* * *
"Are you okay?" Bryson asks.
I drag my gaze from the cloudy sky and turn to look at him. "Yeah, why?"
He shrugs and leans up on his elbow, causing the trampoline to slightly bounce and making Bogart--who, yes, is on the trampoline with us, laying by my side since he's absolutely obsessed with me--quickly raise his head in alarm, probably trying to determine whether or not he needs to protect me from Bryson or any other surrounding dangers.
"It's okay, buddy?you're okay, you can lie back down," I tell Bogart, my baby voice very pronounced as I rub his cheeks.
"Yeah, go back to sleep, punk," Bryson says, pushing his head down. "Dori's my girlfriend, not yours."
"Hey, hey?" I hug Bogart and frown at Bryson. "Don't be mean to him just because he loves me more than you."
Bryson laughs. "Yeah, I think he would be happy if I just left forever and he could have you all to himself."
"Well, Bryson needs to learn to share, huh?" My baby voice resurfaces mid-sentence when I look back at Bogart, causing him to throw his ginormous, freak-of-nature, bear-claw-looking paw up on me, completely dwarfing my shoulder.
After laughing and petting him for another minute or so, Bryson and I look back at each other and our expressions become serious again.
"No, I was just asking," he says. "I know you and Becca are kind of at odds, and it just looked like it was bothering you."
After he says that, I look up to the sky and start thinking about the argument Becca and I had a little while ago at school, and I become overwhelmed with emotion. As hard as I try to hold it in, my eyes start to water, and Bryson quickly comforts me.
"Hey, hey, it's okay." He wipes the tears from my eyes with his thumb and kisses my cheek. "We don't have to talk about it, okay? Just know I'm here if you want to." He kisses the tip of my nose.
I nod, sniffling and forcing a half-hearted smile. And just as I'm about to mention the whole situation--partly because he asked me about it, and partly because deep down inside I wouldn't mind talking to him about it--he smiles, kisses my lips softly, lies back down and says, "So, I'm on chapter fifteen of your book, and I'm pretty much sleeping with one eye open now."
I giggle in response, rolling my head on his bicep to look at him. Even though I was about to tell him all about Becca's and my argument earlier today, I'm perfectly fine with the subject change. And I think he knew I would be.
"Are you having nightmares?" I tease, wiggling my fingers creepily, inching them right up to his face.
He looks at me and laughs. "Thankfully, no nightmares yet, but I'm waiting for them. That book is seriously terrifying."
"Well, buckle up, buddy, it's only gonna get scarier," I warn.
He grimaces. "Yikes. Mom's a chapter behind me and she already doesn't know if she can finish it."
"Aww, tell her to stop reading it," I say. But Bryson just laughs again.
"Stop it, that's not funny," I fuss, playfully slapping his chest. "I have plenty of other books she can read."
As I proceed to give Bryson a list of some of my books which might be more suitable entertainment for his mom, rather than one of my scariest three-part zombie series, we suddenly notice a white Chevy pull in and start making its way down the gravel driveway.
"That's my Uncle Mike," Bryson tells me.
I've heard a lot about his Uncle Mike, and I'm definitely anxious to meet him. He's forty-one years old, six years younger than Ms. Brenda. Divorced since last year, no kids, and he's always been extremely involved in Bryson's life, particularly after Bryson's dad left when he was five. He opened his own mechanic shop twelve years ago, 'Mike's Automotive,' right here in Central, and Bryson's been working for him since he was twelve. That's also where he's storing his Camaro.
He notices us right away when he gets out of his truck, and we sit up on the trampoline--Bogart, too--when he starts walking this way. I rock back and forth, tugging my red Soffee cheerleading shorts down a little as I cross my legs in front of me.
As he approaches, I can't help but notice how much younger he looks than Ms. Brenda, even though there's only a six year age gap. He looks to be about Bryson's height, and he's wearing a navy blue, button down work shirt, tucked into navy blue work pants, with his belly slightly hanging over his belt. There's a white name tag sewn onto his shirt with the word 'Owner' in small letters under his name, and he's wearing a blue and white hat that says 'Mike's Automotive' over a faded picture of his shop in the background.
And as much as I try to focus and keep my mind out of the freaking gutter, I immediately imagine Bryson in that uniform. Then I simply lose control of my thoughts.
I imagine him sweating with oil and grease stains all over his hands and forearms and even his face, as he lifts an entire motor by himself and places it under the hood of some amazing hot rod before bolting it all up. Then he rips his shirt off like an animal--causing the buttons to fly everywhere--walks over to the sink, and washes up in slow motion, his muscles rippling and popping all over as he looks at me with a sexy smile and winks. And then?actually, I'm just gonna go ahead and stop there before this thing takes a graphic turn.
As you can tell, I have a pretty active and detailed imagination. And since Bryson's been in my life, it's definitely turned to filth. Complete and utterly disgusting, dirty, sexy, exciting, breathtaking filth. And now I'm sitting here smiling like a moron for no reason, but somehow I manage to pull myself together as he approaches.
"Jeep's all yours, buddy," Mike says, tossing keys to Bryson and then glancing at me and smiling.
"Awesome, thanks," Bryson says.
"I just took care of the paperwork, and there's an extra set of keys for you. And we'll just do the paycheck thing like we talked about."
"That'll work," Bryson says as they do a little handshake, like they're best friends rather than uncle and nephew.
"Uncle Mike, this is Dori." Bryson looks at me and grins.
Mike looks at me with the same grin. "So, this is Dori."
"Hey," I smile.
"Hey, there. You have no idea how much I've heard about you." As he extends his hand toward me, I assume he's talking mostly about my genius.
"I've definitely heard a lot about you, too," I tell him.
Then out of nowhere, we hear this strange sound coming from Bogart. When we look at him, his eyes are darting between mine and Mike's now-joined hands, and Mike's face. He doesn't look thrilled about our handshake, which is surprising since Bryson has always told me how much Humphrey and Bogart love their "Uncle Mike."
But at the moment, Bogart's staring at him with a very faint growl rumbling deep down in his throat and an intensity in his eyes which is a little unsettling.
"What in the world is wrong with you?" Mike frowns. And although he spoke with authority, I can see a hint of caution in his eyes. He throws his hand out to Bogart, playfully trying to call him over, then jokingly asking him if he wants to get slapped around.
But Bogart is not amused. He just sits there, still as a statue, focusing on Mike as the low growl steadily continues in his throat.
Bryson chuckles. "Yeah, umm?he only likes Dori now, just so you know."
"I can see that," Mike laughs, looking from Bogart to me.
I find it odd that I'm the only one who appears to be nervous here. Bogart is massive, for pete's sake, and he's seriously looking like he wants to end some lives right now. And even though I know I'm safe, I turn to Bogart--who's still staring at Mike and growling--grab his face with both hands, and yell, "Bogart! That's enough!"
He immediately snaps out of his trance and looks at me, throws his ears back, puts his paw on my leg, and then starts licking me as if he's completely heartbroken I fussed him. Then he lies down and rests his head in my lap.
"Crazy dog." Mike shakes his head. Then he goes on to ask Bryson and me about school, me about my genius, and also about beating Briggston on Tuesday night.
Then he and Bryson start talking about the Camaro, and I lea
rn they've decided to fix it up.
"That's awesome!" I exclaim, looking back and forth between the two of them.
Bryson nods. "Yep, we decided last night."
"Yeah, we can't let that car go to waste," Mike says. And just as I'm about to erupt with excitement, Ms. Brenda sticks her head out the back door and yells, "Red beans will be ready in about thirty minutes!"
"Red beans? Looks like I'm staying for dinner!" Mike slaps the outer edge of the trampoline with enthusiasm, then turns to head inside. Humphrey hops up and follows him, but Bogart doesn't budge until Ms. Brenda steps back outside and starts banging a fork against his dinner bowl. Even then, it takes him a minute or so to decide whether or not he wants to leave me, but he ultimately chooses dinner.
"You wanna come work out with me before we eat?" Bryson asks, jumping up and reaching for my hands.
Gee, let me think. "Sure," I instantly smile.
He hops off the trampoline and I jump onto his back, and then we head toward the shed.
"I really like your uncle," I tell him, resting my cheek against his. "And I'm so glad y'all decided to fix up your Camaro."
"Yeah, I couldn't let that car go. Plus, I know how much you like it." He turns and gives me a quick peck on the side of my mouth.
I kiss him back and then ask, "What did y'all mean earlier about the 'paycheck thing,' talking about the Jeep?"
"Well, I paid him what I could for the Jeep, and for the rest of it he's just gonna take a little money out of my paycheck every week."
"Oh, okay. You're going back Saturday, right?"
"Yep."
When we get into the shed, I slide off his back, then he glances at the weight bench and then at me.
"Okay, you wanna go first?" he asks, swinging his arms back and forth in front of him to stretch.
"Umm?" A grin slowly spreads across my face as I ease back toward the work bench behind me. "Actually, I think I'll just watch you."
"Cool," he smiles.
I hop on the work bench and cross my legs in front of me, still smiling as I watch him effortlessly stack two forty-five pound plates on each side of the forty-five pound bar, totaling 225 pounds.
I suddenly feel my body temperature rising when I realize how insanely excited I am to watch this. Seriously, why have I never thought about this before? I'm tingling right now at the thought of what he's about to do. Why have I not demanded we come work out every day so we can stay healthy? How in the world could I have overlooked this?
As I contemplate my carelessness, he straddles the bench and takes a seat. All I can focus on now is him. My eyes are hungrily looking over his body, and my mind is cloudy with desire.
"Just do whatever you normally do, muscle man. Pretend like I'm not even here," I encourage him.
Right away, he smiles and says, "Oh, okay, what I normally do?" Then he jumps up, goes over to the stereo, turns on some AC/DC, then walks back to the bench and sits down?and then he takes off his shirt.
I immediately gasp, trying to catch my breath, as if someone just punched me right in the chest. I now feel desire burning throughout my body. Bryson is chiseled from stone, with zero body fat, just ridiculously defined muscle rippling all over his stomach, chest, and shoulders.
As I sit here, trying to catch my breath and control myself, he lays back, picks the bar up off the rack, and starts pressing it over and over as if it's only 50 pounds rather than 225. I can feel the blood pounding in my head and my heart beating out of my chest the entire time.
Then he sets the bar back on the rack and sits up, his chest and shoulders now even more swollen than before.
We gaze at each other briefly and the next thing I know, I'm straddling him on the bench and our lips are locked together. I barely even remember how it happened.
I'm squeezing him with everything I've got, pressing myself to his bare chest as he wraps his arms around my lower back and squeezes me so tightly against him that I moan faintly, our lips never parting.
We continue to kiss as I release my grip on him, then gently slide my hands over every inch of his back. I can feel his muscles tighten, hard as rocks underneath his smooth, naturally tan skin.
And now, burning with more passion than ever, I run my hands up to the back of his head and forcefully clinch a handful of his hair with both hands. Strangely, that's when I suddenly think to myself for the first time, what if someone walks in here? But ultimately, I'm too excited to worry about it, and I dismiss the thought pretty quickly.
We go on for at least another few minutes, kissing and caressing and squeezing one another. Then suddenly we hear Ms. Brenda hollering at the dogs for some reason, and her voice sounded a lot closer than the house. So we finally separate, then Bryson swiftly lifts me up and sets me on my feet next to the bench.
I'm completely disoriented and out of breath at this point, but somehow I'm able to keep my balance. As I carefully start walking forward, stumbling around like a zombie with a drinking problem, Bryson slaps me right smack on my butt. I swirl around as I throw my hands behind my head to tighten my ponytail.
"You- are- bad," I stammer, pushing the words out between breaths, staring him down as if I'm threatening to attack him again if he's not careful.
He raises one side of his mouth into a sexy half grin. "You love it," he says.
I nod, still staring him down, and say, "Hell yeah."
It's funny, if you would have told me a couple months ago I'd be straddling a shirtless guy, passionately making out with him until I completely lose my freaking mind, I would have laughed hysterically. I'm absolutely amazed at how much I've opened up to Bryson, in such a short amount of time. He's a fantastic guy, and I definitely can't seem to get enough of him.
26
The Party
Well, Summer's party is in a couple hours, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous.
Becca actually did control herself yesterday at school for the most part. Other than some heavy glaring, eye rolling, and mumbling under her breath, she pretty much left Summer alone. She didn't make fun of her during the 'Ask Dori' segment (even though Summer did ask me another question); she didn't try running her over in the hallway; and she never once threatened to break Summer's phony face in half and then stand over her and laugh as she squirms around on the ground, kicking, screaming, and crying. That's progress in my book.
But I suppose an object in an unnatural state must return to its natural state, because today, unfortunately, she's back to the snarky remarks and threats of disturbing violence. I've repeatedly threatened to not go to the party, but that's done nothing more than buy me a few minutes of silence each time.
So I think you can see why I'm nervous. The old Becca appears to be back with a vengeance, and I'm pretty much just hoping for the best at this point.
As Becca sits back on the green recliner, periodically peeking up from her book and grinning at the Kardashians on the muted TV, I'm watching Holly carefully as she stands there, studying the three outfits we've pulled from my closet and laid on my bed. Becca and I had originally planned on wearing dresses, but when we found out Holly wasn't wearing one, we not only scrapped the idea but we decided to let her choose our outfits altogether.
Holly really shines when it comes to this. She's so ridiculously trendy it makes me jealous--jealous my closet doesn't look like hers. And jealous that, despite the fact that I know everything else, I don't know half of what she knows about fashion. And as I stand here with a knee propped on my bed, waiting for her verdict, I find my envious eyes traveling over her outfit for like the tenth time now. But for good reason.
I start at the black booties on her feet, work my way up her black skinny jeans, and then finally set my stare on her loose, pale pink tank covered with silver beading. Then I shoot quick glances at her pink bow-shaped rhinestone earrings and the silver bangles on her wrists. This girl has a mesmerizing sense of fashion.
After swapping things around a few times, Holly stands up straight, tosses her wavy b
rown hair over her shoulder, pulls her lips together tightly to one side of her mouth in thought, then nods and says confidently, "That's your outfit."
I smile as I gaze at the dark colored skinny jeans she's paired with one of my favorite soft, loose-fitting deep purple tees from Forever 21.
"I agree," Hailey smiles, lying on her stomach on the bed, all up in the business as usual.
"Me, too. That's awesome," I say, unable to drag my gaze from the outfit.
Holly flashes a smile at both of us. "Good," she says proudly. "And you can wear your brown flip-flops with the gold studs."
Then she leans back over and pulls a pair of gold stud earrings out of her black hipster purse, along with some gold-studded bangles and a long gold, layered chain necklace. Then she starts neatly laying them on my outfit.
"That episode is hilarious," Becca suddenly says, giggling as she slaps her book shut, then hops up and walks over to the foot of the bed. She crosses her arms under her chest and looks down at my outfit with a faint grin. Like, so faint, it's almost not even there. Becca is just as excited as I am about the outfits and the accessories and the dressing up and all of that; she's just not thrilled about why we're dressing up. Which sucks because she can't fully enjoy it like I am. But still, she can't deny an amazing outfit when she sees one. It doesn't take long for her grin to widen as she stares at what Holly has put together.
"So cute, Dor," she says.
Holly straightens back up and claps her hands in front of her. "All done!" Then she grabs her purse and walks to the other side of the bed to accessorize Becca's outfit, which we picked out a little while ago at Becca's house.
I plop down and lean across the bed on my side next to Hailey, who's now up on her knees. We both watch as Holly sets a pair of large, silver hoop earrings and a bunch of thick, silver bracelets down on Becca's loose, gray racer-back tank from Express, which she's wearing with a pair of black skinny jeans and black sandals.
"Y'all have such cuter clothes than me," I sulk, pushing my bottom lip out.
Becca looks at me and chuckles. "No, we don't, Dor. And even if we did, you're like, unfairly gorgeous, so it doesn't really matter what you wear."
"I know, right?" Holly giggles.
I roll my eyes and shake my head.
Then after the outfits and accessories are finally complete, Becca and I each take a quick shower, do our hair and makeup, and then get dressed.
"Well, almost time to go bust Summer up," Becca mutters, standing next to me in front of the mirror and stroking her hair, then walking away.
I shoot a glance in the mirror at Holly over on the recliner. She peeks up at me and then looks back down at her phone.
"So, I guess you're just determined to turn this night into a disaster." I turn and look at Becca as I put an earring in.
She grabs her phone off the dresser and then sits down at the foot of the bed. "If she wasn't a fake bitch, I wouldn't be determined to do anything," she shrugs.
This is clearly a hopeless situation. A complete lost cause. And there's absolutely no need for me to say another word. I just walk over and swipe my phone off the dresser in a huff, and then go take a seat at the opposite end of the bed. And believe it or not, the three of us sit here in complete silence for the next fifteen minutes with our faces buried in our phones. It was awkward, to say the least.
Then finally, the loud silence is broken by the sound of a car door slamming shut.
"I guess they're here," Holly says.
I hop up and walk to the window at the end of the hall just in time to see Bryson and Brian do a handshake at the end of the driveway, then prop their arms up on the bed of Brian's truck and start talking.
I smile with excitement seeing Bryson in a flannel blue and white button down shirt with his sleeves rolled up tightly to the top of his forearms--of course--and a dark colored pair of boot-cut jeans with his brown Doc Martens.
When Becca walks up to the window, followed by Holly, I take notice of Brian, as well. He's wearing a dark green polo shirt, dark jeans, and a pair of Sperry Topsiders.
"Looking good," Holly grins, looking over our shoulders.
I look back at her and smile, but I don't look at Becca. I'm still pissed at her.
We head back to my room and do a final check in the mirror, grab our purses, and head downstairs. When I open the door, Bryson's fist is in the air as if he was about to knock.
"Whoa, pretty ladies!" he exclaims, glancing at all of us.
"Man, I'm telling you," Brian agrees. We smile and return the compliment just as my mom, dad, and Hailey walk in from the kitchen. After surviving an intense ambush from my mom's camera, and watching and laughing as Hailey begs Bryson to let her come with us to the party--as if it were his decision, and my mom and dad don't get a vote--my mom looks at me, her expression suddenly serious, and asks me once again if there's going to be alcohol there.
Just like every other time, I nod and tell her I'm sure there will be. Which isn't completely honest because I know for a fact there will be. Summer's been collecting money from people at school all week so her older sister and a few of her college friends can buy alcohol for the party. But I'm afraid if I mention that detail, there's a good chance my mom might forbid me to go. So I've decided to leave it out. And even though I'm not really lying about anything, I do feel guilty.
I watch as my parents' expressions turn to worry. I do understand their concern, but they know Becca and I don't drink; we never have. They also know Bryson doesn't drink.
Sadly, the only clear memories Bryson has of his dad before he left were of him being drunk all the time. Bryson's told me that because of that, he's never drank and he never will. My parents know this because I've told them several times.
Holly and Brian have tried it in the past--another minor detail my parents don't need to know--but it's not something they really do or have much interest in.
So all in all, they truly don't have anything to worry about. But parents will be parents.
After forcing my mom to finally relax the camera (which is like asking a cat to stop harassing a mouse), and then dragging Hailey away from Bryson (I swear she's going to steal him from me in ten years), we say our goodbyes and then head out.
We take separate vehicles so Holly can go straight home after the party, and so Bryson and I and Becca and Brian can stop somewhere separately if we have time afterwards to?well?you know, just in case we have time. Better safe than sorry.
"So, Summer lives in Oakwood?" Bryson asks as we turn out of the neighborhood.
"Yeah, Holly knows which house it is."
Summer lives in Oakwood Estates, a rich neighborhood in Baton Rouge, about ten minutes outside Central. Her dad is an orthopedic surgeon and her mom is an anesthesiologist, and the houses in this neighborhood make my house look tiny.
"You look beautiful, by the way." Bryson reaches over and squeezes my thigh.
I push a strand of hair from my face as I look up at him, trying to control my urges as usual.
"Well, you have Holly to thank for that," I tell him.
He chuckles. "No, I have your parents to thank for that, princess."
I laugh. Then we come to a red light and he turns and focuses on me, his expression dead serious.
"Seriously, I hope you know how gorgeous you are," he says, then pauses for a second. "You're without a doubt the most beautiful girl I've ever laid eyes on. Inside and out." He kisses my hand then looks back to the road as the light turns green.
I stare at him, my eyes round with desire.
Don't jump on him. Don't jump on him. Don't jump on him! I tell myself. This isn't the time or place.
So instead, I just kiss his hand and tell him he's amazing. What a breathtaking moment. I lean forward and turn on the A/C since I'm a little over-heated now.
"Made you a CD," he smiles. He releases my hand and turns on the radio, raising the volume way up. Before I know it, Taylor Swift is blaring through the speakers. It's cued up to the ch
orus of her song "Trouble," and I immediately close my eyes and begin singing along. I want to show my appreciation and thank him right away, but instead the world just kind of disappears for the next couple minutes until the song is over.
"A Taylor Swift CD!" I shout when the song ends, clapping excitedly.
He smiles with pleasure. "All her latest and greatest!"
"Thank you so much. That's awesome." I interlock my fingers tightly with his and then kiss his hand again. Needless to say, we jam to Taylor Swift until we get to Summer's neighborhood.
When we finally pull up to Oakwood and turn in, I turn the radio down and we both begin staring at the houses in amazement.
"Damn," Bryson remarks.
Our mouths are hanging open and our heads are oscillating from side to side like one of those fans. These houses are ridiculously large. And as we follow Holly through the neighborhood, the street lights start coming on and lighting up the huge yards and sidewalks.
"Well, that must be her house," Bryson says, pointing down the street after we take a left turn. When I look, I see a ton of cars parked on the side of the road and in the yard in front of a house a little ways down. I feel increasingly nervous the closer we get, despite the fact that I was just all hopped up on Taylor Swift. I'm nervous about Becca not behaving, obviously, but I'm also nervous about Summer's reaction when she sees Becca. She told me I could bring whoever I wanted, but did that really include Becca? Have I tricked myself into thinking it was okay to bring her anywhere near this house? And if Summer gets an attitude and tells her to leave, will Becca be able to control herself?
Lot of concerns right now. All these questions will be answered in a few minutes, and I'm starting to feel sick.
The sound of Bryson shifting into park pulls me out of my trance.
"You nervous about Becca?" he asks, unbuckling his seatbelt.
I sigh softly, staring at the mansion before us. "Yeah."
"I really think everything's gonna be okay," Bryson says. "But no matter what happens, I'll be beside you. We're in this together."
I look at him and smile, then lean over and give him a quick kiss on the lips. At this point, I honestly don't know how I would get through this without him.
As we get out of the Jeep, cars start pulling up all around us. I glance at Becca briefly as she and Brian walk up holding hands, but she never looks at me.
"Nice house, huh?" Holly asks as she walks up.
"Definitely," we all nod, except for Becca. She's just glaring at the house, looking pissed off. Wonderful.
As we head toward the long walkway which leads to the front door, lined on both sides with perfectly trimmed, waist-high hedges with little lights at the base of each one to illuminate them--pretty cool looking--I notice a lot of unfamiliar faces getting out of cars and walking up, as well. There are definitely people from other schools here.
Then out of nowhere, a silver Dodge zooms up, the straight pipes rumbling loudly underneath it, and quickly parks on the other side of the road, borderline recklessly. We know it's Brad's truck just by the sound. And when we turn around, we see Brad's head and elbow hanging out the passenger side window, and he's got a beer in his hand.
"Heeey, wait up!" he hollers at us, causing everyone in the yard to turn and stare.
I giggle as he hops out of the truck, along with Trent and some girl I've never seen before. Brad is silly enough without a beer in his hand, so it should be interesting to see how the night progresses for him. At least Trent was driving his truck.
The three of them scurry across the yard to catch up to us, Trent and the mystery girl following closely behind Brad, who has his beer outstretched in front of him, trying to hold it as steady as possible as he runs.
"Boy, you getting started early, huh?" Bryson teases, slapping his hand on Brad's shoulder and looking at the beer.
Brad's eyes dart down to the beer can, also, and then right back up to us.
"Oh, yeah, well?you know?I figured I'd get a head start," he explains, slurring a bit. Then he takes a long swig, throwing his head way back and finishing off the can as we all laugh. And when Trent and the girl walk closer, Brad introduces her.
"Sam," he begins, looking at her and then back at us. Then he points to each one of us as he goes down the line, slurring his words even more now. "This is my boy Bryson, that's his girlfriend Dori, that's Holly, that's Becca, and that's--" He pauses when he gets to Brian.
"This is my boyfriend Brian," Becca smiles.
"Brian, that's Becca's boyfriend Brian. Everyone, this is Samantha." Brad puts his arm around her, pressing her blond, shoulder-length hair to the back of her neck.
"Hi," she smiles and waves.
And not knowing anything else about her at all, other than the fact that she appears to be with Brad in some way--due to the fact that his arm is around her neck and hers is now around his waist--and that she's wearing super cute shorts overalls with a white tank underneath, we all just smile and say hey in return. Then we walk up and knock on the door.
When it opens, the rap music we could barely hear outside becomes much louder, as if someone suddenly raised the volume all the way up on a stereo. Standing before us is a tall, skinny, college-age-looking guy wearing glasses.
"What's up, guys. Keg's in the kitchen, and there's a bathroom just past the kitchen and one at the top of the stairs," he says very matter-of-factly, then presses his lips together in a line and walks away.
"Alright, keg time!" Brad yells as he, Sam, and Trent head for the kitchen.
I, on the other hand, start nervously scanning the place for Summer as soon as I step in. When I don't see her right away, I start to marvel over the three massive, floor-to-ceiling stone columns--which look like they belong in the National Building Museum rather than this house--which somewhat separate this ridiculously wide foyer area from the even larger living room?or football field, whichever you prefer to call it. The living room is currently packed with people: some dancing, some dirty dancing, and some just standing around talking and drinking.
I begin searching through the crowd again, this time more carefully. But still no sign of Summer.
"No wonder she's a damn snob," I hear Becca say over the loud music.
I quickly spin my head around. "Shut up," I hiss, leaning toward her. Bryson and Brian glance at each other, trying to remain neutral on the subject as usual.
"This is her house, Becca, so keep your mouth shut. I'm serious," I demand, each word slow and drawn out.
"Hey, as long as she doesn't come near me, everything will be alright," Becca replies.
"Well, I'm pretty sure she's not gonna come near you, so just go ahead and stop talking now." I turn away from her abruptly, completely over the conversation. Then we all walk through the huge dining room and into the kitchen, where the activities are slightly different than those in the living room. The music is now muffled as it blares through the dividing wall, and the first thing I notice is the tall, skinny door guy leaning over with his elbows on the bar, adjusting his glasses and staring at a laptop, along with three other guys--two of them Asian--and two girls, one of them looking like Summer's older sister based on Summer's description. They all kind of look like brainy medical students who are trying to cure cancer at this very moment, while chaperoning a high school party at the same time, of course.
A few feet behind them, there's a small line at the keg in front of the sink. And on the other side of the bar about twenty feet down or so--the kitchen is like a football field, too--there's an intense game of beer pong going on at the kitchen table, which has drawn a decent-sized crowd.
The crowd suddenly yells all at the same time. "Ohh!" they wail, throwing their hands up while some clap, apparently applauding the efforts of one of the players.
Then Holly yells, "Lindsey!" She extends both arms and trots ahead of us to get to Lindsey, who I assume she knows from another school.
As we approach the table, currently known as the beer-pong area, I do a light
ning-quick check to see if Summer's anywhere in the crowd. I'd rather her not spring up on us unexpectedly, for obvious reasons. Ideally, Summer and I will see each other from across the house. And believe me, I'm ready for her to see us so this whole thing can be done. Whether she flips out and makes us leave or not, at least it'll be over with. But this waiting around stuff is making me nervous. To my disappointment and relief, I don't see her anywhere around the table.
"Bryson, my man, what's up?" this guy yells over the music, switching his red plastic cup to his other hand, then locking hands and bumping shoulders with Bryson. He's crazy tall, and also lean and broad-chested like Bryson, though not as muscular.
After Bryson introduces him to us, I find out they played basketball together at Central High, and we all start talking for a few minutes.
Then a few random people from our school walk past and smile at me. "Hey, Dori!"
"Hey," I reply, smiling and waving as I watch them walk into the living room. And that's when I spot Summer.
27
Chaos
My stomach immediately drops to my knees. I watch nervously as she, Alison, Alex, and two other girls I've never seen before start walking into the living room through a giant sliding glass door. They had been outside in the patio/pool area, which I'm just noticing is also full of people.
Summer and the other four girls are dressed similarly, wearing extremely tight, extremely short fitted dresses with heels. The only real differences are the colors. Summer's dress is bright red, and I have to admit, she looks really good. They all do, actually.
My eyes stay glued to them as they file in one at a time and then close the sliding glass door behind them. After watching them briefly laugh and talk amongst themselves, Summer carefully pushes her long, bleach-blond hair behind her ear, raises her plastic cup to take a drink, and starts gazing around the room, slightly moving to the music the whole time. I know it's probably a matter of seconds now before she looks my way. Sure enough, she finally does.
I quickly turn away and then look right back at her, so she'll think I just noticed her too, instead of just standing there and staring at her like some creepy weird person.
Her eyebrows instantly fly up as she smiles and waves at me, craning her neck to look over the people between us. As I'm waving back, she takes a step toward me, then suddenly stops dead in her tracks as if she ran smack into a brick wall. She's obviously spotted Becca a few feet away from me, which thwarted her plan to walk over and say hi. So instead, she just smiles at me again, then turns back to her friends and continues talking. Even though I'm now feeling residual guilt, due to the fact that Summer can't walk around freely in her own house, I also breathe a huge sigh of relief. My fear of Summer storming up to us in a fit of rage and demanding that Becca leave--which would've gotten her ass thoroughly kicked--has been laid to rest. With that worry now gone, all I have to do is keep Becca under control.
I turn back around and go about my business, talking with people and trying to look in on beer pong. And not even a minute goes by when I hear someone yell, "Hey, Dori!" I turn back to the living room, along with Becca, and see Summer leaning forward against the dividing wall, stretching her neck toward me as far as she can.
"Coke's in the fridge!" she hollers over the music. Then she heads upstairs, away from danger, and I'm left cringing inside as I glance at Becca.
The other day in fourth period, Summer asked Bryson and me what we wanted to drink at the party, and we told her Coke. Bryson even gave her money. But I didn't mention that to Becca, because the last thing she needed was another reason to rearrange Summer's face.