by Emily Snow
Rymer tried to save face. “Trip- No way, man. Take this back. I wasn’t really gonna charge them and what kind of asshole would I be if I didn’t cover your cup?”
Lisa cut in with, “A huge one!”
Rymer shot her a dirty look, then turned and started jabbing the twenty back in Trip’s direction. “Seriously. It’s your first night hanging with us. Take it.”
By that time, Trip was almost finished filling the fourth cup. “Not gonna happen, dude. Just take it off my tab the next time.”
Then he clinked his cup against mine and gave me a wink which almost made me spit up my mouthful of beer.
“By the way,” he added, “Who the hell tapped this thing? They foamed the hell out of it.”
We all started laughing again because it was a great slam on Rymer, who obviously must have tapped his own keg. Poorly.
Normally, having been shown up in front of his friends, Rymer would have gone on the rampage. I don’t know why Trip was given a free pass. Maybe Rymer was trying to be welcoming to the new kid. It’s possible he may have just realized he was being a jerk. Then again, maybe he thought he’d finally met his match and just didn’t want to get his ass kicked.
The thing was, Trip managed to put Rymer in his place without completely tearing him to shreds. Hell, Rymer actually had a smile on his face! I’d never seen anyone get away with that.
Just as we were pulling it together, Cooper pointed out Trip’s two beers and asked, “Yo. What’s with the double-fisting tonight?”
Trip didn’t miss a beat and answered him with, “Double fisting? What, is your sister around?”
We all lost our minds cracking up. Even Coop was forced to crack a smile as Rymer gave Trip another high-five. While we were catching our breath, Tess Valletti walked out onto the deck.
She walked right over to Trip, who handed her a drink in an unmistakable gesture that said they were together.
Unbelievable. The guy was in town for less than a week and he’d already managed to start dating Tess Valletti.
Here’s the 411 on Tess: She was a year older than us, so she’d graduated the previous June. During her four years at St. Norman’s, she was drooled over by every straight male in the vicinity. Tall, blonde and funny, she was not only gorgeous, but popular, too.
She used to only date college guys, much to the average high-school-girl’s relief. The fact that Trip- a senior in high school, mind you- was able to get her to go out with him was pretty impressive. The fact that she let him drag her to a high school party was nothing short of miraculous.
She and I were in the same typing class the year before, so we actually knew each other pretty well even though we didn’t really hang out too much or anything.
“Hey, Layla!” she said.
“Hi Tess. How’s it going?”
She took a sip of her beer. “Great. Really great. Well, you know, aside from the fact that I’m here at Rymer’s and all.”
Everyone thought that was just hysterical, of course.
Lisa would never admit it, but I knew she was euphoric once Tess finally graduated, giving her the chance to ascend to her rightful and long-awaited position as Queen Bee. Yet here she found herself back in Tess’s shadow only two weeks into her reign.
Lisa couldn’t allow herself to take a backseat any longer and decided to pipe in. “So, Tess... How the heck did you wind up here tonight?”
Tess shot Trip a sly look and joked, “Oh, you know. The usual, boring old story. I was on my way to meet some girlfriends out tonight when I got hit on by some random guy at the convenience store.”
Trip threw an arm around her shoulders and added, “Yeah. Last time I was at the 7-11, all I picked up was a Slurpee.”
Lisa and I laughed, but I was feeling pretty torn up inside. Seeing the two of them together was just the slightest bit devastating. They looked like a page ripped out of a magazine, standing there with their dazzling good looks and their suggestive smiles. They gave off the vibe that they were part of some secret club the rest of us would never be asked to join. What, do beautiful people have radar or something for one another?
Chapter 8
NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD
I spent the next couple of hours hanging out with some girls from my art class. Just as we decided to start a game of Quarters, Lisa grabbed my arm and pulled me over to a more private corner of the kitchen. “Oh my God, Pickford’s here!” she managed to whisper-scream in my ear.
Pickford was Penelope Redy’s twin brother, but I didn’t really know him too well. Lisa had been eyeing him up since the first day of school. He’d shot up about six inches and apparently spent the entire summer vacation lifting weights, because he showed up for senior year looking like a completely different person. Tall, dark and lean, with just enough muscle to not appear lanky. He wasn’t really my type- I’d recently been displaying a particular affinity for blonds- but he was definitely cute. It wasn’t easy to transition, but Pick was always a well-liked guy and with the new abs and attitude, Lisa figured it wouldn’t be long before he sidled on in to our group. That he’d shown up at Rymer’s was an encouraging start.
I asked, “Where is he?”
Lisa nodded her head in the direction of the living room. “In there, I think. Peek out casually and see if you can see him. But don’t be obvious!”
I leaned out the doorway and scanned my eyes across the living room for Pickford. It didn’t take long to find him as he was a full head taller than the rest of the kids in the room. “Yep. There he is alright. I’ll call him over so you can smooch him. Hey Pick!”
Lisa threw her hand over my mouth, saying, “Shut up, you retard!” and dragged me back behind the kitchen wall.
She still had a hold on my mouth, so I licked her palm.
She pulled away quickly, wiping her hand on her jeans. “Ewww! You’re so gross! What’s your damage, anyway?”
“Um, okay, Heather. Did you just seriously ask me what my damage is?” I cracked up, then added, “That’s what you get for trying to smother me with your freakish paws.”
Lisa held a hand in front of her face, inspecting it for flaws, saying, “Maybe they’re not dainty, but they’re not freakish. You’re the freak.”
“You are.”
“You are, Jerk.”
“Don’t call me Jerk, Oven Mitts.”
“Don’t call me Oven Mitts, Janis Joplin.”
“Yeah, well, up your nose with a rubber hose.”
“Ha! Up your ass with a piece of glass. You’d love it.”
“Yeah? Well, you love Pickford Redy.”
Lisa stopped laughing and looked at me wide-eyed. “Shit. Yeah, I totally do,” which cracked me up all over again.
Most of the time, the purposes of a high school party were to socialize, drink and hook up. The latter of which I was reminded of while waiting in line for the bathroom as Coop Benedict tried to stick his tongue in my ear.
Cooper and I had been close friends for like, ever. He was really cute and we’d gone out a few times, but we’d realized we weren’t destined to be the next Bruce and Demi. Sometimes, we’d get drunk and make out, but that night, he was just too drunk and I wasn’t digging his sloppy proposition.
Thankfully, Sargento came out of the bathroom just then and I told Coop he could get in there ahead of me.
He wobbled on his feet for a second and said, “Why don’t we both go in?”
I told him no, that was alright.
He put a hand against the door frame and slurred his next words. “C’mon, Layla. You looso hot in that hibbie shirt. Come in w’ me.”
And then, like I knew he would, he started singing.
I’ll give you one guess what song it was.
“Oh, for crying out loud, Coop. Just take your damn turn in the bathroom so I can get in there. I really gotta pee!”
He finally gave up and closed the door behind him, adjusting the lyrics and singing loudly, “Lay-la... She’s really gotta pee! Lay-la...”
“This the line?”
“Yep.”
“Who’s the songbird in the can?”
“That would be Cooper Benedict.”
Trip could hear the altered version of my song and asked, “How many times has someone sung that to you?”
“If I had a nickel.”
That made him laugh.
He leaned a shoulder against the wall, crossed his arms and nodded at me. “You know, I almost didn’t recognize you when I first saw you out there. You look really different with your hair like that.”
I didn’t know if “different” was a good or a bad thing. I resisted the urge to check my flat hair in the hall mirror and took a sip of my drink instead. I’d had more than a handful of conversations with Trip already, but I still felt nervous talking to him, wanting to make a good impression, even though I knew it was really stupid to develop a crush on a guy that nine hundred other girls were practically in love with, too. A guy that dated older, beautiful and more experienced girls like Tess Valletti. A guy that was only talking to me at that moment because I happened to be standing there at the time. In my head, I knew this. In my stomach, the butterflies did not.
“So... How are you liking your first Norman party?”
Trip jammed his fists into the front pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels. “It’s cool. Everyone’s being really cool.”
“It must be hard to constantly have to go through the trouble of making new friends just to up and leave them all the time.”
“Yeah, you’d think so. But I keep in touch with a few of them. Every now and then, I’ll hitch a ride on the jet with my father when he goes to check on his properties and we get to hang out. Me and my friends, I mean- not my father.”
There was a bite to his last sentence, but I figured he was just trying to make sure I didn’t think he spent his free time hanging out with his dad or something like that. Remembering his family owned hotels, I said, “Well, at least you always have a place to stay!”
He chuckled and said, “Yeah, that’s true. I normally get my own suite... and room service doesn’t suck.”
That sounded so grownup and worldly to me. I couldn’t imagine hopping on a plane whenever I wanted and staying in my own hotel room. The only time I’d ever been on a plane was flying coach to Disneyworld where I was crammed into a double room at the Ramada with my father and brother for a whole week. Jeez, I remember thinking that was so cool!
Trip brushed by me and gave a knock on the bathroom door. “What the hell is taking him so damn long?”
When he got no response, he knocked again. “Yo, Coop! Whadja drown in there?”
Still no answer.
Trip gave me a concerned look before trying the knob. It was locked. “Coop! Hey, Coop, open up.” Bambambam!
Nothing.
We both started to worry. Trip took a step back and I half-expected him to pull a Cops and kick down the door. But he thought better of it and instead ran his fingers along the top of the door frame, coming down with a key. He jabbed it into the doorknob and within seconds, we were in.
There was Coop, on his hands and knees, with his face hovered over the bowl. He gave a groan and Trip breathed a heavy sigh. “Dude! We thought you were dying in here!”
Coop barely lifted his head. “I am. I’m dying. Ohhh...”
It sounds kind of mean, but we both started laughing. I think we were probably just relieved that Coop was okay. Besides, he did look pretty pathetic.
Trip crossed his arms over his chest and asked, “Alright, so what are we supposed to do with this sorry bastard?”
“Do you want to lay him down in one of the back bedrooms and then try to find out who his ride is?”
“Good idea.”
Trip leaned down behind Coop, put his arms around his chest and heaved him to his feet.
“Wait,” I said. “You think he’s, you know... empty?”
Trip peeked over Coop’s shoulder into the bowl. “Yeah, I think so. From the looks of it, the only thing he’s got left in here are his kidneys.”
“Ohhh. No, man. I puked out my kinees. Ohhh...”
I closed my eyes and flushed the toilet while Trip maneuvered Cooper out the door. Between the two of us, we were able to zombie-walk him down the hall into Mr. and Mrs. Rymer’s bedroom and get him flopped across the huge four-poster bed where he instantly fell asleep. He was lying on his back snoring away when I suddenly realized that save for a comatose third party, I was practically alone- in a bedroom- with Trip.
He ran a hand through his hair, trying to put himself together after the ordeal, looking at me as if he was just realizing the same thing.
Like an idiot, I said, “Um... I still need to use the bathroom,” and darted off into the adjoining master bath.
When I came out, the last thing I expected to see was Trip still there, hunched over Coop with a black Sharpie marker.
I peeked over his shoulder to check out his handiwork: Coop was sporting a new handlebar moustache and unibrow.
I clamped my hand over my mouth and chastised the artist. “You’re awful.”
Trip capped the marker and tossed it on the nightstand. “No, I’m funny. Awful would have been if I used the razor.”
I had to agree with him.
We were both standing there, looking down at Coop- passed out and scribbled on- when Trip asked, “He your boyfriend?”
I stammered out, “Uh, no. God no. Why’d you think that?”
Trip raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know... Maybe because I saw him tonsils-deep in your ear a few minutes ago and yet he still has his balls.”
Crud. He saw that?
I don’t know where he got the impression that I was some kind of Amazon who would rip the scrotum off of an over-amorous seventeen-year-old boy, but maybe he falls into that group of every non-Italian outside of the tri-state area who thinks all Jersey girls are mafia princesses.
Just for the record? We’re not.
I ignored his “tough-chick” assessment and blurted out, “So, where’s Tess?”
Duh.
“She had another party to get to. Why?” His lips curled into a smirk after he said that and it was all I could do not to jump his bones.
“Oh, no reason. I just haven’t seen her. Hey, um, did you start that report for Mason’s class yet?”
That made him smile, probably because I’m the only girl to ever find herself alone in a room with Trip Wilmington who decided to use the opportunity to discuss homework.
But he answered my stupid question anyway. “No. You?”
“No.”
Then he said, “You think maybe we should work together on it?”
And I know I answered, “Yeah, sure. That’d be okay.” But I know I was thinking something more like, Yes! Of course! That’d be awesome!
“Great. I figure a girl’s perspective would be really helpful on it, you know? I never understand what the hell Shakespeare is talking about but girls always seem to get it. All that love story crap.”
“Crap? It’s not crap, it’s Shakespeare for godsakes! How can you say that?”
“Look. Just because some dude wrote stories a million years ago doesn’t mean he’s not open to some criticism. What’s so great about him anyway?”
“Well, for starters, he’s Shakespeare. Trip, are you serious? He wrote stuff like nobody’d ever read before.”
“Big deal. Nobody’d ever written anything before. It was probably cake to become famous back then.”
I rolled my eyes but realized he had a point. “You’re nuts. Let’s just go find Coop’s ride.”
We were still smiling as we began the search for Coop’s designated driver. Working as a team, first by taking care of our drunken friend, then by playing detective together, was ac
tually a lot of fun.
It was weird, the way I was starting to feel comfortable around Trip. I hadn’t lost sight of the fact that he was still gorgeous and how it was completely unsettling, but he also had this... way about him. He just had this way of making people around him want more. Want to know him, figure him out, be around him. I couldn’t describe it at the time, but I suppose what I was recognizing, even way back then, was his Star Quality.
If such a thing exists, then Trip Wilmington had it in spades.
Chapter 9
OPPORTUNITY KNOCKS
The following Monday was my first day of work at Totally Videos. I scoped the store for Martin, the twenty-one-year-old, pasty and pimply afternoon manager who, obviously impressed with my non-existent resume and sub-par interviewing skills, called me on Sunday to offer me a job.
He was behind the counter when I walked over, gave him my best salute and said, “Hola, Señor Martino. Yo soy Layla Warren. Yo trabajo aquí.”
I suppose I should mention here that Martin is not Latino at all, and I, obviously, only had the most rudimentary understanding of the Spanish language even after two years of having taken it as an elective.
Martin looked at me as if he was sure I’d suffered a major head injury on my way to work that day, but proceeded to ask one of the other “associates” to mind the store while he dealt with me.
First on the agenda was to take me into the back office so he could print me up a new nametag. While it was running through the laminator, he went to a storage locker and grabbed me a navy blue vest. Along with my khaki pants and light blue Oxford (would my body never escape from a button-down shirt?), I was to wear my vest “at all times”.
“Even when I’m not here?” I joked as I put it on.
Martin didn’t get it. “Uh, no. Just while you’re working your shift.”
Detract one point for the sarcastic new employee.
I didn’t really think it was necessary for Martin to actually pin my nametag on my vest himself. I mean, I have arms and all. But I figured that was the closest his hands had actually ever been to a real live boob before, so I didn’t make a big deal about it. Hell, why not give the poor kid a thrill? Besides, if I even dared to make a joke (which he wouldn’t have gotten anyway), he’d have probably blushed twelve different shades of red before passing out from embarrassment.