Last Stop This Town (4 page)

T
HE FOUR GUYS
descended the staircase into Club Rosenbaum, what in the 70s they might have called a “rec room.” There was a ping pong table (with no net), lots of old couches and ripped beanbag chairs, neon beer signs, and a large wood-paneled bar. It smelled like stale beer from the years of spills onto the thin grey carpet. Dozens of teenagers lounged around with beers and mixed drinks while Marco’s Party Playlist #44 was pumped through the stereo (current selection: “Kelly Watch the Stars” by AIR). A large number of the kids were signing yearbooks. All in all, it was pretty unimpressive, but in high school you take what you can get.

Ned, an odd-looking stoner dude with weird buck teeth and a feathered fedora, came up to Pike. “What uuuuuuuuppppp?” The two did a handshake/hug combo. Ned was the guy in high school whose brain was so fried that he was fun to have around because no matter what, he made you look good. Plus, Ned always had weed.

“Shake and bake?” Pike asked rhetorically.

“Fire it up,” Ned replied. The two of them went off to Marco’s Dad’s work room, leaving Dylan, Noah, and Walker to fend for themselves.

“Come on, let’s grab a beer,” Dylan suggested. “I’m getting my twenty bucks worth.” The three of them went over to the bar area and grabbed some beers from the refrigerator. Ironically, they happened to be Miller Genuine Drafts.

Noah looked around. Even for West Hartford, Club Rosenbaum was pretty sad and pathetic. “Gonna be hard giving all this up next year,”

Noah said facetiously. He ripped a loose swatch of faux leather off the ancient barstool. A big football player at the end of the bar did a flaming shot to the delight of his teammates.

To Noah’s surprise, Dylan was nostalgic. “You say that now, but trust me, you’re going to look back fondly on these days.”

Walker felt the same way. He raised his bottle and toasted, “Here’s to the Class of 2012.” They clinked bottles and drank.

Just then, Lisa, a cute, short girl with curly brown hair, came up to Noah with her yearbook. “Hey, Noah, can you sign mine?”

“Sure,” Noah replied. He took her yearbook over to the ping pong table to sign it.

It was weird. After eighteen years of friendships, rivalries, afterschool fist fights, and random hook-ups, in the end, the extraneous feelings all sort of washed away and left only camaraderie. Like,
We’re all in this together
. And it showed in times like these as the final days of high school ticked down, when everyone signed everyone else’s yearbook without dwelling on the bad stuff. Maybe sometimes you had to dig deep to remember playing on the same little league team with Lucas Westerly, now a totally tatted-up gearhead. Or the time you skipped school with Tom Weaver in eighth grade to go see
Superbad
, before you two drifted apart. But no matter how tenuous or antagonistic the relationship was in the past, practically no one refused to sign a yearbook, if asked. And no one betrayed that trust by writing something mean.

Back at the bar, Dylan saw Walker staring across the room at a cute girl. Walker noticed Dylan eyeing him and asked, “Who’s
that
?”

“Don’t know,” Dylan admitted. “But she is hot as hell.”

Walker was salivating.

“Go talk to her,” Dylan suggested, though he knew that was about as likely as asking him to go pet a velociraptor.

“Yeah, right,” Walker scoffed predictably.

Dylan rolled his eyes, then, without warning, put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. The girl looked up and Dylan confidently motioned for her to come over to them… which she did!

Walker had good taste. This girl was gorgeous and had a kind of aristocratic look about her, with long, straight, dark hair that contrasted against her alabaster skin. She clearly didn’t go to Hall with them or Dylan would have bedded her years ago. She arrived at the bar with a big smile, curious and thankful to be noticed.

“Strange girl we’ve never seen before,” Dylan ad libbed, “this is Walker. 3.7 GPA, going to Brandeis next year, super sexy. He’d like to get to know you.”

Walker’s heart was racing. His instincts were telling him to get the hell out of there, but he fought them back and forced an uncomfortable smile. Then, to his surprise, this girl actually blushed a little. “Okay,” she said.

Walker couldn’t believe that just worked. “Sorry about him,” he said, uncharacteristically seizing the moment. “Hi, I’m Walker.”

“Patience,” she replied. Walker hoped it was her name and not some sort of cryptic message. He shook her hand.

“You want to get a beer?” he suggested and Patience nodded. Walker escorted her to the refrigerator, leaving Dylan alone.

But not for long. A random guy Dylan thought he might have had Algebra II with approached with a yearbook.

“Dylan! Sign my yearbook, dude.”

Dylan took it, confident he could piece together something to write by reading what everyone else had written in this guy’s yearbook.

Meanwhile, at the ping pong table, Noah finished signing Lisa’s yearbook and handed it back to her. Suddenly, a hand slid in from behind Noah’s back and covered his eyes. This person was clearly a girl, but she tried to use her best fake deep voice, asking gruffly, “Guess who?”

With her hand still over his eyes, Noah turned around and kissed her before guessing, “Mike?”

She lowered her hand and Noah pretended to be surprised at seeing his girlfriend. “Oh, my God. Sarah. I’ve said too much.”

Sarah laughed along with his lame ruse. Sarah was a pretty girl with wavy blonde hair and a curvy body to match. She had big breasts and liked to wear tight tank tops that made them look even bigger. Not that Noah ever complained. It had been nine months since they got together, almost their entire senior year, and for a teenager that was an eternity. Noah first hooked up with Sarah at Scott Wheeler’s house right after the Jewish holidays. Then they just kept hooking up with each other and no one else, when one day in October, Sarah changed her Facebook status to “In a Relationship.”

Things were great—better than great—for a long time. But it was hard work maintaining a serious relationship for their entire senior year of high school. There were all sorts of temptations to hook up with other people that Noah and Sarah had successfully avoided. But there were also a million other things pulling them in different directions, from friends to extra-curricular activities to college applications. Lately, there was also a growing restlessness that they both felt, a need to prepare for the future in which they were free to explore the world on their own. And, of course, there was graduation itself, a bright-line, fatal cutoff date marching ever closer.

In high school, you think that every relationship is the one. Not counting random or even repeat hook-ups, of course. But when things turn serious, both parties assume it’s love and destiny and God smiling on them. Sarah certainly felt this way. And so did Noah. Until it stopped being fun. But Noah didn’t have the benefit of years of relationship experience to know whether this truly was a doomed relationship or just growing pains that all couples have to work through. Who’s to say they weren’t supposed to figure out how to make it all work and live happily ever after? It didn’t sound so crazy after all. The truth was Noah just wasn’t sure.

But Dylan had been hounding him for months to break up with Sarah. True, Dylan didn’t believe in relationships in the first place, but he was persuasive when he said, “If it’s not fun anymore, what’s the point?” Noah had been broaching the subject with Sarah for weeks by delicately asking what they were going to do after graduation. But deep down, Noah didn’t want Sarah to be like those karate classes he took at the Y in third grade, where he just gave up after it got too hard. Maybe he was supposed to be a black belt today and he changed the cosmic timeline by quitting too easily.

So when Noah turned to Sarah and said, “Hey, babe. One more week,” it was an immediate downer.

Sarah’s smile faded and she just muttered, “Yeah.”

Suddenly, it was awkward. Avoiding eye contact, Noah asked, “So are we going to talk about this?” He glanced over and saw Dylan giving him a look of moral support.

Sarah put on her game face and took Noah’s hand with a smile. “Do we have to do this now? It’s a party.”

“If you call it that,” Noah replied. “Look, I just think we need to figure things out before graduation.”

Maybe Sarah was in complete denial about their impending doom. Or maybe she just wanted to avoid the heartache for as long as possible. Whatever the reason, Sarah pulled out her trump card and said, “Not now. I’m horny.” She knew no guy was going to say no to that, and she smiled seductively as she led him toward the stairs. Maybe she had only delayed the conversation for another day or two, but for now Sarah was pleased with herself, and inside she was gloating about the power girls had over guys.

As he ascended the stairway to heaven, Noah locked eyes with a visibly disappointed Dylan. Noah’s look said,
What can I do? I tried.

Dylan just shook his head. What a chicken-shit.

With Walker chatting up Patience on the couch, Noah off with Sarah, and Pike in a cloud of smoke in the work room, Dylan was alone now. He swigged the last of his beer and left the empty on the bar. A cute sophomore girl was walking toward him. She looked young and had an insecure vibe about her, as if she was overly self-conscious about even being at a senior party. Dylan was sure he’d seen her in the cafeteria before, but there were a lot of cute girls at Hall High and Dylan couldn’t keep track of all of them. As she was about to pass him, Dylan stopped her without missing a beat.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dylan said, pointing to her chest and sounding serious. “You’ve got ‘updoc’ all over your shirt.”

The cute girl took the bait. “What’s ‘updoc’?”

Dylan put his finger to his mouth and did his best Elmer Fudd: “Shhh! Be vewy, vewy qwiet. I’m hunting wabbits.”

She actually laughed at this, as Dylan had no doubt that she would. He grinned, with a smile that was time-tested and well-honed for perceived sincerity. “Hi, I’m Dylan,” was all he needed to say to seal the deal. Looks like all those years of watching old cartoons really paid off.

Back on the couch, Walker was making headway of his own. Patience really seemed into him. You could tell by her body language, the way she leaned in to face him, laughed at his lame attempts at jokes, and even touched his arm. Unfortunately, Walker failed to notice any of this.

“I’m visiting my friend Tracy,” Patience explained. “I go to Choate. Well, I used to. God, it’s so weird to think we already graduated.”

She leaned forward and Walker tried his hardest not to look down her shirt. After all, his strategy was to appeal to her mind, not insult her with base leering. “Where are you going next year?” he asked.

“Wellesley.”

Walker saw his in. “Wow, I’m going to be in Boston. Well, just outside. Brandeis. We should exchange emails.”

Patience smiled. Tragically, Walker thought things were going great. Like maybe after he got her email, they could become Facebook friends. Then, after they got to know each other over the summer, he’d arrange a meeting in Boston in the Fall once they were settled in. A dinner date, maybe a movie, and before you know it, they’d have that magic first kiss.

Unbeknownst to him, Patience was growing bored. She had been giving him the signal from the moment they met that she was looking for a meaningless hook-up, but this guy kept talking and talking.
Ugh,
what does a girl have to do to get laid these days?
, she thought behind that smile.