I watch as the crowd swells and whirls around me. There is a cluster of dancing girls. In one corner a boy and girl are kissing. In another some kids are passing around a pipe—it’s red, like the toy bubble pipe I had when I was little. I see Adam. He takes a puff from the pipe, passes it, then disappears into another crowd.
Minutes tick by and I keep sitting on the couch alone and drinking my soda, feeling so awkward I want to leave, but feeling so lonely that I can’t.
I’m finishing my third cup when suddenly everyone fills the living room, squeezing onto the couches or sitting on the floor. They argue for a minute about whose turn it is, and eventually Camila wins.
As she looks around the room, it gets tense and quiet. Then she says with a smirk, “Charlie.” Allison is sitting in Charlie’s lap, and she pets his back when his name is called. “All right, let’s see…take off your shirt, then—” The words are barely out of Camila’s mouth before he has his fists at his hem and he tears it off, looking very pleased with himself. “Then take off Adam’s shirt, then—”
Charlie’s smile becomes a scowl. “Oh, hell no.”
“Come on, Charlie.” Adam gives him an exaggerated wink. “Get your sexy abs over here.”
“Hell. No.”
But everyone starts calling Charlie lame and telling him he has to do it, so in the end, he pulls Adam’s shirt off and endures the screeching and whistling while he presses his palms to Adam’s chest as ordered. Then, looking thoroughly disgusted, he puts his shirt back on and crosses his arms.
The next dare also involves some level of nudity and embarrassment, and I realize it’s only a matter of time before I’m forced to do something awful or someone is forced to do something awful to me.
I don’t want to take off my clothes. I can’t do it. But if I refuse, everyone will get annoyed and tell me I’m being lame.
Adam hops up from the floor and sits on the couch beside me. “Julian is under my protection,” he announces loudly, making me squirm. “He gets to watch us act like idiots, and that’s it.” When no one protests, I start to relax.
After almost everyone has been forced to do something horrible, someone turns the music up again and they all drift off into corners, into shadows. I’m left sitting alone, thinking about getting more soda, when Camila falls onto the couch beside me. Her neck is swaying like her head is too heavy. She leans in close.
“You’ve got pretty eyes,” she says.
“Thank you.”
“What color are they?”
“I don’t know.”
She slumps over, arms loose like noodles, and pours vodka from a giant glass bottle into my cup. “But Adam—”
“—is bossy.” She pokes out her bottom lip. “And he isn’t your dad. You don’t have to listen to him.”
Camila taps a long red fingernail against the side of my cup. I take a swallow and cough. “I like the other kind better.”
“This’ll help.” She grabs the soda and sloshes some into my cup. I take a sip. “Better?”
I nod. It is better, but still not good. I keep swallowing until it’s gone.
When a new song begins, everyone cheers like it’s their favorite. It’s fast and loud, and they all begin to jump. Camila grabs my sleeve, jerking me into the crowd of leaping bodies. I feel a soft hum in my limbs and everything is slower, calmer.
I dance, and pressed so close together, I’m anonymous, just one cell in the body of swirling figures. I’m dizzy. I’m here. I’m alive.
It’s after 3:00 A.M., and everyone’s gone. Allison and Charlie were supposed to give me a ride, but I guess they took off. I’m looking for Julian, but instead I find Emerald, half-sitting with her eyes closed on that fancy couch in the off-limits formal living room. Her eyes spring open when I trip over the Persian rug.
She smiles, looking wrung out, shoulders slack for a change, instead of squared like a soldier. “You know what movie you make me think of every time you walk into a room?” she asks.
“I don’t know.” I fall down beside her. “There’re about a million movies where the lead does this slow-motion-sexy-walk, so it could be—”
“Bambi.”
“Bambi?”
“You know that scene where it’s Bambi’s first winter and he steps out onto the ice?”
“Not cool, Emerald,” I say when she starts laughing. She leans onto my shoulder and the weight feels good, like her head’s supposed to be there.
“And with your eyes and eyelashes and cheekbones, it’s even more perfect.”
“I have Bambi’s cheekbones? What does that even mean?”
“You know…the sort of angular face. High cheekbones. And you have big brown Bambi eyes.”
“That’s awesome, Emerald. Just what every guy wants to hear.” She laughs again. “So you’re officially eighteen. Do you feel different?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“I don’t want to wait three more weeks. Tell me.”
“No,” she sighs, still resting on my shoulder, “I don’t feel any different.” She scoots down a little till her ear’s against my chest. “When I was younger, I thought I would. Didn’t you? When you were a little boy, didn’t you think that once you were an adult you’d be smarter? And stronger?”