Anything You Want Me To

Chapter 2

This isn't actually just any party – it's the party of all parties. After prom, it's the second most important event in my calendar this year. All I've saved up from my allowance since school started in June has only been allocated between two things: my fab prom dress and this party. It's that major.

And why shouldn't it be? I'm finally in Grade 12, the last year of senior high school. It's the last year of bad cafeteria food, riding that rickety school bus and strutting around in our cheerleading uniforms (that produces so much of the whistling that the girls and I secretly like). It's the last year I have with these friends I've had since junior high and I know I will keep for the rest of my life. It's the year I need to decide who Via Romero will be. It's the last year before real life happens.

It's also a great reason to throw a party.
But I'm not enjoying myself anymore. I'm on the brink of calling a cab and heading home. I find myself walking down the long driveway, away from the stuffy humidity in the crowded den, away from the ruckus made by the kids wading in the pool in their underwear, away from all the noises of the party.

My step is slow but still steady. I know I've drunk quite a bit – I skipped the beer and went straight for the shots from the mobile bar – but I feel even more sober than I did when I woke up this morning.

I know it's all because of this Kyle thing. I still don't have a plan. I haven't even figured out how to react. Don't they say that the first 48 hours of – oh, what is it again? Homicide? Child birth? It escapes me now, but the first 48 hours are supposedly really, super important, right? I need to decide what to do!
Unfriend him? Leave a scathing comment, somewhere along the lines of go to hell and die right now? Actually like the blasted photo and see if they detect the irony in that? Or just grin and bear it? Stay quiet on the digital front and be the so-called bigger person?

Ugh. My brain is not working.

And I still can't find Franco.

The Castañers' property sits across a playground – slides, monkey bars, the usual fare for the children of this upscale neighborhood. It's now empty and quiet and dimly lit. Summer doesn't allow a breeze to rustle through the night, but the temperature is considerably cooler here, without the sweaty, alcohol-pumped crowd and the clock now striding past midnight. Perfect to hide out in, I think in utter self-pity as my feet lead me to the swings in the middle of the lot.

My fingers start to itch again. I can't stop looking at their picture! I sink into one of the wooden seats of the swing set and automatically whip out my phone.
Frustration floods me again as I stare at this frozen display of love-lust-affection – but frustration directed at myself. Why am I in such a hurry to have a boyfriend anyway? So what if Jessica and Inez have relationships? Chloe just got rid of Cliff and she's fine. Can't I just play it cool?

And couldn't I just shut up about Kyle? Why didn't I just wait for the party to introduce him to everyone instead of encouraging practically the entire Grade 11 class to send him friend requests?

What a great way to chase somebody away.

"Via."

Startled, I look up to see the intruder.

It's Franco. He's leaning against one of the nearer slides, his hands jammed into the front pockets of his ripped jeans, his legs crossed at the ankles. He's regarding me coolly, silently.