Somebody’s girlfriend.
Speaking of Todd, he continued to be his usual arrogant self. He had taken to identifying every single adult male visitor to the school as a college scout here to observe the Broncos practice. That included the bagel guy, the superintendent of schools, and the coveralled plumber who came to Roto-Rooter Fitz’s main sewer connection.
“Don’t take it so hard,” I advised when the man departed, leaving Todd’s free-agent status intact. “You don’t want to play for a team that’s already in the toilet.”
Todd just smiled serenely. “So he’s not the guy. But he’ll be here—right in the front row.”
If this was someone who had just been kissed off by Didi Ray, then he had to be the greatest actor in the history of high school. And Todd despised the drama club, because he was convinced all the guys in it were gay.
I was dying to talk to Jake, but he was difficult to nail down. At practice, Coach Hammer had us working on field-goal kicking, and the holder was Todd, so that was out. And as soon as I got home from school, there was Didi’s Volkswagen, parked alongside the Beamer in the Garrett driveway. Well, I sure wasn’t going to walk in on that love nest.
I needed to run into the guy at school, but that was easier said than done. Jake wasn’t in any of my classes. And when I started asking around, not a single person I knew had a course with him. So on Thursday I went to see Danny Nash, who worked in the guidance office. Danny did favors for a lot of athletes in return for varsity hats and shirts he could use to impress girls from other schools. Today, however, it wasn’t any Fitzgerald souvenir that Danny had his eye on. He wanted what everybody wanted—an invitation to Jake’s party the next night. I couldn’t guarantee that, of course, but Danny saw the logic. How could I ask Jake if I couldn’t even find him?
Danny pulled Jake’s schedule, and I realized why nobody was in any of his classes. Jake Garrett was enrolled in honors everything! If there was such a thing as enriched lunch, he would have been in it.
At three o’clock, I waited for him outside advanced-placement computer programming.
Jake looked a little sheepish when he saw me. “Hey, baby. I figured I’d catch you at the field.”
The Broncos’ first game was on Saturday, so Coach Hammer was fanning the flames of student interest with a good old-fashioned pep rally.
“We can head over there together,” I said as we started in the direction of the exit. “Hey, I never pegged you for advanced placement.”
He gave me a healthy dose of the Jake smile. “Dad’s idea, not mine. To save money in college.”
I shrugged. “No crime in being smart.”
“That’s debatable,” he muttered in a low voice. Then, louder, “It’s a joke.”
“Is that where you’ve been all week?” I probed. “Studying?”
He stopped and regarded me intently. He was trying to figure out if I knew. “Didi”—it took a lot of effort for him to say her name, but once it was out, the rest followed easily—“has been coming over. A lot.”
I nodded. We pushed open the double doors and ran for the football field.
We were the last to get suited up. Yes, Coach Hammer made us attend this charade in full pads. I guess we were more inspiring pep-wise if the kids saw us with some extra bulk.
Actually, the old snot-and-mustard had a pretty good turnout that day. One of our grandstands faced due southwest, and it was a warm, late-September afternoon. To find a better sunning opportunity, you’d have to go to Barbados.
Surprisingly, our most vocal devotee was, of all people, Dipsy, who had declared himself kind of an unofficial cheerleader. Mascot might be a better word, because, at a Broncos event, he was as out of control as any wild animal. And for someone who hardly spoke at all except for quiet, nonsensical lectures on marine biology, the guy could shout down a stadium full of people.
“ALL THE WAY, TEAM! WE’RE GOING ALL THE WAY!”
It was pretty embarrassing for us players, especially at games, with visitors from other schools staring at him and us like we were from Pluto. But the Broncos, who raked Dipsy over the coals for everything else, never got mad at him for this. He was, after all, our number-one fan, and a crummy team needed all the supporters it could get. Personally, I could never quite figure out if Dipsy was being totally serious or just putting us on. He didn’t strike me as the “rah-rah” type. My theory was that it was his revenge for a whole lot of teasing and practical jokes. But I kept my opinion to myself.
What the Broncos didn’t have in talent they made up for in testosterone. The guys were putting on a great show, slapping butts, bumping chests, and bonking helmets. The smart ones kept their distance from Nelson, the self-appointed distributor of concussions. He put a shoulder into one of the running backs that knocked the kid flying, setting in motion a domino effect that took six or seven players to the turf.
Our fans went nuts.
“Hey! Hey!” barked the coach. “Save it for Liberty, you maniacs!” He was grinning. In football, the prevailing wisdom went that homicidal violence was a good thing, as long as it could be directed at the other team.
Jake and I, the latecomers, jogged into the fray. Since the coach was in a good mood, there was a lot of goofing around going on. Most of the guys’ girlfriends were with them—except for the cheerleaders, who were bumping and grinding through their routines in a style better suited to rap videos that had been banned from MTV.
I blinked. There was Didi, hanging all over Todd, playing the perfect quarterback’s trophy girl. She’d come from St. Mary’s to support her man—as if she hadn’t spent the better part of a week practically shacked up with Jake Garrett!
My mind went into high gear. Maybe I had the wrong idea about Didi and Jake. Maybe they were only getting together to plan a surprise party for Todd. (The millennium celebration didn’t take that much preparation.) But one look at Jake’s face told me all I needed to know: he thought Didi was his. Didi, apparently, thought otherwise.
For a moment I suspected that this pep rally was going to get memorable. I put a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Not here,” I whispered. “And definitely not now.”
His misery was so tangible that you could almost grab pieces of it out of the air around his head and shoulders.
“She’s going to dump him, you know,” he said earnestly. “This is just so he looks good in front of the team.”
I nodded noncommittally. Let me tell you, Todd looked awesome in front of the team. An ape would look good with Didi crawling over him.
“Listen, Jake,” I said, trying to pick my words carefully. “Does it really have to be Didi? I know how hot she is, and that you two used to know each other. But there’s something going on in that girl’s head that neither of us understands.”
“She doesn’t even like him anymore,” Jake went on, as if his words could erase what was happening. “She knows he cheats on her.”
If Didi didn’t like Todd anymore, she had a hell of a way of showing it. A smart kid like Jake should have been able to see that. Our long-snapper had a serious blind spot where Didi was concerned. In fairness, he wasn’t the first guy with that problem, and he wouldn’t be the last.
“You know, there are lots of girls who are dying to date you,” I told him. “Your parties have made you the guy to know at school this year. The word is, Corinne Gardner’s been talking you up. Remember her? The sweet sixteen? The ice swan?”
His eyes never left Didi in Todd’s arms. “I didn’t do all this for Corinne Gardner,” he said absently.
“What are you talking about?”
He looked nervous. “It’s just an expression, baby.”
At that moment, the pep rally built to a noisy crescendo in which a few of the Broncos kicked the stuffing out of a huge plush wildcat, representing the mascot of the Liberty Lions. Nelson delivered the coup de grace with a golf club that took the head clean off and put it in the fifth row of bleachers. There it was reduced to molecules by Dipsy.
 
; Coach Hammer must have been thrilled with all this, because he let the visitors hang out for a while before clearing the field for an abbreviated practice.
It seemed very casual the way Jake worked his way over to Didi. But I could see how smoothly he meandered from group to group, inviting people to “a little get-together” he was planning for the next night. He said it as if this had just occurred to him, and his Friday bashes weren’t as regular as the tides.
“Jake!” cried Didi, delighted to run into an old friend. “Long time, no see!”
Remind me never to go to her eye doctor.
“Hey, Jake,” Todd said warmly. “Party tomorrow night, right?”
I held my breath, waiting for Jake to take a swing at him, or at the very least, curse him out. Instead, Todd received a brilliant flash of the Jake smile.
“Same time, same station, baby.”
chapter nine
I MADE UP my mind to hit Jake’s place early on Friday. It was going to be weird for him to host Didi and Todd, as well as a hundred and fifty of his nearest and dearest.
Around school, I had a reputation as Jake’s best friend, believe it or not. I’d only met the guy two weeks before, but there was something about Jake that made things happen fast. Like his parties, he existed in an accelerated universe. A steak sandwich, a few bagels, and we were lifetime chums.
I have to admit I liked it. Jake was famous, so I was sort of famous too. We kickers don’t get a lot of headlines.
And anyway, at Fitz, Todd was considered a friend of mine too. So the bar wasn’t set very high.
I was surprised to find another car parked beside the Beamer in Jake’s driveway. I rang the bell and let myself inside. There in the living room paced a college kid, Connor Somebody—or maybe Somebody Connor. He had been one of the envelopes in Marty Rapaport’s room at Throckmorton Hall that day.
“Where’s Jake?” I asked.
“Get in line, pal,” he growled, tapping the foam out of the new keg, which was chilling in the wading pool. “He owes me first.”
I headed for the stairs, and he glared at me. “Don’t bug the guy. He’s already three days late.”
In the second floor hallway, I knocked politely on the locked door.
“I’m not finished yet,” came a voice from inside.
“Jake, it’s me. Rick.”
“Rick!” The scrambling behind that closed door was frantic. He opened it just a crack, and this time the Jake smile didn’t really come off. “You’re early, baby. Why don’t you have a beer downstairs? You remember Connor, right?”
I pushed it open and stepped inside. I wasn’t copping an attitude, but I felt stupid standing there in the hall. “I’ve been in here before, Jake. On cleanup day.”
“I’m a little behind schedule,” he admitted sheepishly. “There are a few things I have to take care of before the party tonight.”
“This better be brilliant!” came a bellow from downstairs. “If I wanted it lousy and overdue, I’d write it myself!”
My eyes traveled to the document under construction on Jake’s computer screen. I couldn’t make out the title, but the words by Connor Danvers were crystal clear.
Jake gave a nervous laugh. “I guess you’ve figured out my little side job.”
I looked at him, bug-eyed. “How smart are you, Jake? You’re writing people’s college papers while you’re still in high school?”
“I’m not that smart,” he snapped back as if I’d just insulted him.
I remembered the procession of envelopes at Atlantica University. “How many of these things can you write?”
“Throwing parties is an expensive hobby,” he admitted, “and I’ve got a taste for clothes. I was keeping on top of it okay. But lately I’ve been busy with—other stuff.”
In other words, spending every waking moment with Didi had thrown him off his business schedule.
All I could manage was a shrug. “I’d help you, but I’m not much of an expert on”—I squinted at the screen—“quantum physics.”
“Oh, that’s okay, baby. Listen, do me a favor. Hang with Connor—make sure he doesn’t freak out. Call in the pizza order for nine o’clock. And when people start to arrive, make sure they get drinks. Everything’s fine so long as everybody’s drinking.”
Words to live by.
I put on the stereo loud. Not that there were any guests yet, but I didn’t feel like taking the brunt of Connor’s irritation with Jake. Actually, the Atlantica student had fallen into a holding pattern in front of the TV, watching a sumo wrestling match with the sound turned off.
I couldn’t conjure a mental image of what it would be like when the first people showed up. By the time I’d arrived at the last two parties, the joint had been jumping. I couldn’t imagine a handful of kids wandering around the empty living room, politely checking out the books on the shelves.
It didn’t happen that way. Instead, nobody came for a long time. But around eight-thirty, I started hearing a lot of passing traffic on the street—which was weird. I’d lived here my whole life. Our block was an anonymous little crescent that went from nothing to nowhere.
I went to the window, and there they were—dozens of cars, circling at about ten miles an hour. Every now and then, one of them would slip into a parking space, and the rest would continue their languid orbit.
I was fascinated. It was like watching the mating dance of the great crested grebe, or something. Everybody wanted to come, but nobody wanted to be first. And the longer I watched them, the more improbable it seemed that anyone would ever get out of the car. In order for this traffic pattern to turn into a party, somebody was going to have to brave the forty-foot walk from the curb to Jake’s front door with the collective eye of F. Scott Fitzgerald High on him/her.
In the end, it took an act of God. Too many teenage drivers, not enough road. Eventually, someone clipped someone else’s taillight. A loud screaming match ensued between the rear-ender and the rear-endee. Soon there were forty peacemakers keeping them from going for each other’s throats.
Then, all at once, the situation was defused, and the entire crowd headed as one for Jake Garrett’s living room. As acting host, I tried to greet them. I was lucky they didn’t trample me.
The fact that Jake was nowhere to be found didn’t bother anyone in the slightest. I doubt very many of them even noticed. I came to see that a party is a living, breathing organism that takes care of itself. I didn’t have to worry about changing the CD. When it ended, the kid who cared the most became the de facto DJ. Someone was there to take in the pizza. Someone else lowered the lights when the dancing started.
Jake was right. Everybody was drinking, so everything was fine.
The usual suspects were trickling in as people continued to arrive. Nelson steered Melissa through the door about nine, and had thrown his first punch by 9:04—a misunderstanding with a sophomore who had inadvertently stepped on his foot. One of the hazards of these parties was that Nelson’s size fourteen-and-a-half construction boots became harder to avoid as the house filled up.
I saw Dipsy with his head buried in a bag of caramel popcorn. As of nine-thirty, he still had his pants on.
Most of the Broncos were there by then, so the obnoxiousness level was sky-high. Football players, at the top of the food chain, felt the need to act like the biggest jerks. They were followed by basketball players, wrestlers, hockey players, and so on down the line.
Speaking of the food chain, there was its apex, Todd Buckley, with the ever-faithful Didi at his side. A great shout went up from the Broncos in the room, and they surrounded Todd and bore him off in a flurry of affectionate noogies. There stood Didi, the hottest girl in anyone’s imagination, alone and abandoned. At last, Todd had brought her to one of Jake’s parties. He had stayed with her for about thirty seconds.
For her part, Didi seemed unperturbed. She wandered a little, greeting people and drawing admiring stares. Spying me, she rushed over, took my hand, and squeezed the two of u
s out among the crush of dancers.
This time I wasn’t fooled. “Jake’s busy,” I informed her. “He should be down soon.” I checked my watch. Jake had been working on this essay forever. If he didn’t get a move on, Connor was going to kick in the lock and force-feed Jake his chess trophy.
But then I spotted Connor in a corner of the dining room, making out with one of the cheerleaders. So quantum physics was probably the last thing on his mind. Biology was now the subject of the minute.
“Does Jake know I’m here?” Didi asked.
The arrogance of that irked me a little. Yes, she was great looking. But did she think she gave off some kind of aura or vibe that would reach the guy from the opposite end of the house?
“If he was looking out the window,” I said pointedly, “he probably saw you and Todd drive up.”
If she got my meaning, she didn’t show it. “When you see him, tell him I’m here.” And she walked away. I had outlived my usefulness.
As I began to wander, I felt, rather than heard, a series of percussive pops coming from outside the open front door. There on the walk ducked and dove five freshmen boys. These uninvited unworthies were being pelted with lightbulbs from every lamp and fixture on the second floor.
“What are those geniuses up there going to do when they need to see something?” I commented to the spectator next to me.
It was Dipsy. “The ocean’s deepest trenches form an inky world without sun, home to alien creatures that would rival any science-fiction movie.”
I sighed. “Is that where the remoras live?”
He seemed genuinely thrilled that I’d remembered. “What goes on up there—lights would only get in the way.”
“Look,” I told him. “If you see any Broncos, just keep your distance. If they can’t find you, they can’t steal your pants.”
He pretended to miss my point. “If my pants don’t mind, why should you?”
“Jeez, Ricky!” Jennifer reeled in, interposing herself between Dipsy and me. She patted her hair, which gleamed with glass fragments. “Can you believe this?”
“Sorry,” I grinned. “The artillery got a little carried away.”