Chapter 4. Tessa #2
I’m about to ask whether we should make our way inside when I’m lifted off the ground in a bear hug from behind.
“Tessa, I thought I had you figured out, but man, you’re my hero.
” Finn O’Connor, captain of the soccer team, puts me down as his girlfriend, Megan Blackwell, our yearbook photographer, staggers over.
“I know, right? I thought you were a goody-goody student guv’ment type, but then you were throwing punches today and now you’re throwing the best party ever!
” Megan’s over-loud speech is slurred. She leans her forehead against mine, hot alcohol breath blowing in my face.
“You’re full of surpr’ses and I love that about you.
Now, shhhhh, this is very important. I’ve been meaning to tell you …
” Then she turns and throws up in some bushes. Finn runs over to help her.
I must be standing in shock because Tilly grabs my arm and ushers me away.
“I think we can let her do her thing.” We wander along the mossy stone pathway meandering toward the front entrance, Brandon tagging along behind us.
“At least she didn’t puke on you. That’s the lace wedding dress you repurposed, right? ”
“Thank God.” I spin in a circle, skirt flaring, showing off my fingerless gloves and black Victorian grandma boots, too.
“Best thing I’ve made.” I found the dress in a discount bin while vintage shopping.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve dyed the material black, taken in the long ankle-dusting hemline to hit mid-thigh, and even sewn in some pockets, because dresses with pockets are the best. “The earrings are from Aunt Betty’s. ”
“Really? Way to support Black-owned businesses.” Tilly gives my shoulder a playful nudge. “Especially my mom’s.”
I don’t know if I should reveal that they were so highly discounted her mom practically gave them away. Instead, I sling an arm over her shoulder as we march up the path. “We’re unstoppable. Chef’s kiss.”
“They should bottle us. How can you top this perfection?”
“Oh stop,” I tease.
“No, you stop.” She laughs.
“Come on, Brandon.” I reach back and drape an arm over his shoulder, too. “Let’s take this party by storm. Beer and Bros and all that.”
When we reach the large crowd gathered outside the mansion’s front door, people begin to cheer, call my name, raise their bottles in my honor as we pass.
“What is happening? Does everyone think I threw this party?” I whisper to Tilly.
My small white lie to Reed has gotten completely out of hand.
Between Ms. Fieldman this morning and breaking and entering here, Principal Evans will probably yank my letters of recommendation next.
“I’ve somehow managed to completely ruin my reputation in less than twenty-four hours. ”
“Ruin?” Tilly laughs. “I think you mean you’ve cemented it in BVDB High School history!”
We push through the students gathered on the porch, making our way inside the grand foyer with its high vaulted ceiling and intricate compass rose inlayed in wood across the floor.
The building is clearly in disrepair, with cracks in the siding and wall sconces shifted off their mounts, but the sweeping staircase is still impressive.
With a little spit and polish and a hefty financial contribution from the historical society, the place could definitely be restored to its former glory.
The party is just as wild inside as it was outdoors. Rick Bonicelli is sliding down the banister from the second floor. I hope he doesn’t fall to his death; the track team needs him.
Someone from my right screams, “We’re doing shots in the ballroom,” and a rush of people elbow past me. Tilly gets swept down a long hallway with the rest of the thirsty masses.
Brandon shrugs as we watch her disappear under a large ornate archway. “I guess she wanted shots in the ballroom.”
“She doesn’t even drink.”
“Great party, Tessa,” Eloise Mitchell, drama club star, shouts from the second-floor landing, and the entrance hall erupts in cheers.
“When’s the DJ getting here?” A deep, familiar voice cuts through the noise. I crane my neck to get a better view of the people leaning against the second-floor banister.
Reed’s there, smirking.
“Ooh, there’s a DJ coming?” Olive Dingle bounces on her toes beside me. She’s not usually this hyper in Model UN.
“You said there’d be a DJ,” he calls down. What? No, I didn’t.
The crowd whoops again, all eyes on me.
What’s Reed doing? Is he testing me? Does he suspect I lied about organizing the party? Forcing me to come clean to everyone here or double down?
“Um … yeah.” I pull out my phone, pretending to scroll recent texts to buy myself some time. Out of the corner of my eye, Reed’s smirk grows. Jerk. “Oh, here it is … the DJ said he’d be here in half an hour.”
“Sweet!” Rick Bonicelli hops off the ground-floor banister to high-five me.
Just as everyone’s turning back to their friends, Reed shouts, “And the keg?”
I glare at him. Shut up. His smile only grows wider. He’s enjoying this, the little shit.
I try my phone trick again, pretending to scroll through more texts. I hope whoever actually broke us in here isn’t anywhere in the vicinity to blow my cover. “Yep. Another keg’s coming.” My heart rate’s flying. The panic mounts. “Woo-hoo,” I add with as much gusto as I can muster.
People—some total strangers—smack me on the back with “Yaaaasss!” and “This is epic!”
But I’m not paying attention to them. I’m laser-focused as I march over to intercept Reed walking down the stairs. Of course, I have to wait for everyone to fist-bump him or pat his shoulder on the way down. Why do people like him so much? “What are you doing?” I whisper-growl when he arrives.
“Upping your notoriety.”
“Well, could you not?”
“Why? It’s a sick party, Tessa. Though, tell me, where exactly in the student president handbook are those tips for purchasing kegs?”
My eyes narrow to slits of fire. “It’s in Appendix D, under Dick Moves. Why dare me to come just to give me a hard time?”
“Oh, but I live to give you a hard time. Someone has to. Or life would be so boring. Isn’t that right, Brandon?”
We both turn to Brandon, but he’s preoccupied by something across the room.
While he’s distracted, Reed asks, “Actually, Tessa, could we talk?” He indicates a quieter corner of the room.
“Sorry. What?” Brandon’s focus snaps back to us.
“Ignore him,” I say. I have no patience for Reed’s nonsense tonight.
I grab Brandon’s hand and meander us through the cavernous rooms of the ground floor, each filled with packed partiers.
Eventually we make our way to a formal Victorian sitting room, by the looks of the high-backed couches and spindle tables.
Large cracks zigzag the walls, with chipped plaster piling by the baseboards.
I can see what Brandon meant about the restoration having only partly taken place.
I glimpse a flash of cherry-red romper cutting a path through the crowd. “Hide me,” Tilly begs under her breath as she arrives.
“Why?” I glance over her shoulder.
She ducks behind me so she can’t be spied through the doorway. “Remember Creepy Carl, that redheaded botany major I dated for like a hot second last January?”
I try to focus on what she’s saying, to push Reed’s dickishness out of my mind. “Uh—”
“The one whose plant pathology professor mentioned that lily of the valley symbolized everlasting love?” she presses.
“Which made him think of us and how we were destined for each other, blah, blah, blah. That guy? Well, now he’s here.
” She’s almost hyperventilating by the time she gets to the end, peeking over my shoulder to watch the door: So far there’s no sign of him.
But I nod because it’s all coming back to me. “Right. The college guy obsessed with Venus flytraps.” Weird dude.
“Didn’t we all go to the movies together once?” Brandon peers behind us down the hall. “Do you think he’s here because of you?”
“Either that or he’s a perv who likes high school girls,” Tilly replies. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Gross.” Now that I really look, there are several people here who don’t go to our high school. Word must’ve gotten out.
“I feel kind of queasy.” She does look off. Tilly’s eyes flash, tracking something behind me. “Oh, thank God. He’s leaving.”
I turn to catch a brief glimpse of tousled red hair passing the doorway before Carl vanishes down the hall.
Tilly’s body visibly relaxes as she steps out from behind me. “I think I’ll join the French club out back—they’re dancing with a huge crowd in that empty fountain. I can blend in better that way, just in case.”
Before I can follow her outdoors, Brandon reaches for my hand.
“Wait, Tess, I was hoping we could chat for a second.” He leads me to one of the upholstered couches and sits me down in a cloud of dust. His fingers fidget on his lap and I furrow my brow.
“All this relationship talk has me thinking about our future.”
Oh no. For one wild moment I’m certain he’s about to propose. We’re eighteen and haven’t even graduated high school, and I’m sure he’s about to get down on one knee with a ring. But instead, he says, “I think we should break up.”
My mind goes blank. I can’t make the reality I was expecting match the words coming out of his mouth. “I’m sorry … what?”
“I don’t want to hurt you, but I’ve been developing feelings for a girl in the jazz ensemble. I saw her when we entered the party. And now I’m thinking it’s not fair to you if I’m not fully into this.” He waves his hand back and forth between us.
My brain can’t compute. Brandon’s not into this? Brandon, who brings me morning boba and hangs on my every word? Brandon, who snuggles with me in warm socks and gets excited about calculus?
“But … but I was going to break up with you,” I stammer.
“Oh good.” He sighs. “So, that’s all settled, then. This was easier than I thought.”
Everything at this party is moving too fast. I can’t keep up.
I had a plan for how my last days of high school would go.
I had a plan for that scholarship. I had a plan for how Brandon and I would coast through the summer, casually breaking up before we were forced apart to our separate colleges.
Sure, he’d be sad, but I’d let him down gently.
How in one day have my plans blown so off course?
“No, totally. This is … super easy … exactly what we both want.” I can’t get my bearings through the loud rushing in my ears. This is what I want, isn’t it? Is it just that I thought I’d be the first to say it? “Yeah … absolutely … such a relief.”
I’m getting left behind all over again. First my mom, and now Brandon. I’m second place, always. And I know it’s not fair since I wanted to break up, too, but that doesn’t stop the old hurt from cracking open—a deep, raw wound for Brandon to pour salt into.
“Well, I’m going to go find her, then. Wish me luck.” He crosses his fingers and shakes them at me before dashing back to the foyer, like he expects me to be excited for him.
Like he isn’t leaving me stuck on a dusty couch.
At a party I’m supposed to be hosting.
Alone.