Kent comes dashing up to us, carrying what looks like a crystal vase full of beer. “They were out of cups,” he explains.
For someone who’s never consumed alcohol before, he’s taken quite a shine to it. He was shy at first, all tensed up, but once he realized no one was going to thrash him like an ’80s movie, he came to life. He was surprised that people knew him and I was like, “Didn’t you grow up with all these folks? Like they were going to forget?”
Don’t know why Kent never goes to parties—he turned into a complete social butterfly once he had a few drinks. Sometimes confidence comes in liquid form. I’ve been watching him whip and nae nae all night—the kid’s got moves!
He falls down on the couch next to me and I’m impressed at how he’s able to keep his beer from sloshing all over the place.
“No shit, Simone, this is the greatest night of my life. That hot girl Noell? She saw Stephen’s shirt and was all over me—said she just watched Straight Outta Compton and it made her cry when Eazy-E died. She said seeing me in this shirt was like, fate.”
“Fate how? Does she want to rap professionally?” I ask.
“Who cares, she stuck her tongue in my ear! I don’t know what that means, but I liked it. A lot. How’s our boy missing this? I’ve been texting him all night. Now I gotta thank him for the loan! This shirt changed my life. Also beer. But mostly this shirt. Where is Stevie-boy? He’s ignoring me. Let’s send him a Snap and convince him to get over here.”
I ask, “Liam, you want in on this? Your presence might be helpful, if you don’t mind.”
“Which Stephen?” he asks. “Stephen the hockey player or Stephen the genius?”
I reply, “Genius.”
“He keeps ruining the curve in our Quantum Mechanics class.”
“Typical,” Kent says, but with obvious pride in his friend.
“Let’s go for it.”
The three of us huddle together while Kent pulls up Snapchat, his arm extended far enough for all of us to be seen in the shot. “Yo, Stevie C, DJ Wonderbread in the hizzy!”
“DJ Wonderbread?” Liam asks out of the side of his mouth.
“Shh, we’re rolling,” I whisper back.
“Get your flat ass over here, bro! We are throwing down! We’re drinking out of home décor!” He holds up his vase, now spilling half of the contents onto his lucky shirt. He doesn’t seem to notice. “You gotta come! You gotta!”
The hot girl, ostensibly Noell, photobombs our Snap by lifting her shirt and flashing Stephen her paean to plastic surgery.
“Woo! This is an epic night, see you soon! DJ Wonderbread out!”
With that, he stuffs his phone in his pocket while Noell climbs onto him piggyback-style. “Can you carry me upstairs like this?” she asks, breathing heavily into his ear.
I’ve never seen Kent hoist anything heavier than a textbook, but I have a feeling he’s going to soldier through. They run off.
Liam suggests we get some air. I don’t know if this is code for something else, but I’m game to find out.
Wait, am I interpreting this wrong, too? I so misread Owen’s signs. Argh. He’s still icing me out, so I’m listening to Mum and giving him a wide berth. Kent made the point that you can do only so much for people who steadfastly refuse your help. At some point, you let go for your own sanity. So I guess I’m free and clear to join him outside.
Liam leads me through a maze of perfectly appointed rooms until we reach the kitchen. He takes a fancy blue bottle of sparkling water from the fridge and we head out to the patio, where we grab a couple of padded metal lawn chairs overlooking the pool.
The music from the party seems to have followed us. I look around for the source of the sound and discover that the large, decorative rocks out here are actually speakers. So posh! The Weeknd’s “Can’t Feel My Face” plays as we settle in.
...be beautiful...
The water in the pool must be heated, because great swaths of steam are wafting from it. The mist envelops the whole patio in a dreamy haze. In the distance, I can almost make out the lake at the bottom of the bluff. I bet if we walked closer to the edge, we could hear the water lapping against the shoreline. Who knew a lake could have waves? The air has a nip to it, so we each wrap up in the plush green-and-white-striped towels that are stacked in a ginormous terrycloth pyramid inside the pool’s cabana.
“So...” Liam begins. “What’s next?” His speech is slowing and his eyes are becoming a bit glassy. Whatever he’s taken must be strong. Hope it’s helping what ails him.
“What’s next tonight? What’s next tomorrow? What’s next for the rest of my life?” I ask. I stick my feet under the towel because my toes are ten little ice cubes. “Please be more specific here. For example, tonight, I’m going to go home, eat all the hummus in the fridge—doesn’t that sound amazing? I’m famished! Then, off to bed in footed pajamas with my dog. Tomorrow I’m prepping more for the ACTs and I also need to order a birthday present.”
Stephen’s turning eighteen in a couple of weeks. I’ve already made him a tooled leather necklace with a Tuareg amulet on the end, which tribe fathers used to give to their sons for protection. The amulets were meant to guide these young men in times of confusion. Could there be a more apt description of senior year? I’m also buying him a version of the black Compton hat that Eazy-E made famous. Only, instead of Compton, I’ll ask the designer to spell out North Shore in Gothic calligraphy. I figure his mum couldn’t possibly protest that and I’m sure he’ll love it.
I conclude, “For the rest of my life? Don’t know. That’s wide open. We’ll see where the road takes me.”
“What’s that like?” he asks. He sounds wistful.
...can’t feel...
“What’d you mean, then?” I reply. I sound far more English when I’m drinking.
He scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “To not have every second of your life mapped out for you. I’ve been on the same course since I was ten. Ten. Like with the soccer? Soccer wasn’t even my favorite sport, I wanted to swim. But I wasn’t fast enough.”
“For what?” I ask. “For sharks? You look to be in one piece.”
He offers me a wry smile. “Fast enough for my dad. Fast enough to be the star of the swim team, I guess. Everyone said, ‘Oh, Liam’s so great at soccer, that’s his sport.’ Didn’t have a choice. I was forced into it. Around here, you’re put into a track when you’re too young to know enough to say, ‘Nope, not into that.’ Then you’re, like, swept up, moved along. You can’t go against the tide of what someone else decides should be your life. ‘Play soccer, Liam.’ ‘Class President would look great on your transcript, Liam.’ ‘Make sure they elect you Homecoming King, Liam.’ So now I’m here and I’m doing everything everyone expects of me. Like it or not, I’m the one the team is counting on to bring us the W. Which stands for win.”
“Which stands for win,” I repeat, because I’m not sure what else to say.
...with you...
“Then next year, I’m probably off to Princeton.”