Swim the Fly (18 page)

I sigh. I don’t belong here. Maybe I can call a cab. This night sucks.

“Go to hell, asshole!” It’s a girl’s voice.

I look up and see Kelly storming past me.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Tony comes after her.

Kelly thrusts a bird high in the air and keeps walking, right through the back door and into the house.

Several people laugh. “Ouch. Stinger,” someone says.

Tony doesn’t follow her. “Whatever.” He turns and joins a group of kids huddled around the barbecue. “What a bitch.”

I hear Coop’s voice in my head, like Obi-Wan:
“Dude, here’s your chance. Go after her.”
But I don’t move. Why would she talk to me? Who am I? She hardly knows me.

“Get your ass out of that chair!”
It’s Coop again. Reprimanding me. I don’t like that he’s taken up residence in my brain. But he’s right. I have a window of
opportunity here. Things like this don’t happen every day. It’s decision time. Take a chance or play it safe. Be a man or stay a child. Go big or go home. My palms are damp. I wipe them on my jeans, but they won’t dry.

Fine, I’ll go. I’ll just see if she wants to talk. I grip the armrests and hoist myself out of the chair. I hobble toward the back door, hoping to God that Kelly hasn’t decided to do her sulking upstairs.

I DO MY BEST
march-of-the-wooden-soldiers clomp through the party. I look everywhere, my head dodging left and right. Every time I think I see Kelly, it turns out to be someone else.

I see Sean in the corner of the living room, talking to some girl with corkscrew blond hair. I guess he got tired of waiting around for Valerie. This new girl is oddly cute, I suppose. In a kind of Ashley Olsen meets Frodo sort of way. I don’t recognize her from anywhere. Sean stands about two inches taller than her, which means he’s one inch shorter without shoes. They’re passing Sean’s masked beer back and forth, and he has her laughing. Way to go, Sean.

I approach them, forcing my rigid limbs to move in as natural a way as possible. Sean gives me a chin lift by way of hello.

“Hey,” I say.

“Matt, this is Tianna.”

“Hi,” I say.

Tianna smiles. “Hello.” She takes a mouthy sip of Sean’s beer.

“Have you seen Kelly around?”

“Yeah,” Sean says. “I just saw her go into the kitchen.”

“Thanks.” I nod and I’m off again.

I hear Tianna giggle as I lumber away. I’m sure that Sean has used my pain to make this girl laugh, but I don’t hold it against him.

I make my way into the kitchen and there she is. All by herself. Sipping a beer and staring out the window. My first impulse is to turn and leave. She obviously wants to be left alone. Why else would she be hiding in the kitchen? I can’t tell if she’s crying or not. And it’s none of my business. I’ll just go. That’s the polite thing.

Kelly downs the rest of her beer. She turns and sees me. “Hi.” She smiles.

“Hi,” I say. “I was just . . .” Just what? Standing here staring at you. Thinking about what you look like naked. Wondering if I have a chance in a billion to kiss you. No. These are exactly the things Coop’s dad was talking about. Keep up a good front. “I saw you outside. Are you okay?”

Kelly cocks her head and smiles again. “Aww. That’s so sweet.”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping or anything.” I clear my throat. “I was just sitting there when I saw you go by and you looked upset.”

Kelly sighs. God, she’s so pretty. “It’s no big deal. My ex-boyfriend’s just an asshole, is all. But what do you expect? He’s a guy. No offense.”

“Don’t worry about it. I know what you mean. My two best friends are guys and they’re both assholes.”

This makes Kelly laugh. Wow. I feel a tingle down the back of my neck. I can’t believe I made her laugh.

“You want a beer?” Kelly drops her empty into the recycle bin and moves to one of the coolers.

“Oh. No, thanks. I’ve got one.” I wave my camouflaged O’Doul’s.

“Well, I’m getting one.”

She squats down and opens the lid of a cooler. Her low-rise jeans slide just a little lower. I can see the top of her crimson thong. Jesus Christ. I swallow. I can only take in little, shallow breaths. I am suddenly aware of everything. My eyebrows. My chapped lips. The hangnail on my left pinky. It’s like all my nerves have been amplified. There’s a tickle in my eardrum but I leave it alone. I don’t want Kelly to turn around and see me with my finger stuck in my ear.

All of a sudden Kelly howls with laughter. “Oh, my God. Who’s the loser who brought the O’Doul’s?”

A rush of horror courses up my spine as I grip the beer tight in my right hand. I glance down to make sure
the label is hidden. The napkin has soaked up the dampness from the bottle and is starting to shred.

Kelly stands and slinks over to me, holding up a bottle of Budweiser. “Can you open this for me?”

Oh, great. This should be interesting.

“Sure,” I say, taking the full bottle in my left hand. It pulls my arm down like I’ve just been handed a bowling ball.

Kelly looks at me funny. “You okay?”

I let out a nervous laugh. “I sort of upped my regular workout routine. I might have done a little too much.”

Kelly stays close. I breathe in her sweet cinnamon-spice smell, and it’s making me dizzy.

I can feel the soggy napkin wrapped around my O’Doul’s disintegrating under my sweaty palm. I have no idea if in my weakened state I’ll be able to twist the top off this beer bottle using both my hands. But I know for sure I won’t be able to do it with just the one. So here are my options: Use my teeth and hope Kelly thinks it’s funny and not just disgusting. Put my O’Doul’s down and risk her spotting the label. Or lean back slightly and tuck the O’Doul’s under my arm to free my right hand so I can use it to open Kelly’s beer. It’s the most physically painful alternative but the least emotionally devastating, which is why I choose it.

Kelly must be able to sense my anguish because she gestures at my O’Doul’s. “I can hold that for you.”

“No,” I say. “It’s fine. Really. I’ve got it.” I tuck my
napkin-wrapped beer under my left armpit, having to angle myself backward a little so it doesn’t spill. This is even more excruciating than I’d anticipated and I feel the perspiration starting to bead on my forehead.

I reach down with my right hand and grasp the Budweiser bottle cap. I try to twist it off without scrunching up my face in agony. The cap isn’t budging; it’s just digging into the flesh of my fingers.

“This new workout routine,” I explain. “It’s a killer. Three hours straight. It really takes it out of you.”

“Just don’t get too pumped up, okay?” Kelly says. “Muscle-heads are all into themselves. Trust me.”

I give the cap another try but to no avail. If this takes me much longer, I am going to look like the wimp of the century. I muster every last scrap of strength I have left and lean into it with all I’ve got, trying not to groan too loudly. By some miracle I manage to wrench the top off the bottle. But in the process I also manage to spill my O’Doul’s.

“Yikes!” Kelly squeals, leaping back so she doesn’t get drenched.

Panic shoots through me and I involuntarily lift my left arm, releasing the O’Doul’s from my armpit. It slips from its napkin sheath and bounces off my foot and onto the floor.

The bottle spins around, releasing its carbonated froth like a rabid ferret.

“Oh, crap!” Kelly says, laughing through her cupped hand.

I have to think fast. Once that bottle stops spinning, the label will be visible and Kelly will see that
I
am the loser who drinks the O’Doul’s.

“Here,” I say, shoving the Budweiser at Kelly so she won’t get any crazy ideas about going for my beer.

I think about diving on top of the bottle like it’s a grenade, but I can’t imagine that won’t look suspicious. Instead, I pretend to reach down for the O’Doul’s and “accidentally” kick the bottle out through the kitchen doorway, into the carpeted family room, where someone I don’t care about can find it.

“Oops,” I say. “Oh, well. I guess that’s the end of that one.”

“Wow.” Kelly giggles. “That was dramatic.” I’m not sure, but I think she might be a little drunk. She takes a sip of her beer.

My mind zooms in on her lips and man, oh, man. I have to lean against the door frame or I’m going over. My desire is wrestling with my exhaustion and terror, and the whole thing is making me light-headed.

“So, uh . . .” Ask questions, idiot. Change the subject. Get the conversation flowing. “So, Tony’s your
ex
-boyfriend?”

“Yeah. We broke up like a month ago. But he won’t let it go. It’s pathetic.”

“Huh,” I say. Come on, Matt, something besides that. Make something up. Something interesting. Tell her you spent a month in Europe last year.

“Speak of the devil,” Kelly says, and turns away.

Tony bumps past me, causing my muscles to spasm.

“Who the hell is this?” Tony jerks his thumb in my direction.

Kelly spins around and smirks. “Only the guy who’s going to kick your ass in butterfly at sectionals next week.”

Tony’s head swivels. From me to Kelly and back to me. “This twig?”

I’m as stunned as he is. Why would she say something like that? She must be drunk. “I’m, uh . . . I . . . Actually . . . Well . . .”

“That’s right.” Kelly laughs. “And I’m gonna be there to watch it all happen. I can’t wait. We’ll see what all your hussy sluts think about that. You’re going down, big boy. Whooo!” Kelly raises her beer and then takes a long, long pull.

“Is that right, Twig?” Tony says to me, his eyes on fire.

Don’t blink. I blink. For Christ’s sake, don’t gulp! I gulp. “I don’t . . . You know . . . I am swimming . . . the butterfly . . . I guess we’ll just have to see.”

Tony snaps his head back to Kelly. “This what you go for now? Napoleon Dynamite here?” Tony gives a quick, derisive snort-laugh.

Kelly nods. She’s going for the kill, I can tell. “You bet. Mark’s more of a man than you’ll ever be.”

Mark?

“And he’s not —” Kelly uses her left thumb to cut her pinky off at the first knuckle. She waves this in Tony’s face. “I’ve seen him in a Speedo.”

Tony glares at me, his pupils narrowing to pinpoints. Like I’m the one who just suggested he’s got a tiny lunch log. I don’t know if he’s sneering or not because of that lip scar, but he definitely looks like he wants to take a bite out of my face.

“You’re such a loser, Tony.” Kelly shakes her head. “I’m going home.” She storms out of the kitchen.

Tony points his thick sausage finger at me. “We’re not done, you and me,
Mark.
” He pokes me hard in the chest, which makes me cough in pain, and then goes after Kelly.

I stand there in the kitchen. Alone. I can feel the blood pumping through my veins. I have that brick-in-the-belly, sinking feeling. It’s time to leave.

I’m about to go in search of Coop, when squat little Ronnie Hull stomps into the kitchen, waving my O’Doul’s bottle.

“Who’s the jackscrew who’s leaving their empties on the floor?” he shouts.

“Not me,” I say, holding up my hands. “I don’t drink O’Doul’s. I think that’s Tony Grillo’s brand.”

My eyes slide to the side as I hustle out of the kitchen before Ronnie can ask any more questions.

COOP IS NOWHERE TO BE FOUND.
Sean and the Hobbit girl are out on the front porch, waiting for her parents to pick her up. I start looking for a place to hide until midnight, just in case Tony Grillo returns to beat the crap out of me.

I wander out back, my seizing muscles making me walk more and more like I just got off a two-hour bull ride. I do my best to blend into the crowd, but I’m on guard, constantly looking over my shoulder, even though my stiff neck makes this nearly impossible. I may not be able to put up much of a fight when Tony comes for me, but at least I won’t be blindsided.

I head past the pool and toward the play set in the far corner of the yard. It looks pretty dark back there. I’m thinking I could take up refuge in the little wooden cottage at the top of the wave slide. When I get there, though, I find Valerie sitting on a swing, shuffling her feet in the dirt, making circles and swirls.

“Having fun?” I say.