The Spectacular Now (20 page)

“I can’t dance like Cassidy,” she says.

“Yeah, but you dance like Aimee. And that’s perfect.”

Chapter 51

Finally, that part of the prom arrives that I don’t have any use for—crowning the king and queen. We’re all kings and queens to my way of thinking. Why would you want to wreck the togetherness of the situation by holding two people above the rest?

To avoid the whole creepy deal, I take Aimee for a walk. The building is a cool place to check out, especially for a horse lover like she is. Pictures of racehorses and jockeys’ colors decorate the walls, and a really awesome horse statue stands in the foyer. There are also clubs and restaurants and a casino, all closed for now, but you can feel the ghosts of the gamblers haunting the corridors. I’ve been to the races a couple of times and explain to Aimee how the betting works.

“I’d probably lose all my money,” she says.

“That’s all right. It’s just part of the cost of coming out here. I mean, I don’t know a thing about horses myself, but that doesn’t matter either. I just pick the ones with the most pathetic-sounding names—like Fat Cat or Snickerdoodle-dandy—and bet on them. I figure they could use the support, you know?”

“What if there was a horse named Cassidy?”

“What do you mean? Cassidy’s not a pathetic name.”

“But would you bet on it?”

“Why would you ask a question like that?”

“It’s just, you know, I saw the way you were slow dancing with her.”

“Hey, she asked me to dance, not the other way around. And you said it was all right.”

“But you should’ve known it wouldn’t really be all right.”

Uh-oh. Here it is—we’ve finally reached the
you-should-have-read-my-mind
stage.

“How am I supposed to know that?” I ask. “You have to tell me these things. ESP isn’t one of my many talents, you know.”

We walk outside where the moon and the big lights shine on the precisely landscaped grounds. Neither one of us says anything for a while. Finally, I break the silence. “Look, I’m here with you. Cassidy’s with Marcus. She and I are just good friends. What do I have to do to get you to have a little faith in the Sutterman?”

We sit on a stone bench, and she gazes at the perfect garden in front of us and goes, “I was thinking of something you could do.”

“What? I’ll do anything.”

“You know how you keep telling me I need to stand up to my mom and quit the paper route and move to St. Louis with my sister? Well, I think I’m really going to do it. My grades have dropped a little lately, but that’s okay. It’s too late to apply for fall, so I can just go to the community college there for a year. I’ve already talked to Ambith and she said she can get me a job at the bookstore where she’s the assistant manager.”

“A job at a bookstore? That’s perfect for you.”

“It really is. Next to working at NASA, that’s pretty much like my dream job.”

“And you’ll get to take control of your own money.”

“I know!”

It’s weird. This is exactly what I set out to get her to do from the very beginning, but now that she’s actually talking about leaving, I don’t want her to go. I can’t tell her that, though. She needs to go.

“That’s great,” I say, working up a smile. “I can’t think of anything better. This situation you’re in right now is just, like, smothering. It’s unacceptable. St. Louis would be muy fantastico. If you want me to help you move, don’t worry. I’m your man.”

“That’s not exactly what I was thinking about.” She takes a deep breath. “I was hoping you’d say you’ll move there with me.”

“Move there?”

“You could go to the community college, too, and we’d both have jobs and we could get an apartment together.”

This isn’t what I expected, to say the least. Yes, I’ve become a lot more attached to Aimee than I ever thought I would, but you know me. I’m committed to absolutely avoiding the topic of future living arrangements. Sure, I’ve always thought eventually I might move in with a girl someday, maybe even get married, but that was always more like a kid thinking he’d be the captain of a big ship one day. I mean, it never had any concrete reality for me. Now, here’s Aimee hitting me right in the face with it like a frozen sea bass.

So I’m like, “Wow. Move in together, huh?”

“My sister said I could move in with her, but I’m sure if you’d come with me, we could get a place in the same apartment complex that she lives in. It’s not that expensive at all.”

“You’ve really done some planning.”

“I don’t even want to spend the summer here. I want to go as soon as school’s out.”

“That’s coming up pretty quick.”

She looks down at her fingers. “Don’t you want to go? I mean, you’re always telling me I should break away from my mom and go up there, but I don’t want to go without you.”

“Yeah, but moving in together? That’s big. Seeing as how my parents were these huge monumental failures at that, I don’t know if it’s such a good idea.”

“But maybe it is.” She grabs my hand and finally looks me in the eye. “Maybe it’s just what you need to get over what happened with your parents.”

“Oh, I’m way over that.”

“Are you?” She squeezes my hand more tightly. “Then why does it always bug you so much when I bring up your dad? You always close off whenever I bring up trying to find him. But that’s exactly what I think you need to do, find him and talk to him. If you know what really happened, then you can make sure it doesn’t happen to us.”

“You think?” I have to admit the topic of finding my dad still annoys me, but I can’t show that now that she’s busted me for it.

“Yes, I do.” No more two-syllable
yeses.
Her voice has a whole tankful of certainty now. “I think it’s worth trying anything to keep us together.”

“But what if we find out something terrible, like that he’s a serial killer or a game-show host? Will you still want me to go with you to St. Louis then?”

“I’ll want you to go with me no matter what. The question is, do you want to go?”

Of course, I should do like Ricky told me, grow a spine and just tell her no, there’s no way I’m going to find my dad and no way I can move to St. Louis with her and no way we can ever work out in the long run. But Ricky’s not the one sitting here staring at the pleading in this girl’s pale blue eyes.

So I do the kind of thing I do instead—put my arm around her shoulder, pull her to me, and say, “Yes, I do. That could really work. You’re exactly right. Moving in together would be spectacular. In fact, that sounds like the greatest idea in the history of the universe.”

Chapter 52

Back in the banquet hall, the mood of the prom has changed. Or maybe it’s just that I’m sinking into the next stage of the life of the buzz—the lull, the valley that lies between peaks. This is just something that’s been happening lately. Used to, it was pretty much all peaks, but I guess you have to expect a valley every now and then when you’re in it for the long haul.

I look across the room, and this sorrowful feeling washes over me, almost bittersweet but with a whole lot more bitter. The beauty of the lame decorations has worn thin and now they’re just pathetic. The glitter is crumbling. Desperation seeps into the room. People’s smiles seem as fake as the cardboard moons.

This idea comes to me that we’re all grass blades on the same lawn. We’ve grown up together, shoulder to shoulder, under the same sun, drinking the same rain. But you know what happens to grass blades—somebody cuts them down just when they reach their prime.

A lot of kids have left for their after-parties. Cassidy and Marcus are nowhere to be seen. Neither is Ricky. But the dance floor’s still half-full, and that might be the worst thing of all. What is it about this crappy music that makes anyone even bother to lift a foot? It sounds like it was spit out by the atomic vampire’s de-soul-inator machine. Still, there they are, gyrating and grinning, even coming off with the occasional sexy pout they learned from TV. Zach Waldrop goes for a comedy dance to make up for his lack of rhythm. Mandy Stansberry, my old wild-child girlfriend from junior high, gives it the bump and grind like she’s the latest cookie-cutter teen pop diva. Or is it teen porn diva? What’s the difference?

We’re not the Faster-than-the-Speed-of-Light Generation anymore. We’re not even the Next-New-Thing Generation. We’re the Soon-to-Be-Obsolete Kids, and we’ve crowded in here to hide from the future and the past. We know what’s up—the future looms straight ahead like a black wrought-iron gate and the past is charging after us a like a badass Doberman, only this one doesn’t have any letup in him.

That’s all right. Never fear. Sutter Keely is a veteran of the life of the buzz. I know the stages as well as I know the months of summer. And the only thing to do now is to power through the valley to the next stage—the I-don’t-give-a-damn-just-bring-it-on stage.

When the DJ takes a break, I nudge Aimee and go, “You know what? This prom’s turning to dust in its own casket. What it needs is a serious personality makeover, and I’m just the man for the job.” Without further explanation, I bounce right up to the DJ booth, ready to inject some essential Dean into the abyss.

But there’s a problem—the equipment is a little complicated and I’ve had a few drinks, so I abort the original mission and go for a new-and-improved one: the Sutterman himself belting out the Dino hits straight from his very own gut.

I tap the mike a couple of times. “Can I have everybody’s attention?”

Somewhere in the middle of the room, somebody yells, “Whoo! Sutter!”

“I just want to change the mood a little bit.” I give it my best suave-and-low microphone voice. “Add a little class to the evening. A little panache.”

I start off with “You’re Nobody ’Til Somebody Loves You,” giving it the full Dino croon. I crinkle my eyes like Dean and sway and wave my cup around like him.

“Ow!” someone yells a few tables away.

Unfortunately, I don’t remember all the words, so I have to segue into “Ain’t Love a Kick in the Head” after a few lines. But even that is a stroke of genius. The perfect medley. Those two songs pretty much sum up the state of the world. In fact, they’re not just songs. They’re revelations. Suddenly the prom has lost its cheese factor and a big fat dose of
profound
sweeps the room.

But there’s always somebody who doesn’t get it. Like Mr. Asterhole.

He’s there as part of the prom Gestapo unit, ready to pounce on anyone who veers the least little bit off the highway of bland. I’m just going back for a second helping of the chorus of “You’re Nobody ’Til Somebody Loves You” when his grip clamps down on my arm.

“All right, that’s enough, Mr. Keely. Time to head back to your table.”

“But this is what it’s all about,” I tell him with perfect sincerity. “This is the gospel according to Dino.”

“Sit down!” somebody yells from the crowd, probably the same person who came up with
Puttin’ on the Ritz
as a theme.

“Bite me,” I intone in my deep microphone voice.

“That’ll be enough,” says Mr. Asterhole, tugging at my arm.

“But, Mr. Asterhole,” I say, still keeping it low and smooth. “This is our last night to be young, or did you forget how that feels?”

I should point out that the whole thing, the “Mr. Asterhole” part and all, booms out through the mike. A couple of whoops go up, along with a couple more “Sit downs,” and Mr. Aster’s eyes bulge.

“Okay, that’s it,” he says. “Your prom’s over.”

I swear he’s so hot it looks like his hair might catch fire. But I’m just like, “That’s cool. This carcass is ready for the morgue anyway.”

“Out, Mr. Keely. I’m not going to say it again.”

Walking back to the table to collect Aimee, I maintain perfect dignity. Okay, so a couple of people call out, “Go home, dumbass,” but who cares? The ones who get it are on my side. “Way to go, Sutter,” they tell me. “See you at the after-party, dude!”

Leaving early doesn’t disappoint Aimee at all. She’s already gathered her things by the time I reach the table. As soon as we hit the cool air outside, we both take long swigs of our drinks. Yes, the next stage in the life of the buzz is kicking in.

Chapter 53

There are plenty of after-parties to hit, but most of my friends will be at Cassidy’s best friend Kendra’s house. The party is likely to last all night, so we have plenty of time to stop at our motel room. The plan is to change clothes, refill our flasks, and take off, but Aimee has something else in mind.

Before I can get my jeans pulled up, she comes out of the bathroom in just her panties, walks over, and kisses me on the chest. “We don’t have to go to any more parties,” she says.

“But it’s prom night.”

She runs her finger along my stomach. “We can make it special right here.”

The girl is a rookie, see. She doesn’t understand the stages of the life of the buzz. I kiss her long and hard, then pull away. “We can make it special here
after
the party. Now, come on, get dressed. We want to be there when they pop the cork on the champagne.”

“But do we have to go to a party where Cassidy’s going to be?”

“You’re not still worried about that, are you? Look, she’s my friend. You have to get used to being around her. Come on now. Have a little faith in the Sutterman. The best part of the night is just beginning.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now go get dressed.”

This stage in the life of the buzz is truly fabulous. It’s not even a buzz anymore. It’s a roar. The world opens up and everything’s yours right here, right now. You’ve probably heard the expression—All good things must come to an end. Well, this stage in the life of the buzz never heard anything close to that. This stage says, “I will never end. I am indestructible. I will last fabulously forever.” And, of course, you believe it. To hell with tomorrow. To hell with all problems and barriers. Nothing matters but the Spectacular Now.

Not everyone can get all the way through to this stage. It takes practice and dedication. It’s like learning how to pilot a plane—you have to put in your air miles before you can really fly on your own.

And believe me, by the time we get to Kendra’s, I’m soaring. Crowds gather round and I’m making up jokes, doing the Italian mobster routine with Shawnie Brown, chugging glasses of champagne while standing on my head—bringing the crazy fun. A couple of people egg me on to climb up on the coffee table and sing some more Dino, and you can be sure it doesn’t take much egging. This is how a party should be. Not an adult anywhere near to shut us down. Kendra’s parents are geniuses. They turned the house over to her and said, “We trust you, honey, just don’t let anyone get in the pool.”

Right. Good luck with that!

The only downside is no Ricky. The dude promised he’d show, but where is he? For all I know, he’s actually playing school-sponsored laser tag with Bethany right now. Of course, Cassidy’s here with Marcus, and every once in a while I catch her staring at me, flashing her little Mona Lisa smile and shaking her head. I know what she’s thinking: “Why did I ever trade in someone that’s so awesomely fun for Mr. Stone Cold Sober in the kitchen discussing politics?”

What can I say? Everyone makes mistakes.

At some point, I lose touch with where Aimee is. Last time I saw her she was sitting on the end of the sofa with her drink in her hand and an awkward smile on her face, so I’m glad she got up and started mingling. I really do mean to check on her just in case she’s stuck listening to the blather of someone foul like Courtney Skinner or worse, Jason Doyle, but I end up getting a little sidetracked.

The thing is, just as I start to look for her, Brody Moore grabs me by the arm and whispers a beautiful suggestion in my ear. “The swimming pool is calling,” he says. “It only takes one person to dive in first.”

Brody knows all too well that I’m willing to do my duty and be that first person. “To the patio door,” I say. “Full speed ahead and damn the potatoes.”

By the time Brody and I get to the pool, there’s a nice crowd following us, and I lift my hands in the air to start a cheer: “Dive, Sutter, dive! Dive, Sutter, dive!”

The diving board is way too low for the kind of drama that the situation requires, so naturally, I have a couple of dudes boost me up to the roof of the little cabana on the deep-end side. It’s far enough away from the pool that I have to back up to get a running start, but that just adds to the excitement.

The cheers grow louder. “Dive, Sutter, dive! Dive, Sutter, dive!”

The thought does cross my mind that I could slip and end up cracking my head on the pavement just short of the pool, but if you’re always going to worry about minor drawbacks, then you’ll never accomplish anything. So, without another thought, I take about three big steps and out I fly—fully clothed—catching some tasty air, rolling and tucking, almost completing an entire flip, but not quite. When I come up for air, everyone’s clapping and whooping. A couple of people in the front row got thoroughly splashed, but they don’t mind.

“Marco!” I holler.

“Polo!” responds Brody just before cannonballing into the deep end.

After that, it’s a free-for-all. There must be twenty kids in the pool, guys and girls both, some still in their formal gear. The water churns, people take turns dunking each other, girls’ blouses and gowns cling magnificently to their breasts. Shouts and laughter careen every which way. Watching it from the side of the pool, my shoes, socks, and pants legs dangling in the water, I smile an all-time, big, Guinness-Book-worthy smile, soaking in the vastness of what I’ve accomplished. I don’t even hear Cassidy calling my name until she’s right behind me.