Late to the Party

by Kelly Quindlen

  Were they relieved I wasn’t with them? Were they meeting new friends who were cool and outgoing? Were they sneaking off into dark corners for those make-out sessions they were so desperate for?

  Around midnight I decided to go to bed, but just as I got up to brush my teeth, my phone chimed with a text.

  Maritza Vargas: Are you up? I know I’m not your favorite right now but I drank too much and can’t drive home, can you come meet us and drive my car back to your house??

  I stared at the message for a while. Competing emotions jostled for attention inside me: hurt, resentment, even a bitter desire to say no. But then I imagined Maritza trying to drive them home after she’d been drinking, and I thought of what could happen to them, and that thought was unbearable to me.

  I pulled on my shoes and answered before I lost my nerve.

  Send me the address.

  4

  It was a humid night. The streetlamps were on, casting light onto the pavement below. I hurried along the sidewalk, checking the directions on my phone. The address Maritza had sent was just past the clubhouse, so I knew where to go until I reached that point. It was the same familiar path the three of us had walked a hundred times.

  I wasn’t nervous until I came upon the street where this guy lived. I didn’t know him, but the idea of anyone who was bold enough to throw a party in his parents’ house was intimidating to me. It was strange to realize that this guy made the same drive home from school that I made every day, that he grew up swimming in the same neighborhood pool as me, and yet his whole approach to life seemed to be vastly different from my own.

  My phone led me to the end of the street, where the cul-de-sac was. I walked slowly, making my way toward a long line of cars, cars that I knew must belong to people at the party. How did it feel to be one of those people? What was it like to lie to your parents about where you were going, and to pick up your friends along the way, and to hope—maybe even know—you’d hook up with someone cute once you got there?

  Just before I reached the first car, I passed a cluster of towering magnolia trees, their leaves whispering in the night. I hastened to move past them, gripping my phone tightly, still lost in my daydream about the party.

  Then I heard something. It was a boy’s voice, low and agitated.

  “We’ve been out here ten minutes already—”

  Another boy’s voice, even lower than the first one, broke in. “It’s fine, they won’t notice we’re gone—”

  “Dude, you always say that, but we’ve had more than one close call already—”

  The voices were coming from the trees. I stood frozen on the sidewalk, my heart hammering in my chest, listening without meaning to.

  “I’m going back,” the first voice said. “I’ll catch you later.”

  And then, before I could move, his dark shape emerged from the trees.

  I was about to say something, to make my presence known so I wouldn’t alarm him, when—

  “Wait,” said the other boy, darting out to catch up with the first. I saw the outline of his arm reaching for the first boy’s, trying to hold on to him, and a moment later their bodies were fused together, mere feet from me, and I heard sounds I’d only heard in movies.

  The only thought in my head was kissing. These two guys were kissing. And I was standing there, paralyzed in the dark, witnessing it.

  “Okay, okay,” the first boy said, his voice softer now. He took a breath and pulled away. “Enough for now.”

  And then he turned, and he took a rough step forward, and he saw me.

  My mouth was open, ready to explain, but—

  “Who is that?!” he yelled, jumping back.

  The second boy, the one who had darted after the first, hurried forward. For an infinite second, he was silent and still, hovering over me. Then he shone his phone flashlight right into my face.

  I threw my arms up, trying to block out the glaring white light, but it was everywhere.

  “Who are you?” the second boy asked, his voice harsh on my ears.

  I felt a strangling panic in my chest. My mind wasn’t working properly. Neither was my voice.

  “I said, Who are you?” the second boy repeated. “What are you doing here?”

  “Sorry,” I managed, my heart thudding painfully, my hands over my face. “I was just—I was—I was walking.”

  “You were walking?”

  “Yeah,” I breathed. “To the end of the street.”

  “Why?”

  “My friends are at a party down there. They’re drunk and need me to drive them home. I walked here from my house.”

  “Your house?”

  “I live in the back of this neighborhood.”

  There was silence, but then: “Whose party are they at?”

  “I don’t know, some guy from Buchanan, I can’t remember his name.”

  The boy went quiet. A beat passed. My heart was still drilling against my ribs.

  “Could you—” I began, trying to sound confident. “Could you turn off that light?”

  There was silence for a long beat, and then the light went off. I lowered my hands and blinked into the darkness, but all I could see were white spots.

  “Goddamnit,” whispered the first boy. He was breathing shallowly. “I told you something like this would happen.”

  “Don’t worry,” said the second boy. “She’s not gonna say anything to anybody, are you? You probably can’t even see us, right?”

  “No, I can’t,” I said quickly.

  “I’m going back,” the first boy said. “Don’t let her follow me.”

  “Wait,” said the second boy. “Wait, dude, come on!”

  My eyes readjusted to the darkness. I could see the first boy running off, fading into the night, and the second boy watching him go. Then the second boy turned back to me. We stared at each other through the darkness. The silence between us was pressing.

  “I’m sorry,” I said finally. “I didn’t mean to walk up on you.”

  He ignored me and walked back to the trees. I could just see his outline, tall and broad in the dark. He stood absolutely still, and then, without warning, he rammed his hand against a tree.

  My pulse quickened in alarm. This guy was a stranger, and he was clearly unstable. I took a hasty step back, but then—

  He was whimpering. I could hear it from where I stood on the sidewalk. He slumped against the tree, cradling his injured hand.

  I froze for the second time, torn between two instincts.

  The night was loud in my ears. The streetlamp ahead was bright and beckoning. Behind me, the guy was drawing pained, ragged breaths.

  I walked back to him.

  He was shaking his hand in the air, cursing under his breath. I hovered next to him, poised to run in case he got violent again.

  “I’m fine,” he grumbled, without looking at me. “Go find your friends.”

  He sounded lonely, dejected, almost like he’d expected to end up in this very spot. He was still breathing hard, flexing his hand gingerly. I stepped closer and grabbed his wrist.

  “Stop moving,” I said.

  He stilled. I held his hand and shone my own phone light now. His palm was torn open and covered in blood, but the back of his hand and his knuckles were fine.

  “You didn’t punch it?” I asked. “You just hit it?”

  “I knew not to punch it,” he snarked. “Not a fan of broken knuckles.”

  “But you’re a fan of broken skin?” I asked, unable to help myself.

  He yanked his hand away. I lowered my phone, and we stood facing each other beneath the tree.

  “Who are you?” he said.

  It was the third time he’d asked, but his tone was softer now.

  I blinked at him. I was still nervous, but I knew it was only fair to tell him, especially now that I’d witnessed such a vulnerable moment.

  “I’m Codi. Teller.”

  “Codi Teller,” he repeated, like he was testing it out. “And you go to Buc
hanan?”

  “Yeah, I’m a junior—I mean, rising senior. Who are you?”

  It took him a few seconds to answer. “Ricky Flint,” he said at last. “I’m the guy whose party you’re trying to get to.”

  For a second I couldn’t think at all. This whole incident already felt surreal, and now it was almost comically absurd. I couldn’t believe the boy whose party I’d been thinking about all day, the boy I’d imagined to be the very essence of a Teenager, popular and cool and inherently straight, was out here hiding in the trees after kissing another boy.

  “Are you gonna tell anyone?” he asked.

  I could tell he was trying to keep his voice steady, but there was the faintest crack in it.

  “It doesn’t matter to me,” he went on, “but it—it matters to him.”

  It was unexpected, the way he said it. It wasn’t in a guilt-tripping kind of way; it was more like he was acknowledging me as an equal, like he knew I had witnessed this private, delicate thing that I could use against him and the other boy if I wanted to, and he was laying it out there, giving me the choice.

  “No,” I said, looking over at him. “I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

  He stared at me for a long moment.

  “Really, I promise.” I hesitated, feeling my way into the words that followed. “I mean, I get it. If I was the one having a party—which, just, wouldn’t happen, but if it did—I’d be out here, too, trying to kiss a girl.”

  He didn’t react at first. Then he asked, in an uncertain voice, “A girl?”

  “I like girls,” I said, with a confidence I didn’t feel.

  Until that moment, I didn’t appreciate how big of a deal it would be to tell someone other than Maritza and JaKory. I felt vulnerable and powerful in the same breath.

  “Oh,” he said finally. “Yeah. Cool.”

  I’d hoped for a grander reaction, but maybe he didn’t realize what it meant for me to share something like that with a stranger.

  “Um … that other guy…” I said. “Is he … your boyfriend?”

  “No,” he said, very definitively. “No, we’re just…”

  He lapsed into silence, shaking his head. I was burning with follow-up questions about the two of them, but I kept them to myself.

  “What are you gonna do about your hand?” I asked.

  “Oh,” he said, as if suddenly remembering it. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve been hurt worse in football.”

  Football. This was the kind of guy who was engaged in extracurricular life, who was known for doing big things, who probably had a ton of friends even if I couldn’t imagine it right now.

  “I’m gonna get something to clean this up,” he said, turning away from the trees. “Um. Are you still coming to my party?”

  “Oh, right, yeah,” I said, following after him.

  It was an abrupt change from the moment we had just shared by the trees. All of a sudden we were walking down the sidewalk together as if it was something we did every day, like two friends walking to our next class. I felt that jarring sense of intimacy that comes with walking in step with someone you don’t know; I was almost bizarrely aware of how my body moved, and how his moved next to mine.

  We passed several houses before we reached the heart of the cul-de-sac. The streetlamps were more concentrated here and I could better see what he looked like. He was a tall, muscular black boy with heavy-lidded eyes, and when he looked sideways at me, I could see he was handsome.

  “Why didn’t you come to the party earlier?” he asked. “With your friends?”

  “Oh. Um.” I wasn’t sure how to answer without revealing how uncool I was. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

  He nodded. “I get that. Parties can be hit-or-miss.”

  I looked at him. “Have you had parties before?”

  “Once or twice. My older sister got away with it tons of times, so I figured I’d carry on the legacy. I don’t like hosting all that much, but nothing else was going on, and my parents are out of town for the long weekend, so I thought it would be good to … you know…” He gestured awkwardly. “Have a chance to see people.”

  The way he said it, I wondered if “people” meant the boy he was with in the trees. We reached his driveway and stood together beside the mailbox looking up the small incline toward his house. The lights were on and the distant pulse of music drifted down to us. There was a sign in the front yard like the ones that every graduating senior in our neighborhood had on display—CONGRATULATIONS, RICKY! BUCHANAN HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATE—and next to that, a University of Georgia garden flag planted in the grass.

  “You’re going to UGA?” I asked, impressed. The University of Georgia was almost impossibly hard to get into; only the best students from our school were admitted. I was already dreading the application I’d have to complete in the fall.

  “Yeah,” Ricky said, as if it was no big deal, “been dying to go there since I was little.”

  “Wow.”

  He didn’t elaborate. He was looking down at his hand, still covered in blood.

  “Hey, Codi?” He hesitated, looking carefully at me. “Before you leave with your friends … could you do me a favor? Could you sneak in there and grab some antibiotic and bandages?”

  I stared at him. He couldn’t possibly have understood the enormity of what he was asking me—of how terrified I’d be to venture into a party by myself—but I didn’t know how to explain it to him.

  “I’d do it myself,” he said apologetically, “but I don’t want to deal with all the questions.”

  “I—I would,” I said, “but—but I don’t know anyone in there.”

  He looked at me for a long beat. I felt small and insignificant, doomed to be the same limited person I’d always been, the same person Maritza and JaKory seemed to believe I was.

  Ricky nodded like he realized he’d made a mistake. “Right, no worries, I get it. Um … it was nice to meet you.”

  He offered me his good hand. I stood still, not wanting to say goodbye to him, not wanting to say goodbye to the version of me he’d met by the trees.

  My youth is infinite but my fears are intimate.

  The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and hoping for a different result.

  This was my chance to make a different choice, even if—especially if—it scared me.

  “Actually…” I said, looking up at him. “Where do you keep your first aid kit?”

  * * *

  The music was loud; that was the first thing I noticed. The second was the sheer number of people filling the house. Most of them were concentrated back in the kitchen, at least as far as I could tell, but there were still kids clustered in the hallway and the foyer. Some of them were groups of people talking; others were guys and girls brazenly making out in front of everyone. I felt like I was watching the kids in the pool again—except this time I was in the water with them, and I didn’t know how to swim.

  My heart was hammering and my hands were sweaty. The staircase was on the opposite wall, and I moved in that direction, focusing on nothing but the picture frames hanging above it. I had to excuse myself past a crowd of girls who were huddled together, laughing and yelling in high-pitched voices, but none of them seemed to notice me. I was just about to reach the bottom step when someone grabbed me from behind.

  “Heyyyyy! You made it!”

  Maritza was squeezing me too hard, talking too loudly in my ear. Then JaKory was hanging all over me, yelling, “This party’s amazing, Codi! I feel gregarious! I feel fun!”

  I’d never seen my friends drunk before. Maritza’s eyes were heavy and unfocused; JaKory’s grin was wide and worry-free. They seemed slightly drunker than everyone around them, but no one seemed to notice.

  “I can’t believe you came inside!” Maritza beamed. “Let’s get you a drink!”

  “No, that’s okay—” I tried to say, but they dragged me through the foyer and into the kitchen, where the music was loudest and where the air wa
s hot and swampy from all the people gathered together. Before I could refuse, Maritza pushed a beer into my hand.

  “There are so many attractive people here,” she whispered. Her breath smelled like straight alcohol. “Hot guys and hot girls, but I don’t know how to talk to any of them!”

  “She got shot down,” JaKory said, hanging off my shoulder. “It was so heartbreaking, Codi, I could feel it in my chest.”

  “JaKory thinks that short white guy is hot, but he won’t go anywhere near him!”

  “I can’t be a failure,” JaKory whispered, wobbling where he stood. “Am I a coward, Codi? Tell me I’m not a coward.”

  “Are you driving us home, Codi? I’m sorry we got drunk, I didn’t mean to, but I was nervous, and I’m sorry I was an asshole, but you can’t forget that we’re best friends and I love you to the moon, okay?”

  I looked into their hazy eyes. The hurt I felt from earlier was still fresh in my chest, but I didn’t have time to deal with it right now. I needed to get back to Ricky. “Look, guys, I have to use the bathroom, okay? Wait here and I’ll be right back.”

  I handed them my untouched beer and pushed my way through all the hot, sweaty bodies until I was back at the staircase again. I hurried up it, praying no one would be at the top.

  “Hey!” someone yelled from below. “Upstairs is off-limits! Ricky’s rules!”

  I could feel my neck burning, my heart pounding harder, but all I did was glance back for the quickest second, mouth Bathroom, and hope the guy wouldn’t yell at me again.

  I found the bathroom easily. It took all of two seconds to locate the antibiotic ointment and bandages inside the medicine cabinet and another few seconds to wet a hand towel from the closet, and then I was faced with going back downstairs. I took a deep, calming breath and pushed myself to leave before I could think twice about it.

  No one said anything as I came rushing down the stairs, but right before I reached the front door I had to stop. A girl I vaguely recognized was trying to take a picture of some other girls, and I had almost walked right into it.

  “Oh, sorry—” I said.