I was half asleep when the image of Lexi’s face came to me, growing larger and larger as if we were getting closer and closer. I bolted fully awake. I had managed to forget that we had kissed in the woods, or had at least shoved it somewhere in the back of my mind in light of all the drama that had followed. But it had happened: Sexy Lexi Rosenthal had kissed me with a gun in her hand. Reflexively, my brain skittered away from the actual fact and into movies. Thelma & Louise, Best Screenplay, 1992. Monster, Best Actress, 2004. Fried Green Tomatoes, a lot of nominations and no significant wins. Boys On the Side, so cheesy you needed crackers to watch. Sucker Punch, a waste of special effects.
I sat up in bed and stared into the dark. I ran my fingers up my wrist and pinched the skin inside my elbow so hard I gasped. If I was going to walk into the Belknap Police Department on Monday morning, if I was going to face my parents and Ted once they knew what had happened, if I was going to face the fact of kissing Lexi (and admit, at least to myself, that I had liked kissing her), I couldn’t retreat into the flickering world of the silver screen. Not now. I needed to focus.
I lay back down and looked at the window, at the raindrops catching the streetlights and running down the panes. I would be a model daughter for Thanksgiving, I decided. I would apologize profusely to my parents and do as much of the cooking as I could manage. What was my cover story for the day? I chewed on my lower lip. A special rehearsal for The Crucible. Then we went out together, the whole cast, and I lost track of time. Where had we gone? Someone’s house would sound too much like a party, and my parents would never believe I lost track of time hanging out at the mall. When the answer popped into my head I almost burst out laughing. The movies, of course. The whole cast had gone to a late movie together. That was why I hadn’t called. I squeezed my eyes shut. What had we gone to see? A revival of the French version of the play from the 1950s. It was just the sort of thing the Brattle Theater in Harvard Square would play. Perfect. I was so satisfied with the naturalness of the lie, the ease with which I knew I could pull it off, I was almost happy. I decided that I would pretend Hugh Marsden did not exist for the next four days. It was the last chance I’d have to do so. I’d be the perfect daughter and the perfect girlfriend, and this would be what my parents and Ted would remember once we had gone to the police and everything turned to shit.
As for Lexi’s kiss, I was going to need a little more time to sort that one out.
When I finally fell asleep, I had the strangest dream I could remember. Hugh was in it, not just Hugh but many Hughs, like Agent Smith in The Matrix Reloaded. But they were all dying. I sat on a throne, and before me was a vast, gilded hall, full of bleeding Hughs, their faces and guts being pecked apart by enormous peacocks who shook their Technicolor feathers. At the far end of the hall, there was a large fountain, its base shaped like a clamshell. Lexi stood in the middle of it, naked, the water lapping at her knees and her eyes cast heavenward. The Hughs were approaching her peacefully, and she wrapped golden chains around their necks, and drew their heads down under the water, where their last breaths bubbled away like sea foam. The throne afforded me not only a view of the carnage in the great hall, but also the scene beyond its walls, a battleground in the woods. The sound of rushing water was everywhere, and I sensed that the Souhegan ran through these woods, swollen with rain. In the woods, I saw Farah wearing armor, holding a heavy shield and sword far too big for her, cutting down Hughs in swaths. Rahim hovered above the tree branches in Hermes’ winged sandals, while a pack of wild dogs protected one of the Winslow sisters as she drew an arrow back on a large bow—Elaine or Molly, or perhaps both, in that way that dreams will conflate two or three people into one, just as this dream had divided Hugh into thousands of himself. I woke up around 7 a.m. with my heart in my throat, and I lay still for a long time before I found the strength to go downstairs and start the stuffing for the turkey.
* * *
I was rewarded for my lie about going to see Les Sorcières de Salem and for my general air of contrition with my parents’ permission to attend the unofficial Country Day homecoming party at Ted’s house on Friday night. I could tell that my mother still thought something was up, and of course she was right, but I worked so hard to make nice on Thanksgiving that she couldn’t complain. Plus, she was tired. My parents had always intended to be done raising their kids by this point in their lives, and while I knew they loved me and wanted the best for me, there was only so much energy they had left for disciplining a teenager. I felt a little guilty when Melissa and Hilary came to pick me up, but I’d given my parents a nice Thanksgiving, and now I was going to give Ted one last good night before I turned him into a name in the paper and on the local news. One last good night before he’d finally know about Hugh and me and start to wonder who’d come on to whom.
“Here we go,” said Melissa, when she’d parked her mother’s silver Beemer up the street from Ted’s house. Cars lined the edges of the road in both directions. Mel flipped open a compact and touched up her lip gloss. Hilary stroked the orange threads of her bangs. I sat in the backseat watching them both and thinking how thrilled they’d be on Monday to be so close to such a big scandal. The gossip would go on for the rest of the year. I swallowed my panic.
“Did you hear about Hugh and that little Girl Scout?” Melissa asked me as we slammed the car doors.
I broke into a cold sweat. “Uh, kind of. What happened?”
“He tried to get it in, and she shot him down,” Melissa said. “Really bruised his male ego, but I could have told you that girl wasn’t going to give it up when he first started chasing her in September. Besides, they were on campus—in that old darkroom. I mean, gross, right?”
“Unless you’re Marian and Sexy Lexi,” snarked Hilary.
“Uh, my point,” answered Mel.
“Do you know, like…how far things got?” I asked.
“Why, are you jealous?” Melissa snorted. “What is up with you, Courtney?”
“Yeah,” Hilary chimed in. “You’d think Hugh was cheating on you or something.” Of course this was the first and worst thing she’d think of, with a boyfriend like Gavin Purcell.
Melissa laughed her snorty laugh again. “He and Ted are sort of the same person. I can see how you might get confused.”
“They are not,” I snapped. “Anyway, I was just asking because Hugh can be sort of…predatory. Especially with a younger girl like Molly.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about the Girl Scout,” said Hilary. “Apparently she kneed him in the balls.”
“Really?” I had to laugh. Good for Molly.
Hugh would be at the party of course, and I had convinced myself that the crowd would be big enough that I’d be able to mostly ignore him. But thinking about Molly and the list of dates in Hugh’s notepad app, he suddenly seemed impossible to ignore. Hugh was larger than life, and it was infuriating. I fell behind Melissa and Hilary and watched all of our shadows grow long and skinny in the floodlights from the garage. The world seemed to slow down as we approached the door, each step taking an hour before Melissa’s hand was on the brass doorknob and we were inside the Parkers’ front hall.
Ted and Tom had thrown this party for three years running, and I had never been able to figure out how they cleaned up their mother’s house by the time their parents returned from a romantic weekend at the Boston Harbor Hotel on Sunday. It was impossible to imagine Mr. and Mrs. Parker entering through the same front door I walked through with Melissa and Hilary. It opened into a foyer directly across from the stairs to the second floor. Benji and Lindsay were pressed against the banister, having gotten distracted by each other’s lips on their way upstairs.
“Guys, when I want to shoot a porno for some quick cash, I’ll let you know,” Melissa held up a hand to block them from her vision. “Until then, find a closet or something. God.”
The dining room to the left was empty but brightly lit, the dimmer for the chandelier turned all the way up, the spread of snacks on
the glossy table garish beneath it. There were bowls of chips, dips, and candy and trays of cold appetizers, already ravaged—I could see M&Ms in the onion dip and egg rolls in the guacamole.
“Ugh,” groaned Hilary, who had a highly sensitive vomit reflex.
“Don’t look, sweetie. It’s too early to puke and rally.” Melissa escorted her through the room and to the living area that stretched across the back of the house.
Why does everyone always hang out in the kitchen at parties? Even at Ted’s house, where the kitchen is more or less open to the den, it was packed and much too warm, all elbows and armpits. The breakfast bar was full of bottles and slick with melted ice. In the den, a few guys were sprawled back on the huge sectional sofa, the square of empty space in the center filled with dancing bodies. I saw Melissa turn around and say something to Hilary with urgency on her face, but I couldn’t hear her over the blaring hip-hop. Then I caught sight of Gavin on the makeshift dance floor, grinding up on a girl who had graduated the year before and had a worse reputation than Lexi. Hilary was off like a shot. Melissa headed over to tow Will McKinley off the couch. They would shut themselves up in a room for hours, and later she’d claim they were just talking about really personal, private stuff, as if either of them went that deep.
I made my way to the glass doors and stepped out onto the deck, taking a deep breath of the cold air. Some people who had graduated when I was a sophomore were knotted around the keg, and I felt them look up at me, trying to remember where I’d fit into the Country Day hierarchy two years earlier and guess where I might fit into it now. I considered the keg, but I hadn’t been drunk since the night of Melissa’s party, and the scene at Ted’s wasn’t exactly tempting me off the wagon. Desperately, I patted my pockets for a cigarette.
“Juliet,” said one of the venerated alumni suddenly. “You were Juliet in that play.” He was slurring.
I held my cigarette and stared at him, remembering that his name was Russell and noting that all the beer he’d been drinking in college was showing in his face, which was all jowls and drooping eyelids. “It was Othello. I was Desdemona.”
“Yeah, he’s not an English major, hon,” said one of Russell’s buddies, whose name I couldn’t recall.
“You were a hot little freshman,” said Russell, raising his red plastic cup to me. “Yeah, Juliet in that white dress.”
“I was a sophomore,” I said. I don’t know why I bothered; he was obviously drunk, but there was something funny, almost fascinating, about his total lack of self-awareness. Even his buddies were laughing at him.
“You need a light?” Russell’s friend stepped forward with a lighter in one hand, cupping the other around my cigarette.
“So where’s Romeo?” Russell took a sip of his beer and stepped toward me. I didn’t like how the two of them had me backed up against the railing, but I tried to keep cool. There were maybe seven other people on the deck, and more out in the yard by the fire pit. This was hardly a dark alley… or a quiet bathroom. And besides, I reminded myself sharply, not every guy is Hugh Marsden.
“Russ, man, she already told you. She’s not Juliet. She’s Andromeda.”
“Desdemona.”
“Courtney!” To my relief, I heard Ted calling to me across the yard, one of the dark silhouettes down by the fire pit.
I flicked my eyebrows at Russell’s slightly more sober friend and nudged past them both, moving down the steps toward the fire. I hated the fire pit; the Parkers thought it was just so charming, but my clothes and hair always smelled like burning wood for days after a few minutes standing at the edge. But Ted was there, with Hugh, of course, and a handful of our friends, holding beers and toasting marshmallows on wooden skewers. As I crossed the lawn, I felt the same surreal slow-down I’d felt walking up to the house, allowing me to take in every detail of my surroundings: Selena lifting a charred marshmallow to her lips, the glitter on her eyelids catching the firelight; Hugh’s eyes narrowing as he clamped an arm around Ted’s shoulders and said something in Ted’s ear, so quick and quiet it seemed like nothing, tapping his cup against Ted’s; Horse Riley widening his eyes and baring his teeth as he chomped into a double-decker s’more; Jake Hobart’s brow furrowed in concentration, his tongue pointed as he licked a joint closed. I couldn’t imagine any of them sticking by me through anything as messy and frightening as what was coming.
And then I had arrived at the circle, and time spinned back to normal. Ted’s arm went around me, Hugh dropped another log on the fire, Jake lit his joint and passed it to Sayre Matthews, and Selena and Horse both plucked at the strings of marshmallow running between their hands and mouths.
“There she is,” Ted said, planting a sticky kiss on my cheek. “Been waiting on you.”
I pressed my head against his shoulder. One last night of normal, I thought. Just try to enjoy it, because it won’t ever be like this again.
“Have you been smoking again?” he asked.
“Hi,” I said. “Don’t I get a marshmallow?”
Ted laughed and bent down to the bag of Jet-Puffed to pierce one with a skewer for me. Hugh looked at me across Ted’s bent back and grinned.
“Hi, Courtney.” Even these two words from Hugh made my skin crawl, and he seemed to know it.
“Hi,” I muttered.
It was the last night of normal for Hugh, too, I reminded myself, but he didn’t have the benefit of knowing it. It seemed silly that I’d thought I might be able to come to this party and have fun. I’d have to watch Hugh every second, make sure he didn’t get some drunk girl alone. The fire crackled brightly between us, throwing off a welcome warmth in the cold night. Beyond the circle of light loomed the dark hulk of the barn. It was off-limits during parties at the Parkers, because the root cellar was what Ted’s dad called a liability.
“Ms. Valance.” Jake performed an elaborate bow like he was greeting a queen and held out his joint with a flourish. I gave a slight shake of my head, and Selena plucked it out of his fingers before he’d even looked up.
“Good evening, Mr. Hobart,” I answered formally. Jake took my hand, kissed it, and winked at me. I was distracted from Hugh for a moment by a startling little pang of affection for Jake—I’d always thought of him as pleasant but vague background noise, like the jam bands he played on his car stereo in the junior lot on Friday afternoons. Perhaps he was, but that wasn’t without its charms, I thought.
I had been working so hard to pretend everything was normal, keeping up my image like armor. But that night, on the verge of dropping the pretense, it was the tiny details that pierced me like needles: Melissa’s shadow stretched and wobbling as she crossed Ted’s lawn in her heels; Benji’s hand in Lindsay’s long, strawberry blonde hair in the front hall; Jake’s theatrical greeting; even the drunk guys on the deck—for come Monday, nobody would remember me for my Shakespeare, regardless of the play. I’d be an accuser, a plaintiff, and a victim.
Selena linked her arm through mine as I toasted my marshmallow golden brown, perfectly even all the way around. “You’ll have to excuse Jake,” she said. “He’s just ridiculous. Like, constantly.”
Jake pressed a hand to his chest. “Your gibing tone wounds my heart, Selena.”
“I’m sure she’ll kiss it and make it better,” said Will McKinley, as he and Melissa walked up behind us and joined the circle.
“Watch it, McKinley,” Jake said irritably.
“Huey, I saw your girlfriend upstairs,” said Melissa, like she’d seen something dirty.
Ted made a big show of asking, “What girlfriend?” at the same time Hugh said, “Who was she with?”
Melissa smirked and hugged Will’s arm. “A pack of her little buddies. They’re dying someone’s hair in the master bathroom.”
“Shit,” said Ted. “That’s going to be a bitch to clean up.”
“Molly’s here?” I asked. I was shocked and showing it—Hugh’s head snapped toward me, and Melissa made a face intended to convey that I was being weird in front of
everybody and to stop it.
She shrugged. “It’s sort of cute, I guess. I don’t mind sophomores at a party as long as they’re not, like, underfoot. Maybe she’s here because she wants you back.”
“Maybe if she begs. On her knees,” Hugh cupped one hand near his crotch.
“Porcine as ever.” Melissa rolled her eyes.
I must have cringed, because Ted asked me what was wrong.
“I just want a drink,” I said brightly. “Anyone need anything?” I bolted up to the house before they could answer.
Gavin and Hilary were yelling on one end of the deck, while the guys who’d been at the keg earlier watched from the other end and laughed openly.
“Why do you always do this to me?” Hilary wailed, but she was more pissed than sad. “You’re such a dick. I deserve so much better.”
“You are paranoid and frigid,” returned Gavin. “No one would blame me for cheating on you, which I’m not, by the way. How about a little trust, Hilary?”
“Dump her!” cheered one of the keg boys.
I pushed past this scene and through the glass doors. The heat in the living room was like walking into a wall. I ditched my coat behind the couch and went upstairs to find Molly.
Chapter 17
In the master bathroom off Ted’s parents’ room, Ke$ha was playing on somebody’s iPhone and Molly Winslow was perched on the marble counter with her feet in the sink. Lacey Stewart’s brown hair was covered in awful-smelling white goo, while two other girls tended her like handmaidens.
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