I shook my head and went back to eating. After dinner, when Uncle Reuben retired to the living room to watch television, Jennifer did help with the dishes. She stood beside me at the sink and whispered.
"Can't you keep your big mouth shut at dinner? Just let Daddy make his speeches like I do, and don't say anything," she advised.
"He bullies this family," I remarked.
"Who cares? You want him to get angry and forbid us to go to the game and the party? Just shut up." She wiped another dish and then turned and left the kitchen.
Where was the love in this house? I wondered. What makes this more of a family than what I had with my mother? Was it just the roof over their heads and the food in the refrigerator? I was beginning to think I would rather settle for the occasional good days with Mama than the constant life of tension and fear that existed in this home, but I didn't even have the choice anymore. Maybe I truly was a mistake. I was someone who could be moved and ordered about like a piece of furniture.
The next day at school, Jimmy paid even more attention to me. He walked with me in the halls between classes and sat with me at lunch. When I asked him if Brad Dillon really wanted to go out with my cousin, he just smiled and said, "I told you I would make sure you got to the game, didn't I? Let's just have a good time. I'll be looking in the bleachers for you," he promised.
Jennifer talked Uncle Reuben into driving us to the school gymnasium. It wasn't until we were almost there that she revealed we were invited to a party after the game. He almost stopped and turned around to take us home.
"What do you mean? What party?" He bellowed so loudly I thought the windows would shatter.
I sat quietly in the backseat and listened to Jennifer rattle off her lies.
"Everyone's going. It's a chaperoned party at Missy Taylor's house. We won't be late. It's a celebration," she explained.
"How come you didn't say anything about it before?" he demanded.
"We just got invited, right, Raven? Missy called us."
I didn't say anything. He wasn't going to blame me later. I was determined about that. I saw his eyes go to the rearview mirror.
"Who's this Missy Taylor?"
"Melissa Taylor. You know her father. He owns Taylor's Steak House."
"That's no more than a bar," Uncle Reuben said. "They have a nice house," Jennifer continued.
He grunted. "I don't want you home late. Be home before twelve. How are you getting home, anyway?" he asked.
"Oh, we have a ride. Don't worry, Daddy."
He looked at her again and then at me through the mirror. "I'm not happy about this. Who's the chaperone?"
"Her mother's there. Stop worrying so much, Daddy. You went to parties when you were our age."
"No, I didn't. I didn't even go out on a real date until I was a senior."
This time, I grunted, unable to imagine anyone going out on a date with him. He looked at me through the mirror again and drove on.
It was a very exciting game Jimmy was spectacular, stealing the ball, making long shots, holding the team together, and keeping them within four points the whole time. He did what he promised, too: he looked into the bleachers and found me. When he smiled, Jennifer glanced at me with eyes so green with hot envy I thought she would burst into flames.
In the last minute of the game, Jimmy intercepted a pass and scored. Then one of their players was fouled but missed his shot. The ball was tossed to Jimmy, who made a long jump shot from the corner. It put the game into two-minute overtime. The crowd was excited, and the roar was deafening. When they stomped their feet, I thought the bleachers would come tumbling down and crush us all.
The overtime was just as exciting as the game, each team scoring until the last thirty seconds, when Jimmy had an opportunity to score and delayed it as long as possible. The crowd held its collective breath as the bail sailed through the air and threaded through the basket to give our school the victory. The team carried Jimmy off the court, the school's hero.
"And you're going to be with him at the party!" Paula Gordon moaned.
"I have no idea why," I said.
She exchanged a funny look with Jennifer, both covering their smiles with their hands.
Afterward, the boys joined us to watch the varsity game, but it wasn't as exciting, and during the halftime, Jimmy suggested we just leave and go to the party.
"We'll get a head start," he said.
We piled into two cars and headed for Missy Taylor's house. The weather had turned bad, and there was a constant drizzle, but rather than put a damper on our excitement, it made everyone squeal and scream as we rushed to get into the automobiles. When we arrived at the house, I discovered both her parents were at their bar and restaurant, so Jennifer's first lie was immediately evident. It was a nice house, bigger than Uncle Reuben and Aunt Clara's. Missy was an only child, and there were four bedrooms as well as a basement party room with a bar and a jukebox.
The music started immediately, and Brad got behind the bar and began to pour beer and vodka. I didn't want to drink anything, but everyone was drinking, even Jennifer, who claimed she was used to drinking vodka.
"I drink it at home and then put water in the bottle so my father won't know," she said. I actually believed her, but it wasn't long before she began to feel sick and had to go to the bathroom to throw up.
"She drank it too fast," Jimmy said. "That's the trick, drinking slowly. You're doing all right. You know how to handle yourself. I see."
I had only sipped half a glass of beer. My mother would roar with laughter, I thought.
"Come on," Jimmy said, taking my hand. "Let's leave these losers behind."
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see," he said. He led me up the stairway to the bedroom.
"We can't just walk through her house like this, can we?" I asked.
"Sure, Missy knows. It's all right," he said. "We've had parties here before. It's a great party house, because her parents don't keep track of what we drink, and they're always out."
Missy Taylor can't have much of a family, either, I thought. I was beginning to wonder if any of the kids at school were really better off than me.
Jimmy did seem to know exactly where to go. He led me to one of the guest bedrooms. As soon as we passed through the door, he kicked it closed and embraced me. It was the most wonderful kiss I had ever experienced, long, wet, and so hard it made the back of my neck ache. As he kissed me, he brought his hands up the sides of my body to my shoulders and then kissed my neck.
"You're delicious," he said. "Just as I imagined you would be."
"I'm not something to eat," I said, trying to laugh. I was getting very nervous. I liked him, wanted him to kiss me, but he was moving so fast he made my heart pound. His hands were on my breasts, and his fingers were manipulating the buttons of my blouse. As he did that, he walked us toward the bed, and before I knew it, we were sitting on it. He brought his lips to my chest and began to work on my bra.
"Wait," I said.
"For what?"
"I don't want to do this so fast. We can get in trouble," I told him.
He looked at me with a frozen smile on his lips. "Don't worry. We won't. I have what we need. You expected I would, didn't you?"
"What? No," I said.
"What do you mean, no? You agreed to come here with me. What did you think we'd be doing, having popcorn and watching television? You know what's happening, and I know about you. Jennifer's told everyone."
"What?" I pushed him back. "What did she tell everyone?"
"Hey, what's going on? This isn't brain surgery. We're just having a good time. You've had them before."
"Not like this," I said, standing. "I don't know what Jennifer has told everyone, but I'm not what you think."
"Come on," he said. "I don't kiss and tell." He reached for my hand, and I stepped back.
"Neither do I," I said. "I'm nobody's one-night stand," I added, repeating something Mama had once told one of her lovers. As it t
urned out, she was often a one-night stand.
"I thought you were cooler than the girls here," he said. "Why do you think I asked you out on the night of the biggest game? Come on," he said, reaching for me again. "Don't I deserve some reward?"
"No," I said. "You deserve a kick between the legs, and that's what you're going to get if you try to pull me onto that bed," I threatened. My eyes were full of fire.
He cowered. "Fine. Get the hell out, then."
I headed for the door.
"You and your cousin are full of it," he yelled after me.
"Don't put me in the same category as Jennifer," I spit back, disgusted.
Out in the hallway, I saw Brad leaving one of the bedrooms, a smile on his face as he hurried to straighten his clothes.
"Brad, where's Jennifer? We're going home!"
"Fine, chill, I'm done with her. She's all yours." He laughed as he made his way downstairs to the party.
I pushed open the bedroom door and saw Jennifer lying on the bed, her skirt bunched up and her shirt halfway unbuttoned. She looked as if she was sleeping, but I had enough experience with my mother to know that she was passed out.
"Jennifer, wake up!" I shouted, shaking her by the shoulder. "C' mon, we've got to get out of here!"
"What? Who? Raven . . what are you doing here? What happened?" She looked groggily around the room. "Where's Brad? We were having fun, and then the room started to spin, and I . ."
"Come on, Jennifer, you have to get up!" I pulled her into a sitting position, and she swung her legs over the side of the bed.
"Ohhh, my head! I want to go home," she moaned, clutching the side of the bed.
"We will. That's why I came looking for you. But first you better tell me what kind of stories you've been telling everyone about me," I demanded.
"Please, Raven, I just want to go home."
I could tell there was no use talking to her in this condition, so I put my arm around her and helped her to the stairs. Brad was standing at the foot of the stairs with a group of boys, and they were all laughing hysterically.
"Somebody better take us home," I said. "Jennifer's sick. We need to go now."
"Why don't you just hitchhike?" Brad suggested. Everyone laughed.
Jennifer and I made our way downstairs, and I turned to Missy Taylor who had come up from the basement to see what all the laughing was about.
"If someone doesn't take us home, my uncle will make a lot of trouble for you, especially with all this drinking going on."
She smirked. "Take them home, Brad. I don't want to get into trouble. They're too young to be here, anyway. It was a stupid idea."
"I'll say it was," Jimmy piped up from behind us. "Come on," I urged Jennifer, and we walked to the front door.
"Let's get moving," Brad said angrily. "I don't want to miss the fun."
"Yes, we'd hate to have you miss any of the fun. Some fun," I muttered, and led Jennifer to his car. She sprawled out in the backseat.
"She better not throw up in my car," Brad said. "You really didn't want to bring her here. Why did you?"
"I did it as a favor for Jimmy so you would come. I guess you didn't hit it off, huh?" he said, smiling. "That's okay, though, Jennifer and I had fun." Jennifer giggled from the backseat.
"No," I said, "we didn't hit it off."
"A lot of girls want to go out with Jimmy," he said as if I had lost a golden opportunity.
"Here's one who doesn't," I said.
He shook his head. "Man, where are you from?" he asked.
Yes, where am I from? I wondered, and then I thought, it doesn't matter where I'm from. It's where I'm going that matters.
7 The Party's Over
It was raining harder when we arrived home. Brad wouldn't help me with Jennifer. He just sat there waiting impatiently while I struggled to get her out of the car. She didn't even seem to realize we were getting soaked, because she wouldn't or couldn't move quickly. I practically carried her from Brad's car to the house. He shot off as soon as we were out of the automobile. By the time we reached the door, both of us were soaked. I had hoped to sneak Jennifer in and up to her room, but the moment I opened the front door, Uncle Reuben sprang from his recliner in the living room and appeared in the hallway. His eyes bulged when he saw Jennifer. She was pale, her clothes wet and disheveled, her hair messed with strands sticking to her forehead, and her eyes half closed. She leaned on me for support, and I guided her into the house.
"What the hell happened to her? What's wrong?" he demanded. "Is she sick?"
She lifted her eyes and looked at him
pathetically for a moment and then suddenly burst out laughing and crying at the same time.
He turned to me.
"What's going on here?"
"She drank some vodka at the party," I said. I had made up my mind I wouldn't lie to protect her.
"What? Drank some . . . Clara!" he screamed. Aunt Clara came rushing out of the bedroom and appeared at the top of the stairway. She wore only her nightgown. "What is it, Reuben?"
"Look at your daughter," he declared, extending his arms toward Jennifer.
She looked even more ridiculous wearing an idiotic smile and clinging to my arm. Her eyes rolled, and she pressed her hands to her stomach. "Uh-oh. I don't feel so good," she moaned.
Uncle Reuben turned to me again. "I thought you said the party was chaperoned."
"I didn't say anything. That was Jennifer," I said.
He curled his thick, dark eyebrows toward each other and narrowed his eyes into slits of suspicion. "Who gave her the vodka?"
"I'm sick, Daddy. Let me go upstairs," she pleaded.
"Oh, dear, dear," Aunt Clara cried, coming down the stairs quickly. She took Jennifer's other arm. We started toward the stairway, but Uncle Reuben reached out with his large hands and grasped my shoulders, pulling me away and toward him. He nearly lifted me off the floor as he brought his nose closer to my face and sniffed.
"You drank something, too," he accused.
"Just half a glass of beer," I said.
"I knew it. I just knew this sort of thing would happen when you came into my home
"It wasn't my fault," I cried, and pushed his hand away from my shoulder. "Jennifer wanted to go to this party more than I did. And she knew exactly what was going to be happening there," I told him If he only knew what else had happened--even his precious princess wouldn't be safe from his wrath.
He didn't hear a word. Jennifer stumbled on a step, and Aunt Clara struggled to keep her from falling. Uncle Reuben shot forward, scooped Jennifer up in his arms, and charged up the stairway with her as if she were nothing more than a toddler.
"Don't shake her so much, Reuben," Aunt Clara warned, climbing after them. It was too late. Jennifer started heaving again just as he reached the upstairs landing. He hurried toward the bathroom.
"Oh, dear, dear," Aunt Clara said, pressing her hands together and then to her face. She paused to look at me and shook her head. "How could this happen, Raven?"
"I think it's happened before, Aunt Clara, only you never knew," I said. I wasn't sure exactly what had happened with Jennifer and Brad, or if it had happened before with other boys, but I was pretty sure Jennifer wouldn't want her parents to know about that, either.
She bit down on her lip and started upstairs. Uncle Reuben stepped out of the bathroom,
"See to her," he ordered. "Give her a cold shower."
William had come to the doorway of his bedroom dressed in his pajamas. He wiped his eyes and looked out at the bedlam, confused. "What's going on?" he asked.
"Go back to sleep," Uncle Reuben ordered. Then he turned to glare down at me. "I want to talk to you," he charged.
"I didn't do anything," I protested, and went to my little room, closing the door behind me.
He nearly ripped it off the hinges opening it again. "Don't you dare walk away from me!" he screamed.
"It wasn't my fault, Uncle Reuben. She wanted to 'go to the game and the part
y. She talked the boys into asking us. She went right to the bar and poured herself a glass of vodka, claiming she knew how to drink, but she got sick right away. I guess she drank too much too fast trying to show off. I brought her home as soon as I could. That's the truth."
"Jennifer never went to a party like that before," he insisted. "She's never come home like this. Somehow, I'm sure this was all your doing."
"Believe what you want," I said. "You will anyway."
I turned my back on him. It was a big mistake. Seconds later, his big left hand was at my neck, and his right hand scooped up the hem of my dress. He lifted me off the floor and tossed me to the pullout, nearly knocking it over with me on it. Before I could scream, he had unbuckled his belt and pulled it off his pants. The next thing I knew, he was pulling down my panties. Then I screamed as loud and as hard as I could.
"Bitch!" he said. "Bad seed! You're not coming here and ruining my Jennifer. I'll put an end to this bad behavior right now."
The first whack of the belt shocked me more than it hurt me. I couldn't believe this was happening. With his large palm on my back, he held me down as he swung his belt again. This time, the pain shot up my spine.
"Wagging your rear at boys, going to parties, drinking and who knows what else. You are just like your mother," he said. "You should have been whipped before this, but it's not too late. No, sir." He hit me again and then again. Between my screams and my tears, I started to choke. It was useless to try to get away. He as much as nailed me to the bed with his heavy palm. He finally stopped beating me, but for a long moment he just held me down. My rear end was stinging in pain. It was as if I had been stung by dozens of wasps. I felt him move his right hand over it, but this time surprisingly softly. I wondered if he was checking to be sure he had done enough damage. Then he pulled his left hand from my back. I was afraid to turn, afraid to move. I sensed him standing there, gazing down at me, breathing hard.
"Maybe now you'll behave," he said.
I shuddered with sobs and heard him leave, closing the door behind him. For a long time, I didn't move. I remained there, with my face down, waiting for the pain to subside. Finally, it did so enough for me to turn over. It hurt to move my legs and even more to put pressure on my rear. I sprawled on my back and tried to catch my breath, wiping my face. I think I was bothered more by my outrage and loss of dignity than the stinging and aching, however. Slowly, I leaned over and pulled my panties back on. When I stood up, it was like rising from a beach or poolside and realizing you had been sunburned. My skin was throbbing, and there was a deep, sick feeling in the center of my stomach.