03.

Saturday, Audrey calls me at eight a.m. and I make it very clear to her before hanging up that anyone waking me up before noon on a Saturday, the only day where I’m free and clear of all responsibility, runs the risk of being stabbed repeatedly. 

Afterwards, though, I toss and turn for a half an hour before sighing and calling her back to ask her what she wants.

“Let’s go shopping,” she bubbles. 

“That was what was so important that you had to call me at eight f*****g a.m.?” I ask, rolling my eyes. “We have f*****g hours before the party.”

“You swear a lot in the morning.”

It was actually all the time I’d been spending around Johnny, again, that had me talking dirty and foulmouthed. Everyday since Tuesday he was outside Cedar Hill at exactly 2 pm to pick me up - he started back at the diner on Monday and Sam and Wes Anders needed help at their auto body shop on Briar Avenue so he’d be doing both while working to get his GED - and we’d hang out at Neon, sipping drinks while I did my homework. 

On Thursday night, The Lost Boys had all shown up for their weekly drunken pinball tournament, and I’d quickly made an exit with the excuse that I had a big French test the next morning. I could spend days with Johnny, but hanging around the old crew is still too weird for me too handle. Especially around Andy McKinley, who looked at me in surprise and made a comment about how he knew I lived in Briar but he’d never seen me at any of the usual hangouts.

“So, I was thinking, we should take the light rail to the Midway Mall-” Audrey continues to babble at me. I realized I’d fallen asleep for a quick second. Her voice does well to lure me to sleep; I should call her up at three a.m. the week of finals, when I’m too stressed to even sleep a wink.

“Have you ever even taken metro transit?” I scoff.

“Well, no, but-”

“Okay, take the light rail to the University stop and I’ll meet you there.”

“Uh...where’s that?” she says, quickly.

I sigh. “I’ll meet you in front of the Cedar Hill Station. You owe me so much coffee for this.”

An hour later, Audrey is bouncing up and down in her seat like a child, looking around at all the fascinating creatures that occupy public transportation. I’m checking my phone and yawning. Riley’s already sent me three texts this morning.

I demand that before we set foot into any stores, Audrey buys me a large iced soy latte with an extra shot of espresso to keep me from going crazy. She orders the same and when she takes a large sip, she nearly spits it out at me.

“This tastes like hairspray,” she cringes.

I end up drinking both.

As much as Audrey annoys the hell out of me with her constant need for approval, I started to empathize with her as she babbled her head off to me, searching through racks of clothes that I’d only be able to afford after four really busy diner shifts. 

She told me how her parents are divorced and her mother remarried the best plastic surgeon in the midwest, bringing over half of her ex-husband's old wealth into her wealthy new marriage. Her stepdad is gone most of the time; in between caring for patients in between the two clinics in the metro area, he’s also constantly jetting around the country doing pro bono work. Right now, he’s planning on a trip to South Africa to treat children with cleft palettes which, as Audrey told me:

“My mom, like, totally doesn’t understand. He could be here making good money giving people fake b***s and collagen inflated lips, but instead he’s going to go to a third world country to work for free. I mean, I like the dude, he’s super nice and he tries really hard with me, but he’s so super wrong for my mom. She likes the whole surgeon’s wife role where she has to look nice and throw dinner parties. She doesn’t like playing the part of the charity wife.”

Audrey is obviously benefitting well from the new stepdad; she buys every item of clothing she tries on. I wish my family problems came with a paycheck.

Later, I send her off on her very first public transit trip alone, her looking terrified back at me as I tighten my coat around me and walk home. 

Johnny offered to give me a ride to the party later on if I spent my afternoon with him, but when I stop by The Lost Boys’ later on he has other plans.

He answers the door, holding a Tall Boy of PBR in one hand, a bottle of Evan Williams in the other, and envelops me in a sloppy hug, spilling cheap booze down my black dress. 

“Dude, its like two pm. Are you sloshed?” I ask.

He looks at me like I’m stupid. “Of course I’m drunk, B***h, remember Sloppy Saturdays?”

To think about how much smarter I’d be if if weren’t for those marathon drinking sessions before Johnny left sophomore year, killing all my braincells. We used to be drunk before the party even started, and the night usually ended in playing a very inappropriate game of strip beer pong and me in the bed of whoever was most convenient that night. Johnny and I would wake up in the morning, peeling ourselves quietly off our one night stands and heading to Cal’s Diner, the ten seated, tiny, hole in the wall diner in Rivertown which usually had a line out the door until they closed at eleven a.m.

Those were some of the best nights; carefree and spontaneous. Breaking into abandoned buildings at sunrise and waking up to finding a hundred stolen Sunday newspapers in a pile in the middle of the Never Never Land living room. 

This could not be one of those nights. 

“Johnny,” I reprimand, crossing my arms. “You’re supposed to drive me to that party in Cedar Hill later, remember?”

“I was totally, totally going to do it but then I realized that the party sounded...” he leans in so close that I can smell the Marlboro Lights and cheap bear on his breath. He blow farts right into my ear. 

I slap him off of me and grab my coat. “Fine. I’ll get Riley to pick me up.”

Johnny whips around to look at me, eyes hurt. “Oh come on, Evie, I just thought things could be like old times. We’d stay and party here.”

“This isn’t old times. I don’t do this anymore.”

“Oh yeah, now you’re one of those girls who tries to look the most bored at parties. You don’t drink beer because you’re afraid you’ll gain weight. You don’t drink too much because you don’t want to look stupid. You don’t-”

“YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW ME ANYMORE!”

Johnny hits his back to the wall, as if I’d pushed him. He shakes his hair out and looks at me like he’s surprised its me standing before him. I can hear three sets of feet scurrying in the kitchen to press their ears up against the door to see what all the drama is about.

“You used to have fun with me.”

“I used to be a party girl s**t,” I bit my lip. 

“You were my party girl s**t,” he says, sadly. 

With that, he’s guilted me into staying for at least an hour.

It surprised me, later on, when the front door swung open and a keg appeared, that the voice belonging to the keg handler shouting, “Its motherfucking booze time,” was none other than Andy McKinley.

I haven’t heard him utter two words at school in five months - in the art classes we’ve taken together he’s always been dead quiet, earbuds playing music so loud I could hear it, paint covering the sleeves of his sweater. 

Now, he was pumping up the keg and insisting we enjoy, the champagne of beers.

He thrusts out his hand to me and says, “Hello, I’m Andy.”

“I know,” I tell him. “Evie.”

“I know that,” he smiles warmly at me. “I just wasn’t aware that your highness knew of all of us art geeks admiring her from afar.”

“All of us?” I question.

His eyes are big and blue and his smile is melt worthy. He’s so tall that tiny five foot 2 me has to crane to look up at him. “You didn’t know? You have your own subset of worshippers in the art department. I know, I know, you are so used to that. But, I just thought you should know.”

“Oh, s**t, Andy,” Johnny rolls his eyes and thrusts his Red Solo Cup for him to fill. “Don’t make her ego any bigger than it already is.”

Andy’s confession left me with the slight tingling that, not only was I watching him from afar at school, but he was watching me, too.

“I thought you’d be at the huge rager at Sadie Kade’s tonight,” Andy takes a fresh cup off the top of a stack and fills it with the golden liquid. He thrusts it into my hand before I can tell him no. 

I shrug. “I’m going to take the bus there later.”

“Later? Isn’t it, like, nine o’clock?”

“The Crew never shows up until at least eleven,” I say.

“Are you...are you mocking The Crew?” Andy leans in in mock horror. I can’t help but laugh.

I’m drunk.

I’m drunk and I need to pee. Too many lost games of beer pong, too much laughing with Johnny and Andy, who had become instant best friends once they’d officially met, and I needed to find a bathroom. I also needed a quiet place to answer the phone that was buzzing from my dress pocket. 

In the bathroom, there was puke in the garbage can and only a square of toilet paper left on the roll. I pulled down my underwear and sat down on the seat, digging my phone out of my pocket. 

Through blurred vision I could see Riley’s name pop up, and the picture that accompanied it; me kissing him on the cheek at Winter Formal. I pressed the talk button and leaned forward as I mustered up a sober, “Hello?”

“Evie, where are you?” he’s not drunk and he’s worried about me. Like good boyfriends do.

“I’ll be at Sadie’s by eleven,” I try not to slur. “Right, that’s what time you’re going?”

“Its almost midnight.”

I squint my eyes and bobble my head as I bring my phone in front of me to look at the screen. It was indeed 11:50.

“Are you drunk?” he sounded almost disgusted. “Where are you?”

“I just took a quick detour to Never Never Land.”

“The hell are you talking about?” 

“Johnny lives here.”

Silence on the other end. That was the wrong thing to say.

He sighs. “If I had my car here I’d come pick you up. Its way too late for you to take the bus now. Is there anyone sober there to get you over here?”

I laugh. Sober went out hours ago when we turned MarioKart into a drinking game. 

More sighing. “Can you get home?”

“I’ll have Johnny walk me home in just a minute, don’t you worry about that.”

“You, drunk, with Johnny. That’s absolutely nothing to worry about. Text me when you get home safely.” Click.

I wipe with the tiny piece of toilet paper and pull up my underwear, knowing I should feel bad about this somehow. 

I absolutely did not.

Johnny was nowhere to be seen downstairs, probably hooking up with a girl in his room at that moment, but as I searched around for Andy I spotted him standing next to a familiar looking guy, a worried expression on Andy’s face. 

When I stumble over, I know exactly who it is.

Easton has been a great city for music since the 90s, since everyone discovered that grunge rock didn’t just come out of Seattle. Since then, the emersion of bands from the city has been great, a couple of record labels popping up out of the city. There are usually underground bands, signed to Fueled by Ramen or Victory Records, but the most famous act to date was in 1999, when Eastbound Boys made their debut.

Ben Liner was the youngest, only ten years old, Alec was 12, and Tucker rounded out the brother boy band at fourteen years old. They had folksy pop hits on the radio, a single of theirs rocking number one on the billboard charts for three straight weeks, and they were on the cover of Rolling Stones for having been the youngest musicians to achieve that honor. 

In reality, they were another shitastic boy band with catchy tunes whose posters hung on preteen girls’ walls for years. When I was younger, I remembered arguments at recess about which brother would be the one to kiss; it was always decided that while Alec was the cute one, Ben was a little hottie, and Tucker had the best voice but he was too homely for anyone to leave LipSmackered kisses on their posters. 

As all boy bands do, they broke up after the heyday of the bubble gum pop princesses finally ended in the early 2000s. Tucker went on to go to school for music production, and Ben and Alec formed Acoustic Arson.

Ben and Alec both attended the Alternative Learning Center (or, as we call it, A*****e’s Last Chance), having missed so much school in the formative years. They were both too focused on their music to care about much else, other than booze and getting laid.

I know a lot about them. Everyone knows a lot about them. While they got laid in their teens from nostalgic girls, now they had a song debut on an MTV reality show, and they were hitting the road with the Summer Toast Tour in July, they were never hard up for girls.

Tonight was no exception. I felt embarrassed for the little scenester girls, fluffing up their hair to make sure their extension weaves weren’t showing, glancing in the mirror to make sure their raccoon eyes with half a pencil’s worth of eyeliner were still intact. 

Andy clears his throat and looks over to me. “Oh, hey, Evie, do you know Ben Liner?”

We ran in the same social circles during my underclassmen years of high school, of course, because then Johnny and Ben were actually good friends, instead of just tolerating each other now, but I would hardly think he’d remember my face out of the crowds of nameless girls he’s met.

Which, is why I was completely taken back when he said, “We used to hang out all the time, you know with Johnny and-”

“Yuhhh...”

I just nod and turn to Andy, remembering that I need to find Johnny. 

“He disappeared with some girl. Matty’s friend, I think...the tiny one with all the tattoos.”

I sigh and shake my head. He’d probably be up there, banging her until he passed out from drinking too much and too long. “I need to get home.”

“Home?” Ben smirks. “Its barely midnight. Let’s party, Evie.”

His smile and charm was so calculated, I could see right through the tight True Religion jeans, perfectly mussed bedhead, and colorful Labrynth tattoo on his left arm. He was exactly the type of guy who knew he could get Old Evie into bed without another thought and would be gone before morning. 

It would’ve surprised most of the people at this party to know I had never hooked up with Ben Liner. But, this was back when Johnny and him were super tight, and him and I had a strict no friends policy when it came to hooking up. 

I was glad, now, that I’d never done anything with this skinny eighteen year old who already fancied himself a Rock Sex God because of one song on one s****y reality show. His type made me so sick that my stomach churned.

Or, maybe that was just the six plastic cups of keg beer, two Jagg bombs, and shots of Windsor.

I was running for the garbage can in the kitchen in seconds, Andy right behind me to hold my hair out of my face.

I wake up to a headache, made worse by Johnny jumping on the end of the futon where I’m crashed, inches from Andy. Far enough away for things to be innocent but close enough to feel his body heat.

“You puked on Ben Liner’s shoes! You puked on Ben Liner’s shoes! You are my hero,” he singS.

I blindly slap around at him and moan. “The f**k time is it?”

“Seven. We’re late for Al’s, we might not get in till like nine now. Come on, get up, let’s go.”

“Johnny, I probably have puke in my hair and - oh s**t!”

“What?”

I lift my head, wincing in pain, and reach around for my phone. I find it under an array of dirty pillows - I can’t believe I slept on that - and I prepare for the worst.

Yep, ten texts, fifteen missed calls, and six voicemail. Only half of those are from Riley. 

Johnny convinces me not to forgo Cal’s for studying for my Calculus test, and the two of us, along with Andy, Matty, and Jay, the girl Johnny hooked up with the night before, make our way, slow and hungover to eat the best bacon and blueberry pancakes in the state. 

I had to give it to Johnny. I thought I was the only one who had changed in the past year, but he’d obviously done some changing, too. Last year, he would’ve never been caught dead out to breakfast with the conquest of the night before. But, this morning, he smiled and showed her the breakfast face he’d made; scrambled eggs for the hair, a bacon smile, and a sausage link he’d stolen from Jay’s plate for the nose all on top of a pancake face. I remember, sadly, how on Saturdays Lorne and my father used to make all of us kids breakfast and we’d sit down in front of the TV for cartoons. They loved them just as much as we did. That’s when breakfast faces had been invented, getting crazier and more creative as the years passed.