The whole way to UConn, Mackenzie’s been talking a mile a minute, mostly about Lance and some girl he’s been talking to on Facebook. Apparently she found out about it by following some kind of photo tag trail. And now she has (of course) decided that Lance is a complete and total shit. She got Max on her side early. She’d say something like “And I think he’s even been texting her on the side!” and Max would gasp and be all sympathetic. I feel like bringing up the fact that Max is just as much of a jerk as Lance, but that’s something I don’t really want to get into, much less in front of Mackenzie. Still. Talk about being a hypocrite.
“Don’t you, Shannon?” Mackenzie presses as she turns the car onto a side road.
“Don’t I what?” I ask warily.
“Love Big Gulps!” Mackenzie says like she can’t believe I haven’t been listening.
“I do love Big Gulps,” I lie, because, you know, it’s just easier that way.
We’re pulling onto the UConn campus now, and Mackenzie is studying her GPS and looking at the houses, trying to find the best place to park. From the backseat, Max reaches out and tugs on my hair. I turn around, and he smiles at me. Oh. My. God. Max is pulling my hair! And smiling at me! It’s almost enough to make up for the fact that I’m pretty positive that nothing good can come of this trip. But it also sets off a bunch of alarms in my head. Does Max think we’re friends again? Do I want to be friends with Max again? Do I still like Max?
“Here we are,” Mackenzie says, pulling over and sliding into a spot behind a Toyota Corolla with a Go Huskies bumper sticker. She pulls the rearview mirror down and checks her teeth for lipstick. “This,” she declares, “is going to be crazy.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Totally crazy.” I get out of the car reluctantly. “You know,” I say, “it’s not too late to change your mind about all this. I mean, Lance seems very trustworthy when it comes right down to it, doesn’t he, Max?”
“Not really,” Max says, getting out of the car and slamming his door. “I mean, didn’t you hear what she said about how he used to turn his phone off late at night so that she couldn’t get in touch with him? That doesn’t sound too trustworthy to me.”
Sigh.
“Yes,” I say. “But that was before he got her those earrings from Tiffany, wasn’t it, Mackenzie?” She’s walking up the sidewalk now, toward the loud noise of the party, which we can hear coming from a couple of houses away.
“No,” Mackenzie says. “That was not before he gave me those earrings from Tiffany.” She sighs. “Geez, Shannon, weren’t you even listening to the story?”
Not really. I mean, who could keep up with it? It was way too much information, and she kept going on and on and on and … oops. I’m walking a little too fast and I accidentally step on the backs of Mackenzie’s shoes. “Sorry,” I say. But she just waves me off and keeps walking. Wow. She’s really on a mission. I’m actually a little bit scared of her.
My phone vibrates in my bag, and I flip it open. One new text.
“You up for playing again tomorrow, Shannon Card?” it says. Maybe I should sic Mackenzie on Cole. I flip my phone shut and slide it back into my bag, because I really can’t deal with that right now, what with trying to keep up with everything that’s going on here. Although prioritizing Mackenzie’s drama with Lance and my own drama with Max over possible illegal gambling dealings is probably not such a good idea.
We all troop up to the front of the house where the party’s being held, and Mackenzie opens the door and walks right in. She makes her way through the sea of people hanging out on the staircase, sitting on couches in the living room, and playing beer pong in the kitchen. The air is thick with the smells of sweat and alcohol, and I follow Mackenzie, mostly because I don’t know what else to do.
We do a lap around the house and finally end up on the back deck, where it’s a little cooler and a lot less crowded.
“Did you see him?” Mackenzie asks anxiously. She stands up on her tiptoes and attempts to look through the double doors that lead back into the house. I don’t know what she’s looking for. All you can see is a bunch of shadows; it’s too dim in there and we’re too far away to be able to pick anyone out.
“Uh, no,” I say truthfully. “I didn’t see him.” Which doesn’t mean he’s not here. It just means that I didn’t see him. But I’m hoping Mackenzie will think he’s not at the party and we can get the hell out of here.
“Did you see him?” she asks Max.
“I don’t know what he looks like,” Max says.
Mackenzie sighs, reaches into her bag, and pulls out her cell phone. She scrolls through her pictures and then shoves the screen in Max’s face. “He looks like this,” she says.
“Then, no, I haven’t seen him,” Max says seriously. I bite my lip and try not to laugh.
“Have you seen her?” Mackenzie asks, shoving the phone back at Max.
“Who’s that?” Max asks, staring at the screen a little more closely.
“That,” Mackenzie says, “is Ashley King, the skank who is after my boyfriend.”
“You found out her name?” I ask in disbelief.
“You’re damn right I did,” Mackenzie says. She slides her phone back into her purse.
“How’d you do that?” I ask.
“Ashley King?” Max repeats. “She sounds like a porn star.”
“She does sound like a porn star,” Mackenzie says. She seems to like this. “A skanky porn star. And it wasn’t that hard to figure out her name, Shannon, she was tagged in all the Facebook pictures.” She pulls up the red tube top she’s wearing, and her boobs threaten to spill out.
“Now you two stay here,” she commands, “and I’ll be right back.”
She disappears into the house, leaving me and Max alone on the deck.
“So,” I say to him once Mackenzie has cleared the area, “is this better than doing math problems?” Great. Real smooth. Realll great opening line, Shannon. Not that I’m trying to hit on him or anything. Because Max and I are just friends. Maybe not even friends. Maybe just ex-friends. Maybe just teacher and student. In fact, we’re not even really hanging out—he just happened to get dragged along on this crazy errand with me. And then I realize I must be a pretty horrible tutor. Taking my student out to a house party instead of tutoring him? Wellesley would definitely not approve of this.
“Much better than doing math,” Max says. He sits down on one of the swinging wicker couches that are littering the deck, and then pats the seat next to him. I sit down, sinking into the scratchy turquoise cushion, and try to keep from obsessing about how close we’re sitting.
“Where’s Parvati tonight?” I ask. I can’t resist. It’s like I have to get the dig in.
“She went away for part of the weekend,” he says. “With her family.”
“Oh,” I say. “Fun.” We can hear the faint sound of music and the voices of people talking and laughing through the sliding glass doors. We just sit there for a little while, not saying anything, and every so often Max pushes his feet off the deck and we swing back and forth lazily. Now that we’re not talking about math, I’m not sure what else to bring up. School? Lame. His job? Lame. That I’m secretly still in love with him and I don’t know what happened to us and I miss him so much? Lame, lame, lame.
“You want a drink?” Max finally asks.
“Sure,” I say, mostly because I’m desperate to do something. He disappears into the house and returns a minute later, holding two bottles of beer.
“Thanks,” I say. My throat is suddenly super-dry, and I take a big gulp of the liquid, letting it run down my throat. I usually don’t like beer, but I must be really thirsty, because this one tastes good, and I have to resist the urge to gulp it down. The last thing I need is to end up drunk. Not a good idea for a few reasons, not the least of which is that someone needs to keep an eye on Mackenzie.
“So do you think she’s going to find him?” Max asks.
“Lance? I don’t know.”
Max lea
ns all the way back and rests his head on the back of the swing. “What do you think she’ll do?” he asks. “If she does find him, I mean?”
“I’m not sure,” I say. “Probably something illegal.”
His phone goes off then, and he reaches into his pocket, looks at the screen, and then slides it back in without answering. Was it Parvati? I take another sip of beer and tell myself I don’t care.
“So tell me more about the casino,” Max says. He turns toward me on the swing, and I lean back and turn toward him, too. I take another sip of my beer and close my eyes, letting the warm breeze wash over my skin.
“Nothing to tell,” I say, shrugging. “I need the money for school.”
“And you couldn’t get a job waitressing at a restaurant, like a normal person?”
“It wouldn’t be enough,” I say. “Wellesley, remember? It’s pretty expensive. Even with some loans and stuff, I’m going to have to make up the difference. And I got in early decision, so I don’t really have a choice.” My pointing out that he should remember where I want to go to school is the first time I’ve even remotely hinted at the fact that we used to be friends, that we used to know things about each other’s lives. If he notices that, he doesn’t react.
“The math award isn’t going to be enough to cover it?”
“It’s only five thousand dollars,” I say. I’m suddenly very aware that we’re alone out here. I mean, there are hundreds of people in the house, but out here? WE ARE ALL ALONE. ALONE. With no one around. It reminds me of the last time we were together, in the same situation, alone at a party and … I take another drink and push that night out of my thoughts.
“Sucks,” Max says. “But it’s okay, because you’re going to be fine. You’re going to go on to college, and then become some crazy-famous writer, and you’ll make tons of money, and you’ll look back on your time working at the casino and laugh about it.”
“I will?”
“Totally.”
“And will I use it in a book?” I ask him.
“Totally,” he says again, smiling, and for a second, I think he’s going to say something else. He looks almost wistful, but then his smile changes just a little and all he says is “You’ll totally use it in a book.”
We sit on the swing for the next forty-five minutes, catching up and talking about everything. School, our families, college. Everything except us and what happened over the summer and how we stopped being friends. I end up drinking two and a half beers, and I’m starting to feel all woozy and good, and that’s probably one of the reasons I finally say, “So, what’s the deal with you and Parvati?”
“What do you mean?” Max asks.
“Are you going to marry her?” I try to make my voice sound light, like I’m joking around, but Max frowns. He’s wearing a navy blue sweater and I think about what it would be like to lay my head on his shoulder and bury my face in the softness of it.
“I’m only seventeen,” he says.
“Almost eighteen,” I remind him.
“Still,” he says. “Way too young to get married. But don’t tell Parvati that. She’s been planning her wedding since she was five.”
“Since she was five?” An image of a five-year-old Parvati collecting cutouts of wedding dresses with matching accessories passes through my head, and it’s quite disturbing.
“Yeah.” He takes another sip of his beer. “Don’t all girls do that?”
Something about his lumping me into the same category as Parvati bothers me.
“I don’t,” I say, and it comes out more harshly than I intended.
“Well, you’re different,” he says. And there’s something about the way he says it and the beer and the being outside alone and the breeze and the moon, and he’s so close to me and I think about that night and wonder what would have happened if I’d called him after, if I’d done something, if I’d confronted him and told him how I felt, if maybe things would be different, and before I know it, I’m moving toward him and then we’re really, really close and his lips are right there, and before I can stop it, I’m brushing my lips against his.
He looks shocked for a second, and his eyes widen, but then he brushes his lips against mine. I pull back, but then we’re together again, kissing each other. I. Am. Kissing. Max. Heller. His lips are soft and perfectly moist, and his face is smooth against mine, and all of it is familiar and good and amazing, and the kiss goes on for what seems like maybe forever and at the same time maybe just a fraction of a second. Then he pulls away.
“Shannon,” he says, and I know from the way he says my name that whatever he’s about to say can’t be good.
“I—” I start to say something about the alcohol messing with my head and, ohmigod, wasn’t that funny and let’s not tell anyone, hahahaha, but I’m still off balance from the kiss and the beer, and it’s taking me a second to find the words.
And then Mackenzie comes flying out of the house before I can say anything, her eyes wild and her blond hair a mess. “We have to get out of here,” she says.
Max jumps up from the swing like he’s on fire. Or like the swing’s on fire. Or like I’m on fire. The point is he really wants to get away from me. “What happened?” he asks.
“Lots of things,” I feel like saying but don’t.
“They’re here,” Mackenzie says. She walks down the stairs of the deck and steps into the backyard, her heels sinking into the grass. “Lance and Ashley King.” She says the name Ashley King the way you’d say “Angelina Jolie” or something, like she’s just that famous. “And, uh, I kind of made a scene.”
“What do you mean, you made a scene?” I ask, trying to keep up with her. Max is behind me, doing the same thing.
“Well, it wasn’t a scene exactly,” she says defensively. “It was really what any normal person would do when they found their boyfriend with another girl at a party.”
“Like what?” Max asks. We’ve reached the front yard now, and Mackenzie looks up at the house nervously.
“Uh, we better hurry,” she says. She reaches down and slips the straps of her shoes over her heels, then slides them off and into the huge purse she’s holding. And then she starts to run. Max and I look at each other and then take off after her. But my shoes are still on, and even though they’re not heels, like Mackenzie’s, they’re not exactly sneakers, either. So I slip and almost fall, but Max grabs me from behind.
“Thanks,” I say, but I’m already taking his hands off my body. I don’t need him to do me any favors, thank you very much. Whoa. I’m a little tipsy from the beers and the running, and I almost fall again, but this time I right myself immediately.
“Why are we running?” Max asks.
“Because,” Mackenzie says. “I told you, I kind of made a scene.”
We’re at the car now, thank God, and I’m a little steadier on my feet. But not much.
“What did you do?” I ask, not sure I want to know. Although if she did something really bad, maybe it will make me feel better about kissing Max.
“I might have punched someone,” Mackenzie says. She pushes the button on her key chain, and the car beeps as the automatic locks unlock.
We all climb in.
“You might have what?” I ask as I hold the passenger seat forward so that Max can climb into the backseat. I try to give him a smirk as he passes, one of those “That’s right, buddy, you’re in the backseat” kind of expressions, but he’s not even looking at me.
“Oh, relax,” Mackenzie says as she puts her seat belt on. “It was barely even anything. In fact, it was more of a graze.”
“Oh, God,” I moan, leaning my head back against the seat. “Why did you do that?”
“Because,” Mackenzie says, pulling onto the highway. I hope she’s not going to get all worked up and start driving all crazy. Her Big Gulp–induced caffeine high was way better than this. Thank goodness she hasn’t been drinking. At least, I don’t think she has.
“Have you been drinking?” I ask.
/> “When would I have had time to have a drink?” she asks. “I’ve been running around all night, trying to catch my boyfriend in an act of infidelity! Besides, I couldn’t do what I did with my faculties compromised.” She grips the steering wheel tightly and looks at me closely. “Why, have you?”
“Have I what?”
“Been drinking.”
“A little,” I admit.
“Oh, great,” she says. “I’m having a huge personal crisis, and you’re out getting drunk.”
“She’s not drunk,” Max pipes up from the backseat.
“How do you know?” I ask. How annoying. That he thinks he knows if I’m drunk. I mean, obviously I must be. I would never have kissed him if I wasn’t obviously out of my mind, drunk and crazed.
“You only had two beers,” he says.
“Two and a half,” I say. “And they were bottles. And I’m a lightweight. I’m definitely drunk. In fact, I’ve never been this drunk!” It’s not true, but as I say it, I almost start to believe it. My head definitely feels all wobbly, and my heart is beating fast, and my face feels flushed.
“Well, that’s just fabulous,” Mackenzie says, sounding annoyed. “You’d better not get sick in my car.”
“I won’t,” I say. “If you want to worry about anyone getting sick, you should worry about Max back there.”
This doesn’t really make sense, but Max gets the message. The message being, you know, to shut up. And Mackenzie must get it, too, because everyone is quiet the rest of the ride back. Mackenzie drops me off first, since Max lives closer to her.
“Bye,” I say, slamming the car door and running up the sidewalk, because that’s the only thing left to do.