One Pink Line (3 page)

About three weeks before the party, my dad took me shopping so I’d have something new to wear. Mom had given him explicit directions on what type of dress I should come home with, but all I really wanted was a new pair of Guess jeans. Acid wash with leather swatches on the pockets. He had no problem defying my mother and buying me what I wanted, and she would never argue with me over something that was his decision. I wore a black tank top from the Limited, and a pair of enormous beaded chandelier earrings, from The Mexican Shop, to complete the look. The weather that night was warm and humid, and some of the kids were bringing their bathing suits, but I had no intention of sporting the wet look at any point during the evening.

I arrived at Taylor’s house just before seven o’clock, and nearly two hours before anyone else. The front door was open as usual, so I let myself in as I had for the past ten years, and found Taylor in her room standing over a pile of clothes on her bed. She, too, was wearing acid wash jeans, rolled tight at the ankle, and a periwinkle blue sweatshirt with a wide neck, hanging off one shoulder.

Taylor, who’d made the cheerleading team every year, was beautiful and would’ve looked spectacular wearing a pillowcase, but she was obsessed with fashion. And Madonna.

She had long, silky black hair, amber eyes, and thanks to Dr. Neil Feinberg…the perfect nose. She’d always been tall, and wore heels to further accentuate her legs and height. Guys loved her, and most girls I knew would’ve killed for the contents of her closet. We’d been best friends since the fifth grade, ever since I defended her against notorious playground bully, Rachel Weiss.

Back then, Taylor had glasses, a space between her front teeth, her original nose, and was a constant target for Rachel’s elementary school torment. One day in the gym locker room, I overheard her yelling at Taylor and playing on her many adolescent insecurities. I didn’t care much for Rachel, so I told her to shut-up. That was really all I did, told Rachel to shut-up and walked away, but Taylor never forgot how I stood up for her, and we’ve been best friends ever since.

“Andrew’s bringing, like, ten guys with him tonight,” she informed me with teenage enthusiasm. She and Andrew Harrington dated during our junior year when he was a senior, but broke things off when he went away to University of Michigan.

“Anyone we know, or want to know?” I asked.

“Do you remember, Bob Cunningham, Bryan Martin, Tim Sullen, Ethan Reynolds or Gabe Douglas? They were all a year ahead of us.”

“I only recognize Gabe’s name.”

“Don’t you know Tim and Ethan?” she sat at her vanity. “They played hockey with Andrew as freshmen.”

“No,” I said. “Only Gabe.”

I shoved her stack of rejected clothing aside, sat down on the bed and watched her scoop her hair into a low, side ponytail. Then she took her bangs in her left hand, and sprayed them with hair spray until they stood at attention.

“Well I’ll introduce you. Tim is gorgeous; I saw him at the club last Friday, and he looks amazing. A little short for me, but not for my Syd,” she smiled. Taylor’s parents belonged to North Shore Country Club, and she spent most of her weekend afternoons there ordering Cobb salads and flirting with other wealthy offspring by the pool.

“I can’t wait.”

“Great jeans by the way,” she noticed. “New?”

“But of course,” I answered and watched smoke signals rise from her hair as she ran a curling iron through the ends, attempting to smooth out a few unruly stands.

“Tonight is going to be amazing,” she said as she stared into the mirror; chin lowered, patting down the top of her bangs. “I hid two packs of smokes and a bottle of gin behind the outdoor cooler. I’ve got other stuff, too, if you’re up for it.”

Taylor started doing cocaine when we were sophomores. She was hanging out with some older kids whose parents gave them hoards of money for no particular reason. In those days there wasn’t much to do besides hang out at the local McDonald’s or the Wilmette Beach. Neither of which required very much funding, but somehow these kids were able to access large amounts of cash with little or no trouble at all. Since many of the popular kids at our school were doing drugs at the time, I never thought much about it. I tried cocaine one night when Taylor’s parents were out of town, after drinking three glasses of straight gin from her parent’s liquor cabinet (with no mixer), and vomited for an hour afterwards. I blamed the drugs, and stuck to weed and wine coolers after that.

Sometime around eleven o’clock, when the graduation party was in full swing, and about forty of the two hundred guests were in the pool; Taylor grabbed my arm and dragged me into one of the cabanas. I’d been hanging out by the fire pit eating Double Stuff Oreos with our friend Angela, so I dragged Angela and the cookies along with me. When we reached the cabana, we found Angela’s twin sister, Debbie, and three guys lying on the couches.

“We’re all here!” Taylor exclaimed as we entered. “Syd, Ange, this is Tim, Ethan and of course you know Mr. Harrington.”

Andrew stood and gave me an obligatory hug.

“Hey, Andy,” I said, and felt my cheeks turn pink.

“Hey neighbor, what’s up?”

“Not too much, how was freshman year?”

“I managed to keep the freshman fifteen at bay,” he said and lifted his white t-shirt to expose an abdomen Michelangelo would’ve been proud of. My cheeks flushed harder.

“Nicely done,” I said, and followed his shirt down like I was peeking under a garage door as he lowered it.

Taylor clapped and spoke up. “We’re playing spin the bottle,” she informed us and lifted a bottle of vodka in the air. “And you have to chug it, then kiss whoever it lands on. So, everyone sit on the floor. Syd, pull the front curtains.”

I looked around at everyone there, and saw that Ethan seemed a little put off by his entrapment. His eyes narrowed as I unhooked the cords, forcing the striped fabric loosely over the cabana entrance.

Taylor’s hands were flailing. “Boy-girl formation please.”

We all sat down, and by shear luck, and a little shoving, I ended up next to Andrew.

Taylor placed the bottle in the center of the group. “I’ll go first.”

“No offense, but I’m not kissing any girls,” Angela stated and exchanged a look of disgust with her sister.

“Fine,” Taylor rolled her eyes. “Boy-girl kisses only.”

I’d never been uncomfortable or put off by tasteless behavior. In fact, I would’ve had no problem kissing any of the girls in the circle, but it certainly wouldn’t have been my first choice. My first choice was sitting right next to me.

Taylor spun the bottle, and we watched as it landed on Angela twice before her third try pointed at Tim. I didn’t remember Ethan from high school, but apparently he played on the hockey team with Tim and Andrew. Tim was on the shorter side, but very attractive in a preppy, country club sort of way. He had long blond hair that was parted way over to the right side, and kept falling onto his face until he’d jerk his neck to move it away from his eyes. I found out later that his family moved to Lake Forest his senior year, but he commuted to New Trier to finish up high school. Ethan was much taller, and had more of an appropriate build for someone who played ice hockey. Broad shoulders, thick calves, large biceps, and a chipped front tooth. I also noticed he had deep set eyes and ultra high cheekbones. He looked like he could turn into a real badass if the opportunity were to present itself.

I focused my attention back on the game just as Debbie was the next to lean in and kiss Tim. It was looking like a banner evening for him at that point. Next it was Andrew’s turn. He spun the vodka bottle and it slowly inched its way towards me, then past me, and ultimately landed on Ethan. He spun again. The half-filled jug whirled around and stopped at Taylor. Figured. She leaned in towards him and they kissed in a way that made everyone uncomfortable.

“Alright, alright,” Tim said, as Taylor retracted her torso and giggled.

“Syd’s turn!” she said, clapping.

I crossed my fingers in my head. When the bottle started spinning I playfully covered my eyes and acted as though I wasn’t interested in the outcome. Just as I pulled my hand away from my face, the bottle stopped abruptly at Ethan. We paused for an awkward moment before I was forced to take a swig, and lean toward him. I gave him an apologetic look, and then went for it. It was brief, but his lips were soft and he smelled like coconut oil.

“You’re up Tim,” Ethan spoke.

Tim’s turn landed on Debbie. Then Angela’s landed on Debbie, causing Taylor to let out her signature laugh, which sounded like a balloon popping. Her next spin landed on Andy, of course. Then Ethan was next. He lifted his long arm, reached into the center of the group and spun the bottle with great strength. It went about thirty rotations before ultimately landing on me.

“Well, well, well,” Taylor murmured. “I think we may have a love connection.”

As if oversized, dentally challenged Ethan didn’t already feel self-conscious crammed into cabana four, I could tell that Taylor’s comment only enhanced his desire to be anywhere else. He looked at me and I faked like I was spraying Binaca in my mouth. My second brush with coconut oil was equally enjoyable, and this time he placed his hand under my chin…sendingTaylor into a tailspin.

“This is awesome!” she applauded. “Deb, you’re up.”

Everyone proceeded to take his or her turns, and neither Andy nor Tim’s spin landed on me. When it was my turn, I sort of hoped that it would stop at Ethan, mostly to see Taylor’s reaction. I gave it a whirl and got my wish. Taylor yelled so loud, that someone actually peeked in the cabana from the outside.

“Oh…My…God!” she said. “We are all leaving so the two of you can take care of business,” and with that, she yanked Tim and Debbie’s arm and stood up.

“Are you kidding me?” I said and stood up with them, but they never looked back. Andrew Harrington even tousled my hair on his way out, making me feel like I was six years old. Everyone started exiting the cabana except Ethan, who just sat there. I didn’t want to be rude and make him feel like I didn’t want to be left alone with him, but I certainly didn’t want to be forced into it by Taylor and her vodka spinner.

“I’ll check back in twenty,” she popped her head back in, then disappeared.

I turned to Ethan who was still seated on the floor with his back pressed against the couch, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle.

“You don’t have to kiss me, but honestly, I was looking for any excuse to end the game,” he said.

“Sorry about her, she can be…how do I say this nicely? Affectionately aggressive at times.”

“Well put.”

I sat back down, cross-legged in front of him. His manner was very laid back, and unaffected. He was almost yawning during the game while everyone else attempted to mask their nerves with crude jokes and exaggerated gestures. “So you graduated last year?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Where are you now?”

“Kansas.”

“I had a cousin that went to K.U., are you happy there?”

“I’m happy everywhere,” he said flatly and smiled. “How about you, where are you going?”

“Purdue.”

He nodded his head and his eyes landed on the bag of Double Stuff Oreos I’d brought with me. I handed him the bag and watched as he tore into them three at a time. “You were in my Art History class,” he managed to say with his mouth full, and dark chocolate dust flying out.

“I was?”

“Yeah, my senior year, Mrs. Bartholomew,” he clarified. “You don’t remember.”

He was right. I didn’t remember him. “I’m ashamed to say that two of my best friends were with me in that class, and we hardly noticed anything but the notes we passed each other.”

“No sweat, Syd,” he leaned in. “Oreo?”

“I brought them actually, they’re my favorite. Thanks for sharing,” I joked.

I took the cookie and was a little surprised at myself. There was a good-looking guy; great body, sweet disposition, and I’d never even given him a second look. Maybe because he was older than me, and the older boys traditionally ignored me anyway. Or maybe because my friends and I were always drooling over the football and baseball players, and were too dumb to realize that the sport of ice hockey required much more brute force than either of those other two. Regardless, there he was, all large and relaxed, and essentially waiting for a kiss from me.

“Well, third time’s a charm. Can we kiss and make up?” My question was as cheesy as it sounded.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, and nicely rejected me.

Ethan picked himself up off the floor, slipped his flip-flops back on, and grabbed a stick of gum from his pocket. “Gotta run, Tim wants to go for a swim,” he said, and grabbed three more Oreos. “Any interest in a dip?”

I looked at his face, and it appeared as though he honestly wanted me to go with him, but I swore that I would not be found within ten feet of the pool.

“Sure,” I spat out.

“Great, are you going in those?” he gestured to my new jeans.

I ran my hand through my hair, which had taken me no less than an hour to fix. A record twenty attempts at perfecting the position of that damn barrette, while poofing out just the right amount of hair in the front. “I’ll get a suit from Taylor and meet you out there.”