Questions ping-ponged back and forth in my head during the whole trip home. I was relieved when we pulled up to my apartment.
I thanked the two for the ride and asked, “Do you guys need more money for the trip?”
“No, we’re good. Text us anytime you need a ride,” the guy responded. I nodded and slid out the door. It was time to do some research.
Noah
When I was in high school, we managed to have keggers courtesy of an assistant wresting coach who was old enough to buy beer and young and stupid enough to be willing to supply it to underage kids. While there was a social hierarchy observed at the parties, it usually started with male student athlete rather than rich kid.
I never played sports in high school, even though I had the build. I didn’t have money, either. But I did a good job of looking dangerous, which was enough reason for many of the girls to walk over to me while I stood, holding up a wall at these parties. Friendship with Bo, who was rich and did play football, didn’t hurt.
As I leaned against one of the posts holding up the roof over our deck, I couldn’t help but be reminded of those days. Present but not quite belonging. Even though I lived here and had more right than anyone—besides my roommates—to be standing where I was, I still fit poorly. I was always just waiting for someone to kick me out.
I took a long draw from my Coors. Glass bottle. Hierarchy at parties like these was established by the quality of liquor in one’s hand. Glass bottle meant you were either trustworthy enough the hosts weren’t worried you’d break something or in good enough that they wouldn’t care if they had to clean up after you. Essentially, glass bottles were for very close guy friends and any girl you wanted to nail. Plastic cups and keg beer for the rest, or the“ pogs,” as Bo called everyone. It was an insult leveled toward anyone not infantry Marine, but it worked just as well in the civilian world.
“Nice buffet.” Bo came up to stand next to me, waving at the college girls we had rounded up from Central. It looked like the beach at Silver Strand, where the West Coast Seals trained. That expanse of beach was strewn with women and their tight bodies, with very little covering them.
The night air was heavy with humidity, and the pool gave everyone an excuse to strip down regardless of whether they had bathing suits. A couple more hours and there would be plenty of nudity, as even the thin scraps of underwear would become too uncomfortable for some.
When I first moved into this house, I thought that the distance from Central would prevent any real partying with the students, and, given that I was a couple years older than most of the seniors, that was okay. That thought ended with our first rager, held at the start of summer classes. The debauchery of that night must have spread like a fire through the California forests in summer because we’ve had to turn people away ever since.
The number of people just showing up was unmanageable. While we weren’t gunning to be neighbors of the year, we didn’t want to be monumental assholes, either. So we instituted rules. No more than six people per car. Every vehicle had to have a designated driver. Everyone had to be of age. By the end of the summer, though, we still hadn’t managed to curtail the migration westward. The last party we held we required people to have armbands that Bo and I handed out on campus.
It made the parties more exclusive to students at Central, which put us in the position of divining the haves and have-nots. It made me uncomfortable.
So yeah, the buffet of girls was quite impressive. While they were all very nice to look at, not one of them was the girl I was thinking about. Which Bo knew.
“Going to try one out tonight?” Bo pressed.
“No.”
“You really think you’re doing the right thing?”
“In what way?”
Bo gestured again to the pool lined with college girls mixing with guys from the gym where Bo and I worked out and some of the guys that worked on Finn’s construction crew. It was a weird mix, but it always seemed to work, even if those Central girls would never date any of the guys here. Central girls, like the girls back home,