Be More Chill (21 page)

“Yeah, but see, this doesn’t matter. Because I want Christine.”

S
O
?

“That’s it.”

S
O
?

“That’s who I like and that’s who I want to be with, and when I think about it, that—I mean,
she
—is the reason I got
you
in the first
place.”

S
O.

“So you are going to start listening to me, now, because I am the human being and I make the decisions and I don’t care how many qubits you have or whatever because you are supposed
to give
advice
like you said at the beginning!”

S
O YOU WANT A COMPLETE PARADIGM SHIFT
.

“I’m sorry?”

A
COMPLETE SHIFT
. A
TOTAL MOVEMENT AWAY FROM WHAT YOU WANTED BEFORE
. A
NEW ANGLE
. A
NEW SET OF
GOALS
. A
NEW DIRECTION FOR YOUR ENTIRELY PREDICTABLE AND MODELABLE LIFE
. Y
OU NOW REJECT THE NOTIONS THAT YOU HAVE BEEN FED BY TELEVISION AND THONGS
AND
XXX
THE MOVIE AND
XXX
ON THE
I
NTERNET
. Y
OU NOW WANT TO DEVOTE YOURSELF ENTIRELY TO THE
CARE AND REDEMPTION OF
C
HRISTINE
C
ANIGLIA
,
WHO SETS YOUR HEART AFLAME
?

“Jesus. Are you still on drugs?”

N
O
,
YOU ARE
. A
M
I
RIGHT
?

“Yes. I want to be with Christine and then I’ll be happy.”

W
HY
DO YOU NEED ME
,
THEN
?

“What?”

Y
OU
’
VE TALKED TO HER WITHOUT ME
. Y
OU WERE JUST TALKING TO HER WITHOUT ME
. M
Y PLANS TO WIN HER
AFFECTION HAVEN
’
T WORKED
. W
HY NOT RELY ON YOURSELF
?

“Well, _h_ _.”

W
HAT ABOUT IT
?

“You’re my squip.”

Y
ES
.

“I need
you
. You’ve been here all along.”

T
RUE
. O
FF AND ON
.

“I mean, I need your help. Advice. How to win her over. What to say. What kind of gifts to get her. When to make disapproving noises when she talks about which one of her friends. How to
touch her. All the sexual stuff. I still need that, I think.”

S
O YOU NEED ME
.

“Yes.”

T
HEN LET
’
S DO THIS
. A
ND LET
’
S NOT WASTE TIME
.
A M
IDSUMMER
N
IGHT
’
S
D
REAM
OPENS IN TWO WEEKS
.

“Yeah.”

B
Y THE TIME YOU DO YOUR BOWS
,
YOU
’
LL BE WITH
C
HRISTINE
. I
HAVE A NEW
PLAN
.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

N
OW
,
GET BACK TO THIS PARTY
,
OR WHAT
’
S LEFT OF IT
. Y
OU
’
VE GOT
UNFINISHED BUSINESS WITH
M
ICHAEL
, C
HLOE
,
AND
B
ROCK
.

“_ _ _t, Brock.”

D
ON
’
T WORRY
. Y
OU
’
LL FIND HIM MORE DOCILE NOW
. H
E
WON
’
T HIT YOU
.

“I’m glad we cleared this up.” I back away from the mirror and wink at myself.

Y
OU
’
RE STILL COOL
.

When I return to the living room, Chloe and Brock are arm in arm, playing with each other’s shirts. I guess they’re back together; they look very right for one
another. Brock’s ponderous bulk nicely shadows Chloe’s small curvaceousness.

“Jeremy, heyyyy,” Chloe waves, struggling to stand. I guess she was smoking and drinking in addition to rolling, since she knew she had a ride home from me.

S
HE WAS SNIFFING
R
ITALIN
.

Oh, great. “Hi, Chloe,” I say, staying far away from Brock. “How are you?”

“Don’t be worried about Brock or anything,” Chloe says. “I _ _c_ _ _ him, so he’s happy now. He’s my boyfriend again.”

Brock smiles. “Yeah, sorry for chasing you, dude. This girl.” He strokes Chloe’s cheek and they kiss, facing Christine on her couch, with their butts pointed at Rich on his
couch.

“Turn around!” Rich yells. “I want to see you lick her tongue! I’m bored.”

Brock and Chloe keep kissing, but that doesn’t stop Brock from sticking his hand out for me to slap it, a gesture of solidarity. I can’t believe
this
happy ending, either.

H
OW COME YOU
’
RE SURPRISED BY MALE BEHAVIOR
?

I’m sorry?

D
ON
’
T YOU SEE THAT THIS IS HOW MEN INTERACT
? T
HEY STAGE FIGHTS WITH ONE ANOTHER TO DETERMINE WHOM THEY CAN CONTROL
.
W
HEN A FIGHT ENDS IN AN UNEXPECTED WAY
,
THEY FIND THEMSELVES WITH AN EQUAL OR SUPERIOR INSTEAD OF AN UNDERLING
. T
HEN
,
OUT OF FEAR
,
THEY BEFRIEND THE PERSON WHO BESTED THEM
. Y
OU BEAT
B
ROCK
,
SO NOW YOU GET TO BE HIS
FRIEND
. S
EE
?

Oh. I slap Brock’s hand dutifully.

B
UT FORGET THESE TWO
. G
O OVER TO
C
HRISTINE AND OFFER HER A RIDE HOME
.

“Christine?” I ask. “Do you want a ride home? I’m going to give Chloe and, uh, I guess Brock a ride.” I shrug my elbow at them.

“You’re okay to drive?” she asks, looking up from whatever she had in her lap and hiding it. But I saw it: a worn, highlighted copy of the
Midsummer Night’s Dream
script, folded in quarters.

W
ORK THAT
.

“Wait, you’re doing your lines now?” I ask. I put the emphasis on
lines
instead of
now
to make it friendly.

“Yeah, shh.” She puts a finger to her lips. “I’m a serious dork about this play.”

“Me too.” I move closer to her. N
O
. D
ON
’
T BE SALACIOUS
. I move away. “We can go over some scenes
in my car. And I am okay to drive,” I reassure her.

“Uh…I can’t even believe you have a car, Jeremy. I didn’t know you
could
drive.”

“How do you think I got here?”

“Huh.” She dips her head down, then up. “How come you don’t drive to school?”

E
XERCISE
.

“Exercise.” I stretch.

“Well, are you ready to go? It is like three in the morning. I was going to call up a car service. I have to do the whole sneaking-into-my-house thing.”

“Me too.” I stand up. “Okay. Chloe and, uh, I assume you too Brock”—he nods—“head out to the lawn. I’m going to find Michael Mell and then
we’re all out of here. I’ll drop everybody off where they need to be.”

“Jeremy Heere, taking charge like a big boy,” Rich smirks. “Good luck with that full load of heads, man. You okay to drive?”

Y
ES
.

“Yes.”

“All right. See ya,” Rich slaps my hand. Chloe and Brock walk out to the lawn (they
listened
to me); Christine and I delve back into the party-sore house to find Michael.

“This is that guy with the ’fro, right?” she asks. “The one you’re always hanging out with?”

“Yeah. He’s, like, my best friend, y’know—if I could still say ‘best friend.’” We walk down the hall with our hands pocketed. “I guess now that
I’m older I’m supposed to call him something else.”

A
T LEAST YOU
’
RE NOT CALLING HIM
“
BUDDY
.” T
HAT
’
S HIGHLY
UNDESIRABLE
.

“Best friend is fine,” Christine says. “Girls use best friend till they’re, like,
dead
.”

“Okay,” I smile.

We do a random room check, opening doors on kids lying in their own puke, crying, drinking beer out of ashtrays, sleeping or playing Kill All People in a sedentary frenzy. In each room we ask
for “Michael” and an impostor Michael turns around, deadened by the sound of his own name, burned out. It seems like a lot of kids (and a special contingent of Michaels) are staying at
the Finderman house tonight—Jason Finderman’s parents must really be in Barbados. It’s like the Land Without Parents, a Lost World.

T
ELL THAT TO
C
HRISTINE
.

“It’s like
Lord of the Flies
in here,” I say as we leave a room that had a bunch of jocks standing in a circle chanting and pumping their fists at another jock doing
one-armed push-ups on the floor.

“I was thinking the exact same thing,” she says. “Do parties always get this
weird
when it’s late?”

I await instruction from the squip.
TELL THE TRUTH
.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really been to a serious party before.”

“Me neither!” Christine grins. She grabs my shoulder just for a second. “Me neither.”

We’re upstairs. I peek into one door while Christine tries another. “Hey, is that him?”

She’s looking inside a bathroom—one I didn’t know about, without a crazy self-abusing Hot Girl inside. This room has party scars: the sink is full of what appears to be shaving
cream; someone has tagged
FROG
:
MY BIZNESS IS OUT OF THIS BIZNICH
in permanent marker above the toilet, and in the bathtub, Michael Mell is covered
with a small Asian girl, who’s wearing a towel. They look asleep. Michael’s afro is compromised by the back of the tub.

“Michael,” I hiss. “It’s me!”

“Wuh?” He looks up, eyes disturbingly white. Then his irises and pupils rotate out of his skull and his face lights up. “Dude! Look! Isn’t she beautiful?”

I try to make a judgment about the compact and somewhat oily-looking lump who lies on Michael; all I can think is that she’s got black, short hair and her arms are plump and she’s
very asleep.

“She’s snow_bunny,” Michael says.

“From where?” I know that’s a username.

“Raptalk-dot-net, this, uh, underground hip-hop board,” he admits. “She’s a moderator there.”

“I thought you hated rap.”

“Yeah. Well. I still do.”

“What’s her real name?”

“Nicole. Snow_bunny was how she introduced herself to me, though. I was trying to change that horrible music in the den. We had a connection.”

“This house has a den?” Christine asks from the sink. “I always wanted a den.”

“Who’s…” Michael squints. “Whoa, it’s Christine!” He turns his chin up to me. “You got—”

“Eccch…”
I warn, pinching his shoulder. Hard.

“Right. Hi Christine!” he nods. “I’d wave but my arms are pinned.”

“Hi,” she waves, bending her elbow but keeping the rest of her arm rigid. It’s a cute wave. “I want to see the den.”

“No. We’re staying together.” I kneel down to Michael’s level. “You want a ride home?”

“Well, yeah. I need to get my car back, remember?”

Jeez. That seems like it happened last
year
. “Wake her up then, man. We’re going.”

“All right.” Michael shifts into a more upright position. “Nicole, wake up.”

“Muh,”
the girl mumbles.

“I think you guys had better wait outside. I’ll get her out of the tub,” Michael plans. Christine and I exit and sit in the hall, cross-legged on the carpet, knees at a safe
distance, facing the bathroom door. From inside we hear banging, scraping, gargling, and male and female murmurs. I try to think of something to say.

N
O
. K
EEP QUIET
.

Why?

Y
OU TALK TO THIS GIRL TOO MUCH
, J
EREMY
. Y
OU
’
RE ACCEPTABLE AROUND GUYS AND MOST GIRLS, BUT WITH THIS
ONE, YOU TALK UNTIL THE BLOOD VESSELS IN YOUR HEAD EXPAND AND CRAMP ME
. Y
OU NEED TO GIVE IT A REST
. G
ET THAT AIR OF MYSTERY ABOUT YOU
.

So I sit. Every time I almost talk (about a half-dozen times), the squip shuts me up. After three minutes, shockingly, Christine breaks out with something: “I f_ _k_ _ _ can’t
believe Jake.” She shakes her head and pushes stray hair over her ears. “I don’t even want to say this because it’s so stupid, but I thought he really
liked
me.”

H
AND ON HER SHOULDER
. F
IRM
. F
RIENDLY
.

“He’s a dick,” I reassure. “We’re all dicks, if you give us the chance. We’re just guys. We react to threats and rewards.”

“Yeah?”

I pull my hand away, gesticulate with it. I’m feeling smart. “Sure. For a guy, there’s something dangling in front of your face or something sticking out your ass.” What
a brilliant analysis. O
H DEFINITELY
. “That’s what we care about.”