Afterparty(71)

My conscience is nothing to smile about.

Where was it when I needed it?

Then her cell phone rings, and she goes searching through her bag looking for it. I wave while she’s saying she’ll call back and nodding her head at me to stay.

I whisper, “It’s okay. You should talk to them,” and I run back toward the food bank before any exploration of my conscience can happen.

I finish my shift and I drive home and I dive into the closet.





CHAPTER FORTY-NINE


Siobhan: U and boy toy have a lot in common, u know that?

Siobhan: Don’t you want to know what?

Siobhan: All right I’ll tell u what. You both don’t ever forgive people.

Me: Excuse me. You’re not sorry. You said so.

Siobhan: Why should I have to be sorry for you to forgive me?

Me: Excuse me????

Siobhan: Not much on LOL these days are we?

Siobhan: I’m sorry. R u happy now?

Me: That was sincere.

Siobhan: No I’m really sorry.

Siobhan: R u coming over?

At school, Siobhan keeps pulling on my sleeve and I keep turning away.

In homeroom, she says, “You have to get your dad to give you Prozac or something. I’m not kidding. Because everything sucks, but you have to last until Afterparty or the whole year was pointless.”

There. Something Siobhan and Megan can agree on: my need for medication.

I say, “Thanks. Because lasting to Afterparty is my goal in life.”

“It’s not?”

I start counting the minuscule pleats in Miss Palmer’s skirt. I take notes on the morning announcements, which pertain mostly to carpool-line policies and other similarly compelling topics.

Before English starts, Siobhan is talking to William via her iPad. She is moaning, “I’m bored, I’m bored, I’m bored. I’m trapped in the smog belt, or the sunbelt, or whatever the hell belt this is, and you’re going to freaking Rome.”

William starts singing “Party All the Time” in German. He says, “Sibi, you should come.”

She says, “I wish.”

Then, to me, she says, “See. We should party all the time. Aren’t you bored yet?”

I never want to go to another party again, say, forever.

“Just one short walk to the Chateau Marmont, one giant step for mankind.” she says.

“I’m done.”

“You can be as severely deluded and mad at me as you want,” she says. “But if you think you’re getting back at me by eating pizza on a compost heap, guess what, you’re not. And if you think your * boyfriend is going to like you better if you mope for the rest of the year, he doesn’t notice.”

“Excuse me while I write this down.”

“There’s a Winston lacrosse party in the Palisades Saturday. Why don’t you cut back on Scrabble with daddy to six nights a week?”

“Party with degenerates. Perfect.”

“I’m not talking about Winston water polo.” Overblown sigh. “It’s not like I keep a rape kit in my car. But it’s a law of nature that Winston lacrosse is hot and has good parties. Even you know this. This is perfect.”

“I’m not up for it.”

“Do you want to get over this or not?” Siobhan says. “And if you don’t go with me, who are you gonna go with? Chelsea?”

I shrug like there’s no way in hell.

Eye-roll. “You’re just too perfect for me. Because I’m sure you stood up for me when Kahane talked trash about me. Which there’s no way he didn’t.” She crosses her hands over her mouth and raises her eyebrows in perfect “gotcha” position. “You must be the perfect friend.”

Well, there you have it. I’m now just as bad as she is in the friend-I’ve-got-your-back department. I suck, which I already knew.

She stalks off in the direction of the lounge. “I don’t even care!” she calls back. “Text me if you change your mind, and maybe you can come with me.”

? ? ?

In English, Arif leans forward and pokes me. It hurts.

I say, “What? Are you coming after me with a pitchfork now?”

Arif says, “Listen, are you planning to say something to him ever? Because he’s still leveled.”

Bullet to the heart, but I realize it’s a you-made-the-bullet-riddled-bed-now-lie-in-it kind of situation.

“The deal is, he’s not talking to me. His last communication was, ‘Go away.’?”

“Really?”

“Yes, really! Did he not mention I’ve apologized fifty times? How sorry can I be? I’m telling his best friend I’m sorry—that’s how sorry.”

“What did you do to him, exactly?”

“Arif,” I say, “he talked to you about the other thing, right?”

Arif says, “What other thing?”

I can’t tell if he’s being tactful or if Dylan really isn’t talking to anyone about his dad, which makes me even sadder, and also a far worse person for putting him in a position of being alone with something that bad.

“Maybe ask him about the party.”

Now Arif is glaring straight at me. “Forgive me if I don’t take your advice at face value.”