The Alpha Bet (25 page)

I suddenly realize she has been backing me onto our front patio the entire time. In one fluid motion, she grabs my keys, slams the door, and deadbolts it.

“I love you, but I don’t want to so much as talk to you until Monday,” she says, her voice muffled through the door.

I’ve been evicted for the entire weekend. I turn toward the driveway, terrified, to face my fate.

Chapter Two

Driving around with Erika on a good day is heart-attack inducing, but today is especially bad, because instead of watching the road, she keeps sneaking glances at me.

“Take me somewhere so I can change,” I demand, glancing at her casual sundress and flip-flops.

“Not happening, Wentworth,” she says, taking a corner so fast I practically fall out of her door-less Jeep. “You look stellar and this is going to be an amazing night,” she says, cranking up her radio.

I reach over and turn it down. “Not night. Weekend,” I tell her in the same voice a Death Row inmate uses to order their last meal.

Erika swerves to the side of a residential road and slams on the brakes. “You’re spending the
entire
weekend with me?” she asks, her eyes looking like a startled bush baby.

“She told me she doesn’t want to see me until Monday. Today is
Friday
,” I say, trying to hide my horror because I don’t want Erika to take it personally.

“Your mom is so AWESOME,” Erika screams, scaring the bejeezus out of a little kid riding his bike next to us on the sidewalk.

“Oh yeah, she’s really awesome. Throwing her teenage daughter into a vile pit of promiscuity, underage drinking, and all around inappropriate behavior for the entire weekend,” I rant, knowing I’m being overly dramatic, but I can’t help it.

Erika peels out nearly making an innocent recycling bin roadkill. “You know you might actually have a good time if you lighten up and take the book out of your ass.”

She’s right. I’m being a jerk. Erika lives for stuff like this and I completely dissed it. She’s never done that to me.

“Sorry. I’m kind of nervous,” I admit.

This is the first time I’ve ever been to an actual party. I always at least make an appearance at the big events, like Homecoming and Prom, but I always bow out of the after parties, knowing my time could be spent better doing more practical things, like studying. I’ve just never felt like people were that interested in me. Everyone is always friendly, but I wonder what they really think of me.

“Everyone really likes you, Laney,” she says, sensing my concern. “How about we stay for an hour and if you aren’t having fun, we’ll leave and go see a movie?”

Her eyes are filled with cautious optimism and I realize that she is so used to me letting her down that she really never expected me to come with her tonight. How many times have we ended up at the movies because I was too chicken to be around other people? This party may test the limits of my comfort zone, but I owe it to Erika to stick it out for once.

****

Dance music is blaring as we roll up to Josie’s cul de sac. Josie’s parent’s enormously long driveway is already full of cars, as well as most of the street on both sides close to her house. There must be over a hundred people here already. Erika cruises down the block until she finds a spot to whip her Jeep into.

“What if somebody calls the cops?” I fret.

“Her family owns this town, including the cops,” Erika reminds me.

Josie’s family owns a chain of pet stores across Missouri and a popular pooper scooper business here in town.  I guess slinging poo has its advantages. It’s not like I’m going to be drinking anyway, so I guess I don’t need to over think things and worry about getting in trouble. Although Mom would probably give me a raise in my allowance if I managed to get arrested this weekend. She’s always so worried that I’m not having any fun. I keep trying to explain that there is nothing more fun than getting the best grade in the class.

“Aren’t I kind of overdressed?” I worry, spotting a few girls wearing denim cutoffs and tank tops heading toward the party.

“You look freaking amazing. People aren’t even going to recognize you. Wait, that didn’t come out right,” she says, but I start laughing.

She’s right. I’ve been sporting a ponytail since about seventh grade, and the most makeup I’ve ever worn before tonight is a little bit of blush and some lip gloss.

“I guess I can always change later if I feel weird,” I say, gesturing to the bag Mom packed for me. I set my purse in my lap and toss the bag in the backseat. Erika lunges at my purse like a lion going in for the kill on its prey.

“Oh my God, she let you borrow her Birkin bag?” She practically screams while caressing the buttery-soft leather bag Dad sent me as a graduation gift.

“That’s mine. Dad sent it to me for graduation,” I say, surprising her.

“Holy crap, it feels like it’s made out of butter,” she says, rubbing it against her cheek.

I knew as soon as I unwrapped it and saw that it came with a dust bag and certificate of authenticity, not to mention Mom’s gasp, that it was a very pricey bag. Instead of being overcome with joy, like Erika obviously would have been, I felt disappointed that Dad must not know me at all if he thinks I would want a purse that costs as much as my entire freshman year of college textbooks. He must have thought the bag was really special if he picked it out just for me. It was tempting to list it on eBay, but I realized that he would want to see me carrying it when we see each other in August.

“I’d give it to you if I could,” I tell her, wishing I could enjoy the purse as much as Erika obviously would.

“Your dad has good taste,” she says, placing it gently back in my lap. A memory of Dad barely being able to match his socks comes back to me. What if he wasn’t the one who picked out this purse for me? Maybe he has a girlfriend and that’s why he seemed so hesitant about me attending college in Tennessee. My stomach flutters wondering if I’ve made a huge mistake.

“Are you ready for this?” Erika asks, pulling me out of my thoughts. I clutch my purse like a security blanket.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I lie, swallowing my college doubts. I can only deal with one crisis at a time.

We carefully navigate the cobblestone cul-de-sac toward Josie’s parent’s so-not-humble abode. The homes in this neighborhood are ridiculously huge. My mom’s perfectly-coiffed hair and blindingly-white smile catch my eye from one of her real estate signs anchored in a neighbor’s yard. Under her name and cell phone number, the sign reads, “Higginsville’s Top Real Estate Agent.”

“Huh? She never told me she was the TOP real estate agent in town,” I say.

“Duh, that’s why her face is all over every bench in this town,” Erika clarifies. “Your mom’s had more guys sit on her face than Amelia,” she teases, referring to our school’s rumored easy girl. I try to ignore rumors like that because who knows what people are saying about me.

“You’re bad,” I say, but can’t help giggling. I guess I never really paid attention to the fact that Mom’s face is plastered all over town. The sign has a smaller star-shaped tag attached that boasts the selling price of the house.

“Nine hundred thousand dollars?” I shout.

“Chump change,” Erika teases, following my eyes to the sign.

“Yeah, I’ll write a check today,” I joke. Mentally I begin calculating what four percent of nine hundred thousand dollars is. I overheard Mom say her commission is four percent. That means Mom would make thirty-six thousand dollars for selling that one house! Surely that can’t be right. I mean, I know she enjoys her career but I always just assumed it was something to keep her busy.

My heart catches and I wobble when I spy the name, Doolin, on a mailbox belonging to a giant brick Tudor next to the house up for sale.

“That’s where Leo lives?” I ask Erika. It’s not as if Higginsville, Missouri is some metropolis but I’ve never really paid much attention to where my classmates live.

“That is indeed where His Highness resides,” she confirms, rolling her eyes. Erika isn’t exactly the president of Leo’s fan club, although she has never really given me a good explanation why. A moving van looms in the driveway. The van has a giant picture of a cowboy riding a horse inside the shape of the state of Texas on it.

“Leo isn’t moving to college already, is he?” I ask, panicked. I hoped to bump into him at least a few more times before I leave for Tennessee. I heard through the school grapevine that Leo decided on the University of Texas. I guess we are both ready to get the heck out of this state.

“That’s one of his dad’s moving vans,” she reminds me.

“Oh, right,” I say, slapping my palm against my forehead. Leo’s family owns a moving company and even though he could skip going to college and step into a management position at his family’s company, he is way too motivated to take advantage of nepotism. I can’t help but fantasize that we would make such a perfect couple.

“You’re too good for him,” Erika blurts out.

“Why do you say that?” I ask. It’s not like Erika not to like someone. She is about the only person in our school that can comfortably co-mingle with any clique and be accepted.

“He’s a jerk,” she says, very matter-of-factly. I love Erika but without some kind of concrete proof, I’m not going to change the way I feel about Leo.

“I respectfully disagree,” I tell her, knowing that just because we are best friends doesn’t mean we have to agree about everything. The chances of Leo and me actually dating are about the same of Pluto becoming a planet again, so it’s not like it is going to jeopardize my relationship with Erika. But he did say he wanted me to come tonight, and I do look very un-Laney like, so maybe there is a miniscule chance.

Suddenly I am very excited to get to this party. I sling my purse over my shoulder and pick up the pace while concentrating on not breaking my neck in these heels. Erika is a jumble of nervous energy next to me babbling about her devious plan involving a head-turning bikini to finally get Ronnie Baker to notice her.

I take a deep breath as we maneuver around all the cars in Josie’s driveway following the thumping bass. Erika stands on her tip-toes and unhinges the giant wooden gate, the only thing standing between me and a backyard full of rowdy party-goers.

I can do this
, I think. I got a 2300 SAT score: how hard can one little party possibly be? Besides, if I make an idiot out of myself, I just have to hide for a few months, then it’ll be time to go to college and I’ll never have to see any of these people again.

The gate swings open to reveal a carnival midway scene of scantily-clothed teens. There is so much insanity packed into this backyard that I don’t know where to look first. Someone lets out a bloodcurdling scream and I see Parker Zinn, thankfully clothed this time, fly over the Olympic-sized pool on a crude zip-line crafted out of a clothesline and bicycle handlebars. He lets go at the last possible second, barely missing smashing his coconut on the concrete pool ledge, and drops into the water.

My eyes drift toward bursts of flame periodically erupting from a corner of the yard. For a second I wonder if Josie hired a real life fire-eater. Then I see Justin Tate holding a can of aerosol hairspray and a lighter to Ryan Farney’s bare butt. Ryan bends over and from the look on his face seems to be working incredibly hard to fart. Soon another blast of flame shoots from his undercarriage. That one must have singed his privates because he whimpers then belly flops into the pool.

“Is it always like this?” I ask Erika, Mom’s heels starting to back themselves toward the exit. I felt less intimidated at my college entrance interview.

“You’ll be fine,” Erika assures me.

I try to believe her but as we pass by several people bobbing for condoms in a kiddy pool, I’m not so sure. I feel like Audrey Hepburn from
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
if she just walked into
Superbad
.

“Check it out, a photo booth,” Erika exclaims, grabbing my arm and dragging me toward it. Even I have to admit it is pretty cool that Josie rented a photo booth for the party. At least I’ll have photographic proof that I attended one crazy party in my lifetime.

Erika pulls the curtain on the booth back and we both scream. I recognize the freshman cheerleader in the booth alone, but my brain can’t seem to process what she’s doing. Erika quickly yanks the curtain closed and steers me toward another part of the yard. Was that a pool noodle?

I almost stumble over a guy passed out in the grass. Someone has taken a black Sharpie to him. They gave him thick black eyebrows and a Borat mustache.

“Look, a trampoline,” Erika says, trying to distract me.

It works because as soon as we reach the trampoline and witness Ashley White and her      DDD’s jumping topless, I almost forget all about the photo booth. Guys flank the circumference of the trampoline in various stages of salivation.

“Jesus, Ashley, get a bra on,” a stressed out Josie yells out as she jogs past us doing damage control. I do not envy Josie’s job as host of this party.

“Let’s get a drink,” Erika suggests, clearly worried that I’m going to bail.

We make our way over to a bar covered in green grass skirting with several tiki masks hanging on the front of it. A clear plastic container sits on the bar filled with tons of keys. Erika drops hers in before I can offer to carry them for her. Oh dear God, I’m going to be trapped here all night. I try to think happy thoughts about curling up in my window seat with a novel so that I don’t have my first full-blown panic attack.

“Hello, Erika,” Derek Burns says from behind the tiki bar. I try not to care that he doesn’t say anything to me. It’s not like we ever talk or anything, but Derek’s non-greeting isn’t doing much to calm my nerves. Is this how everyone is going to react? It’s going to be a long night if everyone is going to ignore me. I smile at him then can’t help but drop my eyes to his chest and lower because it appears he has nothing on. If he does, it is well hidden under the bar.

Embarrassed, I glance down at a sign dangling off the front of the bar explaining that everyone will be shuttled home in the pooper scooper company van. Since there is no way I’ll ever be able to find Erika’s keys, I guess we’ll be riding home in a neon green van that has the company name, Dingleberries, emblazoned on the sides of it. This night keeps getting better and better.