Art Geeks and Prom Queens (16 page)

Ohmygod
—
was I just a third wheel with Paige and Hud, too?

I don’t even bother with the computer. I just pick up the phone and punch in the numbers. And when she answers I go, “I got your card.”

“Oh, good,” she says. “I was hoping it would get there on time.”

Then without even making an attempt at small talk or beating around the bush, I go, “Did you and Hud hook up?”

And she goes, “Well, we’re dating now, yeah.” And she sounds really uncomfortable when she says that.

“Are you guys serious?”

“Well, kind of. Yeah.”

I don’t know why, but hearing her say that makes me feel even angrier. And my voice is kind of shaky when I ask, “So exactly how long has this been going on?”

“Uh, a couple weeks after you left,” she says quietly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demand. “I mean, you e-mail me like every day!”

“Well, I wanted to.” She hesitates. “But your messages always sound like you’re having kind of a rough time. And I don’t know. I just—”

“Well, don’t go feeling sorry for me,” I say, totally cutting her off. “Because my life is
great!
” I kick over my trash bin for emphasis, watching wads of paper and water bottles scatter across the carpet.

“I’m happy to hear that,” she says softly.

“And just so you know, I’m having a major party this weekend, and like
everyone
from the junior class will be there. Even some of the hot senior guys are coming. It’s going to be really big, really major,” I say, crushing an Evian bottle under my foot.

“That sounds fun. I wish we could be there,” she says.

We!

“Well, listen,” I say, feeling completely irrational and out of control, but unable to stop. “I have to go.”

“Are you mad at me?” she asks, sounding so genuinely caring that it totally infuriates me.

“No!
I’m really very happy for you, Paige. I’m happy for
both
of you. But I’m
extremely
busy right now, so I
have to go!
”

“Okay, well, have fun at your party.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Okay, well, bye,” she says.

“Ciao!” I say, and then I push the off button really, really hard. But it’s hardly the same as slamming it.

Okay, so here’s a list of the people I am no longer talking to:

1. Paige

2. Hud

3. Mason

4. Jas

And here’s a list of the people I am talking to:

1. My mom

2. My dad

3. Kristi

4. Kayla

5. Jen Jen

6. All the juniors and seniors on the invite list

7. All the juniors and seniors that
weren’t
on the invite list, but who are totally sucking up to me hoping for a zero-hour reprieve

So on the night of the party, I come downstairs in this amazing green BCBG halter dress that my mom bought for me on a recent
shopping trip to Fashion Island (which isn’t really an island, just an upscale, outdoor
shopping experience).

My mom’s on the phone and when she sees me she goes, “Oh, here she is now.” Then she hands me the phone and whispers, “Honey, it’s your dad.”

“What?” I give her a confused look as I take the receiver because he’s supposed to be walking through the door, not calling me. “Dad?”

“Hey, kiddo, happy birthday!”

“Where are you?” I ask, hoping he’s just fooling around, like calling me from the driveway or something.

“I’m at the studio,” he says. “I finished late, missed my flight, and now I’m about to tape a Larry
King
segment. I’m sorry, honey I wish I could be there, I hear your mom has quite the party planned.”

I feel like crying. But that will ruin the makeup my mom spent the last hour applying, so I tell him it’s okay, even though it’s really not. And then I go, “But when are you coming home?”

“Well, I’ve got to be back in court on Monday morning, so probably not until next weekend. But listen, we’ll do something great, something to make up for it. I promise. But meanwhile, try to take a little time out from your party to watch your old man on
Larry King.
I just might surprise you.”

When I hang up, my mom gives me her “it’s just you and me so let’s try to get along and not maim each other” smile, and I just shrug. Then the doorbell rings, and it’s Kristi, Kayla, and Jen Jen, all three of them dressed in two-hundred-dollar jeans and high-heeled, stiletto sandals with a vintage-looking beaded cardigan (Kayla), a white ribbed tank top and black sequined capelet (Jen Jen), and a red silky halter top (Kristi).

We all sit on the couch and watch my dad yak with Larry, and when the segment is almost over and my friends are nearly bored to tears (because once the initial charm of my dad being on TV wore off, we were left with nothing more than insomnia-curing legal speak), Larry goes, “So, Griffin, I hear it’s your daughter’s birthday today.”

My dad looks at Larry and then directly into the camera and goes, “That’s right, Rio’s just turned seventeen, and I’ve got a lot to make up for since I’m spending it here with you, Larry.”

And then they both chuckle.

Then Larry looks into the camera and tells me to have a happy birthday.

And my friends look at me with their mouths wide open.

And while it’s nice that they’re impressed, I still feel totally gypped. ‘Cause even though this isn’t the first birthday of mine that he’s missed, it’s definitely the one where I’m really missing him.

I look at my mom sitting on the couch, laughing with my friends, and it’s like she fits in easier, and with less effort than I do. Then she looks at me and smiles, and it’s obvious how proud she is that I’m part of all this. And it makes me want to feel happy and proud, too.

Within a half hour the house is filled with like forty of my closest friends, and apparently, according to Kristi, there’re some seniors who may or may not show up. I guess that’s not really a ton of people when you think about it, but she was very strict with the guest list.

Kristi’s floating around, acting like this is her party and she’s the hostess (which I guess in a way she is). But I don’t really mind since it allows me just to hang back and observe, and I’m really more comfortable with that anyway.

I go into the living room (which, by the way, has now been fully decorated to resemble something one might find in the Taj Mahal section at Disney’s Epcot World Showcase), and I find my mom perched on top of a silky, beaded door pillow, showing off numerous scrap-books of her glory days when she was an almost-supermodel. God, I can’t believe her! I mean, can’t I have just
one thing
that belongs to me? Isn’t it enough that she leaves voice-mail messages for my friends?

So I walk right up to her and go, “Uh, Mom, you’re totally gonna be late for dinner. You really need to wrap it up.” Then I give her a look.

And she goes, “Oh, right.” Then she gives me a look.

But it’s not as harsh as the one I gave her. Then she gets up from her little cushion, grabs her purse and car keys, and says good night.

Kristi runs to the window and when my mom’s car is safely out of view she grabs the Louis Vuitton duffle bag she brought, unzips it, and pulls out several bottles of vodka, champagne, and beer, and sets up bar on the coffee table.

“Happy birthday!” she yells, popping the cork on a champagne bottle and holding it up high so the bubbles run down her arm.

She drinks from the bottle then hands it to me, and the second I’m done she takes it back, puts her arm through mine and goes, “Come on, I’ve got something for you.” She leads me down the hall and into the big guest bathroom near the stairs, then she pulls me inside and locks the door behind us.

“What’s the big secret?” I ask, wondering what she could possibly have that can only be given to me in a bathroom.

She sets her brand-new black Balenciaga bag on the counter and pulls out a little glass vial of coke. “Happy birthday!” she says, handing it to me.

Instinctively I reach for it, but once it’s in my hand I start to feel really uncomfortable. I mean, if she wants to do coke, that’s her business, and her secret is safe with me, but there’s no way I can partake in this. I set it on the marble counter and look at her. “Um, Kristi—” I start.

“It’s supposed to be really good stuff,” she says, grabbing it and tapping it out against a little handheld mirror. “But I haven’t tried it yet, I thought we could do it together. You know, just us. Kayla and Jen Jen can’t know.”

I just stand there not saying anything because even though I’ve totally made up my mind that I’m not gonna do it, there’s still this tiny part of me that’s whispering,
“Why not?
” I mean, I’ve watched Kristi do it, and it’s not like it made her all crazy or anything. And it’s not like one line’s gonna make me an addict.

“I bet you’re really disappointed that your dad totally ditched your birthday, huh?” she asks, sculpting a perfect white line.

“I’m used to it.” I shrug. But she’s right, I really am kind of angry.

“And your mom showing everyone her swimsuit photos.” She shakes her head and cringes. “Kinda harsh.”

I just shrug. But she’s right, it is pretty sick and wrong.

“I read this great line recently, about how your friends are the family you choose.” She looks at me and smiles. “I’m really glad we’re friends, Rio.” Then she leans down and inhales.

And when she comes back up her eyes are wide and sparkling, and
her skin is flushed slightly pink, and she looks so happy and perfect, that I think:
What the hell? I mean, it is my birthday. And I’ll only do a little bit. And no one will ever find out since it’s our secret…

“Exactly how do you do this?” I ask, moving toward the mirror.

Withm two hours most of the alcohol is gone, but there’s still plenty of food. Everyone’s just sort of scattered all over doing whatever, and some guy I’ve never seen before has plugged in his iPod, and all this really great music is blasting through the house.

I admit, after doing those two lines of coke I’m feeling pretty hyper and aware, and almost kind of powerful, and I’m just wandering around and around until I end up standing outside the little cabana next to our pool.

It’s pretty dim, but there are candles flickering inside so I can just make out the shapes of people moving around in there, and I’m cupping my hands against the glass to get a better view when someone comes up from behind and hugs me. I have no idea who it is, but the hug feels nice so I just close my eyes and let it unfold.

And then he says, “Happy birthday.”

And I think:

Oh, my god, Jas?

So I turn around and JC is standing there smiling. His light-brown hair is gelled perfectly in place, and his eyes look bloodshot and sleepy, but he’s still cute in the way most girls agree on. But I can’t hide my disappointment when I say, “Oh, it’s you.”

He’s all ego though, so he just laughs. “After you,” he says, opening the cabana door.

We go inside and there are these random couples everywhere, and JC grabs my hand, leads me to the couch, and pulls me down next to him. And when my eyes adjust to the dim light I realize those random couples are my friends.

Then he leans in really close, touches my face, and says, “You are so hot.”

And I wonder if he means I have a fever.

Then he kisses me.

And even though I don’t have much experience, and my head is feeling pretty messed-up, I’m still kind of disappointed that my first real kiss is turning out to be not so great. But I don’t stop him, because I’m seventeen now, and it’s about time I hooked up with someone.

So we’re making out and he’s way more into it than I am, because mostly I’m just wondering how far I’ll let him go. I mean, yeah, JC is cute and popular and all the girls like him, but still, this is nothing like I hoped it would be. And just as I’m thinking we should probably stop, he takes my hand and puts it right on his crotch.

“Oh, my god! What are you doing?” I say, moving my hand and backing away from him.

But he just laughs in that overconfident, lazy way and goes, “Relax, it’s no big deal.”

“It is to me,” I say, not caring how uptight I sound.

“Look around,” he whispers, sliding closer to me. “Everyone’s doing it.”

So I look around, and he’s right, everyone is doing it. But that doesn’t mean I have to. “Forget it,” I tell him, getting up to leave.

“Okay, okay It’s your call,” he says, lifting his hands in surrender and following me back into the house.