This is not a love story.

“These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume.” Sydney rocks back in her chair as she collapses into a fit of giggles. “God, Romeo and Juliet is so melodramatic. Cue Lorde music!”

“L-O-V-E-L-E-S-S…” I trail off.

“Generation!” we all yelp together.

“I don’t think it’s melodramatic,” Maizie adds. “I mean, it’s a love story... the love story. What do you expect?”

“Gay sex.” Katherine deadpans. “Where are my gays at in this play? I needz to get my lesbian on.” We stare at her. “Okay, at least some bi-curiosity. Maybe?...”

“Hey girls, I know that you’re all imagining what Romeo looks like at a masquerade right now, but I need you to focus,” Mr. Panims says.

We all look down at our textbooks quickly, heads bent at 90 degree angles. Suddenly, the text is so very interesting to me.

“Sexist f,” Katherine mutters, garnering chuckles from us. “We just have to be really really quiet now. Plans for tonight?”

Maizie perks up, ever the partier and social butterfly. “No freshmen are throwing any parties but I know some sophomores who are.”

“Hot sophomores?” Sydney asks.

“You know our grade, they’re all luke-warm, but that’s beside the point. Elijah Hughes is hosting the party.” We all look at her dumbfounded. At Cleveland High, a name is just a name until you know someone who knows someone, and most of the time that someone is Maizie Arnolds.

“You guys seriously don’t know who Elijah is?” Again, blank stares. “He’s one of the most popular juniors at this school. Are you f’ing kidding me?”

“But what do sophomores have to do with this? I ask.

“Oh, please. Elijah just using the sophomores because he knows that they’ll buy the booze if they think it’s their party, when really it’s his.”

“And how did hear about this?”

“Through the grapevine. Well, actually through Jesse, but whatever.”

Jesse Van Peursem and Maizie have been dating since the sixth grade, both of them completely in love with each other. Two years ago, Jesse came out as bisexual, not knowing that Maizie was too. She feels like she can’t tell him now. I’m not sure why.

We quickly solidified our plans for the night. Sydney, being the only one out of us to have her license since she was already 16, would drive us to the party. I, being the responsible one, would be the designated driver (even though I only have my permit). Sydney’s target at the party would be Beethoven Evans, a truly beautiful name if you ask me. Their parents both go to the same church and she’s had an eye on him since September. I’m just going because they’re going.

“Do we need to go over it again? This is the first party of the year and we need to have our game faces on, especially since everyone who’s anyone is going to be there.”

“Maiz,” I say, grabbing her hand, “we got this. There’s nothing to worry about.” I side-eye her. “Except the Jesse thing.”

“Oh yeah, doesn’t he get like super drunk at these things or something?” Katherine asks. I glare at her.

“He’ll be fine. Besides, it’s football season and he can’t afford any hiccups.”

“This is Cleveland High we’re talking about. Hiccups are like yawns to the administration at this school.”

“Whatever. I’ll pick you guys up at 8:00. You’re all riding the bus home with Rosie right?”

“Yep. See you then,” Sydney says with a smile.

The bell rings on cue. You can hear the various doors swoosh open in the hallway and the shuffling of feet exiting them. Mr. Panims gives us all one of his own inspirational quotes as we walk out, oblivious to the fact that none of us care.

Sydney and I walk silently side-by-side down the hallway before I have to turn to go down the stairs. She tugs on my arm, stopping me.

“Rose, are you okay? You’ve just seemed a little off since school started.” Her big, empathetic eyes overtake her face.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s all good in the ‘hood,” I say in my mocking voice. All of my friends hate it when I say that.

“Okay, just checkin’ in. Have fun in band,” she says, walking to her next class.

I turn and start walking down the narrow main stairs. Why would she think something was wrong? I got over everything back in August. It’s not like I’m f’ing depressed or anything anymore. Heh, yeah Rosie. Anymore. Who the fu--

A big body rams into me before I can go down the last flight.

“Dude, f’ng watch where you’re going,” I say, side-stepping whoever it was to rush down the stairs to get to the landing which would lead to the music wing.

Ah, the music wing. One of the newest editions to our school, which is almost always overtaken by show choir kids. F me.

All of the band and orchestra kids get their own locker for their various instruments at the beginning of the year. Mine, being a flute and piccolo player, is quite small, but I can fit a workout bag and six books inside it. Most of us use our band lockers more than we use our actual lockers, and I don’t even know where my real one is.

34-12-34, I mutter to myself as I swing the door open after unlocking the padlock, as if anyone would want a germ, rust-filled flute and a piccolo in semi-good condition. Not to mention the security cameras everywhere since the alleged “shanking” ten years ago. Cleveland really gives you no choice but to love it.

“Hey Rosie.”

“Hey Theo,” I say, mirroring him by closing my locker too. We both head towards the band room.

“So Mr. E still hasn’t chosen our concert music… and it’s the third week in September. That’s gotta be criminal, right?” He asks, humor written all over his face.

“Yeah, totally. I think he’s just trying to get a feel for how good we are and what we can handle and how much we can handle and how to balance it with Symphonics… “ I ramble.

Theo laughs at my awkwardness, holding the door open for me as he goes through. We both stop at the file cabinet to get our band folders. He shoves his trumpet case between his legs, freeing both his hands so he can look harder to find his.

Grabbing mine, I set out on the journey of getting both a chair and a stand, which is nearly impossible, particularly if you want a stand that works and can hold the weight of a piccolo. And of course, everything in my hands drops as I go to pick up the stand, leaving me laughing and embarrassed as the entire class stares at me. God, I just want this day to be over. But not before to tonight.

My classes go by in a blur, and by the time I come to Science is the only class left of the day. It’s the third week of school and I still barely know anyone in my classes. Hopefully tonight will change that. Maybe.

For some stupid reason I decided to wear flats to school today. Flats without socks, meaning that my feet feel like they’ve been sawed in half from the back. Not literally, but you know what I mean.

My hair skims the nape of my neck and after nearly three months I’m still getting used to the feeling. Impulsively in mid-June I decided to cut over a foot off of my hair, the ponytails still laying in a bag in my room. Liberating, to say the least, but now it feels like there’s oceans between my current and old self, not that I’d want her back. Much too needy for my taste.

People are still filing into the classroom, though some flit in and out, talking with friends; laughing.  A guy in loose clothing that I’ve seen in our class before, though I don’t know his name, sits down unceremoniously two rows in front of me and turns a turn about the classroom with his eyes, which land on me. He winks, which I return with an eye roll, and turns back to the front.

Cocky, insufferable bastard, I think.

Our teacher, tall and unkempt, resembling a surfer dude, calls us to attention. We haven’t met him yet since his wife just had a baby and he was on paternity leave for the first weeks of school. I don’t know why he’s starting on a Friday. All we’ve done with our substitute teacher is book work individually.

“Hey guys, I’m Mr. Beauchamp and I’ll be your Physical Science teacher this year. I’m gonna just go through attendance real quick and then get into the introduction slides and whatever. Hopefully your sub wasn’t too bad.” He laughs and then shuffles a few papers on his large lab table at the front of the classroom, opens a binder, and then grabs his MacBook, which is a teacher essential.

“Okay then. If I get any of your names wrong, don’t kill me. If you go by something different, just tell me.”

He pauses awkwardly, clears his throat and says, “Lilia Andersen.”

A murmur from the back.

“Noah Bryan.”

Murmur.

“Avenue Burke.”

Murmur.

This goes on in a painstakingly slow pattern, with a few hiccups where he has to stop to figure out a name or write down what the person goes by.

“Nahani Malik.”

A girl wearing a beautifully patterned hijab raises her hand. Not only is her clothing beautiful but her face is, with a slightly upturned nose and cheekbones that sweep upwards.

“Steven Mc… river?” Mr. Beauchamp looks around the class, wondering if he pronounced the name right. The boy two rows ahead raises his hand.

“It’s Mc-rye-ver,” he says, enunciating every syllable. “And I go by Sven.”

The entire class giggles, myself included. He’s clearly no Russian, with ashy brown hair and brown eyes that have a mischievous sparkle.

“I’m dead serious. Sven McRivver. That’s what they call me.” He stretches his arms out and puts one around the girl next to him, who quickly untangles herself.

Great, so he’s one of those guys.

“Okay Mr. McRivver, that’s--”

“A mouthful isn’t it?” Steven, no Sven, interrupts. He snaps his gum, stupidly grinning.

“Moving on…” Another blank, boring section of names being called out. Most I don’t recognize, but some I do.

“Rosie Condon.”

“Here,” I say, raising my hand. Sven turns all the way around to stare at me.

“What?” I mouth, Mr. Beauchamp moving on.

He winks and rolls his eyes, turning back around to face the front.

When he finally finishes attendance, the teacher goes through a boring, routine slideshow where they introduce themselves and state the rules we must follow inside the classroom, which differ since it’s science. Our sub never did any of this, so it’s like the first day of school.

He then passes out a thick packet of worksheets, saying that on Block Day next week we’ll have a quiz on the safety rules and lab procedures. Without giving us more than that, it turns us lose to work.

The rest of the class period goes by strangely fast, especially since French II felt like forever. Mr. Beauchamp literally has a gate that he puts up until the bell rings so that we don’t all crowd near the door. Everyone’s chatting and giggling and I’m off to the side, alone. Distantly, I think Sven tries to talk to me, but I ignore him. The bell rings and everyone rushes out, myself included.

The girls, except Sydney, are waiting outside my bus, The Amazing 227, as my bus driver, T-Roy, calls it. We get on, marking the beginning of Friday night

_______________

The house looks like it’s literally thrumming. Yes, they always portray it that way in the movies, but this party was making the house buzz. It was hard enough to get Sydney’s Durango maneuvered into a spot along the street, but far enough away so that if the police came they wouldn’t think to take down the car’s license plate. We didn’t go to the football game beforehand, so Maizie, Sydney, and Katherine were all already buzzed, leaving only me, the sober one, to drive them here (of course).

Whoever’s house it is is at the top of a hill in a cul-de-sac, very common in Bloomington, specifically West Bloomington. My dad used to live around here, so I parked around there There were children’s toys in the front yard of his old house and the sight of my old home made my heart ache.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Maizie asks, putting a hand to my back.

“No, no, no,” I say quickly. “It’s party time!”

“Wooooooo!” The girls yelp.

We walk for about five minutes before reaching the party, though you can hear it from five blocks away. Good idea to park so far away, I think to myself. It pays to be cautious… and nervous… and anxious. Nobody notices or greets us as we walk in through the door, though a beer in a solo cup is shoved into my hand, which I quickly set down on an end table. After wandering through the various rooms, Maizie finds Jesse.

“Hey babe,” she says, poking him on the shoulder.

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii,” Jesse drawls, pulling her in for a sloppy kiss, clearly more than tipsy. Katherine and I share a glance. The “Jesse” thing.

“You’re already drunk? Jesse, what the f? What did I tell you about drinking tonight?” The rest of us stand adjacent to them, standing awkwardly and pulling at our clothing, waiting for them to be done and to see if Maizie needs us.

“It wasn’t that-- I just-- Babe, we’re jusss havin’ some fun, izzz alllll,” Jesse says, careening to the left. One of his friends catches him and puts him upright, meanwhile Maizie rolls her eyes.

“This was supposed to be a fun night and you’ve ruined it before it could even start.” She turns to us.. “I’m going to have fun with my friends and we’ll talk about this when you’re not plastered,” she shouts over shoulder as we walk away.

“Maizie--” we all say after we’re away from Jesse and his friends

“Nope. Fine.” She does a 360 of the room. “Let’s find drinks! Yeah?”

If what was going on in the house was a party, I don’t have words for the backyard. Two dudes are doing keg stands, there’s girls in bikinis on floaties in the pool, and at least seven beer pong tables set up.

“Could this get any more cliche?” I ask no one in particular.

“No, it couldn’t,” a voice behind me says, which belongs to a tall guy with slightly wavy brown hair and washboard, and I mean washboard, abs standing shirtless, in a swimsuit, with a solo cup in his hand. He signals to the pool. “You gonna get in?”

“Um, sorry. Do I know you?” I ask, extremely perplexed and taken aback.

“Yeah. You’re “dude, f’ing watch where you’re going” girl. No one’s ever called me out on that. Mad props,” he says, shaking his head with a smile.

“I still don’t-- Oh, wait!” I exclaim, remembering. “F.” I cover my mouth. “Shit, sorry. I’m trying to work on my potty mouth.” He laughs. “But, um, you deserved it. And, no, I’m not getting in the pool,” I say, motioning to my fully clothed body.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I’m going to go with my friends now. Ta-ta,” I say, waving over my shoulder before flipping him off.

“I thought you were working on your language!” He shouts over the crowd of people.

I turn around. “It’s not bad if it’s a f’ing hand gesture.”

The girls are over by one of the many kegs littered around the yard, with Katherine already refilling her cup. Sydney seems to have found Beethoven and used her magic to put him in a trance. She puts a hand on his chest, one of her signature moves, and they walk away to somewhere that appears to be quieter.

“Rosie Rosie Rosie Rosie Rosie,” Maiz exclaims. “You didn’t tell me that you knew you-know-who!”

“And who would that be?”

“Elijah Hughes. The hot, popular, sex god football and baseball playing junior!” She play

punches my arm with a mischievous smile on her face.

“I still have no clue who you’re talking about,” I say, confused. “I’ve never met Elijah, much less laid eyes on him knowing that it was him in all his boy-ish glory.”

“But--” she stammers, “you were just talking to him. Over there, by the sliding door.”

F. Shit. F-shit. Holy f’ing shit. Washboard abs. It all clicks into place.

“Oh!” I say too loud, blushing. “I didn’t know that was, um-- that that was, um, him. He,

uh, he-- he never said his name, so, I wouldn’t have-- wouldn’t have known.”

“Well he seemed to like you, Ro.”

“No--! No, he, he doesn’t like me. He just ran into me in the hallway, and you know how I get with people who run into me, and then I asked a rhetorical question and he was around to answer it, and it really, really meant nothing.” I bite my lip to stop myself from rambling even more than I already have and I faintly taste the rusted iron tang of blood.

“Okay,” Maizie says, holding up her hands in surrender. “Just makin’ sure. You want a drink?”

“Uh, no. Designated driver, remember?” I gesture to myself.

She laughs, then turns around to talk to one of her other friends, leaving me alone.

I decide to explore the house, since it’s grander than the one my dad had, though our backyard was better. There’s a line for both of the bathrooms out the door and a guy throwing up in a vase next to a family portrait. I pay no mind to him and stare at the faces of the people in the picture. After looking for a minute, I still have no idea whose house this is. Whatever.

I sit down on one of the couches and open up my phone. On Jesse’s Snapchat story there’s a video of him taking a shot and then vaping, which is sure to make Maizie a super-duper proud girlfriend. I snap Sydney, asking where she is, since they’re the only people I seem to know at this party.

A girl I’ve seen before in one of my classes walks up to the couch. “Mind if I sit here?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah. Of course. I’m just looking through my phone.”

“You’re Rosie, right?”

“Yep. That would be me.”

“I’m Avenue Burke,” she says, sticking out her hand, which I take. “Nice to meet you.”

I let go. “Nice to meet you too.”

“Sorry to be all weird and formal. I just don’t know anyone at school or here.”

“You’re fine. I only know my friends, and the all seem to have disappeared.” We laugh. On my an old friend’s fridge there was a magnet that said, “A laugh is the shortest distance between two people,” and it was right.

“I just moved here from Duluth since my dad got a job in Minneapolis.”

“That’s so cool! I’ve only been up there a couple of times and barely saw it, but I’ve heard that the city’s beautiful.”

“It is,” she sighs, longing written all over her face. “But Bloomington isn’t so bad, though Cleveland is definitely--”

“It’s own school?” She nods. “Yeah. My older brother went here. He wasn’t there, but apparently last year some football players from Richfield came and beat up some of our players because they thought that they cheated at the last Friday’s football game.”

“Are you serious?” she asks, laughing.

Before I can answer Juliet Prior comes up to us and falls in my lap, laughing and crying at the same time.

“Avenue, I’m so sorry, but I have to take care of this,” I say, lifting Juliet up and supporting her weight with my body. I don’t wait for her reply before heading towards the bathroom, cutting the line. Thankfully someone’s just coming out, so I dart to the front and go in, garnering curses from the people I just budged.

Juliet takes my face in her hands as I lean her against the counter. “Rosie, you’re so beautiful-- like, oh my god.. Why were we soooooo mean to you?” She sticks a finger to my chest.

“Probably because Aurora-Jean was upset that I was a size 14 and not a 4,” I say, splashing water onto her face. “You can’t keep getting this hammered, Jules. It’s not good for you and it’s really, really dangerous.”

“Oh, babe… I know,” she giggles. “But it’s just so-- so much funnnnnn.” I roll my eyes.

“Are you good to go back out there, or do you need some more time?”

“I’m ready, Freddy!” She pushes past me and swings the bathroom door open. I walk out behind her, apologizing to those in line.

My phone buzzes. I pull it out and there’s a text from Sydney.

SOS come to the front of the house NOW. Something happened with Jesse and Maizie.

F. I knew something like this would happened. And you even warned her, I think.

I’m on my way, I type while pushing through the throng of people in the backyard. How bad is it?

Ro, it’s bad. Come quick.