We Are the Ants(13)

“You ready for the chem exam?” Audrey asked. I’d never driven with her, and it was a strange experience. She drove with both hands on the wheel, checked her mirrors religiously, and always used her turn signals. She even kept the music so low I could barely hear it.

“No.”

“I’d heard Faraci was supposed to be an easy A.”

“Joke’s on you. Maybe she’ll zone out and accidentally mix sodium phosphide with water and kill us all with phosphine gas.”

Audrey giggled, but it sounded forced and more like a hiccup. “I’ve missed you, Henry.”

I didn’t know how to respond. Audrey was doing me a favor driving me to Marcus’s party, but I’d only called her out of desperation. Sometimes I wondered if I was being too hard on her. We’d both lost Jesse, and most of the time I thought we were both to blame for his suicide. But it was easier to stay mad at her, and it wasn’t like she didn’t deserve it. I pulled a ten-dollar bill from my pocket and stuffed it in the cup holder. “For gas.”

We drove the rest of the way in silence.

? ? ?

Marcus lives in a mansion. Not one of those faux McMansions that everyone seems to live in these days, but an actual mansion with two garages, twelve bedrooms, a formal dining room, and a kitchen the size of a tennis court, which is ludicrous to me since, as far as I know, Mr. and Mrs. McCoy never cook.

Audrey drove past the security gate and parked on the side of the winding driveway. Sloppy rows of expensive cars sparkled under the decorative lights strung from the palm trees that kept vigil over the yard.

I was a fraud; I didn’t belong. No one had invited me, and no one would miss me if I fled.

“If you’re having second thoughts, we can grab a bite at Sweeney’s instead.” Audrey was in my head, and I wanted her out. “I haven’t eaten there in ages.”

“Me neither.” In fact, I hadn’t been to Sweeney’s since the last time Audrey, Jesse, and I had gone together. We’d shared a tower of onion rings and celebrated Jesse being cast as Seymour in the CHS production of Little Shop of Horrors. Jesse sang all the time. He was singing the night I realized I loved him. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn he’d been singing when he died.

“Henry?”

I shook Jesse from my thoughts. “If you knew the world was going to end, and you alone had the power to prevent it, would you?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean?”

A shiny black pickup truck parked beside Audrey’s car, and four girls from our class spilled out, chatting and smiling, probably sharing the delusion that they were going to have the best night of their lives. “Give me one reason why you think humanity deserves to live.”

I recognized the look she was giving me. The poor--pathetic--Henry look that made me want to gouge out her eyes with a plastic knife. “If this is about Jesse—”

“Forget it.”

“What?”

“Do you honestly believe any of this is important? That in a hundred years, one of your great-great-great-whatevers is going to write about how you went to a party, got hammered, and tried to avoid being groped by every boy with hands? None of this matters, Audrey. We’re all f*cked.” I opened the car door but didn’t get out.

Audrey’s bottom lip trembled, and tears welled in her eyes. It was a dirty trick, and she knew it. “I miss Jesse too, but you deserve better than Marcus McCoy. Please tell me you get that.”

“If I really deserve better, then maybe Jesse shouldn’t have killed himself.”

I was out and walking toward the house before Audrey could kill the engine and follow. Calling her was a mistake, and I vowed to walk home before asking her for another ride.

? ? ?

The two-story tall front doors of Marcus’s house were wide open and welcoming. Couples and crowds flowed in and out—their cheeks flushed, pleasantly drunk—stumbling and stoned or just laughing at some joke I’d never hear. I was worried as I entered that they’d see me and cringe, wonder who let Space Boy in, but no one noticed me. I snagged a beer from the kitchen and wandered through the house. I knew the rooms; the rooms knew me. Marcus and I had made out on that leather couch, I’d gone down on him under that baby grand piano, he’d chased me through the library and caught me on the stairs. We’d f*cked on that counter and that floor and in that bathtub. After all we’ve done, I’m still his dirty secret.

Marcus f*cks Henry. In the grammar of our relationship, I am the object.

I chugged my beer and grabbed another.

“Henry Denton?”

Diego Vega was standing with his back against a wall, holding a bottled water. He said something to the girl standing near him and met me at the keg. He was wearing faded jeans and a thin orange hoodie that made him stick out like that one dead bulb in a string of lit Christmas lights. When he reached me, he gave me a stiff one-armed bro-hug.

“Only in school a week and already at the coolest party in Calypso. I’m impressed.”

Diego buzzed with energy, like the physical confines of his body couldn’t contain him. “I’ve never been in a house this big.”

I sipped my beer and tried to think of something witty to say. I hadn’t expected to see Diego, but I was glad he was there. “They’ve got two pools.”