High School

by Sara Quin

  “No one is going to push us.” Sara laughed. “Relax.”

  When we boarded, the train was crammed with people wearing Green Day shirts. Spencer, Sara, and I squeezed into a row together, and Kayla sat on our laps.

  “What if one of us falls and gets trampled by people moshing?”

  I shook my head. “Spencer! Oh my god, stop worrying! You’re going to be fine.”

  “I think we should all link arms the whole time. Promise you guys won’t let go of me.”

  “We won’t,” Kayla and I both said at the same time.

  Against the black metal barricade near the stage, Kayla and Spencer and I linked arms as a deafening roar spread from the back of the venue and the overhead lights started to flicker. As Green Day sauntered onstage, a surge of bodies from behind pressed us into the metal, pushing the air out of my lungs. I felt scared for a second, but when the tide went out, and air gushed back into me, I screamed, “THIS IS FUCKING AMAZING!” in Spencer’s face.

  He just opened his mouth into a terrified O shape and then closed it.

  Billie Joe barked something into the mic, and the crowd roared even louder. After that, I didn’t hear any other voice but his. The speakers in front of us came alive with the first notes of “Basket Case.” When the front light hit Billie Joe in the chorus, I gasped. It was strange to see someone famous, right there, so close.

  We’d seen New Kids on the Block in that exact room when we were nine. But Sara and I had been in a box seat with Dad’s boss, so far away we had watched the show mostly on the screens on either side of the stage; it was more like watching TV than being at a live show. Bruce had taken us to see Bruce Springsteen when we were twelve. Again, we’d been in the second tier, a hockey rink’s distance from the Boss, mostly watching him on the screens. Now, standing just a few feet from where Billie Joe was snarling and tearing at the strings of his guitar, a guitar hanging so low it forced him forward into a nearly ninety-degree angle, I felt starstruck, overwhelmed, consumed.

  At the end of the show, we were all breathless. I rubbed the tender parts of my arm where Spencer had clung to me through the lightning-fast sixty-minute set. Lingering at the front of the stage, kicking empty plastic beer cups and lost shoes from crowd-surfers, the four of us reluctantly made our way out of the arena to where Mom was waiting outside to drive us home.

  “How was it?” she asked when we climbed into the Jeep. The overhead light of the car illuminated a smile that stretched across her face as she took in the damage. My pants were ripped to my knees. Sara’s hair was a hive of knots from the pit. Spencer and Kayla looked windblown, and all of us were red-faced and shaking with adrenaline. Our ears were ringing, and as we answered her questions about the concert, I could tell we were yelling as if still in the arena, trying to be heard over the music.

  “Amazing,” I shouted. “We were at the front the whole time. I could literally see the pupils of Billie’s eyes.”

  “And we moshed, and people were crowd-surfing, and Billie kept swearing at the audience to get crazy,” Sara yelled from behind me.

  “And some of Billie’s spit got on us,” Kayla said seriously.

  “He spit on you?” Mom looked amused.

  “Yes,” we all shouted happily.

  “It was so cool,” I said, and sighed.

  “Spencer, what did you think? You’re being awful quiet about it. Not a fan?”

  “No, I love them. But we almost died,” Spencer answered flatly from the back. “It was terrifying. I had to watch out for them the whole time.”

  “As if,” I said.

  “That’s a little twisted,” Kayla said. “I think it was us looking out for you.”

  “Well, I’m glad it was so fun,” Mom said, putting the Jeep into drive. “Alright, who am I dropping off first?”

  10. SARA LET’S RAVE

  I slouched against a row of wooden cabinets. I was studying the short script that the drama teacher had handed to me at the theater door. Rail thin, wearing fitted light denim pants, white socks, and sandals, Mr. Russel had a crooked, toothy grin stained with black coffee and cigarettes. If he was aware of the rumors that swirled about his sexuality, he made no attempt to dispel them. I’d already begun to doubt my chances of being cast in the school play, when Tegan and Stephanie joined me. Stephanie was tall and striking, and she folded herself down to the floor next to me in a dramatic swoop. Her hair was a washed-out ketchup color, and her blue eyes locked onto mine. She asked if we wanted to drop acid after school and go on an adventure with her and her best friend, Zoe. We accepted her invitation and began discussing blowing off the rest of the tryout.

  “Grade tens don’t get cast,” she told us. “And you have to be at every rehearsal and have your locker downstairs, so they can keep their eye on you.”

  They were the Drama Society kids, who huddled around Mr. Russel at all times before and after school. The Pit, a space cluttered with rundown couches and a wardrobe stuffed with moth-bitten clothes, was their clubhouse behind the stage. “I just want to act, not be part of some cult,” Stephanie said, landing one final punch. We stood up and made our way to the exit.

  * * *

  After class, Stephanie and Zoe met us at the front of the school, twinned in corduroy bell-bottoms and buttoned-up paisley shirts. Stephanie carried a notebook crammed with receipts and drawings, yarn, and sketches of swirls and melting faces. They called it their “adventure book” and inside they recorded details about each of their acid trips. Zoe wore a faux-fur coat that dropped below her knees, and my instinct as soon as we were high was to bury my face in its depths. Her eyes were wolfish and sad, and up close her skin was unblemished, nearly opaque. With perfect posture, they both seemed to tower over Tegan and me. They’d slipped a tab of acid inside a folded note for each of us, our names scribbled in bubble cursive on the outside. In the bathroom stall, my heart pounded as I carefully untucked the paper, afraid to drop the tab in the toilet. A burning sensation boiled up from inside my chest as I threw the foil in the garbage can on the way back out the door. The four of us crossed the block to Center Street and caught the bus downtown. Zoe’s boyfriend, Jonathan, was waiting for us when we arrived at the CTrain station.

  The drugs twisted my self-esteem into self-loathing. Jonathan and Zoe soared above me. The ooze of the acid trip made them look utterly matched, and I couldn’t stop staring down in disgust at my lumpy hoodie and baggy pants. On the train, Stephanie bounced from bench to bench, blurting every thought out loud.

  “I love your hat!” she said to an elderly woman, who appeared spooked by us. Gregarious and rubbery, Stephanie was our uninhibited adventure guide and seemed to command the doors of the compartment open as we sailed out in a gush of air onto the platform. Tegan and I had permanent grins, and I peaked in the parking lot below the train station on our walk.

  “I love it here,” Tegan said as we stepped into the blast of heat from the grates in the entryway of Marlborough Mall. We stamped our feet in circles on the pale beige tiles slick with melted snow. Coins, buzzers, and gunfire trilled from the arcade, and we stood, mesmerized, as we watched a preteen playing Street Fighter.

  “This way,” Stephanie said, twirling her hand above her head.

  We orbited a table in the food court next to an A&W. Jonathan bought a single carton of fries that no one ate, but the orange tray on our table ensured that the mall security guard ignored us for a while. I said zero words before the group wandered off, leaving Tegan and me to ponder our existence in silence. Intrusive thoughts pulsed my mind: What if Gramma is here at the mall and sees us? What if I’m high forever? What if I come down, but Tegan is high forever? Tegan nervously dug through her backpack, and I realized I’d said all those thoughts out loud. She retrieved a brush snarled with hair and wordlessly set it down between us. We marveled at its grotesqueness.

  When our friends returned, we dumped our tray in a trash can and disappeared into the Sears department store. Zoe and I ran our hands along the wash
ing machines and kitchen appliances, and the smells from the restaurant sent happy shivers through my limbs. Back outside in the brutal cold, we crossed the parking lot and then crowded together on the platform waiting for our train. Jonathan stood behind Zoe with his arms wrapped around her chest, his face resting on top of her head. They were silent, but I imagined they were communicating through the drapes of their hair.

  When the train arrived, we squeezed in between the rush-hour commuters, greedily tilting our frozen faces and fingers up to the heat vents. Outside the window, red cardiac lines shot from the taillights of cars, and my mood shifted to something darker. Tegan and I disembarked first, and we called out muffled goodbyes from inside the scarves we’d wrapped around our faces.

  * * *

  The following week, Stephanie asked Tegan and me if we wanted to come with her to Zoe’s house after school. “We’re doing tie-dye,” she told us.

  On the train to Zoe’s house, Tegan and Zoe did most of the talking. They were in the same English class and traded stories about getting caught skipping. Stephanie and I gossiped about our drama teacher and the casting for the school play.

  * * *

  I stole looks at Zoe. She didn’t look like anyone else I’d ever seen, and I felt a pang of guilt thinking about Naomi. They were different in every way; Naomi was outgoing and studious, and whatever time was left after studying she spent with me. Zoe was aloof and rarely mentioned school. I’d heard her tell Tegan that she wished she could go to dance classes seven days a week, a statement that made me feel oddly jealous—like she was describing a stranger with whom she was obsessed. Naomi was insatiable in conversations. Zoe’s eyes drifted from my face, her attention slipping through my fingers. Was it possible to have a crush on someone when you were supposed to love someone else?

  Sitting underneath the window in Zoe’s bedroom, I memorized each detail. She was tidy. It seemed she’d had the same bed since childhood; the wood was worn and scuffed at the corners. Her bookshelf was filled with Bob Marley and Björk CDs. There was a single photograph of her at a dance competition on the wall near her bed. Her eyes were rubbed black with mascara, her body frozen in a sculptural pose. I tried not to stare for too long at anything and forced my eyes to move from object to object calmly.

  “How’s Jonathan?” I asked.

  “We broke up,” Zoe said.

  “He’s boring,” Stephanie added, flipping through the CDs on Zoe’s bookshelf.

  “Actually, he’s had a really interesting life. I loved his stories . . .” Zoe trailed off.

  My jaw clenched at the tenderness in her voice.

  “What about you? Are you dating anyone?” She turned her eyes to mine, and I felt my mouth drop open. Cartoonish swirls seemed to pop out from her eye sockets and drill into the back of my head. I wanted nothing more in the world than to fall into a black hole in her carpet so I wouldn’t have to answer this question.

  “Can we put makeup on you guys?” Stephanie said, jumping up from the carpet.

  “Sure!” I said. I ignored the look of shock on Tegan’s face. Neither of us wore makeup, but I would have agreed to anything to be out of the hot seat. When we were all on Zoe’s narrow mattress together, Stephanie combed my hair into a ponytail, and I sat facing Zoe as she applied soft brushes and her fingertips to my lips and the lids of my eyes. I thought about how many hours had passed since I’d brushed my teeth. I held my breath. When Zoe finished my makeup, she turned me toward the mirror.

  “You’re so pretty!” Stephanie said.

  I shyly accepted the praise. But in the mirror’s reflection, I saw a rush of blood spread across my cheeks. I didn’t recognize the girl staring back at me.

  * * *

  Stephanie and Zoe had a large crew of friends that Tegan and I met in the student center on the following Friday afternoon. I was acutely aware of how attractive they were, and joining their circle emboldened me with confidence. I wanted to belong with these girls. Penny had a gap between her teeth, and she was the first girl I’d seen with short hair in our high school. Her side part was held in place with colorful barrettes, magnifying the symmetry of her remarkable face. I was envious of her flat chest and narrow hips. With her midriff exposed, my eyes were drawn to her belly button, and farther down to her belt. Her best friend, Jodi, was captivating, too, at nearly six feet tall. Her blond hair was chopped into a bob and she wore a tight choker of lace cut across her throat. She was always dancing in place and chewed hard on a piece of gum buried in the back of her mouth. They referred to themselves as “ravers” and seemed cast from the film Kids.

  “Come with us to a rave this weekend!” Penny suggested.

  “Yes!” Stephanie clutched both my arm and Tegan’s. “That would be so fun!”

  There was no way in hell that our mom was going to be persuaded to let us stay out until 6:00 a.m. with a group of girls she’d never met.

  “We could tell Mom we’re staying at Christina’s dad’s house,” I suggested to Tegan.

  “Or you can say you’re staying at my house,” Zoe offered.

  My heart raced at the intimacy implied in her suggestion.

  “We’ll figure it out,” Tegan said. “We’re great liars.”

  * * *

  On Saturday night before the rave, Tegan and I sat on Christina’s unmade bed watching as she tore her clothing from the hangers in the closet.

  “This one?” She held a blue hoodie with red cursive across the chest.

  I shrugged.

  “I don’t have clothes for a rave!” She moaned and dropped onto the mattress.

  “And we do?” Tegan asked. “Just be yourself!”

  This made us crack up.

  Christina pulled a hoodie over her head. “I’ll wear this.”

  “We need to call and find out the address,” Tegan said.

  Christina let out a sigh. The cord of the phone she and her sister, Heather, shared was pulled taut under the crack of Heather’s bedroom door.

  “I need the phone, Heather!” Christina cried and pounded her fist on the wall. Heather’s reply was muffled but unmistakable: “FUCK! OFF!”

  This battle was one I recognized well; Tegan and I waged similar assaults almost every night.

  Heather’s door banged open, and Christina dialed the seven-digit phone number that Jodi had scribbled on my hand at school the day before. She passed me the receiver and moved to head off Heather in the hallway. The line rang until an answering machine clicked over. The message was a woman reading an address out slowly, two times, in monotone. I jotted it down and hung up. Tegan checked the bus times, and we zipped up our heavy coats and headed out.

  On the bus ride across the city, we nervously discussed the evening’s plans. We would arrive at the rave at 10:00 p.m. and meet Stephanie, Zoe, Penny, and Jodi, where they’d introduce us to their friend who would sell us speed. We hadn’t done the drug before, but Stephanie convinced us it was better for dancing all night.

  When we got off the bus, I heard bass thumping in the distance.

  “This breaks a lot of Mom’s rules about safety,” Tegan joked as we looked around the industrial wasteland we’d entered. At the door, we each handed a woman five dollars and stepped inside. The room we entered was dark. A few figures stripped off coats and stuffed them into backpacks. We moved toward the lights and the music. Down a long hallway lit only by a red exit sign, we passed a restroom crowded with girls and then entered a small room where a DJ was spinning, a single row of lights twirling out of time with the beat. We stepped toward a group of people in the far corner, and I strained to see if it was anyone we knew.

  “Do we dance?” Christina asked me, her mouth close to my ear. I shrugged. A few people were dancing, but I was too nervous and sober to join them. I pointed back to the hallway, “Bathroom?” We retraced our steps and entered the bathroom. Sitting on the counter with her back to the mirror was Penny. She was wearing only a sports bra and no shirt, the skin of her chest and neck sparkling with sweat
and glitter.

  “Hi!” She pushed herself off the vanity and hugged each of us. There were boys there, too. Everyone was using the stalls to distribute and openly consume drugs. Penny directed us to a guy with bleached hair whom we’d seen on the bus.

  “This is my boyfriend, Nick,” she told us. The metal barbell in Nick’s mouth clicked the back of his teeth, causing a heavy lisp. “I hope you girls have a good night,” he said, and placed the pills in the palms of our hands. I hadn’t snorted anything in my life, but the three of us shuffled into a doorless stall, and on the tank of the toilet I crushed my pills into powder.

  “Wow,” Christina said. “So, we’re doing this?”

  “Fuck!” I said. “Yes, we are.” I inhaled the pile of dust into my nose like I’d seen people do in the movies. My head shot back in shock, my eyes filled with tears.

  Christina crushed her pills and followed my lead. We looked like pros. When Zoe and Stephanie arrived in the bathroom, my pulse raced, and it was hard to know if seeing Zoe was the cause or if it was the drugs. She had her own pills and expertly crushed them and snorted the dust right off the tile on the bathroom counter. I met her eyes in the mirror. She was so confident and sexy that I actually gasped out loud. Everyone seemed to know one another, and there was a friendliness that both soothed me and made me want to dart from the building and back to the bus stop.

  “Why are we still in this bathroom?” Stephanie yelled.

  We followed her down the hall and into the rave. The entire room seemed to absorb our bodies, and I watched our friends confidently break into movement. I busied myself with my backpack, crouching down for cover. When I finally stepped across the floor, my thoughts raced as I considered—perhaps for the first time since childhood—my arms and how to move them. Tegan, always more confident, had found a rhythm and was chopping at the air with her eyes closed, her feet shuffling a two-step. Some people were shifting their hands into angles and shapes; others were voguing. I swung my right arm diagonally across my body as if pulling a sword from my hip. My feet slid sideways in a motion like the one I used when ice-skating. I had no idea what was happening, but I went with it. My gaze shifted back to Zoe. She moved effortlessly, and the precision of her dancing took my breath away. I relaxed when I realized that I was the only person in the room who had their eyes open. I shut them. I stopped thinking.