THE ecstasy draining away, I paid the price for my words. Dearly.
The door bolted and barricaded. The curtains whisked shut, like the occupants were retiring for the night. The night was blanketed with darkness, the garden wet and moon-bathed, and I stumbled onto the cold footpath with a degree of astonishment.
I had been chucked out; no one had followed me.
A rich travesty, indeed - it was my fault for retaliating, when I had been tortured to punish my outlandish sister. Breathing hard through my nose, I whirled around to check if any neighbors were peeking through their windows. The cold was biting me now, goosebumps crawling up my unclothed arms.
Where was I suppose to go? Lay behind the rose bushes until dawn? Sleep on the street like an old vagrant? The sun had disappeared long ago, and I would catch my death of cold out here. I couldn't even see Rudy and Violet attempting to break out - they must have been detained by the monster within.
Pretty bad things happened to young girls out alone at night. Like I was in a dream, I trotted down the path and down the soaked street, the petrichor of rain rising up like an old god.
Could I go to Betsy's? I could, but it was be treacherous heading down that isolated road at night. Besides, Alma and Jeremiah might mistake me for an intruder and call the police or something - I had no idea if the Amish were the paranoid type.
I hadn't been to Sam's either, but Nick's was probably the kindest choice. Would he find it super weird if I turned up for seemingly no apparent reason, or -
Wait.
They were at a party tonight, weren't they? Foggy background talk resurfaced as I thought about the fries we demolished, salty and soft and full of badness. I'd gloomily announced I was heading home - yes, they'd be there!
It was nearly three-quarters of an hour away from walking distance. The exercise warmed my bones. My panic lessened slightly, and I tried to focus on the constellations of stars mapping an atlas above.
I thought about Sherri Benedict, and how young she must have been when she was admitted to the phantom sanatorium (assuming Danny was truthful). Did she suffer under the reign of a cruel mother, get thrown out on the streets to fend for herself?
Maybe it drove her mad.
To my intense relief, I saw a few teenagers gathered on the lawn of a ivy-covered house on the corner of a secluded road. I'd jogged the last few meters, numb to the stabbing stitch in my side. I knew I'd found the place. They'd better still be here, I thought, or I'll wallow in misery and seek refuge at the old church.
The bonfire was the source of warmth illuminating the backyard. Litter and empty bottles lolled around the grass, some broken into shards from some enthusiastic adolescents. Faceless figures were huddled in groups.
I couldn't identify anyone. My heart began pulsing.
"Hey sweetie, want some tipple?"
A tall, unfamiliar girl with tumbling hair bleached at the ends approached me, thin hands clasped around two bottles of unbranded liquor. I didn't know her, but she had a friendly glow to her face. So I grinned back.
"You know what? Yeah, I will."
The liquid in the red cup gave off a putrid, strong-smelling odor that was surely chemical or carcinogenic. I chanced a swig anyway, and the mix burned the back of my throat. Nothing about the experience was pleasant; nevertheless, this entire evening hadn't exactly been a picnic.
At least it cleansed my palette.
"I really dig your dress," the girl nodded admirably. She was immensely drunk. "Vintage. How old are you?"
"Fifteen. And looking for my friends, actually. They were talking about coming here."
Someone tampered with an old radio, and rock n' roll cut through the gloom. The speakers vibrated and static patches interrupted the movement. The concoction of booze and stress made my face flame. What if my poor self was left to perform this social etiquette for the whole night?
A boy was dragged over, an instant camera swinging from his neck. He had attractive qualities going for him; baby blues, shoulder length waves and a toned body underneath his khaki outfit.
"She's a sophomore," the girl spoke earnestly. With a jolt, it sunk in she was referring to me. "Isn't she nice? You said there aren't any decent gals ..."
"Cheryl," the boy hissed, bashful.
Great. I needed to make an excuse to slip away.
Thank the lord for Lorna Vasquez. I hadn't noticed her head bobbing between the antics - but she made a beeline for me, eyebrows painted on artfully and her thick, dark hair held back in a braid. She looked distinctly taken aback.
"I thought you weren't coming tonight!" Her voice seemed softer than her usual velvety, film-star husk. "You look freezing - here, have my scarf." She removed a thick, woolen shawl from around her shoulders and draped it around my feckless form.
Man, perhaps it was the light-headed liquor but I couldn't stop staring at Lorna. It was weird to think back to the conversation Betsy had had with us in strict confidence; how she had shaken and broken talking about the girl before me. I love her.
Lorna had feared I knew. That's why she had been so stand-offish with me that night in the aisles of the grocery store.
My new acquaintances stared her up and down with petulance.
"Look who it is!"
"Ay, puta, I thought Hispanic girls were meant to be fun."
She whisked me away just as Cheryl poured me a second drink.
"That's Robb Blair, the one I told you about," she spoke through gritted teeth, shepherding me along. "He seems lovely, but trust me. He'll flip on you."
"What? I thought you were-"
"Gay? Well, everything isn't always so black and white. Some people aren't just one or the other, Lyds. I used to like Robb once. He even took me to a Shakespearean play last year. He knows I love theater."
"Oh." Now I was thoroughly confused.
The second drink went down and washed out my stomach contents like bleach. Lorna brought me to a cloistered corner where I saw Sam and Nick kicking a soccer ball back and forth. Betsy was sitting on the brick wall of the garden, a cigarette ignited between two fingers. Ivy dripping from the concrete gave the group an almost Arcadian vibe.
"Whoa, fancy seeing you here!" Sam shouted, abandoning the match. "I bet Roger MacDonald five dollars he couldn't kick the football on to the roof, and he was so smashed he nearly split his skull on the concrete. See?" He waved a greenback bill energetically.
"We played a drinking game and we all picked him to down nearly half a bottle of gin," Betsy whispered with a chuckle, as we jumped up on the wall beside. I spilled some alcohol of my swinging legs.
"And then he got real defensive because the cool kids," - Nick used air-quotation marks - "said we were all a bunch of virgins."
Grateful and glad to see them, I stayed for a good half an hour on that wall sharing the burning cigarette. Violet would be concerned - but it was her undesirable whims that had lead me to this party. Screw her!
My body still rolled with shivers despite the cosy scarf. It would have been nicer seated by the bonfire, the burning logs billowing thick smoke into the night. The cigarette tasted stale and dehydrating. Ash fell on to my lap.
People milled around, laughing and joking and swaying. The house, whoever owned it, seemed to have barricaded it off to public access - but someone had cranked open a window and cheeky adolescents were sneaking inside, covering their mouths to mask their giggles.
"God, they're not going in to use the bedrooms are they?" Lorna vocalized what we were all thinking with a degree of disgust.
Sam collapsed with manic laughter. He laid on the cold ground for a long while. Lorna got up and sighed, taking off her denim jacket and spreading it over Sam, drunk and eagle-spread.
"You're very quiet tonight," Betsy observed. A rush of fondness dawned over me for her; so casually asking me in that special voice.
"There's been some tension at home," I said. "Not pleasant. Violet's going through her second rebellious phase."
Nick was deep in conversation with a random girl by the bonfire now. One of that Eastville lot no doubt. She would have only been about five foot three, with doll-like characteristics that would make anyone emerald with envy.
"Do you wanna share?"
"Nah. Not really."
"Come with me in the house then? I'm busting for the bathroom."
I didn't realize until I found my found how profound the drink's effect was on me. I had never been properly drunk before. Sure, I'd sampled that Jack Daniel's behind the shed at school that time but it was so repulsive neat. And I'd only had like, two gulps.
We climbed through the open window, Betsy boosting me through. I wobbled into the dark hallway. The sound of distant shenanigans reached our ears, and we shared a wide-eyed look of cynicism.
I nearly lost my footing tripping over a cat slinking in the shadows. I let out a scream, and Betsy nearly jumped out of her skin before dissolving into tipsy laughter. The puss gave a growl. It's yellow eyes flashed menacingly.
"Holy hell," Betsy wiped tears away with her knuckles. "I'll just be a minute. Don't talk to any strange boys!"
Standing alone in the blackness was sobering. My balance kinda seemed to have a stronger relationship with gravity; I pressed my back against the wall, knocking into a garish painting with an 'oomph'.
My family was abusive. There had to be no question about it, but what was I supposed to do? Shoulder the responsibility and go to social services? I didn't want to spend the rest of my school years dumped in a foster home. We were practically orphans, anyway.
The sound of flush, then the door banged open.
"Urgh, it's grotty in there. Do you need to go?"
Reliable, beautiful Betsy Dawson. Such a strong young woman, so kind and gentle with a heart of gold. She had been with me no matter what was happening in my personal life. I stumbled into her, emotion welling up inside me like a helium balloon that couldn't be stopped.
"Darling, you have great courage." My words slurred. My weight dropped, and Betsy struggled to heave me up again in the shady light of the hallway. Ominous pictures glared down at her. Wet tracks slipped down my cheeks; I hadn't even noticed I'd been bawling.
"You're so drunk. Sleep it off, you'll come to your senses in the morning."
"Noooo," I groaned, grappling around her neck. Her long blonde hair tickled the nape of my neck.
Distant sizzling of sparklers could be heard in the yard. Energy was sapping from me. Betsy still found the whole situation amusing, and I didn't even have a name for the emotion that overcame me next.
A part of my drunk mind translated the love wrong; because it was me who initiated the kiss, the soft and brief peck on the lips that I pretended belonged to something more sincere.
And you know what, I have no idea how I came to be outside once more.
The world was whirling. Mocking shadows jumped around cast by the pit of flames. Lorna had vanished once again. Sam was still sprawled under the jacket, askew and snoring.
My feet tripped over some loose brickwork like the clumsy oaf I was. I skinned my ankle, but I didn't feel the stinging of broken skin. The accident had caught Nick's attention - he was still talking to that stranger, though.
"Easy, Fitzgerald!"
"Everyone else is allowed to go crazy," I said, beyond defensive. "Why not me?"
I was heavily drunk - three, four, fives big cups had gone down the hatch. Nothing to eat since lunch, and no regard of pace or the rate of consumption - I suddenly started to feel the blues. Past Cheryl, past Robb (who called out something rather suggestive), I staggered on to the curb. Eventually, I lost my footing for real and ended up with my bottom on the cold grass.
Footsteps behind me made me reel back to my senses. It was the girl from before, her face brimming with concern. I didn't need her pity.
"Thanks, Winnie!" I heard Nick call from afar.
"Yes, I think it's a good idea if you stay seated, darling," she said to me.
The only response I had was to vomit in the gutter. Collapsing under shaking arms and legs, I emitted a whimper. There was blood in contents.
My esophagus burned, I felt the girl's arms around my shoulders, and the lonely street spun around me like the planet was revolving at hyper-speed. Before I knew what happened, everything dissolved into nothing; every sense of hurt and pain leaving my body for a better tomorrow.