confi-
dently.
I can tell by the look in his eyes that he likes Hunter.
“What are you girls doing?” he asks.
“Just hanging out,” I answer, annoyed by his apparent attrac-
tion to her.
“Are you an actress?” Dad asks.
“Yes,” Hunter smiles.
“Do you have an agent?” he asks.
“I’m meeting with a few different people,” she answers.
“You should give me your head shots. I’ll send them over to
Aaron Spelling—he’s a personal friend,” Dad brags, looking her up
and down.
82
Playground
I’m dying of embarrassment. Why doesn’t he just ask if he can
fuck her?
Dad smiles at Hunter one last time.
“Call me at the office. Jennifer has the number.”
Invisible fumes shoot from my ears as I pull my friends into
the house and away from the lecher.
After they leave, I bump into my father in the upstairs hallway.
I decide not to bring up the fact that he humiliated me in front of
them and that, by lunch tomorrow, everyone will know he’s a total
perv.
Instead, I ask if I can have people over Friday night, knowing
he probably won’t be home anyway. He tells me he’s going to Ve-
gas, but says Carmela will be around if I need her.
His confidence in my ability to handle myself makes me for-
give him for his inappropriate behavior. I second-guess myself,
thinking I blew the whole thing with Hunter out of proportion.
At school the next day, Liz, Hunter, and I high-five each other
in the halls as we pass out flyers. It’s all about Friday night.
We hire two bartenders and a DJ and borrow a couple off-duty
security guards from the Mansion. I wrap a few strands of
sparkling lights in the trees and sprinkle fake snow on the tennis
court. “I Want a New Drug” by Huey Lewis and the News screams
through the outdoor speakers.
I greet guests at the front door in a silver bobbed wig and pass
out vodka-infused Jell-O shots. Hundreds of people stroll in,
decked out disco-style.
Girls in black off-the-shoulder leotards and short-shorts strut
in, their faces and necks coated with glitter. Guys wearing layered
Izod shirts, ribbed tank tops, and ripped Levi’s slap each other
high-five.
A large group comes through the door at once. As I place a
Jell-O shot into someone’s hand, I recognize a bracelet and in-
stantly pull back. It’s my sister.
83
J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R
“Savannah? I’m so glad you came!”
I hand the plate of Jell-O shots to Hunter. Savannah and I em-
brace. We walk into the study.
“Rad party. Is Dad here?” she asks.
“Yeah, right. He’s gone for the weekend and I’m in charge of
regulating recklessness. Be careful, there’re tons of older guys here.”
“Don’t worry, I can handle myself.” Savannah smiles.
She appears remarkably poised while sitting on the brown
leather chair. She easily looks like she could be in high school. I
hear a glass break in the other room.
“I have to go play hostess. We’ll catch up later?”
An hour later, amid the dense mass of bodies, I notice Savan-
nah with a cocktail in her hand talking to a junior. As I pass her, I
take the cocktail away. “You’ll handle yourself a lot better without
this,” I whisper.
Liz grabs me, pulling me into a clandestine meeting in the
pantry. Michelle, Sonya, Hunter, Liz, Amber, and I gather around
as Quaaludes are dispersed and water bottles are passed around.
Liz pulls me aside ten minutes later suggesting we pop another.
The effects of the first pill haven’t kicked in, so we figure, Why not?
Ten minutes later, we do it again.
One more Quaalude and I’m out. There are no nightmares, no
worries, and no memories whatsoever.
When I wake up the next morning at ten, I’m surprised to find
a random guy passed out in bed next to me. Replaying the night, I
vaguely recall flirting with a senior on the baseball team at Har-
vard High. There’s soreness in between my legs that I’ve never felt
before. Throwing the covers back, I stumble out of
dently.
I can tell by the look in his eyes that he likes Hunter.
“What are you girls doing?” he asks.
“Just hanging out,” I answer, annoyed by his apparent attrac-
tion to her.
“Are you an actress?” Dad asks.
“Yes,” Hunter smiles.
“Do you have an agent?” he asks.
“I’m meeting with a few different people,” she answers.
“You should give me your head shots. I’ll send them over to
Aaron Spelling—he’s a personal friend,” Dad brags, looking her up
and down.
82
Playground
I’m dying of embarrassment. Why doesn’t he just ask if he can
fuck her?
Dad smiles at Hunter one last time.
“Call me at the office. Jennifer has the number.”
Invisible fumes shoot from my ears as I pull my friends into
the house and away from the lecher.
After they leave, I bump into my father in the upstairs hallway.
I decide not to bring up the fact that he humiliated me in front of
them and that, by lunch tomorrow, everyone will know he’s a total
perv.
Instead, I ask if I can have people over Friday night, knowing
he probably won’t be home anyway. He tells me he’s going to Ve-
gas, but says Carmela will be around if I need her.
His confidence in my ability to handle myself makes me for-
give him for his inappropriate behavior. I second-guess myself,
thinking I blew the whole thing with Hunter out of proportion.
At school the next day, Liz, Hunter, and I high-five each other
in the halls as we pass out flyers. It’s all about Friday night.
We hire two bartenders and a DJ and borrow a couple off-duty
security guards from the Mansion. I wrap a few strands of
sparkling lights in the trees and sprinkle fake snow on the tennis
court. “I Want a New Drug” by Huey Lewis and the News screams
through the outdoor speakers.
I greet guests at the front door in a silver bobbed wig and pass
out vodka-infused Jell-O shots. Hundreds of people stroll in,
decked out disco-style.
Girls in black off-the-shoulder leotards and short-shorts strut
in, their faces and necks coated with glitter. Guys wearing layered
Izod shirts, ribbed tank tops, and ripped Levi’s slap each other
high-five.
A large group comes through the door at once. As I place a
Jell-O shot into someone’s hand, I recognize a bracelet and in-
stantly pull back. It’s my sister.
83
J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R
“Savannah? I’m so glad you came!”
I hand the plate of Jell-O shots to Hunter. Savannah and I em-
brace. We walk into the study.
“Rad party. Is Dad here?” she asks.
“Yeah, right. He’s gone for the weekend and I’m in charge of
regulating recklessness. Be careful, there’re tons of older guys here.”
“Don’t worry, I can handle myself.” Savannah smiles.
She appears remarkably poised while sitting on the brown
leather chair. She easily looks like she could be in high school. I
hear a glass break in the other room.
“I have to go play hostess. We’ll catch up later?”
An hour later, amid the dense mass of bodies, I notice Savan-
nah with a cocktail in her hand talking to a junior. As I pass her, I
take the cocktail away. “You’ll handle yourself a lot better without
this,” I whisper.
Liz grabs me, pulling me into a clandestine meeting in the
pantry. Michelle, Sonya, Hunter, Liz, Amber, and I gather around
as Quaaludes are dispersed and water bottles are passed around.
Liz pulls me aside ten minutes later suggesting we pop another.
The effects of the first pill haven’t kicked in, so we figure, Why not?
Ten minutes later, we do it again.
One more Quaalude and I’m out. There are no nightmares, no
worries, and no memories whatsoever.
When I wake up the next morning at ten, I’m surprised to find
a random guy passed out in bed next to me. Replaying the night, I
vaguely recall flirting with a senior on the baseball team at Har-
vard High. There’s soreness in between my legs that I’ve never felt
before. Throwing the covers back, I stumble out of
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