Chapter Twelve

On the day of the paint party, Saylor and I had met Faith at her house after school. We were all hard at work, preparing for the festivities. Well, technically, we were in her luxury barn that stood in front of the pool area. It was situated in between her parents' countryside mansion and the guest house.

She was reckless, but she didn't have a death wish. She was smart enough not to let dozens of drunken teens run through her house covered in latex paint. She claimed that her parents had given her permission, but that seemed unlikely. Not that it mattered, they'd been gone on a business trip for over a week. They were marketing some new app for the company they'd dropped out of Stanford to co-found.

The three of us were armed with step ladders and staple guns to paint proof the barn by hanging thick sheets of plastic over the walls and around all of the furniture. The barn was two levels and only looked like a barn from the outside. The first level had been remodeled to look like one of those cobblestone mead halls from Skyrim, but with a granite topped, sandstone bar at one end.

The second level was split into a cozy log cabin sitting room and private bedroom. Faith had finished proofing up there a few days ago, which was a good thing or we wouldn't have stood a chance of getting done before guests arrived.

She also put up orange and white striped, metal barricades to block off her lot, so everyone would have to park in the grass behind the barn. I didn't want to know how she got a hold of them. It was sort of scary how well-prepared she was for this.

"Staple it to the bottom and move on," Faith finally said after seeing me struggle with a chair for far too long.

Her chairs probably cost more than my car, so I was reluctant to carelessly start popping holes in them. I was worried the wood would splinter or something. I let out an aggravated groan, snapped the gun a couple times, then tossed it aside. The gun, not the obscenely expensive chair.

"How are you so calm? What if no one shows up?" I should've kept that to myself. I would've been pissed if she'd put such a horrible thought in my head.

"Then, we'll have an amazing time by ourselves, like always." Her voice, extra bubbly. I wished I had her optimism. "But who's gonna miss a poolside kegger with weed? That's the unholy trifecta." She was probably right. It wasn't like anything else was going on in Solon.

"And here I thought it was bongs, bitches and brews." I counted them down on three fingers, but kept the middle one raised toward her. "Where da bitches at, huh?" I asked in false bro-vado.

"I told Kristen and her skanks to be early, so we're covered," Faith said flatly.

I was too shocked to acknowledge the dagger she'd thrown. Kristen had played the leading role in her drama with Blake. I did not expect her to be welcomed. At the same time, excluding her would've made girls choose sides, so it wasn't a complete surprise that they remained frenemies.

Girl politics were scary. It made me appreciate the spontaneity of getting punched in the face to squash beef. Zing. With Kristen, I would've had to watch my back for months. Knowing her, it was probably safer to have Kristen at the party, so she wouldn't call it in to the police. Keep your friends close or whatever.

"How'd you swing the keg?" Saylor asked.

He'd been working so quietly, stapling the screens high up on the walls, that I'd nearly forgotten he was there. He was the only one tall enough to put up the second row that needed to reach the ceiling. He was adamant that it had to be done in that order and he didn't mind the extra work. I didn't understand it, but I trusted him. He'd told me that it had something to do with not leaving a lip for splashed paint to trickle behind. He even tried to break out the visual aids, but I shut that down right away. I couldn't stand it when people tried to dumb things down for me, even if it was necessary.

"I bought it off Ronnie, my cousin," Faith said, "you know, the one with the thumbs?"

The one with the thumbs, right? I loved her. I knew who she meant though. Her cousin had these double-jointed thumbs that had teeny-tiny nail beds that were practically non-existent. He was always fun to be around, but that had nothing to do with his thumbs.

"He works at Shrivers and got them to order an extra," she said. Shrivers was the sketchiest bar in Iowa city, the whole state probably, but I wasn't complaining. "And at five bucks a cup, we'll turn a profit."

I rolled my eyes at her. I knew she didn't give a damn about money. The keg was already tapped and set up outside of the barn for the taking. It was next to a mountain of old paintbrushes and the small fortress of mistinted gallons of paint. She had rounded them up well before she'd told anyone about her party. We still had to carry them all inside though, so the mess was contained to the barn.

"You really think everyone will show up in underwear?" Leave it to me, the great necromancer of doubts, to raise unnecessary concerns in already tense moments.

"Tal vez no, pero" —She shrugged— "that's where you come in. Don't let anyone in until they've stripped down to their skivvies." She grabbed the bottom hem of my shirt and start lifting it up. "We'll have to set the example though."

I wasn't excited to play enforcer to her crazy brain child. What did she expect me to do if someone pushed past me, club them over the head?

Saylor jumped down from a step ladder. He always could read my face. "It'll be fine. She didn't invite Blake just to get back with him."

He shot Faith a glance, his words, dripping with shade. I laughed like a battle cry. I had a really good one that I pretended came naturally. Anaconda Nicki wasn't telling.

"Him and Juice will keep everyone in line, if not, we have this." He tugged at the end of a mobile hose reel and started leading it away, presumably to hook it up to a spigot.

My eyes lit up upon mention of Juice. We were finally in a good place. The idea of playing bouncer half-naked with him for an hour or so changed my perspective. I lifted my arms, so Faith could finish taking off my shirt and then, I peeled my skinny jeans off. My pale legs were the least Latino thing about me. I resented them for not sprouting enough hair to hide themselves.

Faith whistled. "Ay yai, yai, look at that thigh gap!" she shouted, "Since when do you wear briefs?"

I didn't and that was precisely why. That and they seemed kiddish. I bought white bikini briefs for the occasion because they didn't have the knitted penis window to work around while painting. I wished I had strong legs like Juice's, half of his would've been an improvement.

I wisely chose not to answer Faith. It would've only encouraged her. I stood as still as a statue as she began painting my body with her special chest of paintbrushes. I felt kind of bad leaving the rest of the work to Saylor, but she had a point. If the first person everyone saw looked like a complete idiot, her paint party could fail to launch.

Her look was already complete. She had skipped school to paint herself like Mystique from X-Men. She was far more creative than that, but she wanted a look beyond the reproach of casuals. Also, it was the perfect look for her fiery red hair. She was a low-budget Jennifer Lawrence since her back was painted solid blue, without detail, but that was way more than I could've done. Half the time I couldn't be bothered to wash my back thoroughly.

Faith covered my entire body in blotchy taupe-colored brushstrokes, which were country white according to the label. She either had an original work in mind or was going for some arctic camouflage thing. I told her I didn't care what she did as long as she contoured abs on me. I had a flat stomach, but apart from weathering the occasional punch, I'd done nothing to strengthen my core.

She started adding detailed peacock spots with different shades of blue around the outside to take up space. It was the best she could do with the time she had. And it was marvelous. Only my back was left undone by the time we heard Drake's voice intermittently between bass drops. My heart fluttered. I looked down at Faith for permission. A pitying smile and darting of the eyes later, I was power walking the length of her barn to meet our first guests.

Juice and his crew showed up ten deep, in two black SUVs. He was driving an Escalade. I wasn't sure who drove up in the Jeep. There were only two girls with them, neither of which was Kristen. Everyone was dressed for the occasion. The girls wore two-piece swimsuits, which made perfect sense, but probably took away from the whole uncovered vibe Faith had in mind. The guys were wearing these glossy skin tight, short shorts, the kind pro wrestlers wore. Juice's were white, but had a purple bunch of grapes on the crotch and a juice box on each side. They were perfect.

"Such a shame those are getting painted over!" I shouted over to him, channeling my hands around my mouth to be heard over the music.

Since my impeccably bad timing was a thing of legend, I shouldn't have been surprised when the music cut out mid-sentence. I forced a laugh in an attempt to hide my embarrassment, but it sounded maniacal, making things even more awkward.

The guys stared at me for what seemed like an excessively long time, but probably wasn't more than a few seconds. They walked past me without saying anything, most clutching bottles of hard liquor in each hand. I felt like I didn't exist. It was arguably worse than if they'd made fun of me.

Juice, the last one to pass, bumped shoulders with me. He stopped, as if it was my fault. It wasn't. He looked me up and down for a moment and cast a subtle grin.

"What, one wasn't enough? Ain't those supposed to be brown, Mad-Eye?" he asked. I covered my peacock spots with my hands in horror. It hadn't occurred to me that everyone would assume they were mad eyes. "Nice abs, though."

It didn't sound like a compliment. It cued laughter from a few of the guys who'd stopped to wait for him. On second thought, being invisible would've been better. I opened my mouth, but my lips started quivering and I couldn't think of anything to say, so I closed it and stormed off.

Juice was perfect. I couldn't deny that. He had one of those torsos you'd find on a clickbait ad, right before it led you down a rabbit hole of spam. I ended up stopping up the hill from the barn to sit down in front of one of the barricades Faith had put up since I could still see the road from there. I couldn't shirk my duties as bouncer because Juice was a jerk to me. That excuse would've been meaningless to Faith. Juice had acted exactly how I should've expected him to. I was an idiot to think Jerome would've shown up to Faith's paint party.