A few boys, underclassmen infiltrators, had Super Soakers, crowing each time their bolt of water hit an unsuspecting mark, until that mark was the back of the soccer team captain’s head. He darted after their retreating figures.
On the other side of what had spontaneously become the dance floor, the four male members of the Brass Bandits greeted Graham with salutes. Near them was a group I always thought of as the poetry girls. They sat with notebooks open on their crossed legs and were seemingly unaware of the gyrations to their immediate right.
It was just as I’d hoped. All the groups at school were here—kids who didn’t always get invited to parties, like me.
Viv drew me backward with a “Psst. I can’t stomach their slamming. Not tonight.”
It took me a moment to understand. “They’re not doing slam poetry—are they?” I peeked back at the girls with journals.
“They look so . . . angry,” Viv said. “They’re repelling guys.”
“They look like witches reading spells,” I said. The girls with their middle parts; black, gauzy clothes; careless hair; and lace-up boots were taking turns reading from their journals. Their tongues beat their mouths to get the words out.
“Witchy does not equal hot,” Viv said.
“It might,” I said.
“Maybe to someone like . . . like Henry.” Her glare darted to the Brass Bandit’s trumpet player. He was nice, funny, tall, his T-shirt wasn’t tucked in, and his acne flare-up of middle school was old news. I didn’t see what would be so awful about a date with Henry. Graham was in the middle of talking to him and he didn’t waste time on anyone who wasn’t interesting.
“Where do we start Mission: Boyfriend?” I rubbed my hands in comic anticipation.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “You don’t sound up for being wing woman.”
“I’m ready,” I said. I tossed my hair and gave Viv my most alluring smile, even as a strand caught me in the eye. I blinked to dislodge it. “Who are we checking out? Soccer players? Lacrosse? Younger men—I saw a couple sophomores.”
A muscle by her mouth twitched. “No offense, but I’ll probably be better alone. Just like being onstage.” She leaned in conspiratorially to whisper, “Keep Graham and Harry away so they don’t vagina block me.” She extended her pinkie. I took it with mine.
I was relieved to be off the hook. Viv made a beeline for the soccer player manning the keg. Whatever being Viv’s wing woman required, I did not have it. I’d been dragged along on double dates and to college parties. I had a talent for finding the one guy in the room more eager to talk NPR than make out.
Our last double date hadn’t panned out. Viv liked hers, a college freshman, the son of one of Ina’s friends. But mine, his roommate, told me I swung my mini golf club like a girl, snickered, and patted my head. Viv had told them both, on the middle of the course, that she’d started her period and we needed to leave.
“Look at her on the hunt,” Harry said. He grinned beside me. “You up for an adventure?”
“We’re supposed to keep Graham away from Viv so she looks single.”
Harry nodded toward Graham. “He’s debating video game consoles with Henry.”
“Graham doesn’t play video games.”
“That’s never stopped him before,” he said with a comic crinkle of his lips.
I laughed. “So you’re saying he’ll be distracted for an hour.”
“At least.”
I swept an arm in front of us. “Lead the way.”
Harry took off for the tracks. “You balance on that rail and I’ll take this one,” he said.
His clunky Vans padded one after the other on the left rail; Harry was unexpectedly lithe. My ankles wobbled. After a shambling ten feet, I couldn’t stay up anymore. “You win,” I said.
“Here.” Harry hopped down and placed my hand on his shoulder. This time, leaning on Harry, I stayed up. “You win,” he said softly. The air cooled as we walked deeper. Out of the corner of my eye I watched Harry nod and smile hello to people. I would lose sight of his eyes in between the bonfires, and when they appeared again, on me, I’d look away. My fingertips noted the rises and dips of the shape of him. They couldn’t help it. His shoulder was unexplored territory under my increasingly warm hand. The music faded and the sigh of the wind became a never-ending song, like the ocean.
I was squeezing Harry’s shoulder and staring at the silver run disappearing under my shoes when he stopped abruptly. We’d reached the abandoned passenger car. Trent and Campbell were sitting, lackadaisically swinging their legs between its guardrails, passing a joint back and forth. I dropped off the rail and away from Harry.
“?’Sup,” Trent said.
I gave an unenthusiastic tip of my hand. Trent wasn’t as horrible as Conner; that wasn’t saying much. Campbell held the joint out to us.
“No thanks,” I said.
Trent squinted. “You guys puss out on a suicide pact?” he asked, indicating the big rectangular bandage on my inner wrist. Despite five scrubbings and one application of nail polish remover, the IV Viv drew was still a shadow. Harry had a lime-green bandage in the identical spot.
I forgot to be intimated by a loudmouth like Trent.
“How’d you know? We got one wrist in and realized that if we were dead, we’d never get to see you again. Guess we owe you our lives.” I could hardly breathe at my nerve. The tunnel, the passenger car, Slumber Fest, the fires burning at our backs, the night—it all belonged to us.
Trent held his fist up and pretended to pull a crank with his other hand as he slowly raised his middle finger.
“Don’t be a dick, man,” Campbell said, knocking Trent’s shoulder. To us, “Chill party, huh? How crazy is the graffiti? All the IVs.” His beanie cut off his eyebrows.
“The chillest,” Harry responded, rocking back on his heels.
Campbell smiled amiably, undeterred. “Bonkers about Principal Harper’s car. IV knows how to party.”
“What about Harper’s car?” I asked sharply.
“Oh man, you didn’t hear? IV tagged his wagon. A black IV across his driver’s-side door. People are saying it must have happened at lunch, but they don’t really know.”
“Harper’s such a bitch,” Trent muttered.
“You start Ms. Ives’s research essay?” Campbell had moved on to asking me, but my eyes were intent on Harry’s profile. I focused on his expression of stone, willing mine to be as withholding. A IV painted on the principal’s car. Not painted by us. I didn’t even need to ask. Graham, Viv, and Harry wouldn’t be so reckless as to tag a car in the middle of the day.
“I’m writing it on medicine in Africa. You?” I heard myself say to Campbell as he smiled patiently.
“Law and justice.” And then he said something else I didn’t hear because Harry swallowed, the knot of his throat bobbing, and I felt a wild yip rising up from my belly. A nervous yip; a triumphant one; both. We’d inspired a copycat.