Epic Adventures of Lydia Bennet (9781476763248) (28 page)

I hesitated. A party without a phone? How were you supposed to take pictures? Or text when things got awkward? Or call for help when you were being murdered by a Disney orgy cult?

But cleaning sounded pretty horrendous, too, so I powered my phone down, whispering a silent good-bye to the Internet.

“Second, whatever name Steph told you, that's who you are tonight. You don't have to be constantly ‘in character'—most people don't commit that hard, but you can if you want.” She led us to a window by the far wall. I noticed it was cracked open and, as Steph had said, there were note cards and pens on the counter next to it, and she grabbed three of each. “Point is to live in your character's head, and at midnight we write down what we think our characters' deepest secret is and burn it on the roof. Which is . . .” She pushed up the window to reveal a fire escape. And the not-so-distant sound of music, finally. “This way.”

“This seems weirdly complicated for a party,” I said, following Milo out through the window. “Where I'm from, people just put out a keg and call it a rager.”

“Steph's a theater student; this is an extension of some sort of
acting exercise,” Milo elaborated as he started climbing up a rusted metal ladder. “But we get to set stuff on fire.”

“Isn't that . . . illegal?” I asked, looking down—and immediately wishing I hadn't.

“Maybe, but no one's ever stopped it,” he said, stepping around to the reverse side of the ladder and dropping down onto the roof. As Kat and I did the same, I was very glad to be on solid ground again. I've never had a fear of heights, but . . . note to self: don't get drunk tonight or you will most likely fall and die.

Also glad Jane's dress was knee-length and I'm pretty sure I didn't flash anybody.

“It's mostly just an excuse for monthly parties people actually show up to,” Kat said. “But it's kind of fun. Especially when some people take it
very
seriously. As you are about to see.”

A large guy in a flannel shirt with stubble the same length as the shaved sides of his head came up to us. “Kat!”

“Hey, Jay, how's it going?” Kat said, smiling.

“Kat's my friend.” Then Jay leaned over and proceeded to chew on Kat's arm like he was gumming corn on the cob. “World domination!” he cried, and then ran off.

As Jay left, we all looked at one another.

“Now I'm afraid I have rabies, so I'm guessing he's something from
101 Dalmatians,
” Kat said.

“Dude,” I replied, shaking my head. “World domination but with obvious affection for the dark-haired girl and an unending appetite? Stitch from
Lilo and Stitch
.”

Milo touched his nose and pointed at me. Kat's eyebrow went up in appreciation.

“Welp, I think I need a vodka soda to deal with that for the rest of the night,” Kat said, and didn't wait for us before taking off toward a big table of alcohol set up off to the side.

“What's your poison?” Milo asked me when we caught up with her. He picked up the bottles, reading over each of the labels.
“There's plenty to choose from.” I glanced over the table. There was liquor, wine, beer, chips, cheese, and . . .

I snatched up a plastic fork and coughed hesitantly. “Yeah, look at this stuff . . . isn't it neat . . . ?”

Milo barely glanced at me as he poured himself a whiskey, but I saw Kat smirk at me and my awkward attempt to play along with this whole theme thing.

“So what ya drinkin'?” Milo asked again.

“I'm . . . good for now,” I said.

The words shocked me, too. Don't worry. But strangers, rooftops, fire,
no phone
, and the way this summer had gone left me strangely fine with that decision.

As Milo and Kat fixed up their drinks and filled plates with various meats and cheeses, I took the opportunity to look around. The roof was done up really cool—there was a string of bulb lights forming a rectangle around where the party area was, with chairs here and there in groups. But truth was the place didn't really need a lot of decoration, because it had the city in the background.

It was a clear night, but I couldn't see a single star (okay, I might have seen one but I'm betting it was a plane), but the buildings mapped the edge of the sky. Looking north, I could see landmarks (the Empire State Building—oh, and that one from
Annie
!) popping up at intervals, marking the length of Manhattan. To the south, if you peered around one of the sleek high-rises, you could catch a glimpse of water. And I realized I was just down there yesterday, at the Statue of Liberty with Jane.

“Yeah.” Milo appeared next to me, watching me watch the city. “I've lived here my whole life, and it never gets old.”

“Milo! Hey, man!” A guy hanging in a group a few feet away raised his cup in our direction, and Milo gave him a two-fingered wave in response before turning back to us.

“Time to go do the rounds. I'll meet up with you guys in a bit,” he said, and spun around toward his awaiting friends.

“That guy is perpetually stuck in the catch-up phase,” Kat said, shaking her head. “He's always working or at school or with his family. Me and his roommate are probably the only ones who see him more than seasonally.”

“Are you guys dating?” I asked.

“Me and Milo?” Kat chuckled. “No. Sometimes people think we are. Guys and girls can't be friends, et cetera, bullshit, et cetera.” She waved her drink around dismissively. “He was dating my cousin for a little while when I moved out here—I'm a sophomore; Milo's going to be a senior. I tagged along with them sometimes, and Milo and I just stayed close, even after . . .”

I nodded empathetically. I'd never been friends with any of Lizzie's or Jane's boyfriends, but when I was in third grade, my two best friends—Courtney and Blake—went steady for, like, three weeks and then broke up when he spilled apple juice all over her new backpack. Picking teams at recess was a nightmare after that.

“Anyway,” Kat exhaled. “Let's go see how many people we can introduce you to before midnight. Parties where you don't know people suck.”

She looked around the roof, before zeroing in on a group hanging out near the far corner. “C'mon,” she said, and grabbed my hand, leading us through the small crowd.

*  *  *

I probably met twenty new people by the time Steph called for the burning ceremony to begin. And not just “Hi, it's nice to meet you” meeting people, but, like, really meeting them.

Turns out it's a lot easier to get to know people at parties when everyone isn't totally shitfaced from the start.

I met Carrie, a friend of Steph's from high school who had just moved to Queens a few months ago and was very passionate about belly dancing and Spanish.

I talked to Roni, a transfer student who served in the Israeli army
before coming here, but was way more interested in discussing film history than anything else.

I listened to Jess recount several stories of acid trips with her ex-boyfriend, which hadn't happened anymore after a particularly bad one resulted in a jagged scar up her calf from a busted Coke can.

I saw all of Asami's dozen tattoos, and found out the meaning behind each one.

Meanwhile, I found myself telling them about my sisters; Kitty; Mary's dumb ex, Eddie; and even my failed plans to transfer to Central Bay College and study psychology. I didn't tell anyone about Cody, or Harriet, or especially George, but even saying as much as I did felt like more openness than I'd expressed to anyone besides Ms. W all summer.

And I learned that Kat goes to New Amsterdam University.

“New Amsterdam?” I said, nearly choking on my (nonalcoholic) drink. You know, the school with the fantastic psychology department Violet told me about way back when I thought I had my future all planned out? “Don't they have a good psych program?”

“Yeah,” Kat said, surprised. “My roommate last year was in it. She said it was intense, but was really into the whole thing. How'd you hear about it?”

“A friend of my cousin's went . . . Recommended it to me.”

“You should come check it out while you're in town,” Kat suggested.

“I can show you around, if you want,” Milo had cut in. “If you're . . .” He turned to Kat, and she nodded. “I'm usually around during the day.”

“Do you go there, too?” I asked, stalling. I wasn't sure I wanted to think about future stuff right now. But at the same time, how often was I in New York? And wasn't I
in
New York to figure out future stuff?

Not that I'd ever thought about NAU when I decided to come
here. Honestly. Okay, more honestly, it might have been in the back of my mind, because Violet talked about it, but not as something serious. But Kat going there was like a weird fate-type thing. I've never been one to ignore weird fate-type things.

He glanced at Kat again. “Yeah. I go there.”

“Then . . . that'd be great,” I agreed before I could change my mind.

Just then, Steph called out to the party. “Everyone! It's time for the lighting of the ceremonial circle!”

We all shuffled around this freestanding firepit, which Steph lit with one of those barbecue lighters. It shot up fast, a blue flame dancing against the metal.

Jay, the guy who bit Kat, came forward first.

“My secret is . . . I tried to take over the planet, but I actually like it here.”

Kat nudged me. “Classic Stitch,” she whispered.

Another person stepped forward.

“And he's been working hard to please everyone tonight,” I said.

“Cinderella?”

I shook my head. “Genie.”

I was proven right when he read, “My best friend only likes me for what I can do for him.”

The circle continued, with everyone surprisingly respectful of the vaguely bizarre ceremony, and I found myself becoming more invested as each new person stepped forward with a new sentence to burn. Strangely connected to strangers telling secrets that weren't really theirs.

“I wanted more than I had, and I had everything.”

“This hasn't been my home since my mom died.”

“My only friends can't talk back to me.”

I wondered briefly if this is how cults get their power, but dismissed the thought as the circle reached our small group.

“I'm not sure if my opinions are my own anymore.” Kat.

“I'll never really fit in here.” Milo.

And then it was my turn. I hadn't gotten around to writing anything down on the paper.

“I gave up my voice for someone I hardly knew.”

I took a step forward and quickly tossed the blank paper into the bottom of the fire, waiting, and watching, as the flames found it and the glow blazed brighter, if only for a moment.

*  *  *

Rather than taper down, the party rolled on after that. Things felt easier then. The music got turned up, the alcohol somehow kept coming (although I still kept it strictly soda), and there was even a little dancing.

And by dancing, I mean mostly me and Milo making up really bad synchronized dances to nineties pop.

And by bad, I mean totally the most amazing thing you've ever seen. Obvs.

“White kids,” I heard Kat mutter after our not-particularly-well-coordinated rendition of “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls.

“Hey now,” Milo said, halting suddenly. “You know damn well that I am a certified”—he paused, taking a moment to shimmy—“go-go dancer.”

“What?” I exclaimed, bursting out laughing.

“I am!” he said, feigning hurt. “I'm good, too.”

“Wait, are you really a go-go dancer?” I asked.

“The Braveheart, every Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday.”

“That's . . .” I shook my head, utterly taken aback by this news. “Amazing.”

“You may think that now, but wait until you have to actually go watch him cover himself in body glitter and shake his ass in front of a bunch of college boys,” Kat said.

“Hey, those ‘college boys' tip surprisingly well. And some of them are kind of cute.” He winked at me, and Kat rolled her eyes.

“Ah, shit,” she said suddenly, glancing down at her watch. “I told my mom I was going out tonight—she'll throw a fit if I don't check in.” Her hand went to her pocket before she stopped herself from actually pulling her phone out. “I gotta duck inside real quick.”

She trotted off and disappeared down the ladder.

“So . . .” Milo started.

“You know what?” I said. “I think I changed my mind about that drink.”

He smiled at me, and we headed for what remained of the bar.

“Do you think anyone ever says their own secret instead of their character's?” I asked.

He tilted his head toward me. “I guess it's possible. I never really thought about it,” he said. “Did you? Tell your own, I mean?”

I held up the plastic fork I'd snatched from the table earlier. “Only if I'm a mermaid.”

Milo laughed. “Figures Steph would give you the ginger princess.”

“What about you?” I asked. “Who was yours?”

“Ah,” he said, wagging his finger. “We're not supposed to tell, remember?”

“Well . . . your secret was you'll ‘never really fit in here.' So, some might say Tarzan or something. But since Steph assigns things based on what she knows of the person, and you're a happy-go-lucky rescuer of girls on bad dates . . . I'm gonna go with Tramp, from
Lady and the Tramp.
”

“You're good at this figuring-people-out thing.”

“Or I've seen
Lady and the Tramp
a million times,” I said.

“It's got great animation,” he added. “I wish they still made movies like that.”

“Hmm . . . nostalgic for traditional animation . . . sketching in the park . . . lemme guess, you're an art major?”