I slicked on some red lipstick and examined my reflection in the tiny square of Rory’s passenger mirror, aware of his eyes on me. Ilooked glamorous, surprisingly sexy. Like a movie starlet from the 1950s, a bombshell ingenue. I sat back, feeling almost giddy with triumph. I’d worn the dress for only one person. And he had finally noticed me.
The Hollinses’ house was gorgeous, separated from the sound by only a thin pebble-strewn beach. It was classic mid-1950s mod style, impeccably decorated. Jessica pounced on Rory as soon as we walked in the door. She gave me a hard glance, taking in my dress and how close I was standing to Rory, and her delicate nostrils flared as though she smelled something rotten. She took his arm possessively and steered him toward the kitchen. “I’m thirsty, babe. Can you get me a drink?”
Rory looked back over his shoulder and gave an apologetic shrug as they peeled off, leaving me alone. I wasn’t the party type and had really only come to see Rory. Well, to see Rory while wearing this killer dress. If I didn’t have the guts to tell him how I felt about him, at least I wanted his last memory of me to be in this dress, not my frilly Eatery waitress apron. Just for a moment I wanted him to see me as a woman, not just his good pal. I thought again of how he’d looked at me in the car. I knew he’d finally seen me as more than just a good friend. In that moment, in his astonished gaze, something had changed.
I wandered around for a few minutes, holding a beer and feeling like an outsider. It was a stereotypical high school party. Parents conveniently absent, music too loud, cheap beer, couples making out in all the rooms. I felt like I was on the set of a teen movie, a remake ofSay Anythingmaybe. I ended up in the living room, wondering how long before someone passed out on the Eames chair or spilled beer on the cream wool carpet. My heels hurt in the too-high shoes, and I hobbled over to the vast wall of windows, wishing I were down on the beach and not here in a too-warm house that smelled like beer and sexual tension.
Part of the wall was a sliding door. I opened it and slipped out onto the empty deck, tucking myself to one side, away from the lights streaming out from the house. Alone in the chilly night air, I leaned over the railing, looking at the shimmer of distant lights from Elliott Bay and the Port of Seattle, replaying the look on Rory’s face when he saw me and trying to recapture the brief flicker of joy I’d felt. I’d surprised him, and the knowledge felt amazing.
“I just think you two spend too much time together. It’s weird.”
I knew that voice, raised now in strident protest. My stomach tightened. It was Jessica. She and Rory were standing just inside the wall of windows in the living room, facing each other. They were arguing, not unusual for them. Her arms were crossed, and she looked like she was about to cry. They couldn’t see me, I realized. I was in the shadows, and it was too brightly lit inside to see out onto this dark corner of the deck.
“That isn’t true. C’mon, Jess. We’re just friends. I don’t see Lolly that way. She’s like a... like a little sister to me. Honestly.” Rory ran his hands through his wavy hair, his tone a touch defensive.
My stomach sank to my pointy black heels. A little sister. Suddenly I felt like a castoff in this dress, the unwanted girl playing at being a grown-up. What had I been thinking? It was humiliating.
Jessica looked slightly mollified. “Promise?” She gave him a half smile.
He pulled her close and kissed her on the mouth. “Scout’s honor.”
Inside I shriveled. They walked away, arms around each other. I suddenly realized how cold I was. I should go. There was nothing for me here. I leaned over the railing and tossed my untouched tepid beer in an arc down to the beach below, instantly regretting the action. No sea creature deserved a bath in Budweiser.
“Hey, that was a dollar’s worth of really crappy beer.”
I whirled. Jake Hollins, the host of the party and the star football quarterback of Ballard High, came out on the deck and slid the doorshut behind him. He held out another red Solo cup of beer, and I took it reluctantly. He was the most popular guy in school, and I could understand why. Charming, rich, with tousled blond curls and a cocky air. He walked like a panther and, if word around school was correct, kissed like a revelation. I wondered, just for one brief moment, if it was true.
I was feeling reckless, humiliated and spurned, perhaps just a touch vengeful. I took a sip and coughed. It wasn’t beer. It was vodka. A lot of straight vodka. Jake came to stand next to me and leaned his forearms on the railing. He was wearing a dress shirt and some expensive-smelling cologne, and beneath that he reeked of beer and confidence. He turned to me in the half light from the wall of windows behind us and smiled. His smile was always easy, but there was something hooded about his eyes. I could never quite figure him out. He made me a touch uneasy underneath that charm.
“So, Lolly Blanchard, what’s your game?”
I blinked and took a big sip of vodka. It was like swallowing rubbing alcohol. I sputtered and coughed. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on. You’re a puzzle. Beautiful. Untouchable. So quiet no one knows what you’re thinking. You’re an... enigma.”
Uncharitably I wondered if that line really worked on girls. Were they impressed that he knew the wordenigma? Had he learned it in SAT prep? Rumor had it he was headed for Yale; his dad was an alum.
“I didn’t realize you even knew my name,” I said as neutrally as possible.
He chuckled like I’d said something witty, and I realized he was drunk—very sociable and charming, but also drunk. “I know your name. I know more than you might think. For instance, I know you make the honor roll every quarter. And that you’re really good at math. And I think there must be a lot more going on in that pretty head of yours than people think.”
I was flattered despite myself. He was drunk, but still, Jake Hollins had noticed me and thought about me and seemed to be coming on to me. Unlike some other boy I was refusing to think about. I took another sip of vodka nervously. I didn’t know how to feel about all of this. I didn’t like or trust Jake Hollins, but it felt gratifying to have someone pursue me for a change.
“You know Rory Shaw told everyone to stay away from you, right?” Jake asked, eyeing me over the rim of his cup. “He warned all the guys—football, soccer, baseball—that you were off-limits. What’s the deal with that?”
“Rory doesn’t own me,” I said quickly, still stinging from the conversation I’d overheard. I took another sip of vodka.
“Well, in that case, I just have one more question for you, Lolly Blanchard.” Jake smiled lazily, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Oh, what’s that?” The nipped-in waist of my dress was suddenly too tight. I couldn’t quite catch my breath. Part of me wanted whatever was coming, but part of me, the more sensible part, was urging me to turn around and go back inside and leave this party for good.
“Do you taste as good as you look?” And then his big strong hand was against the back of my neck, pulling me toward him, and he was kissing me, hard and sloppy. My first kiss. He pulled me against him and maneuvered us so my back was against the railing and his body was pressed the length of mine. He was large, with a solid football build, immovable. His tongue was in my mouth, his grip insistent. For a moment I was caught by surprise, but my surprise melted into protest.
“Hey. No. Get off of me.” I spat the words out, struggling to break free. “Stop.” My cup was crushed against the railing, vodka splashing over my hand and dress. But he was either oblivious to my protestations or ignoring them.
“Come on, loosen up,” he said, kissing me below my ear, ignoring my attempts to get out from under him. He pushed against me, rucking up the high hem of my dress with one hand. The railing was digging painfully into my back, and I could feel his groin against me, hard and unyielding. I felt a flash of pure panic. He was stronger than I was, and very drunk, and out here in the shadows no one could see us. There was no one to help me.
Flush with adrenaline, I screwed up my courage and kneed him as hard as I could in the balls. Jake grunted in surprise and pain, releasing his grip on me slightly. A second later I heard a strangled shriek of fury and caught a flash of red as Rory launched himself through the open sliding-glass door at Jake, throwing him sideways off of me. Jake collapsed on the deck like a deflated balloon, clutching his crotch and moaning.
