Kilpat Hates You

It was very important I get my jacket back because I had a little pocket knife stuffed in one of the pockets. My mom had given me a choice of pepper spray or a pocket knife for when I went off to college. I took the knife because it seemed badass.
Now I’m trudging across the wet lawn to Kilpat to get my jacket and knife back before someone sees it and thinks there’s a murderer out on the loose or something. My mom had told me to be careful with the knife, I didn’t want to get in trouble. But it was my second party and the knife was for my protection, so I stealthily snuck it in my jacket pocket without any of the girls I got ready with seeing.
I was the only one wearing a jacket. And underneath that a dark blue sweater. It was raining last night, the temperature wouldn’t get up past 48 degrees. My mom would be mad if I caught a cold on my way to a party.
The party was fine. All the parties on campus are fine. It was too dark to see much, only green strobe lights shining in my eyes when I looked the wrong way. In the corner in the cupboard there was a giant container of Hawaiian punch, a bottle of vodka and some red solo cups. I poured a lot more juice into my cup than vodka. I couldn’t imagine what my mom would think if I told her I got drunk at a party. She would think I got swapped with somebody else’s daughter.
I sipped. I only tasted fruit punch. I didn’t dance much, just swung my body to my own rhythm since the music they were playing was beatless. Everyone was dancing to their own songs.
I stared at the boy who danced on the table in the middle of the room. He wouldn’t look at me. I clutched the knife in my pocket when I saw him jump off the table and kiss another guy. It seemed friendly. There are friendly kisses, right?
It got hot. Some girls I think I know dragged me toward the open window where we slid outside onto the wet grass. It had stopped raining but the ground was covered in puddles and mud. One of the girls gave me a drink of whatever was in her cup. It tasted awful.
We ended up in someone’s house. It was eerily empty. No people, just a little light from the hallway. We didn’t do anything and I wanted to go back, mainly because I had just remembered I took my jacket off and left it in the Kilpat common room. My mind wasn’t on the knife, I was just cold. And tired.
We went to the bathroom and cried into the mirror. I told them about the boy kissing another boy and they petted my hair and reminded me I was bisexual. One of them gave me a tiny peck on the lips when I wouldn’t shut up about kissing. My first kiss. I didn’t even say thank you because she took a phone call right after and just screamed into the thin thing.
She didn’t even hold my face, just leaned forward like we were in a play and forced to kiss by the director who had a thing for girl on girl action. Someone else gave me a water bottle and told me to take small sips. I almost spilled it all over myself but she snatched it away and took a swig herself before vomiting into the trash can.
She offered me the water again but I shook my head and leaned on the wall some more. I really wasn’t that drunk. I looked at the moon out the window and knew it was time to go home.
Two of the girls helped the girl who vomited up and carried her back to her room, which was luckily in the house we were in for some reason. I patted her shoulder and told her it was going to be okay. We’d never go to Kilpat again. We’d never drink again. We’d live off kale and green tea in the mountains. She didn’t respond.
I split off from the group then. I walked across the wet lawn rubbing my own arms and chattering my teeth. I stopped outside of Kilpat and thought about my jacket but I remembered what I promised that girl. We’d never go to Kilpat again.
My bed was warmer than usual when I woke up. I kicked off the blankets and looked at my phone, which I had been gripping in my fist all night. I could lose my jacket, I even lost my pocket knife, but I’ll be damned if I ever let go of my phone.
It was early. Too early to do anything but lay and moan into my pillow and promise to never drink again. Then my eyes snapped open as I remembered my knife. I put on sweatpants over the jeans I accidentally wore to bed and pulled on a warmer coat than my jacket. Boots on my feet. I decided to deal with the mess that was my ruined make-up later.
My feet shiver from the cold grass. I can tell which house the party was at because of all the cans, plastic cups, and glass bottles littering the front and back. And of course the green KILPAT HATES U that someone put up with green tape above the windows I ducked out of last night.
I don’t remember seeing those words last night, maybe someone put it up when they got drunk? I look at it again and decide no, it was done too cleanly. I’m just unobservant. I try the front door first but it’s locked. My key card doesn’t work on other houses besides my own so I have to walk to the back and pull up the window. There are three windows, normally only one doesn’t have a screen but I see a beaten up windowscreen on the ground below one of the other windows. It looks like there was a fire and everyone needed to evacuate. Suddenly I picture someone finding my knife and freaking out. The cops were called and my fingerprints were found all over the weapon. This is actually a trap, the common room will be full of police officers dressed like college students ready to arrest me.
But when I enter through the window I see the common room is empty of people. The table is still in the middle of the room only now with cans on it. The cupboard where the vodka was is now empty except a couple of cups still half full of juice. I spot my jacket, my wonderful green army jacket I thought was so cool in eighth grade, and I snatch it up. I can feel the weight of my knife and relax a little bit. But not completely, because I remember KILPAT HATES U and I have to get out as soon as possible.
My shoes crunch on the wet grass as I hop out the window. I wonder, how can an entire house hate me? I don’t know anyone in Kilpat. I thought I could get along with anyone if I’m polite enough. I take my pocket knife out and study it.
No one’s touched it all night, likely no one’s even seen it. I flip out the blade and study it closer. I’ve never used it on anything, not even on paper or a package, so I stop walking when I see a tiny speck of green on it. I bring it closer to my face and I realize I’m not wearing my glasses.
“HEY!” someone shouts out one of the windows on the second floor. I look up at a tired looking boy with lipstick smeared around his mouth like a demonic clown. For a half second I’m convinced it’s the guy, my guy, that I watched up on the table. But this one is blond.
I look up but don’t say anything. He doesn’t either. He just uses one hand to shield from the invisible sunlight and the other to point underneath to the words in green tape. I go home and back to bed.