Saturday, October 31, 1993, 8:30 p.m.

N

ora arrived at Annie’s party wearing last year’s French maid costume. She had clammy palms and no photographs, and half expected Annie to kick her out, demanding that she hand them over or leave. But when Nora joined the others in the rec room, Annie didn’t even look up. She was busy whispering with a girl in a Daisy May costume whom Nora didn’t know.

In fact, of the ten girls Annie had invited, Nora recognized only four: Meg, Lynne, Jen, and Jasmine who sat at their lunch table. The others clearly knew each other, though. A few wore coordinated cat costumes. Two huddled in the corner, a vampire restyling a cheerleader’s hair. Nora tried to mix in, laughing when everyone else did, pretending to know what or whom they were talking about, overhearing chunks of conversations that she assumed concerned boys.

She shouldn’t have come. Annie had moved on, made new friends. She was part of the cool, fast clique, while Nora didn’t fit in—never had, never would. Nora watched Annie and pitifully aped her gestures, facial expressions, and posture. Nora longed to be home in her own room where she could be by her dorky, uncool, solitary self.

The Exorcist was playing on the big console television, but the sound was either off or overpowered by an Aretha Franklin oldie blasting from the stereo. A few girls were dancing. Nora didn’t join in, didn’t feel comfortable. The ping pong table was covered with a plastic tablecloth and food—pizza, chips, dips, and sodas. Meg told her that there was a handle of vodka behind the wall to the laundry room. Nora pretended to know what a handle was and tagged along with Meg, smiling as if she knew what she was doing while Meg poured.

Nora drank, nibbled, sat in various poses, modeling her behavior after Annie’s, all the time waiting for Annie to ask for the pictures. Finding the party a big fat bore. After about an hour, Nora began thinking up excuses to leave. A toothache? Or maybe cramps. Something that Annie would believe and not blame her for. She sipped her vodka and Diet Sprite, watched girls in stupid costumes, and listened to irritating, loud music.

“Well? You got them?” Annie came up behind her. Her nose nuzzled Nora’s cheek.

Nora’s heart beat louder than the music. She wanted to cry, to beg for more time. “I tried. Really hard. I looked in his room, but—”

“So, no. You don’t have them.”

“Annie, I’ll get them. I will. But I need more time. I can only look when he’s not around.” Nora was about to say that she wasn’t feeling well and had to go home, but Annie slid an arm around her shoulder and spoke softly.

“See, the thing is, Nora, that that’s not okay. We agreed you’d bring them tonight.”

Except that, no, Nora hadn’t agreed; Annie had insisted. She knew better than to argue though. “I’m sorry. Look, I’ll get them as soon as I can. I promise.” Her heart ricocheted against her ribs. She waited for Annie to throw her out, to completely reject and shun her.

Instead, Annie smiled charmingly. “Oh yes, Nora. You will. I know you will.” Annie slid her arm off Nora’s shoulders and started to walk away, but stopped, leaned over and whispered, “By the way, Nora. Remember when you told me who you liked?”

Of course she remembered. Nora hadn’t wanted to tell anyone, but days ago, trying to win back Annie’s favor, Nora had finally, reluctantly revealed his name. As soon as she’d said it, while the last consonants still resonated on her tongue, she’d regretted it. Her face had heated up with embarrassment and dread. Would Annie tease her for liking a boy who was only a year older, not a hot shot in high school? Or—oh God—would she get back at Nora by telling him? Annie might, just for spite.

“Why?” Nora’s stomach flipped.

“You’ll see.” Annie winked and tweaked Nora’s chin. “The party’s not even started yet.” And she flitted off, joining some girls getting food.

Nora’s stomach wouldn’t settle. She still wanted to leave, but Annie had urged her to stay, and she didn’t want to risk displeasing Annie, further straining their friendship. So, she hung around, pretending to be having fun, drinking vodka to calm her nerves.

At about ten, Nora found out why Annie had wanted her to stay. The boys paraded in through the sliding doors on the deck. She recognized most of them from school. A few were older, though. A couple were even in high school. Why were high school boys there? Maybe to see Annie’s sisters? Except, no. Her sisters weren’t around. And, oh God, Craig was there. Despite their age difference, he and Annie were friends. Nora remembered Craig beating up on Tommy, then stopping to talk with Annie through the school bus window. He sauntered in, a bigshot in his leather jacket, exhaling smoke from his cigarette. Nora tensed, wanted to hide. She’d had no idea older kids would be there, let alone Craig. Then again, Craig wasn’t always a bully. He’d actually been nice to her on the camp bus. She watched him greet Annie with a big, white-toothed grin, and was so focused on him that she almost didn’t notice the clean-cut, preppy seventh grader who came in behind him. Bobby Baxter.

Nora froze, her gut somersaulting. Bobby Baxter was there? That must have been why Annie had needed to know who she liked, so she could invite him. Maybe Annie wasn’t as mad as she seemed. But now what? How could Nora get his attention? How should she act? Should she talk to him? Wait and see if he talked to her first? Except—oh God—what if she was wrong? What if Annie hadn’t invited him because of her, and Bobby had come there to hang out with one of the other girls? Maybe he liked someone else or someone else liked him—someone much cooler than Nora.

Nora scanned the room for Annie. Annie would tell her what to do, how to be. But Annie was in a clump of kids, laughing at some guy telling a story. Craig was in the clump, too. So was Bobby. He was also laughing.

Nora backed against the wall. Maybe Bobby hadn’t seen her, didn’t even know she was there. She edged her way to the laundry room and poured more vodka, drank it down, felt it sear its way through her insides. A little woozy, she sidled to the bathroom where she stayed, examining her stupid, costumed self in the mirror, fiddling with her hair, deciding that Bobby Baxter would never like a girl as uncool as she was. Misfit. Oddball. Freak. She sat on the floor, hiding, and might never have come out if someone hadn’t banged on the door.

When she emerged, red-faced and certain that everyone was watching to see who’d tied up the bathroom so long, the first person she saw was Bobby Baxter. He was looking right at her, smiling. Was she supposed to smile back? Wave? Nod? Oh God. She was such a loser. She wanted to disappear, to just dissolve into nothing.

“Hey,” he said.

Nora almost looked behind her, to make sure he wasn’t talking to someone else. But she stopped herself and managed to utter, “Hey.”

He stepped closer. Bobby was tall. She had to crane her neck to see his face.

“So, what are you, a waitress?”

Her face burned. “French maid.”

He laughed. Not a mean laugh. The kind of laugh that acknowledged how silly costumes were. “I almost didn’t come, but Annie said you’d be here. So I figured it’d be okay.”

What? Music pounded, so it was difficult to hear him. Had Bobby Baxter just said he’d come because she’d be there? Had he actually said that? “Well, anyway. Here we both are.” Ugh. What a stupid stupid stupid thing to say. Plus, because of the music, she’d shouted it.

Idiot. Weirdo. Creep.

Bobby stuck a hand in his pocket and shuffled a little. When he slouched to talk into her ear, she inhaled his cologne. “Thing is, I heard Annie throws some crazy parties. I didn’t think you’d come if it was going to be that kind of thing.”

What kind of thing? Nora shrugged and smiled but had no clue what to say. “You smell good.” Oh God. She was so lame—how mortifying.

“Old Spice.” He half-smiled, cowboy-like and oh so cute. “Glad you like it.”

She stood still as a rock. She couldn’t think. Had nothing, no inkling of how to proceed.

But Bobby didn’t seem to notice. “Honestly? I don’t know what to expect tonight.” He shifted from foot to foot, his voice low and husky. “But if it gets weird, just stick with me, okay?”

Stick with him? With Bobby? She managed a nod. “Sure.”

Bobby grinned, put his arm around her and led her toward the laundry room. Nora couldn’t absorb what was happening. Bobby Baxter, who sat across from her in math, woodshop, and art, but never actually talked to her. Bobby Baxter, her crush with the big hazel eyes, long lashes, and shaggy brown hair, who she’d never imagined even noticing her—that very same Bobby Baxter was walking with his arm around her to get a drink. Of vodka. After asking her to stick with him. She beamed. She glowed. She floated as if in a dream.

But then, Annie shouted, “Game time!”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Here goes.” He squeezed Nora’s shoulder before leaving her to join the circle. Boys sat on one hemisphere, girls on the other.

Nora tried to fade into a corner, but Jasmine saw her and patted the carpet next to her, making room for Nora to sit. Nora sat. She didn’t look at Bobby Baxter, but felt his presence. He was—oh my God—so cute and cool. His touch still warmed her shoulder. The scent of his Old Spice lingered on her costume. She felt dazed. Someone handed her a new drink. She gulped it, and asked Jasmine if she knew what the game was.

Jasmine figured spin the bottle, for starters.

A kissing game. Oh God. Nora’s stomach twisted, her hands got sweaty. Was that what Bobby had meant when he’d said Annie’s parties got crazy? Well, no way she would play. She remembered the mall and the boy with the wet, wormy lips.

“Seven minutes in heaven!” Annie called.

Everyone murmured or laughed. Nora had no idea what this game was but guessed that couples would spend seven minutes kissing. Seven whole minutes? Annie passed out paper and pencils and told everyone to write their name down. Nora thought she’d throw up. She eyed the bathroom again and sent Annie telepathic messages, begging for her help. But Annie didn’t even look at her as she collected the names in a bowl.

“Hurry up, everyone. Write your names down.”

As Annie approached, Nora had a brilliant idea. Instead of her own name, she scribbled “Annie” and put it into the bowl. No one would notice if Annie got picked twice. They were all tipsy. And, for sure, no one would notice if Nora didn’t get picked.

“We’ll alternate picks. Boy, girl,” Annie instructed.

And the game began. A guy with big shoulders and glasses named Mark picked Jen’s name and the two disappeared behind the sofa. Meg picked Joel and they went under the staircase. Adam picked Jasmine, led her into the storage room. Then Annie drew her own name which meant it was her turn to choose. She scanned the circle, eyeing the boys, then locked eyes with Nora. Why was she staring that way, holding Nora’s gaze so long and silently with her jaw set and chin high? The room hushed while everyone waited for her choice.

Finally, Annie smiled smugly and said, “Bobby Baxter.”

Her eyes remained linked with Nora’s. Nora stopped breathing. Annie had to be joking, must be playing a trick on her. But no. Bobby Baxter stood, flustered and bashful, and Nora understood that this was no joke. Annie flat out knew that Nora liked him. Why, of all the boys at the party, had she chosen him?

Nora already knew the answer. Annie had chosen Bobby precisely because Nora liked him. She’d chosen him out of spite. Annie was punishing Nora for not bringing the photos. She didn’t give a rat’s ass about Bobby, couldn’t care less about kissing him. She’d picked him merely to display her power, to let Nora preview the hell Annie could tailor just for her.

Nora trembled as she watched Annie lead Bobby to the patio where they would spend their seven minutes, or who knew how long, pressing their lips together. So much for his offer to stick together. Nora would have to sit there alone, staring at the silent television, listening to the thumping music, all the while imagining what they were doing. Would anyone notice if she walked out? Why had she even come to this damned party?

“I pick Nora.”

She looked up. Craig was grinning at her, holding a piece of paper. He gestured with his thumb. “Let’s go.”

What? How could he pick her? She’d written “Annie” on the paper. It had to be a mistake. She should refuse. Demand that he show her the paper.

“Yo.” Craig reached for her with his big, thick hand, the same big, thick hand that had more than a few times crashed into her brother’s face. Somehow, she was on her feet, watching herself as if from outside her body, somewhere on the ceiling. She was aware of Craig’s fingers, huge around hers. His body beside her. Tall, solid. Hard. His smell heavy with cologne and harsh with tobacco.

How had Craig picked her? What was she supposed to do? Run, she told herself. She glanced at the sliding doors to the patio where Bobby Baxter had gone with Annie. To kiss her. “If things get weird, stick with me,” he’d said. But things had gotten weird and he was gone. Annie had taken him away, just because she could.

Craig led her to the laundry room. Nora felt limp, didn’t resist. He backed her against the wall, his pelvis pressed against her. Oh God. Nora’s mouth went dry. Her throat clamped shut. What now? Was he going to kiss her? He was in high school. Boys that age did more than just kiss. She stared at the tile floor, keeping her lips out of his reach.

“Annie told me you’re the shit bag’s sister. Who’d of guessed?”

Annie had told him? Of course she had. Annie and Craig were friends. Buddies. That was why Craig had chosen her, because Annie must have told him to.

“Pick Nora,” Annie would have said. “You’ll have a blast. She’s the sister of your favorite creep.”

Pairing Nora with Tommy’s tormentor was another part of Annie’s show of power—a taste of how miserable she could make Nora’s life.

Nora was caught between Craig and the wall, couldn’t breathe.

Craig pecked at her neck with quick sharp nips that made her shiver and almost gag. He stopped and leaned back, grinning.

“Hey. That piece of crap ever tell you how he keeps getting locked in his locker? Or how his stinking sneakers disappear from gym class?” He laughed. A hoarse, barking sound.

Push him away and leave, Nora told herself. Just go. Now. But she didn’t move except to shudder.

“Freshman year, I made him buy my lunches for like, a whole semester. God, what a fucking loser.” He grinned, shook his head. “Oh, yeah. Your brother and me? We go way back. We got what they call history.” Craig examined her closely, breathing on her face. With his thumb, he stroked her nose, chin, lips, cheeks.

Her stomach turned inside out. She pushed his hand away. “Stop.”

He didn’t. “You, on the other hand, you’re not a piece of crap like your brother. No. You’re a piece of something else altogether. And Annie said you like a good time.”

Craig came at her fast, his mouth hard against hers. His lips were dry, and his tongue darted in and out of her mouth, lizard-like. He stopped, laughing out loud. At what? Her? Her brother? Did Craig think she was going to let him do stuff to her? Oh God. Where was Bobby Baxter? Was his tongue in Annie’s mouth? What else would Annie do with him?

Craig started again, his hands gripping Nora’s backside. His teeth nibbled Nora’s lips gently. Then less gently.

When he punctured her skin, Nora yelped. Tasting blood, she shoved him hard. Was he trying to bite her lip off? Was that even more fun than trapping her brother in his locker? Craig was a pig. She fled through the family room, past shadowy, heavy-breathing couples, to the garage door. Behind her, Craig was laughing, but she didn’t look to see if he was following her with his beefy fists, razor lips, and sharp, white teeth. At the driveway, she didn’t stop or slow. She raced down the street, around the corner and up the block. Tears streamed, her chest burned, and still, she ran. Nora ran as if she had hope. As if there were somewhere safe to go.