “Right this minute? Watching bootleg science fiction on her laptop.”

  Julian’s blue eyes sparkled. “Now, that sounds like a babe.”

  “She’d have liked this party,” I said. “Although she prefers to observe from a distance. When I tell her about it tomorrow, she’ll say something like how it’s too bad there’s no such thing as Schrön loops.”

  “Which are?”

  I dove into Julian’s interest. Maybe if I could hold on to him with talk, I could hold off those guys, too. “A Schrön loop is fiction—it’s kind of a portable memory chip. Meaning I could experience this party and then send over my chip to Natalya’s house for her to download into her head, as her own memory.”

  “But then we’d never go out, right? We’d rely on our top five chips, and hang out at these virtual parties that had been pre-approved for perfect memories.” If talk was veering precariously close to the geek zone, Julian didn’t look fazed.

  “I guess I’d miss the unpredictability factor,” I said.

  Julian’s answering grin made me light up like a flame, but with another look past me, he sobered up quick. “These tools are moving in,” he said. “One of those nights when I should’ve trusted my instincts.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  A lift and drop of his shoulders. “Long story. I’m a closet romantic. Anyway. I’m feeling my exit cue. Nice to meetcha, unhaughty hottie.”

  “Oh . . .” As the near-empty glass was replaced in my grip, Julian slid past me, then ducked away so fast and loose it was as if he’d only been an illusion.

  fifteen

  Julian had escaped, which was good. But now he was gone, which sucked.

  I didn’t see Henry, I didn’t see Ella, Doug or Hannah. I was alone. The incredible thrill of being at this party was matched pound for pound by my excruciating self-awareness.

  Then from another part of the house came shouting, and in the next minute, kids began to shove against me, hard and purposeful, scrabbling past.

  “What’s happening?” I whispered to a guy who had the advantage of being tall enough to see over most heads.

  “Fight,” he answered nonchalantly. “My guess.”

  So maybe Julian hadn’t escaped. Cautious, I nudged forward, but the tide of bodies had thickened. I stood on tiptoe. The lights were brighter in the kitchen doorway, the core of the commotion. Bands of claustrophobia began to knot at my throat. I needed to get out.

  And then Ella bounced up, peachy cheeks and liquid eyes, catching me into the crook of her arm. “It’s four Westie boys against two Mac boys in the kitchen. As soon as I saw Henry, I knew it would happen. Brandon’s balls-out for Henry, and Jay-Kay can’t resist playing the hero—as long as everyone’s watching.” She was radiant. Loving it.

  “This is awful.”

  “It’s beautiful. They won’t do much—they’re a bunch of babies. Just a lot of big talk, that’s all it ever—”

  But now more noise. Some shouting. Kids were doubling back from the kitchen and stampeding in. Faintly, I heard Meri’s voice imploring for everyone to please stop fighting and just chill. Then there was another spillover of bodies into the living room, and kids started climbing out the windows.

  Ella bit her lip. “We’ll be busted soon. Time to bail, I think.”

  Doug. Where was he? In my last check, they had stationed themselves on a delicate Victorian love seat behind the bar. Aha, and there he was still at the far end of the room, slipping like a burglar through the farthest window, Hannah in tow.

  I pointed. Ella looked. “Bastard. Don’t let him get away. Car’s at that tree with the lightning split. Follow me.”

  We went for it, plunging over and onto the veranda and into the hedges. Ella didn’t miss a step; it was as if those pale eyes were twin flashlights. We caught up to Doug and Hannah right as he was unlocking the car.

  “Ooh! Rabbits, run!” Ella was laughing.

  We slammed in just as we heard the wail of the siren and saw the red and blue lights of the cop car. Doug started the engine, but then his hands gripped the wheel, frozen.

  “Baby, get us out of here!” Hannah snapped. “What’s your problem?”

  “But if I’m leaving the scene of a crime, isn’t that like a felony?”

  “Doug, listen to me. One cop can’t be in two places at the same time.” Ella sounded utterly calm, only one finger tapping in her lap, back and forth, knee to knee. “If you speed, they’ve got a reason. Drive slow but don’t stop. Everyone else, look straight ahead. No eye contact.”

  We all did what she said. We looked straight. Doug pressed the gas. I scrunched deep down between my shoulders and tried not to think about how my dad would kill me if we got taken in. Fulton scholarship. College transcript. Don’t think about it.

  It wasn’t until we’d turned onto the exit to Route One that I even dared a check.

  No cop car.

  “A few of the chosen morons are getting sooo busted right now,” said Ella in a throaty whisper. And then we all were in hysterics, relief pouring through us. Doug kicked up the volume and the heat, and we luxuriated in new-car smell and old Fugees music.

  We’d escaped. We were invincible. All the bad things were happening elsewhere, to the others, the few chosen morons. Not us.

  Nobody was ready to go home just yet, so we stopped at the Villanova Diner and ordered breakfasts for dinner. Short stack of pancakes for Doug and me, egg-white omelets for Hannah and Ella, a pot of hot chocolate all around.

  The diner was quiet. Some old men at the counter and a couple of flat-footed waitresses. Perfect for winding down. But now that it was over, I wanted back in. I wanted to re-experience the exhilaration, to look at Julian again. I wanted to watch him wipe his mouth with his thumb and revel in the fact that he thought I was hot.

  “Your friend Jeffey’s in Nylon this month, right?” Hannah asked me as she poured another round into our mugs.

  “Mmm.” My friend Jeffey. And Ella, with a noncommittal yeah, didn’t bother to set straight the misunderstanding.

  “Not for me, that model life,” said Hannah. “I’d die without chips and cheesecake. But damn, Jeffey looks saw-wheat.”

  “That’s funny. We all think she looks like a baby giraffe,” said Ella. “She’s fouled up with back acne, too. They have to Photoshop her from head to toe. Right, Raye?”

  “Meow.” Doug rolled his eyes.

  “No, it’s true. We’ve all seen. She’ll never be able to make a real career out of modeling, it’s just a hobby. She hardly even gets paid. Right, Raye?”

  It wasn’t true. I’d seen Jeffey in the locker room a dozen times. Her unself-conscious, clothes-hanger figure was the reason some of us huddled behind the metal locker doors when she was around, wriggling like seals in and out of our uniforms.

  The pause was becoming a chasm. I swallowed unchewed pancake. My mom had been so big on never speaking against other women. How the world was hard enough. How loyalty was essential to wellness.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty gross,” I said, looking away from Ella’s sunbeam smile.

  sixteen

  “We did it,” Ella said the next morning when she called.

  I was bleary, rubbing my eyes. “Did what?”

  “Log on to Julian.”

  “Why?” But I was already reaching for my laptop.

  “To check out the shiner. Meri sent me a message this morning. Remember Mark Calvillo, who was friends with Brandon? The guy in the Texas Longhorns shirt?”

  “Okay.” I kind of remembered him, swoopy hair and bullet eyes. “What about him?”

  “He’s who did it. If we’d stayed two more minutes, we’d have seen Julian go down, then get dragged in by the cops along with ten other kids.” Ella sighed. “Ah, Looze, that was the sickest party. Meri lost her cell privileges and no Audi for a week.”

  The picture popped right up. It looked like Julian had snapped it himself. Expressionless and close up.
It made a horror-movie, doorknob effect. His eye was pulped blackish purple. “Oh my God. Somebody really beat him up.”

  “Not somebody. Mark Calvillo. But in a way, it was really us, Raye. We got him. He’ll never know, but he’s got us to thank.”

  Acid churned in my stomach. “My dad’s calling,” I said faintly. “I better go.”

  I kept staring after I clicked off. It was as if Julian were looking directly at me. As if he’d shot the photo for my own bleak conscience. He hadn’t captioned it or explained it or anything. Nothing but the date and time, 2:38 AM.

  He’d also left a private message in Elizabeth’s inbox. I quickly went into Natalya’s mom’s account and changed the password in case Ella thought to pick it up. Then I took a breath and opened it.

  Dear “Elizabeth,”

  Since there’s no message from you, I guess I don’t need to tell you what happened when I went to find you at Meri’s last night. Hell, you might have been there.

  First, so you know, I got the joke early—as I’m sure you’re aware your Facebook profile makes nada sense. And you always got a little less “foreign” by the hour. I never wanted to call you out on it. There’s a point when you stop caring who a person isn’t, because you’re more interested in who she is.

  Before tonight, I thought I was getting to know you. It’s hard to cut to the core. But I thought you were a friend.

  And here’s what makes it worse: realizing that not only were you screwing with my mind, but actually plotting against me. Getting me to that party, why? So your big brother or whoever could give me my due? Did you watch? Did you enjoy it?

  This isn’t hate mail, kiddo. Whoever you are. You’re a learning experience.

  So, thanks.

  J.

  ✌ was a Julian symbol, his voucher: “the truth as far as I know it.”

  I shut down and mouse-burrowed under the blankets of my bed.