Until It Hurts To Stop

Until It Hurts To Stop - Chapter 14

Fourteen

Nick and I are on our way to Vanessa’s party. My nerves tighten when he turns onto Ridgway, the curving road leading to her house. I can tell that he has just showered—the dampness of his hair, the scent of soap—and it seems strange for the two of us to be out after dark, as clean as if it’s morning.

I’m chewing a cinnamon candy because someone once told me it was better for your breath than mint, and my shoulders are cold. I shouldn’t have worn a shirt this thin, but I saw the same shirt on a girl at school, so I figured it would fit in at the party. If only Sylvie hadn’t been preoccupied with her cousin’s wedding tonight, I could’ve asked her what to wear. As it was, I texted her about forty times today.

I spent the afternoon playing the darkest, most powerful piano pieces I could find, in the hope that it would give me confidence. When I was able to play my final song without a single mistake, I told myself it was a sign that the party would go all right. I’m trying to hold on to the music, but already it’s slipping away, drowned out by the growl of the car engine.

Nick parks on the street behind a long line of cars. Every light in Vanessa’s house is on. My fingers go cold as we walk up to her front door. Music pulses behind that door, a faint thump I feel in my feet and deep inside my ears. I tell myself, “Fun, this is supposed to be fun,” in a desperate attempt to lighten up. But I can’t shake the feeling I’m walking into a trap, a prison.

With this attitude, I ought to be the queen of the party. Fun-seeking people always flock to the girl wearing the grimace of endurance! If only I could channel Sylvie.

Nick tries the door, and it’s unlocked. We step into a room smelling of sweat and beer, crammed with bodies. The music makes my fillings vibrate. Luis is already there, beer in hand, in a bright green shirt that reminds me of lime Popsicles. He hugs me while I decide it’s a good omen that he’s the first person I see. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

And then two guys from the basketball team drag Nick off somewhere. A girl grabs Luis’s hand and dances away with him, and already I am alone. Five minutes into the party, in the center of the room, I’ve become the wallflower.

Blend in, I tell myself, and begin to walk. I have nowhere to go, but walking gives the illusion that I do.

I sit on the kitchen counter, nursing a Coke. I know everyone in the room—that is, I know their names. Phil Warren is making out with Darci Esposito in front of the fridge. Troy Truehalt hangs over the sink, his face a horrible shade of chartreuse. Janie Fletcher is nearly falling out of her dress, laughing at whatever Iggy Conant is saying.

Raleigh and Adriana stand in the corner, striking poses. Adriana flashes her teeth at everyone who passes; her squeal rises above every other noise in the room. She talks in exclamation points.

Bryan! It’s so good to see you! Hi, Cody! Hey, Iggy! Come here a second!

Out in the living room, someone must be chugging, judging by the shouts of “Drink! Drink!”

I text Sylvie, even though I know she can’t answer in the middle of a wedding. She’ll get the messages later. For now, I’m just saving my sanity by sending one after the other:

help! i’m trapped!

vanessa’s kitchen floor has a very interesting pattern. not that i am bored or anything.

how many decibels does it take for music to break windows?

at a party is it considered impolite to take a box of cheez-its out of the cabinet and fling them everywhere like snow? or is this considered festive? not that anyone here *cough shayna burton cough* has done any such thing. should i pick the crackers out of my hair now, or wear them like ornaments?