When I get to Dean’s house, he has a box waiting for me full of plastic handles, some tequila and something with a dragon on the label that looks like it might kill a grown man. He’s sitting on the couch with Cody and they’re playing Mario Kart again. It’s like the world might end if they ever stop.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” I ask him, trying to lift the box. It’s way heavier than I imagined.
“Nah, you go ahead,” he says. “You should come by after though.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to get a ride.” If all the contents of this box get consumed, there’s no way anybody will be driving before tomorrow. And I don’t want to walk across campus in the middle of the night.
“It’s just the last supper concept is kinda weird,” he says. “I feel kinda out of place going to your end-of-high-school stuff. You know, you could always skip it and we could drink this booze here.” He’s smiling in a way that makes me think he’s joking and it’s not a real offer. What’s strange though is that I don’t think I’d take him up on it if it were. For some reason, even though I’ve spent all of high school complaining about parties, I’m actually looking forward to this one. I think it’s because it might be our last.
“It’s not going to be anything weird,” I say.
“I’ll just see you tomorrow, okay?” he says. “For prom. That’s gonna be the real party.”
“Dean is so excited for prom he’s practically peeing his pants,” Cody says, and I can’t tell whether he’s being sarcastic. I get the sense that what he’s saying is a little bit mean, but I can’t be sure.
“Okay.”
“It’s two fifty for the booze,” Dean says. I nod and dig through my wallet, handing him the money Danielle gave me. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?” he says. “You’re not mad, right? You’re still excited about prom?”
I pick up the box, straining as I head for the door. “Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m still excited for prom.”
TWENTY-SIX
THE PARTY IS already in full swing by the time I get there. The house is alive, vibrating with noise and energy, and it looks like everyone is here—all of the senior class and most of the juniors. The Olivers have the kind of house that’s full of negative space—rooms that cost a fortune to decorate but no one ever actually uses. The staircase to the second floor wraps up from the foyer like a showpiece, the kind of stairs you’d expect a line of chorus girls to dance down in an old vaudeville show. Right now, it’s crammed full of people.
There’s a big poster board taped to the back wall with THE LAST SUPPER written across it in red paint. This is risky, because the paint doesn’t seem totally dry, and every piece of furniture in this house probably costs more than a car. At the bottom of the poster in Sharpie, someone else has scrawled WHAT’S SUP? And another person: EAT MY DICK!
Below that is a folding table piled with food—trays of cookies and breads Danielle made, plus some suspicious-looking brownies she clearly didn’t. There are electric tea candles everywhere, casting the party in a soft glow.
I carry the box of alcohol into the kitchen, my arms straining, trying to edge my way past groups of people who don’t seem to see me or care to get out of the way. I scan the room and see Hannah dancing with a group of girls from her field hockey team. Before I can try to make my way over to them, Chase comes up to me, nodding his head toward the cardboard box full of bottles.