Clubhouse

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. For one thing, both the bride and groom are wearing acid-washed denim. They don’t look anything like the plastic couple on top of the cake, which is just a sheet cake from Publix, by the way. Sandy isn’t even wearing a veil. Everybody here is super-casual, like they just came from work, or it’s their day off. That guy over there is wearing cutoffs. I’ve never been to a wedding before, but this is totally not what I was expecting.

I huff a breath upward, fanning my bangs away from my sticky forehead. Lisa shoots me a cut it out look. “What?” I hiss. We both stifle giggles. Someone is fumbling a cassette tape into a boombox. Are they really going to play “Here Comes the Bride” on that thing?

When Sandy invited everyone who rides her bus to her wedding, I thought it would be romantic, seeing two people get married in real life. Like on Days of Our Lives, which I tape every day to watch after school. Two beautiful people with perfect, blow-dried hair, gazing into each other’s eyes as they promise to love each other forever. I was thrilled to be invited and convinced Lisa to come with me even though she said it was weird to come to our bus driver’s wedding. The whole thing is weird, honestly. Disappointing. Sandy and Steve are old, like at least thirty or forty. And Sandy’s skirt is way too short. I feel vaguely embarrassed for her, wondering if this is what she imagined when she dreamed about her wedding. Exchanging vows under fluorescent lights in an apartment complex clubhouse.

The Coke machine kicks on in the middle of the ceremony, and I can barely hear anything after that, but when they kiss (way too much tongue, gross) and everyone cheers, I’m surprised to find tears in my eyes. I blink quickly so Lisa won’t notice. She has a boyfriend, and I don’t, and I don’t want her thinking that I’m crying because I’m sad about that. There’s a lot she doesn’t understand about me, even though we’re best friends.

 I hadn’t really thought about what we’d do afterwards, at the reception. We’re standing near the refreshments table at the back of the room because we don’t know anyone except Sandy. No one else from the bus came. Are we supposed to mingle, like with the grownups? I want a piece of cake, at least. Maybe a corner piece, with a hot-pink frosting rose on it. My mom would tell me I don’t need the calories, but she’s not here, is she?

 Lisa elbows me, and I look over to see the cutoff shorts guy pouring a bottle of vodka into the punch bowl. He winks at us, and Lisa and I exchange glances. Sandy’s the only one here who knows we’re in tenth grade, and she’ll have to stop and hug a lot of people before she gets over to where we are.

I nudge Lisa. Her boobs are bigger than mine. “You go first.”

She turns to face me, so her back is to Cutoff Shorts. “How’s my lip gloss?” She presses her lips together and makes a kissy face like she’s in a Maybelline commercial.

 “You look fine.” It’s annoying how perfect Lisa always looks, especially since she got her braces off. At least my hair is blonde, not brown like hers. She tucks her blouse into her skirt more, so that it’s tighter against her chest. “Hurry up,” I add, pushing her a little bit. “Before anyone sees.”

Lisa fluffs her hair and heads over to the punch bowl. I can’t hear what she says to the guy, but they both laugh, and then she “accidentally” drops her purse so she can bend over and give him a good view of her butt. I’m impressed. She makes it look easy, smiling over her shoulder at him as she heads back over to me with two plastic cups of spiked punch. He rubs his hand across his chin and watches her go.

It’s obviously better to drink the punch outside, away from whoever might narc on us. We’re hit with a wall of humidity as we step out into the twilight. Florida fucking sucks. I can’t wait to get out of here. My dream is to go away to college in New England, to wear knee socks and hold hands with a handsome boy as we kick through fallen leaves on the quad. Like we’re in a Seventeen magazine spread, modeling fall fashions that you could never wear here. I’m probably going to need better grades than I’m currently getting, though. If I have to stay here and go to Valencia Community College, I will absolutely die. It’s probably where Sandy went, if she went to college at all.

“Earth to Alice, hellooo,” Lisa is saying. I snap out of it. She’s holding up her empty cup. “Your turn.”

“Holy shit! How did you drink that so fast?”

“Hey, we don’t have much time, you know. My dad’s gonna be here to pick me up soon. Gotta make the most of it.”

I gulp down my punch as fast as I can, trying not to cough from the kerosene burn in my throat. I didn’t realize the new goal for tonight was to get wasted. We have school tomorrow. We have homework. But other than occasionally sneaking one of my mom’s wine coolers when she’s out on a date, we don’t get a lot of chances for this. I hold out my hand for her cup, stacking it inside mine.

“Do I look okay?” Okay meaning old enough and/or hot enough.

Lisa hesitates for a micro-second too long. “Just tell him you’re my friend if he gives you any static.”

Back inside the clubhouse, the chairs have been folded up and people are dancing, Bon Jovi on the boombox. Sandy and Steve are at the center of the makeshift dance floor, slow dancing to “Never Say Goodbye.” Steve has his hands on Sandy’s butt, and her denim skirt is riding up to reveal a white satin garter around her thigh. Her lipstick, heavier than she usually wears during the day, is smudged on his collar. The sweet-tart taste of the punch rises in the back of my throat a little.

This wedding and its low-budget reception feel so distant from the world of the bus. The hot vinyl smell of the seats. The cloud of Aquanet over the punk girls doing their hair in the back. Lisa across the aisle from me, her knees, like mine, pressing against the seatback in front of her as we talk about boys. And Sandy, always cheerful, playing the radio up front.

I loiter around the periphery of the room until there’s a lull at the refreshments table. Cutoff Shorts is still manning the punch bowl, and I notice there’s now a second empty vodka bottle under the table.

 “Hey, can I get some more punch?” I hold out the empty cups.

When he looks at me, I don’t see anything of the expression he’d had when Lisa approached him, that of a dog unexpectedly presented with a steak.

 “My friend came up earlier—her name’s Lisa?”

His eyes flick down to my boobs. I resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest. Lisa will be pissed if I come back with Diet Cokes instead of the punch.

“Lisa, huh? And what’s your name?”

“Alice.” I hate my name. Why couldn’t I have been called something normal, like Michelle?

“Hey, Alice in Wonderland!” He thinks he’s the first person to ever make this joke. Everyone does.

Hoping to get him off the topic, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “I live here, actually. At Palmetto Pointe.”

“Oh, yeah? You girls crashing the party or something?” He winks, the way he had when he first caught us looking at him spiking the punch.

“No, Sandy’s our bus driver.” Shit. Why did I say that?

His eyes narrow, but I can’t tell if he’s seriously annoyed or just goofing around. “You girls are eighteen, right? I don’t care if you’re not twenty-one, but I don’t wanna get caught serving minors.” Shit shit shit. Lisa’s going to kill me.

“Well, uh, actually, we’re sixteen.” Even this isn’t true—Lisa will be sixteen in a few months, but I just turned fifteen. “That isn’t going to be a problem, is it?” I smile and put one hand on my hip in what I hope is a flirtatious way, like my mom does when she’s trying to get some guy to do something. I can’t tell how old he is. Somewhere between high school student and high school teacher? Old enough that I shouldn’t be flirting with him, but Lisa did it. The music on the boombox changes to a fast song, and I can feel the energy on the dance floor behind me ramping up.

“Sweet sixteen, huh?” He looks at me appraisingly. Something seems to shift behind his eyes. “Close enough, I guess. Just be cool, okay?” He takes the empty cups from me and refills them. Thank god.

“I’m Ron, by the way. Steve’s my cousin. I just moved here, too—you know, he’s moving over to Sandy’s, so I took over his lease.” I didn’t know. I didn’t even know Steve lived here. That explains why the wedding is here. As I turn to leave, he adds, “Hey, ain’t’cha gonna tip your bartender?”

I hesitate. “Uh, sorry, I left my purse outside with Lisa.” I can’t tell if he’s joking. Is that what you’re supposed to do at an event like this? It’s not like he’s a real bartender. He’s wearing shorts. “But I can go get it and—”

He cuts me off with a sly smile. “How ’bout a kiss, and we’ll call it good?”

At first, I think he means on the cheek, like he’s my uncle or something. Then I get it. Only Lisa knows that I’ve never kissed anyone before. She’s always telling me I should just get it over with, that it doesn’t have to be this big special moment that I’ve built it up to be. Okay then.

I take a gulp of punch, and Ron laughs. “Relax, I don’t bite.” He leans forward across the punch bowl. I glance behind me, but Sandy is nowhere to be seen among the throng of bus drivers, pool guys, exterminators, and secretaries on the dance floor. I could disappear into that heaving mass of bodies, too, become one of them, invisible. But I turn back toward Ron, closing my eyes until I feel his mustache against my face. Before I have time to think about how weird that is, his lips touch mine, and he puts his hand on my shoulder, lightly pulling me closer to him until I’m on my tiptoes. I’m doing it, I’m kissing someone.

“Al! What the fuck?”

I jerk back. Lisa has materialized next to us. Absurdly, my first thought is checking to see if Sandy overheard the swear. She doesn’t tolerate any bad language on the bus. But Sandy is otherwise occupied, her foot up on a folding chair, Steve removing the white satin garter from her thigh with his teeth as their friends whistle and hoot. Someone croons in a falsetto, “Like a virgin…” Ew. I look away, quickly. I wonder if she even remembers we’re here.

Lisa’s perm is frizzy from the humidity outside, and the expression on her face is complicated. Judgment mixed with anger mixed with—fear? Ron chuckles, holding his hands up in an easy, now gesture.

“Now, girls, no need to fight. There’s plenty here for both of you.” He runs a hand through his mullet before adding with a smile, “You know, the afterparty’s at my place. Apartment C-3, over by the pool.”

“Gross, dude.” Lisa grabs my arm and yanks me toward the door. “We have to go.” And, hissing at me under her breath, “What the fuck are you doing, kissing that guy? He’s, like, a pedophile.”

I snarl back, “You’re just jealous because he didn’t want to kiss you.”

She lets go of my arm so quickly I almost lose my balance. “I don’t want to kiss that perv! What’s gotten into you?”

I can still smell the tobacco on his mustache and feel the dry hardness of his lips. A man’s lips, not the pillowy, girlish lips of the wannabe skater boys at school, who until now I’d been content to daydream about. I feel different, powerful.

“What’s gotten into you?” I growl. “You’re the one who was putting on a show for him.” Lisa scoffs, but I know she knows I’m right. Beyond the windows of the clubhouse, the square headlights of her dad’s Volvo pull up outside. Lisa doesn’t live in an apartment complex. She has two parents and a fucking golden retriever. Sometimes I think we’re only friends because we ride the same bus. Soon enough, she’ll be driving that Volvo to school, and I’ll still be on the bus. Then we’ll see how close we still are.

“I gotta go. See you tomorrow.” She flounces off through the glass doors, and I watch as she gets into the car and they drive away, back to their own world. Fuck off, I think.

Somebody puts AC/DC on the boombox. The wedding guests roar the chorus. “And you! Shook me ALL! NIGHT! LONG!” A hand holding Sandy’s garter appears above the bobbing heads on the dance floor. I should go, too. I have so much homework to do. It’s hard to imagine there will ever be a time when I won’t have homework, when I can just party with my friends on a weeknight if I want to.

I turn back to the refreshments table to say goodbye, but Ron is now across the room, laughing with some other dude. I think he’s looking at me, but I’m not sure. I recklessly cut myself an enormous piece of cake with a swooping pink “S” on it, all that remains of either the bride or groom’s name. There aren’t any roses left.

Outside in the heavy darkness, I rummage around in my purse for my keys, trying not to drop the paper plate of cake. I’m aware that I’m taking longer than I need to. As if I’ve developed a new sense, I know what will happen if I stand here long enough. Over the muffled cacophony from inside, I can hear peeper frogs in the retention ditch behind the clubhouse. Heat lightning flickers across the sky. The door behind me opens and closes, and I hear the click of a lighter, the flare of cigarette paper catching fire. The rasp of his palm across stubble before he says, “Well, Miss Alice, maybe I’ll see you around the pool soon.”

I turn to look at him, considering. I’m not stupid, I know what he’s after. And in the darkness he seems different: younger, the angles of his face softened. I have the sensation that something inside me is at work, rearranging. Rationalizing.

“Yeah, maybe you will,” I say.