Chapter Sixteen
Susie
Liz is giddy with excitement, even for her, as we get ready to go to Bryan’s apartment.
“That’s a lot of makeup,”
I say, unavoidably looking in the mirror over Liz’s shoulder because the room is so small.
Talk about strategy to win Brya back by making him jealous and who she’ll flirt with.
She sticks her tongue out at me and I wince, realizing I sound like someone’s mother.
“I mean more than usual for you. But you look great.”
“It’s going to be dark and I always wear more makeup at night.”
My mind flashes back to that one night when we were in eighth grade and we were out at night, supposedly going for pizza, and things went awry. Do not think about that night. I thrust the images from my head, shoving them back into the dark recesses where they belong under layers of life and growing up.
She adds another swipe of lipstick. “Besides, it’s the perfect amount for flirting. Tonight I’m going to make sure I get Bryan’s attention. I’ll flirt like mad with some lucky cute guy, and then I’ll give Bryan a chance to win me back.”
“I hope it works.”
I don’t bother keeping the skeptical note from my voice.
She smiles. “Don’t forget, I’m determined because this is important to me. If reasoning and direct flirting don’t work, I’ll give the indirect approach everything I have. I can play the slow game. I can be patient. As long as in the end I get Bryan.”
“You’re that sure he’s the one for you?”
She laughs. “Susie, he’s always been the one for me. We’ve always been like this.”
She holds up two fingers twisted together to demonstrate their closeness. “I shouldn’t be surprised that he needs some space. I’m not worried.”
Alarm rings inside me, and I’m worried enough for both of us. “What if…”
I hate to burst her bubble, but after what Bryan told me, I think I need to somehow slow down her wild horse dreams and ambitions for getting Bryan.
She pauses her examination in the mirror and turns to me. “What if what?”
Shoring up my courage and feeling a mix of sick and guilty because the last thing I want to be is a bubble burster, I need to tell her something. “What if he were to flirt with someone else?”
What if he already has flirted with someone else—namely me?
She shrugs. “I almost expect it, but I’m not worried about anyone else having a chance. No one else has a past with him like I do.”
Except maybe me. But that’s crazy thinking. In spite of what Bryan said, I wonder if she’s right about them.
She looks over my outfit, but I don’t get self-conscious like I should. I’m used to her assessing me, although it’s usually for my cheerleading moves.
“What?”
“The jeans are all right, but we should wear UConn shirts for the team. Do you have one?”
“I only have one and it’s not clean.”
She grins. “I have plenty of them.”
I don’t argue as she pulls a UConn baseball-style shirt from her drawer and tosses it to me. She gets a short-sleeved T-shirt for herself with a Husky dog on it, and we finish dressing. The one she gave me is tight because I’m bigger than her up top, but I don’t complain as I surreptitiously pull at it, trying to stretch it out as much as I can.
“I should have told everyone to wear UConn shirts.”
She picks up her shoulder bag and keys, and we head for the door.
“Will you help me with my strategy to get Bryan’s attention tonight?”
“Of course.”
It’s my automatic response. “Whatever you need.”
I have no idea what I can do, and I get a frisson of guilt when I think my presence might take his attention away from Liz rather than help keep it on her.
By the time we pick up Carol, Judy, Sherry, and Keith and arrive at the party, it’s already crowded. I suppose that’s easy since the place is small to begin with. A few guys are standing at the front door, almost like sentinels, and Liz apparently knows them because she gives them each a hug of congratulations.
The door opens, and Mack Delaney shouts, “The cheerleaders have arrived.”
To my surprise, that elicits a roar of approval from inside. Liz laughs as she hugs Mack. That makes the third cute guy she’s hugged, and I’m waiting for her to choose one of them for her flirting maneuver, but I don’t see Bryan anywhere as we go inside.
The other girls grin and laugh, comfortable with the notoriety, even Sherry, the new girl who’s only a sophomore. Shit. I need to get with it. I try to shake my discomfort as we move through the crowd. The place is more open than I remember it, with the sparse furniture pushed aside and the floors litter-free—unless you count all the people, mostly guys.
Dane greets us as we reach the hallway between the living room and kitchen, giving Liz a hug before she gives him one. I envy how comfortable she is with all these guys, like she’s part of a big happy family. I guess that’s what being Bryan’s girlfriend got her, whether she’s still with him or not. That also might make her plan to flirt with one of them a little awkward.
“Great party, Eldy, and it’s barely started,” Liz says.
“It’s a fantastic party now that the cheerleaders are here,”
he winks and turns to me with a shameless smirk.
“Where’s Bryan?” Liz asks.
Eldy’s grin disappears, and he pulls Liz aside into the dark hallway. Liz pulls me with her.
“He’s in his room. He’s messed up. His ribs gotta be busted. I have instructions that he’s not to be disturbed except to bring him ice.”
“I’ll bring him ice,”
she says as if she’s Nurse Nightingale, her expression all business.
Dane nods and hands her a lump of ice wrapped in a towel. “Go easy, Liz. He’s really hurting.”
His sly grin is toned down with concern.
“He’s in a fucker of a mood. His ribs are worse than he’s admitting.”
Liz nods as she takes the ice. “It’ll be all right. He and I have been through worse things.”
“I bet. Go ahead. Your funeral.”
He accepts her statement as if he knows something about her mysterious past with Bryan. Probably more than I know—which is next to nothing.
Only about that one day when I’m sure he went to see her—and ended up cut badly and in a ditch. With that image in mind, I don’t want to imagine the terrible kinds of things they might have been through.
“I’m going with her,”
I say impulsively. I’m not smiling, expecting an argument from him or from Liz.
Instead, he nods. He knows something. I wonder how close he is with Bryan, whether Bryan would have told him about—no. Bryan Granger is the most closed-mouth person I’ve ever met.
Undaunted by Dane’s warning, Liz heads down the hallway towards Bryan’s bedroom, and I follow for no real reason—except a mindless compulsion.
Liz knocks on the door gently as I hover behind her. His door is the last one on the left, and they’ve put a big piece of cardboard in front of it as if to block people. Liz pushes it aside, knowing exactly where his room is.
“He’s not answering,”
she whispers. “I wonder if he’s sleeping. I’m worried about how hurt he is. Maybe he needs help. More than ice. Maybe a shot of whiskey for the pain.”
She’s almost talking to herself, so I don’t answer.
She turns to me, shaking her shoulder bag. “I brought a couple of nips in case. Knowing him, he wouldn’t take pain pills.”
Pushing past the fact that I’m not surprised she’s carrying nips around in her bag, the genuine worry in her voice registers.
“Maybe you should go in and check on him then and see if he’s okay. If he’s sleeping and you’re quiet, you won’t wake him.”
Her face brightens like she needed my permission before she opened his door. Unlike dorm rooms, the bedroom doors in the apartments don’t have locks.
“Okay. Wait here.”
She turns the knob by fractions and presses the door forward with enormous patience, a big accomplishment for her since she normally does everything at a breakneck pace. But then, this is Liz we’re talking about, and she’s good at everything. Or so it seems.
As she slips inside his room, my heart takes a leap and I feel apprehension mingling with anticipation that creates a little volcanic reaction in my chest. A flash of the old days when she had us sneaking into places we didn’t belong—like the teacher’s room when we were in seventh grade—rushes to the surface, almost like a warped kind of déjà vu that’s too real.
I hear her whisper his name. She didn’t close the door behind her, so I glance inside to see her leaning over him. He’s lying on a mattress on the floor, not a bed. A barrage of emotions hits me as I look around his moonlit room, at the starkness, the lack of comfort. There are no curtains, not even a shade or blinds on the window. A battered wood chair and small table stacked with books are all he has.
Liz leans over him, but I don’t hear him respond to her. I let out a sigh of relief because I don’t want to witness a confrontation.
“Bryan, wake up.”
She puts a hand on his shoulder, and I stop breathing.
I should, but I don’t stop watching, don’t turn the other way or pull the door closed. Maybe I want to make sure she doesn’t do anything rash.
Who am I kidding? Would I actually go in there and stop her, interfere so boldly in their personal business? No.
Bryan stirs and moans. The sound rips my heart out. He looks up at Liz and lets out a string of expletives that would make me run the other way if I were her, but not Liz. Shit. I stand frozen, hating myself for wanting to stop her, to save him from her obsession—because that’s what I think it is—hating myself for having disloyal thoughts about my best friend.
She whispers to him, putting a hand on his face as she sits on the floor next to his mattress.
“Get out of here. Leave me alone, Liz.”
His pained words are loud and clear, and I close my eyes.
She says something, but I don’t hear it, don’t want to hear it as I finally muster the self-respect to pull the door closed, muffling their voices.
They’re not muffled enough for me to not hear the rising tone of anger in their indistinct words. They’re arguing. I step back and lean against the opposite wall, waiting, because I know this will end badly for Liz. And I can’t make myself not care about that, even as I tell myself she’s the one behaving badly, forcing herself on him.
Great, now I feel disloyal to Bryan. The young version of him I found in the ditch that day.
I don’t know what kind of relationship Bryan and Liz have, but I know it’s more than Bryan admits to and less than Liz thinks it is. Their relationship seems to exist somewhere in a vague, compelling purgatory that’s impossible to navigate safely.
They’re irrevocably connected somehow, and it’s not a comfortable bond for either of them.
The door flies open, startling me, and Liz rushes from the room almost crying. I go to her, and she leans on me as I instinctively hug her. I glance into the room. He’s standing, silhouetted by the window, wearing only his underwear. Shit. Why do I feel like I’ve been caught doing something bad, like I’m picking sides with Liz, betraying him?
He looks straight at me with a fierce expression filled with all kinds of pain.
I pull the door closed and walk with an arm around Liz. She swipes at her face, then breaks away from me and runs back down the hall. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this upset, not even when she should have been. Not even that awful night in eighth grade that made my parents re-think our friendship.
Now she is crying. A pinch of panic hits me because I’ve never seen her cry in all the time I’ve known her.
Though I always suspected she was more fragile than she appears, it’s unsettling to see. Maybe the two nips she shot down on the ride over have made her more prone to tears.
“Liz, wait.”
I catch up with her as she turns the corner into the kitchen.
“Where’s the keg?”
she shouts into the crowd of people. A couple of guys point out the open back door.
I follow her outside where the crowd is bigger and the air is fresh and cool, a welcome change from the sweltering weather two weeks ago. Dane is there and grabs a plastic cup from a table, already filled with beer, and hands it to her.
“How is he?”
She downs her beer. “He’s an ass.”
Dane laughs. “Don’t worry. That’s the pain getting to his normal good nature.”
Liz laughs, and I smile, but I’m unsure how I feel about him and Liz laughing. Not that it’s any of my business. Or it shouldn’t be, and wouldn’t be if Liz didn’t keep dragging me into it like I’m her crutch, like she needs moral support to have a relationship with a boy she’s known forever, a boy who considers her an important friend, someone he takes care of. He treats her almost like a relative. And that’s the problem.
I keep this all to myself, and when Dane hands me a cup of foamy beer, I take it to be polite.
A tall guy who we met at Huskies—I think his name is Chuck Wayne—shoves his way to the knot of us standing at the keg and waves to get Dane’s attention.
“Hey, we got everyone outside, and I’m starting to get worried about the neighbors. Maybe we should bring the kegs inside.”
Lenny Dobbins answers for Dane, “Never mind that. Invite the neighbors over to party. That takes care of the problem.”
“They’re old and have kids, nitwit,”
Chuck says. “They’re not coming over for a keg party.”
Dane lets go with a whistle to get the outdoor crowd’s attention, then he does what I’d swear is the impossible—he herds them all inside with the help of his teammates.
Once the kegs are in the kitchen, most of the stragglers follow, leaving only a few partyers out near the tree line smoking weed or butts. I stay outside as long as possible to avoid the crush and help distribute the cups of beer and fold up the tables.
“Look at you, Princess,”
Dane says as he takes the folding table from me with one hand. He leans it against the wall near the back door. “You’re a worker bee too, getting your hands dirty with the rest of us.”
“Maybe you should revise my nickname to something else.”
Anything else. I can only hope. The princess label makes me feel like a big fraud, or worse, an outsider.
“Maybe. I’ll think on it. Or maybe I’ll consult with Bryan. He’ll know?—”
“Why would you say that?”
“No reason. You two seemed to hit it off at Huskies.”
I wonder if he saw us go out back and knows we kissed. But I keep my cool. “He’s okay. He’s really Liz’s… friend. More than mine.”
“I wasn’t talking about you being friends…”
He lets his words trail off evilly, like he’s trying to play Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
“You’re a real tease, aren’t you?”
I don’t wait for his answer when I spot Liz in the doorway, thank god, because his implication stirs my guilty conscience and complicated feelings about Bryan.
“There you are,”
she says to me. “Come inside.”
She takes my arm. “We’re having a chugging contest, and we need someone who’s not wasted to judge.”
I jump at the chance and give Dane a wave over my shoulder.
“Trouble is as trouble does,”
Dane calls after me, and I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean. Then again, he’s been drinking every third beer he’s been pouring, so there should be no expectation of sense made by anything that comes from his mouth.
Liz leads me through the hot crush of people into the small living room where someone’s put two tall glasses of beer on a rickety TV tray—which is the kind of idea only a drunk person would think is a good one. Mack Delaney is standing over the glasses, guarding them until we get there.
Liz raises my hand. “Here’s our judge. Let’s get ready for this showdown.”
The crowd makes way for me to stand opposite Mack. Liz pulls me into the neutral position between them.
I whisper, “Have you ever chugged before?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “First time for everything.”
“You ready to call the contest, Susie?”
Mack asks.
I nod, self-conscious that I’m not really having fun when everyone else around me is grinning, laughing, and making merry. I feel a sudden kinship with Bryan—wherever he is, the lucky duck—because he’s not in the middle of this craziness.
I say to Mack, “You’re chugging against Liz?”
He nods. “Yeah, why? Should be a piece of cake, right?”
“She’s never chugged before,”
I tell him because it doesn’t seem fair.
He looks worried for a blink, then Lenny slaps his back.
“Great. You got this in the bag, Mack baby.”
“We’ll see.”
Liz’s smile is wider than her chugging experience would justify, but I tell myself it’s all in fun. The idea that I’m like a referee inside the crush of a boxing match takes hold, and I know what to do.
I take a deep breath and use my biggest voice. “Here we go, ladies and gentlemen. The contestants are ready. Mack Delaney versus Liz McNeil in tonight’s chugging contest at the football team headquarters here at Barbara Estates.”
An eruption of cheers and applause ignites my smile, and I go on.
“Place your hands on your glasses. Start when I say go. First one to drink every drop without spilling and then returning the glass to the table… wins!”
Chants of chug-chug-chug start up, and I have to raise my hands to get the floor back.
“Ready…. Set… Go!”
I step back, and the cheering is loud and raucous. They spill a lot as they dump beer down their throats. Maybe my requirement for no spilling was unrealistic because there’s a lot of liquid, like half a pitcher, in those tall glasses.
My eyes gravitate to Liz, not because it looks like she’s winning, but because she’s struggling, and she doesn’t look well. I wonder if she’s done this before or if she’s good at it. I’ve never seen her chug before.
The yelling reaches a feverish pitch as they take the last gulps, and Mack slams his glass down hard and fast—and first. Liz follows a second later, splashing the last of her beer on the small table, spraying it all over her and me. Shit.
She starts to fall forward into the table, and I try to catch her, but someone else grabs her and pulls her upright. I look up to see who it is behind her.
It’s Bryan.
“Do you have a big red S emblazoned on your chest?”
The words are out of my mouth before I think about it. My only excuse is that I’m floored. Where did he come from? He was on his deathbed an hour ago.
And now… He looks fresh and strong and so magnetically handsome his face should be rated a lethal weapon against innocent—and not so innocent—girls everywhere.
He aims that lethal face at me without humor. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Emceeing the WWF?”
“Leave her alone, Granger,”
Keith yells out on my behalf and pushes his way in my direction. Some of the crowd has thinned, moving out the front door since Dane put a guard on the back door. Some of the others, mostly my cheerleader friends, pipe in their support for me.
“She did a great job,”
Liz says, regaining some normal color and grinning at me.
Bryan lets go of her, and she immediately turns to him and holds on.
“Dammit!”
he yells, his face screwed up in pain as he almost stumbles back.
I yank her away from him. “Liz—his ribs. He’s hurt his ribs. Remember? You can’t?—”
“Oh no! Bryan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
He glares at her. “I know, Liz. It’s the booze, right?”
He straightens slowly and walks away—not his usual quick, graceful stride. The way he walks now screams pain, in the stilted gait and snail’s pace of his movements, like if he shifts the wrong way he’ll crumble to the floor.
Mack meets him before he reaches the kitchen and hands him another towel filled with ice. I feel like that’s what I should have done. Like it’s my role to rescue him—the way I did back when we were kids. Like I still want to do.
Silly girl. I don’t even have booze to blame for my nonsensical feelings.
Along with Liz, I follow Bryan. He pays no attention to anyone who tries to talk to him or congratulate him as he passes through the crowd. Liz calls his name, still apologizing whether he’s listening or not.
For my part, I follow him because I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. I want to be there if he stumbles, to catch him.
We follow him all the way until he turns down the hallway leading back to his bedroom.
Thankfully, Liz doesn’t attempt to go there again. Not that I’d let her this time.