Out of Order (10 page)

BY THE TIME
we arrive, the party is well underway, and Zelia and I are already pretty drunk. At least I am, and Zelia must be. She's had a lot more to drink than I have, but she seems exactly like she always does, as if alcohol doesn't affect her at all. I'm feeling kind of light and giggly, not quite in control. Like too many words could easily come spilling out of my mouth.
It feels dangerous, and I have to keep reminding myself to be careful what I say.

Maisie's place is in Oak Bay: a big square house with a huge wraparound porch and a long driveway. Tonight the driveway is crammed full of cars, and music is playing loudly. Some people I recognize from school are sitting outside, smoking, and I can hear Jas's loud laugh.

Zelia's mood seems to improve when she sees the party spilling out onto the porch. She puts her arm around my shoulders and flashes me a quick grin. “Come on, Sophie, let's go have some fun,” she says.

We squeeze onto the crowded porch. Jas waves when she sees us and slides over to make room for us on the wooden bench.

“Hey. Cool you guys made it,” she says. Her heavily outlined eyes look enormous under her smooth high forehead and neat dark eyebrows. A tiny gold stud twinkles against the side of her nose.

“Smoke?” She holds out a pack, and we each take one.

“So, who all's here?” Zelia asks, looking around. I don't see Maisie or Max. The people on the porch are all grade elevens. I know their names—Keenan, Josh, Ryan, Nicole, Ashlee, Sarah—but I wouldn't expect them to know mine.

“Everyone,” Jas says. “Seriously. The house is totally packed. Maisie's freaking out.”

“Where are her parents?” I ask.

Jas looks at me and shrugs. “I don't know. Away for the weekend.”

A fog is gathering, hanging low and damp over the front yard.
Jas leans back and blows a series of perfect smoke rings into the cold clammy air.

Zelia bends her head close to mine and whispers, “Sophie, what do you think of Josh?”

I glance at Josh. He is sitting on the porch railing, drinking a beer and laughing.

“I don't know,” I say. “I don't think I've ever even talked to him.”

Zelia rolls her eyes. “Me neither. I mean, do you think he's cute?”

My face feels hot and my mind goes blank. I hate this kind of question. I never know the right way to answer. Back in Georgetown, the girls used to say things like this to torment me.
Sophie, do you think Kevin's cute? 'Cause he thinks you're...uuuhh-gly.

Once someone wrote on my locker
Sophie Keller is a dyke.
This memory barely surfaces before I push it down. Sometimes I imagine these memories floating under murky water, occa­sionally surfacing for air. If I can hold them under for long enough, maybe they will drown. Maybe they will slowly sink to the bottom and bury themselves in the silt.

Zelia wasn't waiting for my answer. “I think he is,” she is saying. “He's hot. Hey, Jas? Does Josh have a girlfriend?”

Jas points at a blond girl sitting near him. “They used to go out, but I think it's over. He's not seeing anyone, far as I know. Why? You interested?”

Zelia takes a long drag on her cigarette. “Maybe.”

“I have to go to the washroom,” I say.

When I come back, Zelia is gone. Jas is still sitting outside, blowing smoke rings.

“Where's Zelia?” I ask.

Jas looks at me, her heavy-lidded eyes calm. “She went inside,” she says. “Are you okay?”

“Just cold,” I say. “I'd better go in too.”

The living room is crowded with people I don't know. The music is too loud and I don't know where Zelia has gone. Everyone is standing in tight little groups. I feel conspicuous and awkward standing alone, but I don't know any of these people.

Finally I spot Maisie and some other girls making punch in a huge bowl. A pretty, chubby girl with thick blond hair is pouring a bottle of rum into the mixture. Empty bottles litter the countertop.

Maisie sees me and waves. “Hey! Sophie! Cool that you're here,” she says. “Want some punch?”

I accept a glass and move into their circle gratefully.

“Having a good time?” Maisie asks.

I nod. “Uh-huh.” The punch tastes terrible, and I down half the glass as quickly as I can. For some reason, I wonder what Mom and Patrick are doing and if their meeting is really a date.

“Where's your sidekick, Sophie?” one of the other girls asks.

I think her name is Mel, and I am surprised that she knows who I am.

“Zelia? I don't know.” I don't think Zelia would appreciate
being referred to as my sidekick, and the thought makes me smile. “She sort of disappeared.”

Maisie is organizing some kind of drinking game, and I find myself drawn into a circle on the living room floor. My glass keeps being refilled, and everyone is really friendly. I let myself join the laughter as I relax into the warmth of the group.

Someone hands me a pair of dice and tells me to roll them. I don't understand the game at all, but I go along.

“Snake eyes!” someone yells.

“Huh?”

“Double ones,” says the guy across from me, taking the dice.

I don't care enough to try to figure it out. I just keep drink­ing punch, laughing, smiling. Being part of the group.

Someone is passing around a plate of pizza slices. When it is handed to me, I freeze for a second. Then, almost with­out thinking about it, I grab a slice and start eating. It looks and smells great, but I barely taste it. Even as I stuff it into my mouth, panic is rising like a tide inside me.

“Excuse me,” I mutter. I back away from the circle. No one even looks up.

In the bathroom, I bend over the toilet and cram my fingers down my throat. This is the first time I have ever done this. I feel like I should be alarmed by my behavior, but part of me stands separate, observing, and I know that somewhere inside I am still in control. I could stop if I wanted to.

Still, it is harder than I thought it would be. I have to reach my fingers way back, and each painful retch tears at my chest.
I don't think I manage to get rid of it all, but I am sore, dizzy and exhausted when I stop. I look at my pale blotchy face in the mirror and start to cry. I want to go home. I need to find Zelia.

I cup my hands under running water, splash cold water on my eyes and rinse out my mouth. There is some toothpaste on the counter. I squeeze a glob onto my finger and rub it across my teeth.

I look in the mirror again. “You look terrible,” I tell my reflection. My voice sounds tinny. I have to find Zelia.

I head down the hall, back to where Maisie was, but she isn't there anymore. Zelia isn't there either. She isn't out on the porch, smoking, and she isn't in the kitchen or the living room.

I go upstairs, pushing past the people sitting on the stair­case. A houseplant on the upstairs landing has been knocked over, and I stop to pick it up. Dirt spills onto the pale gray carpet, and I try to scrape it back into the pot.

I hear laughter echoing down the hall. Zelia's laugh. I follow the sound and push open a bedroom door. It is pitch- dark in the room.

“Zelia?” I say, suddenly uncertain.

“Shit,” says a male voice. Dark shapes move and shift and there is a crash. The bedside light suddenly illuminates the room.

Zelia and Josh are tangled together on the bed. Josh yanks the covers up to his waist and rubs his hands over his face.

“Shit,” he says again. “What'd you turn the light on for?”

Zelia takes her hand off the light switch and sits up. Her boots and most of her clothes are in a heap on the floor.
She is wearing black leggings but nothing else. The blue stone against her belly makes her look even more naked. She's look­ing right at me with a strange, twisted half smile. I stare back at her and feel numb.

“Sophie,” she says, “this isn't really a good time. You're kind of interrupting something here.”

“I want to go home,” I say. “I want to go home.”

She shrugs. “So. Go then.”

Hot tears are prickling my eyelids. “Please come with me,” I say. “Please.”

“What the hell is wrong with her?” Josh mutters under his breath, loud enough for me to hear, even though he isn't talk­ing to me.

Zelia looks at him and laughs. She has this clear laugh that I always thought sounded like water. Tonight it sounds like a thousand shards of glass.

“Sophie, you can go if you want. I'm staying.”

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come.

“Go,” Zelia says. She reaches out and turns off the light.

I just stand there for a moment, staring into the inky dark­ness. Then I turn and walk away.

I STUMBLE DOWN
the hall. I can't hold back the tears now. I don't care who sees. I sink to the floor, wrap my arms around my knees and cry.

I don't know how much time has passed when a hand tentatively touches mine.

“Sophie? Is that you?”

I look up. It is Max. Her spiky hair is wet, and her eyes are wide and worried.

“Are you okay? No, scratch that. Stupid question.” She shakes her head apologetically. “You're not okay. What is it? What's wrong?” Max drops to her knees beside me. “Talk to me, Sophie.”

I can't get any words out that make sense. “Zelia,” I say. Then, “Gonna be sick.”

Max yanks me to my feet and steers me into the washroom. “If you're going to be sick, do it in the toilet, okay?” She turns on the taps and holds a washcloth in the running water. “Been drinking, huh?”

I nod miserably. “Never again.”

Max laughs. “Yeah, well, I've heard that one before.” She hands me the washcloth. “Here. Wash your face. You'll feel better.”

I hold the rough wet fabric against my face and close my eyes. The coolness is kind of soothing. When I was a little kid, I used to get carsick all the time, and Mom always kept wet wipes in the glove box. She'd hand them to me while she drove, folded lengthwise for me to press across my forehead.

“I just want to go home,” I say.

She nods. “Okay. I'll drive you.”

The cold damp air outside clears my head and settles my uneasy stomach.

“Where were you, anyway?” I ask. “Did you just get here?”

Max makes a face.“Been driving around all night.With my ex. We just broke up.”

“Really? I didn't even know you had a boyfriend.”

She hesitates. “My ex goes to another school, so you wouldn't know.”

I feel a little hurt that I didn't know this. “Well, I'm sorry you broke up, anyway.”

Max shrugs. “No, it's okay. I ended it.” She pulls her keys out of her jacket pocket. “It was hard though.”

“So why did you break up then?”

She looks away. “It's kind of complicated.”

We are at her car, a small white Honda Civic. She opens the passenger door. “Hop in, Sophie.”

Doing up my seat belt, I feel like a little kid. Too complicated for me to understand—that's what she means. Maybe she's right.

Everything seems too complicated for me lately. I just want to go home and crawl into my own bed.

Then I realize—I can't. Mom would flip out if I came home now, like this. I stare at my hands and start chipping black polish off my thumbnail. “I can't go home,” I tell Max.

“What?” Max slips into the driver's seat.

“I'm supposed to be sleeping at Zelia's tonight. Mom doesn't even know about the party.”

“Oh.” Max looks confused. “So where's Zelia?”

I start to cry again. “In bed with Josh,” I say. “Back at the party.” I know I shouldn't be telling her this, but I feel hurt and angry. “She didn't want to leave with me.”

Max starts the car and turns on the heat. “You're shiver­ing,” she says.

There is a silence; then she bangs the palms of her hands against the steering wheel. “I hate that,” she says. “It's so lame, the way girls ditch their friends whenever some guy comes along.”

“You think she's ditching me?”

Max looks at me seriously. “No,” she says, “I didn't mean that. Just, you know, tonight. Leaving you when you're supposed to be going to her place.”

I can't stop crying, and my voice comes out in a wail, thick with tears and snot. “What am I going to do?”

Max grabs my hand and squeezes it.

“You're coming to my place,” she says.

We drive through the dark deserted streets to Max's house. She presses her finger against her lips as she slips her key into
the front-door lock. I tiptoe up the stairs behind her and follow her down the dark hallway to her room.

She pulls the bedroom door closed behind us. “The twins,” she whispers. “Mom doesn't mind me being out late, and she won't mind you being here, but if we wake the twins there'll be hell to pay.”

I look at her. “Thanks. For letting me come here. Driving and everything.”

Max looks surprised. “No, it's fine. You can come here anytime.”

She opens her closet, drags a roll of thin foam out from under a pile of clothes and attempts to flatten it on the floor beside her bed. “Will that be okay for you?”

“Yeah, it's fine.”

Max rummages in her closet some more and tosses me a sleeping bag. Then she opens a dresser drawer and holds up two pairs of flannel pajamas. “Pink or green?” she asks. “Or you can just sleep in your own clothes, if you'd rather.”

I take the pink ones. “Thanks.”

We change quickly, not looking at each other, and scramble into our beds. Max pulls up her blankets; then she laughs.

“Forgot to turn out the light.” She pads barefoot across the room, flicks the switch and plunges the room into velvety dark­ness. Her foot brushes my sleeping bag as she steps on the end of my mattress and climbs back into her own bed.

“I'm glad you're here, Sophie,” she whispers. “Are you okay?”