The logistics of the party were fairly simple. Thomas and Elijah wouldn’t be able to attend, as they were both well-known to members of the Sinister Six, but they said they had their own project to work on. Lakshmi, as a special guest, would be the only non-speech person there. Blaize, despite her recently demoted JV status, would arrive late for additional chaos.
With my newfound street cred in speech, I was able to secure the attendance of just about everybody. Basically, all I had to say was “exclusive for varsity” and “also I have a hot friend who would be there.” That was all that was needed to get Logan and Andrew to commit.
Taryn was more suspicious. “Is Milo going to be there?”
“Milo is definitely coming,” I lied. “I’m psyched about it—he’s so hot.”
“I don’t really think of him that way,” said Taryn.
“Oh, sure. But it doesn’t hurt to have some eye candy at the party, you know what I mean?”
“All right. I’ll be there.”
I didn’t even need to tell Anesh directly. He had some kind of extrasensory perception that alerted him to any party opportunities. He slid up to me, his leather jacket creaking slightly. “I hear you’re throwing a party.”
“Exclusive. Just for varsity. So none of your little groupies.”
“Right.”
“But my hot friend will be there.”
His dense eyebrows lifted. “Is she a fan of debate?”
“She loves debate.”
“And she’s actually hot, right?”
“Unrealistically so.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Yeah, you will.”
Once I had Taryn, Milo was a given, so the only one noncommittal was Hanson.
“Oh man, I wish I could,” he said, dimples flashing. “I’ve got dinner with Jeremy on Friday.”
“Who’s Jeremy?” I asked, intrigued. Secret boyfriend? Was I going to need to recalibrate my assessment of Hanson?
“Jeremy Jones. My agent.”
“Oh.”
“He’s a pretty big deal. He actually reps Kevin Hart. We’re on a first-name basis ’cause we’re pretty tight.”
Assessment doubling down.
“Well, maybe after your dinner with Jeremy, then,” I said. “I’m sure we’ll be going late.”
“Yeah, well, Jeremy’s getting me VIP passes to a concert in the city, so. I’ll probably be hanging with some pretty important people.”
“Wow. I guess make sure to remember us after you hit the big time.”
“I’ll try.” He grinned. “But seriously,” he said, leaning in, “I appreciate the offer. I just have so many things going on right now it’s hard to juggle all of them. But if I get a chance, I’ll stop by.”
“I’ll be waiting with bated breath.”
“He’s actually got an agent?” said Lakshmi as we hit Party City for decorations after school on Friday. “I thought that was just a rumor.”
“The universe is unfair, so yes, he definitely has an agent.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know. His memoirs? Acting shit. Something.”
Lakshmi groaned. “I love how he casually drops that in conversation. Sorry, I have to meet with my agent. My agent Jeremy, who is my bud. I could have dinner with you, but my agent Jeremy Jones says I need to watch my caloric intake. My agent Jeremy Jones thinks it’s a good idea that I be seen with models. Fuck that noise. I hope he does show up; I’ll kick his ass.”
“Focus. What color streamers do you think makes people hate each other the most?”
“All streamers make people hate each other.”
“Blue and white it is, then. What kind of booze do you think we should get?”
“What do you have at your place?”
“I’m pretty sure my mom has some wine left over from the divorce—she never drinks it. We could get smashed on that.”
“That is classy as fuck.”
“I believe you’ve just given me the title of my memoir. Classy as Fuck: The Sydney Williams Story.”
Lakshmi laughed and bounced into me, nearly knocking me into the Valentine’s Day section of party favors. “Ooh,” she said, examining them. “Maybe we should make it a love theme.”
“Kill me.”
“Exactly. What better way to drive people to hatred than with some enforced heterosexual corporatized bullshit? What if we made everybody write notes to the person they liked?”
“That’s so middle school.”
She touched her nose. “I say we go full middle school. Seven minutes in heaven, spin the bottle, Jell-O shots.”
“You are an evil, evil person.”
She bowed. “Thank you.”
“Too bad Elijah won’t be there,” I joked.
“’Cause he would be all over that spin the bottle. I think that would give him the courage he needs.”
“To do what?”
“To… you know… summon his courage. To profess his undying love for you.”
She snorted. “Whatever.”
“He looks at you like you’re Wonder Woman. Although, to be fair, you look a lot like Wonder Woman.”
“Maybe he’s just appreciating my kick-ass nature.”
“Maybe he’s desperately in love with you.” I winced inwardly. There I go again, saying things with my mouth before my brain thinks them.
Lakshmi laughed it off. “I’ve known him for like three years, okay? He’s not—we’re friends.”
“’Cause he’s shy.”
“Dude,” said Lakshmi. “Have you met Elijah? He’s in the improv comedy troupe. He gets up and makes a fool of himself in front of strangers. He is not shy. If he liked me, he’d tell me. You know what I think? I think you like him.”
“What? No.”
“And you’re just like concocting this little fantasy romance between your two best friends because you’re afraid of your massive lady boner for that ginger.”
My mouth hung open. “I have no lady boner for him.”
“Sure.”
Lakshmi pulled out a glittering garland of red hearts and shook it in my face.
“Okay, maybe I find him slightly appealing in a sort of anthropological sense,” I said. “But he’s super into you, so it doesn’t matter.”
“Okay, sport.”
“If you were a guy, and you had the choice to like one of us, which would you pick?”
“What the fuck is that logic?”
“I mean,” I said.
“What?”
“I mean look at you and look at me.”
“What about it?”
I waved my hands at her. “Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not being stupid, what are you talking about?”
“I mean, there’s no, like, competition there.”
“It’s not a competition,” she said. “And don’t do that to yourself. If you like him, ask him out.”
“He likes you!”
“Fuck. Sydney. You are worth it, okay?”
I laughed nervously and looked away.
“You are. Jesus. I don’t know how it got into your mind that you’re garbage, but you are an awesome person and that boy would lose his shit if you liked him.”
I turned away, swallowing hard. I don’t think I’m garbage.
But there was a little part of me that wondered… maybe I do. Lakshmi had struck a nerve. “Let’s just get this shit and go,” I said.
Of course we switched to red and white streamers, since it was more in keeping with our misplaced Valentine’s Day theme. With the help of an old wad of packing tape, we slapped the streamers to the walls and ran them over the top of the living room. We had also picked up a few strings of red heart lights, which I arranged around the window (also with packing tape). These I had accentuated with a red-and-purple lava lamp that I had won in fourth grade from a Dave & Buster’s. Combined with switching out the lamps with colored lightbulbs, it created quite a look.
“I think our theme has shifted from Valentine’s Day to House of Ill Repute,” said Lakshmi, observing the lava lamp.
“‘Ill Repute’? You’re such a dork.”
“Whores. House of Whores, then.”
“The word is brothel, thank you.”
“Maybe we should make a sign,” joked Lakshmi. “Just the word brothel and put it right over the door.”
“I’m just imagining my mom coming home and seeing this. ‘What did I tell you about starting brothels!’”
Lakshmi pretended to be me. “I did it for you, Mom! You said you wanted me to get a job and help out!”
“God, don’t get me started. I took a ten-hour shift on Sunday.”
“I think you’ll be recovered by then. Pray for me, though, I have a basketball game tomorrow night.”
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah, it’s our final game of the season.”
“I’m totally coming, then.”
“We’re gonna get crushed.”
“I’m still gonna be there. For moral support. To witness the crushing.”
I rummaged through the pantry (it wasn’t much of a pantry, it was more like a tiny closet stuffed with food) and emerged with four bottles of wine. “All right, you work on the Jell-O shots and I’ll make sangria,” I said, googling how to make sangria on my phone.
Opening the wine proved to be more difficult than I imagined. Mom didn’t have a corkscrew; she had some kind of medieval torture contraption that had a spike and handles that had probably been used to stab out eyes during the Inquisition. I gave it a shot, but apparently it was more effective against eyes than corks, and all I managed to do was drill a tiny, pathetic divot out of the top of the cork.
“Here,” said Lakshmi, taking the thing out of my puny hands. With impressive forearm strength she managed to break the cork in half, then extract both halves of the cork while only leaving a few chunks of it in the wine.
“Is that how you’re supposed to do that?”
“Fuck if I know.”
Sangria is basically fruit and wine punch (although, according to Google, it’s supposed to steep overnight, but we didn’t exactly have time for that), and I chopped up a bunch of apples and strawberries and tossed them into the bowl with two different kinds of red wine. The result was an abomination, but I hoped no one would really be able to tell the difference. Then again, with these kids, they’d probably been having the finest vintage wines since kindergarten, so who could say.
Anesh was the first one to arrive, exactly on time, and he looked at the Valentine’s decorations like he had just stepped in dog shit. It was perhaps not helpful that Charlie launched himself at Anesh, ramming into his leg and colliding with the wall. I will add that Charlie looked resplendent in his pink tutu.
“Come on in. Woo,” I said. “Party time.”
He was wearing a floral shirt that was suspiciously open at the top, revealing two or three strands of meticulously combed chest hair. Nice work, Anesh. He also seemed to have taken a bath in Axe Body Spray before he arrived. Charlie immediately began humping his leg, showing both his dedication to the Valentine’s Day theme and his poor taste in men. Anesh shook him off.
“He likes you,” I said as Anesh tried to prevent Charlie’s wriggly, muscular form from making love to his knee.
“Anybody else here yet?”
“And me!” called Lakshmi from the kitchen, where she was putting the Jell-O shots in the fridge.
“All right. All right, then.” Charlie retreated back to his dog bed, satisfied. Anesh ran his eyes over the brothel décor. “I’m getting an interesting picture of your home life.”
“I figured with it being so close to Valentine’s Day that we’d do a Valentine’s Day thing.”
“I’m not big into romance,” he said.
“Right.”
“I’m more into the, uh… aftermath of romance.” He winked.
“The bitter breakups?”
“No, prior to the breakups.”
“The jealous rages?”
“No.”
“The distant silences when someone spends more time on their phone than talking to you?” I loved talking to Anesh.
“What do you have to drink?” he said, giving up.
The “sangria” mutated over the course of the party. Every so often I’d add more fruit, and when the liquid began to get low, Lakshmi would open a different bottle of wine and dump it in. The sangria achieved consciousness about two hours in, and from there, began plotting to kill us, which it was doing very well.
Logan arrived next, dressed in his “party gear,” which included a popped collar and ripped jeans, like he was trying to be in a music video from the eighties. Taryn and Milo showed up together, followed by Andrew, and that was the extent of our rager. By the time the third person arrived, Charlie was exhausted. It was a lot of work being a dog. Hanson was a no-show and Blaize was planning on joining us later, when we needed an extra boost of chaos. So it was me and Lakshmi and five of the Sinister Six.
Let the games begin.
It began like most parties, with us coagulating in the kitchen, clumped around the tiny island and trying to engage in conversation. It was not good. Andrew was clearly used to better parties, the kind of suburban keggers with swimming pools and hundreds of people you’d never seen before. You could feel the waves of disdain dropping off of him.
“So it’s just you and your mom here, huh?” he asked languorously.
“Yup. Single mother and daughter.” I high-fived Lakshmi for no reason.
“Well, I guess with your dad in prison this is what happens.”
I plugged my mouth by sipping the bitter, evil sangria.
I struck Anesh first, leading him away from the kitchen to the couch. Despite his player reputation, he didn’t have the highest tolerance for alcohol, and he was already slightly tipsy. Weakened antelope, I thought.
“You know, I have to just tell you—I saw you in the tournament the other day, and you were like killing it.” I hadn’t seen him in the tournament, of course, as I would rather disembowel myself than watch a policy debate round, but I hoped there were enough people in the audience that he wouldn’t catch the lie.
He smoothed his hair a little bit and made unsettling eye contact with me. “That means a lot, Sydney.”
“It’s so impressive. I don’t think that other team knew what the hell they were doing.”
“Yeah, they show up and they haven’t done any research and they just get destroyed.”
“I know, right? I love how you like support your points.” Inwardly, I started slapping myself in the face. I love how you support your points?
“I do a lot of supporting of points,” he said, trying to insert a double entendre into the conversation and failing.
“It sucks so bad that you guys got second. That was a fucking robbery.”
“It was one tournament.”
“Oh yeah. Definitely.” I touched his arm. “I shouldn’t say this, but, um… I mean, it’s pretty obvious.”
“What’s obvious?”
“You’re the one with the talent. I shouldn’t say it, I’m sure Logan is awesome or whatever, but… despite what he says, I think you are the one carrying that team.”
If Anesh had been a cat, his little cat-ears would have just perked up. “What did he say?”
“Oh, you know how he is. He just talks shit. He probably doesn’t mean anything by it.”
“He talks shit?”
I waved my hand in the air. “No, I mean… I mean, you know, right?”
His thick eyebrows knotted and unknotted. “Know what?”
I looked around and leaned in. “He talks about you.” Anesh’s eyes started going back and forth. “But I don’t believe any of it. And I don’t think he’s nearly as racist as he comes off with all that Bollywood shit. People just don’t think about how they sound.”
“What Bollywood shit?”
“It was a joke,” I said. “He was just being funny. I don’t even want to go into it.” I patted him on the knee. “I need to check on the wine punch.” I got up and left for the kitchen, glancing back ever so slightly to see the troubled look on his face. Bingo.
The key to ruining relationships, I’ve found, is that you can’t do it all at once. You’re just spreading seeds. You’re like the Johnny Appleseed of evil, planting little ideas in people’s heads, and you have to let them come to their stupid conclusions on their own. Of course, the idea that Logan was talking shit or doing some kind of racist impression of his partner was not really outside the bounds of possibility. He probably was. I was just bringing it to Anesh’s attention.
Logan had glommed on to Lakshmi like a fungal infection. They were both in the kitchen when I got there.
“Do you mind not staring at my ass?” Lakshmi was saying.
“I’m about honesty,” said Logan. “And I could tell you right now that I’m not gonna stare at your ass, but I think we both know that I’d be lying. So let’s just be real with each other: I’m gonna stare at your ass ’cause it’s inherently beautiful, and you can stare at my ass if you want.” Lakshmi was about to say something when he put his hands up. “Of course I know, as a female, you are less visual than me. Males are extremely visual. And I am visualizing the hell out of that booty.”
Lakshmi took a moment, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.
“Here’s what I’m gonna say to that,” she said in a measured voice. “Because I want to educate you right now, and I know that you don’t have a lot of experience talking to other humans in a respectful way. But your ignorance right now is a choice, and this thing where you think that your little man handbook is telling you to be direct and abrasive to establish your alpha male cred isn’t working. So you’re not gonna look at me anymore, and I’m not gonna powerfully and completely wreck you in front of these nice people.”
Logan nodded and a small voice came out of him. “Okay.” He retreated out of the room.
I looked over at Lakshmi. “We’re supposed to be encouraging conflict between them.”
“Trust me,” she said. “I know what I’m doing with that one.”
Separating Taryn and Milo was almost impossible. Taryn was a wearing a midriff-exposing half-shirt despite the freezing weather, complete with tight pants and tall boots. She looked like a tiny evil pixie. Milo was in a shaggy sweater, and they intertwined with each other like vines. Eventually, though, Milo had to go to the bathroom, and I was able to insert myself into Taryn’s sphere of attention.
“Can I talk to you in my bedroom for a second?” I asked her.
She blinked.
“I really have to say something to you, and I don’t feel comfortable saying it in front of everyone. Please. It would help me so much.”
Reluctantly, she came, noticing the décor in my room like something was rotting. Charlie had retreated to my bed and lay on his back, his ruffly pink tutu rising and falling into the air with his raggedy snores. It really brought the room together.
“First of all,” I said, “I feel like my understanding of things has really evolved since the start of school and I want to thank you for that.”
She looked at me blankly.
“But that’s not really what I wanted to talk to you about,” I said, pulling the door closed and giggling just a bit. “Okay, so… this is really awkward… at first I thought you and Milo were a couple, and you guys are so amazing together—”
She was about to say something, and I cut her off. “I know, I know, you’re not actually a couple. That’s so inspirational that he’s able to dominate his own feelings like that. I wish more guys would be like that, honestly. And I was like, he’s so hot, you know, and maybe he would be into me, and I was kind of thinking about that.”
“Milo has really exceptional taste,” said Taryn. “So I don’t know that he would go for you—”
“I know, I know, thank you for being so honest with me about my deficiencies. Because I know that Milo is waaay better than me and would never stoop to hook up with someone like me. I get that. Thank you for reminding me of that.”
“I don’t think he’s even sending you signals,” said Taryn. “That’s not how he is.”
“You’re so right,” I said, clutching her arm. “Besides, he’s so into Blaize right now. Because I was like, ‘Maybe he’d like me,’ but then I saw him looking at her and I was like, ‘Yes, I am here for this. I am here for this relationship.’”
Taryn’s smile cracked just a bit.
“I ship them so hard. They could be like one of those couples where you combine their names? Blaizo. Milaize. Malaise. Needs some work.”
“I don’t really think that’s a thing.”
“But she is like—she’s like an actual goddess, right? People are making statues of her. I’m pretty sure she’s modeling for the art department.”
“I don’t think she’s modeling for the art department. And besides, most of them do abstract art, so it doesn’t really matter.”
“She could be. She’s amazing. And like a really good person, you know? That’s the best part about Blaize. She’s got this pure soul, you know? That’s probably what’s attracting Milo. And her body. I mean I don’t want to body-shame anyone, but I’m not, I’m just body-appreciating her. I mean, I look at myself, or you, next to her—no contest, right? And I feel like Milo should be with someone really special.”
“She’s not even varsity anymore,” she said.
“Right. Absolutely. Right. And that’s another thing: Milo doesn’t even care about that, right? But I need your help.”
“To do what?”
“You know him so well,” I said. “I want your help in hooking them up.”
Taryn smirked. “Milo doesn’t ‘hook up.’ He’s not like that.”
“Definitely,” I said. “I really wish Blaize was here so I could see them in action. That would be like movie love.”
“I honestly don’t feel like he would like her.”
“Don’t you think they would be really cute together?”
“No. Blaize is superficial. And Milo is… he’s deep, okay? I feel stupid saying it, but he’s deep.”
“Ohhh…” I said. “I think Blaize is deep, too. She’s deeper than me. She thinks about all kinds of stuff.”
“No offense, Sydney, but most people are deeper than you.” She turned around, opened the door, then headed for the living room and sat on Milo’s lap.
I texted Blaize: Time for your entrance.
When I got back to the living room, Lakshmi was trying not to tear Milo’s fluffy head off.
“I’m sure there’s shit that you like that I think is stupid,” said Lakshmi.
“It’s not actively ruining people’s lives,” said Milo.
“How am I ruining people’s lives?”
“Oh, let’s see, concussions, toxic culture, joint damage, inflated sense of self-worth. There’s not a single study that shows the long-term effects of sports are positive.”
“I’m gonna take your studies and shove them up your ass.”
I intervened. “All right, all right, we don’t need to debate right now. Besides, we know who would win.” I managed to catch Anesh’s eye. I surveyed the room. “But it’s time for a special moment in tonight’s party.”
On cue, there was a rap on the door.
I opened it and Blaize burst in, holding a box. “Hey, guys! Who’s up for Pictionary?!”
Andrew groaned.
“Hell yes!” I said.
A chilling mist swept through the party. I knew several of them were considering throwing themselves out the heart-lit window to escape.
Lakshmi pumped her fist. “Fuck yes. This is what I come to parties for.”
Anesh yielded to the momentum, and by then it was too late to stop this train. They were doomed.
I had made certain not to consume too much of the sangria poison (it wasn’t actually poison, but it probably tasted exactly like it) so I could concentrate on maximizing the relentless conflict inherent in Pictionary. I was an expert in this. My parents used to play Pictionary, and it was about 50 percent of the reason why they got a divorce. I mean, yes, there were the crimes, but those were secondary to the Pictionary slugfests.
The reason was that Pictionary required teamwork, the ability to draw, a competitive spirit, and a sense of fun, which were usually mutually exclusive. Plus, the game seemed to rely on your estimation of your teammates’ intelligence, which drove everyone into clouds of murderous rage.
Child of divorce for the win! If there was one thing I understood, it was how even decent people could be driven to hate each other through continuous applied pressure. For a group of ravenous assholes, this would likely end with bodies on the floor.
I picked the teams to accentuate the conflict.
THE COMPETITIVE ASSHOLES: Andrew, Anesh, Logan, and Lakshmi (not that Lakshmi was an asshole, but she was the ringer).
THE MILO-IS-DEAD-SEXY TEAM: Me, Blaize, Taryn, and Milo.
It helped that Logan couldn’t draw to save his life, Lakshmi intentionally shouted the wrong guesses at everything, and Andrew held everyone in contempt and considered guessing wrong answers to be beneath him. This sent Anesh into a catastrophic meltdown right from the start.
“What is that?” he yelled as Logan frantically drew what looked to be a fat baby with a nuclear missile.
“Look at it!” shouted Logan.
“I am looking at it! It’s nothing! It looks like nothing!”
“Use your goddamn brain! What is wrong with you?!”
“A FLOWER!” shouted Lakshmi.
“Nothing is wrong with me! You can’t fucking draw!” growled Anesh.
“I am awesome at this!”
“GLOBAL WARMING!” shouted Lakshmi again, cutting off Andrew.
“You are the worst! I have a four-year-old sister that’s better than you!” seethed Anesh.
“Come on, guess something!”
“So I’m just supposed to shout random words now?! Is that your strategy?!”
“SUPERMAN!”
“And time,” I said.
Logan turned his card, eyes red with pain. “It was the arms race.”
Anesh gripped the sides of his head. “Draw an arm! Draw fucking arms! What is so hard about that?!”
“THIS IS AN ARM!” Logan scrawled maniacally on the paper again. “SEE?! SEE THE ARM?!”
“It doesn’t really look like an arm.” Andrew sighed.
Our side fared much better, which was even worse for everyone involved. I had tipped Blaize off to my strategy of sowing discord between Taryn and Milo, and her secret genius at Pictionary was the perfect strategy.
Milo was drawing a creature with three legs and a stick.
“I don’t get it,” said Taryn.
“What does it sound like?” I said.
“You can’t say that,” said Logan from the other side of the room. “I think she’s disqualified. She’s disqualified, right?”
“I’ll allow it,” said Lakshmi, who had appointed herself judge in these matters.
Milo drew action lines all around the creature.
“Is it moving?” asked Taryn.
“What does it sound like?” I repeated as Logan groaned again.
“Caterwauling!” shouted Blaize, and Milo lit up with joy.
“Yes! YES! Woo! High five!” He high-fived everyone, except Blaize, who jumped up to hug him. Taryn hugged him more.
“You guys are cheating!” yelled Logan, waggling a finger in our direction.
“We’re not cheating,” I said. “Blaize is just amazing at this. Isn’t she amazing, Milo?”
Milo tried to nod, but he was underneath Taryn, so it was difficult.
“It’s like you two can read each other’s minds,” I said. “It’s so special.”
The Pictionary was relentless, overly competitive, and awful. The sangria flowed and poison bubbled in the air. Logan and Anesh were barely on speaking terms. Andrew had had enough with his team and was checking his phone in annoyance. Taryn was guessing like a maniac now, trying to drown out Blaize. It was like the worst Thanksgiving ever. Logan had started getting a bit drunk, which only made him more Loganesque, and Taryn had resorted to downing enough sangria to drown a guinea pig.
There was a loud knock on the door, and my heart quivered.
Hanson was there. “ARE YOU READY TO GET CRAZY?!”
Everyone looked up. Eh. We weren’t that ready.
Hanson’s presence elevated things immediately. The music changed. The lights got more intense. People relaxed. He had a way of talking to people, leaning over one knee, looking them directly in the eye, like he was actually interested in what they were saying.
Things started improving. The sense of evil and dread that had descended with Pictionary began to alleviate. I watched it happen from my side of the room. Then I went to the kitchen to text Elijah.