“Your parents push you, you mean?”
“No. They’ve never really pushed me at all. But then, no brothers or sisters to compete with, so … I don’t know. I’ve always looked up to Dad—being a diplomat, the diplomatic license plate and all … the dinners, the parties—and Mom used to be a college administrator … Ph.D. When there’s just the three of you, you don’t want to be the only flunky.”
“Flunky! Patrick, you’re good at everything!”
“No way.”
“Name one thing you’re not good at.”
“Uh … let’s see.” I could tell by his voice that he was smiling. “Conversation?”
“You could talk the wind out of the whole debate team.”
“Clothes? Style?”
“No complaints there.”
“Well, let’s see. Kissing?”
“You could use more practice,” I said.
He cupped one hand under my chin, turned my face around, and we kissed, both of us smiling.
Then he backed away a little and looked down at me, and this time his face was serious. For several seconds he just studied me, like his eyes were conversing with mine. And then he leaned slowly toward me, kissed me lightly on the lips, and then he gave me a full, forceful kiss that almost sucked the breath out of me. After that he just held me close, my lips against his neck, and I drank in that wonderful, familiar Patrick scent.
We went back inside as other couples came out to get away from the music for a while. Teachers must hate prom duty. At the beginning of the evening they’re all smiles and compliments, joking around with us, telling us how great we look. But by eleven thirty or so, you can tell they’re waiting for that last slow dance of the evening, signaling that the end is in sight, so that they can get home and go to bed.
But for us, the night was still young. We were waiting for midnight too, and soon the restrooms were filled with girls exchanging their satin slip dresses and their lavender tulle for jeans and shorts and T’s.
We filed back out to the bus, our dresses thrown over our arms, our strappy heels, strapless bras, dangly earrings, and wrist corsages tucked away in our travel bags. When we reached the school gym, we piled out and got in line at the door for the post-prom party.
I’d never been to one before, but I’d heard kids talk about those parties as even more fun than the prom. And though all the work was done by parents—it was run by parents—it was definitely the place to go from one until six in the morning.
The parties change from year to year, but we walked into the school to find that the hallway had been transformed into a Wild West set, and we felt as though we were walking down an unpaved street, with saloons and bawdy houses and cigar stores and saddle shops on either side of us. From a hidden speaker, a honky-tonk piano played a ragtime tune, and there was laughter and raucous talk in the background.
“Wow!” said Patrick, handsome now in jeans and a T-shirt. We didn’t know what to try first, so we followed Ron and Melinda along a huge obstacle course that took us up close to the ceiling of the basketball court—through tunnels, across bridges, climbing over nets and going down slides.
When we came down to floor level again, Ron and Melinda went off to rock climb while Mario and Ana and Patrick and I went to the “casino” to play the roulette wheel, using fake money. I stopped and stared, because there at the next table, the blackjack table, was Mr. Long! Patrick’s dad! The redheaded man with graying hair and the trim mustache! The diplomat! Dealing blackjack! He pretended not to know us, but he was hiding a smile.
Patrick laughed.
“I knew they were helping out, but I didn’t know how,” he said.
“You mean your mom’s here too?” I asked, and then there she was. The slim, elegant woman—the Ph.D., the college administrator—in a Western shirt and jeans, pouring drinks (sparkling cider) at the saloon.
“Hi, Alice!” she called, and made a point of not acting like Patrick’s mom, for which I’m sure he was grateful.
We walked along “streets” lined with cowboy boots and cactus ornaments, our feet crunching on peanut shells, craning our necks to see what the crowd was watching at one end of the gym. Then we howled at the sight of Mario and another guy slipping into enormous padded sumo wrestling bodysuits and helmets covered with fake sumo-style hair. Outfitted with the mock fat of four-hundred-pound wrestlers, the two of them crashed their stuffed bellies into each other until one of them fell over.
Then we had to try the game where we were blindfolded one by one and ushered into a tent with see-through vinyl sides. There we tried to grab one-dollar bills and gift certificates that were swirling about in the air.
“Alice,” said Ana, grabbing my arm, “you gotta try this with me.” And with the guys looking on, she dragged me over to these crazy oversized toilet bowls that went whizzing around a track. I don’t know what they had to do with a Western theme, but like providing sumo wrestlers, parents try to squeeze in every possible gimmick they think would appeal to us. I gamely climbed on one, Ana on the other, and someone pressed the starter button.
With kids cheering us on, the motorized toilet bowls raced around in a circle, but at some point I fell in—no water, of course—and I couldn’t get out while the bowl was moving. With only my arms and legs dangling over the sides, the toilet bowl continued to whiz, with everyone shrieking and clapping. When they finally pulled me out, Patrick was laughing so hard, he was doubled over. Somebody even took a picture.
It was silly, it was meaningless, and it was about the most fun I’d ever had in my life. I couldn’t wait to tell my friends about it. Couldn’t wait to see Pamela’s face—relaxed, for a change—and hear her funny laugh.
But I especially wanted to tell them how Patrick looked riding the mechanical bull, thighs gripping the leather, and how—one hand clutching the cord, the other hand in the air—he held on for twenty-two seconds, beating the night’s record. Who would have thought?
Students weren’t allowed to come back to the party once they left, but there were places we could go when we needed a break. So about four o’clock, with country music playing, Patrick and I sat down on the floor at one end of the gym, our backs against a dune made of sandbags, and shared a Coke.
Patrick’s legs were sprawled out in front of him, and he leaned against my shoulder, one hand on my leg. I caressed his arm and nuzzled the top of his head.
“Patrick,” I asked, “when do you leave for the U?”
“Three weeks,” he murmured.
“Three weeks?” I said.
“Classes start in June,” he reminded me.
“I’m going to miss you,” I sighed. Somehow I thought we’d have more time.
“I’ll miss you,” he said.
“What, exactly?” I asked. “Tell me what you’ll miss the most. My sultry smile? My bedroom eyes? My legs? My backside? What?”
“Hmmm,” Patrick said sleepily. “You’ve got a great shoulder, you know.”
“Shoulder?”
“To lean on.”
I tipped back my head and smiled. I sort of liked that. I guess I did. And maybe it was enough.
“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe I do.”
What’s next for Alice McKinley and her friends?
Find out in Intensely Alice.
Wouldn’t it be great to go back to the time before Pamela got pregnant, before Patrick left for the University of Chicago, before anyone was making any big decisions about sex or college or life in general? Wouldn’t it be great to get the whole gang together again, just once? But what it takes for this to happen will change Alice and her friends forever. Full of life—the good, the bad, and the heartbreaking—Intensely Alice reminds readers just how much can change in an instant.
HAVE YOU READ ALL OF THE ALICE BOOKS?
* * *
PHYLLIS REYNOLDS NAYLOR
* * *
STARTING WITH ALICE
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-84395-X
&nbs
p; Aladdin Paperbacks
0-689-84396-8
ALICE IN BLUNDERLAND
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-84397-6
Aladdin Paperbacks
0-689-84398-4
LOVINGLY ALICE
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-84399-2
Aladdin Paperbacks
0-689-84400-X
THE AGONY OF ALICE
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-31143-5
Aladdin Paperbacks
0-689-81672-3
ALICE IN RAPTURE, SORT-OF
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-31466-3
Aladdin Paperbacks
0-689-81687-1
RELUCTANTLY ALICE
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-31681-X
Aladdin Paperbacks
0-689-81688-X
ALL BUT ALICE
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-31773-5
Aladdin Paperbacks
0-689-85044-1
ALICE IN APRIL
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-31805-7
Aladdin Paperbacks
0-689-81686-3
ALICE IN-BETWEEN
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-31890-0
Aladdin Paperbacks
0-689-81685-5
ALICE THE BRAVE
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-80095-9
Aladdin Paperbacks
0-689-80598-5
ALICE IN LACE
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-80358-3
Aladdin Paperbacks
0-689-80597-7
OUTRAGEOUSLY ALICE
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-80354-0
Aladdin Paperbacks
0-689-80596-9
ACHINGLY ALICE
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-80533-9
Aladdin Paperbacks
0-689-80595-0
Simon Pulse
0-689-86396-9
ALICE ON THE OUTSIDE
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-80359-1
Simon Pulse
0-689-80594-2
THE GROOMING OF ALICE
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-82633-8
Simon Pulse
0-689-84618-5
ALICE ALONE
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-82634-6
Simon Pulse
0-689-85189-8
SIMPLY ALICE
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-84751-3
Simon Pulse
0-689-85965-1
PATIENTLY ALICE
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-82636-2
Simon Pulse
0-689-87073-6
INCLUDING ALICE
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-82637-0
Simon Pulse
0-689-87074-4
ALICE ON HER WAY
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-87090-6
Simon Pulse
0-689-87091-4
ALICE IN THE KNOW
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-87092-7
Simon Pulse
0-689-87093-0
DANGEROUSLY ALICE
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
0-689-87094-9
Simon Pulse
0-689-87095-7
Phyllis Reynolds Naylor, Almost Alice
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends