An Off Year Page 14

  I fell off the couch laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Josh.

  “You’re very pretty, that’s all,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “And you smell like a manly forest in autumn. Very nice.”

  “Don’t hate,” he said.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Angie had on tight, dark jeans; sexy heels; and a low-cut, deep purple top. She was wearing eye shadow and lipstick and looked like a completely different person. She looked good. But I think I probably would have taken a few hours to trust her if she was dressed like this when I first met her. It was a little intimidating. I realized I looked like crap.

  “Have you guys been pregaming?” asked Angie.

  “Cecily refuses to call it that,” Josh said. “But yes. Do you want a beer?”

  “Sure. What have you been up to?” she asked, sitting down. She sparkled and shined and smelled good. I wanted to throw up.

  “Nothing. I’m wearing the wrong outfit,” I told her. I was pretty much wearing what I’d been wearing all day long: a variation of what I usually wore to work, a black sweater and jeans. It hadn’t occurred to me to seriously change outfits. Probably because Josh’s apartment didn’t look like it was about to have a party in it, other than the booze and the few bowls of snacks he was starting to put out. Also, I didn’t know that you dressed up for a party at somebody’s house. I should have asked Kate where she had bought her black pants and tank top.

  “Aw, you’re fine,” said Angie.

  “No,” I said. “Help me.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said. “What have you got?”

  “Not much,” I said. “Help me. I don’t need to look sexy. I need to not look stupid.”

  “You don’t look stupid,” she said.

  “Come on,” I said. “Please.”

  “All right, all right,” Angie said, taking me by the hand and leading me back to Josh’s room. She grabbed an extra beer from the fridge.

  “The boots are fine,” she said, taking one of them out of my duffel bag. “Actually, they’re kind of hot. And the jeans will do.”

  She dug around in the bag. “Boy, you’re organized. How about this?” She pulled out a basic black tank top.

  “I usually just wear that under sweaters or whatever. It’s not very special or anything.”

  “It’s fine,” she said. “Seriously, you don’t need to worry about this so much.”

  “I just don’t want to look like . . . I don’t know. I want to blend in, I guess. You have to know that as we speak, you’re seeing the side of me that makes me very weird, the reason why I’m not in college. So I apologize. I hope you don’t hate me now. I don’t always act like this.” My face burned.

  She laughed. “You’re fine. Believe me, I’d rather be helping you out with this stuff than hearing my roommate complain about her yeast infection.”

  “For real? Ech.”

  “For real,” she said.

  “Just don’t make me look like a freak,” I said as we headed to the bathroom. I don’t know why I was trusting Angie with all this. What did I know about her anyway? She was dating my brother. What did that make her an expert in? Well, she did have a boyfriend, was going to parties, and was in college, so things were obviously working out better for her than they were for me.

  “Oh, first you want me to help you, now you think I’m going to make you look like a freak?”

  “No,” I said. “Look at my hair. Just look at my hair. It’s pathetic.”

  “Drink this,” she said, handing me the beer. “Pull out your ponytail holder.”

  “My hair’s wet,” I said. “And I don’t have a hair dryer or a straightener gel or pomade or whatever the hell I’m supposed to have.”

  “I didn’t know you had such cute curly hair!” she said, fluffing it around my face.

  I made a face in the mirror. “It’s stupid,” I said. “That’s why I usually pull it back.” My hair made me look like eighties Cher.

  “You never wear it down?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “I never got used to it. I had straight hair until I was about eleven or twelve and then boing! It just got like that. I don’t know why. I never figured out what was up with it, and I don’t care to. Sometimes I straighten it, but only when I have four or five hours to kill.”

  “I would die for this,” she said.

  “You can have it.”

  “Hold on.” She opened up the cabinet and got out a little jar.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s your brother’s. It’s what he uses to keep his own lovely locks looking so curly and cute.” Angie took a few fingerfuls of goop and ran it through my hair. It smelled like grapefruit.

  “All right. So just don’t comb your hair. Or touch it. It’s going to look adorable.”

  “Okay,” I said. “What about my face?”

  “Well, we can’t do anything about that, I’m afraid,” said Angie. “We’ll just cover it up with a bag and hope everything goes all right.”

  “You’re hilarious. Okay, so I stole some makeup from Germaine. I have no idea what I took, though.”

  “Let’s see what we’ve got here,” she said, poking in the makeup bag, which was decorated very stupidly with little high-heeled shoes and sunglasses and lipsticks. Like a makeup bag was so inherently butch that somebody really needed to dress it up to look feminine.

  “This will be good,” she said. “Close your eyes.”

  I did and felt her patting something on my eyelids, gently but purposefully.

  “You’re good at that,” I said. “I think.”

  “Mmm,” she said, concentrating. “Okay, I’m going to put some eyeliner on, so I’m going to stretch your eyelid. Don’t freak.”

  “Just don’t stab me in the eye.” She placed a fingertip on the corner of my eye and pulled it to the side slightly, and I felt the pencil on my eyelid.

  “I gotta say, if Germaine was my sister, I’d be stealing makeup from her also,” said Angie. “She’s got good stuff. Okay, mascara. Open and look up.”

  I opened up my eyes, and she came at me with the wand. I caught sight of us in the mirror and started cracking up.

  “What’s so funny? I almost swiped this all across your face.”

  “I don’t know.” We could pass for friends going out for the night, normal girls who did normal girly things together, like getting ready for a night out. It was fun but somehow embarrassing.

  “Cecily, I can’t tell if you like it or you don’t.”

  “I do like it. I haven’t . . . I don’t know.” I couldn’t take my eyes off myself, actually. The eye shadow was a silvery charcoal that was smoky without being too dark and made my eyes look intriguing. I hadn’t seen my bare arms since the summertime, and it looked like my sporadic trips to the gym had helped. And I was pleased with my hair: it was still voluminous but looked under control. And it felt so good to spend fifteen minutes with someone and not fight or talk about college or myself. But I felt strangely bashful and was wary of assuming that Angie was my new best friend all of a sudden. Maybe I should call it a night while the going was good, before I messed anything up.

  “You look cute. Not too done up. But cute.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I have to admit it.”

  “Give it up,” she said. “Give it up for Cecily. Give it up for me.”

  “I’m giving it up,” I said.

  We heard some voices in the next room and some thumping around. “Sounds like the guys are here with the keg,” Angie said. “Are you ready to break some hearts?”

  “Shut up,” I said. “You’re going to make me self-conscious. I’m trying to act natural.”

  We opened the door, but there was no ta da! sound; life did not change to slow-motion so that the guys in the living room messing around with the beat-up keg could stand up and ogle me as I confidently, unself-consciously glided out of the room. I almost tripped when I came out, actually, which was fine because the guys st
ill didn’t look up until Josh introduced me.

  “Guys, my sister Cecily,” said Josh. “Cecily, that’s Paulie, George, and Dave.” One was bald; one had longish, greasy hair; and one was cute. In that order. The guys were impressive, sort of scary. They reminded me of the senior football players from when I was a freshman in high school. Like having a herd of buffalo pass by you a few times a day, they were intimidating and interesting, yet I knew I’d never get to know them. But here they were, talking to me.

  “Hiya,” said George.

  “Aww, you and your brother look alike,” Dave said after shaking my hand. He looked like he could have been Mike’s hunky older football-playing brother. I bet if I asked him to carry me around the rest of the night, he could and wouldn’t get tired. I wondered if he would.

  “Hi, boss,” said Paulie to Angie. “How’s Christie? Is she coming by later?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Paulie is in love with Angie’s roommate,” Dave explained to me.

  “Seriously, dude, the next time you sleep on our couch, keep your pants on,” Angie said.

  “I get hot,” he said.

  Josh opened the door, and I heard a piercing scream. I nearly had to cover my ears. I had forgotten that sound, the sound of girls who scream. If I had to say one good thing about my sister, it was that she wasn’t a screamer. I hadn’t heard that noise since high school graduation, when we all did it.

  “Hey, bitches!” said the screamer, a short, skinny girl whose movement into the room I could only describe as “bopping.” She bopped into the room. She was wearing an extremely short black skirt and a bright yellow tube top. Her hair was long and straight. It was somehow not blond but not brown, either. It was blah.

  “Dave, you are such a dick,” she said, pointing at him. “And you know why.” Before he had time to respond, she asked Josh, “Is Sharky coming tonight?”

  “I believe so,” said Josh. I looked at Angie. I think it was the first time I’d ever seen her look anything other than pleasant.

  “Yes!” squealed the girl. “Sharky! Have you ever met Sharky?” she asked, suddenly turning to me.

  “No,” I said. “I have not.”

  “Well, you’ll love him. He’s such a fucking riot!” I didn’t know who this girl was, so I had no idea how she might think I might like this person, but I couldn’t lie and say I wasn’t intrigued.

  “What’s so great about Sharky?” I asked.

  “Who is this bitch?” asked the girl, pointing at me but smiling.

  “Beth, this is my baby sis, Cecily,” Josh said.

  “Aww, the baby! How old are you?”

  “I’m twelve years old,” I said, feeling only twelve when introduced that way.

  “Shut up!” said Beth. “Are you really?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “But I was, once.” She doubled over, laughing. Either I was drunk or I was the funniest girl in the Midwest. Maybe both.

  “I’m going to piss myself!” she screamed.

  “Well, who exactly is Sharky, then?” I asked, feeling exhausted.

  “Sharky’s a lot of fun,” said Angie, smiling at me. “He’s a, um, character.”

  “I was going to live with Sharky until I found out that he had a problem peeing in people’s closets,” said Josh. “That’s sort of the first thing you’ll learn about him.”

  “Gross,” I said.

  “Sharky’s really generous, though. He found that chair in his alley and brought it here for us,” said Josh, pointing to a ratty-looking armchair that I had been avoiding all weekend.

  “When he’s really drunk, he break-dances,” said George.

  “If you’re lucky, he’ll dance with you!” said Beth.

  “Great,” I said. This night was getting extremely silly, and it was still early.

  I heard a heavy knock, and Paulie opened the door. On the other side, approximately nine thousand people were all waiting to get inside, get drunk, talk to my brother, dance to music, make out, get sweaty, and possibly touch my things.

  “Ow!” cried Josh. “What are you doing?”

  Without knowing, I had gripped his arm as the door opened. I guess I gripped it kind of hard.

  “Can I go?” I whispered. “I can find a coffee shop or a bookstore or something and hang out until the party is over.”

  Josh laughed, as people poured in the general vicinity of the keg and the unceremonial stacks of red plastic cups. “No way,” he said. “Sharky’s here!”

  I looked over to the doorway, expecting to see Paul Bunyan or the Jolly Green Giant or at least somebody who looked mythical and larger than life, but instead I saw a short, stout guy, built like a fire hydrant. He carried a bottle of what even I recognized to be cheap whiskey. His body was a perfect rectangle. His face resembled a bulldog’s, flat and sort of mean-looking. I didn’t care how fun he was supposed to be; he looked scary to me.

  “Cecily, this is Sharky. Sharky, this is my sister—” Josh said. But before I could say anything, I was looking down at the party. Sharky, despite his shortness, had picked me up and lifted me over his head. I felt the breath pushed out of my stomach and for a second I had reconciled myself to the fact that I was going to barf on this guy’s head.

  “Put . . . me . . . down,” I tried to say, but I could only whisper.

  Finally, he pretty much dropped me on the floor, and I had to act like it didn’t hurt too much, although it did.

  “He’s sort of a human tornado,” said Dave, flashing a perfect white grin and all-American good-lookingness in his navy polo shirt and thick brown hair. “Impressive to observe but painful to get in the way of.” He extended a hand toward me to help me up. I was sort of getting a little crush on him.

  To their credit, neither Josh nor Angie left me alone during the party, which had been my greatest fear. One or both of them was next to me at all times, introducing me to people. And I had to admit it, most of the people were nice. They actually seemed excited to meet me, excited to tell me about funny things Josh had done, excited to see if I was going to go to Madison. They looked like normal people. Were they actually this nice, or were they just drunk? I couldn’t tell.

  Speaking of drunk, I wasn’t. Too much, anyway. I felt a nice, warm buzz, which seemed to indicate that more beer would be even more fun, but Josh wouldn’t let me drink that much more. Which was a shame when Dave, who continued to be cute, tried to get me to do a shot of tequila with him. “You smell nice, you know that?” he said. Borrowing Germaine’s lotion was totally worth it.

  “I think she can wait and do it on her own time,” said Josh, drinking the shot himself. “She wouldn’t appreciate it.”

  The party was hardly the all-night experience I thought it was going to be. After a few hours, the keg was finished. About half the people had left the party, but the half who stayed started hitting the hard alcohol. Some had paired up doing gross grindy dances. Paulie was playing some sort of card game with some other guys. I turned into the kitchen to see if I could steal a beer from the fridge. There was Dave, making out with Beth. I stood there for a second and realized that I was staring at two people kissing, so I stuck my head in the refrigerator, pretending that I was looking hard for something. Failing to find what I was not looking for, I split. Neither one of them had even noticed that I was in the vicinity.

  This, I realized, was one of those times where it would be good to have a female friend around. Someone who was my friend, who actually knew me, not one I had borrowed from my brother. Had I thought that Dave was going to kiss me? Be my boyfriend? Fall in love with me? No. But I still felt upset. I had let myself have a teeny, tiny one-night crush on a boy, probably the first time I’d done that since Mike. (Who was I kidding? I had been in love with him all along. This party was almost over, and it was time to get real.) And it ended up as nothing. I figured that another girl would understand that sort of thing.

  I had been a little tipsy earlier, but I suddenly lost the feeling and now was si
ck of this place. Where was all the fun? I went to go find Josh. I stepped over Sharky, who was lying on the floor on his back, still clutching his enormous bottle. I thought he was unconscious, but as I walked over him, he grabbed my leg.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “You look so good it hurts,” he said, and to demonstrate, he put his hand over his heart.

  “Thanks,” I said, and pulled my leg free.

  I walked back toward Josh’s room, and the stink of the apartment, smoke and beer and sweat, started to get to me. Everything I saw was irritating me. The ugly carpeting, the scratchy used furniture, the striped shirts the guys were wearing. There was nowhere to go but this place and nothing else to do but just be here.

  Germaine had told me: I had no choice, I was going to have to join these people. I’d have to leave home, spend Dad’s money, start dating some idiot, have friends who always found things to shriek about, and move on through adult-hood. It sounded like such bullshit.

  “You look like you’re having a lot of fun,” said a voice. I turned around and saw Angie.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Kind of weird.”

  “Pooped out?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Want to get some food?”

  “That sounds like the greatest idea ever,” I said. “What about Josh?”

  “He can tend to his party, as long as we bring him something,” said Angie. “I’ll go tell him we’re going out. Go get a coat.”

  “You okay?” asked Angie as we walked down the street back to Josh’s apartment, eating big floppy pieces of pizza on paper plates. We’d gone to a pizzeria that served slices with different kinds of pasta on them. Mine was topped with macaroni and cheese, and I hoped the moment would never end.

  “Yes, I’m better. So, like, I guess. What do you do here? You know. You seem like a normal person. What’s your life like?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I don’t know. Do you belong to a sorority?”

  Angie snorted. “Hell no. Like I need one more thing in the world to piss me off: a bunch of girls I don’t even want to be friends with turning me down from living in their nasty house. If you want to meet someone who is in a sorority, you can talk to Beth. Beth is in SDT,” she said. “That’s a sorority, and everyone jokes that it stands for ‘Spending Daddy’s Trillions, ’ but I don’t know what it really stands for. Sorry.”