20 Million Tiny Particles

16. The Third Diamond Party

I met Sheridan at Missy's house the night of the party. I texted her hours before to flake intentionally on our plans to meet at hers for drinks beforehand. I made up an excuse. "Lame," she responded, but I knew she wouldn't stay mad long.

The truth was, for the first time since I met Sheridan, I really wasn't looking forward to seeing her. I delayed it by saying I had to work late or run an errand or something similarly benign that I wouldn't have to repeat.

Plus, I wanted the excuse of driving myself to keep me from drinking, whether because of Sheridan's influence or my own bad decision-making.

Who was I to trust her, to trust myself?

I pulled up to Missy's house fifteen minutes later than I told Sheridan I'd arrive, ensuring I wouldn't have to be alone at the party without her. The Lakshmi house wasn't a quaint suburban sprawl like Sheridan's; it was a couple of miles out of town, near the smattering of lakes that separated us from the South Carolina state line. Set far back from the road, I had to follow a line of tall outdoor lamps that guided cars up the gravel driveway almost a mile before the home was even visible.

When I could see the house, I was struck first by its size and superiority, tall white columns towering over front steps that led to a wraparound porch and a Christmas card entryway. The place was massive and beautiful, the kind of home a wealthy and evil in-law family lives in in a Hallmark movie.

Secondly, I was struck by how many cars were parked outside. This was clearly not the level of diamond party that Sheridan had introduced me to; this was the elite squad, the big leagues, the all stars.

The others.

I looked down at my outfit, thrilled that I hadn't thrown on the leggings I'd considered but still convinced I'd be somehow out of place and underdressed regardless. But I couldn't be nervous about everything, so my dark jeans and floral tank top would have to take a backseat to everything else on my mind.

As I walked up the steps, the lights from the foyer exposed bits and pieces of the home beyond the big black doors, and my stomach knotted up even more. Telling myself to calm down and man up wouldn't be enough, but I did it anyway as I put a finger to the doorbell.

After a moment, a slim man in a white polo shirt and dark pants approached the door, opening it to receive me with a smile. He had dark skin, a perfectly styled coif of jet black hair streaked with silver, and a short brandy glass in one hand. "Welcome," he said with a hint of an accent poking through his jovial voice. He must be Missy's father.

I said hello and he ushered me into the front hall, where the gold of the wallpaper danced off the lights of the chandelier. It's not that the house was some overindulgent show of opulence; it was that, around here, the bar for impressive was floor-level at best. Should I be embarrassed of my dumbstruckness, my interest, my wonder?

He led me to the great room, where the girls I expected to see were spread out among leather couches and gold and red accent chairs, milling about near the large black piano at the far end of the room. It was a sea of long straight hair, skinny jeans, and bright-colored blouses. Mr. Lakshmi gave me a nod and left me to find my own way, and I squinted to find Sheridan in the crowd of girls holding wine glasses.

After a moment, I saw her, nestled in a triangle of two other girls I knew from school. It was funny: most of these girls I never expected to see again after graduation, maybe save for a run-in at Walmart every summer. But now I guess this was my life.

It's never what you expect, is it?

"Julie!" Sheridan squealed as I approached. She pulled me in for a hug. See? I knew she wouldn't stay mad.

I greeted her and the other girls -- Shelby, who had been in the same grade as me in school, and Cara, in Sheridan's grade, who I only knew as the girl who broke her arm playing volleyball in middle school P.E. class. It seemed to have healed well by then.

"Julie Page, right?" asked Cara, the taller of the two. She had broad shoulders and long, straight brown hair, just like most of the girls. In her denim jacket and sundress, she looked like the kind of girl who'd lend you a tampon in the locker room, the girl who'd take the sour cream and onion chips when all of the barbecue and plain were gone.

I nodded. "Yeah," I said.

"Oh my God, I heard about your mom. I'm so sorry."

I wasn't expecting it, but my flight-or-fight kicked in, and despite my reddening cheeks, the overwhelming urge to smile and say "Oh, thanks, I'm okay" took over quickly. Sheridan looked embarrassed.

A polite silence returned but was shortly burst by Shelby Powers, the shorter, chubbier blonde girl standing to my left. Perplexed, she asked, "What happened?"

Both Sheridan and Cara looked at her with grim expressions, the kind of "Oh, God, don't say it" face you flash to someone before they really make a fool of themselves.

It was the second time I had to face it, but nonetheless I felt unprepared. I looked from Sheridan to Cara and managed to get out a flat "She died. Earlier this summer."

Shelby let out a gasp and reached toward me, holding my wrist in her pudgy pale hand. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry. How did that happen?"

I almost laughed, but even I knew it was inappropriate to do so. Cara was shaking

her head as if to say, stop while you're ahead.

I answered anyway, shrugging. "It was a car accident. Someone ran a red light."

The right answer.

"Wow," Shelby started.

Before the girl could dig herself deeper, Sheridan had the grace to cut in, "We don't have to talk about this, Julie. Let's keep it fun. Come with me to get a drink." She grabbed my arm from Shelby's grasp and pulled me away.

Once away from the girls, she said under her breath, "I'm sorry, that was so awkward."

I laughed a little to ease the tension. I told her it was okay, not to worry about it, and she led me through the room and into the kitchen, an expansive marble-filled kitchen with a double stove and a big stainless steel refrigerator. I wondered if families like this actually cooked.

Sheridan opened the fridge as if she owned the place, pulling out a frostbitten handle of vodka, half full. She looked at me with a puzzled expression as she set it on the counter. "You didn't bring yours?"

"Shit," I said. "I knew I forgot something."

I had not forgotten it; I had left the mostly full bottle intentionally where it had stayed since last Saturday night in the back of my closet. I wasn't proud of myself, but I wasn't stupid. I didn't need to make any more late-night house calls to Bryce the Great. Well, parking lot calls.

She pouted. "We can share. I gave some to Cara too."

"So you guys all do this? The diamond-tini thing?"
She smirked. "My friends do. How do you think I got them to join this thing in the first place?"

So that answers the chicken or the egg question.

She poured me a glass. "Missy's not into it though, so we keep it underground."

"We're at her house," I contested.

She rolled her eyes as she put the vodka back. "Okay, so maybe it's more like a blind-eye kind of thing. She likes that there's more girls here. More girls equals more money, and that's what she cares about." She put the wine glass to the fridge door to fill it with a bit of water, then ice. Then, back at the kitchen island, she opened a packet of Pink Diamond and shook it into the liquid, creating a powdery cloud at the top of the mixture.

"If you put the powder in first you won't have to stir it," I suggested as she searched for a spoon.

She smiled. "So efficient. Just like Julie." She gave my head a half-friendly, half-patronizing pat and stirred the drink with a spoon she found. "Cheers," she said, holding the glass out to me.

I took it. "Cheers," I answered. To our third diamond party.