“Over at Nikki’s,” I say, turning my attention to the overflowing sack of makeup in front of me.
“Yeah. I heard some kids in history talking about it. Your boyfriend invited them.” His voice cracks with the wordboyfriend.
“Henry? He mentioned that.”
Jared looks down at his hands, and I wonder for a moment if I should stay home with him instead. We could put on pajamas and flop down on the couch with Mom’s extra-cozy blanket, reserved only for movie nights. He just started readingThe Catcher in the Ryefor Mr. Beaumont’s freshman English class and I really want to convince him Holden is a straight-up asshole before he starts to glorify the smug little guy.
“Can I ask you something?” Jared says.
“What’s up?”
“Can I come one time? To a party?”
“Why?” I ask. The question pops out before I can stop it and it sounds a little harsher than I meant it. But why would Jared want to come to a Player party? Most of his friends are in the school band with him. They spend Saturdays digging through stacks at the old comic book store downtown or rewatching NBA highlights on YouTube. It was a relief that he hadn’t shown interest in the parties, the desperate, hungry need to let go in the darkness, the urgency that we all felt to destroy something and prove ourselves. I wanted it to stay that way, to keep him safe. “I mean, why do you want to go?”
A stray curl falls down over his brow. “I don’t know. It sounds fun.”
“Maybe.”
“Really?”
“Sure.” I regret it immediately. I don’t ever want him to see a Player party. He doesn’t belong there. But Shaila did belong, more than any of us, and look how that ended.
His face lights up and when I stand, ready to go, he hugs me tight. He is now taller than me and his shoulders are bony where they were once soft. My baby brother is no longer a baby.
—
Henry walks in front of me, pushing us through the crowd like a bodyguard. A mix of Players and hopeful wannabes scatter as we pass, and a few cocky boys offer him half-hearted high fives or fist bumps. Over the summer, Henry told me Anderson Cooper was his hero because of the way he ingratiates himself with sources, gets them to trust him, and then goes in for thekill, pulling out the best, most shocking pieces of information. Now I wonder if that’s Henry’s strategy for dealing with high school and everyone here.
Deafening hip-hop streams through the stereo and Nikki’s house already reeks of sticky spilled beer and stale air. Red plastic cups cover the entire dining room table, just barely hiding the chip that Robert kicked into it last summer. Nikki’s parents never said anything, even though it’s made of crystal and was a gift from some famous Swiss artist. She’s not even sure they noticed.
Now Nikki is hard to miss. Suspended over a keg with her legs up in the air, she’s upside down, grasping the metal handles. Tyler Renford, a quiet kid on the golf team who’s been obsessed with Nikki for years, holds her feet and someone else shoves the spout into her mouth.
“Ni-kki! Ni-kki! Ni-kki!” the crowd shouts. She’d been a keg stand natural since freshman year. I guess she had a lot of practice, though. She had to do one at every single Player party for an entire semester. That was one of her recurring pops. I slip out of Henry’s grasp and find Marla at the kitchen counter, now covered in half-full bottles and plastic cups.
“Thank God,” she says when I hug her tight. “This place is overrun with undies. We needed backup. Drink?” she asks, holding up a handle of vodka. It looks deadly.
I nod and she splashes some into a red cup, topping it off with seltzer and pineapple juice.
“Bottoms up,” she says.
“To the final year.” I raise my eyebrows and she lets out her tiny, warm chuckle.
“At last.”
The first sip is sharp against my throat. Before I can decide otherwise, I gulp down half the cup. It won’t be long until the familiar feeling of electric warmth courses through my blood. I peer around the dark living room for Nikki, who’s now standing upright.
“Where’ve you been?” Nikki wraps me tight, resting her cheek against mine. She’s strapped stilettos to her feet so she has to stoop to be at eye level with me. “This vibe is nuts!” she shouts over the music. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs for a bit. Grab everyone.”
I catch Henry’s eye and motion toward the spiral staircase planted in the middle of the room. Marla points to it and mouths, “Up?” I nod and she grabs Quentin and Robert from the dining room, where they had been trying to organize a game of flip cup.
The six of us bound up the stairs, leaving the party to itself. Nikki throws open the door to her bedroom and we file in, just like we’ve done hundreds of times. At first it was weird to be down two whole people after nine months of nonstop hanging out. But slowly, we started to fill in the blanks. Nikki began speaking with Shaila’s unfiltered, dry sarcasm and when I got stressed, I tied my hair into a loose knot, just like Shay did when she was buried in a script during rehearsal. Marla even borrowed Shaila’s clomp-style walk that could be heard throughout the Gold Coast halls.
The boys took nothing from Graham. Not even Robert, who was his best friend. It was like we erased him completely.
Quentin takes a running leap toward Nikki’s California king bed and lands in the middle, ruining the neat duvet. Nikki turns on her disco ball, giving the room a perfect, cheesy feel.
“There are tons of people here,” Henry says as he plops down in the velvet purple armchair in the corner. I perch on his lap and he wraps his arms all the way around my waist, hugging me to his hard torso. “I saw the freshmen I invited on the back porch. Think they’re having fun?”
