Chapter 11
People like Puck find out who they are in the backs of school buses—liminal, lawless spaces where freedom only engenders cruelty.
It’s where Puck first heard the whispered rumors about them, then the slurs, and eventually the silence of simple isolation.
They couldn’t wait to leave for college.
Next to Tennessee, going to Emory felt like fleeing to Northampton.
So it’s with some reticence that Puck steps onto the yellow party bus that the McLeods have hired to take the wedding party to Asheville this afternoon.
When Mia first mentioned they were renting a bus, Puck was picturing a sleek black motorcoach, not a time machine back to ninth grade.
“Remember, there’s a three-hundred-dollar fee if someone throws up,” Peter reminds the groomsmen as they pile into the converted cabin ahead of Puck, prompting some of the group to cast an accusatory look back at Phil.
“C’mon, that was one time,” Phil protests.
“Yeah, and we’re still banned from the Hatteras ferry,” Tom says, conjuring an image Puck wishes they could blot from their mind.
In a bit of accidental symbolism, Puck climbs into the bus behind the men but in front of the women, who seem a little more cautious about the vehicle, and for good reason.
The interior looks like Vegas on wheels, with blue and purple LED strip lighting around the entire perimeter, and faux-leather bench seating on either side of the central aisle.
Mercifully, there is no stripper pole in the back, but it wouldn’t look entirely out of place with the prevailing aesthetic.
Instead, there’s a built-in chest in the rear of the bus that must be a drinks cooler, complete with a wet bar that probably pulls water from a tank Puck wouldn’t trust. They sit down so that the girls can finish piling in behind them and see Lena trailing right behind Damon, just like old times.
“Are there seat belts?” Lena asks, surveying the situation.
“Lena, it’s a party bus,” Damon tells her, but there’s a fondness to his tone.
“You can still die on a party bus.”
“Well, then you just go to party heaven, baby!” Damon jokes, and even though it passes for jocularity, hearing anything even approaching a pet name coming out of his mouth is telling.
Puck hasn’t had time to check with Lena about how last night went, but this is one of the lightest exchanges they’ve heard these two have, maybe ever.
Anya makes a beeline for the alcohol while Willa runs her fingers around the edge of one of the window frames. “Wow, it looks like they used upcycled vinyl from an actual school bus for the trim,” she observes, and only Robyn is able to mirror her interest.
“Yeah, I wanted to find something with just a hint of charm,” she says, slipping past Puck without any acknowledgment, like she wasn’t half naked in front of them a short time ago, ordering them to touch themself for her pleasure.
Puck debated trying to track Robyn down this morning, but decided it would read as too desperate, even though they were basically performing dog tricks at her command earlier.
The impulse to connect with her was concerning in and of itself: Are they really so lonely that they want to “talk about last night” with someone who drives them up a wall in every other context but that one, and yes, even that one?
Why are they offended that this girl hasn’t even said hi to them? Are their feelings actually—ugh—hurt?
“You did a good job.” Puck hears the compliment—really a bid for attention—slip out of their mouth before they can stop it.
Robyn turns to look at them, a mixture of amusement and confusion on her face. “What?”
“With the bus, I mean,” Puck says, wishing they could simply run off the vehicle, but there are too many people clogging the aisle now.
Before Robyn can respond, Mia squeezes between them on her way to the bar.
Meanwhile, Zander is lagging behind the entire group, making conversation with the bus driver in the way that fellow service industry workers always seem to zero in on each other.
Puck wishes he would join the party. They are saving the centerpiece in their plan for tomorrow, but it requires as much table-setting as possible.
If they could just pull everyone for interviews, ask them how they feel, and plant ideas in their heads, this would all be so much easier.
But this is going to be a tough environment: Trapped inside a moving vehicle, with limited room to maneuver, both figuratively and literally.
Back at Homewreckers, Puck likes to divide and conquer the contestants when they clump too close together; group scenes have never been their strong suit, and those tend to make for worse TV anyway, with all the cross talk.
Helping their cause, though, is how everyone looks absolutely delicious today.
The wedding party decided to show out for this excursion.
Mia is in a short navy dress that is perfectly cinched in all the right places.
Zander’s V-neck cuts low enough that some of his chest hair is peeking out, and for the same reason that many lesbians find Hozier kind of hot, Puck can admit it’s working for him.
Even Damon looks good in a pair of brown loafers, some fitted pants, and a patterned button-down.
But it’s Lena who’s the real showstopper in a gingham dress with an almost scientifically calibrated amount of leg showing.
Once they arrive in Asheville, according to the itinerary Robyn slipped under their door mere hours after Puck’s mouth was on her nipple, the bridesmaids are doing a hot yoga class, which means all this work getting dolled up will shortly be undone.
But with the exception of Willa, perhaps, these seem like the kind of girls who wouldn’t dare let a man lay eyes on them without makeup, so they’ll probably just reassemble themselves afterward.
Robyn included. Does she really have nonbinary friends—or was that just a bluff?
“Are you going to teach everybody how to ride a bus, too?” Robyn asks, reappearing by Puck’s side with two mimosas and offering them one.
The gesture lands in an indiscernible space somewhere between threatening and welcoming.
Yesterday, Puck would have been sure Robyn wholly hated them, but now it feels like there is some affection underneath the teasing.
How are they supposed to tell the difference between meanness as a form of flirtation and simple cruelty?
Puck warily accepts the flute, careful not to spill it as the bus pulls away from the Athenian and into the woods.
If Robyn wants to keep the tête-à-tête going, Puck can play along.
“No lessons today, I’m afraid,” they say.
“My expertise is restricted to lawn sports.” What they really want to do is acknowledge whatever the fuck happened last night.
But saying, Hey, remember when you shoved your tits in my face and I licked them and then you left and I kept masturbating on the floor?
might not go over well in mixed company.
“A shame,” Robyn says. “I was looking forward to some pointers about how to sit on my ass.”
Before Puck can respond to that barb—or was it meant to be suggestive?—Peter dings his champagne glass for a toast, then grabs on to a siderail as the bus turns onto 276. The few members of the wedding party still standing scramble for a seat.
“Hey!” Peter shouts as the murmurs die down. “Hey, everyone! I won’t talk long because I’ve got to save my real speech for the reception, but I just wanted to say it means a lot to me to see how many of y’all came out to support my baby brother.”
“Pete, c’mon,” Damon protests.
“No, no, no, look, these people need to know what a fucking dork you were, and how proud I am that you’re all grown up now,” he continues, to a light groan from Damon. “With some help from me, of course.”
Puck steals a glance at Robyn, who is gritting her teeth through this cliché-ridden excuse for a toast. It’s reassuring to know her contempt has multiple targets—and in this case, Puck shares her enmity.
Next, Peter is probably going to say something about how Mia is out of his kid brother’s league.
“I mean, look at Mia,” Peter says on cue, and Puck detects the slightest narrowing of Robyn’s eyes at the instruction. “Damon and her? People are going to think he’s a Make-A-Wish kid who won a meet and greet with a supermodel.”
It sounds like a line he stole from a Vince Vaughn comedy but bastardized in the delivery.
Whatever its origin, it’s embarrassing. “Stop,” Mia protests, but her nervous laughter betrays her, as good-natured as she tries to make it seem.
She must know how asymmetrical this arrangement looks from the outside.
“Am I wrong?” Peter asks the group, refusing to let it go.
Although they wouldn’t use the same words, Puck doesn’t disagree with Peter’s hackneyed observation.
Mia is indeed too good for Damon. But it’s not just because of her beauty, which is of course the attribute Peter is choosing to focus on.
It’s because she has long experienced emotions more complicated than the momentary joy of defeating a Dark Souls boss.
Mia’s a fully matured human; Damon only grew up a second ago, relatively speaking, with a big push from Mommy, Daddy, and Big Brother.
If you can call abandoning your only real hobby “growing up.”
“OK, OK,” Damon groans. “Move it along, Pete.”
Peter shoots him a playful warning glance, like he’s considering doubling down again just because Damon told him to stop, but ultimately he concedes: “Cheers to Mia and Damon,” he says, hoisting his glass, but then with a smirk, he adds, “I guess dreams really can come true.”