Projection (3 page)

“This is unbelievable!” Gretchen whispered.

Mom squeezed her hand without looking at her. “I’m so glad you like it!” Her forehead creased with concern. “Do you think your friends will get it?”

Gretchen positioned herself in front of her mom’s distracted gaze. “Mom,
I
don’t get it. I can’t believe you did all of this. I mean, it’s just an eighth grade graduation party. I don’t know how you can possibly top this when I graduate from high school.”

Her mother offered a brittle smile. “It’s not
just
an eighth grade graduation party. Of course, that’s what the invitation says, but it’s not why I did this.” She placed her hands on Gretchen’s shoulders. “This is a very special time, Stretchy.” Mom hadn’t called her by her family nickname in a while, maybe a month. Her black eyes bored into Gretchen’s own. “Good. I have your attention. You’re not a little girl anymore. You’re going into high school, becoming a teenager. Things are going to start happening to you. Things you can’t even imagine.”

Gretchen’s cheeks flushed. “Uh, Mom, maybe you forgot, but I got my period, like, almost a year ago. So if you’re about to give me the ‘you’re becoming a woman’ speech, you’re a little late.”

Her mom laughed and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “That’s not where I was going with that, but thanks
for the reminder.” She dropped her hands from Gretchen’s shoulders and straightened her dress, as if the conversation were over. Her eyes wandered back across the tent.

“Then what did you mean?” Gretchen insisted. “What’s going to happen to me?”

“Not to worry. Tonight is just the beginning. Now, if you’ll excuse me, darling, I need to go inside to start greeting our guests. Have fun and make the most of it!”

By seven o’clock the
tent was overflowing with people. It seemed like the entire eighth grade and their parents had shown up, even though Gretchen was pretty sure her mom hadn’t invited all of them. But it didn’t matter. The only crasher she cared about was Ariel Miller. Unfortunately Ariel had a habit of showing up in places where she wasn’t wanted—or invited. Like last year, for example, when Molly Carson had thrown a party at the bowling alley, and Ariel had conveniently shown up to go bowling at the very same time, as if it were all some big coincidence.

If she crashes this party, I am personally going to be the one to kick her out.

But Ariel aside, Gretchen felt like she was floating with happiness, and she knew Jessica was happy, too. She was stunning in Gretchen’s white dress, with her long blonde hair and her tan skin. The picture of summer. The two of them had attracted a crowd of boys on the pillows around their table. Best of all, they’d attracted Nick Ford. A lot of the boys in their grade hadn’t grown very much in the last three years. The majority came up to Gretchen’s shoulders, or maybe her neck. But Nick was already taller than she was, taller than Jessica. Plus, he was the star center on the Delphi Middle School lacrosse team. They’d won the
regional championship … or something; Dad always kept track of school sports better than she did.

The only minor annoyance was that Nick’s blue eyes kept wandering to Jessica, not to her.

“Hey, did I ever tell you about the time my dad got seasick in Hawaii?” Gretchen asked in a loud voice. Both Nick and Jessica turned.

“So he leaned over the side of the boat and puked into the ocean, and, like, twenty minutes later all of these guys who were snorkeling came up to the boat asking, ‘Who’s the guy who puked?’ Everyone pointed at my dad, and he was all embarrassed, but then they started thanking him and giving him high fives. They said all these fish came out of their caves to eat the puke, and it was, like, the best snorkeling they’d had all week!”

“Ewww,” Jessica cried, but the boys all laughed, including Nick. Gretchen caught Nick’s eye. He flashed a crooked smile that made her insides flutter.
That’s more like it
. She glanced over at Jessica to see if she’d seen it, but Jessica had turned away, craning her neck as if she had spotted someone. A moment later she leaned over and whispered in Gretchen’s ear.

“My uncle just walked in. Do you want a drink? He’ll totally get them for us.”

“I don’t know,” Gretchen answered. “My mom would kill me if she found out I was drinking.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “It’s just one drink. And I’ll tell him to get you something sweet, like an apple martini.” She glanced at Nick. “We can get one for him, too.”

Gretchen thought about this for a second. It
would
be cool to have a drink with Nick Ford. She tapped him on the leg. “Do you want a drink?” she asked in a low voice, so the other guys wouldn’t hear. “Jess’s uncle will get them for us.”

He nodded at her. “Sure. I’ll take a whiskey sour.”

Gretchen raised an eyebrow. “Whiskey
what
?”

Nick shrugged. “I had, like, six of them at Jon Goldman’s bar mitzvah last year.”

He stood first and reached down so Gretchen could grab his hand. She allowed him to pull her up from the cushion on the floor and expected him to drop it as soon as they were side by side, but his fingers intertwined with hers. Gretchen saw Jessica take in the whole thing. Was she jealous? Did it matter? Nick dragged Gretchen behind him, following Jessica to the back of the tent.

Uncle Rob stood by himself near a speaker, holding a drink and moving his head to the beat of the music. With his free hand, he moved his fingers up and down the frets of an imaginary guitar. Gretchen knew that he was a musician; he played in a local band. According to Jessica, “even though Rob knows they’re totally old,” (her words) they were on the verge of getting signed by an indie record label down in LA.

Once, at the Country Club, Gretchen had overheard her mom and some of her friends talking about him. A lost soul, one of them had said though Gretchen didn’t really get what that was supposed to mean. But they all agreed he was good-looking. Gretchen studied him with a critical eye. He was wearing a grey suit with no tie, and his white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. His dark, curly hair was slicked back with some kind of gel that made it look shiny and stiff, and a stretch of stubble grew out of his smooth, dark skin. She could see it … maybe? It was weird to think about your best friend’s stepdad that way.

“Hey, Uncle Rob,” Jessica said, leaning forward to give him a hug.

“Hey, Jess,” he replied, hugging her back. “You look nice.”

“Thanks. You know Gretchen, and this is our friend, Nick.”

Nick dropped Gretchen’s hand and reached out to shake Rob’s. She hoped he’d take hers again, but he didn’t.

“Nice to meet you,” Rob said. “So, congratulations are due to you all, I guess. Eighth grade graduation!” He smirked at Gretchen. “You must be pretty special to warrant a party like this, huh? I think I got a pen for mine.”

Gretchen blushed. “I think it was just an excuse for my mom to throw a big party. I’m not sure the graduation has all that much to do with it.”

“But we
are
celebrating,” Jessica added, giving Gretchen a look that said she would take it from here. “And we thought you might be able to help our celebration become a little more liquid.” She emphasized the word
liquid
not so subtly, making sure he understood her point.

“Ah, I see,” Rob answered. “And what kind of
liquids
did you have in mind?”

Jessica smiled. “Two apple martinis and a whiskey sour would be much appreciated.”

Rob laughed. “If your aunt finds out, she’ll kill me.”

“Oh, come on.” Jessica wriggled her eyebrows. “After you got your pen in the eighth grade, didn’t you feel shortchanged?”

“Do I have to answer?” Rob rolled his eyes. “Fine. But you better keep this amongst yourselves.” He sauntered off in the direction of the bar.

Jessica gasped and grabbed Gretchen’s arm. “Michelle’s here! She saw us ask Rob for drinks!”

Gretchen’s brow furrowed, and then her jaw dropped. Jessica wasn’t lying. She watched as Michelle grabbed Rob from behind and spun him around. Like most of the women in
the Oculus Society, Michelle was beautiful: tall and thin with long, wavy, auburn-colored hair and a nearly perfect nose—it sloped at just the right angle and turned up just the right amount at the tip. (Gretchen’s mom privately theorized that Michelle’s nose had clinched her longstanding job as the local TV weathergirl. She was the only person who looked better in profile than she did head-on.) Tonight she was wearing a short, one-shouldered black dress. Correction: she would have been beautiful if her face wasn’t twisted in fury.

“I will not have my husband be responsible for getting thirteen-year-olds drunk,” she barked.

A hush passed over the tent.

Rob shrugged and laughed. “No idea what you’re talking about, dear.”

Michelle glowered at Jessica, but then her face softened into a smile as she spotted something on the other side of the tent. Gretchen looked to see what had caught Michelle’s attention; it was Tina Holt, the current President of the Oculus Society. Michelle was making a beeline straight toward her. It made sense: Tina was Mom’s handpicked successor, the one woman every grown-up wanted to talk to these days.

Jessica buried her face in her hands. Gradually, the conversation in the tent picked back up. Gretchen’s gaze turned from Michelle—now cozied up with Tina Holt—back to Rob. He kept right on toward the bar.

“She’s gone,” Gretchen whispered.

“She didn’t even say hi to you,” Nick observed.

Jessica dropped her hands and frowned, but before she could respond, a waiter appeared before them with a tray of drinks. “I was told to deliver these to the two beautiful ladies and their handsome friend,” he said.

Gretchen spotted Rob standing in the corner, watching. He raised his glass at them discreetly before turning away.

“Dude, your uncle’s cool,” Nick whispered. “You’re so lucky.”

“Yeah,” Jessica said, her sarcasm subtle enough for Nick to miss but not so subtle that Gretchen didn’t notice. “I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”

Gretchen sipped slowly, pacing
herself. She didn’t want to drink too much too fast and get caught being drunk at her own party. And besides, she was enjoying the warm feeling that spread through her more and more with each sip. The sweetness of the apple liqueur softened the bitter taste of the vodka but didn’t mask it completely. The drink reminded her of air freshener that doesn’t quite eliminate a bad odor. But it didn’t matter. She wanted this night to last forever and ever. She tuned out Jessica and Nick, gazing over the tent and beyond, where the party had spilled out on to the lawn—

What the hell?

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone quietly open the gate to the side yard and tip-toe up to the kitchen door. She couldn’t make out a face, but it was a girl, and her hair was flipped up at the edges, grazing the tops of her shoulder blades.
Ariel Miller
. Gretchen was sure of it.

“That little bitch,” she muttered. She tossed back the rest of her apple martini in one gulp and handed the glass to Jessica. “Hold this for me. I’ll be right back.”

Gretchen stormed across the yard, ignoring Jessica’s calls for her to wait. But Jessica caught up to her before she made it into the house. “Gretchen, what are you doing?”

“I just saw Ariel Miller sneak into my house, and I’m going
in there to find her and kick her out.” Gretchen crossed her arms defiantly in front of her chest.

“That’s it? That’s why you left Nick Ford half drunk and standing by himself in the darkest part of your backyard? Because you thought you saw Ariel Miller? Jeez, Gretch. I was just about to excuse myself and leave the two of you alone. Talk about a wasted opportunity.”

Gretchen found herself grinning. “You were?”

Jessica grinned back. “Forget it. We might as well find Ariel now. We’ll get you some alone time with Nick later on.”

Leave it to Ariel Miller to ruin everything
, she thought, shaking her head. “I saw her going in through the kitchen door, but she could be anywhere in the house by now.”

She strode across the patio, Jessica on her heels, through the sliding glass doors and into the crowded den with its high ceilings and dark wood floors set off against the white, paneled walls. Small groups of people huddled together, talking and laughing, while waiters wove through them carrying silver trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.

A blood-curdling scream from upstairs shattered the conversation.

Everyone froze. A woman dropped her glass. The pieces shattered at Gretchen’s feet. “Call nine-one-one!” a man’s voice shrieked.

The spell broke instantly. The guests in the den began scurrying in different directions. Gretchen pushed her way through them, trying to make her way toward the stairs. Her heart pounded. Someone must have fallen in the bathroom, slipped on something; there must be a lot of blood, and people were drunk and over-dramatic, and that’s why there were screams … of course, it had to be something like that.

But when she finally made it to the stairwell, the faces of the adults told a different story.

She scrambled up the steps. Sirens blared in the distance, growing louder. In the hallway outside the master bedroom, she found her father slumped against Tina Holt. His body was shaking, his face in his hands as Tina patted his shoulder, murmuring to him in a low voice.

It was Tina who saw Gretchen first. She said Gretchen’s name out loud, more as a warning than as a greeting. Dad’s head jolted up. His eyes were red, and there were long, uneven streaks running down his face.

“What’s going on?” she demanded. “Dad?”

He reached out to her with both hands. “Gretchen,” he said. He opened his mouth again to speak, but all that came out was a choked sob. Gretchen glanced at the open door to her parents’ bedroom. Tina quickly stepped forward to block her.

“You don’t want to do that, sweetie,” she said in a low voice. But she was too slow. Gretchen darted around her and into the room. Her eyes instantly fell on the king-sized bed, with its extra-wide headboard in tufted suede that her mother had custom-built two summers ago. Mom was sprawled on the left side—face down, her arms splayed out beside her, her hands balled up into fists, her legs hanging indecorously off the edge so that her ankles twisted to the side, exposing the red soles of her shoes.