Watch Me Disappear (11 page)

Still, when Missy and I walk in, I notice that Missy draws a lot of glances. Looks that say, Who is that gorgeous girl? It’s a relief to be beside her because no one really sees me at all. I am a blur in a black dress beside the girl with the outrageous red hair who looks like a fashion model.

“This is so exciting,” Missy says, leaning down toward my ear and clutching my arm. Although I am wearing shoes with a heel, in her stilettos Missy towers over me like a giant.

A server offers us pink drinks in martini glasses—it’s pink lemonade—and we make our way to the edge of the patio to survey the scene. Maura’s mother has pulled Maura away from her friends to say hello to the adults, and in her absence, Katherine and Jessica are holding court.

Missy and I stand on the edge of the patio. I can tell she’s dying to go over and introduce herself. She’s not afraid to put herself out there. And she knows that I have no intention of going over to those kids.

Then I see Katherine approaching.

“Lizzie! Looking good,” she says. “I didn’t see you come in.” She hooks an arm in mine. “Come meet some of the guys, ok?” She doesn’t acknowledge Missy. As Katherine leads me away, I look back at Missy and she just smiles and nods encouragingly.

“Who’s that?” Katherine asks when we’re out of earshot.

“Missy Howston. She just moved here too,” I say. “Mrs. Morgan thought it would be fun for her to come and meet people.”

“She’s pretty,” Katherine says. It’s an absurd understatement and also not spoken as a compliment. “How do you know her?”

“Facebook,” I say.

“Oh, wait, I remember that name now. But she doesn’t have a profile picture, right?”

I shake my head. “Her parents won’t let her.”

“Go figure,” Katherine says. “Well, you ready to meet everyone?”

I nod and let her lead me into her circle of friends. As Katherine goes around the group making introductions, it is all I can do to breathe normally. My heart is pounding and I can feel sweat forming on my face. I try to pay attention to all the names—to put together faces I recognize from Facebook profiles and names I also recognize but that don’t seem to match the people in front of me—but it’s hard to stay focused when I realize I am standing next to Hunter Groves.

“So that’s everyone, and this is Lizzie Richards,” Katherine concludes. “She’s Maura’s new neighbor.”

“Are you going to be a freshman?” someone asks.

“Senior,” I say.

“Really?”

I nod.

“Hey, you’re the girl from the battle of the bands,” a guy says. I look up and see that it’s the same guy who rescued me from the cop. “I wouldn’t have expected to see you here,” he continues. “Seemed like you weren’t a big favorite of Maura’s that night.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” I say and everyone laughs.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he says. He looks amused.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “what’s your name again?”

“Ouch,” another male voice says. “That’s gotta hurt.”

“Huh?”

“It’s just, we all thought everyone knew Pauly, here.”

Paul. That name came up in several of Maura’s poems. I look at him again. He is tallish with light brown hair and dark brown eyes. His smile reveals dimples. And he is the guy in Maura’s prom pictures.

“Not the new kid,” I say.

Paul steps across the circle and sticks out his hand. When I extend mine, he takes it, and instead of shaking it, he brings it up to his lips. Everyone has a good laugh over that, and I can’t even imagine the shade of red my face has turned. “Pleased to meet you, Lizzie,” he says, like some sort of prince charming.

“And in case you forgot me, I’m John,” says the guy who introduced Paul. He takes my hand and kisses it. I am too stunned by all this to do much of anything.

“Now, boys,” Katherine says, rescuing me when she’s deemed I’m sufficiently flustered. “Don’t embarrass our new friend.”

Thankfully everyone backs off. People resume the conversations Katherine had interrupted to introduce me and I wish I was still standing off to the side with Missy. Here in the middle of the patio in Maura’s inner circle, I have no one to talk to. I stand by myself for a minute, and then I start back toward Missy.

“Lizzie,” a voice says behind me.

I stop and turn around. It’s Hunter. He reintroduces himself, which is totally unnecessary.

“What’s your friend’s name?” he asks gesturing toward Missy.

Of course he wants to meet her. “That’s Missy Howston,” I say.

“She was at the battle of the bands with you.”

“Yep,” I say. When he doesn’t say anything else, I ask him if he wants me to introduce him.

“Maybe later,” he says. “Nice to meet you.” And he turns to walk back to his friends.

Yeah, nice to meet you, too, I think.

*          *          *

It isn’t long before the DJ announces that everyone should take a seat for dinner. My mother signals me unmistakably to come sit with her and my father.

Missy and I walk over to the table where my mother saved us seats.

“So are you girls having fun?” my dad asks when everyone is seated and we have been introduced to the others at our table, Mr. and Mrs. Beaudry and Mr. and Mrs. Perkins, who also live on our cul-de-sac.

“This is fantastic,” Missy says.
Fantastic
is her word of the day.

“It sure is some party,” my dad replies.

“The Morgans spare no expense,” Mrs. Perkins adds.

“Every year it gets bigger and better,” says Mrs. Beaudry.

“Do you golf, Greg?” asks Mr. Beaudry, and the table splits into several conversations at once.

After we eat our salad and before dinner is served, I nudge Missy and excuse myself to the ladies’ room. She follows me.

“Why so glum?” she asks, leaning against the sinks while I listlessly rearrange my bangs.

“This party sucks,” I say.

“Seriously?”

“It’s boring.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. This is the best people-watching I’ve had since my last trip to New York.”

I try not to pout, but I can’t help it.

“Did something happen when you met everyone?”

“Some of the guys acted like real dicks, you know?”

“What did you expect?” Missy says. “They’re the cool kids. They aren’t going to fall all over your feet and beg you to like them.”

“Whatever.”

“I saw you talking to Hunter,” Missy says.

I sigh and then say, “He likes you.”

“He hasn’t even met me,” Missy says.

“He only talked to me to ask me about you.”

“Well what did he say?” If anyone else asked that question, I would think they were asking because they were flattered, but I can tell from Missy’s tone she’s asking because she wants to show me how silly I am being.

“He wanted to know who you were.”

“Right. Everyone wants to know who we are,” she says. “We’re the new girls.”

“No, they want to know who
you
are.”

“Well, you’re the one who got the endorsement from Maura’s lady-in-waiting. You’re the one who actually got an introduction.”

“I think they’re up to something,” I say.

“Stop it, Miss Cynicism. We’re here to have fun. After dinner, there’s going to be dancing.”

“Oh, God.”

“Let’s go,” Missy says, leading me back to the table.

*          *          *

Missy is right. There is dancing after dinner. Or at least there is a DJ loudly playing dance music and half-heartedly encouraging people to fill the dance floor. The adults have regrouped near the bar, and for some reason the teenaged crowd seems to have shrunk. Missy keeps tapping her foot and swaying. She wants to dance desperately.

But as we stand there, I notice that the crowd is diminished.

“Where’d everyone go?” I ask.

Missy shakes her head.

A few minutes later, I notice them trickling back into the crowd a few at a time, looking flushed and bright-eyed. The girls seem more giggly than usual.

“I think they’re drunk,” Missy says.

I see Maura talk to the DJ, and he switches songs. “The birthday girl wants everyone to get this party started,” he announces, and like brainwashed morons, all the girls move to the dance floor. Most of the guys stand off to the side watching, but those who are dancing are really showing off their moves.

“Finally!” Missy says. She starts walking toward the dance floor, but when she realizes I’m not with her she stops. “Come on! This is the fun part.”

“We’ve been through this,” I say. “I don’t dance.”

“Fine. But at least come closer to the dance floor.”

I cross my arms, but reluctantly follow her. So I just stand there, yawning, watching everyone dance in a manner that strikes me as out-of-sync with the party’s theme. It is hard to believe none of the adults realize that most of the kids are hammered, and I conclude that in fact most of the adults understand the situation and are just letting it happen. I wonder when my own parents will get wise and decide it’s time to go home. I am about to go ask them how much longer when Jessica finds me.

“Lizzie! I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, slurring her words, and draping a sweaty arm around me. “Back when we met, I thought how much I’d like us to be friends.”

Her breath could kill a cow.

“Come dance with us, Lizzie!” she says, trying to tug me toward the dance floor.

“You know, I kind of have a headache,” I say.

“Ah, we can fix that. Just ask John. You have to come dance,” she says. “Come get a drink and then you’ll want to dance.”

I try to remove Jessica’s arm gently and when that doesn’t work I shrug her off forcibly. “Maybe next time, ok?” I say, walking away quickly to find my parents.

“I promised Patty we would stay until the end,” my mother says when I plead to go home. “She wants some adults to stick around to keep an eye on everyone.”

“So you’re the chaperones, now?” I say. Some job they’re doing. All the kids are getting drunk under my parents’ watchful eyes.

“Anyway, they have a big surprise gift for Maura and I want to see the expression on her face.”

I look to my father, but he just shakes his head. “Looks like Missy is having fun.”

I turn to face the dance floor. Missy does indeed appear to be having fun. She has gone through a number of dance partners. Even from across the room, she is easy to spot with her red hair and gold dress. As I look on, I am surprised to see that her newest partner is Paul, and neither of them is holding anything back.

My mother follows my gaze and makes a “humph” noise. “They call that dancing,” she says.

A few minutes before ten, Mr. and Mrs. Morgan appear behind the DJ table to make the big announcement. “We are so excited you all could join us to celebrate our Maura’s eighteenth birthday,” Mrs. Morgan says, sounding a little nervous and out of breath. “Of course, her actual birthday is Monday, so she can’t go out and buy any lottery tickets until then.”

“Or cigarettes,” some kid shouts out, interrupting her.

Mrs. Morgan laughs nervously and looks puzzled, as if she had memorized her speech word for word but now, having been interrupted, she cannot locate in her mind the next word. Mr. Morgan takes over. “I’m so proud of Maura,” he begins. “When Patty and I found each other and decided to get married, I didn’t just get a wife. I got the best step-daughter I could ever ask for.” He focuses directly on Maura. “Maura, honey, we know you are destined for success.” He pauses and clears his throat. He looks at Patty who nods for him to continue. He digs in his pocket for a moment and then holds up a set of car keys. “We thought you’d like to cruise into your future in a car of your own,” he says.

Maura squeals like a game show contestant. She runs to her parents and hugs them both, and I wonder if they can smell the booze on her or if they are too drunk themselves to notice. They walk across the patio toward the parking lot. The car is a silver Volkswagen Jetta. Mr. Morgan places the keys in Maura’s hand and steps back as she clicks the remote lock. Everyone oohs at the sight of the interior lights coming on. Maura gets in and rolls down the window so everyone can admire her behind the wheel.  All I can think is how insane it will be if they let her drive home.

“One more thing, honey,” Mr. Morgan says, stepping over to the window. He hands her a credit card. “A gas card. We’ll keep you cruising, at least until you finish school.” Then he turns to the rest of us who had followed them to see the car. “Now, I think the DJ has one more song for us, if everyone wants to head back to the dance floor.”

Most people do as Mr. Morgan suggests, but a few of Maura’s friends move closer to the car to get a better look. I linger behind them.

“All right, birthday girl! We need you on the dance floor,” the DJ announces after a moment. Reluctantly, her friends start back to the dance floor and Maura gets out of the car.

I fall in beside her as she heads back onto the patio. I try to get her attention—I have to make sure she isn’t going to drive. If she’s planning to get in that car, I will have no choice but to tell my parents what’s going on. All those lectures about drinking and driving apparently got through to me. But of course it isn’t a good time to talk. Everyone is waiting for her.

“Come on,” she says, reaching out for my hand. And despite myself, I grasp her hand and hurry along with her to the dance floor. I feel special, walking up to the expectant circle with the birthday girl. I know everyone is looking at me, probably wondering what the hell I am doing, but it feels OK, too. If I’m with Maura, I have to be cool, right?

When we arrive at the edge of the circle, Maura lets go of my hand and sashays into the middle of the group as the DJ starts the music. At first, “It’s my party, I’ll cry if I want to,” comes on, and when he is sure everyone recognizes the song, the DJ scratches it out and a Katy Perry song replaces it. “It’s my song!” Maura says, wiggling her hips. For the entire song, Maura stays in the center of the circle, luring different people in with her for a few seconds at a time. I had enough of the spotlight a few moments earlier, so I withdraw away from the dancers to wait it out. I plan to grab Maura for a minute before she leaves.