Nobodies

Christian was right; when I show up to lunch with him, while Frank is friendly towards the stranger, Jamia shows nothing but utter contempt for him. He leaves, saying,
“Bye guys.”
“Later,” Frank calls.
“Yeah, see you,” I dismiss.
Jamia waves, but as soon as he’s out of earshot, she hisses,
“Gerard? Why’d you bring him? I hate that kid.”
“Why do you hate him?” I ask.
“He’s a giant dick who hangs out with dicks and acts like a dick with said dicks!” Jamia answers.
“He’s nice to me!” I insist, omitting the fact that he and his friends had bullied me.
“He’s two faced!” Jamia retorts. “Trust me, I have every reason to hate him.”
“Christian seems like a good guy,” Frank cuts in.
“You’re not the one who lives with him,” Jamia growls.
Frank rolls his eyes, and I let out an angry huff. Why won’t Jamia just give Christian a break? The bell rings, and we part, Frank and I glaring at Jamia, who glares back because she believes she’s right.
Over the next few weeks, I wait. I just anticipate Christian stabbing me in the back. Metaphorically, of course. Or perhaps not. I even get into late night texting conversations with him, where I reveal my former depression and how I don’t have a permit even though I’m a sophomore and all of that jazz. I load him full of social ammo and just wait for him to pull the trigger.
But the thing is, he never does. Three weeks later, he knows I’m gay, he knows about my depression, he knows about Frank bullying me, and he knows about Frank taking me to the psych ward and everything. He knows about us breaking up, what I had said, what Frank had said, how he’d started crying and I’d been a dick about it. He knows practically everything about my relationship with Frank, way more than I ever should have told him. And he doesn’t do anything with the information I give him. It enrages me to a point; if he’s not a jerk, then what, exactly, does Jamia have against him? I consider asking her, but she’s such a bitch to him whenever I invite him to our lunch table, I should probably keep the subject off of Christian when talking to her.
Christian invites me to a party at his house Friday. “You can bring Frank if you want. It starts at 9:00 tonight.”
“9:00? That’s awfully late, isn’t it?” I ask.
Christian giggles, replying, “Of course it isn’t. You’re in high school now.” He waves goodbye, reminding, “Remember, bring Frank.”
As I walk to my next class, I can’t help but wonder why Christian was so infatuated with me taking Frank with me. I figure maybe he’s just closer to Frank than me, which gives me a tightening feeling in my chest because I told him everything. My chest gets even tighter when I realize I’m going to my first high school party, but with anxiety rather than envy.
I tell Frank at lunch, who is pretty excited. “Oh, I haven’t been to a party in forever!”
“You’ve been to a party?” I question, gaping.
“Yeah, of course. You haven’t?” Frank replies.
I shake my head. “Can’t say I have.” I turn to Jamia. “J-Bell, are you going?”
Jamia shakes her head. “Nah.”
“Why not?” Frank whines, shaking her arm as if this would convince her to go to Christian’s party.
“Christian’s running it. I hate Christian. He’s a douchebag,” Jamia scowls. She twirls a strand of hair in between her thumb and forefinger, continuing, “I wouldn’t have fun.”
“You…. It’s at your house, isn’t it?” I ask.
Jamia shakes her head. “No, his dad’s house. It’s 285 210th Street. Big brick house. Outside of town, take Rainbow Bridge out of town and just go straight til you see it.”
I remember this information as Frank and I drive up that night. When we get there, the party had already started; we could hear the muffled music on our walk from the car. There are people parked on the lawn, some in the back of their trucks drinking or smoking. I notice a National Honors Society member doing a line of cocaine off of a notebook. I shudder as we pass, opening the door into the brand new world of a high school party.
Drugs and drinks are everywhere. There’s a girl doing a kegstand I the living room when I first walk in, and the crowd is so large Frank and I are hugging the walls as we walk through. We find another keg, and Frank pours me a beer, handing it to me. I gratefully take it, giving the alcohol a wary inspecting sniff. Frank downs a gulp, licking the foam off of his lips.
“Is it any good?” I ask.
Frank shakes his head. “No, it’s terrible. But it gets you drunk.”
I pour my drink into a plant when Frank’s not looking. I want to actually remember tonight. If I get drunk, there’s a large possibility that I would land myself smack dab into the middle of some trouble.
I stand around next to Frank, watching other kids down these drinks. Eventually, I get thirsty, so I walk into the kitchen when Christian sees me. He greets me, sits me down, and pours me some orange juice. My back is turned as he pours it, but he talks to me as he makes it.
“What’s taking so long? It’s just orange juice,” I mumble.
“Sorry,” Christian apologizes, handing me the glass. Frank comes over and joins us, and I like the orange juice so much that I knock back six, even though the taste is kind of funky.
When I stand to go to the bathroom, I stumble, almost falling.
Everything is in slow motion as Frank asks, “Gee? You okay?”
I nod, replying, “Yeah. I’m okay.” I grip the walls to support myself as I make it to the bathroom. By the time I’m done peeing, the floor is spinning. I close my eyes, but the world continues to whirl. My final memory is staring at my blurred reflection in the mirror before I black out.

Notes

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