In Deep (16 page)

•  •  •

Still, I make myself eat a thin slice, just so Charlie doesn't notice how pissed I am and then ask me about it later. More happy-go-lucky conversation happens around me, but being angry with Charlie gives me something to focus on instead of feeling blindsided by Maria's dad, and so now I'm just concentrating on bearing it, on getting out of here. When Maria gets up to clear the dessert plates, the way her father smiles and thanks her makes me want to throw something at him. Them both. I claw my fingers into my rock-hard quads under the table. I will tough this out just like everything else. We go back into the sun-room, and Ethan tallies the winners. The prizes are given out. Even though I trounced everyone, the pride I feel is gone. When Maria's mother hands me my gift certificate, I can barely look at her. At anyone.

“You okay?” Charlie wants to know when we're finally in the car together.

I nod.

“You got quiet all of a sudden. I wondered if it was weird—you know, with all the close-knit family stuff.”

It shouldn't surprise me, not if I'm honest, but still I'm stunned to hear it was really that obvious.
You don't have a dad either,
I want to say meanly. But I don't. Partly because Charlie does still have a dad. Just not in the same city. Which is still a better situation than mine.

“More people than I'm used to, is all.”

He accepts it. Or at least doesn't say anything else. We drive back to my place, quiet, knowing there's no time to stop and make out anywhere. Which is fine, because even being this close to Charlie right now is making me want to crawl out of my skin.

“You have practice in the morning, right?” he says, parking in my driveway.

“Eight fifteen, like always.” Even I can hear how tight my voice is.

“Hey.” He's looking at me. “Are we okay? I mean, are you?”

I keep staring straight, out the windshield. “Just tired, like I said.”

He shifts in the seat, turning fully toward me. “Well, it was much more fun with you there. I've missed you.”

I squeeze his hand, but I still can't look at him. He leans across and kisses my neck, squeezes my knee. His fingers are firm and unapologetic, just like Gavin's. Reflexively, I push my hips toward him, inviting him to go up farther. I suddenly want him to replace that feeling. Replace everything in me.

As soon as I grab his hand and press it up, though, he clears his throat and looks toward the house. “We should probably both go soon.”

I don't know what's wrong with him, stopping us all the time.

“What?” he says, defensive.

I hadn't realized I'd made a face.

“Sometimes I don't get you” is all I say.

“Get me how?”

“I mean, boys are supposed to be crazy about this stuff, but you're all like—”

He laughs, embarrassed, and wipes his hand over his face. “Are you serious? Look at me.” Gesturing toward his lap in a shy way. “Of course I'm crazy about it. It's just that you're tired, and it's curfew. You have to be up early in the morning, and so do I. We're in your driveway. I can't just flip you onto the backseat, Polo. I mean, I'm trying to do the responsible thing here.”

I realize Gavin would flip me onto the backseat. “I know you are,” I finally say.

“Look.” He lets a slow breath out of his nose. “Let's just get some rest. It's been a weird week. I'm sorry about tonight. I know it was too much.”

What's too much is how I had to endure all that at Maria's, and then him calling attention to it and turning me down almost within the same breath. Thinking he's doing me some kind of favor by the whole thing. I push open the car door and get out.

“Polo, wait—”

“It's fine,” I say, leaning back in, though I'm not sure I can hold my face straight at this point. “I just have to go. You're right. We're both tired. Okay? I just need to go to bed. I'm sorry.”

“Come over after practice tomorrow?”

I nearly scream. “Yes, fine.”

“And, hey—it was awesome watching you slay everyone tonight.”

My lips tremble into a smile as I shut the door and wave. I try not to rush up onto the porch while he backs up, but once I'm there I stay crouched in the dark section where Charlie can't see me waiting until he's left, and Mom and Louis can't see that I'm home, either. A place where I can hover, alone, in the dark, refusing to make a sound, refusing to shake, while hot tears squeeze themselves between my pressed-closed eyes and fall, no matter how hard I'm trying to hold them in.

THE NEXT MORNING GRIER, GAVIN,
and Linus are all missing from practice. Assholes. When I make query eyebrows at Troy about it, he just shrugs with this pissed-off and slightly hung-over look on his face. After Van's pep talk I pat Troy on the shoulder, almost telling him how much better he is, being able to party and show up for practice, but I don't really feel like comforting anyone. Too many complicated feelings from last night are still hovering, and I have to shake them all off. Now.

So it's just as well Gavin's not here, or Grier, either. Since this is my last practice before taper, Van pours it on. I can tell he's thought about how to really push me in this last hard practice, and as I go in to my third fifty, I feel a wash of gratitude.

More than that, though, it makes me want to show him that even when he pushes me, I can push harder.

Fuck you, Grier, for not caring anymore.

Fuck you, Gavin, for trying to play with me, and her.

Fuck you, Charlie, for wanting me only in the ways I won't give.

Fuck whatever. I know what I'm capable of: this.

•  •  •

I go home, eat. Spend some time in front of the TV. When Charlie texts to see when I'm coming over, I beg off and say practice was vicious and has worn me out. I don't want him to ask me questions, don't want to talk about last night. He pesters me a little, but I deflect and insist I had a good time. Just tell him that I'm worried about getting enough rest and all the school stuff coming up. If he's mad about it, if he doubts, he doesn't say so. Just
okay fine
, and then that's it.

Whatever, Charlie. You can't be the one calling the shots.

•  •  •

Grier and Gavin pick me up for the party at 8:42. During the afternoon back-and-forth with Charlie, Grier also sent a ton of texts, half of them around the fact that she forgot I was at practice this morning, and the rest figuring out details and then her sending a bunch of exclamation points. Part of me almost bailed on them, too, after deflecting Charlie's crap. But I took a nap and woke up with a clearer head.

There are things I still need to stay on top of.

•  •  •

When we get to the lake house, it's the same as last time, though maybe the music's louder. Same keg, same Beer Pong, same kids gazing into their devices on the back porch, same bonfire—same. Within ten minutes, I've filled my beer then woven a bit around the kitchen, waiting for Grier and Gavin to get involved in the Pong game—which Grier insists she's practiced for this time. As soon as they're engaged, without looking back, I head out to the bonfire.

Standing in the not-too-hot-yet night air, I get why people come here—all this beer, all this space. It's a different way of disappearing, out in this happy crowd. Trying to remember good things instead of bad, for a while I meld into a part of it, see what it's like. I stand near the fire, eavesdropping on a bunch of baseball dudes trying to tell jokes but forgetting where they are in the middle of them. Someone passes around a joint, and since I don't have practice tomorrow, I take a few hits. There's some laughing. People talking about shit I don't care about. I just sit there, listening. Drifting. A little while later this bright-eyed guy starts playing guitar, and half the people who were previously standing there head inside. The joint comes around again. I stay and smoke, smugly aware that Gavin's probably wondering where I am now. He's a dickweed, is mostly what I think. The whole point of coming tonight was to stay out of his range and watch him pretend not to be looking for me, watch him being a loser without his even knowing. I should probably keep moving
in case they come outside, but the guitar guy is actually good. I sing along with him—under my breath, not loud enough for anyone else to hear—to a Flaming Lips song, and then another I recognize only part of the words to and don't know who it's by. I'm really starting to get into it, when he starts playing something slower, sweeter. The few couples around me lean closer to each other. Suddenly goose bumps race up my bare arms as I listen to the words. Without warning, I want Charlie. To tell him I'm sorry for today and how I was last night. I want him to be here with his arms around my shoulders. I want to tell him how much I appreciate his understanding, how I want to be a better girlfriend.

And then, suddenly, I want my dad. To be able to tell him about Charlie or anything else. Even Gavin, though Dad would probably kick his ass if I did.

The unbidden thought makes me take a sharp breath and stand up. I whirl away from the lake, the weed, the bonfire, the guitar. I can't sit here. I need more to drink.

I stumble a little into the kitchen, blinking from the harsh change of cozy dark to cheap fluorescent light. The laughing is superloud in here. Pong's apparently switched over to BattleShots, and Gavin and Grier aren't anywhere to be found. I find a cup—maybe it's clean, maybe it's not quite—fill it with beer, drink down half of it, then fill the rest again, hurrying. It's dumb to drink and smoke at the same time, and I'm already
overly buzzed, but I don't care. I want to do something crazy or just curl up and pass out. I want to get out of here. I want—I don't know what I want; I just don't want this feeling. I move into the living room, where people are doing headstands. In the next room some girl with maroon-dyed hair has an Ouija board. I stumble, turn, and find myself moving down the hall, pausing. Trying to think. I left my phone in Grier's car. Maybe I can get her keys and ask Charlie to come pick me up. Maybe even after all of this, he would still love me, if I let him.

“There you are.”

I turn. The light in the hall is fuzzy. I squint toward the voice. Gavin.

“I'm afraid there's been more Beer Pong,” he says, like I didn't know. “I tried, but I couldn't stop it. You're apparently the better policeman.”

“Woman,” I say. “I make a better policewoman.” My voice feels thick, lost.

“You're right you would.”

He comes forward, hand aiming for my hip again, like it's some kind of Blarney Stone for him to rub for good luck. Somehow I know he's going to do it, and so in one fluid motion I open the door behind me, step back into the dark, away from him, making him come at me a little more. I don't know what's back there, in the room. We could fall into nothing or outer space.

But it's just an office. Two desks, from what I can see from the hallway light. Posters on the walls. Computers. There isn't much time to take it in, because Gavin's mouth is on mine.

Hands.

Hands and hands and hands. On me. Up my shirt. Down around my ass. Mine around his. We were holding beer cups before, but they're not there anymore, only this incredible heat that blocks everything else. Swirling, falling, I rush into it. The muscles of his back are like the keys of a piano I could play. His hands slide up my spine, down my chest, and over my hips, burning me up in all this orange. Evaporating. He's rubbing himself against my leg, and I try to find something I can push against. Harder. More of this and nothing else. While I'm wrangling his tongue around in my mouth, squeezing the backs of his thighs, my drunk brain is half aware he's just playing me. That all he cares about is winning, and all I'm doing with this is letting him. But at the same time, I feel like maybe I don't care. Maybe this whole time I've wanted to be played, wanted to give up. Because it's oblivion in here. A blank, swirling high even better than when I'm in the—

“What?”

The light from the hall, more than the voice, startles us. We're suspended in it like a mote of dust. Frozen. Caught. I pull my face away from his. My leg is up, gripped in his hand, my pelvis pressed against his. My shirt up to my collarbone.

“I mean, what—” A voice again from the doorway. Grier. I can't see her face—the light is behind her—but I can imagine her expression.

Gavin lets my leg down slowly. Politely pulls down the hem of my top.

“There you are, baby,” he says, like she doesn't know what she just saw, drunk as she may be.

“I just—” There's the shadow of her head, shaking, and then more light blares on, this time shining down on us, on the stupid IKEA desks. The dust bunnies under the chairs. In slow motion, her finger comes up, pointing. I can feel how puffy my lips are, can feel the scrape marks Gavin's dark stubble has left on my face, how stark it must look in this stupid cheap light. I feel the shameful wet pulsing in my pants.

“You,” she says, cold. I'm not sure if she means me or Gavin. It's all she says, and then she's gone. The light glares down on us, and everything is deadly silent—even the music from the party seems to have disappeared. I see the rake marks my fingernails have left on his arms, imagine the bare hangers in the closet clanking together in her wake as she storms away.

“Well,” Gavin says, clearing the silence and the fog in my head. I look at him: just some college jock, too good-looking for his own good, hiding his dick with his hands.

“Yeah,” I say, sinking down to the floor.

EVENTUALLY GAVIN DRIVES ME HOME
.

First, though, there's the fit with Grier—a call for a cab, fumbling over the address, her angry, waiting in the driveway for an hour and a half before it pulls in, the Ethiopian guy behind the wheel both pissed and apologetic. During the whole wait Gavin tries to get her to let him drive her home, but she just screams curses every time he comes near her. For a while people from the party become a part of it, checking how she is, telling him to leave her alone. Some girl brings her a cup of water. Grier works herself up higher and higher. At one point Gavin gets close enough for her to land a few punches on his chest. I sit down in the grass. The cab comes. She's still crying, and it seems like she's forgotten me, until she turns, tendons in her neck straining, eyes raccoon
wild, and shrieks, “I shared everything with you!” She's drunk, but we can still feel her anger pouring out with the car's exhaust as it drives her away.