Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Are you ready to go?” Eric inquired, finally joining me after what felt like an eternity of monotonously waiting. Some presumed that the female gender was the one that took longest to get ready and preform the simple act of changing, but from all my experiences, that wasn’t the case. Guys took just as long, if not longer, as girls to put on clothes.
“I’m freezing because I decided to be an idiot and wear and freaking, short-sleeved shirt, I’m hungry, and I am so ready to get the fuck out of here you have no idea,” I told him, horrified that my body was physically shivering. I wasn’t cold to the point that if I stood outside for another ten minutes I would get frostbite, but I was chilly. Though cooled temperatures rarely bothered me, something about the combination of waiting and the wintry weather was getting to me.
“Well, I’m sorry for taking so long; the coach had to give us a celebratory speech and warn us not to die of alcohol poisoning because he still needs a team for the rest of the season,” he apologized, beginning to pull a jacket over his freshly cleaned body.
“Please don’t tell me you’re one of those douches who proudly wears their letterman jacket out in public,” I sighed in disapproval of his attire choice.
It was one of the high school clichés that I strongly detested. It was unrealistic, really. Football players didn’t walk around school in packs wearing matching apparel, and cheerleaders never actually wore their cheer uniforms around the building unless before or after a practice. The thought of Eric proving even part of the stereotype true, simply irked me.
“Don’t worry,” he said, peeling off the coat he had put on moments before, “I’m not one of those guys.”
“And what type of guy are you?” I asked skeptically.
“The type that lets girls he likes wear his team jacket when they’re suffering a severe case of being cold,” he placed the coat over my shoulders.
“I’m sorry, but I refuse to wear this,” I said, trying to hand him back the heavy piece of clothing, though resulted in being unsuccessful.
“Why?” he demanded, not mad, but rather a little annoyed.
“Principles and my own moral standings,” I explained, still waiting for him to reclaim the red and white fabric.
“Too bad.”
“Excuse me?” I gaped, shocked that the two worded phrase had come out of his mouth. “I thought you were supposed to be the nice guy— always chivalrous and polite.”
“I generally am, though, on this matter, I’m going to be persistent; you won’t win this one, Liz,” he promised.
“Why is it so important to you?” I whined.
“Because it would make me happy to see that special girl I have in my life wearing my jacket; even if just for a few minutes,” he explained, trying to guilt me into it by staring deeply into my eyes.
“Fine,” I reluctantly caved in, unhappy to come across as undetermined- something I most certainly was not. I put on the garment, acknowledging that it did indeed add another layer of insulation to keep me from getting hypothermia. “Thanks.”
“Of course,” he smiled, snaking his arm around my waist. “So, now are you ready to go?”
I opened my mouth to speak, though another individual beat me to it. “Yo! Loser with the eye candy! Do you want to give me a ride to the party?” a boy shouted out, running towards us.
“I don’t know, Jackass, why the hell would I do that?” Eric said, his arm dropping from my side as he spun around. I too slowly turned, wondering whom the person was who delayed me from communicating.
“Seriously, Campbell? I was just about to say something!” I rolled my eyes in annoyance.
“Sorry, Turner, I was getting jealous that my boy was talking to you too much so had to intervene before he tried anything,” Alex joked lightly.
“Oh? Are you implying the two of you are in a relationship that I wasn’t aware of up until now?” I questioned.
“Not that I know of, no,” Eric said.
“Don’t lie to her, babe,” Alex placed an arm over Eric’s shoulder. “Yes, we’re in a committed relationship. Oh, and we’re exclusive—sorry, Liz.”
“No, no, I totally get it,” I smirked at the two before me. Eric had a rather tense, uncomfortable look to him, while Alex was enjoying every second of his distress.
“Please get off of me,” Eric requested politely.
“But, baby, you can’t deny the chemistry we have together!” Alex cried dramatically.
“I can, and I will,” Eric sighed, peeling his best friend off of him.
“Alex, are you on the team?” I inquired, as it struck me odd that Brendon had been the only one from their group of friends to sit with us.
“Psh. I am the team!” he said, bending down to fidget with his shoe.
“He was the one who dropped the ball in the first quarter of the game, losing us the point we should’ve gotten,” Eric said, using simple vocabulary as to not “confuse” me.
“So, maybe, football’s not really my thing; I’ve always liked lacrosse more anyways,” Alex shrugged.
“What about the other dude?” I wondered aloud.
“Who? Joey?” Alex stood up from tying, or rather attempting to tie his shoe (he gave up after three times of his bow coming undone).
“Yeah, him,” I nodded.
“New York,” Eric answered.
“The loser is missing the second biggest party of the year for some dumb reason,” Alex shook his head in blatant disapproval.
“He’s at a cousin’s wedding,” Eric elaborated.
“Missing homecoming for a family affair? No! That’s just unheard of!” I humored, as Eric began to inch his way back over to me.
“I know, right?” Alex agreed, somewhat oblivious to my mocking tone.
“Joey aside, I think we need to go,” Eric determined conclusively.
And that was that. To Eric’s dismay, Alex joined us on our trip to his car, well, tank, and called shotgun. I was stuck in the back, but didn’t mind; watching the boys interact was rather amusing from the backseat. Alex kept turning the radio way up and singing along, while Eric tried to turn it off. Eric chastised Alex for various plays, some of which I could recall from the game. For best friends, they seemed to disagree a good amount of the time.
After what felt like an eternity filled with squabbles from the two teenage boys in the front seats, we finally came to the house that the party was being thrown at. Apparently, it was a Madison High tradition to have the homecoming after party at the Reece’s house. Reece was a last name I had heard used in conversations a few times before.
From what I could gather, there were about five kids in the Reece family, all boys, each between two and three years apart from one another, and threw the best parties. They were a legacy at Madison High, all relatively “popular” in their time spent in high school. The brother throwing the party tonight was Holden Reece, the third oldest and a senior, like myself.
I had met Holden twice. The first time was randomly in the hallway when we were both at the water fountains; he introduced himself briefly and left for class. My second encounter with the Reece boy was one day at lunch when he and a few friends sat with Tara, Lauren, Alice, and me for some unknown reason. He was a nice, extremely social guy. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he had a contagious smile and was approachable.
“Eric,” I began, as thoughts about Holden continued to circle about in my mind, “are you friends with Holden?”
“No,” Eric said simply. I shot him a puzzled glance through the mirror, so he went on, “Madison’s a big school; we know each other and get along relatively well, but we’re not exactly friends.”
“I don’t get it,” I stated.
“Reece is a dickhead and we hate each other, so, by association, Wilson and he don’t exactly click well,” Alex complicated my understanding even more.
“Reece beat him in a baseball game when they were ten, and they’ve been rivals ever since,” Eric diluted the explanation for me.
“Ah,” I nodded. “Wait, so, Alex, why are you going to the party if you don’t like him?”
“Just because I hate his guts doesn’t mean a damn thing about how I feel towards his parties,” Alex said minimally.
“Shall we?” Eric offered on a cheerier note than Alex.
“Sure,” I smiled, as the three of us exited the vehicle that aided in global warming. Eric came over to where I was standing, and entwined our fingers securely.
“Oh? So, that’s how we’re doing it? Having Alex Campbell walk in alone while the two of you rape each other’s hands?” Alex demanded.
“Alex, I love you, man, but can you please shut the fuck up?” Eric requested.
“I can, but I don’t think I will.”
Eric shook his head in annoyance, ignoring Alex’s pleas by walking ahead, my hand in his. As we approached the house blockaded by a mass of cars belonging to barely legal drivers, I began to get a sense of what the party might entail.
Hanging over the porch was a large sign that read, “Homcoming”, someone clearly having forgotten to place the “e” in the misspelled word. Red and white streamers were slewed about, reflecting the school’s colors. A few balloons rooted to a banister soared in all their helium-filled grace, adding yet another layer of school spirit to the evening. It was definitely a festive sight.
The three of us marched up the steps to the entrance, Alex a few paces behind. Before Eric had a chance to ring the doorbell, the door swung open to a slightly buzzed, rather attractive boy who went by the name of Holden Reece.
As boys went, Holden was pretty, well, pretty. He had long eyelashes that swept over his sparkling, emerald eyes of enchantment as he blinked. A mop of neatly combed, coffee-colored hair lay on his head, and was cut so that it brushed across his forehead and just barely hung below his ears. He was a toned guy with healthy skin that looked as though it had been exposed to the sun for hours at a time. Also, he had straight teeth and a warm smile.
“Wilson, bro! Turner! I’m so glad that you two could come!” he greeted, his words somewhat slurred, leading me to the conclusion that he had had at least one cup of some alcoholic substance, if not twelve. “Campbell! I don’t really like you, but I’m too drunk to really care right now! Come in, guys!”
I slipped Eric a worried glance, to which he returned a reassuring one, as we were led into Holden’s home. The inside coordinated with outside’s celebratory theme well; confetti, ribbons, and other football themed adornments placed about. It was a sizable house, various pieces of furniture covered in plastic wrap for the purposes of the evening.
“So, I hope you guys can’t remember this party in the morning, and, if you do, then that just means you didn’t drink enough!” Holden screamed, though the three of us stood only about a foot or two away from him.
“Sounds like a plan!” Alex said, immediately ditching Eric and me, as he headed in the direction of where the music was blasting. Holden disappeared to who knows where, leaving the two of us in solitude for a moment that seemed all too brief.
“Liz! Eric! You two are so beautiful!” a girl said, stumbling down the stairs in front of us as someone trailed closely behind her.
“So are you, Tara,” I returned, recognizing that, by her actions, her intoxication level was most likely over the legal limit.
“Aw! Thanks! And you know what, Liz?” she tripped down the few steps, landing by my feet. I didn’t get a chance to answer her rhetorical question, for she continued to speak, “You’re really nice. I mean, like, really nice! You’re never mean, and, even though we just met, like, a couple months ago, I think we really could be best friends forever! I really do!”
“She’s drunk,” Brendon, the boy following her, said, discontent perceptible in his tone.
“And you’re mad because you lost at rock-paper-scissors and have to be the DD tonight,” Tara stuck her tongue out. “Liz is never mad.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said. “If I was elected to be the designated driver and keep sober for the night, then I probably wouldn’t be the happiest camper either.”
“Awesome game, dude,” Brendon complimented Eric.
“Thanks,” Eric said. “And, I suppose, some congratulations should be thrown your way as well, seeing as how you finally asked out this, uh, interesting girl.”
“That I did,” Brendon, sighed, placing an arm on Tara’s waist to stabilize her.
“Regret it at all?”
“No, he most certainly does not!” Tara responded. “Just because I’m hammered doesn’t mean I can’t hear!”
“Sorry, I forgot about that,” Eric apologized, lacking a level of sincerity that was needed to make his words sound truthful.
“It’s okay,” Tara accepted. “Hey, Liz, do you have anymore of those Pixy Stix?”
“No, sorry, I finished them all,” I said, wondering what she would be like scarfing down Pixy Stix while drunk.
“Can you save one for me next time?” she inquired, her bottom lip quivering down as she tried to resemble a small dog.
“No!” Eric and Brendon said at the same time.
“You guys are so mean!” Tara cried, breaking down into a stream of tears out of nowhere.
“Liz!” another voice was added to the mix. “You’re here!”
Lauren had entered the front area we hadn’t moved out of since our arrival, and, judging by the sloppy smile and the odd, metal item in her hands, she was smashed. Her hair was tousled in an uncharacteristic manner, seeing as she was generally the exemplary vision of precision, and her eye makeup was smudged. It was odd, really, seeing these people in this state as I was sober oppose to being intoxicated along side them.
“How late are we?” I inquired, wondering how everyone had already had time to get drunk.
“About an hour,” Eric returned simply.
“Liz, this is Urnie, my urn,” Lauren stated, holding the metallic article out in her hands as if she was passing it to me. “Do you want to hold him?”
“Not especially,” I declined as politely as I could.
“Tara, Liz doesn’t like me anymore! She won’t hold Urnie!” Lauren wailed, tears springing from the creases of her eyes as easy as turning on a faucet.
“She doesn’t like me either; she won’t give me Pixy Stix!” Tara complained agitatedly.
“Please, take him,” Lauren pleaded.
Seeing as how there was no use in arguing with this girl when vodka wasn’t blurring her judgment, I saw no advantage to doing so now. “Fine,” I sighed, accepting the cool container that possessed ashes of the deceased within (according to Lauren). It was heavier than I anticipated, and the fillings jingled, almost, when moved.
Hesitantly, I lifted the lid of the vessel, skeptical that dust was inside. Sure enough, the powdery substance eluded the jug, being replaced with a cool equivalent: frozen, H2O molecules shaped into squares. I picked one of the ice cubes up, and laughed, shaking my head in amusement.
“Can I have Urnie back now?” Lauren requested. “He misses his mommy.”
“Sure,” I said, tenderly passing her the inanimate object.
“Thank you, Liz. You are such a good friend!” she cried, trying to envelop me in a tight hug, though failing.
“Okay, this isn’t fair. Where’s the beer?” I queried, needing to do just as Holden had instructed and drink until I “can’t remember this party in the morning”.
“Over there,” Tara pointed, as Lauren also attempted the informative gesture by sticking her new “friend” out in the same direction.
“It was lovely chatting with you all, but I think three shot glasses are calling my name,” I said, slowly inching my way away from the crowd.
“Don’t be silly, Liz!” Lauren laughed. “Shot glasses can’t talk!”
“Says the girl who named an ice bucket Urnie,” I shook my head as she began to protest. Before I could fully hear her case on why the name “Urnie” was perfectly acceptable for her “urn”, I had already exited the room.
Unlike some houses, the Reece’s had a very simple floor plan from what I could gather. There was the front room where I had just wasted twenty minutes, a kitchen to the left, and a living room where the party was booming to the right. I hadn’t been upstairs or down, but from what I had seen, it was easy enough to navigate.
“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” a masculine voice said as I entered the busy room in which food was generally made.
“Hello to you too, Mr. Collins,” I rolled my eyes, making my way over to the boy who had a can of beer in each of his hands. “You want to give me one?” I pointed to the bottles he was clutching.
“Nope,” he said, his eyes slowly raking over my body. “Why the fuck are you wearing that douchebag’s jacket?”
“Because,” I shrugged, not wanting to debate but rather chug a bottle of whiskey.
Though alcohol probably wasn’t the smartest thing to consume while my brain cells were still developing, I didn’t really care. I was a smart enough kid, and knew that whatever I ended up doing with my life would involve something I loved. I liked drinking and, as long as a picture of a red Solo cup and me didn’t end up on the internet to harm my future, I would be fine.
“Please, for the love of all that is sane in this world, take it off,” he begged.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I determined.
“I’m listening.”
“Give me a beer, and I’ll take it off,” I proposed, crossing my arms over my chest to add emphasis to my offer.
“Fine,” he said easily enough, extending his hand to me. My eyes locked on the cylinder of brown liquid, my mouth practically salivating.
As per my end of the arrangement, I slowly slipped off Eric’s outerwear, not knowing where I was going to put it. Dylan finally supplied me with the water-like material, my fingers gripping tightly around the curved exterior. The second I actually thought about what was in my hand, something was off; the bottle was too light. I shook it a bit, and didn’t feel anything within; it was vacant.
“Why the fuck is this empty?” I demanded.
“I drank it,” was all he gave as a justification. “Look, Lizzie, you don’t need alcohol to have a good time; I’m really concerned for your health.”
“You should be more concerned for yours,” I gritted my teeth. “Dylan Collins, I’m. Going. To. Kill. You.”
“I’d like to see you try, sweetheart,” he laughed in rather condescending way. That got me even more pissed off than the beer thing, but I knew I couldn’t allow myself to get to my irritation extremity.
When I wanted to, I could be a pretty intense person. Not intense as in deep and fully of wisdom and all that shit, but more forceful and firm. I rarely ever backed down from a challenge or fight until my opponent admitted their fault— I was stubborn like that.
At the moment, getting into a dispute with Dylan didn’t sound too appealing, so I let it slide. “I’m sure you would,” I mumbled.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked suddenly.
“I just got here, why the hell would I want to leave— I haven’t even had a shot yet!”
“Look, here’s what’s going to happen: you’ll probably get drunk, spend the entire night glued to Wilson, dance a little bit, make out with someone you don’t actually like, and realize what a waste of time the night was in morning,” he paused, as I thoughtfully listened. “But, if you come with me, we’ll do something you’ll actually remember in eight hours, and you’ll probably have more fun. So, what do you say?”
“What would leaving with you entail?” I questioned skeptically.
“I don’t know,” I opened my mouth to immediately respond, though he continued, “which is what makes it an adventure, and fun. So, what do you say?”
I furrowed my brow, producing my best “thinking face”, and then walked over to a kitchen table in the distance. I carefully placed Eric’s jacket on one of the chairs, making sure it wouldn’t slip. A grin surfaced on my face as I walked back over to Dylan.
“Have you reached a verdict?” he asked hopefully.
Though I didn’t have alcohol to blame my poor decision making on, I probably still would in the morning. “Let’s go.”