This is a modern Great Gatbsy told in a Rashomon-style; everybody’s perspective varies. I encourage readers to pick their own favorite narrator and continue the story from there!
Erin — One | Two | Three | Six | Seven | Ten | Thirteen | Fifteen | Sixteen
Annaleigh — Four | Eight | Eleven | Fourteen
Annaleigh (a person formerly known to Joan as Hannah Roberts) was fair-skinned with dark hair and pixie-like features. She was certainly less beautiful than Joan. However, she carried herself like a person of importance, as if she were Princess Anne about to address the Roman paparazzi.
She was dressed in a black leather jacket and velvet slip dress. She looked willowy and walked just like a couture model ought to; full of a confidence I’d never be able to achieve.
As I was admiring her air (read as “viewing with jealousy”), an unknown guy plopped down next to me and shattered my reverie.
“Nate must have gotten here,” the guy said.
“Most likely,” Tom replied.
“You didn’t mention Ted would be here,” Joan chided Tom.
Ted reached a hand out to me, “Ted Cavendish.”
“Erin Brewster,” I said, taking his hand and shaking it.
Evidently, Joan knew several people here, all of whom appeared to be in town on fall break. Vaughn Feldman, Cherry Glass (her real name), Timothy Morris (Tim, Ted, & Tom; this got harder after I had a few drinks), and Fred Baxter (eugh, couldn’t that guy take a hint?) all joined our fire circle.
In a matter of minutes, they’d struck up conversations about who’d gone where and how college was so far. If I hadn’t already felt like an outsider, I definitely felt like one now. From third wheel to eighth wheel, like some ugly offroading vehicle.
Fortunately, Ted turned out to be earnest about his introduction.
“So, Erin Brewster, what’s your major?” he turned his attention to me.
“Painting,” I said, slightly embarrassed. I was sure Joan’s friends all had highbrow majors like Business and Political Science.
Ted picked up both my hands and studied them quizzically. “No inspiration today, I see.”
I blushed and pulled my hands back. “It’s my day off.” Not technically a lie, though I was obviously deflecting.
Ted smiled kindly, “Sorry, my sister’s an artist. I can always tell when she’s ‘in it’ -- or in a dry spell -- based on the cleanliness of her hands. Yours need some paint.”
“So, who’s Nate?” I asked, changing the subject from my lack of inspiration.
Ted looked at the doorway and, as if divine intervention had planned it, a well-clad college-student, with perfectly coiffed hair, stepped onto the roof. Like Tom, he was wearing a tasteful blazer over a soft-looking black sweater and black jeans. He looked way more put-together than any of the guys who went to our school.
“That’s Nate,” Ted said.
Suddenly the group’s conversations had all stopped, and they were focused on this new stranger.
“Like a Swiss watch,” Vaughn stated, from her perch.
I hadn’t sized Vaughn up yet, but she seemed too sophisticated to be in college. I later discovered my assessment was correct. Vaughn was four years older but had a brother in Joan’s class. I never wanted to hang out with underclassmen, but I guess she found it productive. Or at least did at the time.
“I wish she’d let him off the hook,” Cherry bemoaned.
“Pretty sure it’s the other way around,” Vaughn countered.
“An ouroboros,” Tom added.
“For the Layman, please, Tom,” Cherry said.
“The ouroboros is a snake that eats itself,” Tom explained.
“It symbolizes cycles, recurrence, or the concept that ‘all is one’,” Joan chimed in.
I noticed she had an arm slung around Tom’s shoulders, as if to state he was hers for the night. Or maybe just to stave of Fred Baxter. From the look on Tom’s face, he didn’t seem to mind one bit.
“Isn’t it also the symbol of the Auryn in Neverending Story?” I offered.
“Oh, that thing,” Cherry said. “I just wish Nate was more… available. I live in Boston too. Annaleigh’s all the way out here.”
So Nate and Cherry were some of the Boston kids. This was useful information.
“I’m available,” Fred offered.
Cherry wrinkled her nose. “For a reason, Fred.”
Fred was mock-wounded. “Sooner or later I’ll win you, Cherry Jones.”
Vaughn scoffed, “Last weekend it was Noelle Hutchins. The one before that it was Lucy Stone. The one before that—“
Fred cut Vaughn off, “I have diverse tastes.”
Joan snorted and wiggled closer to Tom. He took the opportunity to protectively move a hand onto her knee. She didn’t flinch or start. In fact, she looked more comfortable than I’d seen her with any suitor at a party. Maybe Tom’s ‘Hartley Heartache’ was on the mend.
Nate reached our group at the same time Annaleigh did, like a mathematical equation about two trains leaving two stations at different speeds, destined to collide.
Reflecting back, I think I immediately felt the air crackle. Or maybe that was just a detail I added to my journal post later. Either way, there was something magnetic that passed between them. I instantly understood Tom’s comment about the ouroboros.
The rest of the party had moved on from watching Annaleigh, her grand entrance now complete, but our group was trained on her like a hawk as she glided into Nate.
“Nate!” Annaleigh exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him.
Nate looked sheepishly at the group before hugging her back.
Was he one of those dudes Avril Lavigne lamented about? A Danny Zuko, trying to be cool in front of his friends? I initially disliked him for this.
“Hey, Annaleigh,” he said.
Annaleigh released him slightly, her arms still looped behind his neck. “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”
“Me either. My parents were a little last minute.”
The 411 on Nate, as I learned from Ted, was that he had two middle-class working parents. So the idea of paying for a fall trip, so close to winter break, had seemed a bit much. They’d caved at the last minute and Nate had flown in earlier that day. Ted and Tom had known he’d be here, but Annaleigh and the rest of the crew didn’t.
Our school didn’t have a fall break. But there’s no way my parents would have flown me home so close to the holidays. So, I felt a small kinship with Nate. Maybe his earlier glance was just because he felt awkward in front of Annaleigh (Hannah)’s wealthy friends.
How do people change their names like that anyway?
My attention was snapped back to the party as Annaleigh clapped her hands together and said, “We should have cake!”
Somehow, without anyone noticing, a bar cart topped with slices of decadent-looking chocolate cake had arrived just outside our fire circle. I threw a glance at a few of the other fire pits, and they all had cake carts next to them as well.
Was this a party or a Michelin-rated restaurant? Where were the attendants? Did food apparate like in Harry Potter? How did Annaleigh orchestrate all of this? Did she even know the people at the other fire pits? These were the quandaries that clouded my head as everyone moved to take a plate of cake.
Much as I wanted to disappear into one of the many dark corners of the rooftop and meticulously document the entire experience, I had a directive for the evening.
I’m not a bold person. No one would describe me as one. But I remember pushing my way into a conversation with Cherry out of sheer lust; Joan and Tom were becoming more entangled by the moment, and I wanted what they had.
“So, Cherry, you mentioned you’re at school in Boston,” I started, interrupting her as she took a bite of chocolate cake.
Great timing, Erin, I thought to myself. Very classy.
Fortunately, Cherry was classy. She slowly chewed her cake, swallowed, and answered me as though I weren’t a carbuncle at her posh high-school reunion. “Yes, I’m at Emerson.”
Was she a fellow art major? Maybe Joan’s friends were more colorful than I’d thought. And Emerson was really close to Berklee, if I remembered my Mapquest search correctly.
“I’ve heard great things about Emerson,” I said, hoping this was my lead.
“Erin’s a painting major,” Ted offered. I guess our conversation was more interesting to him than chocolate cake; he was the only one without a plate.
“Oh. That’s nice,” Cherry said. So, she was an art major, but we weren’t going to bond over it.
I tried again. “I’m trying to find a friend of mine that goes to Berklee.”
“Those kids are… interesting,” Cherry said.
Apparently she was not at Emerson for Communications. My diction will never be on par with Joan’s or Tom’s, but I’d still have done better than ‘interesting,’ which is about the most disinteresting word in the English language.
Maybe this conversation wasn’t going to get me anywhere after all. Regardless, I plowed on; Ethan Embry didn’t give up on Jennifer Love Hewitt and I wasn’t giving up on Aaron.
“His name is Aaron Jones,” I cut straight to the chase. (And yes, in case you just realized, we’d be Aaron and Erin, if I ever managed to find him.)
Cherry thought a moment. “That sounds kind of familiar. But there are a lot of Joneses in the world.”
This was certainly a dead end. Where had Nate gotten off to? Maybe he’d be more help.
My eyes started to scan the area when Cherry added, “He might be on TheFacebook.”
“What is TheFacebook?” I asked, clueless.
“It’s this new website for college students,” she said.
A website. Okay. I could try that. Still, Nate might have a better tip, if I could only find him.
In the finalized version, readers will have a choice to continue with Erin or switch to Annaleigh’s version of the night — or even jump ahead to Joan’s version of the night. Since you all are my first readers, I’d love to hear where you’d like to go next!
The poll has spoken and we’re headed to Joan’s Night in Chapter Five.
Move through the story:
Erin — One | Two | Three | Six | Seven | Ten | Thirteen | Fifteen | Sixteen
HAHA I'd forgotten it used to be called TheFacebook...