Life of the Party (7 page)

“No, that’s not
what I—”

“Stop it. Just
stop it.” He stared ahead. “If you ever cared for me, at all, even
a fraction of what I feel for you, we wouldn’t be having this
conversation. You’d be understanding, hell; maybe you’d even be
proud of me, inspired even. But no, it’s all about you and your
precious fun. That’s what sucks.”

“Riley, I—”

“You can’t
Riley your way out of this one.” He shook his head. His arms were
trembling, his hands gripped around the steering wheel with tension
and anger. “Why can’t … why can’t you ….” He trailed off, his eyes
closing as if he had given up. I heard him sigh. We sat for a
moment. “You know what? You want to smoke so bad Mackenzie?” He
turned to me. “Find yourself another ride then.”

The hinges
squeaked suddenly, the car door slammed loudly and then Riley was
gone, stalking across the dirt parking lot without looking back,
his arms and shoulders rigid with anger. I felt tears well as I
watched him walk away. I wanted to get out of the car and follow
him, to yell and scream and plead my case like I normally did when
we fought. But it was different this time—this time I felt utterly
useless, for I knew no matter what I said or what I did, it
wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t put us back the way we
were.

I stayed,
frozen in the passenger seat of Riley’s beat up old car, totally
alone, just as I had imagined only moments earlier. I started to
cry. I cried because I didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to
stop him from leaving me. I cried because I knew, deep down, that
everything Riley said about me was true. Everything he accused me
of. I was selfish; I did everything for all the wrong reasons. I
felt tears well up, spill over; I felt them warm on my face. I
cried because I was a terrible friend. I cried because I did care
for Riley, deeply, beneath it all.

And I cried
because I knew that we would never be the same.

The day was
horribly, hideously long. My eyes were red and puffy by the time I
made it to class, which got me some attention, and though I liked
that, I was still miserable. If Riley noticed he didn’t say
anything. With the size of our school it was inevitable to share
nearly every class, as we did, but instead of our normal places,
Riley chose to sit in any available chair as far away from me as
possible. It hurt, and every time he did it, tears welled again. I
hated having people mad at me. Well, my friends anyway. Especially
Riley.

I made it
through the morning, and then at lunch, I decided to mend things.
To beg and grovel and do whatever it took to make him like me
again. I waited by his locker, leaning impatiently. I sat on the
floor. I even took out my homework for something to do while I
waited. I missed three or four lunchtime cigarettes. He never
came.

Finally, at the
warning bell, I spotted him. A classroom door flew open—some kind
of lunchtime meeting must have been going on—and students started
pouring out. I never expected Riley to be there, I was just
watching for something to do. But then he
was
there,
laughing as if nothing was at all wrong in the world, like he
hadn’t just had a devastating fight with his best friend. He was
laughing with a girl. My eyes opened in panic and I got to my feet,
staring. They were laughing together and then seriously, she put a
hand on his arm. He placed his hand on top of hers and his lips
mouthed, “thank you,” and then they were hugging.

I swallowed
hard. Thank you for what? For the best sex ever in that classroom?
For fulfilling a part of me Mackenzie never could? For becoming my
new best friend? For letting me fall madly in love with you?

Had all of my
fears come true today? I scrutinized the girl, critiquing her
instantly, comparing our features quickly to judge how threatened I
should feel. She was shorter than me, and chubbier, though her
round face was pleasant. She wore jeans and a plain brown t-shirt
and nondescript footwear … boots, maybe? Not a dresser, that was
for sure. Her hair was a color between brown and blond, completely
natural and long, straight. She wore little make-up, and I was
chagrined to admit she was still pretty without it.

At least she
was chubby.

I recognized
her. In a school this small, it was inevitable to know everyone—or
at least of them. Her name was … I couldn’t remember her name, but
I knew she was one of the “brainiacs.” What could Riley want with
her?

I shook my own
dark, curly locks around my shoulders and waited for Riley to
approach. I practiced my best please-don’t-be-mad-at-me eyes. I
watched them walk together towards me down the fluorescent-lit
hall, and when he looked up and noticed me, the smile fell from his
face. I gulped.

“Riley.” I gave
him the eyes.

“Mackenzie.” He
nodded. “I’ll see you later, Emily.” He grinned at the chubby
girl.

“Sure, Riley.”
Her voice was all sweetness and roses. She smiled big, with
adorable dimples. “See you soon.”

Emily. That was
her name. I shared a few classes with her, but had never really
noticed her until now. I hated her instantly. I watched her walk
away and wished her bodily harm.

“Don’t start.”
Riley warned me. I spun my eyes to meet his, and gave him a soft
smile. He knew me well enough to recognize the instant,
unreasonable jealousy.

“No, of course
not. Look, Ry, I just wanted to say sorry.” I bit my lip and tried
to look as contrite as possible. “I’ve been terrible, I know, and
you’re right. About everything. But I’ll stop now. I’ll be
understanding and all the rest … I just …” I shrugged. “I can’t
help that I’m going to miss hanging out with you. That’s what I’ll
miss, you know. Not the dealing or anything. Just you. You’re my
best friend.” My voice broke on the word. At least, he used to be.
The tears, so near the surface, stung me again. “I do care for you,
even when I don’t act it, and I don’t—”

“Are you
finished?” He interrupted me then, but there was a slight smile
tugging hesitantly on his lips. I stopped mid-sentence and nodded
dumbly.

“So dramatic.”
Riley sighed, opening his locker and pulling out a thick black
binder. He slammed the locker door shut and closed the lock. I just
watched him, anxious, biting my lip—chapped already from all this
stressing. Riley was quiet, deep in thought for a moment.

“Mackenzie,”
when he looked up at me, his dark eyes were hard, his jaw clenched.
My stomach did a little flip of panic, my body reacting in a flash
of heat, sweat breaking upon my skin in worry. I forced myself to
look at him, steadily, but I could feel the tears rising. My throat
ached.

“Mackenzie,” he
started again, softening when he noticed the tears in my eyes. “I’m
sorry … but I meant what I said earlier. About changing. I think …
I think it would be easier if we just … if we spent some time apart
….”

“What?” My eyes
darted anxiously across his face. “Why? Riley I’m sorry for
earlier. I’m so sorry, and I won’t interfere with your new life …
your new plans … I promise. I’m happy that you’re doing so well,
that you’re so strong ….” I lied, but I was desperate. “Just …
please, don’t say we need to be apart. Please? I don’t know what
I’d do without you. Not just to party with, but to be with. You
know?”

“Yeah, right.”
He scoffed in disbelief. I grasped his hand and forced him to look
at me.

“I mean it, Ry.
You’re my best friend. Who knows you better than I do? Who knows me
better than you? Come on …,” I smiled at him. “Riley and Mackenzie
just like always.”

He shook his
head. “But it won’t be just like always, Mac. I’m giving it all up
for good. All of it. So you either have to accept that and me, or
we can’t be friends anymore. The thing is … I’m not that strong,
and if you keep pressuring me to do these things, I’ll do them, and
I won’t look back. And I don’t want that. Not anymore.”

I nodded.
“Okay, okay that’s fine. Honestly Ry, you are more important to me
than just a buddy to get high with. I will miss you, ‘cause you’re
friggin’ funny when you’re high, but I won’t pressure you anymore.”
I laughed. “As long as you promise not to become one of those
people.”

“What
people?”

“You know; the
people that we hate. The ones that quit stuff and then judge the
other people for doing exactly what they just quit. Don’t do that
to me, okay? Or I’ll totally lose it on you.”

Riley stared at
me a moment. “That sounds fair,” he chuckled, “but … wouldn’t you
rather give it all up, too? Wouldn’t you like to live for yourself,
and not just in pursuit of your next high? I mean, chasing down a
few hours of conjured happiness, when you could live that way,
everyday, doesn’t that seem ridiculous?”

It was my turn
to stare. Never in my life would I have imagined those words from
Riley’s mouth. I had no choice but to laugh, in stupefied shock,
and shake my head.

“I wouldn’t
hold your breath there, my friend. Good speech though.” I couldn’t
even imagine the same thing happening to me. “So, we have a deal,
then?”

“We have a
deal.” Riley smiled and shook my hand, as if we had just conducted
some important business. “But don’t think I give up that easily.
I’m not giving up on you Mackenzie, not when I know what’s best for
you.”

I laughed
again. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

“Why’s
that?”

I thought of my
desires, my youth, my plan for life which did not extend past this
evening—highlighting the areas when I would be high, skipping past
the areas when I would be sober, already impatient for the feel of
a joint to my lips. I was young. I was not done having fun. If
anything, I wanted complete, reckless amusement at any cost. I
wanted danger, complete abandonment—wild, careless, excitement.

I shrugged my
shoulders, but I was grinning. “I’m a lost cause.” I decided.

And I was
delighted to be so.

My heightened
pulse had nothing to do with the fact that I was waiting on tables,
alone, for the very first time. It had nothing to do with trying to
remember menu choices and prices and customer needs. I wiped my
sweaty palms on my sleek black skirt and tried to breathe normally.
My anxiety had nothing to do with waitressing and everything to do
with him.

He was there.
After all my scheming and waiting and new-jobbery, he was finally
there, behind the narrow slit of a window dividing the kitchen from
the waitress area. I snuck another glance at him. All I could see
was the blue fabric of his bandana as he bent down at the line.
Then he lifted his head, and Grey’s heartbreakingly handsome face
became visible, the deep tone of his skin darkened by a few days
growth of stubble. His blue eyes were narrowed as he worked, his
hair pulled back in the blue bandana tied round his forehead. Even
in the black and white checked kitchen attire—messy with pizza
sauce and who knows what else—he was gorgeous. His sleeves were
rolled up, showing his dark, tanned forearms firm with muscle. The
apron he wore hinted at slender hips, outlined his hard torso,
implied at the defined muscle beneath. It was all I could do not to
openly drool at him, to grovel at his feet and offer him a lifetime
of servitude in exchange for a smile, a touch.

I patted my
hair in place, took a deep breath, and approached the window. My
table wanted extra garlic bread. It was the perfect excuse to talk
to him.

“Excuse me.” I
cleared my throat, watching him expectantly. His head barely
lifted, barely acknowledged me, but just the feel of his blue eyes
against my own was enough to make my heart race even faster.

“What.” He
looked back down at his work.

“Um … can I get
some more garlic toast, for table thirteen?” I asked nicely.

He looked up at
me again, a slight smile bending his perfect lips. He raised his
eyebrows and then leaned in closer to me. I focused on
breathing.

“See this?”
Grey asked, his voice low, like velvet. He held up an order
sheet.

“ … Yes ….” I
smiled.

“Take this,”
his tone was condescending, “take your pen, write
one garlic
toast
,” he did exactly that, made sure I was watching,
smartly—his eyes innocent, his voice sarcastic. “Then stab it on
the puck, like so …,” he demonstrated for me, taking the order
sheet he had just scrawled upon and placing it roughly on the
hockey-puck-nail apparatus. “And then you wait, and I go back
there, and put it in the oven. And when it’s done, I bring it to
you. Okay?”

“ … O … okay
….” I stammered stupidly. Heat rushed to my cheeks in an
embarrassing blush, adding to my humiliation.

“There’s no
need for this,” he motioned with his hand to me, and then back to
him. “There’s no need for us to talk. Ever. Okay? Can you remember
that?” He muttered something then … I heard the words “stupid” and
“waitresses” and “all.”

I nodded, dumb
with shock, and backed away from the window, trying to put some
distance between me and his sudden, unexpected scorn. I could hear
him chuckling behind the counter, and at the sound, my
mortification turned swiftly to anger. Clearly I remembered Grey at
the club and the smiles he had given me as we laughed and talked
together. But either he’d totally forgotten me and I didn’t even
register in his memory, or he did remember and simply didn’t care.
Seething, I imagined him later on, regaling his kitchen friends
with the story of his sheer wit that put the new girl in her place.
Grey or no Grey, I would show him. He couldn’t be such a dick and
get away with it.

Quickly and
impetuously, I stormed back to the counter, hastily scribbled,
“Screw you!” on an order sheet and stabbed it on the puck. Then I
rang the bell beside it as hard as I could, the poor instrument
protesting with a loud, tinny clang that instantly got Grey’s
attention. He swung around again from the oven, and the moment my
eyes rested on his handsome, perfect face, I’d completely forgiven
him and wanted to take it all back. What had I been mad about? I
couldn’t seem to remember. He kept his icy blue eyes upon me, a
small smirk on his lips, and reached to retrieve the order. It was
too late to take back the rashly worded message, and my brow
furrowed with fresh worry. Surely, this would make him hate me
forever.