Stuck in the 70's

by Debra Garfinkle

  “For real?” She pats my back, which is a reach for her, being such a shrimp.

  “He d oesn’t see me reading and studying physics and working with you at Krasno’s. He d oesn’t know how much I ’ve changed.”

  “You tell him,” she says.

  I shake my head. “Do you know what Einstein said? That mystery is the most beautiful thing. I found that in one of Tyler’s books. He’s a big Einstein nut. But I don’t think Tyler finds the mystery surrounding me beautiful at all.”

  “¿Qué?”

  I sigh. “He has the right to be pissed off. He thinks I destroyed his parents’ marriage. I was just trying to help.”

  “You help me. You help me much.”

  “Just keep going to school, okay?”

  “Okay. School is okay.” She smiles. “Is your birthday. Try be happy.”

  I nod, take a deep breath, which is difficult in my tight Calvins, and yell, “Let’s get this party started!”

  “Music?” Heather calls back. “What album should I play?”

  “It’s my birthday, so please d on’t play Neil Diamond, Barry Manilow, or anything disco.”

  She puts on “Stairway to Heaven.”

  A half hour later, kids are crowding into the house. It seems like half the school is here—the popular crowd, Heather’s student government friends, a lot of guys now crushing on her, and Tyler’s old honor club friends, who huddle around my vegetable platter.

  I lose track of Rick and Mariel and Heather, so I wander outside. The backyard is hopping with my school lunch group: Lori, Debby with a y, and Debbie P., all in tight designer jeans like me; one of the Lisas, making out on the glider with an older, bearded guy; Jeff in brown corduroy pants, smoking a cigarette; and Jim and John, sharing a joint. Heather’s by the lamppost, surrounded by three boys about her age. She’s holding an empty plastic cup and she’s wobbly either from her high heels or the beer or both.

  One of the boys switches out Heather’s empty cup for one filled with beer. “Try again. See if you can down it in ten seconds.”

  “Ten. Nine. Eight,” the boys chant.

  “Wait!” I shout.

  Heather stops drinking and the boys stop counting.

  “ Don’t do that to yourself,” I tell her.

  “Everything’s more fun when you drink. You said that.”

  “Go for it,” one of the guys calls out.

  Heather pours more beer down her throat.

  “Seven. Six. Five.”

  “Heather, no!” I grab thehalf-f ull cup from her and make the boys leave. “ You’re too young to chug beer like that,” I tell her. “Actually, you s houldn’t drink at all.” Actually.

  “You should talk,” she says.

  “There you are, Shay.” John slinks in between us. “And Heather, man, you look foxy tonight.” He puts his arm around her, stares at her cleavage. “I dig that sweater. It shows off your . . . your . . . uh, eyes.You’re really, uh, growing up.” »

  She laughs. Her laugh has changed. It’s the giggle of a girl acting dumb. Holy crap, she’s flirting with John!

  I shake my head. “You two can barely hold yourselves up. And, John, do you realize Heather’s only fifteen?”

  “Almost sixteen,” Heather says.

  “Let’s go find a couch,” John takes Heather’s hand. “Put our feet up and get cozy.”

  “No. Leave my sister alone.” Tyler gets between them.

  “Dude, mellow out.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Heather says.

  Tyler gets in John’s face. “ Don’t make me mad.”

  “Okay, okay.” He flashes a peace sign. “Make love not war, man.”

  Tyler glares at me. “I hope y ou’re proud of yourself now.”

  Debbie M. throws her arms around his waist from behind. “Ty Ty, I ’ve been looking for you. Deb Deb’s wonewee.”

  “What?” He d oesn’t seem exactly thrilled, but he d oesn’t move away either.

  “She’s wonewee.” I roll my eyes. “That’s baby talk for lonely.”

  “I think y ou’ve had too much beer,” he says, but d oesn’t stop her from groping him.

  What have I done?

  What have I done?

  Debbie M. is leaning against my back, attempting to undo my Levi’s. Thank God I’m wearing button-up 501s and she’s had too much to drink.

  Wait a minute. What am I thinking? I’m upset because a pretty girl is trying to get into my pants? I’ve been dreaming of something like this happening ever since my voice started changing. And while Debbie M. plays with my pants, I’m throwing a cool party with the most popular kids in school. This is what I longed for all those Saturday nights when Evie and I played backgammon or watched Star Wars with our other dweeb friends.

  I wonder if Evie ever saw Star Wars that night she called. Who would she have gone with? Maybe some of the guys she’s been sitting with at lunch. I wonder what Evie’s doing tonight.

  My chest aches again. It’s probably heartburn from that awful beer I swallowed before spitting into the grass. Shay said I just needed to get used to the taste, but there’s no way I’m trying it again.

  Oh, crud, Debbie M.’s actually got my pants button undone. You mean“Oh, good,”I lecture myself.

  She whispers, “Does Ty Ty have a bedroom we could use?”

  Ty Ty? Bedroom? No! Not with Debbie M.

  Tyler,I remind myself, this is what you wanted.

  I guess I changed my mind. I turn around and put my hands over Debbie M.’s. “Stop.”

  “Debbie M. is pretty, popular, and pickled,” a voice behind me says. “You should be ecstatic, Tyler.”

  I turn around again and see Evie. My chest thumps. I didn’t think she would actually come to the party. She looks different tonight. It’s hard to tell by the muted light of the lamppost, but something’s strange about her face. “What are you doing here?” I ask. “You look kind of weird.”

  “Who’s she?” Debbie M. says from behind me.

  “I’m nobody, really. At least in your little world,” Evie says. “Tyler invited me. If it’s a problem, I’ll leave right now.”

  “It’s a problem,” Debbie M. says.

  “Mind your own business, Deb Deb.” I button up my Levi’s and step toward Evie. “You’re totally welcome here, Evie. Don’t you know that?”

  “You have a strange way of showing it.” For some reason, her lips are orange and puffy. Are they sneering or trembling? “You asked me what I’m doing here. You told me I . . .” The bottom one is definitely trembling, like an earthquake.

  “Evie, what the heck is wrong with you tonight?”

  “You told me I look weird.”

  “No. I said ‘kind of weird.’ I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” My chest is killing me. I may be highly allergic to beer.

  “She does look weird,” Debbie M. says. “It’s like she put on five coats of makeup in the dark.”

  “Makeup? My God, Evie! You’re wearing makeup.”

  “Badly,” Debbie M. says.

  “You . . .” Evie sniffs. “You didn’t . . .” She sounds like she’s choking.

  “What’s gotten into you?” I ask her.

  “You didn’t even appreciate it.” Then she does something even weirder than wearing makeup. She starts crying, just like a girl. Black mascara and brown and green eye shadow, or whatever is in the vicinity of her eyes, run down her face. She wipes the mess with her hand, which mixes the eye stuff with the red gunk on her cheeks.

  I stand in front of her, clutching my chest, which feels like it’s about to explode. I hate when girls cry. I hate even more that Evie’s crying.

  “Are you okay?” Shay’s voice comes from behind Debbie M., who’s still behind me.

  Evie nods, but she’s still crying.

  “Gawd, Tyler, at least give her a hug,” Shay says.

  I take a clumsy step forward with my arms out.

  Evie takes a step back. “Where’s that twenty dollars
you owe me?”

  “I would have repaid you,” I tell her. “But Shay stole my money.”

  “I have to barf,” Debbie M. says.

  I point to the trash can and say, “Bye.” She lurches away.

  Shay reaches into the pocket of her jeans. Her pants are so tight she has to wriggle her hand in and suck in her little stomach to get anything out. She comes up with a twenty-dollar bill. “I wish I could give you the rest now. Here’s a start.”

  She hands me the money and I give it to Evie. “Just don’t ask Shay where she got it. She’ll slap you.”

  “You can be such an ass, Tyler,” Shay says.

  Someone claps my back, hard, so I turn around. It’s The Dick. “Tyster. Are you upsetting my girlfriend?”

  I shake my head because it’s hard to talk while a huge guy with his hand on your back is accusing you of upsetting his girlfriend. Not to mention after you just saw your best friend in heavy makeup and heavier tears, suddenly realized your best friend has girl qualities, were just called an ass, and are suffering possible heart attack symptoms at age eighteen.

  “We need to talk. Come out to my car with me,” The Dick says.

  Yikes. For issues of personal safety, I’d rather remain at the party, within shouting range of potential witnesses. “I wish I could sit in your souped-up Mustang,” I lie. “But—”

  “Let’s boogie.” He pushes me forward.

  Don’t they usually take people for a ride just before killing them, like in the Godfather movies? On the other hand, I’m more terrified to turn him down. I think The Dick just made me an offer I can’t refuse. “Okay, I’ll come out to your car with you,” I say loudly, hoping plenty of witnesses will hear me and testify in the assault trial later.

  “Here, Shay.” Evie holds out the t wenty dollar bill. “I d idn’t mean to pressure you about the money. If you need it, I can wait.”

  I keep my hands at my sides. “Hang on to it. I really appreciate you convincing Mrs. Gray to take me in. I want to pay Tyler back the rest of his money too.”

  “Well, thanks.” She frowns. “I bet my stupid crying jag messed up my makeup. Tonight’s the first time I ’ve worn it.”

  No kidding. “Let’s go wash your face.”

  There’s a huge line for the downstairs bathroom, so we head upstairs and stand behind five other people. “What made you put makeup on?” I ask Evie.

  “Oh.” She looks away. “A scientific experiment?”

  “It was for Tyler, right?”

  “What?” If her cheekshadn’t had a ton of rouge on them already, I think I would have seen her blushing.

  “I’m not a genius,” I tell Evie. “But I’m pretty sure y ou’re in love with your best friend.”

  She frowns. “Former best friend. Could you give me that makeover you were talking about before?”

  “You d on’t need it.”

  “But Tyler—”

  “Listen, Evie. You d on’t want a guy who just cares about your looks. You want a guy who loves you for who you are. Like, a guy who d oesn’t even mind if you wear an apron and carry books around and put your hair up in a pony to scrub pots and pans.”

  “But Tyler—”

  “Tyler may have a big brain, but he needs to think with it for a change.”

  “Get in,” The Dick says as we approach his Mustang.

  I get in. I’m so scared, my brain’s gone numb. I warn my leg not to shake, but my leg doesn’t listen. I leave the car door open.

  Rick reaches over me with his bulky and quite hairy arms, possibly to grab my neck and shake me like a squawking chicken.

  Instead, he slams the car door shut. His huge body practically takes up the whole driver’s side. He has a great build. I can almost see why Shay digs him. Not that I’m into checking out other males, but it helps keep my mind off thoughts of getting hit.

  “Are you sleeping with my girlfriend?” he asks.

  My leg is shaking like Jiffy Pop. “No, Di—Rick. Never.”

  “Never?” It comes out like a growl.

  “I mean, not that she isn’t desirable.”

  He bares his teeth at me.

  “She’s been sleeping in Heather’s room. Shay and I, we’re actually more like sister and brother.”

  “You’re not lying to me, are you? Because Debbie M. said—”

  “Debbie M.’s drunk, and she’s mad I wouldn’t let her pull down my pants, and . . . Rick, Shay likes you, not me.”

  “Really? Did she tell you she likes me? I mean, really likes me?” He doesn’t sound so tough now. I never knew anyone from the popular table could sound like this. Especially The Dick. He’s supposed to be cocky, not gawky.

  “Tell me she loves me.”

  I’ve told enough lies the last few weeks. I take a deep breath. “I don’t think she loves any guys. I think she sort of uses guys, to tell you the truth.” I hope he doesn’t believe in shooting the messenger, or even beating up the messenger, the messenger being me. I take a deep breath. “Sorry, D—Rick.”

  He pounds the steering wheel. “It’s because I’m so stupid. I just couldn’t understand all that weird science stuff.”

  “Physics?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. She’s always going on about magnet fields, and waves or something, and stuff she reads.”

  “What? Shay? Seriously?”

  “I didn’t understand half the things she said.”

  If I weren’t within striking distance of The Dick right now, I’d be smiling.

  “She’s too good for me,” he moans.

  Before I realize the extreme risk I’m taking, I put my hand on his arm. It feels like it’s made of metal.

  “What are you doing?” he says.

  What am I doing? I shouldn’t touch a huge guy with steel arms. I drop my hand down and sit on it. “Sorry.”

  “No. I’m sorry. I wish I was as smart as Shay.” He’s shaking his head right and left.

  Maybe he’s not actually a dick. Maybe Shay had slightly better taste than I gave her credit for. Maybe I should help the poor guy before he bursts into tears. It could happen. After watching Evie cry tonight, I’d believe just about anything. “I think, actually, she likes you a lot. Just, like, give her some time.”

  “Really?” His head slows down.

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks, Tyster.”

  “Anytime, bud.”

  “You can get out of my car now.” He leans over me again and opens the door.

  I scramble out and return to the party.

  I search for Evie, but it’s hard amid the noise and crowds. “Stairway to Heaven” is playing again, and a group in the living room is chanting “Chug it.” The nasty smell of beer permeates everything. In the kitchen, someone’s spilled the blue cheese dip all over the counter, which doesn’t improve on the beer smell.

  I look for Evie in the backyard. I know my odds of actually finding her there are low, given that (1) it’s packed with people, (2) she’s little, and (3) it’s dark. I wish everyone but Evie would leave right now.

  Wait a minute. Aren’t I supposed to be enjoying this?

  Yeah, well, I’m not. As Shay would say, Whatever.

  I go inside and upstairs and into my bedroom, shoo out two juniors with their shirts off and their hands down each other’s jeans, and close my door.

  I try to read The Great Gatsby for English class, but it’s hard to root for a guy who’s screwing up his life just to impress people.

  Someone knocks on my door.

  “Off limits!”

  “It’s me. Shay.”

  I open the door.

  “You said you could get me back to 2006. I’m ready to go now.”

  Good, I guess.

  “There’s a line for the bathroom,” she says. “You can do this fast, right?”

  I nod. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I can’t help asking her.

  “You think I messed up everything for you here. Your dad left, you and Evie aren’t friends anym
ore, Heather’s drinking. I’m really sorry.” She walks into my room and closes the door behind her. “You want me out of here, right?”

  I stare at my poster of Albert Einstein. He was a man who got things done. “Yes, I still want you to leave.”

  “Okay.” She looks like I’ve just slapped her, which is ironic because she recently slapped me.

  “So you’ll follow my directions and return home.” I don’t ask it. I order it. Like Dad used to do before he moved out. I get the box from my closet containing the fan, scissors, and duct tape.

  We walk down the hall in silence and stand in line for the bathroom. “Mariel!” Shay exclaims to a short Mexican girl who lines up behind us. “You okay? I lost track of you.”

  “I am good.” She looks at me. “Is Tyler?”

  “Yes,” Shay says. “Tyler, this is Mariel. Mariel, Tyler.”

  “Do you go to our school?” I ask her.

  “I start school yesterday. Shay, she talk me in it.”

  Huh? Why would Shay do that? She doesn’t even go to school herself, except for physics class. “How did you meet her?” I ask Mariel.

  “We work Krasno’s Diner. We clear tables and wash dishes. She teach me the English too.”

  I bet the circumference of my open mouth right now is at least five inches.

  “She need money to pay back you.”

  Holy moly. So that’s where she got her money. Shay Saunders did menial labor.

  “She say owe you,” Mariel says.

  And I owe her. An apology.

  I’m about to tell Shay I’m sorry when Heather stumbles out of the bathroom like a Gumby doll and the girl in front of us goes in. Heather clutches my arm. “I don’t feel too good.” Her breath is sour from smoke and beer.

  I glare at Shay. “You see why you have to go?”

  “Go where?” Heather asks.

  “Far away. She messed up our whole family.”

  “Mom’s a lot happier,” Heather says.

  “Say what?”

  “Didn’t you hear her crying all the time before? She was miserable. Shay made Mom brave enough to do what she really wanted. Don’t go, Shay,” Heather pleads.