The Party (8 page)

“Nope, I don’t have any tickets. And I’m not going to pay scalper prices to get them.”

“You’re kidding? She’ll freak when you pick her up.”

“No, she won’t. Ten minutes alone with me and she won’t even remember how to spell U2.”

Michael laughed. “I’d like to see that.”

“I’m hoping you will. You noticed I made the date for next Saturday, and not tomorrow? I wanted to give you time to talk to Jessica Hart. We can make it a double date.”

“I don’t think I can move that fast.”

“Then stop where you are and let her come to you.” Bubba stopped, gestured toward mid-aisle. “She’s coming down the steps now. See her? She’s got that Sara chick with her.”

Michael would not have believed his heart could start pounding so hard so quickly. Jessica had changed into white pants, a bright green blouse. A camera with a telephoto lens hung around her neck. Her long brown hair bounced with each step she took down the bleachers. He turned away.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

“Leave if you want. I’ve been looking forward to a private conversation with Jessie about her tastes in music.”

“I’ll stay,” Michael grumbled. He hoped—and feared—that Jessica and Sara would pass them by without noticing them. Perhaps they would have. But Bubba stepped right into their path.

“Ladies,” he said. “My name is Bubba. You may have heard of me. This is my friend, Michael. You may have heard of him, too. We are both fairly popular.” He extended his hand. “We would like to welcome you to Tabb High.”

Giggling, Jessica shook his hand, introducing herself. Sara was more reserved. “I
have
heard about you,” she said. “This girl in my P.E. said I should watch out for you.”

“Did she tell you why?” Bubba asked innocently.

“No.”

“Then she must have a guilty conscience, and you shouldn’t listen to her.” Bubba pulled his gold pocket watch from his jacket. “I have a few minutes, Sara. Come with me. I want to discuss your political future.”

“I’m not running for anything.”

“But you like hot dogs, don’t you?” Bubba asked.

Sara threw Jessica a quick glance. “I love hot dogs,” she said slowly.

Bubba reached over and took Sara by the arm. “Then you should have one, with
everything
on it. Nice meeting you, Jessie. See you later, Mike.”

When they were gone, Jessica continued to giggle. “Is he really your friend?” she asked.

“I think he considers me more of an apprentice.” He cleared his throat. “I hope he doesn’t overwhelm your friend.”

“Sara can take care of herself.”

“That’s right, I almost forgot. I was there at lunch.”

“I saw you when you sat down.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

The conversation ran into a hitch right there. Michael couldn’t think of anything to say. Jessica started to fiddle with the focus on her camera. It was a Nikon . The previous year, Michael had constructed an eight inch reflector telescope. He had a dream of taking timelapse photos of the sky through it from out in the desert. Jessica’s camera would have been ideally suited for the job. Except it cost close to five hundred bucks.

“It’s jammed again,” she muttered, getting frustrated. A roar went up from the crowd. Wiping her hair out of her eyes, Jessica looked up. The team was coming back on the field. “Damn, the teacher wanted me to get a shot of the players running out of the tunnel.”

“May I see it?” Michael asked.

“It does this all the time,” she said, holding it out without removing the strap from her neck. He gently twisted the lens, trying not to brush up against her breasts; they weren’t all that far away. She added, “I think I was sold an incompatible attachment.”

It was indeed jammed. “Did you just take the telephoto lens out of its case and screw it in a moment ago?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“The camera’s warm. You must have been holding it in your hands most of the night. But the lens is cool. Let them both sit out for a moment. When the temperatures average out, the jamming will stop.”

She nodded. “That makes sense. You know a lot about cameras?”

He shrugged. “I’ve played around with a few.”

“You should be the one taking these pictures, not me.”

“Are you doing this for the paper or the yearbook?”

“Both, I guess.” Jessica’s attention wandered to the football players. She had a striking profile. He hadn’t realized she had such thick lashes, such big eyes. He wondered what it would be like to touch her face.

“Who are you looking for?” he asked.

“A girlfriend.”

“Is she on the football team?”

“She plays quarterback.” Jessica turned his way again. “Hey, do you know a guy named Russ Desmond?”

Michael felt a pang of jealousy. “Yeah. But he’s not on the football team this year.”

“He runs cross country, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know him well?”

“Not really.”

Jessica smiled. “I suppose I can trust you. Sara’s been searching for him all night.”

Michael felt better. “She’s searching in the wrong place. Russ would never come to a football game.”

“Why not?”

“He hates the coach. And the coach hates him. It’s a long story.”

Jessica nodded, her lovely brown eyes drifting up into the stands this time. “Where is she?” she whispered.

“Sara?”

“No, the girlfriend I mentioned. You wouldn’t know her. She’s from Mesa. She’s only a sophomore, an old friend.” Jessica chuckled. “All day she’s been telling me about this fantastic guy I’ve got to meet.”

“What’s her name?”

“Alice McCoy.”

Michael leaned into the fence. He was lucky he didn’t flip over and land on the track. “Oh, my,” he said.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing”

Jessica suddenly turned her head toward the field. Tall, blond, and handsome number sixteen was walking toward the sidelines. Jessica quickly raised her camera, trying to focus her jammed telephoto lens. “Damn,” she muttered.

Had Jessica not tried so eagerly to take Bill Skater’s picture at that precise moment, Michael probably would have admitted he was the fantastic guy Alice wanted Jessica to meet. Later, he was to wonder if he had told Jessica, if the tragedy that was to follow Alice’s party would have been avoided. It would be a possibility that would haunt him the entire year. It would be a possibility based solely upon a young girl’s strange dream.

“You might want to give it a few more minutes,” he said softly.

Jessica did not appear to hear him. She had lowered the camera, and her eyes. Bill had stopped at the microphone to talk to Clair.

“I better go,” Michael said.

Jessica raised her head. “Huh? No, don’t go, please. I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

“Nothing.” He edged away. “I really have to go.”

“That’s too bad. Thanks!”

“For what?”

She forced a smile. “For everything, what else?”

Michael did not head in the direction of the snack bar, but away from it. Alice would have to forgive him for ditching her. He couldn’t bear the thought of witnessing Jessica’s probable—if she went for the likes of Bill Skater, it was virtually certain—disappointment when she learned Michael Olson was Mr. Fantastic.

He only remembered that Nick had gone for their dinner when Nick came up to him with a box full of goodies.

“I hope you like junk food,” Nick said. “I live on it.”

Michael accepted a hot dog, a tub of popcorn, and a large orange. Nick again refused Michael’s offer to help pay for the stuff. They continued to walk in the direction of the scoreboard. “I bet you’ve had to search all over for me,” Michael said. “Sorry I took off.”

“I knew where you were,” Nick said. “I was watching you talk to that girl.”

“Jessica? You should have come over. I could have introduced you.”

“No, I couldn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I would have gotten in your way.”

“Don’t say that.”

Nick glanced over at him. For an instant, something glimmered deep within Nick’s black eyes. But all he said was OK, Mike.”

They sat at the end of the bleachers, away from the crowd. Nick began to dig into his food. Michael realized he’d lost his appetite. He sipped his drink, stared at the clock on the scoreboard. He didn’t even know what he was doing at the game. She had smiled at him, thanked him, all the while thinking about the quarterback. Bubba would steal Clair away from Bill. Bill would find solace in Jessica’s arms.

It’s like the earth going around the sun—a vicious cycle.

“This is going to be a long second half,” he muttered, referring to the rest of his life.

“Want to leave?”

“Do you?”

“Whatever you want, Mike.”

“Whatever I want,” he repeated quietly. He chuckled sadly, shook his head. “No, not today. Maybe tomorrow.” He slapped Nick on the back. At least he’d made a new friend. “Tell me about yourself, Nick?”

“What do you want to hear?”

“Everything.” He thought of Jessica’s line. “What else?”

It took them awhile until they returned to the topic of girls. Finally, however, Michael heard of Maria, and spoke of Jessica. They both agreed that something had to change.

Polly McCoy noticed that her arm was bleeding. A drop of red trailed from beneath the bandage inside her left elbow all the way to her wrist. She had given blood that afternoon; it was a habit of hers to give blood every two months, as frequently as she could. Once Jessica had joked that she must have been a vampire in a past life, that she was working off karma. Polly didn’t know about that. She had all this money and she had never done anything to earn it. She felt as if she had to help people, give something back. And she didn’t believe in reincarnation, anyway, or even life after death. When you died, you were dead. It was pretty simple. On the other hand, she occasionally did wonder about vampires, about demons in general. So many terrible things happened to so many nice people. There had to be something evil behind it all.

Taking out a Kleenex and wiping away the blood, Polly saw Alice making her way up the stadium steps. Polly was sitting in the very top row. She liked the view. She could see what everyone was up to. Of course, when halftime finished, she would rejoin Sara and Jessica closer to the field. They had all come together. But for now she didn’t mind being alone. Actually, she preferred it. She was not in the best of moods. She was mad at her sister. Sara and Jessica had been looking for him, but only she had seen Clark. She’d watched him and Alice carrying on the whole night.

And it was me who saw him first
.

Polly had met Clark three months ago, during the last week of school at Mesa High. The day had been beautiful. She and Alice had decided to go for a hike in the woods. They had driven up into the nearby mountains and set out along a trail adjacent to a stream. They quickly ran into trouble.

Approximately two miles from the car, Polly stepped on a loose stone and twisted her ankle. The sprain was nasty. They both decided she should stay where she was while Alice went for help. While waiting for her sister’s return, Clark appeared.

Polly’s initial reaction to him had been one of fear. He talked weird. He looked weirder. But he had a certain
touch
. When he took her swollen ankle in his delicate hands—over her shy protests—and began to massage points on either side of the bone, the pain vanished. Polly had read about acupressure and stuff like that. What he did went beyond that. The swelling even stopped.

And the more she listened to his voice, the less strange it sounded. He had lots of interesting ideas. He told her how the mountain they were on had once been used by the Indians as a sacred spot for the channeling of the spirits of longdead medicine men. What made his point of view so unique was that he neither believed nor disbelieved what he said. He was just being “open.” He told her she had to open up. He had a pad and pencil with him. He wanted her to take off her top and let him sketch her. When she refused, he began to draw her as if she were completely nude. He finished the sketch minutes before Alice returned with the ranger. He gave it to her as a present. She didn’t remember having given him her number. But he called her the next day.

Over the next two months, they never went out once. They spent most of their time together necking in her bedroom with the door locked. She finally did take her top off for him, and her pants, but they never had sex. He would push her right to the limit and then back off. She knew it was probably for the best—what with all the talk of herpes and AIDS going around—nevertheless, it still frustrated her. She wondered if he truly found her attractive. She wondered that a lot when he started chasing Alice.

It happened just like that. Overnight. Hello, how are you, Polly? Let me speak to Alice. And from then on Alice and Clark were always together. The only thing that kept Polly from freaking out all together was that their relationship appeared to be a brothersister sort of thing. Alice said it was, and of course being the considerate sister that she was, she had still asked Polly a thousand times if it was OK. Polly told her not to worry. She wanted what was best for Alice. And there was no denying Clark was “opening” her up to all kinds of artistic inspirations. Alice had paintings in progress in her studio that the specialeffects people in Hollywood couldn’t have dreamed of.

Yet Polly was finally beginning to wonder if she hadn’t gotten a raw deal. Tonight, for the first time, she had seen Clark put his arm around Alice. If you would do that in public, there were a lot of other things you might do in private. Clark had such hypnotic green eyes, like a cat. And those long fingers. She couldn’t stand the thought of them all over her baby sister.

“Hi. Have you see Jessie?” Alice asked, panting from her hop up the steps.

“Last time I saw her, she was down by the cheerleaders. But she’s not there now.”

Alice searched the stands, sighing. “I’ve got to find her right away. Clark wants to leave.”

“I could give her a message for you.”

“No, it’s not that. I want her to meet somebody.”

“Why are you leaving with Clark now?”

“I told you, he wants to leave.”

“Why does he want to leave?”

“He didn’t tell me.” Alice stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“With my arm? It’s bleeding, can’t you see? I gave blood today. You should, too, sometime. There’re a lot of sick people out there who need it.”

“No, I mean, you sound mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m not mad.”

Alice smiled. Polly could remember the first time Alice had ever smiled. Polly had only been two years old at the time, and Alice two months, but Polly remembered everything. “Are you having fun?” Alice asked.

“Sure. How about you?”

Alice beamed at the whole stadium. “I’m having a great time. I love this school. I love the people here.” Suddenly she leaned over and embraced her sister. “And I love you most of all!”

Polly returned the hug. “I know you do,” she said softly, feeling the bones of Alice’s rib cage under her fingers. When they had both been kids, Alice had tended toward chubbiness. Now, Polly could barely get her to eat one full meal a day. “Would you like a candy bar?” she asked, reaching for her purse.

Alice straightened herself. “No, chocolate gives me acne.”

“It doesn’t do that to me.” Polly replied, getting the candy out for herself. The nurse at the hospital this afternoon had told her to go home and have a big meal. She had to make up for what she had lost. She didn’t appreciate Alice suddenly staring at her as if she were a pig. “I gave blood today,” she repeated.

“What about your diet?”

“Leave me alone, all right?” Alice knelt back down beside her, holding her hands. “Are you upset ’cause Clark’s here?”

Polly swallowed on the lump in her throat. “No. I see Clark all the time at the house. What difference should it make seeing him here? Anyway, why have you been hiding him away all night? Jessie and Sara want to meet him.”

Alice leaned back on her heels. “I don’t want them to see him.”

“Then why did you bring him here tonight?”

A note of anger entered her voice. “I didn’t. He insisted he come. Now he wants to leave early.” She looked away, her expression strangely flat. “I’ve got to get away from him,” she whispered.

Polly felt a thrill. She softened her voice. “Why?”

“He’s not very nice.”

“What?”

“He talks about mom and dad.”

Polly closed her eyes, the thrill gone. “What does he say?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me!”

“No, it has nothing to do with you.”

Polly opened her eyes, took a bite of her candy, smiled slowly. “All right, let’s drop it. Let’s talk about the party.”

Alice brightened. “Can we have it?”

Polly nodded. The bad moment had come, and the bad moment had gone. All of a sudden she felt greatly relieved. “Yes, I think it would be all right. But we’ll have to take Aunty over to Uncle Tom’s for the night. The noise might upset her.”

Alice nodded, leaned over, and kissed her cheek. “Thanks! I owe you a million.”

Polly smiled at her. “You only owe me a penny. Don’t invite Clark to the party.”

Alice didn’t hesitate. “I won’t even tell him we’re having one.”

Alice left to search for Jessica. Polly remembered a textbook she had forgotten to take home that afternoon. She debated about waiting until after the game to get it from her locker. She finally decided that Sara would get mad if she did. Sara had been getting mad at her a lot lately; it was really beginning to bother her.

Polly accidentally ran into Sara at the bottom of the steps.

“Do you know where Jessie is?” Sara demanded.

“No. Alice doesn’t either.”

“What are you talking about? Where is Alice?”

“I don’t know.”

Sara rubbed her stomach, groaned. “I just ate three hot dogs.”

“Why three?”

“My political adviser insisted. Where are you going?”

“To my locker.”

“Is the locker hallway open now?”

“The door lock is busted. It’s always open.”

“What did you forget?”

“Nothing. Don’t say anything mean.”

Sara laughed loudly. “Don’t get mugged. I couldn’t see the school from the snack bar. They don’t waste electricity here. There isn’t a light on.”

No greater truth had ever passed Sara’s lips. After leaving the stadium and heading around the silent gymnasium, Polly found herself in a disquieting land of darkness. Tabb High had a lot of trees. The branches blocked much of the sky, as did the overhanging roofs. She wished she had a flashlight. She had never cared much for the dark. It had been on a dark and lonely road her parents had died. She remembered it well. She remembered everything.

What did that bastard say about them?

Her steps echoed softly as she strode down the empty open hallway. She was uneasy, yes, but she also enjoyed the emptiness. Sometimes during the day she wished she could be this alone, strolling the campus free and easy, meeting only those people she chose to meet, hearing only those voices she wanted to hear, touching only those who wanted to touch her…

What did Clark say about me?

Polly was crossing the courtyard, passing beneath what she had heard referred to as the varsity tree, when the can landed on top of her head. It startled her something awful; she practically had a heart attack right there on the spot. She jumped away from the tree and cried in a trembling voice, “Who’s there!?”

A vague figure shifted above her in the branches. She leaned slightly forward—all the while telling herself to run the other way—straining to see better. “Hello?” she croaked.

The figure croaked back. No, it was more of a belch. She reached down, picked up the car that had struck her on the head, smelled the beer. Her fear disappeared as quickly as it had come. Somebody was just getting drunk in private. Laughing, she walked toward the tree trunk.

“Hey, if I was you, I wouldn’t be drinking up there. You could slip and hurt—”

A flash of metal and wood whipped by, inches from her face. Polly leapt back a step. Embedded in the ground in the grass at her feet was a huge axe.

Polly screamed bloody murder.

The guy fell out of the tree. Polly kept screaming. He rolled over and looked up at her. “What time is it?” he mumbled.

Polly bit her lip. “Past ninethirty.”

The guy sat up, rubbed his head. “Where are the birds?”

“What birds?”

“I heard birds.” He burped again, deep and loud, and reached for his axe.

“That was me. Excuse me, what are you doing with that?”

He was using it, Polly realized a moment later, to climb to his feet. She relaxed a notch. There were empty beer cans littering the ground. This guy wouldn’t be chasing her anywhere.

“Do you need some help?” she asked tentatively. He briefly gained an upright position, clinging to the axe handle, before swaying forward and smacking his skull directly into the tree trunk. “Oh, no!” she cried, jumping to his side. “You’ll kill yourself.”

“What time is it?” he breathed in her face. With the lack of light, she couldn’t see what he looked like. She could, however, smell him. He must have poured half the beer over his shirt.

“I told you, past nine-thirty. Why do you keep asking me that?”

He tried to get up again. “Got to chop this down before morning, before the birds get here.”

“You can’t do that.” She tried to pull the axe from his hands. “No.”

He wouldn’t let go of the handle. “Why not?”

“Because it’s a pretty tree. Leave it alone.”

The guy turned, stared at the trunk, and then spat on it. “Those faggot foots—footballs. They all stand here.” He leaned into the axe, pushed himself up. “It’s got to go.”

Polly moved back a step. He’d raised the axe over his head. It looked capable of flying in a dozen different directions. “Stop!” she pleaded.

He let go with a wild swing. The tip of the axe sliced into the bark. Leaning back, he tried to pull it free. His hands ended up slipping from the handle, and he was back on his ass. Before he could get up, Polly knelt by his side, putting both her palms on his chest. Even through his soggy shirt, she could feel the curves of his welldeveloped pectoral muscles. “Look, you’ve got to stop. If you kill this tree, you’ll be killing all the birds who live in it.”

“I can’t hurt the birds,” he said, trying repeatedly to get up, not realizing it was she that was holding him down.

“That’s right. So why don’t we take your nice axe and put it in my car and I’ll drive you home.” She wasn’t exactly sure why she had made the offer. It could have been because of some distant streetlight. A sliver of white had fallen across his face, revealing a rugged—rough would probably have been closer to the truth—handsomeness. He belched again, his jaw dropping open.

“Is it you?” he asked, amazed.

“Who? What?”

“You! I stopped the race for you. The foots—Coach made them kick me off the team. All because of you.”

“No, it wasn’t me.”

He wiped the back of his arm across his nose. “You’re pretty, Sara.”

“Thank you. Let me take you home.”

“Your place or mine?” he slurred as she helped him up.

“Your place. What’s your name?”

“Rusty—Russ.”