Page 39 of Riot House
“That’s a messed-up question to ask. Why would I be thinking about what kind of ice cream that boy is?”
“I don’t know. You tell me…” She sounds airy and unaffected, but I’m looking right at her face in the mirror. I can see the cautious expression she’s trying to stave off. “You look at him a lot. He looks at you a lot. I figured, what with all the negative tension floating around in the air, that something might be going on…”
“Wren Jacobi isnotice cream. He’s a lump of stale cheese smothered in rat poison, and I have absolutely no interest in sampling him.”
Carina laughs good-naturedly, clicking the lid onto her lip balm and dropping it back into her purse. “All right. I’ll believe you, girl. But just so you know…millions wouldn’t.”
* * *
Oscar looks like a linebacker. He’s six foot three and almost as wide, and when he moves, everyone at the party moves with him, gravitating toward him like they’re trapped in his orbit. You can hear him laugh—a rich, warm, booming sound—over the driving beat of the music, which he changes every minute or so, unable to commit to one song without having to switch it over to something else.
I’m introduced to him on four separate occasions, and he doesn’t remember me once—an impoliteness that’s tempered by how happy he is when he learns my name all over again and hugs me like he means it.
In between my run-ins with Oscar, Carina feeds me beer after beer like the party’s about to run out of booze any second. I’m no stranger to alcohol. I’ve tried every drink known to man, but admittedly it’s been a while; I’m buzzed by beer number three, and drunk by the time I hit the bottom of cup number five.
At around eleven, Carina turns bright pink and points out a guy across the living room that really does look like a young Andy Samberg. He beams at her the moment he sees her, and then that’s it. My friend has eyes for no one but Andre. I don’t begrudge her the time spent with her new cilantro-lime ice cream sandwich; when you find your yum, you gotta enjoy every second of it while you can.
And anyways. I have Presley to keep me company.
“People tend to overlook the one with the skinhead,” she says, rocking beside me on her chair. She’s drunk, but still making sense. I think. Maybe we’ve hit that perfect equilibrium where she’s so drunk that she’s not making sense, and I’m so drunk that her mumbled words and fuzzy statements actually sound like real words.
“People think he’s stupid because he’s a model, but I had to work with him on a science po—prop—projectlast year, and he was really smart. Really, really, really smart.”
I pass her the beer we’re sharing. “Really, really, really smart?”
“Yes!” she says, snickering. “Really, really, really…really, really…” She forgets what she was going to say. “Anyway, his name is Pax. That means peace in Latin. Did you know that?”
“Ididknow that.”
“Oooh, look at you. Clever little Elodie. I likeyourname. What does Elodie mean?”
I hiccup loudly, trying to focus on Presley’s pretty, freckled face, but there are currently three of her swaying about all over the place and I’m not sure which version of her I’m supposed to be addressing. “It means ‘foreign riches,’” I tell the middle Presley. “In French. It was my mom’s middle name.”
“It’s rrrreally pretty,” Pres slurs. “Really, really, really, rea...” She realizes what she’s doing and bursts out laughing. “God, at least you weren’t named after a fat man in a wig who…who fucking died sitting on the toilet, while sim…ul…ta…neous…ly—” She struggles with this one, “—eating a hamburger and taking a giant shit.”
“I don’t think that was ever proven,” I splutter, trying not to laugh. How am I supposed to keep a straight face when she’s coming up with this stuff?
“God, I’m really fucked up,” she says, wobbling as she tries to get to her feet. “I think I need a speed walk around the grounds to wake up. You ever seen those speed walkers? They look fucking ridiculous, don’t they? Hey! Oh, hey! Tom! Look, Elle, it’s Tom from the academy. He hasn’t seen us. Come on, let’s go scare the shit out of him.”
“Pres, I think I’d rather just stay…here…” It’s too late, though. She has me by the wrist and she’s dragging me up onto my feet. Before I know it, we’re on the other side of Oscar’s living room, and we’re standing behind Tom, who’s telling a very animated story to some of his friends. “And then he was, like, leaning his forearm against my throat, looking at me like he was gonna fucking kill me, and I couldn’t fucking breathe, and I was like, “All right! All right! I’ll fucking do it. Just get the fuck off of me, man!’”
“The guy’s unhinged,” a tall guy with glasses says. “I heard he stabbed one of the teachers during spring break last year.”
“Don’t be stupid,” the only girl in Tom’s little group says. The ends of her bright blonde hair have been dyed purple. She rolls her eyes. “If one of the teachers got stabbed, don’t you think we’d know about it? And why the hell would they let him continue attending the academy if he hurt one of the faculty. You should really run this shit through a filter before you let it spew outta your mouth, Clay. You know the rule. We fact checkeverythingbefore we announce it as gospel.”
“Relax, Jem. Jesus. He’s just telling us what he heard,” a short guy breaking apart a brownie with his fingers says. He tips back his head and drops some of the gooey chocolate cake into his mouth.
“Urgh! None of you are listening to me!” Tom holds his hands up, exasperated. “Jacobi threatened to fuckingkillme. And if I don’t get that girl’s phone back by the end of tomorrow, she’s gonna know something’s up. She’ll probably report me to Harcourt. I’ll get expelled, and my grandfather will kill me, and I end up dead in either scenario, so I’d really like some fuckinghelp, please, ‘cause I’m kinda freaking out right now, and—”
The kid eating the brownie swallows. “Hey, Tom?”
“What, Elliot?WHAT?”
“What’s this girl look like? The one with the phone?”
“I don’t know. She’s hot. Short. Petite. Blonde hair. She has nice eyes. What the fuck does that matter?”
Elliot grins humorlessly. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure she’s standing behind you. And she looks pissed, man.”
