Matters of Circumstance (16 page)

Ruby and Michael exchanged a look and smiled. “Exactly,” said Michael, nodding once. He didn’t even need to talk for Farrah to hear his implied
‘I told you so.’

“So you actually do want to go?” Ruby asked. “We’re not peer-pressuring you or anything?”

Oh, that was a Neal-concern if there ever was one.

Farrah, surprised by this question, couldn’t help the way she laughed. “No, you can tell Neal that I’m not feeling peer-pressured. What time does Dalton’s party start?”

It was like going back in time, picking Ruby up at her house and driving up a block to the source of the pounding music. The closer they got the more the car and even the ground seemed to vibrate with it. Eventually it began to feel as though the bass was thumping in her very soul.

They were a little late since Ruby hadn’t been able to figure out what to wear (“It sucks! The outfit I want to wear is the one I wore to the last party!”), so Farrah had trouble finding a parking space. She eventually managed to squeeze her car in between a beat up Honda and a jacked-up truck.

“Finally,” said Ruby, swiping her straight-ironed hair out of her eyes and delicately transferring her weight from the car to her stiletto heels. “I thought you were going to have to park, like, two block away or something. I would have been so miserable walking that distance.”

Farrah snorted. “Yeah, because the exercise would’ve killed you,” she said as she got out of the car and locked it. Knowing better than to bring a purse, she just shoved her keys deep into the pocket of her jeans so that they couldn’t fall out.

“With these heels it might just,” Ruby play-sniffed as they started walking towards Dalton’s house.

“Then why did you wear them, if they’re so dangerous?”

“Because they’re hot, and I hardly ever get a chance to wear them,” she replied in a duh voice. Then she stopped and suddenly turned to Farrah. “Hey, does my eye makeup look okay? I never asked what you thought.”

“It looked fine at your house, but it’s kind of dark now so I can’t check for you.” Farrah had long since given up on asking why Ruby was so paranoid about her appearance, because she never looked bad.

“Oh, okay.” She started walking again, but wiped under her eyes anyway, just in case.

Farrah wondered if she had someone she was trying to impress tonight, because she was fussier than Farrah could remember her ever being. Maybe Gerrod was going to be there?

“Hey,” she said, at once joking and trying to set her friend’s mind at ease. “How does my hoodie look? Too dressy?”

Ruby glanced over at her and laughed, loud and appreciative even with the music surrounding them. “You’re gorgeous, Farrah. You don’t even have to try,” she said, but there was no trace of joking in her demeanor.

“Neither do you,” she said. “You go from normal pretty to supermodel pretty in times like these.”

Of course, the compliment didn’t exactly have the impact Farrah was hoping for at this point, because she had to raise her voice just to be heard.

Ruby waved her off, simultaneously checking her phone. “Well, let’s just go have fun—Michael just texted me. He’s in the kitchen, if you want to go there.”

Farrah saw some guys in their football jackets playing with a soccer ball out front. They waved and greeted Ruby when she walked by, one wolf-whistling and telling her that she needed to show off those legs of hers more often. She only laughed and said hello as she went up the steps to the open front door, where all of the lights were on and Farrah could already see people dancing and socializing inside.

“’Eye O’Brien, long time no see!” the wolf-whistling football player called cheerily as she passed. He reeked of weed, but she could see that his intentions were good.

“Ha-ha, yeah,” she called back. “But where’s your football?”

“Fucking Dalton don’t have one, can you believe it?”

Ah, so that was why. She walked on, breathing in alcohol and marijuana smoke the closer she got. What looked like the second string quarterback and the student council secretary were making out so hard on the porch swing that the chains squeaked and groaned on their hooks. Farrah was personally surprised that they both still had their clothes on.

Having already lost Ruby, she entered the house alone, but she did run into Sally Salome and her boyfriend Hunter Daignault. With an arm slung about her shoulders and a paper Dixie cup of beer in the other hand, and he looked rather content. Likewise, Sally’s lipstick was smudged and her tight, flattering clothes were a little out of order. The whites of her eyes were also pink, but she was so buzzed and giggly that she didn’t seem to notice any of this.

“Oh my god, Farrah!” she exclaimed happily when she saw her. “I thought you had sworn off parties or something.”

“Oh, no. A lot of stuff’s been going on, that’s all,” she said casually. Then to the football player: “Hey Hunter. How have you been?”

“Pretty good,” the linebacker grunted.

“That’s cool—hey, where’s the beer? I’m way too sober for this place.” Farrah liked parties, but sometimes the only way she had fun was when she had a nice beer buzz.

“Out back, where it usually is,” said Sally, reaching out to stop Hunter’s hand from going any further as it left her shoulders in favor of cupping her hip.

“Cool, thanks,” said Farrah. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Oh yeah.”

Of course, she didn’t go five feet before she bumped into someone else and repeated the same basic conversation. It took her probably ten minutes to reach the kitchen, where the doors were kept shut so that the music was muffled enough that you could hear your own thoughts. Michael was slamming his cup of beer down on the table and saying (well, more like shouting), “—I really don’t care what he was trying to do, the point is that he still acted like a fucking asshole! Seriously, what kind of person
does
that?”

The person he was talking to, a tough-looking girl with red streaks in her hair and piercings in her lower lip and right eyebrow, only shrugged. “I still love him,” she said simply.

“Oh, Christ—” then Michael noticed Farrah. “O’Brien, where the hell have you been? I even got you a fucking beer.” He gestured violently to a Dixie cup she could have sworn was also his.

Farrah grabbed the proffered beer and took a long, deep drink from it. “Thanks, I actually needed that,” she said sat next to him, practically empty cup in hind. She wasn’t close to buzzed, but her insides were tingling with it.

“You can get yourself the rest. I’m over looking like your bitch.”

“Sure thing. Thanks for doing what you did.” This was just how you dealt with Michael when he was in one of these moods. He acted like a jerk, but when you looked past his abrasive attitude he was a really nice person.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said gruffly, taking a modest sip from his own cup.

The girl with the hair-streaks was staring unabashedly at Farrah as if she were her newfound hero. “You just downed that whole beer in one gulp,” she said.

“Yeah, well,” said Farrah, looking down at her cup. “It was cheap stuff, and there wasn’t much of it, so…”

“You still fucking downed it!” the girl exclaimed. “That was so fucking hardcore!”

Farrah smiled, used to being spoken to like this about her drinking habits. “Thanks, but it’s just because I’m Irish. It’s in my blood.”

“Farrah
O’Brien?”
Michael enunciated, just to make sure she wouldn’t miss the point.

The girl’s heavily decorated eyes widened a fraction. “Oh shit, it is. I didn’t even recognize you—you haven’t been to a party in forever! It’s me, Bianca Zahalka.”

It took Farrah a moment to recognize the name, and then she made a big “Ooh—duh! Hey Bianca. I didn’t recognize you, either, with your new look. You look scary tough now.”

Bianca laughed at this, and it was still the same cute, girly sound it had always been. When Farrah had been in contact with her she had been decked out in bright colors, skirts and lip gloss. Now she looked like a gothic skateboarder.

“Yeah, I get that a lot now,” said Bianca. “It’s pretty fun actually, since—” she lifted her arm and hit the flesh just below her bare bicep, causing her arm to jiggle in the way underarm flab tended to do “—you know, I can’t do shit.” Then she leaned on her arms towards Farrah. “But seriously, in all the time we’ve known each other I had no goddamn clue you drank like that. How weird, right?”

“Totally,” Farrah agreed.

It actually was, since Bianca had dated Michael from the first quarter of freshman year to late in sophomore year. It had been a fairly steady relationship, as far as high school standards went, but some fundamental personality differences eventually split them up.

Or so they said. Anybody could tell that they still cared about each other. They were always talking and texting, and while Michael hadn’t had anything but a few casual dates and/or hookups since, Bianca always came to him when she had a problem with her current boyfriend (and she had had a lot of them at this point).

Michael put his forehead into his palm. “Oh, fuck me. Fucking girl talk.”

Bianca glanced at him in somewhat affronted perplexity, but Farrah got the hint. She stood with her cup and said, “Well, I’ll see you guys later. I need more beer.”

“Okay,” said Bianca, though she was very obviously suspicious of what was going on.

Farrah offered one last wave and went through the back door and into the yard, where two heavy-duty plastic trash cans were pushed up against the wall. Each one held a keg, tap and lots of ice, and they were surrounded by a smaller crowd of people than one would think. Farrah said hi to them and exchanged pleasantries as she refilled her cup, drained it, and filled it again.

“Ooh, watch O’Brien go!”

“Girl, you are legendary. I’ve missed your style since you been gone.”

She was so lucky that she never got nasty hangovers. So, so lucky.

“Hey Farrah, do you want to do a keg stand?” a guy named John asked her. She recognized him from her AP history class. “I think you’d rock it.”

She shook her head. “You should’ve asked me sophomore year,” she said. “That’s when I was into that sort of thing. Now I just come for the social scene.” And she smiled apologetically.

He smiled back without bitterness. “Hey, that’s cool. See you in history on Monday.”

“Sure thing,” she said as he wandered off.

“Okay, O’Brien, finish this cup and step away from the beer,” said a familiar voice.

Farrah raised her eyebrows at Andrea Barbados over the rim of her cup. “Why would I do that when I’m not buzzed enough yet?” she asked with a teasing smirk.

Andrea rolled her eyes and retorted, “Yeah, but you haven’t tried walking yet. That’s when it really hits you.” She would know, because of the way she was swaying in her heels. Even Farrah, whose brain was finally having a little bit of difficulty focusing on what her eyes saw, could see that Andrea was almost completely gone.

“This is true,” she agreed, tipping her head back and finishing the last of her latest beer. It really was cheap, tasteless stuff. That was always the downfall of free party beer.

“Yeah, so toss the cup and go dancing with me,” said Andrea, plucking said cup right out of Farrah’s fingers and marching to drop it in the smartly-placed trash can. Then she came back and grabbed Farrah’s arm to drag her back into the house, where colorful, flashing lights were now visible through the open doors and windows.

“I haven’t done any dancing yet,” Farrah reflected aloud.

Andrea wobbled in her four-inch heels and Farrah had to physically guide her the rest of the way into the house. The air inside was thick—almost palpable—with the scents of smoke and booze and sweat. It was also
hot
. Outside the air had been nice and cool against Farrah’s flushed skin, but in the house it was just as if not more heated than Farrah felt, and it was not exactly comfortable. She pushed the urge to discard her sweater to the back of her mind in favor of welcoming the throb of the music. The closer she got to the source the more it wormed its way into her system, becoming her heartbeat and the rhythm in which she walked.

“Oh my god,” said Andrea, already sashaying her hips. “I freaking love this song.”

They managed to get to the outskirts of the bouncing, writhing mass of people dancing in the living room, where the music was loudest. It was so loud in Farrah’s somewhat hazy mind that it blurred out her thoughts, her discomfort, even the memory of her own name.

Andrea’s dancing was a little more intimate than Farrah was 100% comfortable with (that is to say, she grinded a lot), but all in all it was fun. It was a lot of fun. For the first time it what felt like lifetimes, Farrah felt like a teenager again. She felt like she had no worries, no impending problems or miscommunications. She was in the moment and carefree and
loose.
It was almost as if she had no wings to cause her problems at all.

When Andrea ran off with her hand slapped over her mouth and green-tinged cheeks, however, Farrah knew the moment was over. Oh well, at least she was in a pleasant mood now.

Except that she was sweltering
.
It was so freaking hot in here, she felt like she was standing in a sauna. Sweat coated her face and the inside of her elbows despite the fact that she had rolled up the sleeves of her hoodie. God, she wanted to take the stupid sweater off. What if she overheated or something? What if she got heat stroke?