We do the whole song like that, him putting the microphone out once in a while and me screaming song lyrics into it. Finally, at the end of the song, Cooper leaves me up there to do the last bit, and then takes a pic of me on his cell phone, I guess to text to the 318s. And then, just like that, the music is over, and the nice British woman is taking the microphone from me. “Thanks,” I say to Cooper. Because that was pretty nice of him. To save me like that, I mean.
And so for a second, I let myself believe that maybe Cooper was telling the truth, that maybe the 318s were the ones who took my notebook and turned me in to the dean, that maybe he doesn’t even care about what I wrote on Lanesboro Losers, that maybe we can talk and I can find out why exactly he did what he did. I mean, he is wearing the watch I gave him after all. But Cooper just squeezes my shoulder, whispers, “You’re welcome” into my ear, and then walks out of the Spotted Frog, leaving me there by myself.
Well, of course he did. Leave right when I thought we were having some kind of moment, I mean. First of all, Cooper is obviously completely and totally unstable. Look what he did to me, for example. Pretending that he liked me, just for some dumb secret society initiation? That is definitely the work of a sociopath. Actually, I’m not sure what a sociopath is, exactly. But I think it has to do with not caring about the feelings of others.
Anyway, the point is, something is definitely wrong with him. So it makes total and complete sense that he would help me one minute, then turn on his heel and walk out the next, acting all put out, like I asked him for help or something. He’s so crazy, it’s pathetic.
I walk out of the Spotted Frog and look around. It’s after nine o’clock, but Boston is alive with people, walking around and looking happy, couples on their way to a late dinner in their nice clothes, college kids walking around drunk, groups of girls giggling on their way to bars and clubs. A homeless man on the side of the street looks me up and down and says, “Girrrl, you got it going on.”
I give him a dollar and actually start to feel a little better. I mean, I just got a super-hot guy to dance with me at Cure, and I did karaoke. Not bad for a Saturday night. And yeah, okay, maybe it’s not that amazing for some people but it’s amazing for me. Who cares if Rich just wanted to avoid his stalker, and Cooper had to help me with the karaoke?
I start to feel very happy, until I realize I have no clue what I’m supposed to do next. I’m alone, in the city, with no idea where my friends are or when they’re coming back. And then my phone rings. Marissa. Thank God.
“Hello?” I say.
“Hi,” she says. “You gotta get over here.”
“Um, over where?”
“That’s right, honey,” the homeless man near me says. “You look like a supermodel, for reals. Mmmm mmm.” Hmm. I start to move away slowly.
“To Isabella Royce’s apartment.” The other thing about Isabella Royce? You know, besides the fact that she’s hooking up with Cooper? She has her own apartment. Well, technically it’s not hers. Yet.
See, Isabella’s grandmother died a few months ago and left her this amazing apartment right on Newbury Street, which is like the nicest, most expensive street in Boston. Apparently it was this big debacle, since Isabella’s mom totally thought the apartment was going to be left to her, but it turned out that Isabella’s grandmother, like, secretly hated her mom. (This was her dad’s mom, by the way. Isabella’s dad passed away a while ago, which is why it was so important for her mom to get this apartment, since apparently it’s worth like a billion dollars and Isabella’s mom was going to sell it so that she would never have to work again.)
Anyway, the apartment got left to Isabella but put under the care of her uncle or something, until she turns eighteen next year. In the meantime, her uncle has it all fixed up and lets her use it anytime she wants.
“What’s going on at Isabella’s?” I ask, looking around nervously for Pervert Homeless Man. But he’s now inched his way down the sidewalk and has turned his attention to two college girls coming out of the Spotted Frog. Figures. Typical man, moving on to the next thing.
“She’s having a party,” she says. “And Jeremiah is going to be there.”
“How do you know that?” I say. “And where are you?”
“I know,” she says. “Because I, um, followed him. And I’m here. Outside of Isabella’s.”
“You followed who?” I ask.
“Jeremiah. And Julia. Out of Cure. But they didn’t hook up or anything, I swear. In fact, he didn’t even touch her. I watched them during their whole T ride. And now they’re at Isabella’s party. And I’m going in now, but I have to at least act like I’m meeting someone here, so you have to come.”
“That’s why I couldn’t find you?” I ask. “Because you were following Jeremiah?” I try to keep my voice down, but I’m pissed.
“Eliza, I’m so sorry!” she says. “It just happened, I swear. I didn’t mean to, I was just going to follow them a little way down the street, and then the next thing I knew, I was on the T!”
“Why didn’t you at least text me?” I ask.
“You know the service on the T is super-spotty,” she says. I think about yelling at her for ditching me, but then decide it’s not really worth it. I mean, I have way bigger problems right now. “So will you come?” she asks. “To Isabella’s?”
“Fine,” I say, starting to feel very cranky. Isabella Royce’s party is the last place I want to be. Also, who knows what Cooper and the 318s have in store for me next. But what else am I supposed to do? I sigh and end the call, then slide my phone into my bag and head to the nearest T.
When I get down to the T, I realize my subway card is out of money. My subway card is always out of money, which makes no sense, since I hardly ever ride the T, and every time I do, I always make sure to put at least three rides on my card.
I add ten dollars to it using the automatic machine, then double-check my phone, just in case Cooper or the 318s have sent me another text. But they haven’t, so I shove my card into my pocket and head down to the platform.
Everything’s fine for the first couple of minutes, but then it happens. I hear the voice. The very loud, very shrieky, very familiar voice. Isabella Royce.
“OH MY GOD, ELIZA! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” She takes me by the hands and pulls me close to her, giving me a kiss on each side of my face. Sigh. Of all the people to be down here, Isabella Royce is the worst. It’s not that I don’t like Isabella, per se. It’s just that seeing her reminds me of Cooper. And besides, shouldn’t she be at her own party?
“Just, you know, riding the T!” I say brightly. What else would I be doing down here?
“I know that,” she says, giggling. “I mean, where are you going?”
Oh. Right. “Um, actually, to your apartment,” I say. Then I realize that I wasn’t even technically invited to Isabella’s apartment, that Marissa stalked Jeremiah there and then invited herself and me.
But Isabella doesn’t seem to mind. “Me too!” she exclaims. “What a coincidence!”
“Not really,” I say, even though it kind of is.
“Well yes, really,” she says, as the train pulls up. It’s loud, so I can’t hear exactly what she’s saying, but I think it has something to do with how she can’t believe that we’d both be at this T stop at this exact time, because usually she just drives in, but she was returning some shoes and ohmigod now we can keep each other company. I don’t ask her why she was returning shoes so late at night, since (a) I don’t really care and (b) I’m not sure if I even heard her right.
So I just smile and nod.
“So,” she says once we’re settled on the train. The train is actually pretty dead, and so we unfortunately have no problem finding seats next to each other. “Are you going to the party alone, or … ?” She trails off and then gets super-busy looking through one of the shopping bags she has with her, and I can tell she’s trying to sound innocent. I decide to make an effort to try to be nice to Isabella. After all, what Cooper
did isn’t her fault.
“Um, no,” I say. “I’m meeting Marissa there.”
“Oh, cool,” she says, and I see her face relax. Like, I literally see it relax. It just sort of … deflates. And then I realize why. She was afraid that maybe I was going to the party because I knew Cooper would be there! Am I a pity case? Does Isabella Royce think I’m a loser? Is she maybe afraid that if I don’t get a new boyfriend, I’m going to maybe go psycho on her and freak out and key her car or something? Isabella DOES have a very nice car, this totally cute red convertible that’s not brand-new enough to be pretentious, but not old enough to be lame.
I decide it’s time to change the subject.
“So you know people are already there, right?” I ask. “At your apartment, I mean.”
“Um …” she looks down at the ground and messes around with the bottom of the skirt she’s wearing. “Yeah, actually. Cooper’s watching it for me.”
“Oh,” I say. “Cool.” So that explains why he rushed out of the Spotted Frog so fast. He had a date to watch Isabella’s party. Like they’re married or something! He probably has a key and everything. Not only that, but I am now inadvertently following the person that I want to get away from and am going to have to see him and Isabella together, and he might think that I followed him there on purpose. Ugh, ugh, ugh. I make a mental note to kill Marissa.
“Yeah,” Isabella says. “I know you guys had a bad breakup and everything, but honestly things have been super-good with us ever since we’ve been hanging out.” That’s probably because their relationship is based on their, you know, actually having a relationship and not some dumb prank.
“That’s great,” I say, forcing myself to at least try and sound happy. Across the aisle, a man with a beard and cargo pants is ogling Isabella’s legs. She’s wearing a very short, glittery lavender skirt and gold platform shoes. What is up with everyone dressing like this in November? I guess on Saturday nights in the city sexiness trumps comfort.
“How’s Kate liking college?” Isabella asks, oblivious to the attention she’s getting.
“Um, she’s liking it,” I say. Which is true.
“That’s so great,” she says. “I can’t even begin to think about going to college, I mean, it’s going to be so crazy, it’s like …” Isabella starts chattering on and on, but I’m kind of tuning her out because I can’t stop thinking about her and Cooper. Does he love her? Has he told her he loves her? Are they going to get married? Have they had sex? My head is spinning with all these crazy thoughts, and so at first I don’t realize Isabella’s stopped talking and is now looking at me expectantly.
“Totally,” I say. “College is going to be crazy. I’m really glad we’re not seniors this year.” This is a lie, since suddenly I really want nothing more than to be out of this school and away from all these people, but something tells me Isabella wouldn’t really appreciate this sentiment.
“Totally,” she says, her eyes wide. She gets a very serious look on her face. “I just don’t understand those people who want to get out of here. It’s like, hello! Your classmates are the people you’ve grown up with, they’re part of your history!”
“Exactly,” I say, pretending I agree with her. The train stops, and Isabella hops right out of our car I pretend to be looking for something in my purse, hoping that maybe she’ll get lost in the crowd on the platform. But when I leave the train, Isabella’s there, waiting for me and smiling.
“Ready?” she asks.
“Ready,” I say. And then I follow her up the stairs and onto the street.
When we get to the party, Isabella waves and says, “See ya!” then disappears into the crowd of people in her living room. I’m insulted for a second, but then realize I can’t totally blame her. I mean, Isabella and I aren’t really friends. Unfortunately, I have only one friend here, and I don’t see her anywhere. In fact, the only people I see here are all of Isabella’s friends.
“Oh,” Jessica Adams says when she sees me. “Is Kate here?” She looks past me toward the door, as if the only reason I’d dare to show up at this party would be because my sister was with me.
“Uh, no,” I say. “She’s not.”
“Oh.” Jessica looks disappointed (a visit from Kate, a super-popular college girl who still gets talked about at our school even though she graduated last year, would make this party the talk of the school on Monday), but she recovers quickly. “Well, there’s drinks in the kitchen.” She disappears down the stairs.
I pull my phone out and call Marissa. “Where. Are. You?” I ask when she answers. I can tell she’s here, because the sounds coming through the other end of my cell phone are the same things I can hear, namely people talking and music coming through an iPod that’s hooked up to the ginormous stereo system.
“Over in the corner, with Delia Carhart,” she says. I look over, spot them, and make my way through the crowd. No sign of Cooper or the 318s.
“Did you get it back?” Marissa asks when she sees me.
“No,” I say. “Although I did sing karaoke at the Spotted Frog.” I’m about to add, “with Cooper” but then realize that (a) I shouldn’t be talking about him since I don’t care if I did something with him, karaoke or otherwise, and (b) with Delia standing right here, it’s probably not a good idea to talk about it.
“I love that place, the Spotted Fraaahg,” Delia says, drawing the word out. “They have the best mocha lattes.”
“Yeah,” I say. Now that I think about it, I don’t like Delia that much. One time we had to be partners in history and she made me do the whole project by myself.
“That place is really fun,” Marissa says. Then she throws her head back and laughs, which is kind of weird, since it’s not that funny. But then I spot Jeremiah over in the corner, and I get it. She’s trying to act like we’re having such a great time over here that she’s not even noticing that he’s there. Which is the oldest trick in the book, and so he can probably see right through it. Although maybe not. I don’t think Jeremiah Fisher is that bright. One time I had to explain to him what irony was, and he still didn’t get it.
“Anyway,” I say, “Marissa, come with me to get a drink.”
Delia gets the message and puts a pissed, put out sort of look on her face, but then turns around and goes off to bother someone else.
We head into the kitchen, where Marissa drinks a soda, and I look around for something a little stronger. I’m not that great with alcohol, and since I’ve already had a few sips of a cosmo, I need to be careful. I tend to get drunk very fast, probably because I don’t really drink that often. I spot a pitcher of something pink sitting on the counter next to a stack of plastic cups. Not just any plastic cups, though. They’re plastic cups with purple-and-aqua decals all over them. Of course Isabella would have cups like that.
I pour some of the pink liquid into the purple-and-aqua cup and hope that no one’s spiked it with a date-rape drug.
“So,” Marissa says. “Was he, you know, watching me?”
“Who?” I ask, frowning. I take a sip of the pink drink. Very strong, but very good, sweet and tangy. I take another sip. A small one.
“Jeremiah!” Marissa says. “Duh!” I notice she’s taken her sweater off and is now wearing just a light yellow halter top. Also, her shoulders look very sparkly.
“What’s all over your shoulders?” I ask, moving in for a closer look.
“Body sparkles,” she says. “I took them out of Isabella’s room.”
“Isabella already has a room here?” I ask.
“Yeah, totally,” she says. “With all her makeup, a fully stocked closet, everything.”
“That is so cool,” I say. Wow. I mean, how fun! To have your own apartment with, like, duplicates of all your stuff. Think about it. You could just come into the city to hang out anytime you want. I wonder just how popular Isabella would be if she didn’t have this apartment. Hmm. Probably still really popular, since she’s gorgeous.
“So was he?” Marissa
asks.
“Was who what?” I take another sip of my drink, a bigger one this time. I’m starting to feel a little bit warm inside, and it feels good, but I know enough to realize that there’s a fine line between feeling all warm and good inside and ending up puking into the bushes while people shake their head sadly at you and mumble things about how you can’t hold your liquor. Not that that’s happened to me before. But I do know some people it has happened to, cough, Jeremiah, cough.
“Was. Jeremiah. Watching. Me.” She takes the cup I’m holding out of my hand and pours its contents down the sink.
“Hey!” I say. “What’d you do that for?” I watch sadly as the pink liquid goes pouring down the drain, circling around and then disappearing forever.
“Because you’re having problems paying attention to the conversation already,” she says.
“No, I’m not,” I say, shocked.
She looks at me and raises her eyebrows.
“Okay, well, maybe I am, but that’s just because I’m a little bit distracted,” I say. “Not because I’m getting drunk.” It’s totally true, too. I’m distracted by the fact that my life is about to be over, not because of the alcohol. “I only had two sips,” I point out.
She hands me a soda, and at the same time, I feel my phone vibrating in my bag.
“Oh, God,” I say, feeling nervous. I pull my cell out and look at the screen. One new text. From Tyler. “ATTEMPT TO MAKE OUT WITH NIGEL RICKSON.”
“Oh. My. God,” I say.
“What is it?” Marissa asks. “Is it from Cooper?”
“No,” I say. “It’s from Tyler.” I show her the screen.
“Oh my God,” she says.
“I know!” Okay, deep breaths. I will NOT freak out. Marissa doesn’t say anything, just pours me another pink drink into a plastic cup. I take a sip, but it’s totally lost its luster. Also now I have to be afraid of possibly maybe puking all over Nigel Rickson if I try to kiss him and am too drunk.