Everyone is scrambling to find out who’s going where so they can find roommates and not have to live with strangers. That is just another thing that annoys me. If I had gotten into a small, selective school, probably no one else from Wilson would be going there, and I could have a fresh start. Everyone would be in the same position of not knowing anyone, because that’s what it’s like when they only accept fifteen percent of applicants. I swear a third of my class is going to UMass. They will be everywhere. I can randomly end up with one of them as a roommate or neighbor. I hate it.
I am pretty jealous of all the kids going to “accepted student” weekends at their future colleges. There is no point in that for me. I will go to the concrete maze in the middle of the farm fields, the hideous high-rises and paved courtyards that resemble in no way my ideal of ivy-covered buildings with lush green quads and huge old trees to read under. I will get good grades so that I can come out the other side and at least get into a prestigious graduate school somewhere. I’ll show everyone someday.
* * *
Maura is still caught up in Jason’s drama as April wears on. I only see her if I tag along with the two of them, and Jason is never thrilled to see me, so usually I just stay home. And then, the Friday after April vacation, she suddenly is ready to reclaim her old social status at school.
“Listen,” she says to me in the car on the way to school, “I’ve been thinking a lot about prom.”
I’m listening.
“I just don’t want to, like, hurt your feelings or anything like that, so I wanted to check with you before I did anything,” she says.
I can’t begin to imagine what she has planned that might be so upsetting to me.
“I mean, you don’t, like, have a date or anything yet, right?” she asks.
I do not.
“Well, would you be upset if I went with Hunter?”
With Hunter? She can’t be serious. Questions are churning in my mind faster than I can ask them. What about Jason? And doesn’t Hunter already have a date? I am long since over him, so I don’t care, but it just doesn’t make sense, and I say so.
“Jason isn’t interested, and I’m not going to miss senior prom just because he doesn’t want to go,” she says. “And last I heard, Hunter still didn’t have a date.”
I can’t really picture Hunter saying yes to Maura, but I can understand why she wants to go with him—a handsome jock with no personality. He’ll look great in the pictures but he won’t infringe on her spotlight.
“And we’ll get one of his friends to be your date,” she says.
“You should do whatever you want,” I say.
“I just know you had a thing for him back in the fall.”
“Before I met him.”
“Whatever,” she says, “but I have to move on this fast or we’ll be shit out of luck.”
I am encouraged to hear Maura sounding so cheerful and excited about prom. It’s a nice change from the cynical, negative attitude she’s had lately, and maybe I’ll get to go to the prom after all. I don’t really care about those kinds of traditions, but still, everyone wants to go to their senior prom, right?
* * *
It doesn’t work out, though. Maura’s plan was to get one of Hunter’s soccer buddies to tell him that she wanted to go with him. Then Hunter would ask her because she certainly couldn’t ask him herself. She’d have to be desperate to sink to such a low. But it turns out that Hunter is taking a sophomore. Another little blonde cheerleader who can do back flips. According to Maura, she never even had time to initiate her plan before she heard he had a date, but according to the gossip mill, Maura actually slipped Hunter a note asking him to be her date, and he said no. After that, he hurried up and found someone else to escort.
“Screw it,” Maura says, when I ask her if she has any other ideas. “Fuck the prom. We can just hang out that night and then hit some of the parties.”
I remember the way the party after the semi turned out. I’m not sure I’m up for a repeat performance, but I agree to hang out with Maura anyway.
Maura talks her parents into letting her host an after-party. I’m sure Mrs. Morgan feels terrible that Maura doesn’t have a date. She even agrees to open the pool early for the summer so Maura and her friends can use it. Normally, they don’t open it until Memorial Day, but it has been an unseasonably warm spring, so she figures there’s no harm in being a week ahead of schedule.
* * *
By the time prom rolls around, I’m looking forward to Maura’s party. After a brutal couple of weeks of AP exams, I can barely think straight. I need a night to just let it all go. I go over to the Morgans’ after dinner to help get everything ready.
“So we’ll take everyone’s keys,” Mrs. Morgan explains, handing me a basket, “and we’ll lock them upstairs until the morning. No one drives.”
Maura hadn’t mentioned to me that her parents agreed to let everyone drink. I should have realized—why would anyone come if they wouldn’t be allowed to drink? I can just picture everyone outside around the pool, getting drunk and making all kinds of noise at midnight. And next door my mother might just call the cops. I can see her with the phone in her hand, poised to dial 911. Except Mrs. Morgan is her friend. I wonder if that will be enough to stop her.
“Mother,” Maura says, “once people start arriving, you can’t be down here.” She pouts and crosses her arms.
“Just until I get everyone’s keys.”
“Lizzie can do it,” Maura says.
“Look, David and I agreed—”
“You’ll embarrass me. These kids could have gone to some other party without worrying about someone’s parents hovering around. It’ll be ridiculous.”
Mrs. Morgan turns to me. “Lizzie, don’t you think everyone will understand that I want to make sure I get their keys?”
Maura gives me a look that says, “Back me up or die.”
“Everybody knows how dangerous drinking and driving is,” I say, satisfying neither of them. I fiddle with the edge of the plastic tablecloth Mrs. Morgan spread across the dining room table.
“See, Mother. We’re perfectly responsible,” Maura says, taking the basket. “Everyone will be here in like half an hour, so you just leave us alone now.” My own mother would not have let me talk to her like that.
“I’m upstairs if you need anything,” Mrs. Morgan says calmly.
Mr. Morgan has been conspicuously absent since I arrived. Maura told me he wasn’t really on board with this whole event, and to show his displeasure, he’s hiding out in the bedroom. Billy is staying at a friend’s house.
“This is going to be awesome,” Maura says after she hears her parents’ bedroom door shut. “Wanna get a head start?”
“I’m good,” I say.
“Oh my god, you’re as bad as my mother! Lighten up!” Maura grabs a plastic cup and walks out onto the patio where a keg sits in a tub of ice. I follow her.
The pool lights are on and the water glows. It was a warm, sunny day, but it’s nearly eleven o’clock and the air is cool. It is, after all, still only May. It seems like a stupid time for a pool party, but drunk teenagers do a lot of stupid things, so I guess it’s just right.
Jessica and her date, John, are the first to arrive, followed shortly by Tina and Katherine and their beaus, and then a steady flow of revelers. I am surprised by how many people show up. I wonder if Maura invited them. I’m pretty sure she didn’t. I’m not surprised that Paul and Missy don’t come, but I’m shocked when Hunter does, minus his youthful date (she had a curfew to meet). And then, of course, Jason arrives. Maura didn’t want him to get there until the party was in full-swing because her parents don’t approve. He has a couple of friends with him. They look like real thugs—baggy jeans, hoodies, facial hair. When they walk in, it is like in the movies when the music stops and every head turns to see the newcomers.
“’Sup,” Jason says to me as he walks by. He heads straight for the beer.
Meanwhile, I am the little house mothe
r, dashing from one end of the room to the other to stop vases from being knocked over, to put napkins under cups that are leaving rings on the furniture, to pick up plates. It isn’t like I have anything to talk to anyone about anyway. They are all reliving the prom. Who wore what, so-and-so making out on the dance floor, the way some of the teachers tried to demonstrate the hustle.
What I want is to go back next door to my house and go to bed, but that would be suspicious. My mother expects me to spend the night at Maura’s, and Mrs. Morgan expects me to make sure nothing bad happens. I’m stuck.
“Having fun?” John asks me as I tie up a trash bag in the kitchen.
“Oh yeah.”
“It sucks to be the host, doesn’t it?” he says, helping me hoist the full bag and take it to the garage.
“I’m not the host,” I say.
“Well, you sure are acting the part.”
“This whole thing is ridiculous.” It’s cool and quiet in the garage. I stand there and take a deep breath, savoring the moment.
“As far as I’m concerned, any party that I’m not in charge of is a good party.”
I roll my eyes. “Your parties are outside in the woods. You don’t have to worry about people breaking shit or spilling all over the furniture.”
“True,” he says, “but I do have to worry about people falling off cliffs or breaking their ankles on a tree root on the path. And I have to haul all the empties and shit all the way down to the house.”
I hadn’t thought about that.
“So you didn’t feel like going to the prom?” he asks.
“It’s all just a waste of money,” I say.
“Nah. It’s part of the high school experience. I’m not sure you can call yourself an American if you haven’t been through these rituals.”
“So are you and Jessica a thing?”
“You’re kidding, right? She’ll look great in the pictures, but she’s about as smart as an empty cup. I need a girl I can have a conversation with.”
“I see.”
“I would have gladly taken you to the prom, you know,” he says.
“Oh,” I say.
He steps in closer to me so that I have to look up. He is one of those tall gangly kids who hasn’t even begun to fill out yet. He has freckles all over his face, but he has nice eyes, very round but slightly turned down at the corners. Would it be so bad to let him kiss me?
“I like you,” he says softly.
“You don’t even know me,” I say, stepping back a little.
“Let’s see,” he says, turning and leaning against Maura’s stepdad’s SUV. “You’re ridiculously smart, you’re cute, and you’d rather not be in the spotlight,” he says.
“I’m not that smart and no one’s ever called me cute and meant it, but you’re right about the spotlight.” I cross my arms.
“Well, I think you’re cute, and you’re a heck of a lot smarter than me, which I like.”
Unfortunately, I don’t like dopey guys. I just shake my head.
“If we stay out here too much longer, someone will notice we’re both missing, and you know what they’ll think,” he says.
“So what are you suggesting?” It seems to me that he is suggesting we make out and fulfill the prophecies of rumor that will spread if anyone realizes we are both absent from the party. I seriously doubt anyone will notice.
“That we might be missing the best part of the party,” he says, pushing himself away from the car.
I follow him back inside. Everyone has migrated out to the pool deck. It got pretty stuffy in the house, but it is nice outside and the sky is clear and starry. I scan the crowd, but I don’t see Maura. I also don’t see Jason, but the thugs are standing at the keg. I ask them if they’ve seen Maura and they laugh and grunt a response. Maura and Jason are inside. I can take a hint, so I don’t go looking for them.
A big burly guy walks out to the middle of the diving board. “Who’s going in first?” His voice carries easily across the water. A few people laugh. “Come on!” he says. “Let’s get this party started!” More laughter, but no one moves. “Ah, you all suck,” he says, turning and walking back down the diving board.
Just then Maura comes out onto the deck. She has on tiny shorts and a camisole. Her face is flushed and her eyes look huge and wet. “Everybody having fun?” she asks, walking past the keg and around the edge of the pool. “What’s a pool party without a splash in the pool?” Her words slur a little. Then she walks out onto the diving board. A few people hoot, and somebody whistles. Every eye is on Maura. She bounces a little on the board, and then she stops and turns around, walking back toward the deck. A few people boo, but she just sticks a hand out in a “wait” gesture. At the back of the diving board, she grabs the bottom of her camisole and pulls the shirt up, over her head, revealing her sunken stomach, bony rib cage, and bare, small breasts. Some girls giggle, and some guys whistle. She runs a hand through her hair and then reaches down and slips her little shorts off, flicking them from her foot. Her hip bones look like sharpened weapons protruding from her body. Nobody makes a sound. She steps back up onto the diving board, walks to the edge, and dives in with a great bounce. Everyone is too stupefied to respond. They stare at the surface of the water where Maura disappeared, or at the sky, or at each other. Then somebody starts applauding.
“Isn’t anyone going to join me?” Maura says, swimming toward the shallow end of the pool.
“Hells yeah,” one of the guys I don’t know yells, leaping into the water fully clothed.
He swims toward Maura, who moves away. “No,” she says. “No clothes allowed.”
“No prob,” he says. He struggles out of his shirt and tosses it to the side, and then his shorts and boxers follow.
“Can I get in and then take off my clothes?” some girl, an underclassman who tagged along with her date, asks.
Jason missed the entire display, but his buddies have retrieved him by this point. He comes outside, fresh beer in hand, and studies the scene. “Get the hell out.”
Maura shakes her head, and swims up to her now naked swimming companion. “Me and Jimmy here are taking a swim.”
“I said, get the hell out.”
“Maybe you should come in,” she says.
I watch a few people scoot behind Jason to get inside. It seems the party-goers are torn between a fascination that makes it impossible to look away and a sense of horror so overwhelming that they need to remove themselves.
“Listen, bitch,” Jason starts.
John steps in front of Jason then, interrupting him. “Hey, man—”
“Was I talking to you?” Jason shouts. I wonder if my parents hear him. I know Maura’s parents can. They’d have to be deaf not to.
“Just cool it,” John says. “Everyone’s having a good time.” You can tell John has experience with a rowdy party crowd.
Jason shoves him and John stumbles back a few steps, close to the edge of the pool. “Mind your own damn business,” he shouts.
“We’re all just here to have fun, man,” John says, holding his hands up in the air like he’s being arrested.
“Fun?” Jason says. He pulls back and then slams his fist directly into John’s nose.
I watch John’s head snap back and blood pour forth as he falls backwards into the water. We all stand there, frozen, as John sinks for a moment, and then somebody says, “Jesus! Help him!” and everyone leaps up at once. The kid who was swimming with Maura gets there first and pulls John up and to the shallow end stairs. Blood runs down his face.
No one thinks to keep an eye on Jason, which is a mistake.
“Fuck you, fucking rich assholes,” he shouts, picking up a chair and launching it into the pool. Several pieces of deck furniture follow, and then, finally, Mr. Morgan appears through the sliding door.
“Enough,” he says—not yelling, not pleading, just “enough.”
At the sight of her stepfather, Maura, realizing she’s naked, swims into the deep end and tread
s water under the diving board, apparently hoping the shadows will make it hard for him to see her. Everyone else turns toward his voice, even Jason. Mr. Morgan looks tired and far too defeated to really seem angry.
“You’re going to need to leave,” he says, looking at Jason. “Or I’m going to have to call the police and have them escort you.”
“Fuck this shit,” Jason says, wiping a hand across his face. He turns and points to Maura. “And fuck you, too.” He pushes past Mr. Morgan into the house, his posse following him.
Mr. Morgan waits until he’s sure they’re gone. “Our neighbors are upset about the noise,” he says. “I’m going to have to ask you all to come inside for the rest of the night.” He looks like he might actually cry. I’m sure he wants nothing more than to send us all home, but he can’t, because he has been letting everyone drink. He looks around, takes in the sight of the furniture floating in the pool, and then, after a moment, John, propped up against the pool steps, a bloody t-shirt against his nose. “Is he okay?” he asks to no one in particular.
“I think his nose is broken,” one of the guys answers.
Mr. Morgan nods. “Does he need to go to the emergency room?”
“I’m fine,” John mumbles. “Some ice, maybe? And aspirin?”
Mr. Morgan nods again. “Okay, everyone inside.” He stands aside as everyone files in silently, until only Maura and her naked swimming partner are left in the pool. I don’ t know what Mr. Morgan says to them, but after a moment he comes inside and asks me to take some towels out, and then he adds, “Your parents want you to come home.”
* * *
Amazingly, my parents do not ask me about the party or offer lectures of any kind. My mother pushed me into friendship with Maura, and now, unless she is willing to admit she was wrong, she can’t fault me.
“Want to drive up to Amherst this afternoon, just you and me, walk around, check out the town?” my dad asks the morning after the party over breakfast. I have no desire to go anywhere near UMass any sooner than is absolutely necessary, but I can’t turn down a rare offer for an afternoon with my dad.
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