The Party Read online

  She placed the cake box in the hatchback of her car and checked her watch. Hannah would sleep until noon at least; she had some time to kill. She considered going for a facial but she’d had one last week and if she went too often her skin broke out. A mani-pedi was a possibility, but she hadn’t brought any flip-flops with her. She paused for just a moment before pulling out her phone and dialing. Her heart hammered in her chest as she listened to it ring.

  “Tony Hoyle.” His voice, as always, prompted that delicious shiver.

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  “Hey, Kim.” His voice was professional—overly so. Ruby and Declan were obviously within earshot … maybe even his wife. “How’s the copy coming along?”

  “I’m having a little trouble, actually.” She realized she was blushing and sweating, so unaccustomed was she to playing this game. But there was something so wonderfully naughty about it. “I thought maybe we could get together and brainstorm a bit.”

  “That should work. Where and what time?”

  “Umm … now. At Farley’s.”

  “Great. I’ll bring the files on my laptop and we’ll get this sorted out.” He hung up.

  As Kim pulled away from the parking meter, she allowed herself a gleeful smile. Just like that, she was back in eighth grade.

  hannah

  THAT DAY

  Hannah drifted out of sleep, squinting in the late-morning light that was pushing through her gauzy curtains. It took only the briefest of moments for her consciousness to register the significance of the day. Sixteen … finally. She rolled over and reached for her phone. Her mom told her not to keep it in her bedroom (Kim had heard about teens who texted all night and never slept a wink!), but thankfully, it was a rule her mom often forgot to enforce. Fourteen texts, all various iterations of the sentiment HBD!! Not bad, considering most of her peers were probably still asleep. She checked her social media apps and found even more well-wishes.

  Enveloped in the warmth of her luxurious duvet, she took a moment to savor the morning. Her mom usually barged in at some ungodly hour to roust her from her slumber, insisting she needed to get to her studies, her piano, or some inane household chore that didn’t really need to be done. This morning, the house was quiet. Her mom must be at Pilates, her dad was working or working out, and her younger brother was undoubtedly plugged into some electronic device and shoveling food into his pimply face. It was a perfect time for reflection, and so she did, in the way that sixteen-year-olds reflect.

  Fifteen had been a pretty good year for Hannah, especially the last two months, since Noah. He turned his attention on her and, like flicking a switch or waving a magic wand, he had changed her life. Hannah had been utterly naive to the transformative powers of a popular boy’s attentions. She was suddenly cool, admired even. When Noah deemed her worthy of his interest, so did the rest of the student population. And that included Ronni Monroe and Lauren Ross.

  The girls were Hannah’s age but possessed a sophistication far beyond their years. Lauren in particular was confident, self-assured, and just a little bit mean … which everyone knows equates to power in the high school universe. Hannah knew that Lauren liked her only because Noah was hovering around her, but Hannah was sure that she could segue the popular girl’s interest into a meaningful friendship. There was a lot to be learned from a girl like Lauren; Hannah was an eager protégé.

  Hannah’s inclusion in the cool clique wasn’t completely out of left field. Ronni Monroe had been Hannah’s best friend in elementary school. But in seventh grade, Ronni had outgrown her, probably because Ronni had developed early and attracted the attention of older boys. Hannah was a late bloomer and, prior to Noah, had been virtually invisible to the opposite sex. Ronni also had a mother who let her wear makeup and short shorts to school. Hannah’s own hovering mom seemed determined to thwart her daughter’s maturation, banning revealing clothing, eyeliner, rap music, and anything else that might lead to the “hypersexualization” of her daughter. Her mom had seen a documentary on this “epidemic” and talked incessantly about empowerment and self-worth. Just Hannah’s luck …

  Hannah’s life hadn’t been particularly terrible before Noah—it had just been … flat. Her focus had been on school, basketball, practicing the piano … basically, doing everything that her parents wanted her to do. And then, about two weeks into her coupledom, Ronni and Lauren had approached her. “Wanna hang?” There was little enthusiasm in the invitation, but Hannah knew enough to be honored. She’d spent two years watching the queen bees stroll through the halls of Hillcrest Academy, bored, jaded, beautiful; Hannah was one of them now.

  Her mind floated to her boyfriend, Noah, and lingered on his lazy smile, his blue eyes, the outline of his strong shoulders under his ubiquitous black sweatshirt. Her stomach did that funny little dance and her hand slipped down to her panties. Her fingers crept inside and she scratched. Vigorously. Lauren and Ronni insisted she had to shave “down there.” Everyone did it—except hippies and religious people. It was cleaner, sexier, and boys loved it—expected it, really. Pubic hair was gross, Hannah agreed. But Jesus, how it itched!

  Noah had yet to be introduced to Hannah’s hairlessness. Despite the life-altering ramifications of their relationship, they had done little more than kiss up to this point. This was largely due to a lack of opportunity. At Tyler Harris’s party, there had been some over-the-clothes fondling, but she knew Noah would be expecting more from her soon. Lauren and Ronni informed her that some guys would be content with petting for a month or two if they really liked you, but they’d soon lose interest if you weren’t up for at least some oral. And Noah dated Kennedy Weaver last summer and they’d had sex a bajillion times. Any day now, Hannah was going to have to put out.

  After another bout of violent scratching, Hannah decided to get up. Before she could reconsider, she threw the pale-yellow duvet off her, her body bracing against the chilled air. Her modern house was stunning, everyone said so, but with its sealed concrete floors, high ceilings, and expanses of glass, it was also freezing. Her feet were literally numb as she scurried toward the double bathroom she shared with her kid brother, Aidan. The haste was necessary. In addition to saving her toes from frostbite, she had a ton to do to get ready for the party.

  As the rain showerhead poured over her body, Hannah tried to relax, but there was no denying the importance of this evening to her social status. The most popular girls at Hillcrest would be in attendance, along with two of Hannah’s oldest friends. Marta and Caitlin were nice kids, good kids like Hannah, but lately she’d realized that they were kind of immature. Hannah had advised her two pals that they would have to up their game, because tonight was not going to be some childish slumber party. Yesterday, at school, Lauren and Ronni had made their expectations perfectly clear.

  They had approached her in the morning as she was putting her books into her locker. “Hey, birthday girl.” Lauren had hugged her first. She was so tiny, like a little girl in Hannah’s embrace—a little girl with rounded hips, perky breasts, a nipped in waist; a little girl with long honey-colored hair, a glossy pout, and sleepy, sexy eyes.

  “It’s not until tomorrow.”

  “Technicality,” Ronni said, as she stepped in for a hug. She was a little taller, but still compact, with disproportionately large boobs that stirred covetous feelings in Hannah. Beneath her expertly applied makeup, Ronni had perfect tawny skin and her hair was dark and shiny. Her dad was half Puerto Rican or half Guatemalan or something. He wasn’t in the picture, but at least he’d given his daughter some genetic gifts before he disappeared. Around Lauren and Ronni, Hannah always felt huge and dorky. But she also felt special. They had chosen her, after all: the prize puppy, the cutest kitten. Hannah had found the golden ticket; she was going to Hollywood… .

  Ronni released her, and Hannah caught the envious glance of Sarah Foster as she walked past them. Sarah was tall, lanky, and blond; she wore the right clothes and dated the right boys. Sarah had enjoyed a brief sojour
n in Lauren and Ronni’s orbit, but something had gone wrong. Rumor had it that Sarah had flirted with a guy Lauren liked, but Hannah didn’t trust rumors. A lot of people talked shit about Lauren Ross—small, jealous people who had no chance of ever basking in her heat.

  Lauren clocked Sarah’s look, too. “Stare much?” she called. Sarah quickened her pace and soon dissolved into the clotted artery of the hallway. Lauren and Ronni exchanged a snicker and Ronni mumbled, “Slut.”

  Lauren returned her attention to Hannah. “Can’t wait for tomorrow night.”

  “It’s gonna be wild,” Ronni added.

  “Totally,” Hannah said, but her stomach twisted with nerves. How could her party be wild when Hannah had the strictest, most vigilant mother in the Bay Area? Her mom had set out the birthday-party decree: no booze, drugs, boys, unsupervised Internet, or R-rated movies. Were PG videos and pizza going to cut it for Lauren and Ronni? Would they giggle and gossip about Hannah’s dull, juvenile party? She could almost hear them. “It was like she was turning twelve. Pizza and a Hunger Games movie? Seriously … ?”

  “We got you a present,” Lauren said in a teasing voice.

  Ronni added, “For you and for Noah.”

  It had to have something to do with sex … A box of condoms? Some kind of sex toy? Flavored lube? Oh God. “What is it?” Hannah asked gamely, but her voice came out strained and tight.

  “We’ll give it to you tomorrow,” Lauren said. “What did Noah get you?”

  Hannah’s cheeks burned. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him yet. And I told him I didn’t want anything.”

  “Can we help you?” Ronni suddenly snapped. It took Hannah a moment to realize the pointed question was directed at Raymond Sun, Hannah’s locker neighbor.

  Nerdy Raymond stood in the hall, separated from locker seventy-one by Hannah’s companions. “I just … wanted to get my math book.” He sounded nervous, intimidated.

  “We’ll be done in a sec,” Lauren said dismissively. She turned back to Hannah. “What are we drinking tomorrow night?”

  Hannah felt a bubble of panic. “I was thinking vodka, maybe? Or do you guys like rum?”

  “Vodka has no calories,” Ronni said.

  “Ummm …” Raymond took a tentative step forward. “The bell’s about to ring. I have math.”

  “Chill, loser,” Lauren snarled.

  “You’ll get your fucking books when we finish our conversation,” Ronni spat.

  Lauren leaned her back against Raymond’s locker and addressed the girls. “I don’t care what we drink or what we take …”

  “As long as we get fucked-up,” Ronni finished.

  “Absolutely.” Hannah had grinned her agreement while, out of the corner of her eye, she watched Raymond Sun shake his head and storm off.

  Even now, as she tilted her head back to rinse the conditioner from her shoulder-length hair, she felt queasy at the recollection. Was it pity? Or guilt? It’s not like that mathlete Raymond was her BFF or anything, but they had been hallway neighbors all year. They didn’t talk much, but Raymond was always polite, always picked up her lunch bag when she dropped it, once even chasing her pen when it fell and skittered away down the hall… . Hannah did not feel a similar sympathy for Sarah Foster, who had also been subjected to the popular girls’ derision. Obviously, Sarah had it coming; she had been stupid enough to cross Lauren and Ronni, so she deserved what she got. But Raymond was harmless, an innocent, his only offense possessing the locker adjacent to Hannah’s. It was like a pack of wolves attacking a Chihuahua.

  But Hannah didn’t have time to worry about Raymond Sun’s hurt feelings. She shook it off and focused on her mission. She knew what she had to do—Lauren and Ronni’s decree was absolute—she just wasn’t sure how she would do it. She turned off the shower.

  Her hair still slightly damp, Hannah jogged down the open staircase into the silence of the house. “Hello?” Her voice reverberated off the stark walls, the stretch of glass windows, the smooth, polished floors… . She moved toward the modern, spacious kitchen. Empty. That’s when her younger brother loped into the room, a skateboard under his arm and earbuds stuffed into his ears. “Where are Mom and Dad?” she asked.

  “I think Mom went shopping. Dad’s running. Or swimming.” He reached into the fridge, grabbed a carton of orange juice, and put it to his lips.

  “You’re a pig.”

  Aidan gave her a self-satisfied smirk and put the juice back in the fridge. “Tell Mom I went to the skate park.” He moved toward the door. Hannah trailed after him.

  “You’re not going to be here tonight, right?” She did not want Lauren Ross to be exposed to her thirteen-year-old brother. He was childish and annoying and he smelled like a pungent combination of BO, mushrooms, and farts.

  “I’m sleeping over at Marcus’s.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Fuck you, too.” The siblings reveled in foul language when their mother wasn’t within earshot. It was a benign rebellion, but a rebellion nonetheless.

  Aidan knelt to tie his skate shoes and Hannah watched him. Could her kid brother help with her predicament? Was she desperate enough to ask him? She took a small breath… . “Do people sell weed at the skate park?”

  The boy stood, removed his earbuds. “You want me to get you some weed?”

  She did, desperately, but she wasn’t sure Aidan could be trusted. She took in his shaggy hair, his droopy pants, his poor hygiene … all the trappings of badassery, but it was just surface stuff. When she looked into his eyes, she could see his innocence and naiveté. She could see he was still firmly trapped under Mommy’s heavy thumb. No way was Aidan cool enough to buy dope from a dealer. And worse, he’d probably rat her out to their parents for even asking.

  “Of course not. I was just wondering if you were, like, a stoner now.”

  “Yeah,” he scoffed. “Huge stoner.” He reached for the door handle.

  “Aren’t you even going to wish me a happy birthday?”

  “I was going to.”

  “No, you weren’t. You were leaving.”

  “I’m still here, aren’t I?” He turned the handle and muttered as he exited, “Happy birthday, bitch.”

  “Go to hell!” she screeched, but the door closed on her words.

  She was heading back to the kitchen to make a smoothie when the phone rang. Hannah moved to the dock near the double fridge and picked up the handset. Her mom’s number showed in the display bar.

  “Happy birthday, sweet sixteen …” Her mom’s corny term and singsong voice chafed. Of course, Hannah’s irritation was probably due to stress and the fact that she hadn’t eaten anything yet, but the cliché didn’t help.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m getting birthday supplies: chips, soda, a birthday cake … And a little something special for you, but you can’t open it until Daddy gets home.”

  Chips. Soda. Daddy. The words solidified the fear in the pit of Hannah’s stomach. Her birthday party could not destroy her new social standing, could not turn her into a pariah or a laughing stock. She was turning sixteen, for God’s sake, and she would not let her parents’ denial of this fact ruin her.

  “When will you be back?”

  “A half hour or so. I’ll make you some brunch. Pancakes with chocolate chips?”

  Hannah felt an inexplicable lump of emotion form in her throat. Her mom was trying to be nice, but she was treating Hannah like a toddler. It made her feel an almost overwhelming surge of pity for her mother. Kim’s life was so dull, so quiet, so … over. Not that her mom was old, but what did she have to look forward to? Forty more years of domestic puttering, of writing boring flyers, and a passionless marriage? Her parents’ relationship seemed to Hannah a utilitarian coexistence based on an unequal sharing of household and child-rearing duties and a bank account. There was no fondness, no affection, and certainly no passion. Hannah would never accept such a bland existence, would never live vicariously throug
h her children, not realizing that they were pulling away, making their own lives and their own choices. Her mom would never understand the person Hannah was becoming. Kim was losing her, and she didn’t even know it.

  “Pancakes would be good. Thanks.”

  Hanging up, Hannah moved purposefully to the booze cupboard above the fridge. Her mom had obviously chosen this location because it was inaccessible to small children. But small children weren’t interested in alcohol. Now, at five foot eight, Hannah had both the desire and the reach. She pulled down a bottle of Grey Goose vodka, noting that it was three-quarters full. Her parents rarely had mixed drinks, her mom favoring wine and her dad low-carb, light beer. She bent down to the container cupboard and retrieved a tall, stainless-steel water bottle. Her hands were shaking as she unscrewed the lid and poured over half the vodka into the water bottle. She topped the Grey Goose bottle up with water and replaced it in the cupboard. She hoped her parents wouldn’t be making cocktails anytime soon.

  Moving with a swiftness borne of fear, she hurried downstairs to the basement rec room. It was cold and slightly damp, but she was fond of this space. Her parents had ripped the house down to the studs, rebuilding it into their sleek, contemporary dream home. But the basement, with its wood paneling and ancient bathroom fixtures, was untouched. Unlike the stark and stylish decor of the rest of their house, the rec room was old-school. A ratty sectional sofa and a dated glass coffee table reminded her of the house they’d lived in when she was little, when her parents were young and seemed to laugh a lot more. And with a large flat-screen and decent speakers, it was a fine place to host her friends tonight. She dove on the tweedy surface of the couch and pushed the water bottle between the cushions. She stepped back and surveyed the hiding spot. It looked fine, but when she flopped back on the sofa, the metal dug into her tailbone. Kneeling, she shoved the bottle under the couch, tucking it into a torn piece of upholstery fabric.

  There … Her party wasn’t going to suck after all.

  jeff