“Who’re you texting?”

  “Caleb’s little sister.”

  “She has a cell phone?”

  “I guess,” Mercy said. Rianne sat down on the end of the sofa, pulled up the quilt over her legs.

  “What does she text you?”

  “Stuff. She misses Caleb. She says he talks funny now. She says he cut his hair really weird.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I have no idea. She’s eight years old. She can barely spell.”

  “Want to do Pilates?”

  “Now?” Mercy asked.

  “Yes.”

  Mercy sighed. Chucked her phone on the carpet. Then sat up and pulled the quilt around her, around Rianne. They watched a man with a very sweaty face eat something that looked like gravy diarrhea poured over a waffle. Mercy leaned her head on Rianne’s shoulder. They both sighed.

  When the show went to a commercial, Mercy got up, pulled the quilt off Rianne, folded it into a neat square.

  “You queue up the DVD,” she said, her voice heavy but determined. “Let me put on a sports bra.”

  The first weekend in May, Rianne decided they would all go to Cuddy’s. Kaj, Kip, even Mercy promised to come. Most importantly, Luke said yes. Finally, something interesting besides going out to eat or sitting at his house.

  Though they showed up early, around six p.m., Cuddy’s was already loud and full of freshmen who stood in little clutches holding their beer cups and looking afraid to make any sudden moves. Kaj rolled her eyes and Kip made fun of them, going up to the girls with braces and too much makeup, who leaned away from him nervously, and asking them how the beer tasted.

  “Is it good? Or do you prefer something more hoppy?”

  “What . . . ?” one of the girls asked, glancing at her friends, who laughed nervously. Kip didn’t even wait for the answer, just walked along, smiling to himself. Kaj punched his arm. Luke wasn’t paying attention. He was still talking to Cuddy, who was working the door with his sleeve of cups and wad of dirty ones, a big lump of dip making his mouth hump up like it had a tumor. Luke had crutches tonight but he kept them tucked in his fist, as if he were just holding them for someone else.

  “Quit being a jerk,” Kaj said to Kip as they moved through the crowd. “They’re just little kids.”

  Rianne remembered being that age, remembered standing around waiting for the buzz to kick in, for the fun to begin. She felt sorry for these “little kids” who she would never bother to get to know, and who would replace her and her friends at Cuddy’s in the next years to come. The thought made Wereford seem so big and yet so tiny at the same time.

  Sitting on Cuddy’s kitchen table were Gabby and Aidan Golden, both wearing giant green leprechaun hats, even though Saint Paddy’s Day had been weeks ago. Rianne tried to think of what she’d been doing on Saint Paddy’s Day and couldn’t remember. But Gabby looked pretty, even so. She wore a very tight blue dress and big rubber rain boots. Aidan looked totally fucking wasted. And sweaty. He stared at Rianne’s chest in an obvious, gross way. Rianne felt disgusted at ever liking him. Even if she’d only been a sophomore at the time.

  “Mercy’s here,” Gabby said to Rianne. She jumped off the table and it wobbled under Aidan, who swore.

  “Already?”

  Gabby slung her arm around Rianne’s neck. “I called her. We drove together.”

  Rianne couldn’t believe Gabby was touching her. Talking to her. Acting like they were friends. Gabby had called Mercy, Gabby drove with Mercy. Rianne glanced toward Kaj who was also taking this information in.

  “What’s with the hats?” Kaj asked. “You and Aidan gonna get married or something?”

  “They’re for good luck,” Gabby said. “Rianne, come on. Where’s your cup?”

  “Luke has it.”

  “That’s a cute shirt,” Gabby said. She held back a burp. “Sorry.”

  Rianne said thank you. Gwen had given the shirt to her, from a pile of clothing she was getting rid of. It was a little tight and had a weird asymmetrical tie that Gwen had to show her how to do up the right way, but it was cute. This was the first party Luke had wanted to go to since his accident and again she felt the desire to be pretty beside him. For him. Even if it was just a show. If she was going to be in Wereford, she might as well be out in it. Seeing it. Not in anyone’s basement, watching television.

  A tiny part of her also hoped to see Sergei. Other than hanging out with Faith or sitting in the parking lot around Planet Tan, waiting for Rink’s car to stop by Tobacco World, a party like Cuddy’s was the best chance she had of seeing him. Not a big chance, but better than anything else. Tonight she had shaved her legs and cha, put on makeup, blown out her hair, took her time on picking out clothes. She was trying, really, to be good.

  Gabby tugged her through the crowd again, toward the basement where they kept the kegs. They passed Luke, who was still talking to Cuddy by the door, and who knocked up an eyebrow when Gabby snatched Rianne’s empty cup from him. Rianne sailed along, waving at Luke and at Cuddy. How old was Cuddy, even? How fucking long had he been having these shitty parties, anyway? Didn’t anyone wonder why he was doing it? And why was Luke looking at her like he was worried? He looked ready to follow them down the stairs. As if she and Gabby were freshman girls and didn’t know what they were doing.

  Cuddy’s basement always smelled like rusty water, moldy socks, and beer. Always beer. The orange striped sheet still hung between the keg area and a rumbling washing machine. Only people who were tight with Cuddy could get away with sneaking off behind it, otherwise he got pissed about it. Obviously Aidan Golden had been cool with Cuddy even back in tenth grade.

  Mercy was sitting at the keg with a bunch of Cuddy lifers, older fat guys who wore the same Wereford hockey hoodie for their whole lives. Not Pete Novotny, because he’d moved up to Ely to ice fish and hunt. But the same kind of guy as Pete Novotny. Big, gross, badly dressed, dumb. The complete opposite of Caleb. Now Mercy was talking to them and laughing at their jokes as if they were fascinating, beautiful human beings, not sweaty losers whose best years of their lives were in high school.

  “Hey, guys!” Mercy yelled to Rianne and Gabby, and then ran to hug them. Bouncing the whole way. Rianne noticed how Cuddy’s gross friends watched Mercy’s ass, the back of her shirt riding up as she swung her arms around her and Gabby’s necks.

  “Ladies,” said the one with the goatee. “Can I fill your cups?” Goatee Guy proceeded to fill all three of them at one go, his big ham-colored fingers stabbed into each cup, the tap tubing running from his fist like some kind of futuristic pissing accessory.

  “I love your shirt, Ri,” Mercy yelled. “We’re just killing it with the Pilates, aren’t we?” She winked and Rianne felt stupid and watched by the guys at the keg. As they waited for their beers Mercy kept talking about how great it was to see them and how cute Rianne looked and how pretty Gabby’s dress was until Rianne took the cups back before they were all the way full; things were stressing her out down here. Plus Luke was slowly making his way down the steps, doing some strange hop-with-crutches move, his eyes scanning for her the whole time. She smiled at him, trying not to make him feel self-conscious. She was hoping he wasn’t hurting, at least.

  “Where’s your cup?” she asked, when he made it through the crowd.

  “I’m not drinking tonight,” he said. He looked toward the guys by the keg and nodded at them. Then he scanned toward where Mercy and Gabby were talking to some other girls and said in a low voice, “You guys should come upstairs. Seriously.” He glanced back toward the keg again. “You shouldn’t be down here.”

  “But how were we supposed to get our beer?”

  “I’ll get it for you,” Luke said. “Just, come on.”

  But Mercy didn’t want to go and Gabby was talking to Claire Andale’s little sister, giving her a sort of older sister advice act about being at this party and what would Claire say if she saw you here. Luke just stood there, holding his crutches like they didn’t belong to him, waiting for Rianne to herd everyone upstairs again. He was the last up, going slow up the steps that were slippery with beer.

  After that, though, things got kind of fun. The beer warmed quickly in her cup, which was gross, and the house was steaming hot, since Cuddy could never open the windows or neighbors would complain or call the cops. And she was sweating and not drinking that fast, either, because she didn’t want to make Luke get refills.

  But they were laughing and being idiots, which was the main point of a party, for Rianne. And Mercy was happy, at least. Mercy was sitting on the dirty floor chatting with Channa and Ana, while Erica and Anika played beer pong next to them. Rianne didn’t know how they all could sit on the floor and not think about all the crud and puke that had accumulated there. Channa and Ana were drunk too, and Anika kept tipping over into Erica’s lap in a dramatic way that made everyone laugh every time.

  Rianne would have sat with them, but she was wearing a little skirt, which would have meant her bare legs would touch the nasty floor. Plus Luke was beside her every second, hopping, holding his crutches, asking her if she was having a good time.

  Finally, she broke away from him to stand in the bathroom line. Two sophomore girls were in front of her, whispering in each other’s ears. They both had their hair in matching braids and wore jeans and T-shirts that said “OVER IT” right across their boobs. The matching made them confident and ballsy, which made Rianne feel old and nostalgic. Like she was looking at her own self.

  Once in the bathroom, she squat-hovered to pee over the nasty toilet—people said you could get herpes from sitting on the seat at Cuddy’s—and then she stood looking at herself in the mirror. She did look cute. And the top was weird and a little tight, but she liked it. Liked how just tugging the one tie would make it fall off. Her cheeks were bright from drinking and the heat and she thought that it might be easy for other people to be jealous of her. Luke’s girlfriend. Cute outfit. Nice hair. Her friends all together.

  Are you having a good time, Luke kept saying. Still having a good time?

  When she came out of the bathroom, the good time was over. Gabby was yelling at Luke. People were quiet and staring at them. Gabby was sticking her hand in Luke’s face, telling him he was a dickhead, an entitled loser. A hopeless townie. That he might as well move in with Cuddy.

  “Born to live and die here!” she yelled. “And guess what’s hilarious? You’ll never see why that’s sad.”

  “No, you’re hilarious, Gabby,” Luke said, not even riled. He smiled at her. “How you think anyone gives a shit about your opinions. That’s what’s funny about you.”

  Rianne was frozen. Frozen listening to Gabby shout while Luke grinned and yelled back.

  Frozen until Claire Andale’s little sister tugged at her sleeve and said, “I think your friend might need you? She’s in the basement . . . ?”

  Rianne walked past Gabby and Luke, who barely noticed her in their shouting. As she headed downstairs, she saw Aidan Golden approaching the whole argument, like some sweaty, drunk peacemaker.

  Fuck.

  In the basement, the keg was unmanned. The whole place was quiet and still, except for the music. And then she realized Mercy was behind the orange striped sheet. Not alone.

  She didn’t notice which of the Cuddy lifers it was. It wasn’t Goatee Guy but what did it matter. The Cuddy lifer looked totally idiotic with Mercy’s hand in the fly of his jeans. He receded away from the dryer where Mercy sat, her shirt off, her bra dangling open.

  “Mercy, come on,” Rianne said.

  Mercy put her arms over her boobs. Shut her eyes. There was shouting and screaming from upstairs. Thumping on the floor.

  Fuck fuck fuck.

  “Mercy. Jesus.”

  She took her hand and Mercy did up her bra and shirt. Then she started crying.

  From the dark, back toward the water heater, the Cuddy lifer said, “Jesus Christ.”

  “Yeah, fuck off, asshole,” Rianne said, her anger pushing out, pulling Mercy toward her. Her need to spit fire at the whole world dragged them out from behind the orange striped sheet, up the sloppy stairs. Mercy was still crying.

  In the middle of the room, Aidan Golden stood by Gabby, his mouth bloody.

  “Where’s Luke?” Rianne asked, holding Mercy against her.

  “Fucking dick,” Aidan said.

  “What did you do?” Rianne yelled at Gabby.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Gabby shouted back. “Cuddy kicked his ass out.”

  “Where’s Kaj and Kip?”

  “They went to McDonald’s like an hour ago. What the fuck is her problem?” Gabby said, motioning to Mercy.

  The room started to hum again with private conversations. Which were probably about whatever caused Aidan’s bloody mouth. Aidan was now spitting into his cup, his mouth dripping strings of blood and slobber. And he was smiling, talking to the sophomore girls wearing the “OVER IT” T-shirts.

  Rianne felt murderous. She shuttled Mercy against her and went to look out the little window by the door where Cuddy usually stood guard.

  She saw blinking lights, red and blue. Cops. And Luke’s truck pulled over up the street.

  “We’re leaving, Mercy,” she said. Realizing she’d left her coat in Luke’s truck. “Where’s your coat?”

  “In Gabby’s car. She’s parked out there.”

  “We’re going without it,” she said. “The cops are here. Come on.”

  They went out the back door of the kitchen, which was blocked up by the overflowing recycling bin. While Mercy stood passively, Rianne pushed aside the bin, causing a tinkle of cans to lurch on the floor while she undid the locks. The back step was slippery from the afternoon rain shower. Rianne told Mercy to be careful.

  They walked silent but quick through a series of backyards, past woodpiles and charcoal Weber grills and tossed-aside sandbox toys and plastic sleds. The ground was soft and squishy and Rianne was happy she’d worn boots and not flip-flops like Mercy. The whole time, cop sirens whined and blue and red lights flashed through the driveways of the houses. Mercy kept stopping to look into the windows of the houses they passed and Rianne kept pulling her by her shirt’s sleeve and saying come on until the lights and sirens faded and they were out of Cuddy’s neighborhood.

  “Where are we even going?” Mercy asked, panting.

  “To your sister’s,” she said. “Faith will figure something out.”

  “All the way to the hill? She’s not even home! She’s working tonight!”

  “I know,” Rianne said. “But she’ll figure it out. Your dad could be there right now, for all we know.”

  “Do you think he’s busting Luke?”

  “Luke didn’t drink tonight.”

  “Please don’t tell anyone about that guy and me, Rianne.”

  Rianne stopped. She took Mercy’s hand.

  “Are you kidding? I would never.”

  Mercy started crying. “God. What if Caleb knew . . . ?”

  Rianne hugged her friend. Pulled her tight again, hoping if she held her strong enough, if she calmed her down, Mercy would stop being sad. Stop loving Caleb in a way that made her do dumb things. Not make good life plans. Get too drunk. Hook up with old gross guys. Guys who should be the ones getting busted, not Luke. And not for underage consumption, but worse.

  “I totally kissed that guy. Me. I did it first. He wasn’t even expecting it!”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I don’t even think he’s cute! I barely liked him! He’s like twenty-six years old!”

  “It’s okay.”

  “He even had a condom in his shirt pocket, Ri. Seriously. He said so.”

  “Shhh,” Rianne said. “We’ve got to go.”

  “I’m freezing to death,” Mercy said, her mouth hot on Rianne’s shoulder. “How are you so warm?”

  “We’re almost there. Come on. Another block and we’ll be fine.”

  ELEVEN

  WHEN THEY GOT to the Pumphouse, there was no one working the door, just an empty stool. Rianne pulled Mercy inside. The place smelled exactly like Cuddy’s house. The same blast of old beer.

  They couldn’t see if Faith was at the bar, but the manager dude in a denim shirt with the Pumphouse logo stopped them at the hostess podium.

  “Uh, girls. We’re gonna need to see ID. Otherwise, you need to leave. State law.”

  “We need to talk to Faith, that’s all,” Rianne said. “Can you tell her that her sister’s here?”

  She expected the dude to argue—he had that prickish, snappy restaurant manager look, where he lived to remind people of rules. But the look on Mercy’s face convinced him and in a minute he came back with Faith. The three of them huddled off into a storage area in back and Mercy told the bare bones of the story. Leaving out the Cuddy lifer guy, mainly.

  Faith handed Mercy a cocktail napkin from her short black apron. “Go to the bathroom over there,” she told Mercy.

  “Hey, thanks for bringing her,” she said to Rianne. “Good thinking. Because Dad finding her this way? God. But my manager’s a dick and you’ll have to find a ride home. I mean, I can talk him into letting Mercy stay until I can figure something out. But both of you?” Her voice lowered. “And you’ve been drinking? We could seriously lose our liquor license.”

  “It’s fine,” Rianne said, taking her phone out. “I get it. I’m fine. I’ll just . . . I’ll figure it out. Just take care of our girl, okay?”

  “Of course,” Faith said.

  When Mercy returned from the bathroom, Rianne kissed her cheeks, one, then the other, as if she were foreign. Mercy leaned back and blinked.

  “Call me tomorrow,” Rianne said. “We’ll go have tacos or something. Okay?”

  Mercy curled up on the floor by a stack of empty kegs and nodded.

  Rianne walked through the Pumphouse, her head down, moving quickly so that Faith’s prick manager wouldn’t see her. She had no idea what she was doing. Where she was going. But she pushed open the double doors, anyway.

  And there was Sergei. Sitting on the bouncer stool, holding a flashlight in one hand and a magazine in the other. Pressed button-down shirt, a dark navy this time, but the same Levi’s, the same black shoes. Same strange Russian as ever.

 

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