CANOBIE BLUFFS IS THE OLDEST CEMETERY ON THE island; there are gravestones that go back to the 1700s. All the old Jar Island families have plots here. Lots of weird names like Ebenezer and Deliverance and Jedidah.
The boys are throwing around a football, using the tombstones as markers. Someone put on Michael Jackson’s “Thriller,” and Rennie and Ash and some other girls are putting on a show, doing the zombie dance. Rennie’s got on a sexy nurse costume and sheer white thigh-highs with red seams up the back. A few weeks ago I would have been front and center, right by Rennie’s side. Now it’s me alone on a blanket sipping Ash’s “witch’s brew”—basically rum punch with cinnamon sticks and oranges and cider. It’s so sweet; I’ve been drinking it like it’s Kool-Aid. That, and I have nothing else to do but drink. There’s no school tomorrow or the day after because of parent-teacher conferences, so I might as well.
Reeve’s sprawled out in the center of the other blanket, his legs stretched in front of him. He’s surrounded by junior girls in slutty costumes. Slutty cavegirl, slutty mouse, slutty Pocahontas. They’re practically feeding him grapes. I can’t believe I ever in a million years felt bad for him. He’s horrible, a monster. For him to talk to Mary that way, after all he’s done to her . . . it makes me want to puke. I’m glad I said something to him in the parking lot. It felt good to give him a piece of my mind.
The song changes, and Rennie comes running up to Reeve, making room for herself on the blanket and edging the other girls out. “Do you need anything?” she asks him. “We have snacks and stuff.”
“Is there any beer?” he asks.
Rennie’s head bobs up and down and she scampers over to the cooler. Ugh. It makes me sick to see her wait on him hand and foot. Puke puke puke.
She brings him a beer and he looks at it and goes, “Is there no Bud Light?”
“‘Is there no Bud Light?’” I mimic to myself. I call out, “Reeve, how about you get your lazy butt off the ground and go look for yourself? Last I checked, you’re not a paraplegic! It’s a broken left fibula!”
Reeve whips his head around and throws me the meanest look ever. Like I care. “Shut your mouth, Cho,” he says warningly.
I’m about to take a sip of my witch’s brew, but before I do, I say back, “No, you shut yours.” He thinks he can push around whoever he wants. Well, he’s not pushing me around. He should know that by now.
Suddenly Alex plops down next to me, breathing hard from running around. “Did you see that play?” he asks me, blocking Reeve from my view. “I almost made it all the way down to the end zone. Beat three guys with my spin moves before I got tackled.”
I sigh. Sweet, dear Alex. Alex who made sure there were enough cupcakes for the little kids, and he never ever did anything to hurt me. He shows up for me every time. Sighing again, I let my head droop onto his shoulder. “You are so nice,” I whisper.
“Are you drunk?” Alex asks me, a little amused and a little concerned and mostly surprised.
“Yes. No. Okay, yes.”
“You never drink,” he says.
“I did,” I say, sitting up and looking at him. It takes a couple of seconds for him to come into focus. “One time I did and it was the worst, worst mistake of my life. Sometimes I think . . . sometimes I think I’ll never be the same.” My eyes keep closing on their own. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said that. My eyes are sleepy.”
Alex takes the thermos out of my hands and puts my head back on his shoulder. “Are you cold?”
I shake my head. I’m not. The punch is very warmth inducing. Plus, I put an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt over my leotard. It’s still ballerina-ish, though, like I got back from rehearsal.
“Warmth inducing?” Alex says.
I clap my hand over my mouth. “Did I say that out loud?”
“Yeah,” he says, laughing. I tilt my head up and look at his face. His eyes are so nice.
“So nice,” I say, touching his glasses.
“Thanks,” he says solemnly.
I shiver, and Alex shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. “Feel free to lean against me,” he says. So I do. I let my weight fall against him, so relaxed. Boneless, almost. He puts his arms around me, and I feel safe, like the safest I’ve ever felt. It’s the exact opposite of that bad time.
We watch as PJ kicks the football high into the air. “Field goal!” he crows.
Derek goes, “No, dude, the end zone is the Zane plot.” He points to a collection of moss-covered white stone crosses, dead center in the cemetery.
The Zanes. That must be Mary’s family. I didn’t realize they were old-school Jar Islanders.
They argue back and forth, and I say to Alex, “I can’t believe that next Friday’s the last football game. Are you upset you guys aren’t going to playoffs?”
“No way. The season could’ve been over when Reeve got hurt, but we turned it around. I’m proud of what we pulled off. And you know what, it’s awesome Lee got to play so much this season. He’s really come into his own. I bet you next year the Gulls make it all the way to state.”
“You’re such a good guy,” I say, nodding to myself. I glance over at Reeve. He’s struggling to his feet, balancing on one crutch. Rennie says to him, “Where are you going?”
His face is red. “Home. This sucks.”
Rennie makes a pouty face, but he isn’t even looking at her. He’s already leaving, swinging away on his crutches. “Reevie, just stay a little longer,” she pleads. “I’ll drive you home in a bit.”
I call out, “Byeeee! Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!” and then laugh hysterically.
He ignores me and lurches off into the night. As soon as he’s gone, Rennie comes over and gets in my face. She hisses, “Are you serious right now?”
Before I can say yes, I am totally 1,000 percent serious right now, Alex says, “Dude, she’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
“I do too!” I say, poking him in the chest. I sit up straight and say to Rennie, “You bailed on the Fall Fest and then you made it so no one else would help me.”
Rennie closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I’m so sick of listening to you, you whine and cry and pout. Poor little Lillia needs so much help. She can’t do anything for herself, she needs everyone to rescue her. Your whole damsel in distress routine is getting old, Lil.”
I feel like she’s slapped me across the face. All I can do is stare at her, stunned.
Alex gets to his feet. “Why are you being such a bitch?”
Rennie smiles and waggles her finger at him. “Right on cue, puppy.”
The boys have stopped playing football. Someone has turned the volume down on the music. People are looking at us. But I don’t care who’s watching.
“Oh . . . damsel in distress,” I repeat. “Like when I was calling out for you to help me that night at the party.” I watch the realization dawn on her face, that I actually took it there. Back to that night at the rental, with Mike and Ian. The thing we were never, ever supposed to talk about again. “But wait—you said you didn’t hear me, right? Or you did, and you were just too busy with your guy?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize I’m shaking.
Rennie’s face turns to granite. “You’re clearly wasted, and I don’t know what you’re talking about, but we are so done,” she breathes. Then she turns on her heel and stalks off in the direction Reeve went.
Alex puts his hand on my shoulder. I’d forgotten he was still there. “What the hell was that about?”
I don’t answer his question. I just say, “Can you take me home?”
