Untethered (7 page)

It was also the year of “Truth or Dare.” We did everything, from stealing gulps of Cassie’s parents’ gin to switching Mom’s
Magic Masseur
almond massage oil with motor oil (to this day, Mom steers her clients away from that brand). And, of course, we delved into each other’s deepest secrets. From Cassie’s theft of a mounted butterfly from the Milwaukee museum, her first in a collection of many (butterflies, that is, not thefts), to my horrid fascination with HR Giger’s art (Dad wrote an article on him. Scary stuff, but the guy can draw), to Cassie’s birthmark on her left butt cheek, to how my allergies made my skin itch —everywhere. And of course we discussed how much I loved Kevin and how much she loved her boy-of-the-month (who never noticed her back then, just like Kevin never noticed me).

We knew everything about each other. Almost.

“Truth or dare?” I asked one April night, flashlight under my chin. We were at Cassie’s so technically, we didn’t need the flashlight: her parents didn’t care what time we went to sleep or if we left the light on. But it was more fun this way.

“Truth.” Cassie was huddled inside her princess sleeping bag. Good thing she didn’t get asked to any other girls’ sleepovers because they would have laughed her out of the house with that sleeping bag. I never got invited anywhere else, either, but I was equipped, just in case. My bag was plain old navy blue.

I turned the flashlight onto her, since she was in the spotlight. But mostly it was because I didn’t want her to see the nervousness in my face. “Have you ever ... left your body?”

She stuck her head out of her cocoon and lifted an eyebrow. “What kind of question is that?”

“Just a question. Have you ever felt like, well, like maybe you weren’t actually in your body? Even for a second or so?”

She blinked at me, her pupils tiny dots in the brightness of the flashlight. “Does getting drunk count?”

“Yeah, if you leave your body,” I said. “But you don’t ever get drunk.” When we drank her parents’ booze, it was never to get loaded, at least not for Cassie. She did it to get even.

“Whatever. The answer is no.” She raised herself up onto her elbows. “Why did you ask that?”

I moved the flashlight and my eyes followed the yellow circle of light around the room. “Truth?”

She just waited.

“I think that’s what happens ... when I ‘faint.’” I’d accidentally left my body a few times in front of her. And like everyone else, she’d thought I fainted. This was still before high school. Before puberty or panic or peers made the whole situation worse. Before I turned from strange to psycho.

I switched off the flashlight while I waited for her to say something. Darkness swallowed the room. There was a long silence. Tears filled my eyes. I was glad I’d turned off the flashlight.

“That’s really weird, Sylvie.” When she finally did talk, her voice sounded hollow and a little freaked out. “But a little cool, too.”

“No,” I said. “Not cool. But weird, yes.”

“I think it might be good sometimes to faint or leave your body or whatever. To just ... forget everything for a minute.” She paused. “I’d like that.”

“You don’t forget anything.”

“But when you ... faint ... you always look so ... relaxed.”

“Relaxed? No. Not after.” My words were a hoarse whisper. “Everyone thinks I’m schizoid. Maybe I am. Be glad your life is normal.”

“Normal.” Cassie let out a strangled laugh. It sounded sad and broken. And a few moments later I heard her start to cry.

I didn’t ask her what was wrong. I didn’t need to. Instead, I reached towards her in the darkness. My fingers found her sleeping bag and her skin. She slipped her hand into mine.

“I love you,” I whispered.

Cassie gave my hand a squeeze. “And I think you’re better than normal.”

I want to believe we both told the truth.

Nine

September: A Beer in the Hand is Worth Two in the Fridge

The second week of school, Kevin officially breaks up with Samantha Bauer. All week, he ‘accidentally’ bumps into Cassie between classes and ‘mysteriously’ ends up behind her in the lunch line. He tries talking to her, but instead, she’ll pull me near and say things like, “Hmmm. Don’t know ... what do you think, Sylvie?” or “I’ve gotta run, but talk to Sylvie.” Unfortunately, I get a bad case of conversation constipation near Kevin. I push and strain and only a tiny turd of a word comes out. Obviously, he doesn’t stick around long with me there.

But I can see he’s working up to something, because when he looks at Cassie it’s no longer just gazing. His eyes are sparked with intention. I don’t say anything to Cass. I just wait for him to strike.

He does it on Friday.

Cassie’s new looks have brought her new popularity. And as her popularity has been growing, so has our lunch table. Instead of just me, Cassie and Sam, Sarah Chu and Michelle Winston sit with us, too. Sarah has dark, smooth hair and wears silver eyeliner and T-shirts with Sesame Street characters on them. I’m not sure who she sat with last year. Michelle is what my mom would call ‘pleasantly plump.’ Her curly, blonde hair is cut to her chin and she’s creamy white. Like a girl from a different era. She’s new to St. Anthony’s this year. Moved to Racine from Neenah. (That’s somewhere north of here. If Mr. Crawford actually taught us geography, I’d know where.)

When Kevin gets up from his table and makes a beeline for ours, we’ve already gotten our lunches. I pick up a french fry from the pile on my plate. It’s limp and lukewarm. School cafeteria food can even make Mom’s tofu turnovers look good.

“Here comes Kevin.” Cassie nudges me, but her cheeks are pink.

She
does
like him
. I feel panic pushing at my insides.
Get a grip, Sylvie. It’s just a boy.

No, it’s Kevin. He’s not
just
anything.

“Hey,” Kevin starts, his eyes on Cassie.
Oh, no. He’s gonna ask her out. Oh, God, oh, no.
I think I’m going to faint. For real.

But Kevin’s smart. He doesn’t take risks. Instead he pulls a folded piece of loose leaf out of his pants pocket and smoothes it out on the table, barely missing a glob of ketchup in front of Sam’s plate. “Bryce Hensley’s parents are in Mexico and he’s having a party tonight. Here’s the directions.” He makes a point of looking at everyone at the table. “You’re invited,” he says. “All of you.” He stops when his eyes are back on Cassie. “It’d be great if you came.” He ignores the collective gasp and walks away. He doesn’t look back.

A group invitation. No chance of rejection there.

“Cool! An invitation to Bryce Hensley’s! Doesn’t he live on Lake Drive? I think his dad is some big-shot at Johnson’s Wax or In-Sinkerator, or maybe he’s a doctor. He’s loaded anyways. And they shot that movie at his house ... the one with the baseball players! How cool is that?” Sarah studies the sheet of paper with a rough map drawn in blue ink like she’s going to be tested on it. She and Michelle are like me and Cass ... inbetweeners, I guess: not geeks, not jocks, not Goths, not trash, not ... well, just not anything, really. All of us at the table know that it only takes a few more invitations and some greetings in the hallways by the cool people to be bumped up to semi-popular. We will never actually say it matters to us to be popular. Not out loud. But it does. Just more to some than to others; Cassie, for example, doesn’t seem to care.

“I don’t know if I’ll go.” Cassie takes the map from Sarah and tugs at a long strand of hair that has come loose from the mass twisted into a barrette at her temple.

“You have to go. He was, like, talking directly to you.” Michelle’s blonde curls bounce as she bobs her head.

Cassie blushes again, and I feel my heart rate kick up.

“Whatever,” Cassie says. “I bet Ashley and Rhea and Tori and all those biaches will be there.”

“Think they’d let us breathe the same air they do?” Michelle giggles, only half-joking.

“But Bryce Hensley,” Sarah argues. “He lives in one of the biggest houses in Racine. The movie, remember? Don’t you even want to see it? I do.”

“Me, too,” says Michelle.

Cassie shrugs.

My palms start to sweat. I want to go. Not to see Bryce’s house, not to be with the popular crowd, but to spend an evening close to Kevin – to maybe, maybe get a chance to really talk to him and not just say, “Hi.” I know it’s stupid. I know there’s no way he even cares. And I know it’s crazy how much I do care.

But I do.

Sam’s quiet. He’s looking down at the table. By now he should have made friends, should have been sitting with them at lunch, but he hasn’t. The idea of a party terrifies him.

“Can you get your parents’ car tonight?” I ask Cass. When she nods, I say, “Then we’re going. No question about it.”

Sam whips his head up. “But we’re supposed to stay at Dad’s tonight.”

“We’ll get out of it.”

“We can’t get out of it.” Sam’s right. I don’t feel like reliving Dad carrying me out of the house again.

“Oh, please,” Michelle says, dipping a chicken finger into the pool of mayonnaise on her plate. “My parents divorced when I was nine and all you need to do to get anything from either of them is lay on the guilt. Stuck in on a Friday night? It’s ruining your life. And whose fault is it? Your parents’.”

Sam looks uncomfortable, but I say I’ll try.

The bell rings. Michelle hastily copies the directions to Bryce’s into her History notebook. We all decide to meet in front of Bryce’s house at 8:30.

“Bryce Hensley’s?” Nelson asks during Art class, his voice cracking. “Why would you want to go there?”

“Well, they shot a movie at his house. That’s pretty cool, don’t you think?”

“That’s why you’re going?”

“Yeah, sure.” I don’t look him in the eye.

I can feel his gaze on me for a moment. Then he takes his X-Acto knife and digs furiously into his linoleum square.

Amazingly, Dad says yes. I go for the guilt, as Michelle suggested, and it works.

“This is our time together,” he argues. “I don’t get to see the two of you during the week.”

“But that’s not our fault, is it?”

It gets to him. Right away.

“Sylvie, you know I can’t let you go just like that. Something could happen.” Dad shakes his head.

“I don’t have the right to a life?!” Tears threaten, so I inhale and lower my voice. “Dad, everything’s been good lately. I promise.”

He keeps eyeing me.

I smack Sam. He spits out, “I’ll be with her the whole time. Both our cell phones are juiced to the max. And I know what to do if anything happens.”

“Which it won’t,” I add.

Dad gives in. He makes me write down for him the who, what, when, where and why of the evening ahead. He gives us an 11:00 curfew. He checks the oil, the gas gauge and the air level in the tires of Cassie’s car.

But he lets us go.

When we get to Bryce’s house, his drive and most of the street in front of his house are parked full. Tori Thompson’s convertible squats near the garage, and when I see it I have a split-second doubt about wanting to be here. With her here, it all could end up a disaster. But then I think of Kevin. And I have to take the risk.

Sarah and Michelle are standing on the lawn. Cassie, Sam, and I catch up to them and we all walk to the front door together.

The place is ginormous. I count twelve windows on the front of the house alone. A constant
boom, boom, boom
pulses out of them. On the porch we look at each other. We’re basically a bunch of party virgins. “Do we ring the bell? Can they even hear it? ” Sarah asks. “Or maybe we just go in?”

We don’t know, so we ring the bell. The door opens three seconds later, frizzy-headed Tori Thompson on the other side.

My heart drops into my socks.

“Oh hoo!” She yells over the music. “Psycho Sydell and her lame-ass friends! Wrong neighborhood, people. You’re looking for Loserville.” She starts pushing the door closed.

Cassie sticks her hand out to stop the door. “Kevin invited us,” she says loudly.

Tori crosses her arms in front of her chest and looks Cassie up and down. “You mean he invited
you
.”

“No,
all
of us.”

Tori considers this, then opens the door wider. “Fine. Whatever. If he wants to slum it, let him.”

We move in, but she stands in front of me before I can walk further into the house. “Don’t think this changes anything, Psycho.”

I glare at her and wait for her to move, my heart pounding. Then I follow Cassie and the others into the frenzy.

It’s like those parties you see in movies where there are too many people, too much beer, and absolutely no supervision. It seems like the whole freakin’ school is here drinking, smoking, or giggling themselves high. The place smells like smoke and beer and perfume and vomit.

“We’re gonna check out the place,” Michelle grabs Sarah’s arm and they go off to sneak around in closets and dresser drawers.

“Help me find Kevin,” I say to Cassie and Sam.

A group of guys in the kitchen are pouring beer into a funnel placed in Richard Melmick’s mouth and shouting, “Chug, chug, chug!” What a bunch of idiots. As we squeeze past them Cassie yells in my ear, “Maybe tonight you should tell Kevin exactly how you feel about him, Sylvie.”

I can’t look at her, instead I watch Richard’s adam apple bob up and down as he drinks. But I say what I haven’t dared say the past two weeks. “Come on. You have to have noticed Kevin drooling over you, Cass. I think there’s more of a chance that he’ll tell
you
how he feels.”

Cassie stops walking and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Why would I go out with him? I know how much you like him.”

“Well, yeah,” I say. “But I think it would be great if you could be friends.”

“Like that’d work.” Sam shakes his head.

I hurry down a set of stairs to the basement and they follow.

There’s a huge television screen on the back wall. Someone has put on porn, and a group of senior guys are cheering and hooting as a woman with boobs the size of watermelons begins wriggling out of her underwear on screen.