Twisted (11 page)

Okay, so maybe I should have admitted that I didn’t have a car, and that my father had confiscated my license when I was arrested for the Foul Deed, and that technically, going to a party like this would be a massive violation of my probation. But that’s the kind of thing you have to build up to in a conversation, and there wasn’t time for that, not with Stacey blowing the horn and cars squealing out of the parking lot.

I figured it would take me a half hour to get to the party on foot.

Idiot. Moron. Cretin. Fool.

Two hours and a couple of blisters later, I finally made it.

I’d heard of Josh Rawson (who hadn’t?) but never had classes with him so I wasn’t sure what to expect. Standing on his front porch, it was obvious the place was crowded and noisy, but I didn’t know the guy and wasn’t exactly invited, not by him, so was I supposed to ring the doorbell, or knock, or sneak in the back?

I rang the doorbell.

Nobody answered.

I reached out to press the button again. The door flew open and I jumped back. Two guys hustled a third guy down the steps as fast as they could. They made it to the driveway before he started ralphing. They yelled at him for splattering their shoes.

I walked in.

“Bacchanalia” summed it up nicely: a party that smelled in equal parts of cologne, beerpuke, peppermints, and weed. Rawson had better pray his parents decided to relocate to Jamaica permanently, because this one was going down in the history books.

The living room was on the right. That’s where the speakers were set up. They had already blown a woofer but kept the volume cranked so that the ragged edge of the sound made the walls shake. Girls were dancing with each other and boys were loving it, dancing behind them and snapping pictures with their camera phones. I saw a couple of the fairy-angel gang, their tiny leaf skirts flirting with being torn off, but no Bethany.

On the other side of the entryway was the dining room jammed with bodies packed around a table overflowing with bags of chips and pretzels, bowls of Halloween candy, and cartons of onion dip that had been used as ashtrays. On the far side were steps that led to a sunken family room that contained mostly horizontal bodies. I hoped she wasn’t in there.

The kegs were in the kitchen. Chip Milbury was, too, with Parker and the other nitwits. They were starting to scowl in my direction when Bethany stepped out from behind them.

“Tyler!” she squealed. “Tyler, Tyler, Tiger-Tyler!”

My fairy angel stumbled towards me carrying two red plastic cups sloshing with beer. Her wings were gone and she was wearing a Warriors sweatshirt that reached to her knees and had a wet stain on the front. Her hair was tangled and tucked behind her ears and she was grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

“You’re 1-1-late,” she slurred.

“I got lost. Having fun?”

“Oh, yeah.” She handed me a cup. Her left eye drifted towards her nose. “Drink,” she commanded. “You need to catch up.”

I sipped and tried not to shudder.
Cow piss.
I set the cup on the counter.

“Want to go outside?” I asked.

“What?”

“It’s noisy!” I shouted.

The crowd around the keg chanted, “Chug! Chug! Chug!” as a guy dressed as a pirate put his mouth on the tap and pulled the handle. I took her hand and motioned for her to follow me.

My plan? What plan? I was winging it.

Parker moved quickly behind the crowd and cut off our exit. He stepped in front of me. “What are you doing with her?” he demanded.

“Out of my way,” I said.

He put his hand on my chest.

Oh, crap. Now I have to shove him and he’ll have to shove me, and I’ll trip and he’ll jump on me and people will scream and pour beer on us and I won’t get to kiss her.

Bethany grabbed Parker by the thumb and twisted it painfully. “He’s with me.” She grabbed my hand and dragged me away.

I grinned at Parker and winked.

To be honest, I had never been at a party like this. I mean, I’d been at parties, I had done a little drinking, but this was off the hook and I was off balance. Bethany was totally at home. She wanted to dance, we danced. Well, she danced—dirty danced—and everyone watched. I moved nervously from one foot to the other. Part of me wanted to kill all the other guys in the room, part of me wanted to keep them alive so they’d have to deal with the fact that she was dancing with me. Me. Tyler Former Loser Miller.

She wanted to go down to the basement, so down we went. She wanted to play pool, we played. She wanted to watch some kids on the PS2, we watched, with my hand on her hip and her hand in my back pocket. She wanted to drink. I got her another beer, but I didn’t get one for myself because out of the corner of my eye I was always seeing Chip and Parker, and they were not happy with the way the night was turning out for me.

When Bethany went to the bathroom with two of her girlfriends, I wandered back to the kitchen in search of real food. Yoda was pouring a cup of foam from the keg with Hannah wrapped around him like a bloodsucking leech.

Yoda was at the party, with my sister.

My sister did not belong there.

She belonged at home, in her bed, alone, asleep, with one arm around her Raggedy Ann and the other under her pillow. My brain and hormones slammed into reverse, and I had to lean against a wall because the room was spinning.

Hannah looked up and pointed at me, her mouth hanging open in horror. “What are you doing here?” she shrieked.

“What are
you
doing here?” I answered.

“Hello? I was invited.”

“Liar.”

Yoda put his hands up. “Okay, you two, that’s enough.”

“Shut up,” Hannah and I both said.

“Take her home,” I told Yoda.

“Get over yourself,” Hannah said. “You are not going to ruin this for me.”

“Urn, guys?” Yoda asked. “Can’t we just get along? It’s a big party.”

Hannah chewed her bottom lip. “You don’t tell, I won’t tell.”

“Deal.”

“I don’t know who you are tonight.”

“Fine with me.” I leaned closer to Yoda. “Keep her out of trouble.”

“Don’t worry,” Hannah butted in. “We have other things planned.”

“I’m going to pretend you did not just say that.”

Bethany snuck up behind me, slid her cool hand into mine, and pulled me away. The look on Hannah’s face was totally worth it.

We danced to two more songs, then my angel started drooping. When she led me up the stairs, I suspected we were headed for the Pearly Gates.

She opened the door.

I flicked on the lights. It was a little boy’s room, with Lego monsters and kid-sized sports equipment and a Nerf basketball hoop.

Bethany turned the lights off. She sat on the bed. I sat next to her.

“So,” I said.

She leaned against me with a sigh. “Yeah.”

People downstairs broke into a round of applause.

She rubbed her hand up and down my arm. “I’m glad you came.”

“You are?”

“Yep. Chip’s not glad.” She turned and looked at me, her eyes dark and serious in the glow of the Harry Potter alarm clock. “He thinks you’re a loser.”

“I get that a lot,” I said.

This was so funny it sent her to the floor in giggles. When I helped her up, she somehow landed half on the bed, half in my lap.

Take me now, God, take me while it’s perfect.

“Did you know that you used to sound like a chipmunk?”

Hold on, God.

“I did?”

“Oh, yeah. Remember? Earth science? Ninth grade. We used to laugh about it all the time.”

“You mean you used to laugh at me.”

“Well, yeah. But that was back when you were a dork.” She ran her finger along my jaw. “You changed.”

I took her hand in mine, turned it over, and kissed the palm. I was breathing hard and hoping she didn’t notice. “I didn’t change,” I said. “Did I?”

She snorted. “Oh my God—you? You were, like, the quietest guy in our class, and
boom!
You surprised everyone.”

“Getting arrested? That surprised me, too.”

She snuggled
(yes! snuggled!)
against my shoulder for five full seconds. “When I saw you at my parents’ party? Oh. My. God. Big difference. But you’re still sweet, right?”

“That depends. Do you want me to be sweet?”

“Yes,” she said with a grin. She reached up and brushed my hair out of my eyes. “Sweet and harmless and—” She pushed me down on the bed and pinned me in the hottest liplock of my life.

“Dangerous,” she whispered.

My brain stopped functioning. My hormones kicked into overdrive and grabbed the steering wheel.

I was Wolfman, the Hulk, Casanova, the last man on earth with the last woman, ready and willing and very, very hot. Her lips were warm and sweet, and if her breath was a little nasty, well, that didn’t bother my hard-on one bit. Her hand moved down my chest
(yes! yes!)
and she pressed herself against me and suddenly my arms were around her and the noise from the party was fading away and my hand traced the curve of her back and I realized that under her fairy leaf skirt she was wearing those tights and under those tights absolutely nothing and then, and then…

And then, because I suck, my brain came back to life.

And started wrestling with my hormones.

Brain:
You don’t want this.

Hormones:
Dude, this is EXACTLY what I want.

B:
No, not like this—she’s wasted.

H:
What’s your point?

B:
She won’t remember this, and if she does, she’ll be angry.

H:
Do you see where her hand is? God, that feels good. Can’t you feel that?

B:
She’s drunk. You can’t do this. It’s wrong.

H:
I want to do this.

B:
Really? You want to go to school and say you scored with Bethany Milbury when she was so drunk she barely knew her name?

H:

H:

H:
You’re an asshole. I hate you.

B:
She needs to eat something and drink some water. Don’t let her drink any more beer.

H:

H:
Yeah, I know.

B:
She’ll love you for taking care of her. She’ll love that you respected her.

H:
Five more minutes? Just five?

B:
Now.

H:
Ican’t believe you’re making me do this.

Yeah. I did it.

I rolled away from her. I counted to twenty. Then I counted to fifty. I sat up, carefully, and rebuckled my belt.

“Wha’s wrong?” Bethany—sweet, wasted Bethany–muttered into the pillow.

“I want to see if they have any nachos. I love nachos, don’t you?”

(H:
I cannot believe you just said that.
)

(B:
Shut the hell up.
)

“Don’t you like me?”

I turned on the overhead light. “You know I do. I just…come on, let’s go.”

She squinted and held up her hand to shield her eyes from the light. “You’re walking out on me?”

“No, it’s not like that at all. It’s just—look, Bethany, you’re totaled. Shit-faced, no offense. You know I really like you and I want to be with you, but
(someone please shoot me now)
not like this.”

She blinked and shook her head a little as the words sunk in. “You’re blowing me off.” She tried to stand up, lost her balance, and flopped on the bed. “I can’t believe you’re blowing me off.”

When I reached out to help her she pulled away and pouted. “What are you, too good for me? Gay? You don’t like sex?”

“It’s not that,” I sighed. “Not at all. You don’t get it.”

“Oh, no, I totally get it.” She stood up again, slower this time, and lurched towards the door. “You’re weird, you know it, Tyler? I kinda liked you, because you’re different, but you’re not different, you’re just weird.” She steadied herself on the door frame. “Stupid freak.”

I followed her down the stairs. I was worried about her tripping, but it wouldn’t have mattered because she would have fallen on piles of bodies. A couple hundred people had crammed inside. The party had turned into a tsunami of teenagers floating on noise, smoke, and beer.

I lost her in the crowd.

I could have stayed right behind her, I guess, but my stomach felt like she had just stomped on it with combat boots, and my hormones were ready to rip my brain out of its skull. I should have followed her because she wasn’t thinking straight, and she looked innocent and vulnerable and she didn’t know what she was saying or doing. But I didn’t.

Yoda saw me wandering and had me follow him to the room where a bunch of guys were playing video games. I kept my eyes on the screen, but I wasn’t really watching. He asked me what was wrong. I told him, for a change.

“Wow,” he said.

“Exactly,” I said.

“Do you want to get drunk?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t help.”

We turned to the game. Half an hour later, some girl I didn’t know asked me if I had seen Bethany and I told her no. A few minutes after that, Hannah turned up.

“You need to talk to Bethany,” she said.

“No way.”

“She said you guys had a fight. She’s upset.”

“Good.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Never mind. I’m not talking to her. You shouldn’t, either. Let her solve her own problems.”

The sound of breaking glass came from the living room, followed by angry voices.

Two bodies, fists flying, fell against the archway, bounced, then hit the floor. The crowd surged behind them, hollering and snapping photos.

Yoda and I hustled Hannah out the side door.

“We should go home,” Yoda said.

Hannah frowned. “It’s just getting good.”

“It’s only going to get worse,” I said.

She looked back through the window, wincing as one of the guys landed a punch on a fragile nose. “All right,” she sighed. “Are you coming with us?”

I looked inside. No Bethany in sight. I had no obligations. She invited me, yeah, but then she blew me off. She could go home with her girlfriends or her brother. It was none of my business. She was none of my business.

“I’m going to stick around for a while,” I said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. We’re not telling Mom about any of this, right?”

“Duh.” Hannah gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “Love you, Ty. Stay out of trouble.”

The power went out an hour later.

Some guy started screaming like a madman, running through the house telling everyone to get out. It was Josh Rawson. Yes, the party was at his house and, yes, his parents were in Jamaica, but Josh had been at a family dinner at his girlfriend’s. That was him throwing the circuit breaker to cut off the electricity; that was him hollering and punching his buddies in the head.

When the lights were turned back on, I searched all over until I found Bethany curled up on the floor of the rec room. I shook her awake and told her we had to leave. She looked at me with confused, sleepy eyes. My stomped-on stomach fluttered.

“We have to go,” I said gently. “They’re kicking everybody out.”

“Don’ wanna,” she pouted. She was beyond wasted—she was headed for incoherent.

“We don’t have a choice.”

I helped Bethany to her feet. She mumbled something about her shoes, but I had a bad feeling about where the night was headed, so I basically dragged her out to the curb.

Now what?

“Where’s Stacey?” I asked. “Bethany, open your eyes. Where is Stacey? The girl you rode with?”

Her eyelids fluttered. “Left early. SAT prep.”

“Great.”

We were eight miles away from home, she was barefoot, and even with my jacket on over her sweatshirt, she was shivering. I could carry her, but eventually I’d collapse from exhaustion. She might be able to get enough warmth from my dying corpse until some early-morning commuter saw her and called an ambulance. She’d cry at my funeral and keep a bunch of silk flowers and a cross at the spot where I laid down my life for her.

That would work.

“No, wait.” She started towards the road. “There’s my brother. Chip! Chip!”

Chip was driving his Jeep along the white line on the side of the road at three miles an hour. He coasted to a stop on the shoulder, and Bethany opened the door.

I looked inside.

Crapcrapcrapcrap.

Chip smiled at me and passed out cold, his head on the steering wheel. Bethany didn’t notice. She was already crawling into the backseat, where Parker Zithead was sitting, eyes unfocused.

It wasn’t a hard decision.

I dragged Chip out, marched him around the car, and poured him into the passenger seat. I took the driver’s seat. I buckled the seat belt and turned the key. So the night hadn’t turned out the way I’d planned. It had turned out better, because I was a stand-up guy, righteous. When she sobered up, Bethany would realize that. Even Chip would have to back off, because I pulled his nuts out of the fire by getting him and his Jeep home in one piece.

The first mile went well. Then Chip began moaning—those deep, low, guy moans that meant he was in serious pain and about to—

—yep, puke his guts out in the foot well.

I rolled my window down and tried breathing through my mouth. Chip moaned again, leaned forward, and passed out with his head against the dashboard.

I glanced in the rearview mirror to see if the Zithead was going to blow, too.

I hit the brakes.

Bethany had crawled into Parker’s lap. They were playing tonsil hockey, with her hands in his hair and his hands where I couldn’t see them.

“Hey!” I screamed. “Leave her alone.” I yanked the car to the side of the road and threw it into park. I spun around in my seat and tried to peel Parker’s arms off the body of my angel. “Get your goddamn hands off her, you pig!”

They separated with a loud smack of their lips.

“Wha’?” Bethany slurred.

“Don’t do this, okay?” I asked. “Just—let me get you home.”

She gave me the finger, turned, and attacked Parker’s face again. Parker chuckled.

I pulled in the Milburys’ driveway at 3:47 in the morning. I shut off the engine, got out, and threw the keys on the roof of the house. Chip was snoring, his chin against his chest. His shirt was disgusting.

Bethany and Parker were still at it. The back window was completely fogged up. They hadn’t noticed that the car had stopped.

I thought about getting back in the car and driving it into a concrete pillar at ninety miles an hour.

But I had thrown away the keys.