Neighborhood Girls Read online

  You’re hanging out with your MOM? Kenzie wrote in our group text. What are you, five?

  Seriously! Sapphire added. Do you have your period? Take a Midol! This is a PARTY we’re talking about here!

  Until I met my current group of friends, I never believed that peer pressure was an actual thing. I always thought it was something adults made up so they would have someone else to blame when their kid got drunk or came home with a piercing in their face. Turns out, peer pressure is real, and it is powerful. I knew my friends didn’t want me to come out with them because they just couldn’t get enough of my sparkling personality; they really just wanted a designated driver. And yet, despite this knowledge, there I was at seven o’clock, yelling excuses to my mom over the roar of the hair dryer, and then I was clicking out the door in my high-heeled boots, while she sat alone on the couch with a big bowl of popcorn on her lap, trying not to act like I’d totally crushed her feelings.

  Evan’s cousin Ned lived about a half hour from us, in a ritzy suburb on the North Shore. When we turned off the expressway exit, I saw that we had entered not just a different zip code but a completely different life. The streets were paved with cobblestones; the stunning, pristine homes were protected from ogling onlookers by enormous, rambling trees; even the street signs were tasteful and expensive-looking. Purebred dogs pranced along the sidewalks on leashes held by beautiful, well-dressed owners, while young, vibrant couples pushed their heirs in strollers that were almost certainly worth more than my car. This, I understood, was a neighborhood reserved strictly for people whose dreams had come true.

  Ned’s house, at the end of one such block, floated out of the falling darkness like an enormous white yacht. Just beyond, in his backyard, you could make out the shores of Lake Michigan undulating calmly.

  “These people are loaded,” whispered Sapphire, her voice shrill with envy, as Red Rocket, belching smoke, came to a hissing stop in the circular drive behind a glittering row of sixteenth-birthday presents.

  “So?” Kenzie spritzed her wrists with the body splash she kept in my glove compartment. “Just because we don’t live in Winnetka doesn’t mean we’re trailer trash. When we get in there, act like you belong.”

  We stepped up the manicured brick walkway and stood on the front stoop between two large urns filled with red and yellow mums. From inside, we could hear laughter and the thrum of hip-hop.

  “Hey, Saph,” Kenzie said, reaching out and pressing the doorbell. “I dare you to steal something from this place.”

  “No way.” Sapphire hung her head between her knees and began furiously scrunching the underside of her hair. “I dared you to sneak a boy into school last year, and we’re all still waiting for that to happen.” She flipped her hair back into position.

  “Okay, let’s make a deal,” Kenzie said. “You steal something from this house tonight, I’ll sneak a boy into school next week. Deal?”

  Sapphire grinned that pretty cat smile of hers, showing both rows of her pearly teeth.

  “Deal.”

  They shook on it.

  When the door opened, I was momentarily confused. I’d been expecting the Great Gatsby, or at least some hot variation of a football jock. What I saw instead was a small, gangly kid with a shock of wiry orange hair standing wildly atop his head, a face as red and shiny as a boiled apple, and a complicated, gleaming set of braces. I couldn’t figure out which was harder to believe: that he lived in this palace or that he and Evan Munro were first cousins.

  “Hi,” he said shyly, looking at Kenzie. “You’re Evan’s girlfriend, right?”

  “Hi, Ned!” She threw her arms around him and his face deepened from its natural apple red to a painful-looking burgundy. “Evan’s told me all about you!”

  In the foyer, a glass chandelier bathed the marble floors in soft pink light. A large table stood before us, displaying a crystal vase of fall flowers and a few abandoned beer cans. To the left of the table was a spiral staircase covered in plush peach-colored carpet, disappearing up to the second floor.

  “You can hang your coats up in the closet if you want.” Ned led us to a door with a ceramic knob painted delicately with green vines. Inside, we hung our jackets on a couple of empty hangers we found sandwiched between a bunch of lavish fur coats.

  “Jesus, Ned, are these real?” Kenzie held out the sleeve of a gorgeous silver stole, her fingers disappearing into the soft pile.

  “They’re my mom’s,” Ned said, not answering the question. Kenzie glanced at Sapphire, then let go of the sleeve and shut the closet door.

  Evan, who must have heard Kenzie’s voice in the echo chamber of the foyer, came loping down the stairs with a can of beer in each hand. She squealed when she saw him, and he swooped her up with a war whoop and slung her over his shoulder, carrying her off into the party with her perfect little ass swaying in the air. The rest of us followed, trying to remember to act like we belonged.

  The gleaming white kitchen, which was approximately the size of an airplane hangar, featured at least four separate ovens and a refrigerator that was only slightly smaller than the walk-in cooler at Europa Deli. Kids in various states of drunkenness milled about, helping themselves to the food in the pantry and fridge. There was a large sectional leather couch in front of the biggest TV I’d seen outside of a professional basketball game, and a few kids were playing Mortal Kombat X, ripping each other’s heads off in 3D. Everybody there was good-looking and they all had nicer clothes than we did—this was no Saint Mike’s backyard garage party. Sapphire, Emily, and I stuck together, scuttling around like a six-legged bug. Only Kenzie, who would always be the most beautiful girl in any room regardless of socioeconomic status, carried on as normal, allowing herself to be herded over to the beer pong table under the iron weight of Evan’s shoulder, and handing off her cup to be filled with beer.

  “This house is sick,” Sapphire said breathlessly, staring up through a giant skylight at a night faint with stars. “Is that a refrigerator just for wine?” She squatted down to examine the digital thermostat.

  “My cousin has a house like this, too,” Emily said in her high, annoying voice. “I mean, actually, it’s even bigger. It has a theater in the basement.” When no one responded, she added, “With a popcorn machine.”

  “Shut up, Em,” Sapphire said absently. We had now drifted down a luxuriously wallpapered hallway that was lined with gold-framed paintings, a couple tribal masks, a painting of a naked woman sprawled across a red couch, and a plastic case containing a row of delicate silver knives and forks with a small plaque at the bottom that read: “Official state silverware, Abraham Lincoln White House. 1864.” There were pictures of a tall white guy with faded orange hair—Ned’s dad, I guessed—posing with various super famous people: George W. Bush, Elton John, Al Pacino, Mike Ditka. There was another photograph of this same man dressed in khaki safari clothes, holding a rifle and kneeling happily next to a dead cheetah.

  “Holy crap,” said Emily, her voice tremulous with awe. “I guess that’s where the mom gets her fur coats from.”

  “Bet your cousin with the popcorn machine never shot a cheetah,” Sapphire said.

  “He might have.”

  “Shut up, Emily.”

  While Kenzie and Evan dominated at the beer pong table, the three of us wandered around together, staring. Sapphire even took pictures when she thought no one was looking. The only other person who seemed as self-conscious as us was Ned himself, who clearly had only been invited to this party because it happened to be at his house. He hovered around the three of us for a while, looking for an opportunity to start a conversation, but we ignored him until he lurked off, nervously sipping a vodka and cranberry.

  At some point, Kenzie detached herself from the game and grabbed me by the arm.

  “Come pee with me,” she demanded, and dragged me down another hallway, teetering on her high heels, to a bathroom that had a steam shower, a regular shower, a hot tub, and a regular tub. Ned might not be the coolest
guy on the planet, I thought, but he had to be the cleanest.

  “I’m so drunk,” Kenzie said proudly, unbuckling her jeans and shimmying them down her legs, followed by her red lace thong. She crash-landed on the toilet seat. “Aren’t you having the best time ever?”

  “Definitely.” I smiled, sprawling myself across a love seat that I guess Ned’s parents had put there just in case you needed a short rest between brushing your teeth and using the toilet.

  “I love peeing,” Kenzie declared, hanging her head between her long legs. “It feels awesome.” She laughed, spun the toilet paper roll a few times, wiped, then stumbled back to her feet.

  “Fucking high fucking heels,” she muttered.

  “Kenz, maybe it’s time to switch to water,” I counseled. She buttoned her jeans, slowly, carefully, like she was threading a needle, then marched over to me. She reached out, gently, and cupped my chin in her hand.

  “Wendy, darling, I love you, but you are so boring,” she said, then strode out the door and back into the party.

  Alone in the cavernous bathroom now, I looked at myself in the mirror. What did people see when they looked at me? A pretty girl, I guessed, but with too much makeup, huddled inside a red peacoat that looked cheap because it was. I looked like a girl waiting at a train station in a foreign country, not knowing the language, not knowing if the ticket she’d bought was even going to the right place.

  I opened a crystal-knobbed cabinet in the vanity and came upon a stockpile of makeup. I chose a lipstick, a deep, creamy shade of fuchsia, and slicked it over my lips.

  “Darling,” I said to myself in the mirror, “I love you, but you are so boring.”

  Then I wiped off the lipstick and went back out to the party.

  I was just turning the corner into the kitchen when Emily grabbed me tightly by the arm.

  “Wendy, we’ve gotta go. Like, now.” Sapphire hovered behind her, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

  “Okay,” I said. “Where’s Kenzie?”

  “She’s saying good-bye to Evan by your car.”

  As soon as we got outside, Evan and Kenzie, who had been drunkenly tonguing against Red Rocket’s hood, untangled themselves from each other.

  “I’ll call you, baby!” She trailed a finger down his muscle- bound chest.

  “Are you sure you gotta leave?”

  “You know Emily and her parents’ pathetic rules about curfew.” She put her palms out, as if it was all beyond her control. She kissed Evan good-bye one last time, and as soon as he had disappeared into the house she got in the car, propped her feet on the dashboard, and said, “Hey, guys, I’m starving. Should we go get some burritos?”

  Emily and Sapphire began to giggle helplessly.

  “Oh yes,” Emily finally managed. “I would love some burritos. Is TBQ cool with you, Wendy?”

  I shrugged, feeling that this was some sort of trap but not knowing how. And besides, I did kind of crave some chicken nachos with extra sour cream and a large Dr Pepper.

  On the expressway, I white-knuckled it all the way back to the city on Red Rocket’s balding tires and screeching brakes as my friends danced in their seats and screamed along to Kenzie’s PARTYPARTYPARTY playlist. At Taco Burrito Queen, the dingy spot where all the high school and college kids line up for good greasy drunk food into the early hours of the morning, as we sat waiting for our order to come up, Sapphire, Em, and Kenzie kept exchanging smirky looks and stifling their conspiratorial giggles.

  “Okay,” I sighed. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” Emily snickered, then exploded into hysterics.

  Our food arrived on a big tray, and we all began reaching for our orders.

  “Hey,” Sapphire said, unwrapping her steak taco, “do you guys need some silverware?”

  “Yes,” gasped Emily. “This burrito is huge and I can’t eat it without a knife and fork!”

  I rolled my eyes and stood up. “I’ll get them.”

  “No need, Wendy!” Kenzie grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the booth. “We brought our own!”

  And the three of them, eyes glittering, watched my reaction as Sapphire slowly reached into her big, slouchy fake-leather bag and dragged out the large plastic case containing the engraved silverware from Abraham Lincoln’s White House.

  “Are you guys kidding me?”

  I watched them laughing helplessly as Sapphire opened the back of the case and began removing the delicate pieces from their satin displays, handing them around the table.

  “Thank you very much, my dear,” Emily said. She took out her phone and began taking pictures of herself posing with the stolen heirlooms, then sawed into her burrito, the silver pieces of our nation’s history clinking together expensively. Sapphire tried to give me a fork, but I batted her hand away.

  “Oh, relax,” Emily giggled. “It’s just some silverware, Wendy.”

  “It’s Ned’s silverware,” I said. “It doesn’t belong to you.” I shook my head. “No. Scratch that. It’s Abraham Lincoln’s silverware. You know, the man who saved the union. Four score and seven years ago? The Emancipation Proclamation? The man who freed the slaves?”

  “Yawn,” said Sapphire, stabbing at a fried onion and stuffing it in her mouth.

  “Why do you even care?” Kenzie dipped a chip into a plastic cup of salsa. “It’s not like he freed the slaves with a bunch of forks. You probably just want to fuck Ned. Is that it?”

  The very idea of anyone being attracted to poor Ned sent the three of them dissolving again into peals of laughter.

  “Kenzie’s right,” Emily finally said, two words that pretty much could have been the motto of her life. “I mean, maybe you should be more angry at the fact that some guy spends more money on some crap to hang on his wall than your dad makes in a year.” She stopped herself. “I mean, not your dad. Like, people’s dads in general. Like, normal people whose dads aren’t . . . I mean, not that your dad’s not normal. More that he’s just sort of . . .”

  “Shut up, Emily,” sighed Kenzie. She pointed her chip at me. “Wendy, what’s your deal lately? You’ve become such a buzzkill. You know, you don’t have to be friends with us, okay? And, more importantly, we don’t have to be friends with you. So if I were you, I’d just watch it, okay?” She lifted one of the forks from Emily’s plate, never taking her eyes off me, and with a quick, violent motion, bent it in half. She tossed it across the table and it landed in my lap. I picked it up, stunned, and tried to bend it back into shape. But it was already ruined.

  “I mean,” she went on, “who are you to get all up in arms about some missing silverware? At least nobody got electrocuted. At least nobody got suffocated. Or burned. Or beaten, like certain victims of certain disgraced cops who shall go unnamed. Know what I mean?”

  Emily, who had a dollop of guacamole smeared across her lower lip, emitted a nervous giggle. Sapphire had commenced using a fork as a tool to fluff her hair and pretended not to have heard.

  “I do know what you mean,” I said, standing up. “Thanks for giving me some perspective, Kenz. I’ll see you guys in school.” And, boiling with rage, I put on my red peacoat, pushed away my untouched chicken nachos, and walked out of Taco Burrito Queen.

  8

  MY AUNT COLLEEN ONCE TOLD ME a story about her first job out of high school. She was waitressing at this all-night diner in Albany Park, run by a short, hairy guy named Wally whose two favorite pastimes were doing the crossword and ogling women’s breasts. Aunt Col was blessed with both a big brain and a big rack, so she quickly became one of Wally’s favorites. According to Col, he was icky but harmless, until one night in the middle of winter when the place was so dead even the cook had gone to take a nap in the store room, Wally, seeing his chance, came up behind her as she was pouring herself a cup of coffee. He pinned her up against the machine, nuzzled his face into her neck, then reached around and put a red, meaty hand on each of her breasts, whispering something in Greek. “In my country,” he murmured, his oniony breat
h hot on her neck, “that’s what I would call you when I took you into my bed.” Aunt Col whirled around, spilling hot coffee all over her hand. “And in my country,” she said, ripping off her apron and throwing it in his face, “I’d call that sexual harassment!”

  After ducking past him and out into the snow, she told me how exhilarated she’d felt: It was the first time she’d really stood up for herself, and she knew she was going to be just fine making her way in the real world. But two weeks later, when she realized that February was the slowest season of the year for restaurants and couldn’t find another gig, she had to go back to Wally and ask for her job back. “I never went so quick from being that proud of myself to hating my own guts,” she told me.

  Walking into chapel that Monday morning, I kind of knew what she meant.

  After the incident in TBQ, I’d spent the rest of the weekend mentally high-fiving myself for finally growing a spine, but by the time Sunday night came around, it began to dawn on me that if I didn’t have Sapphire, Emily, and Kenzie, I didn’t have anyone. There were forty-two girls in the junior class at ASH; I’d spent the last three years ignoring thirty-nine of them. Where did that leave me? I thought about Alexis, sitting with her head bowed and her ears burning, alone at that lunch table for the first two months of freshman year. Was I really prepared for that to be me? Did I really have the guts?

  So when I arrived at chapel, I was both relieved and disgusted with myself when Kenzie waved me over to our usual spot in the back row and Sapphire shoved over to make room for me.

  “So there’s our supposed best friend who just ditches us in the middle of TBQ on a Saturday night.”

  “I just—” I looked at my lap. “I don’t think you guys should have taken the silverware.”

  “Don’t worry!” Kenzie put an arm around me, bathing me in the sickly sweet smell of her peach body splash. “It was just a harmless prank. I’ll give it back to Evan tonight, okay?”