Let's Get Lost (14 page)

He gave Elliot a light punch on the shoulder, which Elliot barely even felt. As they had been much of the night, his feelings were focused on his stomach, which seemed to be saying, in its grumbling and gurgling language, “Goddamnit.” The adrenaline in Elliot's veins drained away. He pictured Maribel at a party, holding a red plastic cup, talking to her friends, oblivious of his performance.

Leila stepped into the circle, her eyes wide and full of excitement. “Did it work? Where is she?”

“She's gone,” Elliot said.

4

LEILA DIDN'T LET
Elliot sulk for even a moment. She grabbed his arm and led him straight to the exit. “There's always a house party in those movies,” she said. “It feels to me like we're headed toward a movie-like happy ending.”

Elliot didn't say anything. He climbed into her car, noticing for the first time the bizarre cardboard cutout resting in the backseat.

“He keeps me from getting too lonely while I'm on the road,” Leila explained.

He turned to face her. “What do you mean, on the road?”

“I'm not really from around here. I've just been checking out the Twin Cities for a few days. I was actually on my way out before this crazy drunk kid walked into my car.”

“No! What a bastard,” Elliot said, offering her a smile. “Where are you headed?”

“Alaska.”

“Cool,” Elliot said. “Any particular reason why?”

“I'm gonna go see the Northern Lights. He really wanted to go,” she said, gesturing toward the backseat. “I can never say no to him.”

He laughed, but he could sense there was something underneath Leila's humor. “Is that really why you're going? Just to see the Northern Lights?”

“That's not a good-enough reason? People go to Buffalo just to see Niagara Falls.”

“So, why the Northern Lights and not Niagara Falls?”

“I think a celestial miracle in the midst of the natural beauties of Alaska is a little more interesting than a bunch of water in Buffalo. Plus,” she said, starting the engine, “I promised my grandma that I'd see the Northern Lights in person, since she never got to.”

Elliot considered Leila. Her fingers, small and bare of rings or nail polish, held the steering wheel loosely. Her expression was blank as she looked out at the street.

“Which way am I going?”

Elliot pointed to the right, his eyes still fixed on Leila's profile. After a few more directions, Leila glanced at him, briefly, as if checking one of her mirrors. “What's the plan this time around? Still going big and cinematic?”

“I don't know if I have another performance like that in me.” Elliot fiddled with the window crank. “I'm gonna try the declaration of love again. The first time around, if I'm being entirely honest, I wasn't very smooth. I mostly stammered, and she cut me off before I could finish. And not in the
Jerry Maguire,
‘You had me at hello,' kind of way. She stopped me and fled.”

“Well, she can run, but she can't hide.”

Elliot laughed, despite the lingering sense of shame he felt about his first attempt with Maribel. He could almost feel it on his skin, like something that needed to be scrubbed away. “That was the creepiest thing you could possibly say under the circumstances.”

“It wasn't appropriate? It sounds like something they say in the movies.”

“It is. But usually the bad guys say it to the good guys, or the good guys to the bad guys. It's more of an action-film cliché. Not the stuff of rom-com.”

“Oh,” Leila said. “Well, forget I said it.” A moment went by. “Damnit, I should have stopped talking after that speech. It would have established an aura of mystery and wisdom.”

“Leila, you hit me with your car in the middle of the night, and despite us knowing practically nothing about each other, you're intent on fixing my love life,” Elliot said. “Trust me, the aura's there.”

When they arrived at the party, Elliot was expecting to find the mayhem and chaos of graduation parties depicted in the movies: drunk people throwing up in the bushes, couples making out everywhere, someone in a wacky costume running down the street. What they found was a fairly quiet street without a lot of available curb space to park at and one large house with the lights on. There was a faint thumping of music in the air, and people's far-off voices.

Elliot and Leila made their way up the stepping stones that cut through the front yard and led to the door. A fountain of an angel trickled water serenely into its wide basin. A sign on the door read, N
O POINT IN RINGING THE DOORBELL—IT'S REALLY LOUD IN HERE.
D
ON'T WORRY.
W
E BRIBED THE NEIGHBORS.
N
O ONE'S CALLING THE COPS ON US.
C
OME IN, HAVE A DRINK.
K
EG'S IN THE BACK.

They pushed the door open, releasing the sounds of the party. There were possibly two different songs playing, although that might have been Elliot's unfamiliarity with electronic music. Or maybe it was the roar of people shouting and whooping that sounded like an added bass line. A smattering of kids hung around near the door, leaning against walls and taking timid sips from red plastic cups, checking the time.

Leila and Elliot moved past the front entrance into the hallway that led to the kitchen. Signs had been taped up on the walls all over the house, pointing the way to the bathrooms or the booze or, in true high-school-movie fashion, the sex dungeon. “God, I hope she's not in the sex dungeon,” Elliot said.

“What's she wearing?” Leila asked, standing on tiptoe to try to see over people but failing at it. Most of the people around were in tuxedos and prom dresses, making Leila's yellow sundress stick out.

“A purple dress, with a matching orchid corsage.” They squeezed through the hallway and into the kitchen. “I was afraid she'd have a date for the prom, and he'd be the one giving her a corsage,” Elliot said. He had to speak almost directly into her ear so she could hear him over the music. “But she and some friends said they didn't need to be hanging off some guy's arm to have a special night. So, I got to give Maribel the corsage I made her.”

“You made her a corsage?”

Elliot felt himself blush. “I had to look up online how to do it.”

“That's sweet,” Leila said with a smile. “And she wore it?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Most people don't get it, but we're actually really good friends.”

They stood by the stockade of alcohol in the kitchen for a few minutes, waiting for Maribel or one of her friends to show up to get a drink. A guy in a Vikings jersey that Elliot recognized from his freshman-year art class stood next to them as if waiting for a bartender to come by.

“Hey, Victor!” Elliot said, after finally remembering his name. “Remember me?”

“No,” Victor called back resolutely, still waiting for someone to pour him a drink.

“Oh.” Elliot frowned, then realized he wasn't all that offended. “Have you seen Maribel around? Maribel Palacios?”

“She's standing right next to you, bro,” Victor said, clearly pointing at Leila.

“Right,” Elliot said. “Thanks.”

“He was helpful,” Leila said, turning to a group of girls on the other side of the bar and asking after Maribel.

Maribel wasn't exactly one of the popular kids, but she was on the student council and acted in a lot of the school plays, so Elliot figured asking random people would eventually lead to something. But only a couple of those they asked knew who she was, and only one guy had seen her. “Somewhere around here,” he said uselessly, reaching for a bottle of vodka.

After a couple of minutes, they decided to move on toward the living room. The lights were off, and bright green lasers shot across smoke that Elliot hoped came from a smoke machine and not an actual fire. The room was packed with people dancing, a DJ playing music from his computer. Elliot had a hard time imagining Maribel among the throng of sweaty bodies, so they headed outside.

The backyard was a huge expanse of lawn surrounded by trees, adorned with statues and a shimmering pool. One couple had laid claim to some patio furniture in a distant corner, but the rest of the lounge chairs were taken up by stoners looking up at the stars. The smoke looked like a conglomeration of factories letting out steam.

Elliot and Leila stationed themselves by the keg and looked around for Maribel.

Two guys Elliot knew stood in line for their beers. Peter Jones, who Elliot heard was headed to MIT on a scholarship, turned to his buddy. “You know what I've never understood about life?”

“We've reached that point of the night already? It's epiphany o'clock?”

“World population is weighted to females, right?” Peter went on, ignoring his friend. “Fifty-two percent of the planet—something like that. Everywhere in the world, there's more women than men. It's a mathematical fact.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Why have I never been to a party that reflects that ratio? Seriously, look around. It's easily a three-to-one lead for the penises. And that makes this a pretty successful party. Usually it's at least five-to-one. Why are parties exempt from mathematical probabilities? What kind of laws are they being governed by? I don't get it.”

“You need a girlfriend, man.”

“I definitely need a girlfriend.”

Finally, Elliot spotted one of Maribel's friends, Stephanie, coming outside. Aside from the fact that she was a junior on the yearbook staff, Elliot knew very little about her. They caught up to her as she was lighting a cigarette. She looked embarrassed by Elliot's presence, avoiding eye contact with him. Maribel had obviously told her what had happened.

“Hey, Steph. Is Maribel here?”

Stephanie exhaled a puff of smoke and eyed Leila curiously. “Yeah. Why?”

“I just need to talk to her.”

She flicked her cigarette with her arm extended way out to avoid getting ash on her dress. “You know that the only time you've ever talked to me is when you're looking for her, right? Any time I see you heading my way, I have to think: Okay, where is Maribel?” She glanced at Leila, as if trying to place her, then finally met Elliot's eyes. “Next time you're in love with a girl, it might be a good idea to try talking to her friends.”

Elliot didn't know what to say to that. He stammered a couple of times, then looked at Leila as if she was his interpreter.

“What?” Leila said. “She's right.”

Steph sighed, bringing the cigarette back up to her lips. “I saw her inside,” she said. “She was going upstairs.”

“Thanks,” Elliot said. He felt like he should say something else, but Leila repeated the thanks and then started to pull Elliot back across the yard toward the house.

They slowly pushed their way through the crowd, Leila looking around and pointing things out, as if Elliot had never been to a high school party and seen people doing keg stands and double-dipping chips in the guac.

“There are eighteen people on their phones in this room alone,” Leila said from behind him as they tried to slink their way through the kitchen and past the dance floor. “Who are they texting if everyone they know is here?”

“Are you serious?” Elliot said, raising an eyebrow.

“That guy almost put his phone in the onion dip!” Leila shrieked with delight. “And that girl looks like she's about to—yup. She just threw up. And there is no commotion about it. Elliot, why is there no commotion?”

“Do people not throw up at the parties you go to?”

Leila ignored the question, swiveling her head around to take in more of the sights.

Elliot made his way deeper into the party, and Leila trailed behind. Elliot had assumed the upstairs area would be off-limits, but the staircase wasn't cordoned off, and the paper signs invitingly pointed the way toward M
ORE BATHROOMS, COATROOM, AND OTHER PLACES TO GET WALKED IN ON WHILE MAKING OUT OR WORSE.

“Better this than the sex dungeon, right?” Leila said. Elliot groaned involuntarily. “Kidding,” she said, and she gave him an encouraging pat on the back. “Wait, no. I'm not kidding. This
is
better than the sex dungeon. I'm just sorry I mentioned it.”

“Leila?”

“Yeah?”

“That aura of mystery and wisdom we talked about? Wanna get back to it?”

“That's the nicest way anyone's ever told me to shut up,” she said, leading the way up the stairs.

They tiptoed around a girl who had passed out in the middle of the stairway. Leila glanced, expressionless, at the family photos on the wall. At the top of the stairs was another living area with a couch and a big-screen TV. People drunkenly played video games as they passed around a hookah hose, failing to blow smoke rings in the air. A couple cuddled on the far end of the L-shaped couch. The girl's dress was bright purple, and for a second Elliot's stomach dropped, as if he were free-falling. But then the girl turned to look over her shoulder at Elliot and Leila, and he saw that the girl was a redhead with a nose ring and that the dress wasn't even the right shade of purple.

They moved on, knocking on doors and stepping inside. Every time Leila pushed a door open, Elliot held his breath, hoping Maribel wasn't in there with someone else. In one room, people sat on the floor listening to Pink Floyd with their pupils dilated. The bathroom smelled faintly of vomit. The master bedroom was the only one that was locked.

At the end of the upstairs hallway, they reached the only door they hadn't checked. It was cracked open, and they could see that the room was dark. Another paper sign had been taped onto the door, warning people to enter at their own risk. Leila put her hand on the door.

“Wait,” Elliot said, reaching out for her shoulder, “what if she's in there with someone?”

“The lights are off.”

“Not exactly a source of comfort there, Leila.”

“Maybe she's alone in there and napping or something? I don't hear any sounds coming from inside.”

Leila pushed the door open with one shove.

“Anyone in here?”

She took a step forward, and Elliot followed to get a better look. There were indistinguishable noises coming from somewhere in the room, and he got that ineffable feeling that someone else was there.

“Hello?” Elliot tried. “Maribel?”

The noises continued, whoever was making them paying them no mind. Elliot grasped at the wall, searching for the light switch. He could barely make out Leila moving forward with her arms outstretched. She cried out as her foot or shin bumped into something.