How did I answer?
Oh. By answering the question, yes, good, quite.
Me:
Jane and I were planning to go to a party at Kaitlyn Phan’s house. You?
I watched intently as the three dots danced on my screen, willing them to resolve into words, desperate as a seer trying to interpret signals before a mercurial king.
Noah:
Same
What kind of response wassame?
Meet you there?
Meet you therewas not the same asLet’s go together,asBe my girlfriend, let’s go steady, wear my letterman jacket(why did all my examples of dating and romance come from 1950s musicals?). But it did imply we’d see each other. Tomorrow.
And for now, that would be enough.
Twenty-Two
Kaitlyn Phan’s house stood on the brink of a cliff. (Maybe if you have a lot of houses you don’t mind if one falls into the sea?) Jane had sworn it would be okay if we showed up, even though neither of us knew Kaitlyn—apparently she threw amazing theme parties, and as long as you tangentially knew her crowd, you could get in. We arrived at 10:15, trailing glitter and nerves. We’d followed YouTube makeup tutorials with the precision of neurosurgeons, applying dramatic eyeshadow with white liquid liner on top, contouring with teal and pink, and painting our lips blue. We pulled fishnet stockings across our cheeks and temples, pressing cream eye shadow through them to create scales, and carefully applied sequins to our skin.
For costumes, we’d scrounged up metallic scaled leggings and crop tops from friends; Maggie had lent me a pink-and-green-and-blue wig she usually wore for Pride, and Jane twined green strips of fabric through her hair like seaweed.
“I feel like I’m in a teen movie,” I told Jane as we walked up the path. Thumping music radiated out from the house, while lights flashed through high-up windows. Luckily, there were no neighbors within earshot to complain. “No one has parties like this at home.”
I wished, suddenly and strongly, we’d arrived with Noah, so we’d feel like we belonged. He’d offered to swing by our place, but I’d told him not to bother—it would have been out of his way, and I’d had nointention of showing up at Golden Doors dressed like a mermaid.
Obviously, a stupid mistake on my part.
We opened Kaitlyn’s front door and stopped short. A curtain of flowers and seashells hung from the ceiling. Jane and I glanced at each other, then pushed through, into the foyer. Teal and aqua lights undulated throughout the two-story entrance, giving it an underwater effect. People were dressed like pirates and mermaids and sharks. Girls wore flowers crowns and boys wore spikey chokers I recognized from looking up theBlue Lagoonmovie. In the middle of the space, where one might expect a table with flowers, or a tree at Christmas, stood a giant ship.
“Oh my god.” I had to yell slightly to be heard. “This is crazy.”
“I’ve never seen anything so extra,” Jane said. We approached the ship, tilting our heads to consider it, an island of bemused silence in the midst of chaotic noise. Tiny sailor figurines were falling to their deaths. “I’m in love.”
“How do you think she got it through the door?”
“Maybe she had it built in here?”
Gelt-like gold coins lay scattered around the base of the ship, interspersed with plastic gems. “What a world. Where do you think her parents are?”
“Maybe they’re back in Boston for the work week?”
“And left Kaitlyn here? I don’t understand rich people.”
From the entryway, we let the—ahem—current carry us to the kitchen, where beer and wine covered the counter. I snagged a rosé can and popped the tab.
Who knew rosé could grow on you so much in one summer?
Jane knocked her Cisco IPA against my drink. “Chime chime.”
“Chime chime.”
We wandered through the house, oohing to each other as thedecorations shifted, from a grotto sure to be the scene of many hookups, to a desert island replete with real sand. (Who would be cleaning up later?)
