Chapter Eleven
“Nostalgic”
by ARIZONA
Meera
It’s embarrassing to admit, but in my seventeen years of existence, I’ve never been to a party like this.
I’ve obviously gone to PG birthday parties where you eat cake, drink iced tea, and go home before sunset.
And I’ve been to one other house party with alcohol, but that was way tamer and back in freshman year.
It’s past nine p.m. now, and Seth’s house party is a jungle of horny, drunk teenagers getting hornier and drunker with every passing minute. A couple from the theater club is going at it in one corner of the living room, while the screaming and yelling football team plays beer pong in the kitchen.
I spot Sushant cheering with the rest of the jocks as someone from the game chugs his beer. I wave eagerly, but Sushant doesn’t notice me, so I drop my hand and hope nobody saw that.
Weaving through the crowd of dancing cheerleaders, I turn my head to search for Julien.
The book club has been wildly successful, and I’ve clearly arrived at Step 2 of the Plan.
But I have a long way to go if I want to see the Plan through to the end.
And the way to become Sushant’s confidante is to bring jealousy and suspicion into his relationship. Julien is my best bet to getting there.
“Julien, hey!” I find him standing by the open backyard door, smoking a joint and staring into space. He grins at me, his eyes glazed, and reaches forward to kiss me on each cheek before I can pull back. Guess he still hasn’t gotten the memo that Americans don’t do cheek kisses.
“What are you, uh, up to?” I ask, shoving my hands into my pockets and smiling back awkwardly. It’s clear to anyone with eyes what he’s doing, but I’m hoping he humors me. How else am I supposed to start a conversation at a party? I didn’t read High School Partying for Dummies.
Julien raises the joint to his lips and exhales a puff of smoke. “I am enjoying the simple pleasures of living on beautiful Earth,” he says dreamily. “Food. Beer. Pot. Making love.” He gestures to the party at large. “What more could I want out of this one life I have been granted?”
“Uh.” I shuffle my feet and laugh. “Coffee?”
His lips curve into another smile, his straight teeth bright against his dark skin.
Why hasn’t Lucy fallen for him yet? He looks like a model straight out of Paris Fashion Week.
“Yes, coffee,” he agrees, and it’s only then that he seems to take a closer look at me.
“But look at you, you are empty-handed! We must get you a beer.”
“I don’t actually drink—” I start, but he’s already taking me by the hand to the kitchen. While he’s rummaging through a cooler for a beer, I tap Sushant on the shoulder. “Hey there, neighbor.”
As soon as I say it, I cringe internally.
Who says that? But Sushant only beams at me.
He excuses himself from the beer pong game and leans against the kitchen counter, his strong arms folded.
“Hiiii, favorite n-neighbor,” he says, his words slurring a little.
“Why is this the first time I’m seeing you at a party? ”
Because I’m a nobody and I’ve never been invited to one before? Saying that would only make him pity me, so I shrug and accept a bottle of beer from Julien. When in Rome…
“I’m very selective with my social life.” I take my first sip—the beer tastes like piss, but it warms me from the tips of my ears to the depths of my belly—and add, “You should be honored that you get to talk to me right now, Sushant Khera.”
Sushant’s mouth quirks, and he taps his thumb against the side of my drink, then pinches my cheek with cold fingers. “Meera Rao-George, I like you even more all relaxed,” he replies, before returning to his friends.
I try not to squeal out loud as I tremble in my sneakers.
If he likes me more after one sip of alcohol, that means he already likes me a certain amount.
I drink some more of the beer and walk around the room with Julien, who’s talking about the beauty in every leaf on the trees of Madre Maria or some philosophical bullshit like that.
Someone passes by with a tray of clear shots, and I down one.
Gah! It tastes like something foul from the Chemistry lab—vodka, perhaps?
I splutter and chug the beer until the bitter chemical flavor leaves my mouth.
“Another drink?” Julien asks when I set the empty bottle down on a nearby table. He doesn’t wait for me to answer; he just heads back to the kitchen, whistling.
“Sure, why not?” I call out after him. The corners of my vision shimmer like someone’s put an Instagram filter over it. Every inch of me feels radiant, warm, soothed. Is this what alcohol does to people? No wonder everyone in school drinks. This is some magic potion shit.
Julien brings back a cocktail he made with tequila and orange juice. His father is a bartender in Paris—and a good one at that, as it turns out. I savor every sip of the sugary, citrusy elixir.
I’m teetering on the edge of the backyard door, eyes closed, smiling as Julien talks about the miracle of human life, when someone enters our comfortable nook.
“There you are!” Natalie grabs hold of Julien’s hands and tugs him toward the center of the room, where everyone’s dancing.
“Dance with me like one of your French girls,” she jokes, and he laughs before spinning her around.
Damn it. I groan out loud, but the party’s so noisy, no one hears me. How can I sic him on Lucy when her own best friend is gunning for him? Lucy would never steal—
I stiffen, my teeth grinding into one another. What am I saying? Of course Lucy would make a move on the guy her best friend likes. Isn’t that what she did with me and Sushant?
I can still remember waiting for Lucy in the parking lot that first day of junior year, excited to see the car her mom had gotten her right before she left for summer camp.
And then she’d driven to school in a new Honda, sunglasses perched atop her straightened hair, makeup hiding those adorable freckles on her cheeks, with some girl sitting in the front seat beside her.
Her name was Natalie Something. I recalled that she was the one with the vegan cat.
Confusion crept up the back of my neck, snaking around my face like a vine.
Since when were they friends? Had they met at camp?
Was this why Lucy hadn’t texted me for weeks?
No, there was probably no cell service at camp.
Lucy would never replace me with someone else.
This was just a weird misunderstanding. It had to be.
Lucy pulled into a shady parking spot and got out of the car with Natalie.
Her dress sense hadn’t changed—bright, floral, colorful; the opposite of my all-black wardrobe—but she looked different with those sky-high heels and the purse dangling from her wrist. Designer-wardrobe different.
Like she’d fit right in at the cheerleaders’ table.
They both started toward the school building, so I raced ahead to block their path. “Lucy!” I exclaimed in a huff, desperate to talk to my best friend. “I love the car!”
Natalie shuffled beside her uncomfortably. I couldn’t understand what was going on. Lucy bit her bright pink lip, then jutted out her chin. “Thanks. Bye, Meera.” She sidestepped around me and walked ahead.
I grabbed the side of her arm and pulled her back, exhaling softly. “What is going on?” I asked, lowering my voice. “Why are you being weird?”
Lucy didn’t seem like she wanted to keep this private. “Look, Meera,” she said loudly, and the other students in the now-scattering crowd looked our way. “I’ve honestly outgrown our friendship. It’s best if we don’t talk anymore.”
“Wait, what?” I stared at her through misting eyes. A tear fell down my cheek. What the fuck? I never cried. I wiped it hastily and stepped in front of her as she moved to leave. “Lucy, we’re best friends.”
“We were best friends,” she corrected me. A painful emotion clouded her eyes—to this day, I don’t know what it was—but it couldn’t compare to the gaping, bleeding hole in my heart, the knife stabbed and twisted into my back. “Goodbye, Meera.”
Three periods later, I spotted her kissing Sushant by his locker, and that cemented the death of our friendship.
That fucking bitch.
Now, as I take in the musty, hazy party with the loud music thumping through the base of my skull, I let out an exhale.
Julien and Natalie are grinding against each other.
Probably seconds away from making out. And Lucy’s nowhere to be seen.
For the Plan to work, I have to put aside my loathing for her and pretend to make amends.
Did she even show up to the party? I need liquid strength if I want to get through tonight.
I stumble over to the couch, down another shot from a tray on the coffee table, and resume searching the living room.
I apologize as I bump into people—some who greet me politely, having recognized me as the Café Kismat girl, perhaps; others who ignore me and continue talking to their friends.
Finally, I head down the hallway. She’s got to be here somewhere.
She’s the head cheerleader. She needs to show up, right?
When my phone buzzes, blinking with a text from Valeria, my stomach churns.
It’s our group chat. I bailed on the movie marathon and told my friends my parents needed me tonight, and they thankfully bought the excuse.
I didn’t have a choice—who knows when I’ll get another party invite?
Bringing them along with me here was not an option.
Not until I have more sway with the popular crowd.
Valeria:
You’re missing out on the greatest rom-com movie of the century, Meera
Ron is typing…
Ron:
And by that she means “overly cheesy snoozefest.” What you up to?