“What do you care?” Leon challenges him. “You only have eyes for Mary.”
Robbie winks. “A lot can happen at a party.”
Out of the blue, Charlie shouts, “Jelly beans. You’ve got to have jelly beans. Plates of them everywhere.”
“What are you hyenas splitting your sides about now?” Reni asks, appearing on the scene without warning, Shannon by her side.
“We’re—” Charlie starts.
Loch elbows him and nods sharply at me—my party, my news.
“Dervish is away this weekend,” I tell Reni, wishing my heart wouldn’t throb so loudly—I’m sure she can hear it. “I’m having a party.”
“Great,” Reni smiles. “I hope we’re invited?”
“Of course,” I say miles too quickly. Then, aiming for cool, “But don’t tell anyone. I want to keep it exclusive—just a select handful of my more discerning acquaintances.”
“Nice,” Reni says and strides away, sharing a giggle with Shannon.
“ ‘More discerning acquaintances’,” Leon mimics as the others poke me in the ribs and make cat-calls. “You’re full of it sometimes, Grady.”
Word spreads quickly about the party. I’ve never been so popular, surrounded at the start and end of classes, pumped for details, besieged with requests for an invite. I think the location of the party is as much a draw as anything else. Everyone in the Vale knows about the spooky old mansion where I live but most have never been inside.
At lunch I’m faced with a steady stream of party-hungry teens, all in search of a golden ticket. I feel like a king, hearing petitions, flanked by my royal advisors (Loch and co). I play it icy at Loch’s advice, saying numbers are limited, I can only invite a select few. I don’t say an absolute no to anyone and promise to take all requests into consideration.
So I’m a poser. So sue me.
Just before the bell rings for class, my last petitioner approaches. Bill-E. He’s smiling awkwardly, even more so than usual. “Hi Grubbs.”
“Hi.”
“How’s tricks, Spleenio?” Loch says, putting out his hand. I groan as Bill-E falls for the trick again, makes to shake and is humiliated when Loch whips his hand away. “Sucker!”
I don’t wait for Bill-E or Loch to say anything else. “Have you heard about the party?” I ask quickly.
“Yeah,” Bill-E says. “I know I was supposed to come over this weekend, but—”
“You’re not going to back out, are you?” I cut him short. “C’mon, Bill-E, this is my first party. I need you there for moral support.”
A rosy glow of happiness spreads outwards from the centre of the chubby boy’s cheeks. “You want me to come?” he asks quietly, half-suspecting a cruel joke.
“Of course,” I say firmly. “In fact, if you don’t, the party’s off.”
“Now hold on a minute…” Loch begins, startled.
“I mean it,” I silence him, eyes on Bill-E, trying to put right at least some of the wrong things between us.
“Well… I mean… I guess… OK,” Bill-E grins. “Sure. Why not?”
“Great.” I raise a warning finger. “But don’t tell Ma and Pa Spleen it’s a party or they’ll never let you come.”
“No sheet, Sherlock!” Bill-E laughs and heads off, much happier than I’ve seen him in a long while.
Dervish is getting ready to leave. In his leathers, pulling the straps out of his helmet. His motorcycle’s outside the front door, primed to go. “Is the party tonight or tomorrow?” he asks.
“Tomorrow. Too awkward for people to come tonight. Plus it gives me time to go shopping in the Vale in the morning.”
“You know I’ll be back early Sunday afternoon,” he reminds me.
“I know.”
“If I walk in and find pools of puke and mountains of rubbish…”
“You won’t,” I assure him. “There aren’t many coming, and a few are sleeping over to help clean up in the morning. The only thing is, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do all the laundry before you return.”
“That’s fine,” Dervish says, then raises an eyebrow. “Those staying over are all boys, I presume?”
“Of course.”
“They’d better be. Because if I find out otherwise…”
“You won’t.”
“Good.”
The pair of massive front doors are already open. Dervish walks out, breathing in fresh spring air. “It’s supposed to be cold over the weekend,” he says. “Don’t leave the windows open or the house will be freezing.”
“I have everything in hand,” I tell him.
“I doubt it.” He climbs on to his bike.
“Say hi to Meera from me.”
“Sure.”
“Give her a kiss from me too.”
“Funny guy.” Then without a goodbye he’s off, tearing down the driveway, already approaching the speed limit—and he’s only warming up. If everyone drove like my maniac of an uncle, the roads would be awash with blood.
This isn’t the first time Dervish has left me alone in the house, but it’s the first time he’s left me in total control. Before, the understanding was always that I was simply holding the fort. No parties. This time he’s as good as said the house is mine for the next forty-odd hours, to do with as I wish.
It feels strange. I find myself thinking of everything that could go wrong—broken windows, smashed vases, someone stumbling into Dervish’s study and turning into a frog. I half wish I could cancel. I’ve been to a couple of wild parties with Loch over the last few months and never worried about what we were doing, the mess we were making, what would happen to the kids who lived there when their parents returned. Now the shoe’s on
The phone rings. Loch. It’s as if he’s sensed my wavering mood and is intervening to sway me back into party mode. “Has Dervish gone?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Good. I didn’t want to discuss it at school—too many ears—but what about booze? Yay or nay?”
“That might be a bit much,” I mutter. “Things will probably be wild enough if everyone’s sober.”
“Yeah, it’ll be wilder if everyone’s drunk,” Loch laughs, “but a lot more fun! I was thinking about all those bottles of wine in the cellar…”
“No way,” I snap. “Most are expensive.
“Spoilsport,” Loch grumbles. “Well, what about beer? I could ask one of my older cousins to get us a crate or two.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“You’re not wimping out, are you?” he asks suspiciously.
“Well…” I start.
“Good,” Loch says quickly. “Let’s forget about the booze then. If anybody brings some, great. If not, we’ll just muddle by sober. Fair enough?”
“Yeah,” I say unhappily. “I guess.”
“Great. See you in the morning. Oh, and I’ll be bringing Reni, to help carry the bags. Is that OK?”
“Sure,” I say, spirits lifting, instantly forgetting about my reservations. “That’ll be… fine. Yeah. Whatever.”
