The picture was taken one year ago, almost exactly. I remember the day felt sticky, the oppressive summer heat clinging to my clothes and hair and lungs. At the time it was taken, I hated this picture: one of my eyes was half-shut, skin red, hair frizzy, and face contorted mid-laugh. Ella, however, looked good, so I agreed to keep it. It's the four of us, stuck together, a mess of limbs. My arms are wrapped around Ella's waist, and Will is the centerpiece, taller than the rest of us, he loops in both Ella and Damien, each arm resting on their shoulders. Ella looks happy to be at his side, gaze focused on his face as Will looks forward into the camera. On Will's opposite side, Damien, like me, has an eye shut, but, as if to compensate, his grin is blinding.
My attention keeps circling back to Will, to the clarity of his eyes and relaxed smile. It's not a brilliant smile like Damien's, but there's an ease about it, no hint of effort or hesitation. That's the biggest difference I notice: Will doesn't look like this anymore, there's nothing easy left about him.
You're a bad friend, Athena, and I'm starting to realize that maybe you've always been one.
I delete the picture as Ella's words bitterly turn over in my head. The resentment stares back at me in the mirror. It's a cultivated mask, eyes cold and framed by dramatic colour, blood red lips, and features sharpened to their harshest points. I look ready to cut someone.
"Fuck it." The face smiles back at me.
When I return to the living room, Damien burps at me. "You look hot," he seems half drunk already.
"Thanks," I grab the bottle from his hand, taking a tentative sip. When the liquid hits the back of my mouth, burning, I recoil. "What is this? It's more vodka than—"
"That's the idea," he winks.
Will looks up from his phone, his legs extended out in front of him, crossed on the coffee table. I've gone all out, and all my brother's done is put on a different shirt. "Finally ready?"
I slip on my sneakers. "It's only, like, ten, you're not even late."
Damien hops up from the couch, as if struck by a sudden burst of energy. "Let's goooo," he drawls, grabbing Will, who follows sheepishly behind, as Damien leads the charge to the exit.
It's a warm night, a slight breeze offering the right amount of relief from the humidity. I cling to Damien's side, wrapping an arm around his waist, two fingers hooking through the loop on his jeans. He accommodates me, resting his arm on my shoulders as we walk in sync. The alcohol is brutal, but I force it back, already feeling the warmth spreading through my stomach and chest.
Will lights up a cigarette, the scent immediately flooding my senses.
"If you're going to do that, can you at least walk behind us?" I say.
Will obliges, falling back a few steps. The streets are empty, and we march through the middle of the road.
"So," Damien says, looking down at me, "I'm wondering why Athena Slate was ready for a night in on the last Saturday before school?"
"I've been excommunicated," I announce, gesturing with the bottle in hand. "Something about my being mean, selfish, and a bad friend." I glance up at him, searching his expression. "Am I a bad friend?"
"Uh..." Damien's voice grows higher as he hesitates. My face drops before I can hide it, something like hurt flooding my chest.
"Why did you not just say no?" Will shakes his head, a smile curling his lips.
"No! No, Athena you're not," Damien scrambles to clarify, alarm in his eyes. "It's just—it's weird, you're weird."
"Thanks?"
"No, I don't know." Damien's head bobs side to side. "You're somehow both, like, loyal but also kind of flaky at the same time? Like, remember that time Will and I had some bad weed and we were freaking the fuck out in the middle of class? You," he looks to Will for affirmation, "were basically on the verge of tears, I think I was hallucinating, or something—"
"Okay, and?" I try to focus him.
"Well, you helped us is what I'm saying."
"That was two years ago!" I protest, pulling away from him slightly. "You can't think of something I've done for you more recently?"
"Sure, I can!" He places a hand on my shoulders, holding me in place and turning so we face each other. "Look, Athena, you're really good in a tough spot. It's just," he carefully picks his words, "when there's nothing for you to fix or do, you tend to, like, backoff a little. Like, we've been at a lot of the same parties this summer, but I've only really seen you in passing."
"Okay, but you've been hanging out with weird people." I place my hands on hips, tilting my chin up at him.
Damien gasps, pretending to be offended. "What about you? Everytime I see you, it's like you have a new entourage that you picked up at, like, Walmart." He speaks around a grin. "And they all look old."
"They're not old!"
"They all look like they're in their twenties!"
"Okay, some of them are in university," I concede.
"So, why are you hanging out with thirty year olds who still attend high school parties?"
"Fuck you, they're not thirty," I giggle. "Your friends are weirder than my friends."
"Please," Damien scoffs. "Your brother is easily my weirdest friend."
"Will?" I roll my eyes. "He's too fucking boring. I mean, look at him."
We both turn on Will, who continues to smoke his cigarette, and meets our sudden attention with an even, disinterested stare.
"See?" I gesture towards my brother.
"He's not boring," Damien argues. "Will, you're not boring, don't listen to her."
"Thanks, man, that's really a weight off my chest," Will stubs out his smoke, crushing it into the pavement with his foot. "Are we going to this party or are we going to keep yelling at each other in the middle of the street?"
I loop my arm back through Damien's as we continue on, the lights of the main road visible up ahead. "He used to be more fun, though, that we can agree on."
"You know, I can hear you, I am right here," Will says, now walking in line with the two of us.
In truth, I'm more thankful for Damien than I can really articulate, but I think he knows this. Since the spring, Will's circle of friends has dwindled to one, the rest all gradually dropped off as Will continued to withdraw, ignoring invites and messages. Will seemed relieved, I think, when they finally gave up, which I don't really get. Damien, however, has stuck around, like gum on the bottom of a shoe.
I decide to test the waters. "Did Will tell you that Charlie's coming for a visit?" I ask, resting my chin on Damien's shoulder.
The levity rushes from Damien's face, his brown eyes darting to my brother. "Charlie? Like—?"
"Like Charlie, our secret older brother." I unscrew the bottle cap once more. "Legend has it that he's a real asshole." I take another mouthful, speaking through the sour contortion of my face. "Do you want to hear how Will got all those scars?"
"Athena," Will snaps, voice cold and taunt like metal wires.
I don't look at him, instead I focus on Damien. His gaze lingers on Will, and there's a hint of emotion that I can't quite place before it's gone. So, Will hasn't told him shit. I back off immediately, raising up my palms in a gesture of surrender. "I'm sorry, I get mean when I drink." I glance at Will, who looks as if he's just been physically struck. "You know, you've really got the sad, mysterious waif thing going for you. I'm telling you, girls love that shit, all you've got to do is act all sensitive and moody, which you already are." He continues to glare at me. "Hey, I'm just saying, maybe it's time you move on from Ella. Don't you think, Damien?"
When Damien finally looks back down at me, it seems like his attention is reluctant to leave Will. He clears his throat. "Athena, it would seem that, not only do you not have an invite to this party, but you were specifically told not to come."
"Yeah," I nod blankly at him. "Yeah, you could say that."
"So, you're trying to start shit?"
"You could also say that," I admit, aware that Damien is trying to distract me, but thankful for the shift.
"Why?"
"Because," I say, calm as ever. "If I had a problem with Patti, she would fucking know it. Instead, she sends Ella, of all people, to spew some bullshit about how the guest list is too long."
"Well, what was the last time you actually talked to Patti?" Will says.
"That's not the point," I say. "She should have told me she didn't want me there herself. Literally a text message would have been fine, and she would have never heard from me again."
Damien arches a single eyebrow. "So, you're saying it's about the principle?"
"Fuck yes, it's about the principle."
"That's bullshit too," Damien replies, a smile of disbelief blossoming across his face. "This is all because Ella came to talk to you."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot you were a narc." Just to be dramatic, I drop his arm, leaving it dangling at his side.
"A narc?" Damien repeats, laughing. "Ella's still my friend, I didn't realize there were battle lines here."
I look over to Will for support, but he's wearing a grin. "What?" I defend myself. "All because the two of you have the collective backbone of a goldfish doesn't mean I'm just going to stop being right. Will doesn't stand up for himself, so somebody has to."
Will is now properly laughing, a booming thing that comes from his stomach. "Stop using me as an excuse to be angry."
I groan in frustration. "She tried to hook up with him," I wildly gesture at Damien, "does that not bother you?"
"Sure," Will nods. There's a light flush in his cheeks, and for once it looks like there's some life in him, like he's back in that photo from last summer. "When it happened, maybe, but this is Ella we're talking about here."
I only groan again, rolling my eyes. "Exactly. You haven't talked to her either, have you? I can't wait to watch you clam up tonight when you have to see her again." I try to pinch his cheek but he swats me away, dodging. "How can you be this bad at confrontation?"
"Maybe you just thrive in it."
"Well, we all have our talents," I say. "Look at Damien, he's great at hitting from a bong, and he's the biggest flirt I know."
"I'm not a flirt," Damien protests, a hand rising to his chest.
I laugh, somehow managing to spill some of the drink. "Please, you flirt with everybody and don't even realize you're doing it. Me, Will, sometimes—"
"I don't flirt with Will," Damien says, a genuine note of defense in his voice as his face turns red.
Will and I break out into laughter once more, a combination of the alcohol and the haphazard expression splayed across Damien's face, like he has something caught in his throat.
"It's okay, man," I assure him, watching the embarrassment curdle his smile. Damien grabs the drink from my hand, taking another swig.
We turn off the main road, entering into another housing division. The lots grow bigger, houses spread further apart as the three of us spill into the mouth of the suburban street, guided by the orange glow of lampposts. Heading up Patti's street, the roster of cars that line the curbs extend the entire walk up, I recognize most of them from our school parking lot. "That's Emma Chambers, Ashley Chan," I point out each as we walk by, "Dante Cusack, Andre—"
"Why do you know all this?" Will cuts off my little game.
I shrug, "I'm allowed to be observant."
"Or you just care too much."
The muffled sound of music reaches us as Patti's home comes into sight. Light streams through the windows as sound and colour and people spill out from every crevice. I can see the outline of bodies filling the living room from here, gaggles of teenagers inhabit the front lawn and backyard. "Cutting down the guest list, my ass," I mutter.
Beside me, Will scratches the back of his neck. "I feel bad for the neighbours."
I stare down the driveway to the front door, a pristine white that contrasts the dark brick of the house. A bolt of fear runs through me, an unwelcome, knee jerk reaction as the voice in the back of my head informs me that this is a stupid fucking idea.
Why do I always stick myself where I'm not wanted? Why'd I even come? The disdain on Ella's face as she tells me I'm a bad friend replays in my head.
Clearly, I'm nowhere near drunk enough yet.
Damien is in the middle of saying something to Will when I trudge across the lawn to the front door, not caring if the two of them follow. A kid hanging around the porch with a cigarette in hand asks me if I have a light, and I gesture vaguely behind me towards my brother, not risking any loss of momentum as I swing open the door.