“Can I get you something to drink?”
I look up at the waiter and am about to ask for a Diet Coke, when Brent butts in.
“We’ll have a bottle of your second-best champagne,” he says. He glances over at me with another slimy grin. “We’re celebrating tonight.”
Uh, we are?
I wait for the waiter to ask for ID, to nip Brent’s plan in the bud, but he doesn’t. He simply nods and retreats to get our bubbly. Oh-oh.
“We can’t drink,” I hiss at him after the waiter leaves. “I’m fifteen. You’re seventeen.”
Brent looks bored. “Grow up, Dawn,” he says haughtily. “In Europe, kids can drink when they’re twelve.”
“But we’re in Massachusetts!”
“Details, details.” He waves his hand dismissively. “The guy served us, didn’t he? That’s all that matters.”
I slump in my chair. You know, half of me thinks I should take a drink. Or twelve. In fact, I should get absolutely trashed and then wake up my parents when I get home. Maybe then they’d see Brent wasn’t such a good guy after all.
But no. I want to keep a clear head so I can talk to Sean. Sean, who is straight edge and doesn’t drink a drop. He’d be mad if I phoned him all inebriated.
“Will you excuse me a moment?” I ask in my sweetest voice. “Need to go to the ladies’.”
“Sure. Whatever.” Brent doesn’t look up from his menu. “I’ll order for you.”
Of course you will.
I slip out of my chair and force myself not to run to the bathroom. The club has one of those bathrooms where there’s a little sitting room with couches, so it’s the perfect place to make my call. I’m so excited my hands are actually shaking. In a few brief moments, I’ll be connected to my true love over the cellular airwaves. Did I mention how much I adore modern technology?
When I enter the bathroom, however, I notice feet under several stalls. And I’m a little nervous that they could belong to friends of my parents. Or maybe Ashley #2. Someone who will tell on me for making an illicit phone call to my love while on a date with someone else. And I so don’t want to get grounded for another two months.
Well, that blows. I guess I can wait ‘til they leave, though that wastes precious talking time. Or, I suddenly realize, I can text him!
I sit down on one of the couches, pull out my phone and start typing. Sure, it’s not as intimate as a phone call and I won’t get to hear his sweet voice, but it’s still one-on-one conversation with Sean. And right now, I’ll take what I can get!
>Hi Sean. Miss you!
I hold my breath, hoping he’s around and has his phone on him. That would really suck if he went out and left it at home or something, after all the trouble I’ve gone through.
>Hi Dawn!!!
Yay! He’s there. I hug the cell to my chest for a moment, rejoicing in his virtual presence.
>How are you?
>Good. Are you off grounding?
>No. But I got a night off.
How am I going to explain the whole date thing in text speech? It takes so long to type anything.
>Where are you? Can I come see you?
>Ur never going to believe this. But E.O.s forced me to go on a date with this loser guy.
I hold my breath, waiting for his reply.
>????
>WAIT! Don’t freak. I only agreed coz I could call u.
>Ah. K. For a sec thought I should worry.
I smile and tuck my legs under my bottom. He was jealous. Jealous of Brent. Aww. He’s so adorable.
>No need 2 worry, I promise!
> :-) I luv u2.
ARGHHH!!!!! I kiss my phone, prompting one of the old ladies exiting the bathroom to give me a weird look. But I so don’t care. Sean loves me. He LOVES me.
Oh. I should probably not leave the poor guy hanging.
>I wish I could come see you.
>Me too. I’d give u a big hug & kiss.
>I’d like that. V. much.
We text a few more lines. Then I tell him I have to go, but I’ll text him in a little bit. I can always make another trip to the bathroom while waiting for dessert or something.
I head back to the table, sure I’m still glowing from the exchange. Brent has already broken into the champagne and appears a little tipsy, which worries me. I don’t want him driving me home drunk.
“Hey, Dawn, you missed it,” he says as I sit down. “You know how I said I wanted their second-best champagne? Well, the loser brought us their fourth best. Like, thinking I wouldn’t know the difference, I’m sure. So I said to him, do you know who my father is? And he says …”
I yawn. I can’t help it. Luckily or unluckily, depending on your view, Brent doesn’t catch it. He’s too busy relating the tale of the evil waiter, who he triumphantly vanquished with his extensive knowledge of champagne vintages. Fascinating stuff, I’ll tell you what.
Our meals come. Brent ordered me shrimp scampi, which I’m allergic to. I mention this, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. He’s too busy complaining about his own filet mignon, sending it back twice, complaining about the cut of the meat and then about its temperature. Then demanding to see the chef so he can berate him publicly. (With another reminder of just who his father is, in case the waiter forgot the first three times he told him.) Okay, this is gross, but I hope the chef hocks a big loogie in his mashed potatoes. It would totally serve him right.
Brent starts pouring himself a third glass of champagne and that’s when I have to break into his monologue.
“Dude,” I say, grabbing his hand. “You’ve got to drive me home. I’d appreciate it if you could do it soberly.”
He looks sulky, but takes his hand off the bottle. “You know, I had a feeling you’d be this uptight, Dawn,” he says. “You’re such a stuck-up little snob at school.”
Ni-ice! Great way to talk to one’s date. I’m about to snark off a reply, when my purse buzzes by my feet. I reach down to retrieve my phone and read the text message from my lap.
>How’s the date?
>Sux.
Brent’s reheated meal shows up at that moment and he needs to come up with some other reason to yell at the waiter, so I’m able to text a few more messages to Sean, feeling a little like James Bond. There’s something very intimate and sexy about sitting here, texting my true love, while my pseudo date sits across from me being a jerk-off. Very Romeo and Juliet, the next generation. In fact, I bet if those star-crossed lovers had text messaging back then, Juliet could have totally let Romeo in on her whole fake poison/death plan and then he wouldn’t have had to kill himself over her. Would have made for a much happier ending.
Amazingly, the never-ending dinner from hell does finally end. Brent pays with his daddy’s platinum card and we head out of the club. Thank goodness. Now I can go home and maybe my parents will forget about taking my phone back and Sean and I can text well into the night. Maybe we can even talk on the phone. After all, my bedroom is miles away from The Evil Ones’ own chamber of horror. And our walls are pretty darn soundproof.
I look up. Where are we? Uh, wait a second.
“Where are we going?” I ask, as Brent turns off the main road. The main road that leads back to my house and back to my room. The main road that will bring us to the end of our miserable date and me closer to the time when I can start texting Sean again.
“Just for a drive,” Brent says with a shrug.
Um, no thanks. I want to get home. To Sean. This date has already lasted ten thousand years too long.
“I’m, um, actually kind of tired.” I fake a yawn. “Can you maybe just drop me off at home?”
“Just a little drive,” Brent insists. “Then I’ll take you home. It’s a nice night.”
Nice night, my butt. It doesn’t take a linguist to translate guy talk.
“Besides, there’s this cool place I want to show you.”
Oh, huh! Let me guess. Could this “place” possibly, maybe, coincidentally be Lookout Point, by chance?
OMG, he’s so obvious, it’s pathetic.
Lookout Point, as its name suggests, is the top of the hill above our East Oaks subdivision. It looks out over the entire city. On the plus side, it’s very beautiful at night, with all the sparkling town lights. On the minus side, it’s a well-known make-out place for teens.
And if Brent thinks I’m going to make out with him tonight, I’ve got a great bridge in Brooklyn I’d like to sell him!
But sure enough, he turns onto the windy road that leads up the hill to Lookout Point. It’s foggy out and the car headlights do little to slice through the darkness. Kinda creepy, actually.
“Brent, I’d really like to go home.” I try again, starting to get a little nervous. I should have never gotten into the car with him after he’d been drinking.
“Stop being such a freaking baby, Dawn,” he admonishes, stepping on the gas and picking up speed.
It’s at that point my heart starts pounding. He’s not going to listen to me. What if when we get to the top he wants to ...?
No, I tell myself. He’s my parents’ friend’s son. He’s well educated and has been brought up with morals and manners. He wouldn’t dare.
Would he?
“Please, Brent,” I cry, knowing I sound scared and desperate and hating that I do. “Take me home.”
He doesn’t answer. Just keeps driving.
My hands shaking, I reach down to grab my purse. I glance over at Brent. His eyes are still glued to the road. Pretending to rummage around inside for lipstick or something, I pull out my phone, set it on my lap, and text Sean.
>Help. Lookout Point. Scared. Plz come.
But will he be able to get here in time? He lives across town and we’re almost to the top of the hill.
I text one more line.
>Hurry!
No answer. He probably walked away from his phone. Or went to bed. Great. I’m so screwed.
We reach the top of the hill and Brent puts the car into park. I look around, hoping some other lovelorn teens will be up here to provide assistance. But the place is deserted.
Brent does the not-so-subtle yawn and stretch and put his arm around my shoulder thing. I shrug away.
“What’s your problem?” he asks grouchily.
“What’s yours?” I retort. “I told you I wanted to go home.”
“What’s that?” His eyes fall on the phone in my lap. “Who are you calling?”
“No one.”
“Good. Then you won’t mind if I take that,” he says, grabbing the phone and throwing it out the window.
“Hey! What did you do that for?”
“You know, Dawn,” he says, his words slurring a bit. “You really need to lighten up.”
“Lighten up? You just threw my freaking cell phone out the window!” I cry. “I’m going to go get it.”
As my fingers fumble for the door handle, he reaches over and clicks the locking mechanism on his side, effectively thwarting my escape plan.
“Childproof locks.” He laughs. “Gotta love it.”
OMG! OMG! Now my heart is slamming against my ribcage with the rapid tempo of hardcore techno. I’m trapped. I have no phone. What if he tries to ...?
If only my parents could see me now. They’d be so sorry they made me go out with this so-called nice boy. A good family doesn’t mean crap when you’re drunk in a car on Lookout Point.
Brent reaches over and traces my cheek with a finger. I swallow hard, fear and adrenaline coursing through my veins. I don’t know what to do. I stare straight ahead. I can see my house from here. If I kicked him where it counts, would I be able to climb over to his side of the car and unlock the door? Then I could run down the hill and make it home. But the cliff is really steep and it’s pitch dark up here. I’d probably fall and break an ankle. Though that might still be better than the alternative….
Brent leans in for the kill. Or in this case, the kiss. His alcoholic onion breath nauseates me as he smooshes his lips against mine. I get none of the butterflies that flutter through my insides when Sean kisses me. Instead I get angry wasps stinging my stomach with panic.
“Stop it!” I cry. But my open mouth only gives him the opportunity to stick his tongue down my throat. His hands grip my forearms so I can’t pull away.
This is bad. Really, really bad. I knew Brent was a slimeball, but I had no idea he’d go this far.
Please, Sean. Hurry!
I know in my heart that even if Sean did get my message, he won’t make it in time. He’s too far away. On the other side of town. I’m on my own, and I have to do something.
I force myself to relax under Brent’s grip, then lean against the passenger-side door, allowing him to crawl on top of me. Then, when he’s in position, I lift up my knee and slam it into his groin as hard as I can. At the same time, I bite down on his tongue.
“Ye-ow!” he cries, in an almost inhuman sound of pain. He tumbles backwards, clutching his privates with one hand and his tongue with the other. I think I actually made him bleed. “You bitch!”
But I don’t wait to hear any more of his terms of endearment. I push past him, reach for the locking mechanism, and fall out of the car, stumbling as my foot catches on the door and slamming into the ground. A stab of pain shoots through me as my wrist breaks my fall onto the concrete.
Suddenly headlights cut through the fog. I jump to my feet, waving at them with my unhurt hand. Desperately hoping they’re friend and not foe.
And then I recognize the car.
The Evil Ones.
And I’ve never been so happy to see them in my life.
“Help!” I scream, as loud as I can.
My dad leaps out of the driver’s seat and drags the still-moaning Brent out of the car. Dad slams him against the hood, his hand against his neck.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing with my daughter?” he demands in the most furious tone ever. Wow, I never realized my stodgy old dad kind of resembles a superhero at times.
My mom comes straight to me, wrapping her thin arms around my trembling body and leading me to the car.
“Are you okay, sweetie?” she asks, her voice laced with worry.
I motion to my wrist. It’s throbbing like nobody’s business. “I think it might be broken.”
She takes my wrist gently in her hands, pressing cool fingers up and down the bone, all the while looking like she’s going to cry.
“I’m so sorry, Dawn,” she whispers. “This is all our fault.”
Well, sort of. But even I know this isn’t how they planned the night to go, so I guess can forgive them. “You didn’t know what Brent was like,” I say with a shrug, wincing as a new lightning bolt of pain snakes up my arm. “I didn’t even know it.”
“How dare you mess with my daughter?” I glance over to where Dad is still unleashing his fury on Brent, who, amusingly enough, looks as if he’s going to pee his pants. Ha! Serves him right. “Have you been drinking?”
“No, sir, we were just goofing around and …”
“Sarah, call the cops,” Dad yells over to my mother.
Brent’s eyes bulge out in fright. “You can’t do that! Think of what will happen to my dad—your friend—if it gets in the papers. And if Yale finds out …”
“You should have thought about that before you laid a hand on my daughter!”
Yeah! You tell him, Dad!
Wow. I’ve never seen my father so forceful and angry. Again it totally reminds me of Clark Kent turning into Superman. Who knew he had it in him? I’m actually rather proud of the guy at this point.
I want to watch Dad torture Brent some more, but my mother insists on leading me to the car after she makes the call to the police. I sit in the front seat, shivering in my thin dress, and she blasts the heat while we wait for the cops to show up.
“How’d you find me?” I ask, my teeth still chattering, more out of nerves than chill.
My mom smiles. “Your friend Sean called.”
Okay. Total jaw-dropping time.
“He did?”
“Yes.” Mom nods. “He said you were in trouble and he couldn’t reach you in time, but thought since we were closer we could.”
“And you believed him?”
Mom looks at me strangely. “Of course, Dawn. Why wouldn’t we?”
Why wouldn’t they, indeed. Well, for one, I would have assumed they’d think he was trying some trick. Seeing as he’s a “crackhead” in their eyes. But when push came to shove, they swallowed their pride, believed his story, and came to my rescue, no questions asked. You know, for Evil Ones, they’re pretty noble right about now. Maybe I should rethink the nickname. The Brave Souls Who Rescued Me from Certain Death, perhaps? Kinda has a ring to it.
“Thank you,” I say. “I didn’t know what I was going to do.”
My mother looks pained. “I feel so terrible for forcing you into this, Dawn. You didn’t want to go. You told me he wasn’t a good boy, but I refused to believe it.” She runs a hand through her graying black hair. “It’s just that he comes from such a nice family....”
“Character isn’t based on income, Mom,” I remind her. “And you can’t judge a boy by his cover.”
She turns and looks at me, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “When did you become so wise?” she asks. “You’ve grown up and I haven’t noticed, have I?”
I nod, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “I guess so.”
She leans in and pulls me into a gentle hug, careful of my wrist. “I know we haven’t been the best parents,” she says, her voice choking. “But we always tried to do what was best for you. Even though it probably didn’t seem like it at the time. I hope you know we only did what we did because we love you so very much.”
“I know, Mom. And you’re really not that bad,” I say with a giggle. “In fact, I wouldn’t want anyone else.”
The police show up then, sirens blaring, lights flashing, effectively drowning out any more sappy mom/daughter convo. Dad turns Brent over to them and it’s handcuffing time for the drunk frat-boy wannabe.