Kristy and Abby aren't speaking. Another of their little tiffs. These happen occasionally, linger on for a few days, then blow over as easily as they came. I'm not sure exactly what it's about this time. On Tuesday, they're sitting across from each other at lunch, but pointedly ignoring one another. At least Abby is. She's making quite an effort at ignoring all of us, bent low over an open binder, furiously scribbling something I can't read. I wonder what her excuse is this time. Abby always has an excuse.
"All right, ladies, I just got the four-one-one from Miss Polly Harper," Greer announces, coming up behind me and setting her lunch sack on the table.
Meg, who has her sandwich poised in front of her mouth, gapes and blinks at Greer. "You have the what?" she asks.
Greer heaves an exasperated sigh. "The information, Meg," she explains.
"Why didn't you just say that?"
"Meg, quit testing my patience, please," Greer slides into the seat beside me and folds her hands. "All right, as I was saying, ladies, I spoke to a Miss Polly Harper in the bathroom five minutes ago. She informed me that Mr. and Mrs. Taylor left for Florida this morning at six o' clock. They will not return until late Friday evening. Kyle is staying with friends. That only means one thing, ladies..." Greer throws up her arms, "Party!"
"You have a lot of interesting experiences in bathrooms, don't you?" Kristy comments, swirling her spoon around in her yogurt. She doesn't look the least bit excited.
Neither am I. "It's a school night," I remind Greer.
Greer tosses her head back, dramatically and laughs. "Oh, serious, studious Shannon," she coos.
My eyes meet Kristy's across the table. She shrugs and continues eating. I ignore Greer and unwrap my granola bar.
"Well, I'm in," says Lindsey. "My grandparents are going to a concert at the university. They'll never know I'm gone."
Meg purses her lips in this prissy manner she has. "I have to agree with Shannon," she informs us. "It's a school night and my mother will never let me out. You know she has to approve all my social engagements."
Greer waves her hand dismissively. "Just tell her you're studying at my house."
"They'll be boys there," Lindsay sing songs. She sticks out her bottom lip in a exaggerated pout. "Please, Meggie-poo?"
Meg shakes her head, whipping Kristy in the face with her hair. "Drunk boys," Meg says with a scowl. "Who needs drunk boys?" Meg would join the Smart and Sober club if she wasn't too embarrassed. What if people laugh at me? she always says.
"Suit yourself," says Greer, turning away from her. "Abby? You in?"
"Of course I'm in," Abby answers, speaking for the first time this period. "That's why I'm doing my homework now. I have to get caught up."
"That reminds me," I tell Abby, pulling my messenger bag onto my lap. I unzip the smallest pocket. "I made myself some flashcards for next week's minerals test. I made an extra set for you." I set the stack of cards, held together with a yellow rubberband, on the table beside Abby's binder. Each card has a mineral name with facts we have to know - luster, hardness, fracture, cleavage, uses, etc. Plus there's an accompanying photo. I took pictures of all the minerals on Friday and had them developed over the weekend.
Abby thumbs through the stack. "Awesome. Thanks, Shannon! Now I can definitely go to the party tonight!"
I manage not to frown in disapproval at that last comment. I point to the top card, which is halite. "And see, I've put on these little helpful tips. Halite is rock salt. It looks like a lot of the other minerals, but if you lick it, it'll taste salty," I explain.
"I wonder how many other people have licked that rock," says Kristy.
"It's not a rock. It's a mineral," I correct.
Lindsey chuckles. "Please don't lick that rock, Abby," she says, tossing her long blonde braid over her shoulder. "Good old Shannon, always taking care of somebody."
Yes. Good old Shannon. But if I don't, who else will?
At a quarter to seven, Kristy and I are walking to Bart Taylor's house carrying our fishbowl. We debated for over an hour while doing our calculus homework about whether or not to come. Finally, we agreed that as representatives of the Smart and Sober club, we have an obligation to our classmates. Or at least to Abby, Greer, and Lindsey. If something bad happened to them, I could never forgive myself.
Kristy and I are early. When Bart answers the door, he's surprised to see us. In fact, he looks slightly shocked. "Oh, hey!" he says, holding open the door and stepping aside. "I didn't think you guys would come." Bart gives us each a brief half-hug, the kind you give people who used to be your friends, but aren't really anymore, but you still pretend.
"We're here on official business," Kristy explains, importantly, lifting up the fishbowl.
"Shannon!" Polly exclaims, sweeping into the room. Pudgy Polly, we used to call her behind her back. Since she started dating Bart, she's lost all her baby fat. Now she's almost too thin. I think it's all the drugs. Polly and I used to be close. We all grew up together, us and Greer, Meg, and Lindsey. It's strange how quickly things change, how one day you see someone and it feels like the first time in a long time, and all you think is, we're not friends anymore, and it feels heavy, like a ton of bricks dropped on your back. That's how I feel whenever I see Polly.
"Hi Polly," I greet her with a hug. She hugs me back, arms tight around my neck. It's startling. I wonder if she misses me, misses the kind of friends we used to be.
"I'm glad you're not too good for us!" Polly tells me, holding my hand. "Do you want a beer? Seth's setting up the kegs."
"Where'd you get the kegs?" Kristy asks.
"Don't tell her, Pol! She'll turn them in and get them busted!" Bart cries. Everyone laughs, even though we know he's not really joking. And even though we know Kristy would turn them in.
"We're not really here for the party," Kristy explains to Polly. She lifts the fishbowl again. "We're going to collect everyone's keys, so no one drives drunk. Don't worry, we'll stay in the foyer, out of everyone's way. "
Polly looks momentarily confused, like she can't fathom why anyone would come to a party to stand in the foyer, collecting keys. But after a few seconds, Polly grins. "This is great! We don't have to be responsible for anyone! Thanks, Kristy, Shannon. I love that do-gooder attitude!" Polly spins around and practically skips out of the room, probably heading for the kegs. Bart punches Kristy and me in the shoulder, then turns and follows Polly.
The house fills up pretty soon afterward. I think all four high school grades are crowded onto the first floor, spilling up the stairs and into the backyard. A surprising amount of kids are willing to drop their keys in our fishbowl. Of course, several seem to be under the impression we're the valet. "But you've already parked your car," Kristy keeps pointing out, but no one seems to get it, so we stop bothering. Greer lives just up the street and she, Abby, and Lindsey walk over together. They laugh when they find Kristy and I standing in the foyer.
"What are you, the security detail?" Lindsey asks.
"Are you going to stand here all night?" asks Greer. She's wearing black linen pants with a white and black-striped off-the-shoulder sweater and a black beret. Greer considers herself very classic and international. Sometimes I agree.
Kristy and I shrug.
"Then what's the point in standing out here? If you're not here when people are ready to leave?"
Kristy and I exchange a glance. We hadn't exactly discussed that. We've collected keys at parties before, but at parties where the parents were expected home by a certain hour. Bart's parents aren't coming home. The party may go on forever.
Kristy clears her throat. "We're making a statement just by being here," she says.
Greer and Lindsey laugh. "You're too much, Kristy," Lindsey tells her, then she and Greer link arms and walk off, into the party.
Abby isn't laughing anymore. She looks at us, sympathetically. "It's a nice effort," she says to me and to Kristy. I guess their little tiff is over. "Don't leave without me, okay? Walk me home."
Kristy nods. "Sure."
Abby grins. "Great! Because I have no worries tonight!" Then she takes off into the crowd after Greer and Lindsey.
There's a short lull in new arrivals, then the doorbell rings and someone starts banging on the door. I answer it and Claudia Kishi's standing on the front porch wearing a flared orange skirt and orange fishnet stockings with a black glittery body suit. Kristy and I share a brief, surprised look. Claudia never attended SDS and barely knows Bart. But as so often happens with unchaperoned parties, everyone and anyone shows up.
"Hi Claud," Kristy greets her a bit coolly. They've known each other all their lives, but their friendship has fizzled since the start of high school. It's understandable. Different people living different lives. I know Kristy is very disappointed in Claudia for dropping out of school. It's not something Kristy - nor I - can comprehend.
"Hey girls!" Claudia exclaims. If she detects Kristy's coolness, she doesn't let on. "Abby called and invited me. She said this was going to be a wild party! You know Erica Blumberg, right?"
A girl with messy brown hair pokes her head around the doorframe. "Hey! Where's the beer?"
Kristy looks very disapproving. "Hi Erica," she says, tightly, and holds out the fishbowl. "We're collecting car keys, so none of you drunks end up splattered on the side of the road."
I elbow Kristy in the side. We're not supposed to act judgmental. But Claudia and Erica don't mind. They laugh. "Don't worry about us," says Erica. "We have a designated driver. I already gave her my keys."
A girl with shoulder length blonde hair and a neon green headband comes into view behind Erica. Claudia jerks a thumb back at her. "This is Lauren Hoffman," she tells me.
"Lauren doesn't drink anymore," Erica explains.
I am wary of people who don't drink "anymore". There's always a very good - and often frightening - reason behind it.
"Later!" calls Claudia, as she disappears into the crowd with Erica and Lauren trailing behind her.
Kristy sighs, heavily. "I don't know what's become of the BSC. What our old clients must think," Kristy shakes her head, clutching the fishbowl to her chest. "Remember when Jessi threw that tomato at me outside Stoneybrook Cinema last spring?"
I stifle a giggle. That was kind of funny.
"This is lame," Kristy announces. "I feel like a complete idiot." Her eyes search the foyer until they land on a small table. She slides the fishbowl underneath it. "Let's go find some sodas."
I loop my arm through hers. "Don't lose me," I instruct as we push into the crowded living room. We make our way into the kitchen, where we find two orange sodas in the refrigerator. We stand around awhile, drinking our sodas and chatting, listening to the pounding music pulsating from the living room. Kristy's raiding the freezer, searching for ice cream when Claudia and Erica's neon green headbanded friend wanders into the kitchen.
"Have you seen Erica or Claudia?" she asks.
"Nope," replies Kristy from inside the freezer. She comes out with a gallon of chocolate chocolate chip. "Are they already passed out somewhere?"
"They better not be! I'd like to go home now."
Kristy glances at her watch. "Uh...Lauren? You've been here for forty-five minutes."
"Claudia didn't tell me there'd be drugs at this party! I'm planning a career in politics. I can't have a drug scandal hanging over my head! There are some kids snorting cocaine off the pool table!"
Kristy's eyes nearly pop out of her head. "Cocaine," she squeaks, just as I gasp.
I recover quickly. "We need to round everyone up," I say, calmly. "I'll search downstairs. You two look upstairs. We'll meet back in the foyer."
Kristy, who has never taken orders well from others, simply nods. We part ways in the living room. First, I check the dining room, then the den. I'm crossing toward the game room when a group of boys bump into me, sloshing beer down the front of my blouse. They don't stop to apologize, just continue on, laughing. My mind flashes briefly to the man from the Stones' party - Wesley. He would never spill beer on me. And if he did, he'd apologize, fervently. What am I doing here? We may be the same age, but I don't belong with these people.
None of my friends are in the game room. No one appears to be snorting cocaine off the pool table either. I find Claudia and Erica in Mr. Taylor's study, sitting on the leather couch, throwing their heads forward and back, laughing hysterically. I wave smoke out of my face, as I cross the room to them.
"Claudia! Have you seen Abby or Greer?" I ask, loudly over their gales of insane laughter.
Claudia ignores me, or maybe she doesn't notice me. She continues laughing and talking in gasps of breath, "And then...the kitten...was in the closet!" She clutches her stomach and leans forward.
My mouth falls open slightly. "Claudia! Have you been smoking pot?" I demand. This is unbelievable. They've been here an hour and already they look stoned out of their minds.
Claudia looks up at me. "Yes! Hi Shannon! I'll get you some. Where's Jason?" Claudia stretches out an arm to the small crowd in the study. "Jason! Jason, where are you?" she shouts.
I ignore her and focus my attention on Erica. "Your friend wants to leave. You better find her before she leaves without you. She has your keys."
For some reason, this is hilarious. Erica throws her head back and howls. "She can't drive! She doesn't even have her learner's permit!" Erica tumbles off the couch.
I press the heel of my palm to my forehead. I take a deep breath. "Okay. Stay here. Don't move from this couch. I'll be back for you," I tell them, sternly.
They aren't listening. They don't even notice when I turn and walk away. I won't even pause to reflect on the stupidity of bringing an unlicensed designated driver to a party. I continue my search for Abby, Greer, and Lindsey. We're probably passing in the crowd and I can't see them. My calls of their names don't carry over the music. Then, in Mrs. Taylor's crafts room, I discover someone I wasn't expecting.
Tiffany. Stretched out on the pink chenille couch, wearing a periwinkle halter dress that barely covers anything it should. And her legs are draped over the lap of Sam Thomas. And his hand is massaging her thigh.
"What are you doing?" I screech, flying into the room.
Tiffany jumps, startled.
"How did you get in here?" I demand.
"Uh...through the front door?" she replies with a hint of sarcasm in her voice. She doesn't seem at all bothered that I've caught her.
I glare at her, then turn on Sam. "And what are you doing here?" I demand, furiously. "This is a high school party!"
Sam shrugs, but doesn't answer, like I'm not worth his time.
I grab Tiffany's arm and yank her up off the couch. "Wait for me in the foyer!" I order and shove her toward the door. "Go!"
People are staring. I think if they weren't Tiffany would argue, but her chest is already reddening, the color creeping up her neck. She whirls around and stomps out of the crafts room, shoulders squared, head held high and proud.
Sam stands, so I must look up at him instead of down. He's a lot taller than me. I stand as straight as possible and am thankful I wore heels. "Look, I don't know what game you're playing with my sister, but you better knock it off. She's fifteen. And you're married with a kid. Stay away from my sister."
Sam smiles down at me, indulgently. "Or else what? You'll call Janet?" he asks, then laughs.
"Or else, I'll killyou," I reply, then turn around and walk away, attempting to imitate Tiffany's assured stride. Sam's still laughing behind me.
It's not just all the bodies crammed together that's making me hot. My insides are boiling. I clench my fists and keep walking, even though I feel like falling to my knees and screaming. Tiffany and I take one step forward and two steps back. I never know who she'll be from moment to moment, the sister I need or the sister I must control.
Kristy's waiting in the foyer. Tiffany's not there, but Abby is, sitting on a chair by the door. "Did Tiffany come through here?" I ask Kristy, as soon as I come into the foyer.
"She left. She said she wasn't walking home with you," Kristy replies. "I found Abby. She's mostly sober. I have no idea where Greer and Lindsey are."
"I found Claudia and Erica. They're as high as a couple kites. I left them in the study. Where's that blonde girl?"
Kristy rolls her eyes. "She ran into her ex-boyfriend and starting screaming at him. She was hitting him with an umbrella when I left."
"You know she can't drive."
"She doesn't have a license?" Kristy exclaims. She throws up her arms. "Claudia would bring a designated driver who can't actually drive! What is wrong with that girl? Dropping out of school, smoking pot, riding in cars with unlicensed drivers! She was such a responsible baby-sitter!"
I walk toward the front door. "Let's just leave. Greer and Lindsey can take care of themselves. Come on, Abby."
Abby stands, sways a little, then steps through the front door. "Thanks for not leaving me," she says, a bit too loudly.
"You're welcome."
"What about all these keys?" Kristy asks, pointing at our fishbowl underneath the table.
"Leave them. I'll call the cops when I get home. They'll take care of things," I answer, then follow Abby through the front door.
The cool air is a welcome reprieve from the heat inside the house. The three of us walk down Edgerstone Drive, slowly for Abby, who keeps stumbling over phantom objects. It's only nine-thirty, but already the streets are dark and deserted. It feels much later. It seemed longer that I was inside Bart's house, feeling old and out-of-place. We stop once for Abby, so she can puke in Amanda Kerner's rosebushes. Kristy holds her hair back and not even arches a single disapproving eyebrow at me. She doesn't say, See, Abby? You should have listened to me. I'm proud of Kristy for showing that bit of self-restraint.
"I wish things didn't have to change," Kristy says, quietly, when we turn onto McLelland Road. "I wish people stayed the same."
"You mean, you wish we didn't have to grow up?"
"I don't know. Maybe," Kristy says, folding her arms over her chest. She bows her head, so that her brown hair falls forward, obscuring my view of her in the dim light of the street lamps.
"I guess I know what you mean."
Ahead of us, Abby starts crying.
"What's wrong?" Kristy exclaims, alarmed, hurrying up beside her.
I fall into step on Abby's other side. "Abby?" I ask, laying a hand on her shoulder.
Abby shakes it off. "Never mind," she says, still in that too loud voice. She takes off, running up McLelland Road, away from us. She runs in sort of a zig-zag, stumbling once or twice.
Kristy and I stop to watch her. "What's the deal with her lately?" Kristy asks me.
"I have no idea," I answer, truly puzzled.
Abby disappears into the night. In the distance, we hear a front door slam. Kristy and I resume walking, not sure of what to do or say. I consider telling Kristy about Tiffany and Sam. Is there a point? Kristy won't listen. Sam is a victim. Everything wrong in his life is Janet's fault. Kristy has blinders on when it comes to her brother.
Kristy and I stop outside her house. "Don't call the cops yet," she tells me. "I'm going back for Claudia."
"Want me to go with you?"
Kristy shakes her head. "No, it's okay. You should check on Abby. See you tomorrow, Shannon." Kristy waves then walks to the side driveway, where she keeps her car hidden behind the gate.
I walk two houses down to the Stevensons'. I pound on the front door, ring the doorbell four times, call out Abby's name. The lights are on inside, but Abby doesn't answer.