Saturday Night, October 23, 1993

A

nnie came over around eight, after Marla and Philip were gone. Nora led her upstairs to her room so they could change into their pajamas before making popcorn and watching a video downstairs. She’d set cassettes out on the coffee table: The Shining, Friday the 13th, Dirty Dancing, Ghostbusters. Old favorites. But Annie wasn’t interested in movies. She had ideas of her own, had brought with her a bagful of makeup and hair gel, a razor and shaving cream, her sisters’ old bras. Cigarettes. A bunch of tiny, airplane-sized bottles of Johnny Walker. And a list of cute boys and their phone numbers.

Nora didn’t know what to do. She’d gone along, doing that kind of stuff when she was at Annie’s house, but she hadn’t anticipated that Annie would bring it to hers. The cigarettes freaked her the most. Even in his bedroom with the door closed, Tommy would smell the smoke and definitely tell her parents. What if he saw them wearing makeup and drinking liquor? The sleepover was out of control, and it had barely even started. Annie was already taking off her top and choosing a bra.

“Wait,” Nora put her hands up, not sure what she could say to slow things down, but the words came just in time. “I’m
starving.”

She delayed with pizza. But pizza, even with pepperoni and extra cheese, was good only for about an hour. And even during that hour, while they waited for the delivery guy, Annie stood at the bathroom mirror, smearing eye shadow on her lids, applying mascara, dabbing gloss onto her lips.

Nora stared at Tommy’s door, trying not to let on that she was nervous. Hoping that Tommy wouldn’t come out and bother them. Or see what they were doing.

Nora chewed her pizza slowly, stalling. How could she get Annie to change her plans? Annie was relentless, pouring liquor into their sodas and telling Nora to drink. Nora drank.

And by the time they were done eating, Nora was less anxious. Why had she been so uptight? After all, what was the big deal if they put on makeup and shaved their legs? Nothing. There was no big deal. About anything.

Upstairs, Annie poured more Johnny Walker into their cups of soda. They drank as they took off their shorts and tops and sat on the side of the tub, foaming and shaving their legs. They put on bras and stuffed them with tissue. They redid Annie’s make up and then fixed Nora’s, heavy with eyeliner and dark purple shadow. They restyled each other’s hair. They drank more soda spiked with Johnny. They laughed because everything was funny.

Annie wanted to smoke, but Nora pointed a wobbly finger at the hallway. “Tommy. He’d tell.” Her tongue was thick. Words felt fat.

“What a dick.” Annie frowned. “My sisters and I don’t tell on each other. Ever. We made a pact.” Her last words blended together, sounding like “Wemmedda pack.” She held an unlit cigarette, then gave one to Nora. They didn’t light them, but stood in their underwear and stuffed bras, striking poses with cigarettes, trying to be sexy and saucy, embracing each other and feigning kisses, breaking into fits of giggles. They imitated movie stars. They took turns pretending to be a boy and practiced kissing. Nora felt giddy, elated. She had Annie all to herself for the whole night. Annie, the coolest girl in her school. Her best friend.

Nora was having such a good time that she even stopped worrying about Tommy. She distantly heard his door open and the ensuing creaks, clicks, and huffs. His footsteps going upstairs to the attic.

After a while, and more spiked soda, Annie and Nora began calling boys. They sometimes said who was calling, sometimes made the boys guess. They teased coyly, flirted openly. And when Annie dialed Bobby Baxter, Nora wasn’t too shy to talk to him. In fact, Nora gushed words that she wouldn’t remember later, and that, mortified and hungover, she would question Annie about relentlessly.

At some point, they made it back to Nora’s room and fell asleep on top of her double bed, still in their stuffed bras and
panties.

In the morning, Nora woke to Annie’s high-pitched screech.

“What is this!” She held a photograph to Nora’s face.

Nora moaned, unaccustomed to hangovers. She strained to focus. Annie’s hand was shaking, but Nora saw the photo, the image of Annie in her underwear and heavy eye makeup, posing suggestively with a cigarette in her hands.

“Look!” She held out another picture. This one was of them both, their legs coated with shaving cream, seated topless on the side of the tub, butt to butt. She held up more. “Did your brother take these? Did you plan this with him, Nora?”

“Are you crazy?” Nora’s heart slammed into her throat, tried to fly out her mouth. “No. Of course not. I had no idea—” Nora sat up too fast. Her skull hammered so hard that she had to close her eyes, let the pain settle.

Annie was ranting. “Really. You had no idea?”

“No.” She reached for the pictures Annie was holding. “Let me see them. Where’d you get them?”

Annie threw them at her. “They were on your dresser.”

Nora leafed through them, adrenaline and fury surging with each image. Tommy had spied on them, taken pictures of the two of them not just shaving their legs topless, but primping in stuffed bras, posing in underwear with cigarettes, kissing each other with feigned passion.

“What’s he planning to do with these? Because if he shows them to anyone—Oh shit, he won’t, will he?” Annie was talking too loudly. If she woke up Marla or Philip, they’d want to know what was going on.

“Shh! Annie. He won’t.”

No, Tommy wouldn’t show them to anyone. Would he? God, Nora wanted to kill him. He was such a loser, such a twisted, disgusting, freaking loser. She finally asked a friend to sleep over, and he had to ruin it, peeping on them, sneaking snapshots of their personal, private business. Now Annie would never come over again. She might not even be her friend anymore, and who could blame her?

“I promise, he won’t show them to a soul.” Nora tried to sound confident. “Tommy’s annoying and strange, but not mean. He probably thinks they’re funny.”

“Funny?” Annie’s makeup was smudged and runny; her eyes seemed to be melting.

“Like I said, he’s strange.”

Annie fumed. She sat beside Nora and went through the pile of pictures again. Her hair was knotted and tangled, and her bra hung loose around her chest, the tissues having fallen out. She slammed the pictures down and stood, pulled on a T-shirt and shorts.

“I swear, I’ll kill him.” Annie headed for the door.

“Wait. I’ll go with you.”

Together, they burst into Tommy’s room. He was sitting at his desk, holding tweezers, working on mounting a beetle. He looked up when they came in, eyebrows raised as if annoyed at the intrusion.

“Tommy, what the hell—” Nora began.

But Annie interrupted. “Tommy, that’s your name, right? So, you’re a pervert? A peeping Tom? Spying on your sister’s friends for jollies?”

Tommy’s grin was smarmy, self-satisfied. “Jollies? Like anyone would get excited by your pitiful little bodies?”

“You don’t know me, Tommy, but here’s the thing. I’m not someone you want to mess with.” Annie’s hands were relaxed at her side. She stepped further into Tommy’s room, her voice low, buzzing like a wasp about to sting. “So, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to give me those photos and the negatives. Every copy of them. If you don’t—if anyone outside this room ever sees even a single one of them—I swear you’ll be sorry you were ever born.”

They waited a few long moments, but Tommy was unfazed. He chuckled, leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “What are you going to do, have your thug buddy Craig beat me up? Because guess what? He already does.” He scratched his mop of black hair. “Actually, whatever your name is, I don’t think I’m giving you those negatives. No. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m keeping those pictures. And you and my dear little sister are going to do whatever I say, or else they show up in your parents’ mailbox, on doorsteps, and all over your school.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“For starters,” Tommy continued, “you’re going to tell Craig that you think I’m the hottest guy in town and you want him to kiss my ass.”

“You’re insane!” Annie lunged at Tommy, pounding his head. “Give me those negatives, you piece of shit, bastard freak—”

“Annie, don’t!” Nora tried to stop her, didn’t want things to get out of control. She pulled futilely at Annie’s waist, knowing that the attack was fruitless and counterproductive. Anger only fueled Tommy and incited his outrageousness; indifference was the only way to handle him. Besides, compared to Craig, Annie’s flailing fists were nothing.

As if catching a firefly, Tommy finally snapped his hands out, grabbed Annie’s wrists, and held on, snickering as if amused. Annie struggled for a while, but he just smiled until she stopped.

“You done?” he asked.

“Screw you,” Annie huffed.

“Be careful. You don’t want to make me mad. I can mail those babies out this afternoon. Now get out.” Tommy released her wrists and busied himself with his bug, dismissing them.

“This isn’t over. You’ll be sorry, you perv.” Annie stormed past Nora who hurried after her, apologizing, afraid of Annie’s rage. She’d never seen it before, didn’t know how to calm it.

Annie was fuming. “He won’t really mail those pictures, will he? Because my parents will kill me.”

“He won’t.” But oh God, what if he did? Annie would never speak to her. And what would Nora’s parents do when they saw the liquor? The kissing? Fuck Tommy. She ought to kill him.

Annie wouldn’t stay, wouldn’t talk anymore. She packed up her things quickly, silently, angrily. The air was so brittle; Nora couldn’t breathe.

At the door, Nora tried again. “Annie, please. I don’t know what to say.”

“I know.” Annie’s voice was flat. “I get why you never talk about him, and why Craig can’t stand him. Your brother’s a disgusting sicko. I feel sorry for you, having to live in the same house as him. But even if he’s your brother, I promise you he’s going to regret this little prank. If he does anything at all with those pictures? He’s done. I mean it, Nora. Toast.”

Nora watched Annie disappear around the corner. Then, she went back upstairs. Her eyes narrowed and her skin burned. What could she do to get back at Tommy? Break his framed
tarantula? Set his dark room on fire? In her room, she kicked at the wadded tissues scattered around the floor, and when she flopped onto her bed, crying, her pillowcase smelled like makeup.