Be More Chill (18 page)

T
HAT ONE
’
S CLASSIFIED
. G
REEK MILITARY
.

The Greeks have a satellite?

S
URE
. T
HAT ONE
’
S FOR
AT&T. S
O
’
S THAT ONE
. T
HAT
’
S
J
APANESE
.

What about that one?

T
HAT
’
S
S
IRIUS
. A
REAL STAR
.

After five minutes (each minute is cold, but also sharp), Michael’s s_ _t car rolls up to my house. He’s expecting me on the porch, not out here, so I get out and walk to his window,
tap on it and wave at him.

“Put your car in my driveway.”

“Okay,” he grins. He’s having fun.

I call home again as Michael pulls into the driveway, as a distraction. A very perturbed Dad answers.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, Dad, Michael came and picked me up, so I’m on my way to this party, okay?”

“Fine, son. Have your friends been prank calling here?”

“No.”

“If they do, I’m serious, I’ll go balliztic on their asses.”

“‘Balliztic?’”

“Yeah, like the rappers do? You know,
Niggaz Go Balliztic
? That album?”

“Um, okay. Dad. See ya.”

I end the call as Michael walks up to me on Rampart Road, silent. We traipse on the glittering asphalt to Mom’s car.

“Isn’t your Dad going to notice the difference between this car and mine?” Michael says.

“Think about it. It’ll be night and he’ll really need to come up to it and look closely, plus he’ll be so happy or devastated, depending on how his game turns
out…I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

T
HAT
’
S BECAUSE
I
CALCULATED IT FOR YOU
,
STUPID
.

I know. Thanks.

Michael and I get in my Mom’s car. I jam the key in the steering column and turn it away from me this time, the way I was instructed
never
to do. The engine comes to life. My body
tingles like I’m on Internet chat, like I’m talking with Christine, like I’m doing everything all at once. Driving is going to rock.

R
EMEMBER
:
BOTH HANDS ON THE WHEEL AT TEN AND TWO
. U
SE ONLY ONE FOOT TO DRIVE
. I
F YOU USE BOTH
FEET
,
YOU
’
RE
LIABLE TO PUT A FOOT ON THE BRAKE AND ACCELERATOR AT THE SAME TIME
,
AND YOU
DON
’
T WANT THAT
. S
HIFT INTO
“D”
AND KEEP IN MIND THAT THE WHEEL IS MUCH MORE SENSITIVE THAN IT IS IN VIDEO
GAMES
. Y
OU SHOULD NEVER HAVE TO TURN THEATRICALLY
,
LIKE
J
AMES
B
OND
.

I do as I’m told. With the squip in my head, I drive steadily and carefully, anticipating other cars, the behavior patterns of red lights, unseen bumps, and objects in the mirrors. The
squip says it can sense these things through quantum entanglement, but I’m beginning to think it’s just magic.

“Damn, you’re a good driver,” Michael says. “You gotta get your license and ferry me around more often.”

I smile. Michael overdressed, wearing a blue button-down shirt and khaki cargo pants instead of anything remotely cool. (I’m in a designer tee, used jeans, and a baseball cap at a jaunty
angle.) But I think I’ll be able to get him with a girl at this party, if he keeps his mouth shut.

“Here we go.”

“Already? It was like two minutes away!”

“Yeah, but you still need to come in a
car
.”

The street is clogged with parked vehicles. It’s easy to tell where the action is: one house has a T-shirt and bra out on the front lawn, all the lights except one on inside, and what
looks like a stream of urine emanating from a third-story window.

“Wow, supercool,” Michael grins as we stop.

L
AST CHANCE TO LEAVE HIM IN THE CAR
.

No. He’s my friend.

We get out and stride across the lawn like gangsters. Or at least,
I’m
a gangster (gangsta, even?—maybe not yet); Michael is still learning, but some of me is rubbing off on
him. How could it not? He’s starting to get the walk, the posture. At the door is some guy I’ve never seen before, with freckles. I hate freckles.

“Hi, I’m Jason’s brother…” He shakes hands prissily. “Do you know who Jason is?”

“Yeah, he’s the guy throwing the party,” I spit.

“Ri-ight, well, there are already a lot of people here, so he sent me out here to tell everybody who comes that—”

T
ELL THIS GUY TO KISS YOUR STEAMING A
_ _ _
O
_ _.

“Kiss my—”

“Jeremy!” Chloe screams from one story up, leaning out a window. “You’re here!”

“Yeah, hey,” I look up, stretching my Adam’s apple.

“Carl, let him in, and his friend too,” she tells the door guy. “Don’t be a complete dick to everyone, just stupid people!”

“O-o-okay,” Carl says, stepping aside to let us into the party. Inside it’s kids everywhere, bright and noisy, crouched in corners and on steps and on couches and rubbing up
against one another in crevices. There must be sixty of them in here, but I only get a vague impression because immediately Chloe is bounding down the stairs at me, leaping over the people like
gargoyles, flinging her arms around my neck.
“Hi!”

She expertly shoves a pill in my mouth. Hey, where did Michael go? Did he leave to find beer?

“I said
hi-i-i
!” Chloe grins. She taps a bottle of water against the side of my head. “Keep that, it’s your magic water!”

“Okay.” The music in the party is deafening. It’s like a different dimension.

“So what are you waiting for? Take your pill, before it dissolves!” Chloe freaks. I swig the water and swallow obediently. “Is that like,
the
pill?” I ask.

“Dur!”
Chloe sticks her tongue out at me.

I
SUGGEST YOU TURN ME OFF NOW
, J
EREMY
. Y
OU DON
’
T WANT ME ON WHILE YOU
’
RE ROLLING
. A
S WE DISCUSSED
.

Right. Shutdown.

There’s unbelievable anticipation in my nervous system as I move through the house, led by Chloe’s small ring finger. I know that at some point my brain is going to
explode with pleasure or insanity or…y’know,
something
, and waiting for it is almost as crazy as whatever it’s going to be. I’m ready, though. I’ve had a voice
in my head for weeks. What could there be inside me that’s more intense than the squip?

Chloe wears jeans with sequins and a shirt with intentional holes in it. She maneuvers past kids grinding to hip-hop, kids smoking weed on what looks like inflatable plastic furniture, past Rich
and whoever’s attached to his belly button this week (he smiles at me, making a clicking noise), and Jenna Rolan and that kid Eric with the one eyebrow, and all the faces that I see now
instead of just admire. (Unfortunately, no Michael. Where did he go?) Jesus, even Christine is here! She’s in one of the living rooms (but they all look like living rooms when they have
enough people in them) by herself! No Jake in sight! This is my chance!

“Chloe, I’ve got to—” I tug at her arm, dab my chin toward Christine. At the same time, since this is going to be an important conversation, I turn the squip on.

W
HAT ARE YOU DOING
? L
EAVE
C
HRISTINE ALONE
. C
HLOE IS GOING TO LEAD YOU TO A ROOM FOR
ECSTASY
-
LADEN SEXUAL SHENAGIANS
! R
EMEMBER
, C
HRISTINE WILL COME LATER
—

But she’s available now!

“You really live in your own little world, don’t you?” Chloe asks, standing next to me, watching me stare at Christine, who hasn’t noticed yet.

“No, I just—”

“Come!” Chloe grabs my shirt. “I
like
you.” She adjusts my baseball cap. “You can go back to your world later. Be in mine for a while.”

I look at Chloe. She really
is
cute, this time with a pastel candy bracelet around her neck. This is not a problem I ever thought I’d have.

T
HAT
’
S RIGHT
,
AND YOU DON
’
T HAVE ONE NOW.
G
O WITH THE GIRL
WHO
’
S TOUCHING YOU
.

I clasp Chloe’s hand and let her lead me out of the room, through the house, to a thin door that looks like it goes to a closet, but actually opens into a laundry center, with a washer and
two small dryers and a mattress on the floor and some jalapeño-shaped Christmas lights on the pipes. Chloe pushes me in. She shuts the door very quickly, locking it; I have this sudden flash
that she’s hiding from someone, that just as I’m trying to talk to Christine, she’s trying
not
to talk to somebody, but then she’s kissing me and taking my hat off
and it’s a lot nicer than with Brooke and we’re leaning back and I’m shutting the squip off for good because her face is shimmering in front of mine.

The music comes through the walls slow and distorted; I only hear the bass rumble. It’s one of those techno songs where the beat doubles and redoubles and redoubles again every two seconds
until it’s a superfast hummingbird blur and then it stops and there’s a wooshing electronic voice that goes, “
Ex
-stasy.” And then the beat starts again. Chloe and I
fall like slow trees to the mattress, tongues working like philosopher starfish. I can’t even pinpoint the moment when we started kissing; I just know we are. Both of us have our eyes open
but we don’t care.

“Omigosh,” Chloe pulls away, wiping my spit from her lips. “It’s hitting you.” She looks deeply at me. “Your eyes are doing the pupil-shake!” She seems
so happy. “Here, have more of your magic water!” She takes it out of my pocket, where I put it without realizing.

“But…” I push the water away; it rolls down the floor. Chloe is looking so good right now and so sexy and so much like she was born for me, for this moment, that I have to sit
up and grab her and lean her in my lap and start playing with her breasts through her shirt with the holes, just like the squip told me to do before with Brooke. (Holes make it easy.) I’m
very warm (I’m sweating) and I’m leaning forward in a way I can’t help and chewing on Chloe’s candy necklace and thinking about sex in its most basic, pure, mechanical form,
like what I see in the little movies on the Internet, close up. And I start talking: “Oh man, Chloe, I want to _ _ _ _  you so bad, right? I want to pull on your _ _ _ _les, right? And then I
want to _ _ _ _ on your _ _ _ _, right? Right? And then I can _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ and  _ _ _, right? _ _ _ _ _ _ _?” My words seem to have rhythm, something primal and stuttered to the music, or
something.

“Mmm,” Chloe
mmms
from my lap. I keep going. I’m on a dirty-talking roll, like the kind I get into on Internet chat. The words flow: “And then I’m gonna b_ _
_ on your _ _ _ _ and _ _ _ _ your shoulders and _ _ _ your knee, right? And then I’m gonna _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ your tail—”

“Jeremy! I don’t have a tail!” Chloe laughs.

“Yeah, but I really wish you did, right? Like I would paste a tail right on you. Like a little monkey tail. I had dreams about you and in them, you always had a tail, you know?”

“Jeremy.” Chloe gets up, pushes me down on the mattress. “You’re so weird.” She’s perched over me now, hands to either side of my shoulders and knees to
either side of my waist.

“Are you ‘straddling’ me?” I ask, wide-eyed. “Is this called ‘straddling?’”

Sweat rolls into my eye. Chloe’s impossible gorgeous elfin face shudders. “Have you ever rolled before?”

I shake my head extravagantly. “I’ve never done
anything
before,” I say. “My sq—, uh, my special friend won’t let me.” Phew.

“You
are
weird…my little rolling virgin,” Chloe says, coming in to kiss more. She lets me take off her shirt, but her bra, which I couldn’t handle in a normal
mind state, is out of the question. (It seems to have holes in it too—how did she put holes in the bra?) She rears up, unleashes it herself, and I aim right for them (they’re so
beautiful, bigger than Brooke’s) in a state of deathless shock—

“Wait, Jeremy, let me show you something,” Chloe says, and she’s about to show me this something, whatever it is (it must be
amazing
), when there’s a horrible
crash as the tiny window above the washing machine shatters and a huge fist emerges, bloody.

“Chloe!”

“Omigod!” Chloe grabs her shirt, which she knew was at the foot of the mattress, and clutches it over her breasts.

“You _ _ _k_ _ _ slut!” the fist says, and I see that it’s not bloody; it’s tattooed in this weird way that makes it look like ink is spilling out between each knuckle.
“You
whore
!”

Now an eye appears at the window, like a whale eye, except I realize that it’s not a whale, that some belligerent
person
has punched through from outside and that we’re below
ground level and he’s up on the lawn. And as I’m putting this together, not really acknowledging my own role in the situation, the eye moves in the window and is replaced by a mouth,
and the mouth says: “Jeremy Heere. I am going to knock your teeth down your throat.”