Page 3 of Life of the Party

“Well, my dear, that’s what I have you for.” I batted my eyes at him charmingly.

Riley smirked and pulled into the student parking lot. I groaned automatically, eyeing the ominous red brick school building with much disdain.

“Two more months, right?”

“Two more months, yep.” He nodded. “Then we’re done forever.”

“I can’t wait.”

“I know.” He turned off the ignition. “Two months until sweet, sweet freedom.”

Sweet, sweet freedom. I thought of this mid-English class, smiling in anticipation. Mr. Lemmon was droning on and on about similes or something, and I half-listened with my head curled into my arms, doodling randomly on the looseleaf in my binder.

I could always sense the disappointment emanating from my teachers whenever they looked at me. I think for a moment they remembered the freshman I’d been, chubby and fresh-faced, dressed in the pretty clothes her mother bought, eager and willing, hand raised needle-straight in the air whenever a question was posed.

Just another Marcy in the making.

Now, their heads shake sadly at what might have been and their eyes roam past me, on towards someone who might live up to their potential.

Not that I’m bothered by it. It took years to convince them I wasn’t anything special, years before we’d reached an understanding. They leave me alone, and I try not to fail their exams. No more honour roll hopes here, only the bare minimum of effort.

I’m not sure what happened to me. There’s no defining moment in my life that separates the good girl I used to be from what I’ve become. It was like a gradual transformation, and one day I realized I just didn’t care anymore. I started living to please myself instead of everyone else, and found there was more to life than school and studying and going to college to get a good job and make the most money possible. There was fun, friends…life outside of how we were told to live.

Basically, I just started rebelling. And I’ve loved every minute of it.

“Quit hogging that, jerk.” I slapped Riley playfully on the arm and stole the joint from his outstretched fingers. “Puff, puff, pass…ring a bell?”

Riley laughed and coughed as the smoke poured from his mouth.

“I’ll ring your bell.” He promised. I giggled at his empty threat, feeling a heaviness settle into my eyes, a giddiness creep into my belly. I leaned back against the windshield of his car, inhaling deeply and staring into the cerulean blue summer sky.

School was out for the weekend, and to celebrate as we always did, Riley and I drove to the outskirts of town, parking in an old abandoned farmyard littered with crumbling barn-wood buildings, tucked well out of the way down a lone dirt road.

We lay on the hood of his car, basking in the warm sun, listening to Dr. Dre through his new car stereo and getting as high as we could.

“So,” I exhaled the thick smoke, wincing to keep from coughing. “What’s up for tonight? What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.” Riley took the joint from my fingers as I got to work rolling another. “Ben’s parents are gone for the weekend. We could head over there, get high and watchHalf Bakedagain?”

“Please, I could recite that movie by heart.” I giggled. “What else could we do?”

“Not much to do, here.”

“Yeah.” I agreed. Our town was the largest in the district but still painfully rural. There were no theatres, no malls. Nothing for us minors to do but cruise.

“I wish we were eighteen,” I complained. There was an abundance of clubs, pubs and bars in our little city, but none of them could be enjoyed by either of us for months, a time we were eagerly anticipating.

“I know. It’s not long for me, but you’ve got all summer.” Riley puffed thoughtfully. “You know…there’s this guy I work with; he’s playing tonight at the Aurora. He’s friends with the bouncers there; I bet if I called him, we could get in.”

“What do you mean playing? Like the jazz flute or what?”

Riley laughed. “No. His band is playing. Rock music. It’d be something different.”

“Really? I’ve never been to a club before.” I giggled excitedly. “Can we go? Want to?”

Riley smiled and whipped open his phone. He slid off the hood and dialled, first calling to secure our entry to the club and then phoning our friends to invite them along, pacing through the tall grass along the length of the car as he talked, saying “dude” every other word. I rolled my eyes at him and laughed.

“Do you want something for tonight?” Riley paused to ask, covering his phone with his hand. This was where Riley’s wrong-side-of-the-trackiness came in handy. He had connections. He could get us any drug at any time, whatever we wanted.

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