That’s the thing about popularity that no one ever tells you. It’s all about confidence. That’s it. That’s the magic formula, boys and girls. Speaking as a person with experience on both sides of popularity, I can tell you that that’s all it takes. If you can mind the slight angular shift between holding your head up high and sticking your nose in the air... If you can strike the right balance between conformity and originality... If you can be friendly but not perky, optimistic yet unaffected, lead instead of follow... you’re in. It may seem like a tightrope-walk to be sure, but you just gotta fake it until you make it. After a while, you won’t even be that conscious of the fine line you’re walking all the time.
I was anxious to get over to the party, but until I got my license, I was at the mercy of Lisa’s time schedule. I sat down at the top of the stairs where I’d have a good line of sight into the driveway. Not that I needed to keep watch for her. That girl normally started honking the horn from her house. This night was no exception.
I bolted out the front door, simultaneously fumbling with my keys to lock it behind me while flapping my hand down to shush Lisa, who started beeping even more incessantly upon my presence.
When I finally opened the passenger door, I snipped, “Shut up already! I have neighbors you know!”
Lisa just laughed and said, “I know! I’m one of them, Dippy!”
Chapter 7
HOUSE PARTY
Greg Rymer lived in Norman Hills-the “rich neighborhood”- on the northern side of town. Back in the seventies, the land developer who had the area bulldozed was eventually sent to prison for bribing a bunch of government officials in order to get the zoning rights. Prior to his arrest, however, he was responsible for building some gorgeous homes.
Rymer’s was a sprawling ranch nestled into a copse of trees, with huge sections of wall made up almost entirely of glass. I guess the secluded property allowed for them to live in a fishbowl without feeling like exhibitionists. Sometimes, it freaked me out to hang there at night, though. When just a few of us were there watching a movie or something, I always thought that there could be some murderer creeping around out in the woods spying on us. Seriously, the alienated house was the perfect backdrop for a slasher film. There wasn’t another home within earshot. No one would hear your screams.
On the other hand, that’s why it made such a perfect party house.
With the number of cars crammed around the front yard, I rest assured that any potential murderers would be outnumbered by party guests. Besides, all the real creeps were already inside.
I remember hearing once about the correct way to enter a room. A person should stroll in with confidence and head straight for a familiar face. The worst thing you could do was linger like an insecure little wallflower, fumphering around two steps inside the door. Lisa knew this, too, which is why we gave a quick knock before heading right on in. We kissed a few people hello on our beeline to the back deck where we knew the keg would be.
Cooper and Sargento were standing around the boombox, fighting over DJ duties. Rymer was sitting on the railing, using the keg as a footstool and holding a stack of red Solo cups.
He saw Lisa and me walk out and said, “Five bucks.”
I went for my wallet, but stopped when I heard Lisa say, “Rymer, you pantywaste. Are you seriously going to try and pull this shit again? Asking girls to kick in for the keg? No wonder you never get laid.”
The guys snickered into their sleeves which put Rymer in the position of having to retaliate. “Alright, DeSanto. I’ll give you and Janis Joplin here both a cup, no charge. But you’re gonna have to pay for it later, if you know what I mean.”
We all knew Rymer was full of shit, but the guys stopped laughing at the suggestive comment and turned toward us, waiting with anticipation to see how we’d respond.
Lisa didn’t disappoint. She got right up in his face and said, “Rymer, if I actually believed you even had a dick in those pants, we could talk. As it is-”
“Oh, you want to see it?” He hopped off the railing and started making a big, phony show of unbuttoning his jeans. We knew he was bluffing about dropping his drawers, but thankfully, we weren’t forced to test that notion. Because just then, Trip came out the door and stopped him in his tracks with, “Jesus, Rymer. Can’t you ever keep your damn pants on?”
We all started laughing as Trip made the rounds of hellos and handshakes.
Rymer gave Trip a high-five, then handed him a cup. Lisa just went ballistic. “Oh, so you give your buddies beer for free but charge the girls five bucks? Nice racket you’re running here.”
Trip was busy getting a beer from the keg as he said, “Dude. You can’t charge the girls for beer, man. That’s just stupid.”
Lisa chimed in, “I know, right?”
Trip handed her his filled cup and dug a fold of bills out of his pocket. Lisa and I tried to protest as he peeled off a twenty and slapped it on the railing before grabbing three more cups off the stack and filling them at the tap, passing the first off to me as he finished. Lisa and I shrugged at each other and started drinking.
Rymer tried to save face. “Trip-No way, man. Take this back. I wasn’t really gonna charge them and what kind of asshole would I be if I didn’t cover your cup?”
Lisa cut in with, “A huge one!”