“You have to come with me,” I said. “I have no idea what to do at a party, especially at Chase Freeman’s house.” Beth was wise about these things. She was further up the social ladder than I was and had been kissed at age fourteen, like a regular person. I needed her help.
She was glad to give it. I told my dad I was sleeping over at her house on Saturday, and he nodded and told me to have fun. As far as I could tell, I was the only girl in my class who wasn’t allowed to go to parties.
But I wasn’t going to pass this one up. It was the first time I lied to my father, and it would be the last, given how the evening turned out.
Beth and I spent three hours getting ready, trying on outfits, swapping shirts, doing our makeup, putting on perfume. Then we got in her car and headed for Chase’s house.
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked. “I mean, he invited me. But it’s a party, not a date, right?”
“Right,” said Beth. “Be cool. Let him come to you. You don’t want to seem too eager, but you want to be friendly at the same time, but not desperate or weird. Don’t make that scrunched-up face you make when you’re nervous.”
“I make a scrunched-up face?” I asked.
She glanced at me. “You’re doing it now.” I looked in the visor mirror and saw that yes, I was, and we both started giggling like the teenage girls we were.
Beth parked in the long line of cars in front of Chase’s house. We had waited an hour after the seven o’clock start time, per her advice. According to the buzz in the hallways of Nauset High, the Freeman parents were at their vacation place in Santa Monica, visiting the famous aunt. Music thumped and roared from the house, and purple-and-red lights flashed inside. There must’ve been a hundred people there.
Cue the ominous music.
“You made it, Lillie!” Chase himself opened the door. “I thought you were blowing me off.” He leaned in and hugged me, and for a second I didn’t know what to do. Then I hugged him back. Oh, God, he felt good. Muscled and warm. He was wearing cologne, and I didn’t even hate it. “Hey, Beth,” he added. “Get yourselves a beer or a drink or whatever. There’s food, too.”
We were abruptly shoved into the cliché of the unsupervised high school party. At first, Beth and I sipped beers. We ate some cookies. We went from room to room, unable to see the furniture because of the throngs of people.
Then someone offered us a joint. Beth nodded and demonstrated. I imitated her, and my God, the burn down my throat made me cough and hack till my eyes teared. Then, suddenly, I was floaty and so happy. Beth looked at me, and we started laughing at nothing. Dancing? Why not! In fact, yes, damn it!
Like all other nonsober people, we thought our moves were amazing. And lo and behold, “Baby Got Back” started playing, and Beth and I dissolved into helpless laughter. Time seemed to stretch, and I had flashes of wondering where I was. Was I home? Was I at my mom’s? Did it matter? We were having so much fun, and everyone was smiling and laughing and having such a great time.
Someone pulled me against him on the makeshift dance floor. Chase! I danced with an uninhibited joy, feeling like a really good stripper, but with clothes on, which made me laugh and laugh. Then someone was leading me upstairs. Oh, it was Chase! Holy sheesh! I was that popular. We went into a big room painted dark blue with a lava lamp on the desk.
“You have a lava lamp?” I asked, crying with laughter. There was a big photo of Chase taking up half a wall, mid-catch or mid-throw at a lacrosse game. More hilarity—he had a photo of himself on the wall, and I collapsed on the bed.
You already know how this went. Chase joined me. He started kissing my neck, put his hand on my breast. Huh. Nice, I thought. I’d never been fondled by a boy before. “You’re my first fondler,” I said, setting off another stream of giggles. Chase waited patiently for my laughter to subside, then turned my face toward his and kissed me. Though it was quite wet and sloppy, it was also kind of tingly and nice and hot. We kissed for hours, or maybe minutes. I couldn’t tell because of this slippery time thing.
Oh! His hand was under my skirt. Should I have worn jeans? Maybe. I should ask Beth if I should change. Where was Beth? Then his fingers slid into my underwear. It felt scary and . . . good. Should I say something? Or just lie here with the room spinning and let him make me feel good? Was I a slut, or was I normal? Was this what people did at our ages?
It was only when he stood, pulled off his shirt and unbuttoned his jeans that I realized we were about to have sex.