B.C. Johnson - Deadgirl

“You, too, Zack,” Dad said, and shook his hand. “Happy birthday by the way…”

My dad let the sentence fade and his last breath hang. It was a trick, and I sucked in a little tight breath. I tried to look at Zack without looking at Zack. Not easy, let me tell you.

“Oh no, sir,” Zack said. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Oh, right,” Dad said. “Benny’s?”

“Yup,” Zack said. “My best friend. He’s a good guy, Mr. Day.”

Zack was smoother than a gravy sandwich. The thought made my stomach jolt—just how many girls’ fathers had he schmoozed into complacence?

“I’m sure, but—”

Zack took a deep breath and held out one hand. I saw my dad inflate at the interruption, but Zack barreled through anyway. I had to say, I was impressed. Terrified, but impressed.

“Mr. Day,” Zack said. “I promise to take care of your daughter. Where she goes, I go. She doesn’t leave my sight unless she’s in the bathroom, and even then I’ll demand she never stop whistling. I searched for Lucy for six hours when she disappeared, and I would have looked for sixty. She might end up hating me, but she won’t be in danger. That I promise.”

I slipped my hand slowly over my mouth during his words, trying to fight an urge to either sob uncontrollably or leap at him and kiss him so hard his shoes would turn to dust.

Dad inflated even more—I half-expected his eyes to turn red—and took a step forward.

Zack and Dad stared at each other, and after a long beat, Dad nodded.

“Home at 10:30,” Dad said to me. “Got it?”

Zack flashed me a liar look and crossed his arms. I’d told him 11:30, and he didn’t look joyous about the deception.

“You bet,” I said, and smiled wide. “See ya, Daddy!”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Day,” Zack said, and shook hands with my dad again.

Dad looked suspicious but oddly comforted. Zack touched his hand to my lower back again, a feeling I was definitely not getting tired of, and lead me back to Benny’s car.

The reception was inevitable. As soon as we both got in the car, a chorus of “oooooohs” and “oh yeahs” erupted through the little minivan. I slugged Sara in the arm as hard as I could, not that it mattered. She was solid muscle, and I think I bruised my knuckles.

Benny glanced back at us from the driver’s seat, and Daphne leaned forward to smash her hand against the back of his headrest.

“Hiyo, Silver, away!”

We pulled up to Benny’s and flooded out of the car. Benny and Zack had been engaged in a near-violent discussion of music choice, and as soon as Benny stopped the van in front his house the two of them threw their doors open and power-walked up the front steps, arms waving wildly. Benny was positive that only ’80s punk rock would do, while Zack argued for a more varied palette. The girls and I exchanged amused looks and followed them up.

The house was nice—I’d never been there before, but it was clear evidence of an upper-middle class upbringing. The stereo, currently eclipsed by Zack and Benny’s gesticulating forms, could have been in a professional nightclub. Speakers on stands were arranged at key locations around the living room. Lamps lit the spacious house at the moment, but I spotted a number of theatrical-looking lights scattered around, none of them on. Oh. A disco ball. I laughed and pointed it out to Daphne, Wanda, and Sara, who all groaned in unison. Benny let out a short, sharp bark at our reaction but otherwise kept to his music collection.

We all made sure to locate the bathroom, the door to the backyard—which, just from our quick scan, looked like the Secret Garden of Eden—and the kitchen. When we floated into the dining room, I heard Wanda gasp.

For good reason. The entire white-tile kitchen island bristled with bottles of booze. Not an ounce of spare counter-top shown between the Jack Daniels and the Malibu and a dozen more brands just like them. A stack of red cups I could have made into a second house stood proudly on the kitchen table, next to two-liter bottles of Coke, Sprite, Dr. Pepper, and a prolific plastic serving bowl overflowing with what looked like Cool Ranch Doritos.

“Holy crap,” Sara said.

“I’m home,” Daphne said, and had a red cup filled with Captain and Coke before anyone else even left the doorway.

Wanda grabbed me by the arm and tugged me toward a corner. Sara and Daphne didn’t seem to notice, and were perusing the selection of alcohol like old pros. I’d only ever drank once, at a party last year, and I’d only ended up getting really tired and falling asleep in Morgan’s bed fully clothed. Not terribly exciting, I admit.

“That’s alcohol,” Wanda hissed.

I couldn’t help myself. The shock turned her eyes into beach balls, and her voice even trembled. I flashed her a broad sympathetic grin.

“You don’t have to drink, Wanda,” I said, and squeezed her hand. “There’s plenty of soda.”

“Won’t…won’t people be mad?”

I’d be more amused by her innocence if I hadn’t worried about the same thing just a year ago.

“No,” I said. “That only happens in after school specials, babe.”

“I don’t know,” Wanda said, and turned away from me. Her eyes scanned the bottles of liquor like they were all little individual time bombs and someone had just handed her a pair of wire cutters. I put my hand on her shoulder and nudged her.

“Just walk around with a red cup filled with soda and act drunk,” I said.

She shook her head.

“Act like you’re kind of tired but everything is funny. And occasionally just sort of stare into space,” I said. “No one will suspect.”

Wanda twisted a lock of her hair so hard it made my scalp hurt.

“Luce…”

“I won’t tell anyone,” I said, and raised two fingers. “Strike me down with great vengeance and furious anger if I’m lyin’.”

Wanda nodded, but I wasn’t convinced. Not that I had to be—as bitchy as it sounds, she really had no alternatives. Her only other option was to ask to be taken home, which she wasn’t going to do, or have her parents come pick her up. Wanda was way too loyal to subject us all to parental doom, so that was out. I felt bad for her, and I was pretty nervous myself, but it was an adapt-or-die situation now. For both of us.

“You’ll be okay,” I said. “Promise.”

She nodded again, and it looked a little more confident. That’s something I suppose.

With Daphne’s urging, and hoping it would calm my nerves, I took one of her patented Captain and Coke’s and took a sip. It tasted like CAPTAIN and Coke, and when I made a pucker-face Daphne tossed another splash of rum in there for good measure. I want to stab her in the leg sometimes, I’m gonna be honest.

I floated back to the living room and sank into the thick plush cushions of the sofa. The drink had hit me hard, and I was in no mood to watch Daphne preen or Wanda cringe. My head felt heavy, and my eyes felt bigger than normal. I let out a deep whooshing breath and let my head cant sideways on the cushion behind me.

I sat on the couch alone for a time, with Wanda and Daph and Sara for a while, then with Benny as the guests filtered in. Benny and Zack had been worried at first—but the party-goers came in at a trickle, then a rush, and finally a biblical flood.

The living room, kitchen, and backyard swelled with kids. They seemed to breathe as one, causing the house to expand and creak at the joints. The music, a medley of ’90s songs, ’80s punk songs and top forty spoke to Zack’s influence on the soundtrack. I didn’t know why, but the thought of Zack winning the pointless soundtrack argument made me smile.

I stuck to my lone drink at first, nursing it for the better part of an hour, hoping no one would notice. The drink left me fuzzy but not much else—either I didn’t possess the gumption to throw myself completely over the deep end or some background track of my brain still kept a judo-grip on an endless strung-together litany of parental warnings and cautionary tales. Actually, the more I thought about it, the more I was sure it was the latter.