Chapter Fifteen Eden
Fifteen
Eden
I avoid thinking about Becca Johnson’s fifteenth birthday party as much as I can possibly help it. Whenever my mind does go
back to that time, there’s just this raw, resentful anger. It was over two years ago, and yet the memory lurks, not exactly
an open gushing wound but not quite a healed scar either. It was one of those events that, like it or not, changes the way
you see the world forever after.
The party started out like any other: Becca’s parents weren’t home.
They own a spacious converted loft with three bedrooms and a roof terrace on a very cool block in the West Village.
She’s one of the richest kids at our school—we have a pretty big mix of economic backgrounds, with at least half the school being families who live in tiny rentals in remote parts of the outer boroughs.
But Becca’s parents are loaded, and her loft is a great party space, so this wasn’t the first time she’d had a ton of people over.
She’d always tell her parents it was a slumber party with her three best friends, then invite everyone.
I don’t know how she got away with it—she must have been paying off the doorman or something.
There was flowing alcohol, as there always was at her place; I’m not super into drinking and I hate the taste of beer, but Becca’s best friend, Gina, was making her famous Mountain Dew cocktails (literally it’s just Mountain Dew and vodka) and I swear, you cannot taste the alcohol.
Blame peer pressure, or my addiction to sugary sodas, but I had two huge plastic cups of it.
Leo hadn’t come to the party; there was a big game the next day.
So I guess I felt a little awkward and wanted to fit in.
Looking back, I don’t know how much of that night was a setup from the start. Did Becca and her friends get me drunk on purpose?
I don’t know that I can totally blame them for that, but I do know that several people in her group of friends kept cornering
me, trying to convince me that Leo wanted to dump me, that I wasn’t good enough for him, and that everyone knew I was only
dating him to try to make myself more popular. At some point, we were dancing in Becca’s living room, and Becca told me her
older brother, Eddie, thought I was cute. I didn’t even really know which guy was Eddie until he started dancing close, putting
his hands all over me. The next thing I knew, he was trying to kiss me. I pushed him off and fled to Becca’s parents’ room,
where I ended up puking up Mountain Dew and vodka in their en suite bathroom.
I came out of the bedroom after washing off my face and gargling with the Johnsons’ winter-fresh mouthwash, to find several of Becca’s friends, who all high-fived me.
I didn’t know what the high fives were about, so I just went along with it, feeling kind of embarrassed and a little dizzy.
It gets a bit hazy then, but I remember Becca racing up to me and throwing her arms around me in a hug and whispering something like “Don’t worry, I don’t mind that you hooked up with my brother.
I think it’s so funny!” I just shook my head.
I should’ve said something, but I wasn’t thinking clearly.
I figured she was referring to the sloppy kiss attempt when we were dancing, and instead of correcting her, I called an Uber and went home.
I thought that was it—a kind of gross, awkward, barfy night that could’ve gone better. I didn’t realize that it was only the
beginning.
I knew something was wrong the next day when I opened my phone and saw I’d gotten a bunch more followers. At first I thought
maybe the party had boosted my popularity or something—until I realized I was getting tagged in unflattering, blurry photos
from Becca’s, and people were commenting about how I was this wild party girl, throwing myself at rich boys who were out of
my league. As I scrolled, I realized people weren’t just talking about my sloppy kiss dodge on the dance floor or how drunk
I had accidentally gotten. They were saying that when I’d gone into Becca’s parents’ bedroom, I’d gone in there with Eddie. And that we’d hooked up.
I was in shock—and the shock continued in school that Monday, where people were looking at me differently, shunning me, whispering about me.
I didn’t think “slut-shaming” was even a thing anymore; I thought we left that all behind in the ’80s and ’90s when our parents were teens, but apparently not, because I don’t know what else to call it.
I didn’t realize people could be so gleeful about taking own someone who they hardly even knew.
Soon, it was comments about my family, my brother, my dad.
There was actually some relief in the fact that the negs were so random—clearly none of it was based in fact.
People were just looking for a reason to pile on.
About a month later, all the heat turned on someone else—a nerdy kid in the Young Republicans Club who everyone said was ableist because of some video he’d made about a ramp—and they forgot about me.
But it took a long time for me to be comfortable enough to make new, real friends.
And in the meantime, I had to deal with the fallout with Leo. That was the most surprising part—the way he so readily assumed
everything people were saying about Becca’s party was true. “I saw the photos,” he kept saying, like that was proof of anything.
I tried to tell him I was just dancing—in a big group of people—but he rolled his eyes and made some comment about how we
all know I like attention. It was mean. And cruel. That’s the only way I can describe it. He just turned so cold; it was like the Leo I’d known, and had been head
over heels for, had flipped a switch.
We sat in the library, and I refused to cry as he coolly said, “I think we both knew where this was headed anyway.”
I nodded, because what was I supposed to say? I was just trying to keep it together and not look like a blubbering loser where
other kids from school could see me. So I held it all in and agreed with him. “You’re right. We both knew this wasn’t going
to last.”
“Okay, well. I guess I’ll just . . . see you around, then,” he said.
I watched him stand up and leave the library, thankful that the shock was so intense I couldn’t cry even if I wanted to. I mean, I did cry—at home, later—but for the rest of that day I was, mercifully, emotionally paralyzed.
And that was it. He never apologized, never came around asking to hear the whole story. Never said he felt bad for how people
were treating me or expressed regret for not standing up for me. Nothing. He just moved on as if we were never together.
After a few months, we were spending time in such separate circles that I could go through most of my days barely seeing him.
And when we did happen to pass each other in the halls at school, we’d both look the other way.
Obviously, it’s something I’ve spent a significant amount of time processing, wondering why me, why did this happen? In retrospect,
I think Becca must’ve had a crush on Leo; she was much cooler than me and had no reason to be jealous, but she obviously didn’t
mind sabotaging me to get what she wanted. Plus, she and Gina and a few of their other friends never really liked me, though
I never knew why. They were a totally separate crowd from the friends I’ve been hanging out with since then—Ray, Alex, Suzanne,
Jackson, Isla are all friends I made after that night, but until then, I was a little bit of a floater. I guess I was so caught
up in all things Leo, I wasn’t spending a lot of time cultivating a core friend group. Maybe that was my real mistake—being
so starry-eyed over a guy that I lost touch with what was going on socially around me.
Do I regret dating Leo? I don’t know. I do regret the way I lost myself. I regret trusting him. I regret thinking I knew what love was. I regret not realizing how cruel people can be.
But I also miss the time when I was innocent and trusting. When everything seemed simpler. Because I know now I’ll never get
that back.
Other than a brief trip to the beach to see Georgia and get some vitamin D, I barely left the house Sunday after the party,
and that’s probably a good thing. Leo bolting during the game of Truth or Dare triggered memories of the Becca Johnson debacle,
and I just needed some time to wallow and stay curled in a ball.
But now it’s Monday and I have no choice. There’s still a whole other week left of Boundless Horizons.
The morning drive is quiet. It’s a gray day, heavy with the threat of rain, though so far none has arrived. Georgia came home
yesterday exhausted from work and skipped dinner, saying she was going right to bed. But from the looks of things, she didn’t
sleep well.
“So, when you caught up with Rhys, was he tragically disappointed he missed the party this weekend?” I ask.
I’m only trying to make conversation, but she nearly gives herself whiplash swiveling to face me. “What do you mean?”
“Whoa, eyes on the road, Georgia,” I say, thrown off by her reaction. “I just know how bummed you were that he couldn’t come!”
Georgia looks at the misty gray street ahead. “I don’t really want to talk about Rhys.”
“Are you guys fighting or something?”
Georgia sighs. “No, no, of course not. We don’t fight.”
I scoff. “You never fight? That seems unhealthy.”
She’s quiet for a minute. “Speaking of apologies, I should apologize to you.”
“For what?”
She sighs again. “For thinking I could get Leo to make amends. I overestimated my persuasive abilities, clearly.”
“No, you just underestimated what a complete jerk Leo is. I tried to tell ya.”
Georgia glances over at me. “But you were so in love with him two years ago. Explain to me how you can be so into someone
and then so not.”
I shrug, a squirmy, sad feeling gathering in my gut. “Simple. They show you their true colors.”