Carter
“Come on,” Bodhi says, pushing me toward the kitchen.
“What? Why?”
“Because. We need to hit up the keg again!”
“I actually don’t.” My red plastic cup is still halfway full.
“Okay, fine. But I need to hit up the keg again! And I want some company!”
After killing time before the party by walking around a series of nearby streets and cul-de-sacs in the dead of winter like
a couple of creepers, we finally entered the house around seven thirty. The beats were going, and there were already at least
twenty people there, but none of them was Maggie Spear. Not like I was looking that hard for her, but after seeing that girl Shana flip out on Bodhi, it was hard not to feel like Something is going on here, so, uh, what the hell is it?
We got our first beers from the keg, me and Bodhi both pouring mostly foam until a girl with headphones around her neck showed
us the right way to do it. Amir and Robbie arrived not long after we did, seeming every bit as psyched to be there as Bodhi
was, eyes wide like little kids in Magic Kingdom, hoping to catch a glimpse of Elsa.
“That’s Eric Rogers,” Amir quietly pointed out with awe as we stood in a hallway, people-watching, awkwardly bouncing to the
music, and sipping our beers. “He’s the student council VP.”
“Check it,” Robbie said, flicking his bangs toward the other room. “Janessa Suher. She’s the point guard on the basketball team.”
It’s been twenty or so minutes of that until now, when Bodhi is suddenly desperate to get back to the keg even though I can
see his cup, like mine, still has liquid in it.
“YO!”
We’re stopped on our way through the kitchen to the patio by this muscular, vaguely Captain America–looking dude. Except he
has a wider face.
“You wanna know what’s in this?” he asks with a smile, shaking a flask in the air.
“Uh, alcohol?” I say.
“That’s what I was gonna guess too!” Bodhi agrees. “I think it’s alcohol.”
“It’s the vodka you got me!” the guy says.
I knew I recognized him. I’ve been getting stuff for so many people the past couple weeks, it’s hard to keep everyone straight.
“Oh, sweet,” I say.
“Really appreciate it, man. Grey Goose is the shit! Here, have a swig! As a token of my gratitude.”
I stare at the flask he’s holding in my face. I’ve never actually had vodka before. At least not that I remember.
“I’ll take one if he doesn’t want it,” Bodhi says.
“No, I want it.” I take a chug from the flask, and OHMIGOD vodka tastes insane. It’s like I just swallowed gasoline and now
it’s lit a fire in my stomach. “Thanks,” I say in a raspy voice.
“Good, right?” Wide-Faced Captain America says.
“Can I still get some too?” Bodhi asks.
“Nah, sorry,” the guy says, screwing the cap back on his flask. “Shit’s expensive. Thanks again, Carter. Guess this always-sixteen thing is finally giving you some sweet perks. I’m gonna tell everybody you’re here, they’re gonna be pumped.”
He pats me on the back and walks away.
“Oh, dude, my dude,” Bodhi says, completely giddy as we head out into the cold winter air of the patio. “Do you even know
who that was?”
“I mean, kinda. His name is Chris, I think?”
“You think? That’s not just any Chris. That’s Chris Colasurdo, the goddamn quarterback of the goddamn football team. And he’s pumped
to see you! This is dreams! This is a movie! This is movie dreams!”
“Cool,” I say, all nonchalant, even as I feel this rush of validation, like maybe there’s hope for me to be known as more
than that kid with the messed-up age regression disorder. Maybe I can be that kid who brings joy into everyone’s lives.
“Carter!” this cute girl at the keg says as she pours herself a beer. “So great that you’re here!”
“So great that you’re here!” I say, vaguely remembering that maybe I bought her some . . . hard lemonade?
“And great that I’m here too!” Bodhi says.
“I’m Lizzy.” The girl waves the hand that’s not holding the tap. “You got my friend Tatiana those edibles. They were clutch.
Thank you.”
“Hey,” I say with an aw-shucks shrug. “It’s what I do.”
“Who do you think got this keg you’re currently extracting from?” Bodhi asks.
“Whaaaat?” Lizzy says. “That’s dope. Seriously. Cheers to that.” She clinks her full plastic cup against mine and then Bodhi’s as she walks back inside. “See you in there.”
“You know we will!” Bodhi shouts, giddier than ever as he starts pouring more beer into his cup. “Dude, she was getting mad
flirty with you!”
“Come on.” I realize I’m starting to shiver because we’ve been standing outside all this time without our coats on. “She wasn’t
flirting. She’s just happy I helped her get high.”
“I dunno,” Bodhi says. “I think she was, and that means other seniors will likely be flirting too, and I want to be there
when it happens so I can ride the hell out of your coattails.”
“You really found a way to make that expression sound inappropriate,” I say. We both start laughing, and Bodhi fills my cup
to the top, and I take a large sip, and a new song starts playing inside, and I don’t recognize it—which, let’s face it, is
unsurprising, seeing as there’s a six-year gap in my musical awareness—but I like it. I want to be back in the house, moving
to the sound of those bouncing synths.
I step back into the kitchen, apparently before Bodhi is ready, as he darts ahead of me, shouting, “Wait! Let me lead the
way, just to . . .”
“Just to what?”
“To make sure you get a proper entrance!”
Bodhi is a strange person, but meeting him has undeniably made my life better. And if he has a weird thing about needing to
be the line leader, I can live with that.
“Turn!” Bodhi says, spinning around to literally grab me by the shoulders and redirect me just as we’re about to pass a snack
table that features an unsettlingly massive pile of mozzarella sticks.
“I know this may be surprising,” I say as I shrug his hands off, “but being stuck at age sixteen does not mean I don’t know how to turn while walking.”
“Ha ha ha!” Bodhi laughs in this obviously fake way as he slides behind me and nudges me toward the family room, which has
gotten packed in the time we were gone. “Sorry, it’s just a fun game I like to play. It’s called steer your friend!”
“I don’t like that game.”
“Most people don’t!” Bodhi shouts, and then we’re crossing the threshold into the family room. Chris Colasurdo is shouting
my name, and everyone’s eyes shift in my direction. A wave of raucous cheer rises up and splashes down on us, and it’s because
of me.
That rad song is still playing, and I start bouncing my head. Chris hands me his flask again, and even though I don’t want
any more gasoline juice, I take a swig because it seems like the right thing to do. There’s another eruption of joyful noise,
and the vodka doesn’t burn as much this time, and now I’m moving my arms, and people are loving it.
They’re all drifting to the sides, as if giving me room to show off my stuff, so I guess I gotta show off my stuff! I ask
Bodhi to hold my beer, but first I take another chug, which gets another reaction, and look, Robbie and Amir are here too,
and if I don’t do something soon, people are gonna get bored of me, so here goes nothing.
I crouch low and take a flying leap into the air, like I’m about to dive into an empty swimming pool, but instead I put out
both hands and catch myself, controlling my body and swooping my torso up while my legs ripple like a mermaid fin.
The worm, baby.
I taught it to myself when I was twelve, obsessively practicing in my room until I got it perfect, for vague reasons and motivations unbeknownst to me until right now.
This is why I learned how to do the worm.
Everyone in the room freaks out. They completely lose their minds.
So I do it some more.
And some more.
They are chanting my name. Someone says I’m funny as hell.
I need to bring out some other moves.
But the worm is the only move I have.
I try something else, kicking my legs into the air like I’m a skateboarder at the top of a half-pipe. It gets chuckles, not
the ecstatic roar I was seeking, so I transition gracefully into a move I’ve seen but never attempted—I get onto my back and
hug my knees to my chest, then try to spin myself around like I’m an upside-down turtle balanced on its shell. It makes people
crack up, but I think you need to be on an actual dance floor and not a rug to get the proper spin momentum. It probably also
helps if you’re an actual turtle.
I spring to my feet, ready to improvise some more Dance Magic, when Robbie leans over to tell Amir something, thereby opening
up a gap in the crowd that reveals to me, at the very edge of the room, on the threshold to the kitchen:
Maggie Spear.
She’s here. I knew she had to be!
Man, I love being right.
She looks very pretty. Her eyelids, like Shana’s, are literally sparking with glitter. Her lips are sparkling too. She’s wearing a blue cardigan over a T-shirt with a rip near her stomach, and the overwhelming feeling I have is that she’s infinitely cooler than I’ll ever be.
She and Shana are arguing about something.
Then Robbie goes back to where he’d been standing, and Maggie disappears.
I feel this quick, sharp burst of . . . sadness? Or maybe just disappointment. Either way, it weirds me the hell out, seeing
as I don’t even know Maggie. Or at least I don’t know what I know about her.
I also don’t know how much time just went by, but everyone’s still looking at me, so I break into this old-school move Uncle
Jed did at my bar mitzvah during the hora, squatting and holding my arms like a genie and kicking my legs out one at a time.
It gets the wrong kind of laughs. People are confused.
In a panic, I hop onto this cabinet unit thing, put my hands on the wall, and start twerking, my butt moving forward and back
at lightning speed as the room absolutely erupts.
“This is my guy!” Chris Colasurdo shouts.
“Mine too, baby!” Bodhi shouts.
If I turn my head from this higher vantage point, I can see Maggie again. I’m hoping she might be watching my glorious twerk