The Party (2 page)

Jessica yawned. “I didn’t even go to bed. I was too busy unpacking. What are you doing here? When you dropped us off at home, you said you were taking the day off.”

“I was until I remembered my mom wasn’t working today. She would just drive me nuts. Hey, do you know who that guy you were talking to is?”

“Michael Olson.”

“Yeah. I hear he’s the smartest guy in the school. Better get on good terms with him. You’re taking chemistry, and I hear our young Olson wrote the lab manual they use here.”

“Are you serious? I thought he looked clever.” Then she winced. “Did you really sign me up for chemistry?”

“You told me to.”

“My
dad
told you to. What do I need chemistry for?”

“So you can get into Stanford and find a smart young man to marry who’ll give you smart little kids to play with in a big stupid house.”

Jessica groaned. “I didn’t know that’s why I was taking chemistry.”

Sara pointed to her sweater. “Did your ears explode while going up in the plane or what? That looks like a bloodstain.”

“I didn’t get it on the trip. It’s something old. I got it at Penney’s.”

Sara grabbed the tag. “Is Penney’s charging us in francs these days?”

Jessica pulled the sweater away and shut it in the locker. “Don’t hassle me, all right? I’m still getting acclimated.” She wiped at the grape juice on her hands. “Last night you said we share first period. What class is it? I lost my schedule already.”

Sara wrinkled her nose. She could do a lot with her nose. She had the same control over it that most people had over their mouths. This did not mean, however, that it was an unusually large nose. Sara was cute. By her own estimation—and Sara could be as ruthless on herself as she was on everybody else—she rated an eight on a scale of one to fourteen. In other words, she was slightly above average. She had rustcolored hair, cut straight above her shoulders, hazel eyes, and a slightly orange tan that somehow got deeper in the winter. Because she frequently wore orange tops and pants to complement her coloring, Jessica told her she looked like Halloween.

“Political science,” Sara said. “And we’ve got this al liberal exvet for a teacher. He was in Vietnam id slaughtered little babies, and now he wants us selling the communists hydrogen bombs so he can have a clear conscience.”

“He sounds interesting.” Jessica didn’t believe a word of it. “Come on, let’s get there before the bell rigs. I’m already four days late.”

The teacher’s name was Mr. Bark, and Sara hadn’t been totally off base in her analysis. The first thing the man did when they were all seated was dim the lights and put on a videotape of a nuclear attack. The footage as from the big TV movie
The Day After
. They fetched a solid ten minutes of bombs exploding, forests burning, and people vaporizing. When the lights were turned back on, Jessica discovered she had a headache. World War III always depressed her. Plus he wasn’t wearing her glasses as she was supposed ; watching the show had strained her eyes. Sitting to her right, Sara had put her head down and nodded off. Jessica poked her lightly, without effect. Sara continued to snore softly.

“I hope my purpose in showing this tape is clear,” Mr. Bark began, leaning his butt on the edge of his desk. “We can
talk
on and on about how incredibly destructive nuclear weapons are, but I think what we have just seen creates an image of horror that will stay with us a long time, and will remind us that above all else we can’t allow the political tensions of the world to reach the point where pushing the button becomes a viable alternative.”

If Sara hadn’t been lying about his being a vet, then Mr. Bark hid it well. He didn’t look like someone who had seen battle. In fact, he looked remarkably like a plump, balding middleaged man who had taught high school political science all his life. He had frumpy gray slacks, blackrimmed glasses, and an itch on his inner left thigh that he obviously couldn’t wait to scratch.

Jessica poked her friend again. Sara turned her head in the other direction and made a low snorting sound.

“One Trident submarine,” Mr. Bark continued, raising one finger in the air for emphasis, striding down the center of the class, “has the capacity to destroy two hundred Soviet cities. Think about it. And think what would happen if the captain of a Trident sub should go off halfcocked and decide to make a place in history for himself, or to put an end to all history. Now I know most of you believe that the failsafe device the president has near him at all times controls—”

We should have had someone else pick us up at the airport.

Mr. Bark paused in midstride, suddenly realizing he didn’t have Sara’s full attention. Impatience creased his wide fleshy forehead. He moved to where he stood above her.

“She had a late night,” Jessica said.

Mr. Bark frowned. “You’re the new girl? Jessica Hart?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’re a friend of Sara’s?”

“Yes, sir,”

“Would you wake her, please?”

“I’ll try.” Jessica leaned close to Sara’s head, hearing scattered giggles from the rest of the class. Putting her hand on the back of Sara’s neck, she whispered in her ear, “You are making fools of both of us. If you don’t wake up this second, I am going to pinch you.”

Sara wasn’t listening. Jessica pinched her. Sara sat up with a bolt. “Holy Moses,” she gasped. Then she saw the stares, the smirks. Unfazed, she calmly leaned back in her chair and picked up her pen as if to take notes, saying, “Could you please repeat the question, Mr. Bark?”

“I didn’t ask a question, Sara.”

Sara stifled a yawn. “Good.”

“But I’ll ask one now. Were you awake through any of the videotape?”

“I got the highlights.”

“I’m glad. Tell me, what was your gut reaction while watching the bombs explode?”

Sara smiled slowly. “I thought it was neat.”

Mr. Bark shook his head. “You might think you are being funny, but I can assure you that you are—”

“No, no,” Sara interrupted. “I’m telling you exactly how I felt. The whole time I was watching it, before I nodded off, I was thinking, Wow.”

Mr. Bark grinned in spite of himself. “Granted, Sara, the visual effects were outstanding. But didn’t the wholesale destruction of our civilization upset you?”

“No.”

“Come on, be serious. I had girls crying when I showed this tape in fifth period yesterday.”

“Mr. Bark,” Sara replied with a straight face, “when I was watching that part where the bomb exploded outside that university, I honestly thought to myself, ‘Why, those lucky kids. They won’t have to go to school anymore.’”

The class burst out laughing. Mr. Bark finally gave up. He tried to dig up more heartfelt testimonials from the less bizarre minded, and while he did so, Jessica noticed a handsome blond fellow sitting in the corner. She had to fight not to stare. What kind of place was this Tabb? First there was Clair Hilrey, who belonged in
Playboy
, and now there was this hunk. It was a wonder that they couldn’t put together a halfway decent football team with all these great genes floating around. She poked Sara again.

“Who’s that in the corner?” she whispered.

“The football quarterback,” Sara whispered back.

“What’s his name?”

“He hasn’t got one. But his jersey number is sixteen.”

“Tell me, dammit.”

“William Skater, but I call him Bill. Pretty pretty, huh?”

“Amazing. Do you know if he has a girlfriend?,,

“I’ve seen him hanging out with this cheerleader named Clair.”

“God, I hate this school.”

“Miss Hart?” Mr. Bark called.

“Yes, sir?”

He wanted to know about her feelings on radiation, and of course, she told him she thought it was just awful stuff. When the class was over, Jessica did her best to catch Bill’s eye, but he wasn’t looking.

I’ve been here less than two hours. I can’t be getting a crush on someone already.

She ditched Sara and trailed Bill halfway across campus. He had a great ass.

The following period was the dread chemistry, and the teacher’s lecture on molecular reactions proved far harder to absorb than Mr. Bark’s on atomic explosions. This was definitely one class she wouldn’t be able to BS her way through.

Toward the middle of the period, they started on the first lab of the year. Jessica ended up with a quiet Hispanic girl named Maria Gonzales for a partner. They hardly had a chance to talk, but she struck Jessica as the serious type. Jessica just hoped she was smart and took excellent notes. She wondered if Michael Olson really was a wizard at science. It would be asking too much, she supposed, to hope William Skater was.

Maybe Bill will be in another one of my classes.

Break came next. Before leaving for school that morning, Jessica had spoken to another friend of hers, Polly McCoy—Alice’s older sister—filling her in on everything that had happened on her vacation. She had known Polly almost as long as she had Sara, although she was not nearly so close to Polly. A lot of their friendship was founded on simple geography; since they were kids they had lived only a few hundred yards apart; it was hard not to be friends with someone your own age who lived so close.

Polly had what at best could be described as a nervous disposition. It showed particularly when she was around Sara, who enjoyed picking on Polly. Keeping the two girls apart was difficult, however, because none of them really had any other close friends, and they usually ended up going to movies, the beach, or wherever together. Three bored girls each looking for one exciting guy.

When Polly and Alice’s parents had died, they left the girls a large construction company. It was at present managed by a board of directors, but both girls were potential bosses and millionaires. They lived in a big house with a partially senile aunt who was their legal guardian. They lived as they wanted. Only the McCoy sisters could think of throwing a party to introduce two schools to each other.

But it turned out that Alice had not told Polly about the party.

“She’s going to do what?” Polly asked as they waited in line at the soda machines. Polly had already gotten ahold of a candy bar. She ate a lot of sweets these days, and it showed, especially in her face. It was a pity. When thin, Polly was a doll.

“She’s going to invite thirty of our own people and team them up with thirty of Tabb’s people,” Jessica said, casting an eye toward the front of the line. Apparently the machines here took kicks as well as quarters. The guy up front was busting a toe for a CocaCola Classic.

“She never told me.”

“Maybe she just thought it up.”

“I don’t care. We’re not having it. They’d rip up the house.”

“No, they wouldn’t.” The guy kicked the machine one final time and then stalked off. He was from Mesa. “But let’s not invite that guy. Hey, is there another place we can get something to drink?”

“There’s the mall. It’s less than five minutes away in the car. But I don’t want to go there now. And I don’t want a party at my house.”

Jessica decided she’d let Sara and Alice argue with Polly. She had already made up her mind that they had to have the party if only to invite Mr. Football Quarterback. “AM right, all right, we’ll have it in my bedroom. What did you do while I was gone?”

“Nothing.” Polly took a bite of her candy, her bright green eyes spanning the jammed courtyard. Then she grinned. “I take that back. I did do something funny. They were running a contest on the radio to see who could send in the best album cover for a new heavy metal band. I can’t even remember the group—it was Hell and Steel something. Anyway, I sent in one of Alice’s paintings. She won!”

“What did she win?”

“A free trip to one of their New York shows and a backstage pass. The disc jockey said the group is seriously considering using her artwork.”

“Is Alice going to go?”

“I don’t know. You know she hates loud music.”

“Wait a second. One of Alice’s paintings on the album cover of a heavy metal band? Since when does she paint anything that doesn’t have flowers and clouds in it?”

Polly shrugged. “It’s none of my business.”

“What’s none of your business?”

“What Clark has her drawing.”

“Her boyfriend has her drawing whips and demons? Boy, I hope he hasn’t seduced her.”

Polly did not appreciate the remark. She was fanatically protective of her younger sister. “He’s not her boyfriend. He’s just someone who comes over and eats our food.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Not bad, pretty good.”

“You wouldn’t want to give me too many details, would you?”

Polly smiled. Unlike her sister, her hair was dark, almost black, with red highlights. Indeed, in almost every respect, their looks differed. Alice was a waif. Polly was a peasant. She had big breasts and a bigger butt. “He’s got great hands,” she said.

“How do you know?”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“For someone who doesn’t like to pry into Alice’s business, you’ve said a lot.” The subject was beginning to bore Jessica. She noticed a booth near the center of campus, pointed it out. “What can we sign up for over there?”

Now Polly was bored. “Student office. They’ve lengthened lunch today so all those who want to play politics can tell us why we should vote for them. You’re not thinking of running for anything, are you?”

Jessica had a brilliant idea. “No, but Sara is.”

“Sara? She doesn’t like to get involved in choosing what to wear in the morning.”

“You say the candidates are supposed to speak at lunch today?”

“In the gym, yeah. It’s the only cool building on campus.”

“Let’s sign her up.”

“We can’t. You have to sign up in person.”

“Then you be Sara for a few minutes.”

“We’ll never get her out on the floor to speak.”

“We’ll worry about that later.”

“She’ll be furious.” Polly paused, thought about that a moment. “All right, I’ll be Sara. What should we have her run for?”

“What else? Student body president.”

Michael Olson had not heard Jessica Hart’s comment to Alice McCoy about finding a guy to fall in love with by lunch, but had he been listening, he might have believed her to be a beautiful witch capable of casting potent spells. Michael had thought of Jessica, and nothing else, all morning. He had a terrible feeling he was going to spend a substantial portion of the remainder of the year thinking about her.

And I’m going to have to see her every day, several times a day, until June.

Whereas most guys would have been delighted with a setup that would bring them repeatedly in contact with a girl they found attractive, Michael didn’t for the simple reason that he knew he’d never be able to get past the hellohowareyou? stage. It was true that he had said much more to her than that during their first meeting, but that had been before he’d had a chance to fantasize about her. Now just the memory of her made him uneasy. He didn’t know what it had been about her that had hit him so hard. He wondered if her effect on him hadn’t been largely because of his own state of mind. His summer had been particularly lonely. He had worked and read a lot, and gone out seldom; and never with anyone of the opposite sex. Since school started he’d been looking over the new girls from Mesa. There was no doubt he was ripe for a crush.

Or a heartache.

“Remember that scene in
War Games
when Matthew Broderick changes the girls’ grade with his home computer?” Bubba asked as he and Michael strolled across the deserted campus. Fourth period had just begun, but neither Bubba nor Michael was cutting. Because of extremely high scores on IQ tests taken when they were in junior high, both guys were in the MGM (Mentally Gifted Minors) Program. They had a free period each day to pursue individual projects that their superior intelligence qualified them to pursue. In actuality, they probably were cutting. So far this year, they had used fourth period primarily to get an early start on lunch.

“I remember the scene,” Michael said. “You couldn’t do that here, though, could you?”

Bubba was a wizard at computers, and at life itself. He was five feet four, and because he enjoyed food and denied himself nothing, he was also rather round. But stature and weight were no obstacle to Bubba. He went out with practically any girl he wanted and enjoyed the reputation as the coolest person in Tabb High.

“Not without the codes that give access to the school district’s data files.”

“I didn’t think the scene was very realistic/’ Michael said. “Hey, why are we going to the administration building?”

“To get the codes.”

“What?”

Bubba smiled faintly. He endeavored to maintain a serene countenance, like the holy Buddha, from whom his nickname had been derived. Michael couldn’t remember who had thought up the nickname. Perhaps it had been Bubba himself. His real name was John Free.

“Mr. Bark wants me to write a program that will automatically read and count the votes on the cards that will be used in the voting for student body officers,” Bubba explained.

“But you don’t need the district data files to do that.”

“Does Miss Fenway know that?”

Miss Fenway was a secretary in the administration building. “What does Miss Fenway have to do with any of this?”

“She has the codes written on a little piece of white paper taped to a board that slides out from her desk above her top left drawer. I saw them there yesterday.”

“Did you memorize them?”

“No, I didn’t have a chance. But I will today.”

“But what does this have to do with the program you’re writing for Mr. Bark?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

Once inside the administration building, they went straight to Miss Fenway’s office. She was busy sorting files at a corner cabinet when they entered. Michael had always liked Miss Fenway. She enjoyed playing mother to every kid in school, and she took special pride in him because he got straight A’s. But she was no dummy, and he doubted Bubba would trick her into giving out confidential information. She had a computer terminal on her desk.

“May I help you boys?” she asked, putting down her papers and stepping toward them. A thin woman with a warm, wrinkled face, she had never married nor had any kids.

“Yes,” Bubba said. “Mr. Bark has put me in charge of tabulating the votes for student body officers this afternoon. I need the codes that will allow me to connect the old card reader in this building with the new PC in the computer science class.”

Miss Fenway was puzzled. “I hadn’t been informed about this.”

“Mr. Bark is free this period. You’ll find him in the teachers’ lounge, I believe. He’ll explain what I mean.” Bubba took a seat, making it clear he was going to wait in her office until she did what he wanted. Miss Fenway looked at Michael.

“Do you know what this is all about?”

“Not me.”

The instant Miss Fenway left, Bubba sprang to his feet—he was remarkably agile given his physique—and closed the door. He had the desk board with the page of codes pulled out in two seconds. Swiftly, but carefully, he began to copy them down.

“I didn’t see you do this,” Michael said.

“See me do what?”

Miss Fenway returned a minute later with Mr. Bark. The latter explained to Bubba that all he had to do was write a program that broke the count down into freshmen, sophomores, etc. He would do the rest. Bubba nodded and apologized for not understanding the first time. As they were leaving, Mr. Bark told them about a video he wanted them to see.

“From the TV movie
The Day After
?” Bubba asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen it,” Bubba said.

“What did you think?”

“It was neat.”

Mr. Bark sighed. “I have this new student you should meet.”