Trinity (43)

I spend the next hour--longer?--with Maggie, giggling and gossiping and searching the house for the rumored pinball machine. It’s surprisingly fun, hanging out with her, and the more we talk, the more I realize how many things we have in common.

She tells me that she has an older brother in college, and I do too. Both of us never talk about them because they’re never at home. I haven’t seen my brother since Christmas, and he was only home for three days before leaving again to go stay with his girlfriend. She says that hers moved out completely, and is already married.

She says she listens to Naya Bloom’s music, too, but only after seeing her live at the Spring Fling. We talk about music and movies and what foods we like and how annoying some of our teachers are.

Around her, I feel like this is how it’s supposed to be on a weekend. Parties and people, and I’m glad she doesn’t want to get drunk or hang out with boys or anything. This is the kind of teenage life everyone expects to have from the movies.

After a while I forget that I’m wearing Abbey’s too-tight dark blue shirt, and I forget that everyone else here is drunk and in college, and we make our way to the room where everyone is dancing, and the music is loud and it’s pretty good and no one is paying any attention to us. So when Maggie screams, “Let’s dance!”, I do.

I don’t know how to dance, but I’m not sure it matters. Abbey finds us, and she keeps poking me and telling me that she likes my shirt, and I keep reminding her that I borrowed it from her and that I’ll give it back. Mary Kate finds us too, and she stumbles into our little circle and falls into Maggie.

Maggie catches her, holds her up. “Mary Kate! Oh my gosh, I told you drinking isn’t cool.”

Mary Kate pushes off of Maggie and sways on her feet, pointing a finger at me. “I don’t drink. Maybe she does.”

I don’t reply, but Abbey says, “Uh, no I think you’re drunk, actually.”

None of us are dancing anymore, and Maggie catches Mary Kate’s arm, to steady her. “Hey, let’s get you some water.”

Mary Kate looks upset, then the expression fades into a wide smile. “Oh, ok. You’re helping me?”

Maggie nods. “Yes, Mary Kate. Come on now.” Maggie looks past Mary Kate at Abbey and I and rolls her eyes. I give her a sympathetic smile.

“I looove youuu,” Mary Kate drawls, draping an arm around Maggie’s shoulder.

“Yes, yes. Love you too,” Maggie says with a laugh, already guiding her out of the room.

Without Maggie here, I glance over at Abbey, who has gone back to dancing and is holding a beer bottle over her head. I don’t say anything to her, but leave her there, seeking out some kind of less crowded area. Suddenly, I’m exhausted.

I find the back patio, and open the door, passing Charles Lee, of all people, as I do. His face is flushed, and I wonder if he’s had something to drink as well.

Outside, it’s dark. It’s not freezing, but it’s a chilly spring night, and goosebumps rise on my arms. I can feel every inch of exposed midriff in this shirt as well, and I hug my arms around myself.

I pull out my phone to check the time. Nine twenty-three. My mom will be here to pick me up soon. I shiver once, then open my messages to text my mom. At the top of the screen is Pearl’s name, the last person I texted. I wonder if she would’ve come to this party if she could, and if she would’ve liked it. If she would’ve danced with me. But no, she’s not here, because of YRJ.

I sigh and click my phone off. Half an hour until my mom arrives, I can do that. Maybe that’s enough time to finally find that pinball machine. I should’ve asked Abbey where it is, maybe I should do that. I just need to find Maggie first.

I toy with a button on my shirt--Abbey’s shirt--and reenter the house.

But I can’t find Maggie. I find Abbey, but she doesn’t know where anything is, except the pinball machine, which is apparently in the basement. When I go to the basement, all I find is a group of guys cheering over someone’s new high score on the game. I run into Erica and Becca, too, who both tell me they like my shirt, but they haven’t seen Maggie or Mary Kate.

As I’m searching the house, someone trips into me and spills their drink down my side, and now Abbey’s shirt is probably stained, and now I feel guilty for wearing it. I also don’t know where Maggie put my sweater, but it’s probably in Abbey’s room. The door’s locked, though, when I go upstairs to retrieve it.

Eventually, I run into Abbey’s brother, Joe. Or rather, he steps out into my path. “I’ve seen you walk by, like, six times. You looking for Abbey?” I shrink under his gaze, and even though it doesn’t matter what he thinks, I don’t like that I’m wearing a small shirt and that, now it's been spilled on me, I smell faintly of alcohol.

“No, I’m looking for Maggie. One of our friends,” I tell him.

He taps a finger against his beer bottle--another one, I assume. “The chatty one. In green?” I nod. “Yeah, she just went upstairs with some guy.” He smirks at me, and I turn on my heel. Some guy?

“What’s your name, by the way? You’re kinda cute.”

My stomach drops into my shoes, and my vision narrows. My feet propel me as fast as I can around the corner and up the staircase. Thank God I’m now fairly familiar with the layout of the house.

Ew. Abbey’s brother is like, three years older than me. It’s like Maggie said, disgusting. She’s right. He must be wrong, though. About her. Clearly she’s not with a guy. I mean, she might be, but not like that.

I take a deep breath as I reach the second floor. Seeing the bench Maggie and I had sat on calms me, but it also reminds me of our conversation about Kelly. I feel my stomach flip, and though I can’t fully identify the feeling, it’s different than the weight I felt after Abbey’s brother spoke to me.

Now I’m reminded of Amber, and her talk about butterflies. I appreciate her talking to me, but now that I’ve chatted with Maggie, I can’t believe I ever thought Amber knew everything. She must just have a way about her, like Pearl’s said. But she’s wrong. I do like Kelly, as Maggie has proven. Just because Amber told me once that she didn’t think I like boys doesn’t mean I don’t like boys.

I smooth down the fabric of my dark blue shirt, re-centering myself. Vaguely I wonder what Kelly would say, if he was here.

I shake the thought from my head. I’m looking for Maggie.

Now, if I were Maggie, I’d be… I scan the doors, and it’s pretty obvious to me. I stop in front of the door lined with paper flowers. Before I knock, I try the door halfheartedly, knowing it will be locked. But it swings open.

I don’t have time to stop the squeak that comes out of my throat.

Maggie’s here all right. She’s on Abbey’s bed, her back to me, her green tank top pushed up a little, exposing her lower back. She’s sitting, but beneath her, kissing her, reaching for her, is Charles. Charles Lee. She breaks away from their kiss and whips her head around, and I’m already backing out of the room.

“Oh, crap,” I can hear her say, and Charles just makes a sound of disappointment. “I should–” I hear her saying as I make a beeline for downstairs.

She only catches up to me because I’ve spotted Abbey’s brother down in the front hall, and decided not to go down. She stops beside me in the hallway, just a few steps away from the stairs.

“Trinity! Um,” Maggie says, breathlessly tugging her tank top down and smoothing her hair.

“Why–!” I start, but I cut myself off, wondering why I’m upset all of a sudden. This is what I did to Pearl, ask ‘why’. I make an effort to soften my tone. “Never mind.”

“Ok, ok, I know how it looks! I’m–I’m not sure how it happened. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean–I–so what happened was, I’ve always had a crush on Charles, and that’s why I was so upset with Mary Kate when they started to date.” I’ve turned my face away from her, and she continues, words pouring out of her mouth desperately. “I–it started because they were together and I put a spider in his locker because I was angry but he caught me doing it and we started talking and Mary Kate didn’t know and I stayed away from him for her and then they broke up and afterwards he was telling me that she wasn’t a very good girlfriend anyway and it just kind of–”

I hold out both of my hands in surrender. “I don’t need to know everything,” I tell her tiredly.

“No, no. You’re right, I should know better. Go ahead, say it. Call me a slut, I deserve it.”

I turn to meet her eye quickly, my brows drawn together. “What?”

“That’s what I would call me, if I were you. I know I shouldn’t have… But don’t you ever get tired of it, acting so pure all the time?” Maggie’s hands are laced tightly in front of her, reminiscent of someone praying.

“Pure?” I repeat, incredulous.

“I do,” she whispers harshly. “I know I shouldn’t, but… It’s like we were talking, all those things? Check, check, check. And I have these, just, terrible thoughts, you know?” She puts her face in her hands, and her shoulders sag.

Terrible thoughts. I shake my head, lost for words.

Maggie looks at me through her fingers, and I see her pale even more. “Trinity–”

Check, check, check. Acting so pure. It feels like Abbey's shirt is too tight to breathe in. I wonder for a moment if it’s possible to be intoxicated from alcohol that’s just in the air around you. I’ve never been drunk, but everything seems wrong.

“Please–”

“I think my mom’s here to pick me up,” I tell Maggie in a level voice, and turn and put my feet on the stairs. I’m painfully aware that I’m still wearing someone else’s shirt, and my mother’s going to be furious when she smells the alcohol dried onto it, but I go out the front doors anyway, wishing I was anywhere but here.

When I get home, it’s late. I wish I could call Pearl, but I know her phone’s in a cubby at YRJ. So instead, I curl up in a ball and go to sleep.

. . .

By Monday, I had by no means forgotten the weekend, but it wasn’t in the forefront of my mind either. It felt foggy, like none of it really happened. Like the person at that party was someone else, not me.

Maggie finds me almost immediately, and she looks and acts completely put-together except for a nervous fidget--she keeps tucking a piece of her hair behind one ear. “Trinity, we must talk.” She says it with the same knowledgeable authority as usual, but there’s a subtle undercurrent of stress.

I rub my face sleepily–it’s early, not even first period, and I didn’t get enough sleep. I kept waking up from some kind of nightmare, but I can’t remember what it was.

“Please don’t tell anyone about this weekend? Especially Mary Kate, she’ll be furious,” Maggie begs.

“Why would I tell anyone?” I ask, turning my attention to my locker. Which books do I need?

“You’re the absolute best, Trinity. Honestly. So you won’t say anything? Not even to Pearl?” Maggie’s eyes turn to slits.

I resist the urge to rest my head against my locker. The words, “Yeah. Ok,” come out of my mouth.

She wraps an arm around my shoulder and squeezes. “Thank you,” she breathes. “If there’s anything I can do. A favor, or anything, just ask, ok?”

“Ok,” I reply.

.

.

.

(first part: https://theprose.com/post/432343/trinity)

.

(previous part: https://theprose.com/post/459929/trinity-42)

(next part: https://theprose.com/post/460723/trinity-44)