broke free from Autumn and pushed myself in front of him. I knew I had huge damp spots in the armpits of my white shirt, but I didn’t care. After pulling up my hair into a quick ponytail, I stuck out my hand and waited for Mike to shake it. “Don’t you want to congratulate me?” I said in my most sarcastic voice. His friends were all listening. Connor Hughes. Everyone. And I loved every second of it.
Mike looked down at my hand and scoffed. “Congratulations on being the kind of loser this stuff actually matters to.”
Before I could say anything back, Autumn pulled me away. “You okay, Miss President?” she asked, and massaged my shoulders like a boxer and his trainer after a long fight. The library had begun to empty out, but there were still lots of students who stuck around to congratulate me. The moment felt so right, so beautiful. Like destiny. Like all those life-changing moments should feel. Easy.
I picked up Autumn later that night. It was supposed to be, at least to her knowledge, our typical Friday — renting whatever movie was next on our list (we’d been working our way through the AFI Top 100 Films list, which I’d cut from the newspaper and dutifully laminated at my mom’s office), followed by snacks, followed by either face masks or new nail polish, followed by whatever lame show was on television until we fell asleep.
Except I had heard on NPR during breakfast that A Streetcar Named Desire was playing at a little independent movie theater a few towns over. It wasn’t actually the next film on our list, but the chance to see one on the big screen was too exciting to pass up. Plus, it would make for a more special night, considering I’d won the election a few hours before.
Even though my air-conditioning was on, everything still felt sticky. September weather always left you guessing, with some days hot like summer and others chilly like fall.
I beeped and Autumn came running out in jeans and an oversize hoodie I’d bought her on one of my college tours. I felt a little bad, because I was in a red corduroy skirt, a black scoop neck, and the tiny silver hoops Grammy had given me on my Sweet Sixteen. Not that we needed to dress up, but this particular movie theater was a lot different than the megaplex inside Summit Mall. It served wine and had gourmet snacks, like kettle corn and Italian chocolate bars. A red-velvet curtain hid the screen until just before the film started, and they showed movie trailers in French and Italian.
Autumn knew something was up as soon as she saw me. “What’s going on?” she asked, smiling. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a secret,” I teased.
“But you look so nice. Should I go change?”
I would have said sure, but Autumn was slow enough getting ready for school, never mind when she actually had a choice of outfits. Anyway, she always looked pretty. I shook my head. “Don’t worry. You look fine.”
I decided to take back roads, to keep Autumn guessing — a wandering maze of rolling hills and twisted streets that made our stomachs drop, so long as I hit the gas at just the right moment. Together we sang whatever song came on, my pathetic radio turned up so loud the speakers crackled. My heart felt buoyant, lifted by my relief over the election and the excitement of surprising Autumn. It seemed less like driving and more like we were floating.
Autumn kept guessing about what I had planned. Then she pointed out the window and looked all excited.
“No way!” she gasped. “We’re going to a party?”
Her words didn’t make sense to me at first. We weren’t anywhere near the theater. I had to come down from the clouds and look around to figure them out.
Cars were crammed along every available inch of curbside, parked in haste, as if the beer supply might run out at any second. I recognized some by their Ross Academy bumper stickers. Music thumped from a small house halfway down the street, bursting with people. Some kids were hanging out on a lawn, blanketed by fall leaves no one had bothered to rake up.
All I could come up with was, “Are you kidding?” What in the world would ever make Autumn think I was bringing her to a party?
“So . . . this isn’t what we’re doing tonight,” she said, the excitement draining from her face.
I shook my head. Even though I didn’t want to ruin the surprise, I explained what I had planned for us. I tried to sound excited about all the fancy snacks and the velvet curtain, but Autumn didn’t look interested. She kept staring out of the passenger window as we passed by the party house.
Finally she turned to face me. “What if we just walked in?”
“Why would we do that?”
“I don’t know. To freak everyone out? Not in a bad way. We’d be like . . . celebrities or special guests or something. Plus, we’ve never been to a party together before, which seems like something we should probably do before we graduate, right? And besides, you look so pretty tonight.”
I couldn’t believe what she was saying. If there was anything in the whole world I didn’t want to do, it was randomly show up at a high school party that I wasn’t invited to, full of people we didn’t like. And Autumn was delusional if she thought we’d be welcomed with open arms. Not to mention that I had made other plans for us. Better plans.
But I didn’t bother saying as much. Instead I pointed out the window at a boy kneeling on the curb, puking into a bush. “Wow. Looks like we’re really missing out on an awesome time.”
“We should pull over and make sure he’s okay, don’t you think?”
I looked at the clock. We still had plenty of time to get to the theater, but I was concerned that if I parked to check on this boy, Autumn would make a run for the house, and then I’d have to go chasing after her. So, after locking the doors, I put the car in park and rolled down my window.
“Hey. Puking boy . . . are you okay?”
The boy didn’t say anything, or even look in our direction. Instead, he waved and gave us a thumbs-up.
I turned to Autumn. “Can we go now?”
“I guess,” she said, all pouty. She turned off my radio, rolled down her window, and strained to make out the music wafting in the air.
I guess was good enough for me. I wasn’t going to wait around and give Autumn a chance to change her mind.
Autumn screamed as I hit the gas.
I pressed the brakes as hard and fast as I could, slamming my car to a sudden stop. My headlights rocked up and down the dark street. Four drunken boys stood frozen at my bumper. Mike Domski, Scott Phillips, Paul Zed, and James Rocker.
“Watch where you’re going!” I screamed, my quivering hand hovering over the car horn. The smell of burnt rubber wafted though my vents.
The boys’ movements kickstarted with uproarious laughter, as they realized imminent death had, just barely, missed its mark. I tried to inch my car forward, but we were pinned by the human roadblock, forced to witness their drunken celebration. They leaped into each other’s burly arms and sang a chorus of holy shit, dude! Mike Domski tossed aside a beer can and started humping my hood ornament.
“Get
