Going Under

by S. Walden

  I picked up Gretchen around ten, and we made our way to the party. I had no idea what to expect when we pulled up to Cal’s house. I’d never seen it. We parked down the street and walked to his house. It was one of those ridiculous $900,000 homes with the brick and stone and every other design element you could think of decorating the façade. Overly manicured lawn. I thought I was standing in an office park.

  It was already dressed up for Christmas. White lights all over the trees, outlining the house. Wreaths on the windows; candles inside them. I liked the decorations, but I was tempted to come back another evening and put up one strand of colored lights on a bush. The house needed a rebel strand.

  We knocked on the door, but no one answered. I heard music from inside, and thought it was loud enough to keep the guests inside from hearing anyone on the outside. I pushed open the door.

  This party was much more subdued than Tanner’s. Cal’s house was expensive. The furniture looked expensive. The floor we were standing on looked expensive. Hell, the paint color on the walls looked expensive, and everyone seemed to understand. No one would be getting rowdy in this house. There was still dancing, but Cal made sure to push the furniture to the side, covering it with sheets. I suspected he put away all the expensive glassware and accessories. The tables and bookcases were bare. He was careful, and that made sense. He was careful about everything he did.

  “Hey, Brooke,” Cal said, approaching us.

  “Hi,” I replied. I flashed a sweet smile, and that seemed to encourage him.

  “So, um, I’m sorry about ordering beer on our date. I should have apologized days ago, but you looked busy,” he said. It was cryptic, but I knew exactly what he was talking about. He spotted me several times chatting with Ryan in between classes. He knew there was something going on between us.

  “No worries,” I replied.

  “No no. I was a total dick. I shouldn’t have drank all that,” Cal said.

  Shouldn’t have drunk.

  I didn’t know what to say. “It happens.”

  “No, Brooke.” Cal was insistent. “It doesn’t happen. I have manners. I know better, and I feel like a complete jerk. I just freaked out about the whole Parker situation. I had no idea he was being mean to you. Did you girls get home okay?”

  Cal was difficult to understand. There were instances of complete idiocy followed by knight-in-shining-armor acts. It’s like he had split personalities.

  “Yeah. But you owe us cab fare,” Gretchen said.

  I tensed.

  Cal furrowed his brows for a half second before relaxing his face once more into a pleasant smile. “You’re right.”

  “No, she’s not,” I objected. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

  “No, I want to give you cab fare,” Cal said. “It’s the least I can do.”

  “Please, Cal,” I said. “I cannot take your money. I won’t take your money.”

  I watched him pull out his wallet and placed my hand over his.

  “I won’t take it,” I whispered. “It’s okay. The apology was all I needed.”

  Cal hesitated. He wanted to argue, but instead, he tucked his wallet back in his pocket.

  “You girls thirsty?” he asked, looking towards the kitchen.

  “Um, just a water for me,” I said. “I’m DD tonight.”

  “Gotcha. And for you, Gretchen?” he asked.

  “I’ll have a water as well,” she said.

  Cal looked at her strangely. “You’re the DD, too?”

  “I can party without drinking,” she said, staring him down like prey she was ready to maul.

  Cal chuckled. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

  Gretchen opened her mouth to reply, but I cut her off.

  “We’re gonna be hanging out on the dance floor,” I said. “Thanks for getting us those waters,” and I dragged Gretchen away before she had the opportunity to make another flippant remark.

  “What is wrong with you?!” I hissed, trying to find the rhythm to the song while running the conversation over in my head. I wasn’t good at multi-tasking.

  “You look like a retard, Brooke,” Gretchen replied, shaking her hips like a belly dancer.

  “Gretchen, keep your mouth shut for the rest of the evening,” I demanded. “Got it?” I stopped altogether and closed my eyes, concentrating on the beat of the song until I thought I discovered it. I started dancing again, and Gretchen burst out laughing.

  “Can you move away from me, please? Cute boy over there is eyeing me up, and you’re totally killing my mojo.”

  I rolled my eyes and gave up. Usually I was a good dancer. No, not good. Great. And usually I had someone tiptoeing around me within the first ten minutes on the dance floor trying to get my attention. Tonight I looked stupid. Just plain stupid, like someone who doesn’t get out much. I knew the problem. I was wound up like a top, terrified of spinning out of control because I was trying to be braver than I actually was. I put the sole responsibility of taking care of strangers on my shoulders, and the party was so packed I feared I wouldn’t even find them until it was too late.

  “I’m going to do some rounds,” I said. “See if I can spot Melanie and Taylor.”

  Gretchen became serious like she suddenly remembered why we were here.

  “You worry about Melanie,” she said. “I’ve got Taylor.”

  We made a plan before we arrived. I showed Gretchen Taylor’s picture from last year, made her study it, commit every detail to memory so she could track her at the party. I did the same with Melanie. The goal was to intervene in any activity we thought looked sketchy. Taylor was a player on Aaron’s team, and I wasn’t sure about him yet. Melanie was one of Tim’s drafts, and I knew he was trouble. If he had the opportunity to take advantage of her tonight, he would.

  Cal arrived with our bottled waters before we started. He wanted to talk to me some more, and suddenly I realized he planned to stay close to me all evening. Gretchen slunk away to start investigating, and I felt helpless, trapped.

  “So, are you liking Charity Run?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I replied.

  “I noticed you’re not involved in any sports,” Cal said. “Amazing considering you have a nice figure.”

  And we’re back to idiocy.

  “Thanks, I guess,” I replied.

  “Any reason why you don’t do sports?”

  What was up with the weird questions?

  “Just not really sporty, I guess. I mean, I try to work out some,” I said, scanning the crowd for Melanie.

  “Well, you should definitely do active things,” Cal said. “If you want to keep that body.”

  I ignored him as I continued searching the room.

  “Looking for someone?” Cal asked.

  “No, just people-watching.”

  He took another swig of his Heineken.

  “So, I thought I’d invite you to a swim meet,” Cal said.

  “Why?”

  He looked at me funny.

  “I mean, when?” I laughed. “Did I just say why? I meant when. Good grief, my brain is mush. When is your swim meet? I’d love to go.”

  Bad recovery, but hopefully it would work.

  “Well, not ‘til the spring actually,” Cal replied.

  “Thought you’d seal the deal early?” I asked lightly.

  He grinned. “Yeah, I guess. We’ve gotta practice in the off-season, you know.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “And we’re practicing Friday afternoon. Care to swing by and take a couple of shots for the yearbook?”

  This was interesting. Ryan and I weren’t officially dating, but we talked at school all the time. Sure, we didn’t touch each other—we weren’t into the whole PDA thing—but it was obvious we were interested in each other. And Cal didn’t care. He caught me in the hallway on more than one occasion chatting it up with Ryan, and he simply didn’t care. I would venture to say he was more interested in me because of it. And a week or two ago, I would have reve
led in that realization, welcomed the opportunity to trap the son-of-a-bitch. But I was changing. I wasn’t sure I liked that plan anymore.

  Once I accidentally told Terry, everything shifted. He was a reflection staring back at me, mouth agape in disbelief and disgust, and I saw for the first time how messed up I was. How the guilt had twisted me into a monster and a victim. I wanted something better for myself now. I still wanted justice for Beth, but I didn’t think I could make myself a sexual sacrifice anymore. The fact that Cal was still interested in me, though, made me doubt my decision.

  “Uh . . . sure, I guess.”

  Cal looked pleased. I imagined he had plans to show me just how ripped and awesome he was. “Okay. Practice starts at 3:45. So—”

  “Dude, Collin’s got the game set up.” It was Hunter who interrupted us, and thank God. I had things to do.

  “Interested in beer pong?” Cal asked.

  I held up my water and shook it.

  “Oh that’s right. DD. Mind if I split for awhile? I’ll come see you later,” he said.

  “Go. Have fun,” I replied, and started meandering through the crowd.

  Gretchen grabbed my arm in the upstairs hallway.

  “Taylor’s not here,” she said.

  “How do you know?”

  “I asked.”

  “Oh.” Asking never occurred to me. “Who told you?”

  “Her friend, Carrie. She got sick last night. Food poisoning. So bad she actually had to go to the hospital.”

  “Well, I’m sure Aaron’s disappointed,” I said.

  “Yeah, poor Aaron,” Gretchen replied. “Dickhead.”

  “I just got away from Cal,” I said.

  “Okay. Not good.” Gretchen grew worried. “This party’s been going on since nine.”

  I pulled out my cell phone. Eleven-thirty. How was it already eleven-thirty?

  “It’s time to open some doors,” I said, and Gretchen nodded.

  We made our way down the hallway—the longest hallway in the world, with about a hundred doors.

  I heard muffled talk through the sixth door I came upon and pushed it open.

  “Get the hell out!” Tim yelled, lying on top of a girl I suspected was Melanie.

  “Oh my God! I’m so sorry! I thought this was the bathroom,” I lied, trying to get a better look. She was awake but not altogether lucid. “Melanie?”

  She turned her face in my direction, eyes out of focus, and grinned.

  “That’s my name!” she squealed.

  “Melanie, I’ve been looking all over God’s green earth for you!” I said, walking towards the pair. Gretchen followed me in. Tim looked irate.

  “I thought I told you to leave,” he snapped.

  “Will you get off of her, please?” I asked pleasantly. “Her father is pissed off ready to come over here with a loaded shotgun. She wasn’t supposed to come here tonight. Now either get off of her and let me take her home, or get your balls blown off a little later when Mel’s dad gets here. Your choice.”

  Tim slunk off his obviously drugged date and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “What’s wrong with her?” I asked, trying to pull Melanie up in a sitting position.

  “Nothing,” Tim mumbled.

  “Melanie? How much did you have to drink?” I asked.

  She smiled stupidly. “My name’s Melanie.”

  “I know,” I replied. “Now put your arm around my neck. We’re gonna help you out of here.”

  “Where am I?” she asked, flopping her arm over my shoulder.

  “A very bad place,” I said, and shot Tim a nasty look.

  “What the fuck?” he asked.

  I wasn’t planning on saying anything to him, but I couldn’t hold my tongue.

  “She’s obviously drunk or whatever. Why were you on top of her?”

  “Fuck you. Like you’ve never made out drunk?” he asked. He was defensive, jaw clenched, ready to do damage. I knew it was time to leave.

  “Come on, Melanie,” I said, and Gretchen helped me walk her out of the bedroom.

  We made it all the way to my car before the shaking started. Gretchen saw and took the car keys.

  “I’ll drive,” she said.

  I sat in the back with Melanie trying to comfort her, but I was a mess myself. Total fear. I’d never felt it before. I realized I was functioning on pure adrenaline the entire time I helped Melanie out of the house, and now it was gone, leaving panic and dread in its wake.

  “You’re okay, Brooke,” Gretchen said in the rearview mirror. “Keep it together, and tell me where Melanie lives. Do not faint on me.”

  I had come prepared. I recorded Melanie’s and Taylor’s addresses on my cell phone in case I needed to take them home and they were too drunk or drugged out to tell me where they lived. I didn’t actually think it would come to this. What if I had gone to the wrong room? What if I had burst in too late? What if the door was locked?

  My body shuddered violently.

  “Brooke! You are fine,” Gretchen said. “Breathe in and tell me the address.”

  Right. The address. I was clumsy pulling out my cell phone, and I punched about ten wrong buttons before pulling up my notes.

  “Twenty-six fifty West Moreland Avenue,” I said.

  “Of course I have no idea where the hell that is,” Gretchen mumbled, and pulled over. She punched the address in her GPS then pulled back out onto the road.

  Melanie’s house wasn’t far away, but it gave me enough time to compose myself and get the shaking under control. Both Gretchen and I walked her to the front door and rang the bell.

  Melanie’s mother answered, gasping when she took stock of her daughter.

  “Mommy!” Melanie said. “I love you so much, Mommy!”

  “What is this?” Melanie’s mom whispered.

  “Mrs. uh . . .”

  “Graham,” she said, moving aside to let us in.

  “Mrs. G, we were at the same party as your daughter,” Gretchen said. “We don’t know Melanie, but we saw that she was pretty wasted and thought we better take her home.”

  “Oh my God,” Mrs. Graham said. “Oh my God.” And then Mrs. Graham lost it completely, bursting into a fit of tears while Gretchen and I stared at one another.

  “Okay,” I said. “First thing is getting Melanie some water and food. Go see what’s in the kitchen.”

  Gretchen nodded. We sat Melanie on the couch, and Gretchen disappeared.

  “Mrs. Graham, is your husband here?” I asked. Mrs. Graham was slumped in an armchair bawling uncontrollably.

  “Things like this don’t happen in our family!” she wailed.

  “Mrs. Graham, where’s your husband?”

  “We attend Mass every Sunday. Melanie is an honors student!”

  “Mrs. Graham! Where is Mr. Graham?” I demanded.

  “He’s on a business trip,” she cried.

  “Of course he is,” I muttered. I now felt responsible for taking care of a drugged-out daughter and her emotionally distraught mother.

  Gretchen—thank God for Gretchen!—made a sandwich for Melanie and a cup of tea for her mother. I wondered what the hell took her so long, but I was so happy for the tea as it appeared to settle Mrs. Graham’s nerves.

  “Girls, I’m sorry,” she said, hand shaking, rattling the teacup. I told her not to apologize but that we couldn’t stay all night. I was close to missing curfew, and Dad had already extended it tonight until 12:30 because he was delirious about his date. I couldn’t push it.

  Gretchen tried to feed Melanie, who was more interested in kissing the sandwich than eating it.

  “I love you, sandwich,” she said. “You’re my favorite sandwich.”

  “Melanie, do you know what you drank? What you took?” I asked.

  “I drank a cup of looooove,” she said. “Can I have more?”

  What? I was no drug expert, never caring to do anything myself. I smoked weed once but hated the stench of it. I didn’t really get high either. I jus
t sat like a fat toad on a log gobbling up any food that flew by me. I decided weed would do nothing but make me overweight and stupid, so I never touched it again. But Gretchen knew about drugs. She went through a stint of moderate drug use in tenth grade before she finally found better friends. Weed, acid, cocaine. You name it. She stayed away from meth, though. She understood all about the picking and didn’t want to ruin her pretty little face.

  “What’s she on?” I asked Gretchen. I didn’t care if her mother heard.

  “Ecstasy,” Gretchen replied. “She’s in love with everything. Total ecstasy, and a large amount, I think.”

  “Like, take-her-to-the-hospital amount?”

  Melanie promptly threw up all over the couch, and Mrs. Graham jumped from her chair.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Graham said. “Like, take-her-to-the-hospital amount.”

  All of a sudden she was in control. Mother mode. What the hell was in that tea? She took a deep breath and wiped her face.

  “Girls, I want you to follow behind me until we get there,” she said. “Then you can go home. I know it’s late. I just want to be sure I have some help just in case. If you need me to explain to your parents why you were late getting home, I will.”

  “No!” we said in unison.

  “It’ll be fine,” I said.

  I helped Mrs. Graham lift Melanie off the couch. She threw up all over the floor, and I panicked.

  “Does this happen with ecstasy?” I asked Gretchen.

  “I think that’s from the alcohol,” Gretchen said, opening the front door for us.

  Neither Gretchen nor I said a word as we followed Mrs. Graham to the ER. I was terrified. I never saw someone so drugged and drunk out of her mind. I felt naïve in that moment, and I was ashamed of it. I can’t explain why. There’s nothing wrong with being naïve. There’s nothing wrong with having abstained from drug use. Still, I felt helpless, having to rely on Gretchen for information. I wanted the information. I wanted control. I was lost without it.