Garrett Nickelsen Tastes Like Fart

Heather loved rap. I have no clue where this obsession came from, though it was safe to say she never fit the mold for your average Scottsdale teenager in the first place (things like her hate for social networking sites and her indifference toward shopping malls were only the tip of the iceberg). She had the only two local hip hop stations preset on her car radio, and when she turned on her car, rap would always immediately blast from the speakers. The drive to the party was no different – I’m still amazed I even survived the entire thirteen-minute drive.

Heather was quick to parallel park between an ostentatious yellow Chevy and a forest green Land Rover, barely missing the bumper of the SUV. Jude bounded from his seat in front of me and slid it forward so I could get out from behind him, stuffing the list behind my phone’s translucent protective sleeve.

“Hurry up, Elise. We’re kinda late as it is, y’know?” Heather said as I struggled to get out of the car without mooning half the neighborhood.

“Chill, Heather. It’s only, like, ten. It’s just getting hyped.” Jude stuffed his hands into his pockets, gazing zealously at the brightly lit two-story house. He teetered on his heels and smiled at me as I finally slithered out, stumbling over my own feet onto the sidewalk.

Jude led us up the walkway, the low thud of Top-40 rattling the windows. He didn’t bother ringing the doorbell, merely opening the heavy front door to a grand foyer filled with enough people to sink a small yacht. Before I could process the obvious fire hazard in front of me, Jude was pulled from Heather’s side into a small crowd of rambunctious boys with similar fashionably messy haircuts and sloshing red cups.

“Welcome to your first real high school experience, Elise.”

I gave Heather a disgusted look over my shoulder, tearing my eyes from the voluptuous, redheaded girl and her plaid-covered friend making out on the stairs in front of us. I was already beginning to wonder why I bothered even making that stupid list in the first place.

She shrugged and gave me a blithe smile before squeezing between two football players in wife beaters and swim trunks into the kitchen. I quickly trailed behind her, apologizing to the same perturbed jocks as I pushed past them.

The kitchen counter was barely visible under all the snacks and beer. Bowls of potato chips and pretzels hovered haphazardly over the perimeter of the jam-packed island, and numerous beer cans and vodka bottles covered most of the kitchen’s granite counter tops. The glass bottles were oddly shaped and came in an array of colors that reminded me of a bag of Skittles. But I tore my attention from the booze at the sound of forced laughter behind me: A few girls surrounded a flushed brunette that looked as if he’d rather be by himself than be showered by all the flirtatious attention he was getting.

“You want anything?”

“No,” I said, looking back at Heather. As I watched her take her time picking a drink, pushing her way around loitering partiers, a girl came stumbling from the patio with a boy following close behind her. Her eyeliner was slightly smeared and her wrinkled outfit didn’t do her much justice either, not leaving much to the imagination. She mumbled something about needing another drink before nudging through two peppy, talkative girls, picking out a frosted glass bottle of Bud, and dragging the boy back outside with her.

“Why exactly did I let you bring me here?” I mumbled into Heather’s ear as she reached over another guy’s arm for a can of orange soda.

“Wrong, Elise. Your list brought you here.”

“Right. Forgot.” I wearily eyed my surroundings once again and folded my arms.

“You sure you don’t want a soda?”

I shook my head as she popped open her can and took a ginger sip. “Follow me, then.”

I stayed close to Heather as she guided me to the living room, or at least what I could see of it. We people watched for a bit as she gave me the rundown on some of the more popular people that had shown up, most of them whom I’d never seen before.

“That girl over there? Don’t talk to her. She’s a cheese head.”

“What’s wrong with being a Packers fan?”

Heather started and looked back at me with a smirk, but just shook her head and continued pointing out people.

“Jerry Spring, man-whore. Practically will sleep with anything that has a vagina. Sarah Chastain, also a whore. I think I heard she did crack once…”

She paused when she saw my disgusted facial expression.

“What?”

“I think I’ve had enough of the run-down for tonight.”

She shrugged and took a sip of her orange soda. “Fine. Suit yourself. But don’t come crying to me when some nasty-ass tool offers to do a line with you.”

Among the innumerable partiers, a tall, freckled blond was sitting on the arm of a lounge chair, attempting to charm a drunk girl over the pop music booming from the bulky, outdated speakers. A few more trashed girls shamelessly danced on a coffee table in the middle of the room, struggling to keep in time with the music’s tempo. Some guys cradling beers stood by on the prowl while small groups of friends were scattered across the perimeter of the room. The atmosphere had a tangible madness to it with all the people bustling around, the music a constant whir in my ears: it was something I had never seen before and it was nothing compared to the movies or TV shows I’d seen. In a word, it was crazy.

While a nasty breakup in the hallway drew away my attention, Heather disappeared into a sea of teenagers at the opposite end of the room. By the time I spotted her, she was already excitedly jabbering with a couple of friends of Jude’s, probably about a band I never heard of or the next big-hit movie coming out soon. Seeing her flushed cheeks and animated smile, even I knew it was futile to yell to get her attention or to even follow her in hopes of participating in the conversation, because my social skills were not quite up to that challenge just yet. But my gaze was interrupted when Jude accidentally bumped into me, a smile on his face and a Peach Peak Boone’s in his hand.

“Hey, Elise.” He cheekily smiled at me and played Moses with the crowd, reaching Heather in a few short seconds.

My jaw dropped at our quick exchange and I reminded myself to give Jude a good slap upside the head the next time I saw him. By the look on his face, he knew I was lost and that I needed Heather back by my side like the party guide she was. I inwardly sighed and reached for my phone, ready to text Heather for help, but when I flipped it open and turned around, it was knocked from my hands, falling to the floor with a dull crack.

“Watch where you’re going,” I seethed, reaching down to grab the back cover, which had landed beside my foot. I instantly regretted my harsh tone when I saw the boy wince.

“Sorry,” he mumbled feebly, retrieving my phone and its battery from the floor. He was quick to straighten back up, but his eyes remained trained on his feet. He ruffled his auburn hair at the nape of his neck and handed me the two other pieces, then scurried off past me into the living room, his cheeks ablaze. I could only sigh as I slipped the battery back into my phone.

Heather being MIA was sort of a breath of fresh air. It was guaranteed that my list would take longer to finish with her wanting to watch my every move like some ravenous hawk or a stalker. I knew I’d amount to no good by myself, 10:30 at night at a party at some random person’s house without her help, but it was better than Heather breathing down my neck. So I decided to take advantage of her temporary absence and did what I did best: I silently and aimlessly wandered around.

I found the bathroom down the hall, hoping to God there wasn’t anyone canoodling behind the door. As luck would have it, a handsy couple forced me to the upstairs bathroom behind a small line of girls. After a good twenty minutes of waiting, I finally got in. I defiantly untucked my shirt and stared at myself in the hanging mirror, wary of the beads of sweat lining my forehead. My face was greasy and I could feel a chill rack my body as the air conditioning blasted from the ceiling. I looked like a complete mess. I quickly splashed some water on my face, bit back my anti-makeup tongue, and rummaged the sink drawers for some cover up, eventually finding some. I ignored the eyeliner sitting next to it, wary of poking my own eye out, and lightly coated my face with the cover up.

I returned to the kitchen, eventually standing post by a bowl of Chex Mix set out by the sink and watching as people came and went from the kitchen, more often than not reaching for the beer. After awkwardly standing around for a good fifteen minutes, I decided it was time for me to peel myself from the wall and grab a drink.

When I squeezed past a hockey player chatting up a girl in a bikini, the same blond, freckled guy from earlier was leaning against the counter next to the fridge. At the sound of yelling and cheering, the crowd in the kitchen simultaneously turned to look out the window to the backyard where a shirtless guy in skinny jeans doing a handstand on the keg was being helped off.

I shook my head and reached for the refrigerator handle, but was stopped by the voice of the freckled boy.

“Hey.” He gave me a lazy nod, taking a sip from his red cup.

“Hey,” I mumbled back. I kept my eyes on the fridge as I pulled it open and scanned the saran-wrapped casserole and the two half-empty gallons of milk.

“I think the dude set a new keg stand record.” He smirked, nodded to the kitchen window, and pushed himself from the counter. He grabbed a handful of chips from the bowl on the island behind me and shoved them down his throat. “You enjoying the party?” he asked a moment later, gazing around the kitchen before looking back at me, a lazy smile on his lips. He had a slight drawl and his strawberry hair was damp and disheveled.

“I guess. I mean, it’s my first one,” I absentmindedly said, spotting a cardboard 12-pack of Diet Coke behind a near-empty carton of eggs. I reached into the fridge and dragged the box out, thankful for the slight weight of the only can as it slid to the bottom.

“Really?”

I nodded and tossed the empty box back into the fridge. “Yup.”

He nodded and gave me another small smile, wiping his lips on the back of his hand. “Somehow, I keep coming back to these things even though they’re always the same.”

“How?”

“Well, there’s—” He stopped mid-sentence and looked over my head behind me, and waved his hand. I turned around and saw another scrawny brunette boy in plaid. “Hey, Halvo.” He gave the plaid guy a nod as he walked up next to me with a Bud in his hand, sweat stains poking out from his armpits.

“How’s it hanging?” Halvo asked.

“Slightly to the left.” The other boy chuckled and took another handful of chips from the bowl.

“And who’s this?” The Halvo kid gave me a smile and sipped his beer.

“I don’t… Um… What’s your name?” He gave me a slightly guilty half-smile and brushed his hand on his jeans.

“Elise,” I muttered, cracking open my Diet Coke.

“Halvo,” the boy next to me repeated, giving me a friendly nod.

“I’m Jared.”

I gave him an awkward, wavering smile and took a sip of my soda. Just my luck two boys would come up and start talking to me when Heather was nowhere to be found.

“Did you see the keg stand?” Jared asked, nodding to the backyard.

“Hell yeah. Shit’s unreal, dude.” He smiled wide and ran a hand over his bangs. “Speaking of which, there’s a beer pong competition in the dining room. Wanna partner up?”

“I, uh…” He momentarily glanced at me before shrugging his shoulders and grabbing his red cup off the island. “Sure.”

“Sweet.” Halvo chuckled and brushed past me and Jared, heading straight for the dining room.

“Nice talking to you, Elise.” He gave me a small wave before somehow simultaneously grinning and grimacing awkwardly, leaving me by the refrigerator, completely relieved.

The cold can of Diet Coke was welcome, as the house felt warmer than the thick air outside. It was already sweaty in my hands as I nudged and apologized my way through throngs of teenagers in the midst of conversation and laughter. I finally found my way right outside of the living room without getting trampled and peered inside, hoping to catch a glimpse of Heather, under the curious eyes of a tall brunette boy with stringy hair leaning against the wall. I couldn’t find her in the crowd, but I was able to spot the next-best thing: the top of Jude’s head towering over most of the room.

With an unusual surge of confidence, I pushed towards Jude, apologizing to each complaint along the way. After what felt like an hour (though it was probably less than a minute), I finally squeezed past a short guy in a tank top and board shorts and stumbled in front of Jude, another bottle of Boone’s in his hand and a lazy smile on his face. His hair was sticking to his forehead, all ruffled and unkempt. He nodded down to me, toasted his glass bottle of cheap beer, and drank the last of its contents. He nodded again, licking his lips, and brushed his bangs from his sweaty forehead.

“What’s up, Elise?”

“Where’d Heather go?” I yelled over the music, sticking my hands into my pockets.

“I think she said that she was going to go to the bathroom…” He paused then shook his head, his pale forehead glistening under the bright lights. “No, no, wait, she went outside after that… I think,” he hazily told his beer. He shrugged and looked back down at me with a small smile. “That was, like, ten minutes ago. She’s probably hanging with some of her friends or somethin’.”

“Okay…” I rubbed the back of my neck, taking a quick look around the room. “Which way did she go?”

“Out to the patio.” He paused and squinted his eyes, scratching the weak stubble on his cheek. “I think.”

A girl in a lime green bikini turned up the stereo, excitedly cheering over the song as she wrapped an arm around the waist of a buff guy in drenched cargo shorts.

“Thanks!” I yelled again.

“What?” Jude cupped his ear and leaned down, his mouth hanging open.

I waved him off, used to his oblivion, and turned back around, ready to map my way through the living room again. My second attempt at squeezing through the crowd was a bit easier, at least until that same auburn haired boy from earlier almost spilled his can of Pepsi onto Heather’s borrowed skirt.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Shit, dude!” He looked down at the floor covered with half his drink in contempt. He shot a sneer at his frizzy-haired friend that had bumped into him, who was now holding up his hands in an innocent gesture. He frowned again at the soda-splattered hardwood floor, a groan from his lips barely audible over the music. He wiped off the few drops that landed on his worn and wrinkled t-shirt—a zombie peering from behind a gravestone marker, very thrift-chic of him—and cussed again under his breath as I turned to leave.

“Hey!”

I turned around, perching a hand on my waist.

The boy widened his eyes and shot his gaze back to the ground, running a hand through his hair. “Look, sorry about that. Ryan, he…” He looked back up, biting his lip. “K-Kid’s a fucking lightweight.” He fleetingly gave me a small smile, rubbing the back of his neck as more droplets bounced from the bottom of the can.

“Sure,” I said, and gave him a small nod. I turned around and tried to force my way past a couple of football players nursing Buds, but no such luck. So instead, I brushed past the boy’s smirking, frizzy-haired friend and opened the storm door leading out to the back porch, my Diet Coke now significantly warmer.

The first thing I noticed was how cool it was. Compared to inside the house, it felt at least ten degrees cooler. It felt like swimming in warm water during summer weather, only a slightly better remedy for the heat, which I subsequently noticed almost everyone was doing. In jeans, in cargo shorts, in swimwear, even in the nude, it didn’t matter: a crowd was surrounding the entire pool. And the last thing I noticed wasn’t something I could exactly pinpoint. The stench, from the stories that Heather had told me, was most likely weed.

I dodged another shirtless guy in wet cutoffs, neither as hairless nor fit as most of the other swimmers, as he yelped while cannonballing into the deep end. I spotted a place to hide until Heather could find me and ducked off to the side, finding solace on a swinging bench behind a fancy wood and glass coffee table lined with a few empty beer cans. As I sat down, my legs finally felt heavy as I realized that I’d been standing for a good hour on end. I eased onto the warm, floral cushions of the bench as a dry breeze blew past, brushing my hair against my cheeks. My face felt warm and my palms felt clammy as I took another timid sip of my soda, slightly paranoid with the thought of someone slipping me a drug while I was pushing through the crowd in the living room.

I stayed there and watched a couple of people walk back in through the storm door. I made sure to savor every sip from my Diet Coke, which was now nearing lukewarm. I had thought that without Heather, this party thing would have been easier, but it was obvious that a few sentences shared with a boy who left you by the booze to play beer pong didn’t count for much. There wasn’t much to do but end the night cowering from socializing in the shadows. I was an expert at cowering from socializing, so I didn’t mind.

The music from the party was momentarily amplified as someone opened the storm door, and I turned my head to see the same acne-ridden auburn-haired boy, a beer can in one hand and his cell in the other. When he spotted me staring – unintentionally, might I add – he slipped his phone into his dark blue cargo swim trunks and gave me a lazy, bashful grin before nervously running a hand through his messy hair and ambling under the shadows towards me.