Returning to that first fateful night after the show: the next thing I remember after making out in the bathrooms is riding in the back of someone’s car. Shelly and I continued to kiss and hug. I was surprised by the thickness of her waist and the way my hands and arms sank into her when I squeezed, but I liked it. She was a very good kisser. We weren’t saying much, as I was still pretty roasted. The next thing I remember was rolling around on a bed in a back room at some house I had never been to, fully clothed, but very wrapped up in each other. We started talking, although I have no idea what about.

The next night, Saturday, I was aglow with anticipation of another party that she had planned with her closest friends. I remember arriving together and being greeted with inquisitive looks. As soon as I got there someone handed me a beer. There were a lot of people, although the house was small. I was introduced to several people whose names I already knew and who probably already knew mine, but the formality of it cemented the fact that I was with her. And that turned out to be a very big deal. She knew virtually everybody at our school (her father still taught there — more about that later) and she seemed to have many friends. Suddenly I found myself conversing with a bunch of seniors — well-known popular people — and they were curious about me.

I had walked in the door shy and inhibited. One or two beers later a complete transformation occurred. I vaguely knew that one of the signs of alcoholism is a radical change in personality when drinking, but I wasn’t reflecting on it at the time. What I felt was the crushing weight of self-conscious inhibition that had tormented me since being assaulted by Walt was suddenly lifted. I was free: unafraid and exuberant to be the person I had been in sixth grade. I was funny. I was zany. I found I could converse with people, and I loved to hear one after another say, “Wow, I had no idea you were such a fun/interesting person!” It was amazing. Obviously, I wanted more. I also experienced a curious craving for more beer. It was the first time (but not, certainly, the last) that I found myself drinking uncontrollably until there was no more to be had. This became the pattern for how I behaved at high school parties from then on. I realized that being with Shelly was like having a key to the center of the social scene of the drama crowd. It was amazing.

It was the morning after this party that my mom got the phone call. As we puzzled over Cleo’s dire warnings my mom asked me where I thought this might be going. I told her we had simply made out a couple of times, it was casual and I had no reason to think it would lead to anything serious. My mom expressed some concern that Shelly was older than me and already eighteen. I said I knew what I was doing and would be fine. (I didn’t and I wouldn’t, as you will see.)

A couple days later I found myself riding in a car with a guy named Tom. He was a very prominent senior in the drama crowd, sort of the male equivalent of Shelly in terms of his knowledge and influence. Don’t ask me how I got there, he was just giving me a ride to another party or something. It was the first time we had ever spoken, and I will never forget the things he said. He seemed to know Shelly very well, and commented that people thought us getting together was very odd. He said, “Everyone thinks it will last three weeks, tops.” Clearly we were the subject of much gossip and speculation and that thrilled me. He said, “You’re new to the party scene, aren’t you?” I affirmed that and added, “I really don’t have any experience with women, either.” He turned to me and said, “Well, stick with Shelly and you will get very experienced very fast.” So that was the gig: I would be her plaything for a couple of weeks and finally get my wings. I didn’t mind the thought.

It turns out that Tom didn’t know Shelly as well as he thought he did.