Freshman Year & Other Unnatural Disasters (7 page)

“Or you could dress up as a YMCA. Like, the actual building. We could make your costume out of a big cardboard box!” JoJo suggests, knowing Em hasn’t heard a word we’ve said all night. Cass and I giggle.

“Sure, that’s great,” Em agrees, still texting.

“Hello? Earth to Em?” I ask, reaching over to tap the screen of her phone.

Em finally looks up, blushing. “Sorry, sorry. I know—I’m becoming ‘that girl’ … I’ll stop. It’s just that I really—”

“Miss James!”
we chant in unison.

Em flushes an even brighter red than before. Poor Em—she’s so easy to tease. She snaps the phone shut decisively and puts it in her bag. “Okay, I’m done. Seriously. Now, what were we talking about?”

“Um, the night that is going to transform this year from horror to awesomeness? The turning point in my life, which has thus far been, well,
less
than awesome?”

“Oh, right, Halloween. How could I forget?” Em giggles and reaches for her can of soda. She never drinks alcohol, which is one thing we
don’t
tease her about. She’s always afraid people will think she’s a loser for not liking to drink, which of course is silly but happens all the time anyway.

“Cass thinks we need five Village People,” JoJo explains, “even though we think four is enough. What do you think?”

“I can’t even
name
all five Village People and we’ve been discussing this for days, so I think it will be fine. Can I be the cop?”

“Mmmm,” Cass mumbles. We glance over and see that Cass is now reading a text of her own. “What? Oh, yeah. I want to be the Indian.”

“Who are you texting over there, woman? Everyone good is already here!” JoJo tries to snatch the phone away, but Cass is too fast for her. She shoves it into the pocket of her jeans.

“Who are you texting—a guy? How could you not tell us about this?” I demand. Unbelievable! Cass is withholding hookup information? Cass is the world’s biggest gossip—she doesn’t believe in secrets. That’s one of my very favorite things about her!

“I … uh … don’t want to jinx anything, okay? Just let it go.” Cass takes a swig of her Smirnoff Ice. “Ugh—this stuff is terrible. Nathan’s friends have the worst taste in the world.”

“I kind of like it, actually.” JoJo shrugs, taking a sip of her own. “And don’t change the subject.”

I step in. “If she doesn’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to talk about it.” JoJo can be relentless, and Cass is obviously uncomfortable for some reason. Does she have a weird crush on someone gross, like Danny Zifner? Oh my God, I want to know so badly! But then Cass shoots me a grateful look, so I try to contain my curiosity. “Let’s talk about me making out with Jordan instead.”

Everyone groans.

“Fiiine!” I exclaim. “Just forget it. I give up! You guys plan Halloween. I’ll be over here, crying quietly in the corner …”

And that’s how, despite coming up with the awesome idea in the first place—with every intention of rocking a sexy Indian Princess costume—I ended up getting stuck with Construction Worker. Which is almost as bad as Weird Motorcycle Guy.

At least I have permission to go to Jordan’s party. Well, really I have permission to sleep over at JoJo’s, which is what I always do when there’s a party or something my parents would never let me go to. JoJo’s parents might as well still be in high school themselves; they’re always making out and smoking pot and stuff. The important thing is, I will be at Jordan’s house next Saturday night. And it will be life changing. I can feel it.

On Wednesday after dinner, I realize I’m completely out of blackhead-removing pore strips, which are essential if I’m going to look perfect for the party. I head out to the Duane Reade Pharmacy near my house around nine
P.M.,
and when I get up to the counter to pay, there’s Jordan. Oh my God. This is a sign, right? I mean, the party is in three days, it’s pretty much all I can think about, and here he is. I manage to not actually skip with glee as I approach him.

“Heeeeeey, Kelsey.” He takes his bag of purchases from the counter. “What’s up?”

Even his
voice
is hot. I try not to giggle. “Oh, you know. The usual. Homework. Pore strips.”
Ack! Did I just say “pore strips” to Jordan Rothman?
I attempt to distract him, asking, “So, um, what are you doing in Brooklyn?”

“Oh, uh, I had to get this thing but they didn’t have it in my neighborhood, and, uh, I had to come get it at this one because, uh, they had it. Or whatever.”

Well, that’s sort of odd. There are about a thousand Duane Reades in the city. I consider pointing this out, but why question fate? Obviously the universe is conspiring to bring us together, and if the Park Slope Duane Reade is the venue, I’m certainly not going to argue. Besides, I’m too busy screaming inside my head,
OH MY GOD, I LOVE YOU!

I pay for my stuff and walk with him to the train stop. I can practically feel the electricity between us. Surely he can feel it too, because he asks, “So, are you guys coming to my party or what?”

“Sure, I guess,” I reply, as though I just remembered he even invited me, to which he responds, “Cool.”
Ah, very smooth. Excellent, Kelsey—good work!

“So, um, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. And at the party, obviously. Guess what? We’re going as the Village—”

“Yeah, hey, the train’s coming, so I gotta run. ‘Kay, see you later!” he calls, running down the stairs. Well, it’s not like he was going to miss the train just to chat some more. I’m not his girlfriend or anything—
yet!

I mean, obviously he really wants me to come to the party. So he’ll probably ask me out by the end of the night. Or at least kiss me. Right?

As I walk home, I start thinking: Why
was
he in Brooklyn on a school night? Besides the Hand of Fate, there has to be a real, logical reason, and I’m coming up blank. The only explanation I can ultimately think of is that Jordan has been secretly in love with me all along, trapped by cruel Jemma Bradley in a web of lies and deception, waiting for the chance to break free of her insidious clutches. And now he’s following me around Park Slope, lurking in local stores and train stations, desperately trying to get up the courage to come clean. And why couldn’t that be the case? It makes perfect sense to
me
.

The second I get home, I call each of my friends in turn to lay out my brilliant theory. I spend all night discussing Jordan’s creativity, devotion, and willingness to travel to a different borough for love. Interestingly enough, JoJo doesn’t think Jordan could actually plan something that elaborate, and Cass keeps trying to change the subject to her Indian headdress (which, apparently, is proving harder to find than she’d anticipated). Em, of course, is totally on board with my theory. And anyway, the more I think about it, the more obvious it seems that our moment—mine and Jordan’s, that is—is finally here.

The party will be the big test.

11

Saturday night, we arrive at Jordan’s apartment fashionably late, and immediately I can see we’re in the minority, agewise—it’s mostly his brother’s friends, who are juniors and seniors. I realize that means Cap’n Julie is probably here, and suddenly I feel grateful that my giant yellow Construction Worker hat covers half my face. Before we got here, I’d been thinking how ridiculous it looked, but now? I almost wish it were even bigger.

Some guy hands me a stack of red plastic cups and I pass them out to my friends—oh, did I mention how totally awesome we look? Cassidy’s headdress is dripping feathers everywhere, and Em’s dad got her an actual policeman’s hat and badge from their local precinct. Plus JoJo found an old fringed leather vest to go with the bizarre chaps. We are very fabulous and authentic, especially compared to the other costumes on display at this party, which are extremely lame. I mean, a cat? A fairy? Does anyone have an imagination anymore?

We go to the kitchen and discover there are a bunch of kegs in there. I had my first beer at a slumber party in seventh grade, and in my opinion it tastes like dog urine, but since it’s pretty much the only beverage choice, I figure I’ll just carry it around and pretend to drink it so as not to look like a total loser. Which is really sad, since why should I have to drink beer to look cool? More importantly, have these people never heard of wine coolers? Even Smirnoff Ice would be better than beer. Oh, well.

I fill my cup with beer and take a tiny sip.
Eeeyuch
. It’s actually kind of weird to me that we’re going to parties with kegs now. I mean, sure, we sneak alcohol when we hang out at each other’s houses and stuff, and a few people spiked their drinks at some of the eighth-grade graduation parties last year. But this is new territory, being at a party with older kids and no parents and everyone drinking right out in the open. It’s sort of exciting and dangerous feeling at the same time.

Of course, if my parents had any idea, I would be deader than a doornail.

After a while I decide to take a lap around the party to see who’s there, i.e., to find and corner Jordan. Even though I’m wearing a huge plastic hat, I figure can still make the most of my feminine wiles. I applied lots of charcoal eyeliner and lash-extending mascara when I was getting ready, so I start batting my eyes a lot to call attention to them.

Within about thirty seconds, I get a makeup-coated eyelash on my contact lens, which is just about the most painful thing in the entire world. It’s like having a knife plunged into your eye. So I’m sort of clutching my face, trying to shove through witches and vampires to find the bathroom, when I walk right into Lexi.

Of course she’s dressed as a sexy schoolgirl. And she looks more gorgeous than ever in her teensy kilt and white button-down shirt tied in a knot above her perfect abs. I can practically feel every guy there having a heart attack, especially with the perfectly contrasting backdrop of me in a yellow hard hat, rubbing at my eye like a maniac.

I wait for Lexi to say something like,
Hi! Aren’t I the most fabulous person in the whole world? Don’t look now, but I’m going to poke you in the one eye you’ve got left and run away laughing!
But instead she gasps, “Oh my God, is it your contact? I
hate
when that happens!”

She guides me to the bathroom, where she rummages around till she finds some saline solution. Then she sits on the toilet and says, “Ugh, I’ve had glasses since second grade and I had these gross red frames my mom made me get. They were beyond hideous and everyone made fun of me, so I was soooo psyched to get contacts in middle school. They can be such a pain, though. You should try waterproof mascara next time, maybe.”

Of course, I’m thinking,
Lexi wears glasses?
and
People teased Lexi? For real? How awesome!
But then I feel bad, so I just say, “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Thanks.”

Lexi asks, “Do you ever freak out your friends by moving your contact in your eye?”

“Yes! All the time—Em thinks it’s the nastiest thing ever.”

Lexi laughs and starts touching her contact lens in her eye and making this awful puking face and now I’m laughing, too.

Then we realize we’re in Jordan’s and Seth’s bathroom, so we go through the medicine cabinet and find really weird stuff in it like nose-hair clippers and milk of magnesia and a crusty bottle of little-kid cough syrup that looks about a hundred years old.

“Maybe I should give these tweezers to Julie,” I suggest, holding up a pair. “She could certainly use them.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. I think that will really help your relationship.” Lexi giggles, takes a compact out of her tiny purse, and starts reapplying her lip gloss.

I sigh. “I’m never going to get out of being goalie, am I?”

“Well … maybe someone will volunteer?”

“Yeah, right.” I finish wiping off the smeared mascara from under my eyes with a tissue and turn to Lexi. “Ready to go?”

Lexi holds up her hand to stop me from opening the door. “Actually, Kelsey, can I tell you something?”

“Um … sure. What’s up?”
This is weird. What could she possibly have to—

“This might sound super lame, but I think you’re really cool and funny … and even though I’ve sort of inherited my cousin’s friends, it’s still hard to be the new girl, you know? Anyway, I thought maybe … we could hang out sometime after practice or something?”

I’m so shocked that my mouth actually falls open for a second, just like in a cartoon. I quickly close it. Wow. It certainly never occurred to me that I’d ever end up bonding with Lexi in a bathroom next to my crush’s foot fungus cream, but here we are. Maybe Em was right about her—she
is
really nice. And thinks I’m awesome, apparently. Was I too quick to judge her because of horrible Jemma?

I sputter, “No, I mean, yes—of course we should. That would be great.” And as a matter of fact, it would be. It really is amazing how a chuckle over cough syrup and a few compliments can make you forget the intense dislike you’ve held for someone for over a month, isn’t it?

Unless I find out she is having sex with Jordan. Or even just making out with him.

Then I will have to destroy her.

Lexi and I grab our red cups, I slap my hard hat back on, and we leave the bathroom, only to discover there’s a line of people down the hall waiting. From around the corner, out of sight, I hear a huffy “Finally! What, did you forget which way a tampon goes or something?” and recognize the obnoxious voice of Julie Nelson. I start to tug Lexi in the other direction when Cass comes dashing past. Her headdress is kind of a mess and her Indian makeup is smeared.

What has she been up to? Something with a mysterious text buddy, perhaps?

Before I have time to check out the near vicinity for clues, Cass sees me and practically squeals, “Kels, there you are! Let’s go get another drink!”

Julie, her eyebrows (which really enhance what I assume is a very convincing Frida Kahlo outfit), and Ned Garman come stomping over, presumably to see what the holdup by the bathroom is. Ned isn’t even wearing a costume—he has on the same black outfit he always wears.