Burro Hills Read online

  The beat dropped, and his arms were around her waist, her ass pressing into his crotch, my head dizzy from the wine coolers.

  The place reeked of bad weed, ash, and tar, but the energy was electric, the air on fire with the pulse of noise and sweat and bodies. It was manic in here, in Skye Russo’s basement, the lights dimmed to a cool blue.

  Toby and Asha were grinding, and there was me on the sidelines, sitting on a leather couch, smoking the complimentary weed that was probably laced with something bad. Whatever it was, I was already starting to feel it. Whether it was the weed or the wine coolers, the room was fuzzy around the edges, everything moving fluidly before slowing down and then starting right up again to the sound of the bass, like we were trapped inside some trippy music video.

  Asha was all skin in short-shorts and a barely there top. Good girl Asha, student government Asha, her breasts—breasts usually hidden beneath crisp polos and denim blouses—heaving over her low-cut shirt.

  Max was right next to them as Toby’s hands gripped her neck, her eyes closed, pressing her body against his. The weed was making my mouth taste funny and sour. Max, with his own girl for the night—or the last few minutes of this song—was in heaven, wearing his sunglasses like a douche. Some guy sat down next to me and spilled beer on my shoes. Toby was beckoning me with his head, his hands preoccupied with the edges of Asha’s shorts.

  I turned away and tried to pretend I hadn’t seen, but I had. His hands had lingered there for a moment before climbing up inside.

  I stood and pushed past the mass of bodies, sticky and warm and shouting, until I found the door and climbed upstairs into a lighter form of madness. Kids were tipsy and stumbling around the kitchen, playing poker and beer pong on tables that were covered in plastic just for the occasion. They were making out in every corner, spilling drinks all over each other in this gorgeous mansion.

  It was seriously a beautiful house, at least for Burro Hills. It reminded me of those Spanish colonials I’d seen in Mom’s magazines, with high-beamed ceilings, stone floors, and spacious living and dining rooms with ornate rugs and drapes that probably cost more than most people’s rent in this town. It was the biggest piece of property in Burro Hills, save for the old abandoned movie theater on the Strip that used to show spaghetti Westerns. Skye’s parents spent most of their time away on business, leaving Skye blissfully unattended. She was the richest kid we all knew, and naturally, her home was host to many parties. Rich, and she always got her way. Her parents had wanted to send her to some prep school in the Bay Area or out east, but she’d refused. For some reason, she loved it here. Probably loved being the richest kid in town, loved how good her grades looked compared to ours. And rumor had it she had an army of private tutors at her disposal. We usually didn’t go here, the guys and I. It was the kind of place football assholes would flock to, but it was a nice night for a trek up to Skye’s tiny, gated community right on the cusp of our school district. Plus, we were out of weed, and Toby’s cousins were using his basement.

  I was surprised to hear Jess would be there that night. Skye Russo had made her life hell freshman year, slowly and carefully eradicating her from their clique. Now dozens of drunk high school idiots—and probably some local community college kids too—were turning her house into one whacked-out frat party. I spilled some of my beer on one of Skye’s expensive Persian rugs, watching the dark ale stain the fancy fabric. Karma is a bitch, you know?

  Then I saw him. The music seemed to evaporate from the room, and everything inside me went still and quiet. Connor and Skye were pressed up against one another, grinding against the wall. Her eyes were closed and her head was tilted back. She leaned against his chest, and he kept his hands on her waist.

  I turned and pushed through a throng of people, suddenly needing fresh air. Guys cursed at me as I knocked into them and shoved them aside, until finally I’d found my way out onto the terrace, where a group of kids were taking shots and smoking under the silver light of the moon.

  My phone beeped. I ignored it, lighting a cigarette to quiet the rumbling in my chest that felt like someone was pounding on it, slamming fists into my lungs. I tried to breathe, but my phone kept on beeping incessantly.

  A text from Jess and a text from Toby.

  Jess’s read: Leaving now, see you soon! :) Get me a drink!

  And Toby’s: Come back downstairs. Mad hotties down here. You’ll love ’em.

  21.

  I was sitting so close to the speakers that I could barely hear my own thoughts. I occupied the leather couch facing the center of the room, where I could sit and stare vacantly at the crowd and no one would bother me or try to ask me my name. I was on my fifth jungle juice and on my way to going completely numb.

  Connor and Skye Russo. Skye Russo and Connor. The walls around me were beginning to swim.

  Toby appeared with a shot in hand. He was wearing Max’s beanie. I took the shot, letting it burn my insides, then snatched the beanie off his head.

  “What the fuck?” he said.

  “Doesn’t suit you,” I said. I tossed it at a drunk girl nearby, some college-looking girl with long legs and a low-cut dress. She swayed to the music, smiling as her eyes went in two directions. She giggled drunkenly, pulling it over Toby’s eyes and leaning into him.

  I toasted my empty shot glass in his direction, then went back to downing my jungle juice. Not five minutes later and he was back, leaning close to me so I could hear him and smell the liquor on his breath, that awful smell that reminded me of my father.

  “Which one do you want?” he slurred at me, nodding to the room full of girls.

  I shrugged. “None. I’m good right here.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Jack, dude, it’s been like thirty minutes. Don’t be shy, I can hook you up with any of these girls right here. I swear. Swear to God. They won’t turn you down as long as I’m doing the talking.”

  He was drunk, super drunk, and I wanted to tell him to get the fuck out of my face and mind his own damn business. But I just leaned back, took another sip of juice and shrugged.

  “Her,” I said. I was just pointing at random, but I realized with relief that the girl in my finger’s direction was none other than Jess herself.

  I watched Toby’s smile vanish for a moment. And then his grin was back, and he was laughing to himself, but his eyes hadn’t changed.

  “I thought she was like your sister,” he said. “I thought she was off the table.”

  “What’s that?” I said. “Speak up, Toby, I can’t hear you.”

  “I said…I thought…” He leaned in closer to me, almost stumbling on the slippery, sticky floor. “I thought you know, maybe if you don’t want it, I could hit that.”

  He must have taken my scowl to mean he’d made me jealous or something, because he put his hands up and shook his head. “Nah, she’s all yours, Jack. I get it. I don’t get why you’re so weird about it, but it’s cool. You should go for it. You shouldn’t wait. Don’t be a little bitch about it.”

  I stood and moved to leave the room, but not before bumping shoulders with him and murmuring, “You would know about being a little bitch.”

  22.

  I couldn’t believe it was Jess. I had never seen her like this before.

  She was plastered. I could see that even from here. She must have pre-gamed with her friends. But what was scaring me was how old she looked in that tiny little black dress and those high-heeled boots with spikes all down the heel, how old and young at the same time. She wore thick make-up, and her long, platinum hair tumbled down her shoulders in waves. From across the room, she smiled and waved at me, wobbling in those silly boots. She put a hand on the shoulder of some guy to steady herself. His eyes were up her dress and he was grinning like those creepy old guys at Bazingo did when a pretty girl walked into the room. My throat tightened.

  It was all Toby and Max had been able to talk about, this Jess who had just stepped out of a magazine, or off the runway, or out of th
e screen of some trashy Hollywood reality show. They were looking at her like she was their next meal.

  “So, you gonna do it?” Max asked, nudging me in the ribs.

  “Just fucking do it, Jack. Look at her.” Toby whistled appreciatively and took a swig from his cup.

  They’d been goading me for what felt like hours. Time was beginning to blur. The room could swallow me whole in one gulp. I shook my head to try and steady my vision.

  I watched her swinging her hair back and forth in time to the music, her dress riding up her thighs, revealing hot pink underwear.

  “You little bitch, are you nervous or something?” Toby laughed. He was joking, but it didn’t sound like a joke. “I mean look at that. Damn.”

  Words were stuck in my throat. I swallowed them down.

  “Nah man it’s fine, listen,” Max said, leaning in close to slur in my ear. “It’s easier when they’re drunk.”

  He must have learned that from Toby. Or had I said that to him at one point? Why would dweeby Max say something like that? My brain tried feebly to piece it all together, to make sense of the tilting room and the noise penetrating my brain. Everything felt like a dream, like I was swimming through light and sound that was all inside my head. But in that surrealistic moment anything felt possible.

  Toby nudged me. “Hey, if you don’t want her Jack, I do.” I looked him in the eye, and that coldness was still there, that steely look that made me feel sicker than all the liquor I’d just downed.

  “Uh, hello? Jack, do you need another drink for courage or something?” Max asked. Someone bumped into me and spilled booze on us, and Toby shoved them.

  “Asshole!” he yelled. “These sloppy kids. No one knows how to hold their liquor anymore.”

  “Yeah,” I said, watching Jess shake her hips to the pulsing beat.

  Look at the woman.

  Max started to say something else, but I pulled away and began moving over to her. She was swinging her hips so hard she nearly tripped. I grabbed her arm.

  “Oh shit, thanks, Jack!” she said. Her face was red and flushed, her eyes watery and a little faraway. I led her over to the leather couch in the center and helped her into it. She slumped onto my shoulder, letting her arms fall across my chest. From the other end of the room, Toby made a dick-sucking gesture with his mouth. Max was laughing, his Adam’s apple bobbing to the beat. I turned away.

  Jess was breathing heavy. “You okay?” I asked her.

  She nodded, lifted her face up, and looked at me through her hair.

  “Mm, yeah,” she said groggily, resting her head on my shoulder. “Everything’s super cool.”

  I watched her belly move up and down as she breathed, studied the way the light hit her face and curved down her lips. I tried to imagine touching her, what it would feel like, how it would be. A little part of me tried to hold back, but I pushed it aside, letting the drunkenness fully take over, and leaned in to kiss her softly on the cheek.

  My lips lingered there for a moment. Her skin was surprisingly soft.

  She blinked at me sleepily, all doe-eyed and gentle, and yes, she was pretty, and maybe this time I could feel something. I leaned in closer, pressing my lips to the corner of hers and letting my hand rest on her shoulder blade. Then she jerked away suddenly, like I’d done something wrong.

  I could feel Toby watching me, could see him moving closer in my peripheral. Why couldn’t she just cooperate, for one second? Play drunk and oblivious like she had with that guy she’d let feel her up a second ago? What was so wrong about me?

  I stroked her cheek with my finger and ran my hand down the small of her back to her exposed bare leg, feeling the soft skin and the warmth of her body. She mumbled, “Jack, what are you doing?”

  “This,” I whispered in her ear. I pulled her towards me and kissed her. She froze for a moment. My hand crawled up her thigh. I’d hooked up with girls before, more or less, but I’d never touched them. I’d always just let them touch me. Would it burn my fingers, would it hurt? Strange thoughts circled my head, but they somehow made sense. I touched her under her dress and she gasped, then grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand away like I’d tried to bite her.

  With our faces so close, I could see her eyes were dark and bewildered. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, and then it was like a light had been flipped on and I could see again. A hot wave rolled over me from head to toe, and I knew then that I could never take this back.

  “What’s wrong?” she mocked, recoiling from me. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  It was like being socked in the stomach. “Me? There’s nothing wrong with me. You were all over that other guy just a second ago. What, am I not worthy enough, Jess, to touch your body? I know you know how many guys have been staring at your ass in that tiny dress all night. You haven’t exactly been telling them to fuck off.”

  The slap landed harder than I’d expected. It took a moment for me to register the pain across my face, I was so numb with drunkenness. She got up from the couch and stormed off, and I didn’t go after her. I just sat there, feeling the shame and anger burning right through me. I punched the couch and pushed through the mass of bodies that now felt suffocating, refusing to make eye contact with Toby and Max. I just wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere and never come out.

  I spotted Toby follow Jess down the long hallway. I knew he was going after her, but I didn’t move to stop him.

  23.

  I didn’t deserve to get out of bed. I deserved to lay there all day, my stomach pitching, my head pounding like someone was banging a steel drum inside of my skull.

  At around noon, Mom crept into my room and pushed back my hair, feeling my forehead. She came back a little while later with hot soup, and when I moaned and rolled over, refusing to touch it, she just patted my back and left it on my nightstand.

  I didn’t stir until my phone buzzed hours later. A text from Connor, asking if I wanted to meet downtown.

  I sat up too fast and the whole room tilted forward. I sprinted to the bathroom, trying desperately to puke up the bile I could feel inside of me, but nothing came out, not even when I stuck my fingers down my throat. So I splashed my face with cold water, brushed my teeth, gulped down three aspirin and gelled my hair as best as I could. I still looked like shit. My eyes were hollowed out, my face bloated and puffy from the alcohol. Fantastic.

  My stomach growled from hunger, but the soup was too cold to eat by then.

  I deserved it all. After leaving Jess in the lion’s den of the party, I had drunkenly biked the four miles home to my house, bearing all the cuts and scrapes and bruises on my legs to prove it. Then I’d stumbled upstairs and taken the coldest shower of my life, trying to numb everything. My skin wouldn’t stop burning.

  By the time I made it downstairs that afternoon, Mom was at the table doing a crossword puzzle, wearing her signature bathrobe. The TV was on, and I was surprised to see Dad plopped in front of it, lounging in his La-Z-Boy with Gunther curled up by his feet. My faithful dog snored loudly.

  “Dad, don’t you have work today?” I asked.

  Mom coughed and muttered something about the puzzle she was doing. “He’s sick too, baby.”

  Right in front of him on the TV tray was a bowl of the same soup Mom had made for me.

  “Well, look who’s finally up,” Dad said. He spun in his chair to face me, and we locked eyes for a moment. Father and son, two hungover, useless bastards. If someone had wanted to paint a portrait of our family lineage, this would’ve been a good place to start. “What are your plans for today, Mr. Mysterious?”

  “Heaven only knows,” Mom sang from her spot at the table. “You don’t look so well, Jack. Maybe you should go back upstairs and get some more rest. I could bring you up a crossword puzzle. They’ve got some good ones today.”

  “Thanks Mom, I’m fine,” I mumbled, and I hurried out the door.

  “Mr. Mysterious,” said Dad.

&nbs
p; I took the bus to the Strip where Connor said he’d meet me. It wasn’t too crowded since it was a Sunday—a lazy, humid Sunday, people in shorts and flip-flops, the bus blasting AC so cold I thought I might freeze to death. I watched beat-up cars drive by, cars with two different colored doors. Homeless men and women wandered up and down the streets. At a red light, I watched a woman so big and heavy she could barely waddle out of Goodwill pushing a shopping cart stuffed with baby supplies. She had three screaming kids trailing after her, and an infant strapped to her chest. Her face was tomato red, and she was sweating and panting from the exertion. A knot formed in my throat.

  I don’t know why, but I wanted to reach out and take her hand and lead her away from here, guide her to a place that didn’t smell like burning pavement and gasoline and exhaust fumes. Maybe somewhere by the ocean with a cool, balmy breeze. I wanted to make sure her kids got presents every Christmas, nice ones that lit up and made cool sounds, presents all the other kids would be jealous of. Not presents from the Goodwill that were probably broken and smelled like mothballs.

  But by the time the bus coughed me up and I saw Connor, leaning against the old movie theater, smoking a joint, I forgot how to breathe, how to think straight. I forgot about the waddling woman and her kids and my parents and the homeless people on the sidewalk.

  I shuffled up to him, hands in my pockets, wishing I hadn’t worn jeans on such a hot day. He was cool as a cucumber in cargo shorts and a t-shirt that gripped at his biceps.

  “Finally,” he said when he saw me. “I waited as long as I could to light up.”

  I checked over my shoulder for cops, but all I could see was a woman with dreadlocks sitting on the curb with her pit bull, holding up a cardboard sign that read: Hungry and pregnant. I wanted to toss her a quarter, but Connor was watching me, and his pull was too magnetic to resist.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked. He took a long drag on the joint, then handed it to me.