House Party (3 page)

“And?”

She shook her head. “Not a word.”

Instantly I went from thinking that we shouldn't throw a party and worrying about there being too many people, to feeling worried that there wouldn't be enough people.

I looked around the room. It was a big, semi-empty room in a big house. It could hold a whole lot of people. And the more I cleared away, the more people it
could
hold.

“We could invite a few more,” I said.

“That would be smar t,” Jen said. “Nothing says loser more than throwing a party and having nobody come. That would be awful for you.”

“For
me
? Don't you mean for
us
?”

“It wouldn't be good for me, but it's not like it's
my
house.”

I was going to argue, but she was right. It was my house, and I was the one with the most to lose if this didn't go right.

“Well, do we invite more people?” she asked.

“My grandmother used to say
In for a penny, in for a pound
,” I said.

“And that means?”

“It means that we invite some more people.”

Jen smiled. “I think your grandmother is one smart lady.”

“I don't think any of this has anything to do with being smart,” I said.

“Okay, maybe smart isn't the right word. So you're okay with us inviting more people, right? I don't want to do anything you don't want me to do. It
is
your house.”

I didn't answer right away. Maybe it wasn't too late to be smart and call the whole thing off.

“Well?” Jen asked.

“I don't know. I'm just worried.”

“Sometimes, when I'm worried about something happening, I try to imagine what would be the very, very
worst
thing that could happen,” Jen said.

“And that's supposed to make me feel better?”

“It does. Think about it. What's the worst thing that could happen?”

“I don't know. I guess that something gets broken,” I said.

“You've pretty well taken care of that.”

She was right. I had done a pretty good job of putting everything away.

“Somebody could spill something on the carpet,” I said.

“Or
throw up
on the carpet,” Jen added.

“That would be worse.”

“But either way we'd just clean it up. Anything else?”

“My parents finding out would be pretty bad.”

“You're right, but whether it's fifteen people or twenty-five, they're going to
be just as mad, so there's nothing worse about it being slightly bigger.” She paused. “So?”

“So we invite some more people.”

“Yes, sir!” Jen said. She first saluted me, and then she disappeared up the stairs.

I took a deep breath. This was starting to feel like it was spinning faster and faster. It almost felt like I was climbing onto a roller coaster. There's that moment when they strap you in, when you know you're going on a ride, and you really don't know how much fun or how scary it's going to be, but you have no choice. You're going. Some people loved roller coasters. I didn't.

I sat staring at the clock. The house was so quiet that I could hear the clock ticking from clear across the room. That seemed right. Time was everything now. We had one hour to go before the start of the party—it was almost eight o'clock. Part of me couldn't wait for it all to begin, to see how it was going to work out. The other part of me was just dreading the whole thing. I didn't want nine o'clock to arrive. I wanted time to stand still.

“How do I look?” Jen asked as she entered the room.

I looked her up and down carefully. I knew she wanted a serious answer. I also knew that whatever answer I gave, it probably wouldn't make her happy.

She was wearing jeans— designer, expensive and tight…maybe a little too tight. Her top was low cut, but not too low cut. Her hair was all done up—she'd been working on it for the last hour—and she was wearing brand-new earrings that dangled down.

“You look good,” I said.

“Only good? I was hoping for great.”

“I meant to say great!” I stammered.

“Now you're just lying. I wish I knew about this two weeks ago. I would have started dieting. Do I look fat in these jeans?” she demanded as she turned around.

“You don't look fat in
any
jeans. You aren't fat.”

“I am compared to Sarah Jenkins.”

“Compared to Sarah Jenkins, a toothpick is fat.”

Jen chuckled. “Maybe you're right, but don't mention that to her tonight.”

“Sarah Jenkins is coming to our party?” I asked.

“I invited her.”

“I think we've only exchanged a few words, and she wasn't very nice to me when we did. But maybe it's just that I don't know her,” I said.

“Believe me, if you get to know her you'll find out she's
really, really
not nice at all.”

“Then why did you invite her?” I asked.

“You want a good party, you have to invite the right people, and, nice or not, she's one of the right people,” Jen said matter-of-factly.

“Maybe she won't even show.”

“We'll find out soon enough. We better take care of the last details. Do you have something like a big pot that we can use as a punch bowl?”

“We have an actual punch bowl,” I said.

“Fantastic. Do you have some frozen juices?”

“Yeah, in the freezer downstairs.”

“Good. I'll get the juices and you get the punch bowl.”

I went upstairs while Jen went downstairs. The punch bowl was in the hall cupboard. I pulled down the box, brought it to the kitchen and carefully removed the punch bowl from the box.

It was heavy. It was made of crystal. There was a ladle and a dozen little crystal glasses. I picked up one of the glasses and looked at it. I remembered the bowl and glasses from when I was a little kid. I loved the way the light sparkled as it passed through the glasses. We only used them for special family gatherings. They had belonged to my great-grandmother.

Maybe this wasn't so smart. I'd already put things away so they wouldn't be broken, and here I was putting out something that was valuable.

“That's beautiful,” Jen said. She was holding a bunch of cans of frozen juice in her arms.

“It is, but I'm just worried about somebody
dropping a cup and breaking it or one of them getting lost.”

“Forget the cups. Put them away and we'll use the plastic cups.”

That made perfect sense. I put the glasses back in the box and closed the lid. It was all right to use the punch bowl. What could happen to a punch bowl? Besides, we always used it for special occasions, and this party was a pretty special event.

“You want to help me with these?” Jen said as she dumped the juices on the counter.

“Sure.” I opened the drawer and pulled out an opener.

There was a can of grape juice, two orange, a peach and two cranberry juices.

As I opened them, Jen dumped them into the punch bowl.

“This is a lot of juice,” I said.

“People get thirsty.” Jen shrugged.

“I'm just worried my mother might notice them missing.”

“So what?” Jen said. “Tell her you made some juice. It isn't like she caught
you stealing their booze. Come to think of it, where do your parents keep their booze?”

“Don't worry about that. I've got it all packed away.”

“I'm not worried. I just need some of it for the punch.”

“You're going to spike the punch?” I gasped.

“It would be a pretty lame party without some alcohol, don't you think?” Jen asked.

“But we can't do that. My father will notice for sure if I take all his alcohol!”

“Nobody's talking about
all
. Just a little. I want to put in just enough that people can taste it, so we can
say
that the punch is spiked. I only need a few ounces. Do you think he'll miss a few ounces?”

I shook my head. He probably wouldn't.

“Vodka would be the best, but we could put in an ounce or two of two or three different types. It's not like anybody is going to be able to tell the difference.
We'll put in so little that somebody would have to drink the whole punch bowl to get a buzz.”

I guessed that was smart. Jen had been really thinking this thing through.

“I'll get the booze while you start making the punch,” I said.

I'd taken the bottles out of the cabinet in the living room and had stored them, along with everything else, under the stairs. I opened up the flaps on two or three boxes before I found the right one. I dragged it out of the storage locker and put it on the little buffet in the basement.

There weren't that many bottles inside. My parents weren't what you would call “drinkers.” My mother mainly had a little white wine with supper, and I'd hardly ever seen my father have anything to drink except an occasional beer when he was cutting the grass.

I pulled out a big bottle of vodka, a second one of gin and a third of whiskey. All three bottles were almost full. I carried them upstairs to the kitchen.

Jen had already finished opening all the little cans and dumping them into the punch bowl. She was now adding water to the colorful frozen mess. I put the bottles down beside the punch bowl.

“This is going to taste really good,” Jen said as she dumped in a pitcher of water.

I grabbed a wooden spoon and started to stir up the mixture.

Jen picked up the vodka bottle and unscrewed the cap. She sloshed some into the punch bowl.

“Be careful!” I warned. “Not too much!”

“Of course not.” She stopped and put the lid back on the bottle.

It looked to be not much different than the level before she started pouring. She did the same with the other two bottles. I kept stirring the whole concoction, the spoon clinking against the sides of the bowl.

“Time for a sample,” Jen said.

She dipped in a plastic cup and scooped out a little bit. She sipped it.

“Well?”

She handed me the cup. “See for yourself.”

I took a sip. “It's good, very good!”

“I think so. Can you taste the alcohol?”

I took another sip. “Maybe just a little.”

“Then it's perfect. By the way, we shouldn't drink anything else tonight. We have to keep track of everything, so we can't afford for this to be a party where we get drunk.”

“I've never gotten drunk!” I said.

“Never?”

“Never,” I said. “Have you?”

She shook her head.

“By the way,” Jen said, “are you going to wear that top?”

“What's wrong with this top?”

“Nothing…I was just wondering, that's all,” she said.

“I
was
going to wear it.” That was now out of the question. I went upstairs to change.

“Well,” Jen said, “it's almost official. We've moved from nobodies to big losers. We're the ones who gave a party and nobody came.”

“It's still early,” I said, trying to be reassuring.

“It's ten after nine. Ten minutes after people were supposed to arrive, and do you see any people?” She gestured around the room.

“Do you know what tonight is?” Jen asked.

“A bad night for giving a party?”

“It's a bad night to be alive!” she screamed. “I thought somebody would show up, but it's just you and me. It's not like we didn't invite people, because we did!”

She looked like she was going to start crying.

“It's okay,” I said. “It's probably because there wasn't enough notice. The next time my parents go away, we'll know a lot sooner and we can start planning and inviting people sooner.”

“That would just make it worse! That would give them even more time to ignore us. This is proof positive that you and I are two—”

The doorbell rang, cutting her off.

“The doorbell,” I said. I had an amazing ability to point out the obvious. It rang again.

“You get it!” Jen ordered. “I have to check my makeup!”

As she ran from the room, she reached over and cranked the volume up on the stereo. Music filled the room.

The doorbell rang again. I raced for the door. My heart was pounding. I reached the door as the bell rang again. This was bizarre. I was feeling excited and scared to answer my own front door. I took a deep breath, and then I threw it open.

There were four boys standing there. I didn't know any of them. I wasn't surprised because Jen did most of the inviting and knew most of the people.

“Is this the place where the party's taking place?” one of them asked.

“This is it,” I said. “I'm Casey. This is my house.”

“Hey, Casey. I'm Mike and this is Steve, Mo and Malik.”

“Come in,” I said and gestured for them to enter. “It's still early, so not many people have arrived yet,” I tried to explain.

“Nothing wrong with being early,” one of them said.

“Yeah, that's cool.”

“Jen's upstairs.”

“Cool.”

“And there's punch in the kitchen…it's in a bowl…and there's alcohol…we put alcohol in it…vodka and whiskey and gin,” I stammered. “So help yourself.”

“I think we've already taken care of that part,” one of them said—I think it was Mo, but I really couldn't keep track of all the names.

He opened up his coat, reached inside a pocket and pulled out a bottle. It was like a magic trick as this gigantic bottle of vodka just appeared.

“Plus we have beer,” one of the others said.

He pulled off a backpack, and I heard bottles clinking together.

“There are plastic cups in the kitchen by the punch bowl. Just help yourselves.”

“We will, thanks for having us,” Mike said.