On the day of the party, I began my preparations the moment I arrived home from school. I had the house to myself as Dad was still at work and Mum was driving to Ashburton to stay the night at Nana’s.
I started with my face, and that is where my problems began. I realised I wasn’t sure what makeup to put on, or how much. I knew how to look like Joanne and the other girls at school. I’d spent hours and hours copying them. But Skye and her gang had a different style. Skye herself had her own weird look and I wasn’t going to try to recreate that. Her friends, though, wore little or no makeup.
I sat before the mirror on my dresser and tried putting on just dark eyeliner and mascara. But I looked terrible, far too much like me. I needed a lot more of a disguise. I applied eyeshadow and lipstick, but then that looked too over the top for Skye’s party. I wouldn’t fit in at all. Frustrated, I wiped everything off, thinking perhaps I shouldn’t wear any makeup at all. But when I stared at my raw face, I was dismayed. I looked so bad, so ugly. I couldn’t possibly go like that.
In the end I put on eyeliner and mascara again and settled for this. I had to stop at some point, as I knew I could easily spend hours in front of the mirror without ever being satisfied.
Next I had to choose an outfit. I tried on various tops and skirts, but everything looked too bright and colourful. Skye wore black clothes and her friends also dressed in more subdued tones. Luckily I had a black denim skirt. It was so worn and faded it actually looked more grey than anything else, but I thought this would fit in well with the ‘sloppy’ style of Skye’s friends. I couldn’t come up with an appropriate top, so in the end I just pulled on a white T-shirt.
I stepped back and examined myself in the full-length mirror. I looked awful. Just awful. I didn’t look trendy. I didn’t look cool. I didn’t really look like anything. And, of course, no clothes could completely hide my too wide hips and too large belly.
I sat on the edge of my bed, feeling desperate and tearful. Why didn’t I just give up? I would never look good. Why couldn’t I accept it? Why did I keep fighting it?
I was about to become seriously distraught, but thankfully Dad arrived home and called to me from the hallway. I stuck my head out the door and said hi back. We had a brief conversation where he asked if I wanted tea, even though I knew he didn’t want to cook. He looked relieved when I lied and said I’d already eaten.
At least talking to Dad took my mind off things. When I retreated into my room, I found I’d snapped out of the worst of my despondency.
I listened to music on my Walkman for a while. I scribbled a few sentences in my journal. And then I thought it was probably time, finally, to go.
I called goodbye to Dad through the door of his study. Then I fetched my bike from the garage, coasted down the driveway, and swung out into the road. It was dusk. The last of the light was fading behind the roofs and chimneys along the street. I felt an electric sense of anticipation.
I pedalled fast, enjoying the warm wind streaming over my face and tousling my hair. I sailed up Maidstone Road, swept across Waimairi Road, raced past the expanse of Ray Blank Park. It would take me at least thirty minutes to reach Skye’s, but I didn’t care. I was enjoying the ride. In a strange way, I didn’t want the ride to end. I wanted to keep on anticipating the party, without ever arriving at it. That way it could remain a perfect dream, forever in the future, unspoilt by reality.
It was completely dark by the time I rode up to Skye’s place. The house stood veiled behind the line of trees in the front garden. There were a few lights on, but otherwise no sign that anything much was going on inside. I again fretted that Skye had tricked me, that there was no party. Then I worried that somehow I’d got the day wrong. But that didn’t seem possible. Skye had been clear about when the party was taking place.
I glided up the driveway, leant my bike against the side of the house and walked slowly around to the front. The door swung open and a couple of kids tumbled out into the garden, laughing and joking with each other. The sound of music wafted out into the night.
I felt a tingle of nerves and excitement. The party was real after all. I’d finally made it. For once I’d been invited to something, rather than being left out. I approached the house as if it were a temple and I were being admitted into the inner sanctum.
I stepped into the foyer and was immediately hit by cigarette smoke. I followed the sound of voices and music into the lounge, where about twenty kids were sprawled across the sofas and chairs, sitting on the sill of the bay window, or leaning against the walls. Several couples were busy petting and pashing. Most of the lights were off, save for two lamps that tinted the scene red. A haze of smoke blurred everything, including the myriad ornaments dotted around the room.
I hung about in the doorway. I didn’t recognise anyone and I was too shy to approach people I didn’t know. When I spotted Tanya strolling in from one of the other doors, I quickly weaved my way over to her. I tried to engage her in conversation, but she didn’t seem at all interested and soon wandered off.
I felt lost for a moment. I was at the party – it was going on all around me – but I wasn’t really a part of it. I drifted into the kitchen, where the light was brighter and the smoke less thick. A few people were milling about, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. They all looked older than me. Everyone seemed to know everyone else, and no one seemed to even notice me.
The back door was open and I could see a few kids outside. I eased my way through the kitchen, trotted down the back steps and stood on the lawn, completely at a loose end, the dark trees rising around me and the moon bright above.
Someone nudged me from behind and when I turned I saw Skye, a drink in her hand and a cigarette hanging out of her mouth.
‘You made it,’ she said. ‘Wicked.’
She was speaking even louder than usual, her face looked flushed and her eyelids were slightly droopy.
She looked at my hands. ‘Where’s your drink?’
‘Um, I haven’t got one.’
‘You didn’t bring anything?’
‘No, I didn’t know…’
‘Fucking hell. Don’t worry about it. Come with me.’
She led me back into the kitchen, grabbed a spare glass, then ushered me through the crowd in the lounge and down the corridor. I was kicking myself that I hadn’t brought any alcohol. I hadn’t known I was supposed to. I had a lot to learn and I was already thinking about how I could lay my hands on some for next time.
Skye glanced over her shoulder, checking no one was around, then opened the door of an airing cupboard. The interior was dark and crammed with boxes, linen, blankets, old children’s toys and all kinds of other junk. She bent down, scrabbled around on the bottom shelf and pulled out a bottle of vodka.
She grinned at me. ‘Best to hide it. Otherwise some bastard will nick it.’
She poured vodka into the two glasses and handed one to me. She knocked back her vodka in one go, then motioned to me with her head.
I licked my lips. I had thought this kind of thing might happen again and I’d been preparing myself. I held my breath and gulped down the vodka. As I expected, a shudder ran up my spine and my face twisted into a grimace. But apart from that, I felt fine.
Skye smiled. ‘Excellent.’
She splashed more vodka into our glasses and we immediately knocked this back as well. My stomach lurched in protest this time, and my throat burnt, but I managed to hide this. I was determined not to look wimpy in front of Skye.
Skye gave me an approving thumbs-up, poured us a further drink each, then stashed the bottle back in the cupboard.
She pointed her finger at me. ‘You’re allowed to help yourself to that. No one else, OK?’
‘OK.’
She led me back into the lounge, where the music seemed louder now and all the partygoers more boisterous. I was warm and a little woozy from the alcohol. It was a nice feeling. Drinking vodka was horrible, but I was starting to learn it had its rewards.
Skye shouted at someone on the other side of the room and charged across to speak to them. I spied Becky standing nearby and walked over to her. I was weirdly bold, and spoke to her without any hesitation. She was friendly – she even remembered me – and we ended up talking for a while. Normally if I was speaking with someone, I would let them do most of the work. I preferred to respond briefly, sticking to whatever topic the other person chose. But now, after a couple of glasses of vodka, I found the words tumbling out of me. I wasn’t worried about whether I was boring, or whether Becky liked me, or any of the other things that ordinarily would have been nagging at me.
After a while we were joined by a boy who knew Becky. I felt surprisingly confident talking to him as well. I even came up with a joke at one point and both Becky and the boy laughed at this. People seemed to actually like me at this party. For once I didn’t feel out of place.
Skye appeared beside me, grabbed my arm and dragged me out into the hallway.
She looked at my drink, which I’d hardly touched, and said: ‘Finish that.’
I did as I was told and swallowed the vodka. Skye retrieved the bottle from the cupboard and tipped the remaining liquid into our glasses. The bottle was now empty, but my glass was about half full.
Skye poked her finger into my chest. She was swaying and her eyes moved about lazily. ‘Make sure you drink all that.’
‘I will.’
‘We’ll find some more booze later.’
‘OK.’
‘Have some now before we go back.’
We both took a large swig and headed back to the party. My legs felt heavy and my face was hot. Everything seemed intense in the lounge, the music even louder than before, the smell of smoke, perfume and underarm deodorant strong. Skye disappeared. I couldn’t see Becky.
Someone put Blue Monday by New Order on the stereo. I hadn’t been especially keen on the song before – it’d seemed repetitive and the singing was unpolished compared to other pop songs – but now it sounded good. My brain locked onto the looping synths and drums and I nodded along to the beat.
A few kids started dancing in the middle of the room. I amazed myself by putting my glass on a shelf and joining in. I swayed from side to side, not feeling in the slightest bit embarrassed or self-conscious. I didn’t care what I looked like any more. Everyone at the party was my friend. We were one big gang, all of us together.
Skye appeared beside me and offered me a marijuana rollie. I took a puff without even worrying about whether I would die. I ended up coughing and spluttering like the last time, but it was funny. Even I laughed at myself.
I glanced at my watch and was annoyed when I saw it was already ten thirty.
‘You’re not going, are you?’ Skye said.
‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘I have to leave by eleven thirty, though.’
‘Fuck’s sake. That’s so early.’
‘I know. It’s my parents.’
‘Fuck that. Call them and tell them you’re staying over here.’
‘Really? I can stay the night here?’
‘Of course.’
I stared at Skye. Her eyes were half closed and there was a big grin on her face. To her, it seemed, this latest offer was something minor, an inconsequential detail. But to me, it was far more significant. It meant she thought of me as a friend, a real friend.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll call Dad. I’m not really sure what he’ll say, though.’
Skye hauled me back to the hallway and down to a telephone sitting on a table at the far end. She leant against the wall and watched as I dialled.
‘Hi,’ I said when Dad answered.
‘Hello. You having a good time at Skye’s?’
‘Yeah, it’s great.’ I said this more exuberantly than I’d planned. I shut my eyes for a moment and realised I had to get myself under control.
‘You sound very cheerful,’ Dad said.
‘Yeah. I’m just having a good time. Watching movies. We’re watching movies.’
‘Right. But everything’s OK?’
‘Yeah. Um, I wanted to ask something. Can I stay the night here?’
Dad went silent for a moment. I could hear the party in the background. The sound was muffled, but I was still concerned Dad might notice.
Finally he said: ‘Right. And Skye’s mum has said that’s OK?’
‘Yeah. She’s… she said it’s fine.’
‘All right, then. Be home before lunch tomorrow, though.’
‘I will.’
‘See you tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, see you then.’
I put the phone down, breathed a sigh of relief and started giggling.
Skye laughed as well. ‘Your dad really bought that?’
I nodded.
‘Fucking hell,’ she said. ‘I thought there was no way he’d believe all that crap.’
Still laughing, we went back to the lounge, and once again I was immersed in the hubbub, swirling smoke and music. Skye insisted I drink more of my vodka. Then she drifted off to talk to someone else. I wandered around the room, so confident now I spoke to anyone I wanted without any hesitation. I kept sipping the vodka and noticed my legs becoming rubbery. I was giddy and had to lean against the wall to steady myself. When I turned my head, it took a moment for the scene to shift into place, as if my eyes couldn’t keep up with my movements.
Weirdly, the vodka tasted like water now. It didn’t burn my throat or make my stomach turn. It was so easy to drink. I didn’t know why I’d had so much trouble before.
I collapsed into a chair and Skye slid up onto the arm beside me. She handed me another rollie. As she talked, I was struck by the words she used to refer to marijuana. I realised I was smoking a ‘joint’ not a ‘cigarette’. I was taking a ‘toke’ not a ‘drag’. I felt like I was in America, or a movie.
Skye wandered off again and I swigged the remainder of my vodka. After that, my memory became fragmented. Later I could only recall isolated moments, without being able to piece everything together into a coherent whole. I remember staring at the room and everything spinning in front of me. When I shut my eyes, it felt as though I was rushing upwards and to the right.
I remember dancing again. Then I was talking excitedly and laughing with several people. I accidentally smashed a glass and that seemed the most hilarious thing. I kissed a boy, with tongues, for the first time ever.
I felt as though something was roaring inside me. I felt as though I was being swept down white-water rapids.
I remember being in the kitchen with Skye and her insisting I drink more whisky. And I remember laughing with her about something, laughing so hard that I fell off my chair, which made me laugh even more.
The last thing I recall is being outside, hunched over a bush, vomiting.
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