The next assignment is online—a ten-page essay on the impact of suicide on youth culture. I promise I won’t ask you to read yours in front of the class.” End of message .
How could I go back there and face all those kids? Jesus. I should drop everything, but at least school gave me a focus. What would I have right now if not for school? My waitress job. That’s all.
Before putting my phone away I sent Rose a text message. Let’s have a party at my dad’s place.
Rose replied almost instantly. When? She was always up for a party.
Tomorrow. It’s my birthday.
Rose: How many people?
Me: As many as you want. I’ll post it to a couple of message boards. See if any bands want to play.
Rose: Are you sure? Do you feel ready for this?
Me: I NEED a party.
Chapter 18
Ian heard the noise before he turned the corner. And when he got to the house—his house—he found the street so packed with cars he was forced to park two blocks away.
As he walked toward the party he noted that all the windows were open and all the lights were on. The porch was packed with people, and he even spotted a cluster upstairs in what was Molly’s room. He rounded the house and found the same congestion in the backyard. He’d never seen so many hipsters and hippies in one place.
Inside it was body-to-body and about a hundred degrees. In the dining room a band was playing—two girls on electric guitars and a guy on drums while people watched and bobbed to the music.
He kept moving.
Couches and chairs overflowed with partiers holding disposable cups and smoking cigarettes and pot, the music too loud for conversation. Why did he get the feeling this party was not about having a party, but about getting back at him? About trashing the place he and Molly had worked together to create?
He squeezed past the mob sitting on the stairs in order to get to the second floor. Same chaos. Hallway packed, Molly’s room with several people standing around talking. Down to his room. Two girls sitting on his bed, legs crossed, smoking while another girl braided a guy’s hair and took pictures of him.
“Want me to braid your hair?” the girl asked when she spotted Ian standing in the doorway.
“I’m looking for Molly.”
“I saw her earlier.” The girl frowned as she concentrated on the braiding. “Maybe an hour ago. Outside.”
Under normal conditions he would have considered the party pretty mellow. Not the typical college campus party, and most probably weren’t students at the U. Just didn’t have that feel. But he was exhausted, and he knew what this was all about.
He finally spotted Molly downstairs in the kitchen. Wearing a floral dress, those black boots, a cute little sweater. She had a daisy clipped to her shiny hair, and her face was flushed, her lips full and red.
She was wasted. Maybe as wasted as the night they’d met.
“Where’ve you been?” She handed him her cup, sloshing beer on his arm. He shook it off.
“I drove to Chicago to visit a friend.”
“Male or female?”
“Female. We went to Berkeley together.” In fact, they’d lived together for a year before breaking up, but they’d stayed friends. Not easy to do.
“I wasn’t sure if you were coming back so I decided to throw you a going-away party.” She made a lazy sweep with one hand. “Post-departure party.”
He took a long drink of beer. “You know a lot of people.”
“Not really. Rose invited most of them.” She swayed. “Did you tell your friend about me?”
“No.”
“All for the best.” She pulled out her phone and took a picture of him, frowning as she checked it. “You look way too sober.”
He was beginning to think so too. Maybe that was the only way to be around Molly. Drunk. Oblivious.
“You know what day it is?” she asked.
“September twenty-fourth.”
“And?”
He knew it was her birthday. He’d even picked something up while he was in Chicago, but he wasn’t going to tell her. “I don’t know. I’m not
How could I go back there and face all those kids? Jesus. I should drop everything, but at least school gave me a focus. What would I have right now if not for school? My waitress job. That’s all.
Before putting my phone away I sent Rose a text message. Let’s have a party at my dad’s place.
Rose replied almost instantly. When? She was always up for a party.
Tomorrow. It’s my birthday.
Rose: How many people?
Me: As many as you want. I’ll post it to a couple of message boards. See if any bands want to play.
Rose: Are you sure? Do you feel ready for this?
Me: I NEED a party.
Chapter 18
Ian heard the noise before he turned the corner. And when he got to the house—his house—he found the street so packed with cars he was forced to park two blocks away.
As he walked toward the party he noted that all the windows were open and all the lights were on. The porch was packed with people, and he even spotted a cluster upstairs in what was Molly’s room. He rounded the house and found the same congestion in the backyard. He’d never seen so many hipsters and hippies in one place.
Inside it was body-to-body and about a hundred degrees. In the dining room a band was playing—two girls on electric guitars and a guy on drums while people watched and bobbed to the music.
He kept moving.
Couches and chairs overflowed with partiers holding disposable cups and smoking cigarettes and pot, the music too loud for conversation. Why did he get the feeling this party was not about having a party, but about getting back at him? About trashing the place he and Molly had worked together to create?
He squeezed past the mob sitting on the stairs in order to get to the second floor. Same chaos. Hallway packed, Molly’s room with several people standing around talking. Down to his room. Two girls sitting on his bed, legs crossed, smoking while another girl braided a guy’s hair and took pictures of him.
“Want me to braid your hair?” the girl asked when she spotted Ian standing in the doorway.
“I’m looking for Molly.”
“I saw her earlier.” The girl frowned as she concentrated on the braiding. “Maybe an hour ago. Outside.”
Under normal conditions he would have considered the party pretty mellow. Not the typical college campus party, and most probably weren’t students at the U. Just didn’t have that feel. But he was exhausted, and he knew what this was all about.
He finally spotted Molly downstairs in the kitchen. Wearing a floral dress, those black boots, a cute little sweater. She had a daisy clipped to her shiny hair, and her face was flushed, her lips full and red.
She was wasted. Maybe as wasted as the night they’d met.
“Where’ve you been?” She handed him her cup, sloshing beer on his arm. He shook it off.
“I drove to Chicago to visit a friend.”
“Male or female?”
“Female. We went to Berkeley together.” In fact, they’d lived together for a year before breaking up, but they’d stayed friends. Not easy to do.
“I wasn’t sure if you were coming back so I decided to throw you a going-away party.” She made a lazy sweep with one hand. “Post-departure party.”
He took a long drink of beer. “You know a lot of people.”
“Not really. Rose invited most of them.” She swayed. “Did you tell your friend about me?”
“No.”
“All for the best.” She pulled out her phone and took a picture of him, frowning as she checked it. “You look way too sober.”
He was beginning to think so too. Maybe that was the only way to be around Molly. Drunk. Oblivious.
“You know what day it is?” she asked.
“September twenty-fourth.”
“And?”
He knew it was her birthday. He’d even picked something up while he was in Chicago, but he wasn’t going to tell her. “I don’t know. I’m not
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