She was glad to give it. I told my dad I was sleeping over at her house on Saturday, and he nodded and told me to have fun. As far as I could tell, I was the only girl in my class who wasn’t allowed to go to parties.
But I wasn’t going to pass this one up. It was the first time I lied to my father, and it would be the last, given how the evening turned out.
Beth and I spent three hours getting ready, trying on outfits, swapping shirts, doing our makeup, putting on perfume. Then we got in her car and headed for Chase’s house.
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked. “I mean, he invited me. But it’s a party, not a date, right?”
“Right,” said Beth. “Be cool. Let him come to you. You don’t want to seem too eager, but you want to be friendly at the same time, but not desperate or weird. Don’t make that scrunched-up face you make when you’re nervous.”
“I make a scrunched-up face?” I asked.
She glanced at me. “You’re doing it now.” I looked in the visor mirror and saw that yes, I was, and we both started giggling like the teenage girls we were.
Beth parked in the long line of cars in front of Chase’s house. We had waited an hour after the seven o’clock start time, per her advice. According to the buzz in the hallways of Nauset High, the Freeman parents were at their vacation place in Santa Monica, visiting the famous aunt. Music thumped and roared from the house, and purple-and-red lights flashed inside. There must’ve been a hundred people there.
Cue the ominous music.
“You made it, Lillie!” Chase himself opened the door. “I thought you were blowing me off.” He leaned in and hugged me, and for a second I didn’t know what to do. Then I hugged him back. Oh, God, he felt good. Muscled and warm. He was wearing cologne, and I didn’t even hate it. “Hey, Beth,” he added. “Get yourselves a beer or a drink or whatever. There’s food, too.”
We were abruptly shoved into the cliché of the unsupervised high school party. At first, Beth and I sipped beers. We ate some cookies. We went from room to room, unable to see the furniture because of the throngs of people.
Then someone offered us a joint. Beth nodded and demonstrated. I imitated her, and my God, the burn down my throat made me cough and hack till my eyes teared. Then, suddenly, I was floaty and so happy. Beth looked at me, and we started laughing at nothing. Dancing? Why not! In fact, yes, damn it!
Like all other nonsober people, we thought our moves were amazing. And lo and behold, “Baby Got Back” started playing, and Beth and I dissolved into helpless laughter. Time seemed to stretch, and I had flashes of wondering where I was. Was I home? Was I at my mom’s? Did it matter? We were having so much fun, and everyone was smiling and laughing and having such a great time.
Someone pulled me against him on the makeshift dance floor. Chase! I danced with an uninhibited joy, feeling like a really good stripper, but with clothes on, which made me laugh and laugh. Then someone was leading me upstairs. Oh, it was Chase! Holy sheesh! I was that popular. We went into a big room painted dark blue with a lava lamp on the desk.
“You have a lava lamp?” I asked, crying with laughter. There was a big photo of Chase taking up half a wall, mid-catch or mid-throw at a lacrosse game. More hilarity—he had a photo of himself on the wall, and I collapsed on the bed.
You already know how this went. Chase joined me. He started kissing my neck, put his hand on my breast. Huh. Nice, I thought. I’d never been fondled by a boy before. “You’re my first fondler,” I said, setting off another stream of giggles. Chase waited patiently for my laughter to subside, then turned my face toward his and kissed me. Though it was quite wet and sloppy, it was also kind of tingly and nice and hot. We kissed for hours, or maybe minutes. I couldn’t tell because of this slippery time thing.
Oh! His hand was under my skirt. Should I have worn jeans? Maybe. I should ask Beth if I should change. Where was Beth? Then his fingers slid into my underwear. It felt scary and . . . good. Should I say something? Or just lie here with the room spinning and let him make me feel good? Was I a slut, or was I normal? Was this what people did at our ages?
It was only when he stood, pulled off his shirt and unbuttoned his jeans that I realized we were about to have sex.
“Oh,” I said, sitting up abruptly. “Uh . . . where’s Bethie? How long have we been up here?” It felt like hours, time oozing like warm caramel.
“She’s fine,” Chase said. “Come on. Lay back down.”
“Um . . . I don’t want to have sex,” I said, and my mind was a little surprised that my words were so clear. It was definitely true. I did not want to have sex, not like this, when I was stoned and at a party and . . . Well, shit. I was just too young. I’d just had my first kiss this night. I didn’t want every first to happen in an hour. “Yeah. Sorry, Chase. I don’t want to do anything else.”
“Sure you do,” he said. “You were making all sorts of noises a minute ago.”
“Was that me?” I asked. Get up, idiot, the remote sober part of my brain instructed. Get up right now and leave. “I’m gonna go now. Thank you for this party. You have a lovely home.” I laughed again, but it didn’t feel as good as earlier.
“Don’t leave,” Chase said. His voice was gentle and low, coaxing, but his eyes . . . yeah, those weren’t nice eyes.
“No, I need to go. Sorry.”
If only I hadn’t been stoned for the first time in my life. If only I hadn’t had two beers on an empty stomach. I wouldn’t have let this happen sober. I started to stand. Chase shoved me back down.
“Don’t be a tease,” he said, lying on top of me. “You know you like me. I can make you feel really good.”
“Not tonight,” I said. “Sorry.” I was sobering up fast, but the room was still spinny. “Chase, please get off.”
He didn’t move. Kissed me again, shoving his tongue in my mouth.
“Please stop,” I said, hearing the fear in my voice. He didn’t. He ground his groin against me, groaning, and I was helpless and terrified and crying now. I was about to be raped, and it was my own stupid fault.
At least, that’s what my teenage brain told me.
Chase pinned me down, holding my wrists above my head with one hand. He had big hands, I thought distantly. This was easy for him. This was . . . practiced. And, shit, he was strong. His other hand slipped to my bra and smoothly unfastened the front clasp. “Oh, yeah,” he groaned, fondling my breast. “You’re beautiful, Lillie.”
“Chase, please, get off me,” I begged. “I don’t want this.”
He squeezed my breast and kissed me again, licking my lips in a most disgusting way. I turned my head and pressed my lips together, stifling a sob.
He smiled. “Come on, baby. I’ll be gentle if it’s your first time. You want this. You’re built for sex. And you can always tell people your cherry was popped by a Harvard man.”
Those words turned my fear to fury. I wrenched my hand from Chase’s grip and swung my fist, catching him hard in the face. Then I jerked my knee up as hard as I could and connected with his soft parts. He gave a high-pitched yell and rolled off, clutching his balls. In a distant part of my brain, I could hear my mother’s voice. If you’re going to make stupid decisions, at least know where to kick.
Chase wasn’t done. He grabbed my arm and yanked me toward him, and I spit in his face and punched him again with my free hand, but it wasn’t hard enough, so I grabbed his ear and twisted it ruthlessly. He swore and let go of my wrist, and I kicked him again, as hard as I could, in the shin. Grabbed a trophy from his nightstand and raised it over my head.
Stop, said my mother’s voice. Do not murder him. Chase’s eyes were wide with fear, and his hands were up in defense.
“How dare you, Chase Freeman!” I hissed. “I said stop, you piece of shit. I’m calling the cops!”
His expression changed from fear to something mean and hard. “Like they’ll believe that a drunk, stoned girl was raped when seventy-five people saw her dance like a whore and willingly come upstairs to my room.”