As far as high school parties went, this one appeared to be a huge success, if the throng of teenagers already swarming the place when he arrived was any indication. Devon’s parents might have a different perspective when they returned home next week, but tonight that was probably the furthest thing from anyone’s mind. Devon’s family lived in one of those big brick Neocolonial-style homes that had become so popular with the upper middle class these days. The place was 5,600 square feet, Devon had once told him – a monster – and as the street name implied, it was perched atop a hill along with another twenty-some similar-looking dwellings, all with a commanding view of Main Street and most of western Steubenville. Tonight the place was pretty well packed.
Last week Devon had mentioned that since he had the house to himself, he wanted to have a few people over this weekend. Thomas had told him he would come, not realizing his dad was going to impose a mandatory lockdown for the rest of the year. He’d expected maybe twenty or thirty people, but as was the case with most high school parties, over the remainder of the week word traveled with the speed and dissemination of a brushfire in high wind. Judging from the masses assembled on the front lawn alone, Thomas guessed that at least half of the entire damn high school had decided to turn up. He shook his head. Just a few of Devon’s closest friends, my ass. Then again, with the combination of an adult-free party and plenty of free booze, what’d he expect?
He saw Bret Graham standing near the front door, plastic beer cup in hand, talking with Cynthia Castleberry. Bret, who wrestled in the 152-pound weight class just above Thomas during the winter season, had asked the attractive but somewhat standoffish varsity soccer starter out twice that year, and had been turned down both times – mostly because she’d been going steady with the same guy since freshman year. If nothing else, though, Bret could be pretty damn determined when he set his sights on something.
‘Tommy boy, you finally decided to show up,’ Bret greeted him as Thomas ascended the stairs leading to the front door.
‘Nobody told me you were gonna be here, Graham,’ he replied. ‘You bothering the ladies already?’
Bret feigned offense. ‘Take no notice of this one,’ he told Cynthia. ‘He’s just upset because I remind him of what a substandard athlete he really is.’
‘That’s right,’ Thomas countered. ‘If beer bong ever makes it to the Olympics, you’re all set.’ He turned to Cynthia. ‘You planning on driving this guy home, or should I call his grandmother to come pick him up again?’
She laughed. Her right hand, which had self-consciously abandoned its subtle but strategic caress of Bret’s upper arm when Thomas arrived, now returned to its previous position. ‘I’ll keep an eye on him, Thomas.’
‘Then he’s in good hands and I’ll tell the grandmother she can stand down for the evening.’
‘Screw you, Stevenson,’ Bret said with an exaggerated bow, holding his arm out to gesture Thomas through the open front door.
Thomas smiled and squeezed past a small congregation of six or seven freshmen standing in the front hall. Dave Kendricks spotted his entrance and motioned to him from across the living room, where he stood with Eileen Dickenson, Monica Dressler, Lynn Montague and Kent Savage.
‘The man of the hour has arrived,’ Dave announced, handing Thomas a beer. ‘Ladies, please wait for him to remove his jacket before ravaging him in your usual manner.’
All three of the females in the group colored slightly and glanced away. At six foot one and 145 pounds, Thomas was lean but well muscled, the confident, agile movements of his body an amalgamation of power and grace. His brown hair, cropped short in anticipation of summer, was just a few shades lighter than the deep tan of his skin, and his green eyes had a calming, almost mesmerizing effect that made them hard to look away from once they’d set themselves upon you. In a way, he was almost too good-looking, and he actually dated far less than some of his physically flawed counterparts, as if prospective girlfriends judged themselves more harshly in his presence, and had not yet developed the self-confidence to push on nonetheless.
‘Eileen here was just telling me that she didn’t think you’d make it,’ Dave advised him. ‘Seems the general consensus is that you’re too good for the rest of us lowly peasants.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Eileen protested. She dared a quick glance up at Thomas, then looked away, fiddling with the cup in her hand. ‘I didn’t say that,’ she repeated.
‘Well, it was something of the sort.’ Dave frowned, his brow wrinkling in concentration. ‘I mean, I don’t remember your exact words …’
‘I do,’ Kent Savage piped in. ‘She said, “You think Thomas’ll show up? I can’t wait to get him drunk and jump his bones.”’
Eileen blushed a deep crimson. ‘I definitely didn’t say that.’ She shook her head in irritation and embarrassment. ‘I’m out of here,’ she told them, and walked off toward the kitchen.
Lynn Montague headed after her, turning back quickly to admonish the two boys. ‘You two are such assholes. Do you know that? Like, grow up.’
‘What? What did I say?’ Dave asked, pursuing the girls with a slightly unsteady gait. Kent looked at the two remaining individuals, considering them seriously for a moment. Then his face brightened into a broad smile, the decision made. ‘More drinks!’ he announced, arms raised triumphantly to either side, and he marched off through the crowd like a man on a mission.
Thomas and Monica watched him go. They were quiet for a moment within their own corner of the room as the din from the party continued unabated.
‘I don’t think more drinks are the answer,’ Thomas commented, placing his own beverage on the fireplace mantel.
Monica stared down into the recesses of her plastic cup. ‘She didn’t say any of that,’ she told him quietly. ‘Just so you know.’
‘Oh, I make it a practice never to believe anything either one of those intellectual midgets tells me,’ Thomas assured her.
Monica nodded, her eyes still focused on her drink.
‘So, how’s it going in Tulley’s class?’ Thomas asked. ‘Is AP Chemistry as hard as people say?’
‘It’s not that bad. Mostly balancing equations and knowing how things react with one another.’
‘Sounds intimidating to me. My dad wants me to take it next year, but I don’t know.’
She looked up at him. ‘You’re smart. You could do it, no problem.’
‘I’m smart enough to get by,’ he said, ‘but I have to work at my classes. You’re brilliant in a way that I’ll never be. There’s a big difference.’
He smiled down at her, and she reflexively smiled back, then shifted her stance as she tried to think of something self-deprecating to say. Such compliments often made her uncomfortable – especially coming from one of her classmates. Since the first grade, she’d never gotten anything less than an A in her classes. The mere fact that she was now studying college-level material as a sophomore in high school was unlikely to put a dent in that perfect record. She was destined to become valedictorian without even breaking a sweat. But instead of being proud of her abilities, she often imagined them as an algae-covered chain around her neck, holding her at the bottom of the ocean while on the surface her peers enjoyed the ease and social camaraderie of normality. She wondered whether Thomas, with his natural athleticism and broad popularity, ever felt the same. Somehow, she doubted it.
‘I’m a good test taker,’ she finally replied. ‘It’s no big deal.’
‘No, you’re smart. Very smart,’ he told her. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’
When she shook her head he placed a hand on her shoulder to emphasize his point. The touch made her feel a little dizzy, and she had to make a deliberate effort to steady her breathing.
‘Don’t shake your head like what I’m telling you isn’t true, Dressler,’ he said. ‘And never apologize for what you are. The only sane choice is to embrace it.’
She looked up at him, thinking that perhaps he was just making fun of her, but his face was solemn and earnest. ‘Is that what you do?’ she asked.
He studied her for a moment. ‘I don’t have what you have. But if I did – hell yes, I’d embrace it. I mean’ – he turned his head to either side to indicate the people milling around them – ‘look at these morons. We all envy you.’
‘Hmmm,’ she responded, grinning.
Thomas removed his hand from her shoulder, and she did her best not to ask him to put it back. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I’ve got to go find the man of the house, lest he think I didn’t show up to his lame-ass party.’
She nodded, raising the cup to her lips.
‘I’ll catch you later,’ Thomas told her. He turned and maneuvered his way slowly through the crowd in the direction of the kitchen, figuring he’d probably find Devon tending bar or replenishing supplies of ice, beverages and plastic cups for the masses. But when he got there and scanned the room there was no sign of him – although there should’ve been. People were making an absolute mess of the place. Someone had decided, in fact, to start cooking fajitas. The house reeked of booze, Tabasco sauce and freshly chopped onions.
Thomas moved down the hall and checked Devon’s room. The bed was mounded with jackets, but the room was otherwise empty. The door to the adjacent bathroom was shut, and he rapped lightly with his knuckles. ‘Yo, Devon. You in there, dude?’
‘Room’s occupied!’ a female voice called back. In a quieter, more soothing tone the same voice was telling someone, ‘It’s okay, honey. I’ve got your hair. Go ahead and throw up if you need to.’
Oh, man, Thomas thought, turning around and heading for the kitchen once again. In the hallway, he saw Ernie Samper.
‘Hey, Ernie,’ he said. ‘You seen Devon?’
‘What?’ Ernie looked a little stoned.
‘Devon. You seen him?’
‘No, I don’ know, man. You seen him?’
‘If I’d seen him, I wouldn’t be asking you now, would I?’
‘Oh, that’s a good point, man.’ It was a small miracle the guy was still standing. Thomas started to move past him down the hall, but Ernie called after him. ‘Hey, Thomas. You know, I think he might be out back. I saw him smacking some golf balls or something out there.’
‘Finally, some information I can use,’ Thomas called back, and proceeded toward the rear of the house.
‘Hey, bro!’ Ernie hollered after him. ‘Grab me a drink while you’re back there, would ya?’
Thomas reached the door leading out onto the back porch and stepped outside. In slightly more hospitable conditions, the porch would’ve been considered prime real estate at a party like this, and therefore full of people. Tonight it had been drizzling intermittently, however, and the uncovered deck was vacant. He looked around briefly and had turned to head back inside when he heard a noise – a cracking sound, like a hammer striking plastic – coming from the backyard below. He walked to the railing and looked down into the yard. Devon was standing in the grass with a golf driver in his hands, the shaft of the club resting against his right shoulder. Scattered at his feet were several balls. Two metal buckets stood half empty beside him. At the sound of Thomas’s footsteps on the porch above him, he looked up. ‘Tommy boy, is that you?’
‘Yeah, it’s me. What are you doing?’
‘What’s it look like?’ Devon smiled up at him, shielding his eyes against the glare of the porch light. ‘I’m practicing. Grab yourself a club out of the bag there and come hit a few.’
Thomas walked down the short set of steps and joined him on the lawn. His friend’s hair was soaked and dripping, and Devon raked it back from his face absently as Thomas selected a driver from the bag, set one of the balls on a tee and lined up his club. The house, prestigiously situated atop the very hill that provided the residents of Overlook Drive that much-coveted overlook experience, gave way to a backyard that sloped sharply down and away. About two hundred yards to the south, the open grass ended where a thick patch of woods began. Thomas pulled the driver up and back, locked his eyes on his target and swung hard. He was much more used to swinging a baseball bat than a golf club, and although his stroke connected soundly, the small white orb sliced wickedly to the left and landed out of sight deep in the spread of trees below them.
‘Nice slice, T,’ Devon remarked. He removed a tee from his right pocket, planted it into the soft earth, squared his shoulders and swung with the practiced form of someone who may well have spent more than a few nights in this very spot pounding balls deep into his own backyard and the forest beyond. Thomas watched the ball sail through the night sky. It seemed to hang in the darkness for longer than simple physics and the gravitational pull of the earth should allow, and then disappeared into the canopy of foliage, whooshing through leaves and cracking into a few branches along the way. About a half mile south of them, a stretch of Main Street was illuminated in the pale yellow cast of streetlights. The distant buzz of passing motorists ascended the hill and reached their ears like excited children returning from play.
‘You ever pound one all the way out to Main Street?’ he asked.
‘Nah,’ Devon said. ‘That sucker’s about a thousand yards from here. Tiger Woods couldn’t hit one out to Main Street from this place. But I do try.’
To illustrate, he set up another ball and smashed it deep into the woods. Thomas hit another one himself, although this time he got on top of the ball a little too much and punched it straight and low along the ground. It hit a tree trunk at the far end of the yard and bounced halfway back to them.
‘You need some practice, my friend,’ Devon observed.
‘Indeed.’
The two of them spent the next fifteen minutes hitting balls into the woods. The rain had stopped, at least for the time being, and the only sounds were the thumping music and laughter coming from the house behind them and the crack of the club heads striking dimpled plastic.
‘You know your house is getting totally trashed right now, don’t you?’ Thomas asked after a while.
Devon only shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t be a good party unless it did.’
‘You ever worry about your neighbors ratting you out to your folks when they return?’
‘Hey, it’s one of the costs of them going on vacation,’ he said. ‘My folks know there’s gonna be a party while they’re gone. Besides, this year I’ve got a new arrangement with the neighbors.’
‘What’s that?’ Thomas teed up another ball and sliced it deep into the canopy below them. He was getting better at it already – just had to straighten out his swing a little, that was all.
‘It’s understood that nobody here drives home drunk, and the neighbors pretty much leave us alone – maybe turn the volume on their TV up a little bit tonight if the music gets too loud.’
‘Oh yeah? And how do you manage to hold up your end of the bargain?’
‘Everyone comes and leaves either on foot or by cab. No exceptions. I presume, by the way, that your cheap ass traveled by foot.’
‘I like to walk.’
‘Right. Anyway, you know Frank Dashel, who lives four houses down from me?’
‘No.’
‘Well, he operates a tow truck company. He’s got one of his rigs sitting in his driveway tonight, all set to haul off any miscellaneous parked vehicles within a half-mile radius. Either you park in your own driveway or you get towed tonight. All the neighbors have been duly notified.’ He dug into his pocket for another tee. ‘Actually, they love the idea.’
‘So, you’ve got your own hired gun.’
‘I didn’t have to hire him. Towing teenagers’ cars is a lucrative endeavor. Nobody wants to get the parents involved, everyone wants their ride back, and best of all, they almost always pay cash.’
‘Any guilt about having your friends’ cars towed?’ Thomas asked.
‘Very few people actually get towed,’ he said. ‘They know the rules. No one drives home drunk, and that way everyone makes it home alive. If they do end up getting towed, it’s the direct consequence of a personal choice. I really have nothing to do with it.’
‘Your conscience is clean then.’
‘It’s the only way to go.’
‘Any visits from the cops?’ he asked.
‘Mike Stoddard lives in that ugly blue house across the street. Sheriff’s deputy. We also have an understanding.’
‘Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.’ Thomas pegged another grounder across the grass.
‘Nice shot, Jack Nicklaus.’
‘Who?’
Devon shook his head. ‘Dude, you’re embarrassing yourself.’
‘I’m just misunderstood, that’s all. Most geniuses are.’
‘And a few morons, as well, I’ve noticed.’
Thomas shook his head. For a while longer, they continued to take turns driving golf balls into the darkness.
‘So your parents are pretty cool about you throwing a party like this while they’re away?’ Thomas asked. He was thinking about his own rather uptight father and how he’d probably have a massive coronary if his son ever invited half of the high school student body to their house for booze and fajitas, the evening culminating in a line of kids puking into the toilet.
‘Of course not,’ Devon said. ‘But honestly, T, what are they gonna do?’
‘I don’t know. Ground you? Beat you to within an inch of your life?’
Devon shook his head. ‘Corporal punishment came to a screeching halt last year when I finally became big enough to fight back – and did.’
‘I was only kidding,’ Thomas remarked.
‘Well, I’m not.’ Thwack! Devon punched another shot into the evening sky and marked its progress until it disappeared into the vegetation.
‘You don’t care much for your parents, do you?’ Thomas asked.
‘No, I don’t,’ Devon replied.
‘Why is that?’
Devon raked his hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. ‘The simplest reason, I suppose,’ he began, ‘is that I no longer respect them.’
Thomas rested his club against one of the porch’s support beams and sat down on the steps. ‘What do you mean?’
‘What I mean,’ Devon said, sitting next to him and looking out into the yard, ‘is that they have lost my respect. Especially my dad. I used to really look up to him, you know? Until I was about thirteen I used to think he was the total bomb. Smart guy, surgeon, hell of a golfer. I used to practically worship the ground he walked on.’
‘So, what happened?’
‘I guess I just started thinking for myself more. Questioning things. Challenging their point of view – and my own.’
‘Yeah, that tends to happen.’
‘Right. But you expect the people you admire to listen to you, to entertain the possibility that perhaps there’s more than one way to look at the world.’
Thomas shook his head. ‘You even discuss this stuff with your parents? Man, I gave up on mine a long time ago.’
‘But that’s not the way it should be, T,’ he said. ‘I mean, look at it this way: they’ve lived a lot longer than we have, right? They know the world is a complex place. So why shouldn’t they listen to us when we come to them for guidance, instead of telling us how we should be thinking, what we should be doing. It seems like the longer they live, the more closed-minded they become. They’re de-evolving, for Christ’s sake, and they want to take us along for the ride.’ He used his club to tap mud from the sole of his left shoe. ‘We’re not looking for an instruction manual on the steps we should be taking to become just like them – that’s exactly what we’re afraid of. I mean, don’t they get that?’
‘I guess not,’ Thomas replied. He was thinking about his own battle with his father earlier that evening – how their relationship had turned into less of a collaborative bond over the years and more of an enforcement of rules and regulations, his father’s decree being: These are the things I am afraid of, and therefore the following restrictions on your life will apply. ‘My mother understands me to some degree, but I don’t think my father has any idea who I really am.’
‘And once you realize that your parents aren’t in a position to help you because they’ve stopped questioning things a long time ago, then you’re pretty much on your own,’ Devon continued. ‘It’s intellectual abandonment. Are you telling me I shouldn’t be pissed-off about that?’
Thomas held up a hand. ‘Hey, I’m not telling you anything. Except that you sound like you’re in serious need of a beer.’
‘Nah, I stopped drinking,’ Devon said. ‘It was making me stupid. There comes a point when it’s easier to get drunk than to get mad. That’s a dangerous place, T. When it’s all you have, it’s important to hang on to your anger.’
‘Oh yeah? Then why the big party?’ Thomas pointed a thumb in the direction of the house full of drunken teenagers directly behind them.
‘Oh, that.’ Devon cast a dispassionate glance up the steps toward the back door. ‘It’ll provide a topic of conversation for when my folks get home. I have a responsibility to wake them up if I can. Lord knows I keep trying.’
They sat in silence at the foot of the steps, listening to Axl Rose belting out ‘Paradise City’ – an oldy-but-goody – from the living room speakers just inside. Devon returned the clubs to the golf bag, clapped his friend on the back, and started up the steps toward the back door. ‘Plus,’ he said, ‘I have to admit I enjoy the background noise.’
Thomas rose from his own seated position and ascended the steps behind him.