“It was the best game I ever saw,” I said.
“We weren’t favored to win, you know.” He took a deep breath and sat b
ack. “You haven’t been to Eddie’s house before, have you?”
“No. My parents might have.”
“They have,” Mr. Pearson said. “At a fundraiser. Oops, I forgot. Chauffeurs aren’t supposed to listen to their passengers’ conversations.”
“Very funny, Dad.”
I laughed. I was glad Mr. Pearson had a sense of humor. I had been afraid I would be very nervous being driven to a party by Kent’s father. I had never met him, and I couldn’t help but imagine he was wondering what sort of girl his son had chosen. If Cassie had overheard my thoughts, she would surely have bawled me out for not thinking he should be honored to have a Heavenstone in his car. But despite our family’s success and our obvious great wealth, I couldn’t sit high on that pedestal Cassie imagined. If anything really made me nervous, it was people thinking that I thought I was too good for them.
The ride wasn’t long, and when we turned down the street on which the Morrises lived and Mr. Pearson pointed out the house, I could see that Eddie Morris’s home wasn’t as grand as ours. Cassie would say it had no history. Not that it wasn’t an impressive home—it was a large, recently built three-story set on the crest of a little knoll and surrounded by at least four or five acres of gently rolling hills.
“Here’s a druggist who owns property any horse owner would covet,” Kent’s father said.
“They have horses, Dad.”
“Not racehorses,” his father said, winding up the long, tree-lined driveway to stop in front of the house. It had a beautiful entry, approached through elaborate landscaping. “I pick you up at midnight?”
“As long as the car doesn’t turn into a pumpkin,” Kent said, and his father laughed.
“Never mind, Cinderfella. You behave yourself. We’ve had our talk about—”
“Dad, please.”
“Okay. You’re on your own. If you want me here earlier because you are bored …”
“I doubt that, Dad.”
“Have a good time,” his father said. “Make sure he behaves, Semantha.”
Kent shook his head and got out to hurry around and open the door for me.
“Oh, sorry. I forgot to be a chauffeur again,” his father called.
Other cars were arriving, some approaching too fast. His father looked at them, and for a moment, both Kent and I wondered if he was going to get out to bawl out the drivers, but he just started away. Kent released the breath he had been holding. He didn’t want his father embarrassing him.
“C’mon,” Kent said, taking my hand. I had to run to keep up with him.
Eddie Morris greeted us. He was the star of the junior varsity basketball team and would surely be on the varsity next year. He was a six-foot-four ninth-grader with a shock of coal-black hair that he liked to keep long. It was the source of lots of humor, because he was always brushing it off his face. During basketball games, he kept it tied behind his head in a thick ponytail. I didn’t know him all that well, but he was always polite and friendly whenever we did speak in school. He had a younger sister, Amy, in elementary school, who had apparently been shipped to her cousin’s house for the night.
“Hi, Semantha. Welcome. How did this goofball get you to be his date?” Eddie asked. He and Kent playfully punched each other’s shoulders. “The pizza’s already been delivered. You guys should get some before it’s all gone.”
Others were coming in behind us, and he went to greet them as well. The music blaring from the living room was so loud everyone had to shout to be heard, even if he or she was only a few feet from the other person. I was surprised to see a number of students from tenth and eleventh grade, as well as a dozen or so from our class.
“I’m starving,” Kent said. He led me right to the kitchen, where the open boxes were spread on the long white-tile counters and the tiled butcher’s table in the center. There were paper plates and plastic forks, but everyone was mostly just holding a piece and gobbling it down as if he had been on some deserted island for months. I saw plenty of soda, but it wasn’t until we went into the living room, where Dustin Dylan had set up his disco equipment, that I saw anyone drinking liquor. It was the older boys, who slipped it into their sodas and then offered it to the girls they had brought. I didn’t see anyone turn it down.
“Remember, no smoking,” Eddie warned his guests. “Of anything!” Everyone who heard him laughed, but he made his next warning very seriously. “And don’t forget. My father’s a pharmacist, so there’s no drugs.”
Noel and Bobbi had somehow beaten us to the house and were already dancing. Kent and I had a piece of pizza and drank some soda, and then we joined them. I wasn’t very confident of my dancing. I had done so little in front of other people. Of course, I practiced in my room at home whenever I could. Cassie always teased me about it. I never saw her dance, even at weddings we all attended, unless Daddy asked her. Those were only slow dances, however.
Kent was a good dancer, and he kept complimenting me on my dancing. As my confidence built, I felt myself relaxing more. I had left Cassie’s warnings back at the gymnasium, and for the first time, I felt I could enjoy myself. Here I didn’t have to keep remembering that I was a Heavenstone. No one seemed to care who anyone was, least of all Kent. His friends kept kidding him about having to have his father drive him on a date.
“At least he made a great choice,” Noel said, coming to his defense. He winked at me.
“Yeah, well, what’s he going to do, ask his father to take them behind the football field later?” Sammy Duncan asked.