The Year of the Gadfly (32 page)

Read The Year of the Gadfly Online

Authors: Jennifer Miller

 

Veronica Mercy lived in Bethlehem, in one of the new residential communities popping up throughout the western part of the state. The red brick houses commanded sweeping lawns, and Victorian-style streetlamps punctuated lengths of white sidewalk. At the heart of the community was the Village Square, a tree-lined park that reminded Lily of a college campus but was bordered by various chain stores.

It was well after dark when Maureen dropped her off at Veronica's. The lamp lights flickered behind their glass enclosures, illuminating the line of cars parked outside. Lily looked at the clock—8:55. Veronica had told her 9:00, but everyone else was already there.

Veronica had already provided details about the evening. Upon arrival Lily would receive an identity, which she would assume for the night. Lily had asked for some hints about her character, but Veronica said advance preparation would ruin the project's authenticity.

“Just remember that we're creating a dialectic,” she'd written back. “A semiotic discourse between the subject and the gaze. You'll be fine.”

Lily had no idea what this meant, but she didn't care. Veronica had said her “artistic future” depended on this project, and she'd asked Lily to play a central role. Lily stood outside Veronica's front door as though on the threshold of a new life.

A woman in tapered khakis and a green sweater set answered the door. Her smile was the width of the door frame. “You must be Ronnie's new friend, Lily! Come in!”

Lily followed Mrs. Mercy through the house in a state of bewilderment. The place was like a Laura Ashley catalogue on LSD. Every view offered a profusion of objects flowery, fluffy, and pastel. Lily wondered how a woman like Mrs. Mercy could have produced a daughter like Veronica.

Along the back wall of the mint-colored basement was a massive entertainment system with the largest television Lily had ever seen. The screen was mounted on the wall, its black face lording over three adjacent couches like an aloof god. The TV wall and the couches formed a square, in the center of which sat a huge pile of sleeping bags and backpacks. Lily remembered the line of cars parked outside. Perhaps the other girls came early to help Veronica set up. This kind of art project probably required a lot of preparation.

Lily dropped her things and headed back up the stairs. When she reached the top, Mrs. Mercy handed her an envelope. “Ronnie wants you to read this before you go upstairs. If you ask me, she's doing one of her crazy projects . . . but don't reveal I'm on to her. She's very secretive about this kind of thing.”

Lily turned the envelope over in her hands. Inside was a note.

 

Dear Lily,

We're so excited you're working with us! Below, you'll find your identity. You should begin acting as your character as soon as you walk into my room. Krista is our cinematographer, so just ignore her. We're all keeping our own names. Go upstairs to the guestroom, second door on the right. You'll find your costume and props. My room is next door.

Cheers, VM
P.S. Hope the clothes fit.

 

Name:
Lily Morgan

Age:
14

Identity:
Lily Morgan is the typical “good girl.” She has never had a drink or done drugs. Her parents forbid her to date. She's not allowed to watch R-rated movies. Because Lily is albino, she feels different from the other girls at school, but she's doing her best to fit in. This sleepover is a chance for her to break from her parents' mold. Lily can't wait to express her true identity.

 

Her outfit lay on the guest bed's periwinkle comforter. She dressed in the black stirrup stretch pants, the black-and-white-polka-dotted skort, the Jewel concert T-shirt, and the polka-dotted headband. She slipped on the white scrunch socks, black flats, and celestial-themed clip-on earrings. Finally she picked up a boxy leather purse with a long strap. Inside Lily found a small pink book labeled
Diary.
The diary had a small brass lock but no key.

The stretch pants were tight and the shoes a size too large. She would never wear any of these things, but this was art. If she wanted to impress Veronica and the others, she'd have to play her character as faithfully as possible.

Veronica jumped up from a beanbag chair when she saw Lily in the doorway. Her lithe body was decked out in tight jeans and a white baby tee. The others didn't look up. Jocelyn was sprawled on the bed in Umbro shorts, a Hypercolor T-shirt, and Vans sneakers, and Amy sat cross-legged in ripped jeans, an oversize flannel shirt, and Doc Martens. “Smells Like Teen Spirit” played on the stereo. Krista crouched in the corner, filming.

“Lil, sit down,” Veronica said. “Jocelyn, shove over.”

“Look, guys, she's matching!” Jocelyn pointed at Lily's polka dots. She'd dropped her British vernacular for the night.

Lily blushed. But they were snickering at her character, not her. She had to remember to keep herself and her character separate. They were all playing roles. Veronica was stuck up and popular. Jocelyn was a smart-aleck jock. Amy was grunge. And she was the designated wannabe. Not the choicest role, but it made sense. Like Veronica's note said, this was Lily's chance—her character's chance—to become something new.

“So, Lily,” Amy said. “Before you got here, we were talking about Juggernaut. Do you like Juggernaut, Lily?”

Lily had no idea what Juggernaut was. It sounded like a band but could easily be a new movie. In junior high, she would have agreed with the majority opinion; she liked the way her voice blended in with the others, as though it counted.

Jocelyn lit a cigarette and inhaled. “Well?”

Lily was certain her character would lie, but something stopped her. “I don't know what Juggernaut is,” she said.

The girls exchanged glances. Veronica sucked in her cheeks, inhaling and exhaling a painfully slow breath. For a second no one spoke.

“I'm sorry,” Lily stammered. “I know my character wouldn't have—”

“I don't know what you're talking about, Lil.” Veronica eyed Lily. “You're crazy. No wonder you only have, like, two friends.”

Lily felt the sting of this insult, but then Veronica winked at her—at the real her.

A new song came on the stereo. “R&B? Really, guys?” Amy said. “Now, Nirvana! I'd do Kurt Cobain in a second.”

“You'd do a dead guy?” Veronica said.

“I know he killed himself,” Amy said, scowling. “But Cobain's still
alive.

“Um, no, he's not.”

“Yes, he is. He died in 1996, and right now it's
199
5.”

“Krista, cut the tape.” Veronica stood up from the beanbag and stared down the group. “This isn't going to work if we can't keep our characters and the
year
straight. Amy, Kurt Cobain died in 1994. I thought you'd researched grunge.”

“They knew their characters in advance?” Lily tried to sound casual.

“What?” Veronica looked flustered. “Yes. I mean, no. Just Amy. Since she's supposed to be representing a specific type of person from a specific time. Lily, your role here is more . . .” Veronica snapped her fingers. “What's the word I want?”

“More ‘stock'?” Amy said.

“No,” Veronica said, annoyed. “More
universal.
I mean, yes, you are unique: you live in western Mass., you go to Mariana Academy, you're albino. But there's always someone like you at these kinds of parties. You're the Other. Basic Lacan. Understand?”

Lily nodded.

“Look, too much explanation cuts into the authenticity of the experience we're fabricating. Forget what year it's supposed to be. Just focus on the sleepover paradigm.” Veronica nodded at Krista, who raised the camera to her face.

“This is so fucking meta,” Amy mumbled.

The doorbell rang.

“Chinese.” Veronica groaned. “Thank God.”

Krista hurried out ahead of them so she could get shots of the girls stampeding down the stairs. Once they'd all collected in the kitchen with the food, Veronica produced a shampoo bottle from beneath her sweatshirt and began squirting alcohol into each girl's drink. Lily had no idea what had happened to Veronica's mother.

“I'm not sure I—I mean, no thanks,” Lily said when Veronica came around to her. The refusal seemed in line with her character, but she wasn't sure she wanted a drink anyway.

“Look at her,” Jocelyn said, climbing onto one of the kitchen stools and crossing her legs. Even in Umbros she looked sophisticated. “She's obviously a prude.”

“Well, she can't be a prude with us,” Veronica said, and put her arm around Lily's shoulder. “I'll be honest. We invited you over tonight because we know you want to be different. You don't have to do everything your parents say.”

The real Lily didn't bow to her parents' every command. She was dating a guy they didn't like. And even if she was playing a character, her presence at this party was somehow part of her new self. Tonight, it seemed she could go back in time—return to the past and catch up on all she'd missed. “I'd love a drink,” she said.

“Cheers, ladies!” Veronica raised her cup and downed its contents. Then she poured herself another. With an asthmatic wheeze, the shampoo bottle coughed up its final drops.

 

After slurping up lo mein and gnawing greasy spareribs, everyone headed down to the basement. Within seconds, Veronica, Amy, and Jocelyn had claimed the three couches and were dumping out their overnight bags. Soon the floor was covered with everything they'd brought to re-create and mock the authentic sleepover experience: oversize nightshirts, padded bras, aerosol deodorants, eye shadows, hair sprays, teen novels, boy-band calendars, glitter stickers, flavored lip-glosses, scrunchies, gummy bracelets, teen magazines, M&M's, Doritos, Oreos, Pixy Stix, and a Ouija board.

Lily watched the scene and realized she had no place to sleep. She wasn't the only one having this thought, because there was Krista training the camera on her ambivalent face.
Ignore the camera,
she thought, and looked away.

“Do you guys think you could . . .” She pointed at the pile.

Veronica hopped off the center couch and pushed crap aside until it formed a ring. Then she laid Lily's sleeping bag in the center of the ring and returned to the couch. Suddenly Lily saw the scene as through the camera lens: there she was, standing on her sleeping bag, in the center of a bull's eye. The girls were silent, almost like they'd rehearsed the shot. But that was completely at odds with Veronica's plan. This evening was supposed to be organic. Lily pushed down the queasiness in her stomach. For the first time in her life, she was at the center of the circle.

 

The girls made a list of “hot” kids, and ranked them by physical attributes, intellect, and character traits. They did the same with their “not” classmates. Under Dipthi they wrote:
Beware the unibrowed Indian. Will bite.
Under Justin, they wrote:
Future occupation: serial killer, child molester, and/or commits suicide by age 30.
Lily didn't protest; trash-talking was Sleepover Etiquette 101.

Veronica pulled a couple of shampoo bottles and a carton of OJ from her bag. “Ready for the vodka course?” She constructed a wall of pillows and carried the containers behind it. “In case my mom comes down,” she explained, and brought out cups for Amy and Jocelyn. Then she came back with one for Lily and another for herself.

“Cheers!” They tapped the red plastic cups together. Lily took a sip. Her eyes bugged. This was her first screwdriver. Her first experience with vodka, period. They gossiped and gobbled junk food and finished another round of drinks. Just after 1 a.m., Veronica looked around the room. “Ready to go?” Immediately the girls started searching for their jackets. Lily stood there dumbly, watching. “Well, come on, Lily!” Veronica said brightly. “It's field-trip time.”

Outside Lily shivered in Veronica's miniskirt. The girls walked single file around the side of the house and across the street to Jocelyn's Jeep. Amy slid into the back. “You next, Lily,” Veronica said. Krista stood beside her, the camera pointed at her face. Lily looked inside the car, hesitating. How much had Jocelyn had to drink? “Come on!” Veronica nudged her. “We don't have all night.” Lily got in.

Bethlehem was separated from Nye by a small, steep range of forested hills. The long route between them (parentally dubbed the “safe” route) was a county highway that curled around the base of the hills, passed through an ugly smattering of strip malls, and, after a steep climb, deposited drivers in Nye's center. The short route (parentally dubbed the “dangerous” route) was the preference of most young drivers because it plunged directly into the hills, taking drivers on a joy ride of slopes. This was the route Jocelyn chose.

Cold air rushed through the car as Jocelyn careened around bends in the road, and Lily braced her feet on the floor. At one point Veronica reached for Lily's hand. Her eyes flashed in the dark. Her long hair whipped Lily's face.

They climbed into the hills, dipped suddenly, and climbed again. There were no other cars on the road, no streetlights here, only forest rushing by and Jocelyn's brights sweeping wildly across the trees. The girls laughed and sang to a rock album, wailing with abandon. They didn't seem to mind the cold. Amy puffed on a cigarette, and Lily's head reeled with the alcohol and the speed and smoke. Finally they sped downward, the road dumping them out on the other side of the range. Jocelyn cut a sharp corner and then they were in town, rushing past Nye's dark, ponderous buildings. Windows morphed into more trees as they headed toward Lily's house and the main road to school. Then, suddenly, Jocelyn veered onto a side road, the trees so close and thick that Lily could not see the sky. Branches gave way to branches, and behind them more branches. Abruptly, Jocelyn cut the wheel and the Jeep bounced onto unpaved ground. After ten minutes or so, Jocelyn braked and killed the engine. The music was swallowed up. The girls hopped out of the car. Lily followed and stood beside the Jeep, listening to its insides settle. The woods were silent. There was no wind. Amy struck a match and the sound hissed in Lily's ears.

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