Alone at 90 Foot (13 page)

“You may as well get used to it,” she continued. “You're going to be turning heads for many years to come.”

I started to get squirmy. I'm not used to being told I'm pretty good stuff. Except by my family, of course. But they're not going to tell me anything else. Jenn must have clued in that I was becoming seriously embarrassed. She changed the subject right away.

“Where's that Emily I'm supposed to be looking after?”

Emily came in from the kitchen, wagging her tail, loudly squeaking her plastic football.

Jenn called her over. “Good girl! That's dyno music you're playing, Em.”

I kind of flinched. “Dyno?”

“Yeah.” Jenn bent down to pet Emily. “You
know, like dynamite. Dynamite music. Music that is ...” She couldn't think of an appropriate word.

“Truly good,” I supplied.

“Yeah, like that.” She looked up at me.

I began to shake my head.

“Not a very good word?”

“No, it's not,” I said. “In fact, it sucks.”

Jenn started laughing. “Pam, you must think I'm a real doofus sometimes.”

I think my mouth actually dropped open at that one. “Doofus?”

She laughed harder. “I just threw that one in. I knew you'd like it.”

Tony Lasserman and John Robbel are already at Joanne's when I get there fifteen minutes later. Joanne is wearing an entirely different outfit than what she had decided on the phone at 7:00. A lime-green blouse and a pale yellow skirt. She looks good. If not a little scary. The black stuff around her eyes gives her this sort of bulbous-eyed, cadaverous appearance. I still haven't convinced her it isn't necessary to “bring out her eyes” that much. Tony has made a bit of an effort. His shirt is new. And his hair, normally thick and curly, lies flat against his head. Held there by about 95 tubes of gel. John, my so-called date, hasn't strained himself for
the occasion. He's got a lot of mileage out of his black Nike T-shirt. I'm sure he expects to get about a million more.

We don't have to walk far. Mike lives on the street where the houses back onto the canyon. Tony and John walk behind Joanne and I. Tony wants to take a detour and see if Mrs. Marshall is still down there searching.

“I heard she isn't,” says John. “I heard Mr. Marshall had her taken away to the hospital.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. She broke her foot and wouldn't go to the doctor. They took her out screaming and swearing. Mike was down there and saw the whole thing. They had to wrap her up so she wouldn't scratch anyone's eyes out. And her kids were crying. I guess it was a pretty nasty sight.”

I can't help but feel sorry for Mrs. Marshall. I know she's gone quite crazy. But at least searching for Krissy gave her a shred of hope. Now she'll wake up to stare at white walls every morning.

“Ah, the kid's not down there anyway,” John says with confidence. “Darla Miller's father saw her in the parking lot at the Center with a guy in a white van. By the time he called the police, the van was gone.”

Joanne had heard differently. “I don't know about that. Our neighbor was walking her dog the
day she disappeared. She said she saw a red Toyota leave the Canyon with a little girl wearing a pink sweater in the front passenger seat. She didn't get a good look at the driver.”

Tony listens to both stories. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “Who knows what happened. Maybe no one ever will.”

We have arrived at Ortega's. As the hand-painted sign instructs, we walk straight into the basement family room through the open garage door. Most of our class is already there. Mrs. Ortega has set up a table with a giant bowl of strawberry punch in the center of it. Huge strawberries bob around. We each fill a cup. She has strung banners, “Good Luck Graduates” and “All the Best,” across the walls. She's hung streamers and curly ribbons, and sprinkled shiny confetti over the tablecloth. Mrs. Ortega is obviously really into this graduation thing.

We stand around the punch table sipping our drinks.

“My, my,” Joanne says, looking around us. “It's all so civilized.”

I pass Joanne a bowl of potato chips. “Pringle, my dear?”

She sniffs. “Never touch them, myself. How about a cigarette?”

“You'd better not,” I tell her. “If Mike's parents don't come down on you, you know I will.”

“Whatever you say, Miss Collins. No need to get tough with me.” Joanne sighs. “God, I'm glad to get out of the house. This may be dry, but at least I get a break from watching my mother vacuum the halls. Linda's been hiding from me at school. If I see her, I'm going to personally pierce another hole through her big flabby lips and hook them shut with a padlock. Can you believe how she went on about what I said to Bartell in front of my mother like that? What
is
a coot, anyway? My dad won't tell me. He's kind of ticked off.”

“Don't know. But I'll ask Jenn. It sounds like the kind of word she'd know.”

Mandeep and Danny are playing pool at the other end of the room. Danny is useless at it. He misses the cue ball four times out of five. Mandeep is like some kind of master. You'd think she'd invented the game. She's sinking them, one after another, like she's been playing all her life.

“I think you're lying to me,” Danny says to her after she sinks three in a row. He wears a big grin. “No way is this the first time you've ever played.”

Mandeep is giggling as she takes aim again. “It is! No kidding. The very first time in my entire life.” She sinks another ball. “I don't believe this!”

They both start laughing. They look real good together.

John and Tony are throwing darts with Mike
Ortega. Mike is being seriously loud and cheerful. I think he's just trying to give his party a kick-start. Tony is throwing one bull's-eye after another. John can't even come close. Pretending frustration, John insists he needs a bigger target. “Mike, go stand against the wall, will ya? And turn around. I want to see how close I can come to your butt.”

Mike laughs, “Yeah, right man.” He thinks for a minute. “Hey, where's Darla Miller's brother? The guy that wears that spiked collar and combats. Didn't I see him come in? Yeah, there he is. By the bar. He's nuts enough to do it. See all those holes and rings through his skin? He'd probably get off on stopping a few darts.”

They all laugh.

Darla Miller's brother
is
there, leaning against the bar, with one heavy boot resting on the rung of a stool. Linda Yip is perched on top of the stool. Sort of hidden out of sight behind his combats. I recognize her by the plume of green hair rising above his shoulder. She sticks her head into the room momentarily. Like some kind of paranoid turtle. Quickly, she glances around the room. Spotting Joanne, she instantly withdraws it. But it is too late. Joanne has seen her.

“There she is!” Joanne exclaims. She starts toward her. “I've got a few things to say to that little — “

I can only guess what they are. But I know they won't be flattering. I step in front of her. “This is a party, Jo.” I raise my hand. “You know, a time to be happy. And glad. Let bygones be bygones. And old differences be forgot. Besides, do you really want to start something with somebody who's got a friend that looks like that?”

We both stare at Darla Miller's brother. Illuminated by the light above the bar, the spikes on his collar gleam threateningly. Joanne reconsiders. “Well, maybe I'll just wait until she's alone.”

“Good plan.” I pride myself on picking intelligent friends.

The door to the patio is open. Outside sit Sarah McMurtry, Shauna Whittaker, Carol Sanchez, Darla Miller and a bunch of guys I don't know. I leave Joanne and go outside to join them. The air is fresh and sweet in the backyard, being right on the edge of the canyon. I talk for quite a while with all of them. Even Sarah McMurtry. She no longer holds a grudge over the Barbie-doll hair-cutting thing. She tells me so. And I hold no grudge against her. It hardly seems worth it. When you're saying something as big as “so long, enjoy the rest of your life” to someone, small things can be forgotten. And that really is what we are doing. It's true, some of us will be going to the same high school. But probably only a few of us will keep in touch

The talk turns to clothes. Specifically, graduation dresses. Carol bought hers at Holt Renfrew. Her sister helped pick it out. Shauna got hers at some boutique on Robson. The owner is a friend of her mom's. And Sarah's mom is sewing hers. Turning toward the canyon, I drift away from them. Here I am, at a party, getting that sad, all alone feeling again. I go inside to try and shake it off.

Mike's dad is just coming down the stairs carrying about ten boxes of pizza. I help him organize them on the pool table, after we cover it in a plastic cloth. I arrange the paper plates and serviettes so people can help themselves, as Mr. Ortega says, efficiently. He keeps on making this deal about what a great helper I am. How he wishes Mike would be like that. That causes Mike to give me the evil eye. I just say, “Thanks.” I don't tell him how deserted I am feeling inside. How when I feel like this, keeping busy is the only way I can hang on.

Joanne and I start this game, counting how many pieces of pizza everyone eats. And how fast. Carl Jenkins wins with eight ham and pepperoni in half an hour. He slurps down two cans of pop, plops in the center of the couch and produces this enormous, gross burp. There is a distinct rumble from the other end.

“Aak,” Joanne grimaces. “I still can't believe I let that walrus get close to me.”

I remember her necking with Carl last fall at Darla Miller's party. “See what a few beer and several Kahlua get you? Carl Jenkins with all the sound effects.”

But she isn't paying attention to me. She's looking toward the open garage door. “Oh, look who's here. Right on time. Two hours later than everyone else. Danielle Higgins.”

We watch Danielle sweep into the room, and stumble over a chair.

“Hmm,” says Joanne. “That wasn't too graceful. You know, I don't think she can walk straight. It seems like she's already loaded up on punch. And not the strawberry kind.”

Danielle picks herself up. She gives the chair a kick like it had positioned itself just to trip her. Behind her, Matt Leighton sets it straight.

Standing in the center of the room, Danielle stretches up tall. She reaches her arms high above her head to form a Y. She stays like that, waiting for our attention. We are already more or less quiet anyway. Still intrigued by her entrance into the room.

“Happy graduation, everybody,” is what I think she says, before she loses her balance and Matt steers her to a chair. I hear him quietly tell her to get a grip. Why she insisted on coming like this was just not fair to Mike. He suggests that he take her
home. She laughs at the suggestion. That's when I turn away. I am angry at her for humiliating Matt like this.

I continue talking to Joanne and Mandeep. I can only hear the commotion as Danielle asks for a drink. A real drink, not that prissy pink stuff with that cherry or whatever it is bobbing up and down. Making her seasick.

“Alright, alright,” I hear Mike mutter. He appeases her by sneaking one of his dad's beer from the fridge. “Keep it low. Please. My mom will blow a fuse if she finds out.”

Joanne is watching all this over my shoulder. “What a miserable, self-centered bit — “

“UH-HMM,” I warn her. Because behind her, Mrs. Ortega is bounding cheerfully down the stairs. I step forward.

“Oh, look, Mrs. Ortega is bringing us some games to play. Jo — Mandeep — Danny — Twister, anyone?”

It is not so much a question as a strong suggestion. I don't know why, but I feel it is my duty to protect Matt. By drawing attention — specifically, Mrs. Ortega's attention — away from Danielle. Mrs. Ortega sets her armful of boxes down. She claps her hands together and looks happily around the room. Satisfied that everyone is having a good time, she returns back upstairs

Nobody actually plays the games. Because we decide to social dance instead. We do the fox trot to Metallica. The swing to the Red Hot Chili Peppers. And the cha-cha to Radiohead. Mike pretends to be Mr. Bartell. With Joanne's eyeliner, he draws several scraggles on his chin. We all get a turn to dance with him. But after several songs, he needs to take a break. His eyes are sore and blurry from stretching them out of his head. I do the tango with Danny. I waltz with Tony. And I do the polka with John. To Beck. That last one is a real challenge. Now I need to cool off. I grab a Coke and head for the patio, where most of those who aren't dancing have now gravitated. I sit down with Linda and Joanne. In the last half-hour, they have become friends again.

“Is she still in there?” Joanne asks me.

“Who?”

“Danielle, the major witch. We're planning her end.”

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do? Melt her?”

Linda laughs. “If it were only that easy. No, but something like that. It's got to be really big. We were thinking of a psychological approach. We'll all sit around her in a big ring. We'll blindfold her, then one by one we'll each recall aloud how she humiliated us.”

“That won't work,” I offer. “Do
you
really want to live through the humiliation again? Because that's what will happen. It won't bother her. She'll get off on it. She'll probably just sit there with a big smirk.”

They think about this.

“Hmph,” says Joanne. “Yeah. You're probably right. Well ...” She purses her lips. Wrinkles appear on her forehead. “Okay, what about this? We're changing out of our gym strip. Linda, you move into the hall. Pam, you stand in the doorway. When Danielle is all naked, I'll give the signal to you, Pam, you pass it to Linda, and Linda, you pull the fire alarm. In the confusion, I'll steal Danielle's clothes. She'll have to run out of the school naked or in a towel or whatever.”