I fetched another beer and joined Mary, who I found gazing at the stunning bay view.
I popped the top and beer foamed onto the ground, making me jump back. I wiped my hand on my jeans. “You okay, Mar?”
She shrugged. “Just tired of being alone.”
“Have you talked to Jake at all since…”
She shook her head. “He’s totally avoiding me.”
What an asshole! “Is there anyone else you like?”
“What does it matter? No one ever seems to like me, except as a friend. I’m sick of trying.”
I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll find someone.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Mary cast her eyes to the ground. “Do you think I’m ugly?”
“What? Why would you say something like that?” But I knew why. Guys joked about her in an unflattering way—not to her face, but she must have known. I found her genuine and friendly, and those attributes alone were attractive. People could be so superficial.
“There has to be a reason no one wants me to be their girlfriend. They only want to have sex with me, then they disappear.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t let them have that part of you so quickly.”
Mary nodded. “I can’t help it. I get a little drunk, they say nice things, make me feel good, and I let them do what they want. I keep thinking they’ll want more. But they always end up leaving—until the next time they want sex.”
I choked down some beer. “Can you see they’re just using you, that this is some kind of pattern? Do you think you could say no next time? Or suggest a date for the following day, when you’re both sober?”
“I can try. I just want to love and be loved.” Mary lit a fresh cigarette.
“Don’t we all.”
Pete lined up the last of the blow. The fine granules in this batch snorted smoothly, causing almost no burn as I sucked it up my nose. Having my share of a gram left me wired, and adrenaline pumped through my veins hard and fast. On top of the world, my energy beamed as limitless as the number of stars shining down on us from the sky. It was a mega rush. Totally rad. Gnarly, bitchin’ and all the way live all at once. Looking around at my circle of friends, emotions surged. I savored the closeness and laughter we shared. All that mattered was our sliver of mountaintop right now.
I spun around, dancing to a song by The Pretenders, which blared out Pete’s car window. Tez played his air guitar while Reese performed lead air vocals.
Pete interrupted my moment. “Excuse me…Cinderella?”
“What?”
“You’re about to turn into a pumpkin. Your curfew ends in fifteen minutes.”
“Noooooooooo! That was so fast. Where did the time go? That can’t be right.”
“It is though.”
“I don’t want to go home!”
“I don’t want you to go home, either but your old man—”
“Screw my father. He’s a bastard.”
“That may be so, but if you blow this off, he’ll go ballistic.”
“I could sneak out.” I trotted out my best come-hither, go-along-with-my-hairbrained-idea face.
He shook his head. “You are one stubborn Italian, you know that?”
I smiled. “How about it?”
He grabbed my hands in his. “Not tonight. You just got off restriction, and summer is just around the corner. Be a good girl.”
I sighed. “Fine. Take me home.”
Pete was right. I needed to stay squeaky clean, behaving like a perfect daughter, at least until school let out. Had I forgotten so quickly my father’s hawk eyes watching my every move? One false step, and he’d ground me the entire summer and ruin my relationship with Pete once and for all.
34
Free at Last
The bell rang for the final time, blessedly ending my junior year—and with it, my reign as a cheerleader. The lineup of parties all weekend proved I wasn’t the only one intending to celebrate.
That evening, after receiving the obligatory stern warning from my father about being home on time, I rushed out the door with Pete, and we drove to Manny Rodriguez’s party. Most of our friends had arrived, along with a hundred other people looking to get wasted. Michael Jackson’s Off the Wall album—one of my favorites—blasted from inside. We made our way past the gyrating bodies to the keg on the back porch and waited in line.
“Look who’s finally joining the party,” Jim said.
“I couldn’t escape without hearing my dad’s standard lecture, despite my recent incarceration in Alcatraz.”
“We’ve all been in prison, Paisano, only it’s called Skyline.”
I snickered. “Cheers to that.” I held out my plastic cup, which Jim filled to the brim, suds oozing over the side.
Beers in hand, Jim herded us around the side of the house to join the rest of our gang. I leaned against the railing and sipped my beer. Through the window, Reese and Jaime gyrated in sync with the music next to Steve and Sabrina, clad once again in jeans she’d painted on. Jake danced with the curvaceous, buxom Eva, the Swedish exchange student attending our school. I didn’t see Mary, but I predicted a tough night ahead for her. I wished Pete would dance, but he despised pop music. How could anyone hate anything with that kind of beat? I swayed by myself, watching my friends boogie down with longing.
The boys lit up a joint, and I left to find the bathroom, hoping it wouldn’t be gross. On my way back, I found Mary in the kitchen, well on her way to getting hammered. She lifted up a bottle of tequila and asked if I wanted a shot, pouring two before I had time to answer. We licked the salt off our hands, threw back the honey-colored liquid and quickly sucked on the lime wedges to
